Calamity (Reckoners, #3)

“That’s…very strange.”


“We don’t talk much about the odd powers,” I said absently. “But there are a lot of minor Epics whose abilities are very specific. It—” I froze. “Wait.”

I spun us in the air, fast enough that Cody stumbled and reached out to touch the wall. I zoomed us down toward the rubble, picking out a bloodied face, the body trapped beneath the remnants of the tower’s large generator. Prof’s blast had vaporized only the salt. It was the first confirmation I’d had that he, with exquisite control over his powers, could release a blast that vaporized some dense materials but not others.

That wasn’t important now. That face was.

“Oh, Calamity,” I whispered.

“What?” Cody demanded.

“That’s Stormwind.”

“The one who…”

“Makes this city grow food,” I finished. “Yeah. Ildithia’s food production supplied dozens of other cities, Cody. Prof’s little tirade might have some very lasting consequences.”

I dug out my mobile and typed a message to Knighthawk.

How soon after an Epic dies do you need to freeze their cells?

Soon, he wrote back. Most cells die quickly. CO2 poisoning, without the heart pumping blood. Epic DNA melts fast, in addition. We don’t know the reason yet. Why do you ask?

I think Prof just started a famine, I wrote to him. He killed an Epic last night who was vital to the economy.

You can try to harvest me a sample, Knighthawk replied. Some cells last longer than others. Skin cells…some stem cells…The DNA problem works on a kind of weird half-life, with most of it being gone in seconds, but some individual cells could linger. But kid, it’s REALLY hard to get a culture going from old Epic cells.

I showed the messages to Cody.

“It’ll be dangerous to go out,” he noted. “We don’t have Megan to give us new faces.”

“Yeah, but if we can prevent starvation, isn’t it worth the risk?”

“Sure, sure,” Cody said. “Unless we expose ourselves to Prof—who could very well have people watching those bodies—and then get ourselves killed. Which would leave only three Reckoners, instead of five, to confront him. Assuming he didn’t torture our secrets out of us and then go kill the rest of the team. Which he probably would. All for a very, very slight chance that we might be able to make a motivator that might feed people.”

I swallowed. “Right. Fine. You laid it on a bit thick.”

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Y’all’ve got a history of not listening to logic.”

“Like your logic of modern rock and roll being derived from bagpipes?”

“That one’s true, now,” Cody said. “Look it up. Elvis was a Scot.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, walking over to switch off the imager and the view of Stormwind’s face. It hurt, but today I would hold myself back.

A moment later, Mizzy poked her head into our room. “Hey,” she said. “Your girlfriend’s awake. Do you want to go smooch or—”

I was already on my way.





MEGAN was sitting up, holding a bottle of water in both hands, her back to the wall. I passed Abraham on my way in, and he nodded. According to his—admittedly limited—medical knowledge, she was fine. We’d unhooked the harmsway from her hours ago.

Megan gave me a wan smile and took a pull on her water bottle. The others left us alone, Abraham steering Cody away by the shoulder. I let out a long sigh of relief as I reached Megan. Despite Abraham’s assurances, a piece of me had been terrified she wouldn’t wake up. Yes, she could reincarnate if killed, but what if she didn’t die, just slipped into a coma?

She cocked an eyebrow at my obvious relief. “I feel,” she said, “like a barrel of green ducks at a Fourth of July parade.”

I cocked my head, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Good metaphor.”

“David. That was supposed to be nonsense…a joke.”

“Really? Because it makes perfect sense.” I gave her a kiss. “See, you feel healed, and that’s not right—like the ducks, thinking they’re out of place. But nobody’s truly out of place at a parade, so they simply fit in. Like you fit in here.”

“You’re absolutely mental,” she said as I settled down beside her, my arm around her shoulders.

“How do you feel?”

“Awful.”

“So the healing didn’t take?”

“It did,” she said, staring at the water bottle.

“Megan, it’s all right. Yes, the mission went awry. We lost Tia. We’re recovering from that. Moving forward.”

“I went dark, David,” she said softly. “Darker than I’ve been in a long time. Darker than when I killed Sam…darker than I’ve been since before meeting you.”

“You pulled out of it.”

“Barely,” she said, then glanced at her arm. “I was supposed to be past this. We were supposed to have figured it all out.”

I pulled her close, and she rested her head on my shoulder. I wished I knew what to say, but everything I thought of was stupid. She didn’t want false reassurances. She wanted answers.