Calamity (Reckoners, #3)

“How should I know?” Knighthawk said. “I’m doing my best to avoid drawing the man’s attention. I watched where he went for self-preservation’s sake, but there’s no way in Calamity that I’m going to start poking him with a stick.”


Knighthawk’s mannequin set down the bowl. “I’m out of popcorn, which means it’s time to attach some strings to this little gift of mine. You can take the rtich and the crystal grower on the condition that you get out of here now, and you don’t contact me anymore. Don’t mention me to Jonathan; don’t even talk about me to one another, in case he overhears. He likes things done right. If he comes here for me, he’ll leave a smoldering hole and not much else.”

I looked toward Megan, who was staring at Knighthawk, unblinking, lips downturned. “You know we have the secret,” she said softly to him. “You know we’re close to answers. A real solution.”

“Which is why I’m helping you in the first place.”

“Halfway,” Megan accused him. “You’re willing to toss a grenade into the room, but you don’t want to look and see if it did the job or not. You know that something needs to change in this world, but you don’t want to have to change with it. You’re lazy.”

“I’m a realist,” Knighthawk said, his mannequin standing up. “I take the world as it is, and do what I can to survive in it. Even giving you these two devices will be dangerous for me; Jonathan will recognize my handiwork. Hopefully he’ll think you got them off an arms dealer.”

The mannequin walked to the fridge and removed a few other items, dropping some in a sack. He set one on the table for us; it looked like a tub of mayonnaise, but when he pried off the top, inside was another small device settled into the gooey condiment. The mannequin slung the sack by a strap over its arm, then walked over to lift Knighthawk from behind.

“I have other questions,” I said, rising.

“Too bad,” Knighthawk said.

“You have other technology you could give us,” Abraham said, pointing at the sack. “The ones you’ve given us are only what you think won’t get you in too much trouble with Prof.”

“Good guess, and you’re right,” Knighthawk replied. “Get out. I’ll send a bill with a drone. If you survive, I expect it to be paid.”

“We’re trying to save the world, you know,” Mizzy said. “That includes you.”

Knighthawk snorted. “You realize that half the people who come to me are trying to save the world? Hell, I’ve worked with the Reckoners before, and you’re always trying to save the world. Looks pretty unsaved to me so far; in fact, looks a fair bit worse now that Jonathan has flipped.

“If I’d given you things for free all along, I’d have gone bankrupt years ago, and you wouldn’t even have had the option of coming to try to rob me. So don’t climb up on a high horse and spit platitudes at me.”

And then the mannequin turned and walked out. I stood at my chair, feeling frustrated, and looked back at the others. “Did that exit feel abrupt to any of you?”

“Did you miss the part about him being a really weird dude?” Cody asked, nudging the potato salad bin with his foot.

“At least we got something,” Abraham said, turning one of the small boxes over in his hands. “This puts us in a far better position than where we began—and beyond that, we know where Jonathan has set up base.”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at Megan, who seemed troubled. So she felt it too. We’d gotten some weapons, sure, but we’d missed an opportunity for answers.

“Grab that stuff,” I said. “Cody, search the fridge just in case. Then let’s get out of here.”

The group moved to do as instructed, and I found myself staring out the door and into the hallway. There were still too many questions.

“So…,” Megan said, joining me. “You want me to guide the rest of the team out?”

“Hmm?” I asked.

“Remember how you chased Prof and us into the understreets of Newcago, after expressly being told you’d be shot if you didn’t stay put?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Back then, I figured getting shot by the Reckoners would be so cool. Think about showing off a bullet scar to your friends, and saying that Jonathan Phaedrus himself shot you.”

“You’re such a nerd. My point is, are you going after Knighthawk?”

“Of course I’m going after him,” I said. “Make sure everyone gets out safely, then try to save me from my stupidity if this goes sour.” I gave her a swift kiss, caught my rifle as Abraham tossed it to me, then went to chase down Knighthawk.





I didn’t have to search far.

The hallway was empty, but I stepped up to the room we’d passed earlier—the one with the trophies on the back wall—and peeked in. I was unsurprised to find Knighthawk sitting in an easy chair on the far side of the room. A gas fireplace crackled beside him, and his mannequin lay, its invisible strings cut, on the ground beside it.