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“COME ON...COME ON.” Simon glanced nervously behind him, pulling up his collar against the rain. “Pick up, you bastard.”
For all its turn-of-the-century architecture and old-world ways, it turned out that Budapest and London had one thing in common. They were both littered in phone booths.
Simon looked around again, his eyes searching through the darkness for anyone who might be watching as the line on the other end rang and rang. He could almost picture it, echoing out in the dark catacombs, unheard by anyone except maybe little Gabriel, who Simon was fairly sure wasn’t allowed phone privileges. Not that the poor kid had anyone to call.
“Come on!” he said again, cursing through his teeth.
Perfect. The one time the guy doesn’t pick up.
He slammed the phone back down on the receiver but stayed in the box, pressing his fingers up against the rain-streaked glass as he tried to calm himself down.
It was too much of a coincidence not to be true.
For months and months, Cromfield was after this guy with a masterful tatù. One that could apparently make all the difference. Well, Simon had never seen ink as remarkably advanced as Jacob’s and, in terms of carrying out some master plan of world domination, he couldn’t think of a better person to have in your corner than a man who could predict the future. He had been hard to get to; Cromfield had been after the same one for months. But that made sense, too, didn’t it? Jacob had been back in London, spending every waking moment training with the Privy Council, under Jason Archer’s very nose. Not exactly the ideal place to snatch someone. Granted, the entire time Simon had thought the man in question was a hybrid, but it made sense that Cromfield would let him think that. Otherwise, with someone that powerful, there would have been a chance that Simon knew him. Otherwise, Simon would have asked who he was.
Both hands flew up against the glass to steady himself as Simon was suddenly caught in a full-body tremor. An echo of Cromfield’s last words echoed through his head, setting his teeth on edge and his blood on fire.
‘He’s still being processed...a little tougher to break than the others...’
What the hell was being done to him down in those dark dungeons? Locked in a cell and tortured while Simon was probably just a dozen yards away. In all likelihood he had actually walked past the door to Jacob’s cell, never knowing who was trapped on the other side.
A wave of anger coursed through his body, and before he knew what he was doing he’d slammed his fist through the glass paneling. A sharp pain shot through his knuckles as a torrent of wind swept inside. He blinked at his hand in shock, hardly registering either one.
How could I have let this happen? How could it have been Jacob all along? If I had known it was Jake—
But he stopped himself right there, unable to continue truthfully.
What? If he’d known it was Jake, he would have stopped it somehow? Marched down to Cromfield and said, “I know we’re experimenting on all the most talented tatùs, but obviously that doesn’t include my friends.” What the hell had he expected would happen? They wanted the best and the brightest. Guilder kids would naturally be top of the list. Had he really imagined it would be any different?
No, he thought with shame. I didn’t imagine it at all. I deliberately chose not to think about it. Distracting myself with the mindless adventures of the day.
Well, now his adventures had caught up with him. That fateful collision of worlds, the one he’d been dreading, had been brought right to his doorstep. And despite his best intentions, despite the great power he had himself, coursing through his arm...he had no idea what to do.
The three remaining walls of the phone booth seemed to close in around him. His breath caught anxiously in his throat, and before he knew what he was doing he found himself reaching out to dial a new set of numbers. So familiar, by this point, they were virtually muscle memory.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice was scratchy from being woken from a heavy sleep, but Simon didn’t care. He closed his eyes in sweet relief, leaning against the wet glass like he’d been given a sedative.
“Beth. Hi.”
Just saying her name was like a soothing balm. The only one in the world that had ever had any effect on him.
There was a rustle of sheets, and when she spoke again the words were sharper, almost a little worried. “Simon? Why are you calling so late? Is everything okay?”
Self-exiled to a phone booth on the banks of the Danube. Shards of glass embedded in his hand. One of his best friends in the world being tortured in a soundproof dungeon.
No. Everything was not okay.
“It’s fine,” Simon replied, his voice cracking. “What are you doing? Were you asleep, did I wake you?”
“It doesn’t matter, babe. What’s going—”
“How was your mission today?” he swiftly interrupted. He needed another distraction here, to escape into someone else’s world. Not his own. “Aren’t you in France?”
“Yeah,” she snorted sarcastically. “Hopefully for the first and last time.”
“What happened?” Simon asked, smiling in spite of himself. He could just picture her lying there, fiddling with her long raven hair. “Tell me.”
“Well, I spent most of my night standing outside in the rain behind a bar so that Jen could do a little table dancing.”
There was a pause. Simon’s smile widened.
“For the mission? Or for fun?”
Beth chuckled. “For the mission, thank the Maker. She was trying to get our mark drunk so we could steal his ID badge. But you know her, she got a little too into it.”
Simon laughed softly. That sounded like Jen.
“So anyway, I had to sneak in through the bathroom window just to get her out in time. But, of course, I forgot the blueprints entirely and accidently went in through the men’s...”
Simon closed his eyes and listened to her talk, purposely losing himself in the mesmerizing sound as the shadows that chased him were temporarily held at bay. It was amazing, the effect the sound of her voice had on him. Like it was the bright and brilliant part of his life. Full of peace, full of hope. For a second, he wished there was no ‘other part.’ No secret other side weighing him down. For a second, he wished that he could be like Tristan. Oblivious to the reason for Jacob’s absence, not complicit. For a second...
But I’m doing this FOR Beth, he reminded himself. I’m doing it for all of them. So that they can have a better future. So that none of us have to hide.
“—but enough about me,” she said suddenly. “What about you and Tris? Did you guys make it to Budapest okay? Any news yet on Jacob?”
Simon hung his head, as all at once all those shadows came rushing right back to meet him.
“Nothing yet,” he lied, picturing the etched letter on the calling card. Picturing the little boy, Julian, racing around his grandfather’s gallery. “We found his secret girlfriend, but that’s about it.”
“Secret girlfriend, huh? Well, that’s exciting.” Her enthusiasm dimmed abruptly. “I bet she’s freaking out right now, though. I know I would be if it was you.”
Simon bit his lip. “Yeah. She’s pretty upset.” There was another shooting pain through his hand, and all at once he didn’t want to be on the phone anymore. He didn’t want to be talking to Beth. A part of him felt like he didn’t deserve it. “Hey, listen—I’ve gotta go. But I’ll keep you posted if anything new comes up. Try to call you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure.” She stifled a tired yawn on the other end. “Stay safe, babe. And come home soon. I love you.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
He set the phone back in the receiver, wincing as a small shower of glass fell from the door behind him. Great. Just another tiny devastation he was leaving in his wake.
* * *
WHEN SIMON GOT BACK to the flat that night, he was dripping wet. Under normal circumstances this would have been a serious problem. It wasn’t easy to pull things past Tristan as it was, and the guy had already been keeping a closer eye than usual as of late. This unexplained absence would only add fuel to the fire. Not to mention his bloody hand.
But it only took a second to see that this was not at all ‘normal circumstances.’
Simon smelled the booze the instant he stepped over the threshold. At first, he thought he must have had the wrong flat. Tristan drank just like all the rest of them, but he only did it socially.
Never sitting by himself in the dark. Never with an entire bottle of whiskey.
“Simon?” Tristan’s voice was slurred and his eyes were blurry. A thin crimson trail lined the edges of them, and although Simon did nothing to test this he was fairly sure that—if asked—his friend would not have been able to stand, let alone walk in a straight line.
“Uh...hey, man.” He approached cautiously, watching his friend with uncertain eyes. No, this was certainly not Tristan’s go-to method of relaxation. In fact, Simon only thought he had seen him this drunk one time before and that incident had involved a trio of circus clowns at a carnival in Rio.
He took a seat at the other side of the table, glancing between the half-empty bottle and Tristan’s shaking hands. This might even beat the clowns.
“Simon Kerrigan,” Tristan said again. His eyes were hard, but his lips curved up with a hint of a smile. “You’re all wet.”
“Yeah,” Simon took off his jacket, unable to decide whether to laugh or be nervous, “it’s raining outside. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
A flash of lightning lit up the apartment, and Tristan smiled crookedly again. “I hadn’t.”
A steady drip of crimson dots followed Simon’s hand, and he was quick to stuff it under the table wrapped in a fistful of his shirt. Tristan didn’t notice that either. “So...what’s with the whiskey?”
Tristan looked up suddenly, flush with hospitality. “Do you want some?” He tried to pass the bottle, but tipped it over in the process. Simon was quick to catch it. “I got it down at that little market on the corner. There’s a chance I overpaid. How much is a thousand forints?”
Simon stifled a smile and eased the whiskey from his friend’s hands. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He poured himself a glass as well. “But seriously, man, you okay?”
Tristan didn’t answer for a long time. Instead he stared out the window, his bright eyes focusing on some abstract image in the rain. After a minute he tuned back in, swiping the bottle back with lightning speed and lifting it for another drink. “Sure. Right as rain.”
“Tris—”
“What? I can’t drink? We’re alone in the middle of Hungary, our best friend is hell-knows-where, and the only clue we have to find him is a fucking letter of the alphabet.” He took another indignant shot. “Why do I always have to be the responsible one?”
Simon backed off immediately, lifting his hands in surrender as he lifted the bottle and took a swig for himself. “Fair enough.”
They sat like that for a while, passing the quickly emptying bottle back and forth as the storm outside raged on. Tristan was already far past his limit. That was easy to see. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d been born with certain genetic gifts, he would have been passed out on the table.
Simon was catching up quickly, but he still had the presence of mind to strategize. And the lowered inhibitions to push perhaps harder than he should. “We found out that Jake has a kid, and you dismissed it like it was nothing.”
It was a stealth attack. One that caught Tristan completely off guard. He froze for a moment, eyes searching the table, before his face hardened slightly as he looked back up at Simon.
“So, what about you? You were probably just thrilled that it was a boy, so you could see what kind of ink he’s going to get.”
The words stung. It was an old wound between them. One that was continually reburied, but never ceased to reopen. That Simon cared more about abilities than he did people. It was the reason that Tristan had disliked him so much when he first came to school. The start to their year-long feud that had blossomed into such an unconventional friendship.
It was also, undeniably, true. With very few exceptions.
Simon lifted his chin, prepared to make his defenses, but Tristan was already past it. Simon had struck a nerve, bringing up the kid. In fact, the longer he stared at Tristan’s troubled face the more he thought he had unwittingly discovered the reason for the bottle.
“I don’t...” Tristan started, then tried again. “I would want a girl. So that there was a chance she wouldn’t get the ink.”
Simon stared at him. It was a shocking thing to say, but in a way he wasn’t surprised. Tristan was a victim of one of the things that Simon was working so hard to change. A victim of the secrecy, of the lies the Privy Council forced you to tell. The lies that ripped apart your family.
Sometimes, Simon wondered if that was the whole point. To isolate the young people before bringing them into the fold. Give them a new ‘family’ to ensure loyalty by first making sure that they could never go back to their old one. That their old one was fractured beyond repair.
In a way, it made a hell of a lot of sense that Tristan would want a girl. While he’d still have to lie to her, she’d never be forced to carry the weight of the secret herself. Never have to hide. Well, probably not.
Then again...all that magnificent ink would be wasted.
But all that being said, Simon had no idea why it was hitting Tristan so hard now. Was he really just that worried for Jake? Was it the added pressure now of returning a father to his child?
Knowing Tristan, that would make sense. The guy had an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. It was one of the things Simon loved about him, but was also constantly working to undermine. Still... that didn’t explain the drinking. Or his increasingly cagey behavior.
“Tris...” He slid the bottle just out of reach, forcing Tristan to look at him. “Tell me what’s going on. I know something is. You haven’t been yourself for months. What is it? You can tell me.”
By now Tristan’s face was shock-white. Ironically, it only emphasized the constant dark circles under his eyes even more. Dark circles that Simon realized had been there now for months and months. He looked like a man about to break, but after searching Simon’s face for only a split second he looked down and shook his head.
“No, it’s nothing,” he slurred quietly. “I’m just stressed with work—”
Simon didn’t buy it for an instant. Top secret break-ins and weekly grand larceny weren’t the kinds of things that would stress his friend. This was something deeper. Something personal.
“Come on. Don’t bullshit me. Let me help you.” A sudden burst of illumination hit Simon hard and he leaned forward comfortingly. “I know things are serious with Mary...you want to tell her, don’t you? Is that it? Because you know I wouldn’t stop you—”
Tristan leapt suddenly to his feet, changing the subject with all the grace of a battering ram. “I want to go out!”
Simon blinked in surprise for a second before a reluctant grin spread across his face. They might be opposite sides of a coin, but this was why he and Tristan were friends. Bouts of dark contemplation, interrupted with bursts of evasive whimsy. He couldn’t help it. He had to smile.
Then he stood up quickly, catching Tristan by the shoulders as he swayed precariously towards the floor. “No, I think you’ve had plenty. How about you and me call it a night, huh?”
“Come on, Simon!” Tristan begged, wrenching himself free. “You were the one who was all like, ‘we’re in Budapest—where’s your sense of adventure!’ Those were your exact words.”
His impression of Simon was ludicrous at best, and Simon couldn’t help but chuckle as he gauged the drunkenness in his friend’s eyes. Yes—he was in no condition to go out. But yes—going out might be exactly what the doctor ordered. Not to mention, by their standards it was still relatively early. What the hell else were they supposed to do, stranded in the middle of Hungary?
Tristan saw him waver, and his face lit up with a huge grin. “Yes! There’s a bar down the street. Let’s go!”
“Hold on there, turbo.” Simon caught him again as he headed to the door. “Let’s just have a quick review, shall we? No powers in public. No talking about powers in public. No matter how drunk you are, keep your mouth shut. You got it?” There was an ironic pause, then he shook his head in disgust. “Shit! Now you’re making me the responsible one. How did that happen?”
Tristan smirked. “Sucks, doesn’t it.”
“Tris—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m not a child.”
Simon watched with pursed lips as Tristan tried his best to force his jacket on backwards, battling with the zipper before tearing the whole thing in half.
“This is a bad idea...”
“Come on, Simon!” Tristan called as he bounded out the door. “Buddy system!”
