tight around a glassy ledge. Raindrops sting my face, the October breeze chilled with the promise of winter. My hair blows wild. I grit my teeth and climb. My feet slip on the glass. Only seconds now, until the weapon goes off…
Dad calling my name, his shadows curling…
…silvery metal glints in the spotlights, a glass canister of poison gas on a cell phone timer. It's an aerosol weapon, ionized particles for maximum adhesion. The building is fifty-six stories high. From this altitude, the poison will spread rapidly, blanketing the city center within minutes. Maximum loss of life. Not a moment to lose. My hands shake. I reach for it, grasping…
…don't hurt her… last chance…
Something slams into my face, and I fall into iron-strong hands. Coiled lightning whips an inch from my cheek, searing me. I struggle, blood streaming into my eyes, but it's no use. They grab my legs, my arms, wrap a fist in my hair. I'm taken…
"Verity, stay with me." Adonis gripped my shoulders, dragging me from the shattered mess of my mind. His cool fingers stroked my face. "My God. What happened to you?"
I throttled down a scream, and forced my eyes open, willing the nightmare to leave me be.
BURN IT ALL. Razorfire, archvillain, wielder of flame and poison. My nemesis. Hell, that raging psycho was everyone's nemesis. Ruthless, rage-riddled, driven by indomitable conviction that he was smarter and stronger and better entitled to be alive than everyone else. But us augmented folks at least rated a fight and a wise-ass remark or two while he preached his hatred. Regular people weren't even fit to breathe the same air.
I'd crippled his weapon at the last second, stopped his insane poison plan. But I hadn't gotten away clean. Oh, no. I'd swallowed the full, sick force of his vengeance. Three endless weeks in that mediaeval torture chamber…
Adonis shook me gently. "Listen to me. Stay with me. What did they do to you?"
"What happened?" I gasped, blood trickling hot from my nose. "That night. Tell me. Did he… did Razorfire…?"
"He got away, Verity!" Adonis's words cracked like whip leather. "Don't you remember? We looked everywhere for you."
"They locked me up!" My scream broke, glass shattering on iron. I twisted from my brother's grip. "They bolted my head in augmentium so I couldn't do anything, and they tortured me. There was no point to it. They didn't ask me any questions. They just…"
Adonis stared, pale. He'd cut his hair, I noticed, and grown a short beard. Since when?
"Don’t stare at me like that! Why didn't you come for me?" Hot liquid rage welled in my eyes. I knew it wasn't Adonis's fault. Razorfire was clever. He'd hidden me well.
But that didn't quench my anger. And I couldn't bear my brother's silence. I needed him to talk to me, to prove I existed in the real world, and not just in a rusty white cell, or the broken wasteland of a tortured mind. "You left me there," I accused, shaking. "You left me in that forsaken place—"
"Everyone thought you were dead." The dimple in his handsome chin tightened. He was just as furious. "You were gone so long, and we looked everywhere…"
"So long? You gave up pretty damn fast. It's only been three weeks!"
Adonis eyed me, incredulous. "Three weeks? Verity, it's July."
My vision doubled. "Huh?"
"It's July. You've been gone for over nine months."
Flame flashes, the dark depths of a pit, the agony in my head flaring like a supernova…
I swallowed, sour. "Th–that can't be right. I counted. It was only…"
Oh, shit.
I stalked to his computer, and swiped the screen to wake it up. The date glared at me like an evil eye from the top corner. July 12th. I scrabbled through the glossy marketing magazines on his desk. June issue, a year I thought hadn't yet begun. The Financial Times, July 12th, the Dow Jones down again, the new deutschmark tumbling, riots in Zurich, some crisis in Chinese fusion energy production.
The sweat slicking my forehead suddenly taunted me, cackling in my head like a witch. Stupid me, I'd thought the warmth unseasonable. Evil laughter, clanging in my ears, metal clamps grinding tighter and tighter…
Panicked, I sucked in air, hyperventilating, the taste of rust invading my lungs, stewed apples, my bitter medication, the saccharine moisture of Frank's breath…
"I am so sorry, Verity." Adonis's face was wan with shock. "If I'd known, I never would have… Hey, easy. It's all right." He stilled my twitching hands, tried to make me sit. "I'm just happy you're alive. Let's get you a shower and some food and we can talk."
My tired body whimpered in response. Food sounded great. A shower, even better. But I didn't have time for comforts. "Look, I just need to talk to Dad. He can sort this out. I've lost my cell phone, my memory's a bit hazy, can you…?"
My brother's gaze blackened like a thundercloud.
"What?" The word parched my throat.
"Don't you remember?"
My pulse squirted cold. "What? Tell me!"
“Dad’s gone, Vee.” His eyes glittered, sky-blue to the brim with anguish and rage. “The night you were caught. He tried to help you, and Razorfire killed him.”
I must have fainted, because next thing I knew, I woke in Adonis's bedroom, with sunlight pouring in the window. His red feather quilt was tucked around me. I groaned, and rolled over. A pair of black lacy panties scrunched under the pillow. They weren't mine. Apparently some things hadn't changed.
From the next room, I could hear Adonis, arguing on the phone. His closet lay open, the mirrored door pushed aside to reveal tailored suits, expensive knitted sweaters, soft leather jackets, perfect shoes. Sharp fashion sense was another trait of Dad's that I'd somehow missed out on. I was a T-shirt-and-favorite-jeans kinda girl, and with a pang of dread, I wondered what had happened to all my stuff after nine months. Had they kept my apartment? My clothes? My costumes?
I levered myself out of bed, a mess of headache and bruises and broken heart. Enough feeling sorry for myself. Time to get back to work. I hadn't forgotten that Dad was dead because of me. Murdered. Razorfire's sweet-sick revenge.
But mine, I vowed, would be sweeter still. Adonis and I would see to that. Thomas Fortune wasn't an affectionate father. More the aloof, practical type. But he'd loved us. Trusted us. Treated us as equals. I didn't know how Adonis had been running things at FortuneCorp while I was gone, but I knew I wouldn't let Dad's murder go unpunished. No way.
I still wore my greasy hoodie and jeans, and they stank real bad. I peeled them off and stumbled under the shower. At the first flush of hot water, I shivered in bliss. I'd forgotten what it felt like, clean water flooding my skin, sloshing through my filthy hair. Dirt swirled over the rough creamy tiles and down the drain.
The welts on my skin stung, but I polished off half a bar of Adonis's musk-scented soap and three handfuls of shampoo before I was satisfied. Still, I'd have to squeeze in a rare visit to the salon. I'm not a beauty-product girl—not much point—but I could really use a manicure, not to mention a wax. I twisted the water off and stepped out onto the mat, and the misted mirror reflected my face.
I froze, towel halfway to my dripping hair. Leaned closer. Slowly wiped the mirror clean.
A horrid sickle-shaped scar curled over my left cheek, from my temple to the side of my nose. The skin there was seared away, replaced with shiny red scar tissue. Half my eyebrow had burned away for good. My cheekbone was dented, and when I touched it, it ached faintly, the echo of something lost.
Christ on a cracker.