“You weren’t here last night.”
“My last night. Thirty-five days ago. We had a meeting here when you were dead. How did you do it? Really, it’s not so much to ask. I just said ‘when you were dead.’ I know that happens, that you die and come back, as if that’s not a huge, sacred secret. I’m not even asking you how. I’m not asking a single thing about you. Nor am I asking you anything about Dageus. You can keep all those secrets and I’ll never bother you about them again. But I want to know how you were able to keep someone who was mortally injured from dying.”
He stared down at me a moment then turned away, stalked to the wall and stared out through the glass at the shadowy, empty, silent clubs below.
His shoulders were rigidly contracted, muscles bunching, and the tension in his spine held him as formal as a soldier in full dress uniform. As I watched him, I was startled and a little irked to see him implementing one of my own tactics—the tension began to vanish, starting at eye level. I frowned, wondering if I’d noticed him doing it years ago and copied it from him. I thought I’d invented it. I’d liked thinking I invented it.
Only when he was smoothly muscled as a lazing lion did he turn and say, “Who’s hurt that you want me to save?”
I assessed him in silence. I knew why I’d worked so hard preparing my speech. I didn’t believe he’d help me. Why would he? He’d never liked Dancer. “It’s not an issue of hurt so much as it is…well, if someone had a bad heart, could you fix it?”
He narrowed his eyes and stared at me as if trying to pluck the name from my brain, so I began mentally singing the theme song from Animaniacs that I loved so much when I was a kid, really loud on the top of my brain. It always put me in a great mood. It didn’t this time. It’s time for Animaniacs, and we’re zany to the max, so just sit back and relax, you’ll laugh till you collapse, we’re ANIMANIACS!
His eyes narrowed to slits. “What the fuck are Animaniacs?”
I scowled. “I knew you did that to me. You used to do it all the time, poke around in my head for stuff I didn’t feel like telling you. You said you wouldn’t do it anymore.”
“I said, precisely, that I wouldn’t do it much. Who has a bad heart?”
I dropped back down into the chair and stared up at him. “Dancer,” I said flatly.
He exploded, “What?” and just stared at me for, like, a whole minute. Finally he said, “Are you bloody kidding me? How bad is it? Is it something he could die from? Soon?”
I propped my elbow on my knee, made a fist, propped my chin on top of that and glared at him. “You mean, like, before he solves the problem you need him to solve? That’s all you’re worried about. Yes. He could. He has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. The heart condition that drops athletes like a stone on the basketball court.”
He stared at me, expressionless, for a long moment then said, “But he looks so healthy.”
“So do all those athletes that die on the playing field,” I replied coolly. “So? Can you?”
He turned back to the wall and stared out through the glass again. I waited in silence. No point in trying to rush Ryodan. He was a megaton warship that set sail when it was good and ready.
When he finally turned back around, my heart sank like a stone. His silver eyes were cold, remote.
“Can’t. Or. Won’t?” I snarled.
“Ah, Jada. Can’t.”
“Bullshit! How did you save Dageus?” I demanded.
He returned to his chair, sat down, steepled his fingers, and studied them. “I can’t tell you that,” he said to his hands. Then he glanced at me and said softly, “If there was a way I could help him, I would. And not because I need his help. Because you care about him.”
“Don’t be nice to me,” I snapped.
His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “Christ, aren’t we past this? Did I only imagine that you and I reached a new phase in—”
“What? Our relationship? Dude, people like you don’t have relationships. They have…they have…cartels and monopolies and kingdoms and, and…” I couldn’t think of another word. Actually, the problem was I couldn’t think. Not with my usual cool aplomb. “…slaves,” I hissed.
He gave me an exasperated look. “Dani, you know better than that.”
“Mac gets to call me Dani. You don’t. And no, I don’t. You’re always manipulating and pushing people around and trying to control them and—Hey! Get off me. What are you doing?” He was around the damn desk and had his hands on my shoulders again. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I snarled.
He shook me, not hard, more a shake of impatience and frustration and a kind of Get a grip, Mega.
“Let it go, Jada. Just let it go,” he said roughly.
“That Dancer could die?” I yelled. “You want me to just let that go? Oh, I get it. You think I should just take him out with last night’s trash because he’s going to die and it’s smarter to stop caring about him right now so it doesn’t hurt as much when he does!”