Pack of Lies. Laura Anne Gilman
why, every now and again, the entire power grid went dark, because some nitwit Talent had pulled too much, too hard. Bad enough to short out your own electronics. Taking down the grid got you Idiot Hall of Fame status.
“Bonnie …”
I smiled up at him, as innocent a look as I could manage, and he gave up. “I’ll send you home, but you have to promise to recharge, all right?”
I held up my hand in solemn oath, and he believed me.
J was a master craftsman: he dropped me neatly into the middle of my living space, with only a slight wooziness that passed with a blink and refocusing. I sat down on the nearest love seat and did another quick check of my core. Mmm. All right, yeah. There wasn’t anything nearby that would give me a full soak, but I could fix the immediate damage, at least.
I sank into a half fugue, and siphoned off a thin trickle, not from my own building, but the newer, nicer one across the street. They had cleaner wiring, so I was less likely to cause a burp in their service, or fry someone’s computer. I’d do better this week, when I had time to hunt down a stronger source.
The recharge took care of the wobblies, enough that I could have gone through my normal bedtime routine. Instead, I stayed where I was. Talking to J had helped, the way it always did—that was what a mentor did, once they finished kicking you into shape—but I still felt worn down. Was it just this case hitting me hard? Or was it the job itself? Was I not hacking it? The thought scared me more than anything else ever had.
I loved this job. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t wash out.
At that moment I wished that I had a dog. Or a cat, or even a gerbil. Something I could pet when I came home, and cuddle, and know that it loved me. Okay, maybe not a gerbil. Rodents were nasty. But a cat, maybe. A cat would be good.
I’d never had a pet before; there was only room for one animal in J’s apartment and Rupert was it, in no uncertain terms.
“Worry about a cat later,” I told myself, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “If one is meant to come, it’ll come. Isn’t that how cats worked?” I yawned, aware that, even recharged, my brain was getting fuzzy. I should go to bed. Should. Yeah. Right.
Even though I love my loft bed—it’s big enough for two, comfortable enough to live in, and sturdy enough for a pillow fight, or any other kind of energetic activity—the thought of climbing up there right now was too much effort. It wasn’t just the current-drain, or even the emotional seesaw I’d been riding. We’d been pushing hard, the organ-leggers case and now this, with no real downtime between. Was this what it was going to be like once we convinced the naysayers, and cases came on a regular basis?
The thought both thrilled and horrified me.
I ended up dozing on and off, curled up on the sofa, instead. I woke up a few times during the night, once from a dream of a large black cat sleeping on my chest, and then again when a truck rumbling by set off a series of car alarms down on the street, and then finally overslept, waking up only when the sound of kids on the street outside wormed their way into my consciousness.
Oh, fuck. I wasn’t late—yet. But there was no time for my usual putter-around-the-apartment wake-up routine. A fast shower got me clean, and a rummage in my closet resulted in an easy-to-manage outfit of long black skirt, leggings, and black cotton sweater over my lace-up stompy boots. I managed to make it out the door by ten after seven, feeling like crap, but still on time. Thank god we didn’t have a particular dress code.
Manhattan in the morning is a living stream of purpose; everyone’s got a place to be and a problem on their mind. That doesn’t mean it’s an unfriendly place—just busy and preoccupied. Personally, I love it. I’m a social creature but there are times and places you just don’t want to do more than grunt at your fellow human being.
This morning, though, my usual comfort level was replaced by something a lot less … comfortable. Walking to the station, and standing on the platform waiting for my train, I was acutely aware of everyone around me, not in the usual “get your elbow/cell phone/coffee away from me” sense but judging distances, evaluating body language, watching anyone who got too close … specifically anyone male.
Huh. It wasn’t that I didn’t do this sort of thing all the time. You have to, wherever you are. It’s just basic common sense and security, and when you’re being trained to observe and detect, that goes into overdrive. But normally it was background processing, something I did without being really aware, unless a warning signal pinged my forebrain. Today … it was all front-and-center consciousness, and very much focused on gender. The difference was like between healthy skin and abraded flesh. Every whisper of touch, every possible glance from a stranger, made me shudder in almost physical discomfort.
It wasn’t worse than the cold numbness of yesterday, but it sure as hell wasn’t better, either. What the fuck was going on?
I managed to clamp down on it long enough to get on the arriving train without screaming or snarling at anyone. Once on, I slipped and slid my way into an empty seat at the far end of the car, between a young Asian woman in a suit, eyes closed as though she were sleeping, and a large, middle-aged black woman with a bundle of knitting in her hands. She radiated a don’t-mess-with-me-this-morning attitude that was soothing.
I exhaled, forcing myself to calm down. The car was full but not packed, and there was actually enough room that people weren’t in each other’s personal space, which always made for a more relaxed atmosphere. I had a book in my kit, but it didn’t feel like a reading morning. I looked down, and only then noticed that in my rush I’d put on mismatched socks. Great. My fashion style was a little on the fashion-risk side sometimes, but that was going to be tough to carry off as intentional. I pushed the brown one down into the ankle of my boots and closed my eyes instead, trying to get into work mindset.
Usually it wasn’t a problem. While I’m not a morning person, the hum of the subway’s electrical power and the jolting of the train typically eased me into the day, while the promise of a puzzle—either a training session exercise or, as now, an actual job—to chew on got my brain to agree to function.
But this case … Damn it, I was the one who stayed cool. But my brain wasn’t cooperating, even after a night’s sleep and a recharging hit, so I couldn’t blame it entirely on exhaustion.
It couldn’t be the job itself: we had all the answers already. All we had to do was organize and present the evidence. But I needed to be in a nicely grounded state of mind to do that kind of sorting and organizing, and it wasn’t happening, even after spending time with J. The sleeplessness, the raw nerves, and the lack of ability to dress myself decently were all warning signs that I was off-kilter, still. The unease, the cold numbness, the discomfort within my own skin … not good.
When I forced myself to look at the emotional side, rather than the facts, it was—duh—obvious. The girl, what had happened to her. It was tough for me to see what happened to her as a puzzle to be solved, a question to be answered, and nothing more.
I tried to focus again on the hum of current in the third rail, letting it trickle into me like bittersweet honey. That helped, but the tinny crap music pumping out way too loud through the ear-buds of the guy standing in front of me was seriously annoying, and I almost wished that I had a cup of coffee just so I could accidentally-on-purpose slosh some over his expensive sneakers. When the sound suddenly spluttered and died—I suspected that another Talent in the car had taken offense and sporked him—it cheered me significantly.
Small revenge is large comfort, some days.
Between that and the hum of current, by the time the train dumped me out at my stop, my mood was better and my nerves under control. I tromped up the stairs, enjoying the ringing noise my boots made in the stairwell because some days I really am seven, pushed open the office door, and headed directly for the coffeemaker, shedding my coat as I went.
“Hey, girl.”
“‘Morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned over to see what Nifty was doing with the