Arc Angel (22 page)

Holding her hands behind her back like a child in a museum, Miranda inspected each of the images on the wall. There were a few that looked like early drafts of Arc Angel: a different costume in one, blonde hair in another. The largest framed print showed Arc Angel battling the Mystery Man, the master of illusion. Mystery Man had turned Arc Angel’s apartment into a battlefield, full of the bodies of her friends and former teammates. The picture captured Arc Angel in full battle cry, light exploding from her as she raged with grief. It had been an amazing arc, juxtaposing Arc Angel’s compassion with the power and strength she’d by that point become master of. It made Miranda’s heart hurt a little, just looking at it.

She dared a peek down at the drafting table itself. The table was the messiest thing she’d seen in the entire house, presumably because Matthews wasn’t allowed to touch it. Papers were strewn every which way, some crumpled or full of erase marks. Colored pencils had rolled down and collected in stacks at the lip of the table, and several erasers lay abandoned in the middle of the surface.

The largest eraser covered part of a sketch. The image was outlined in black—no color had been added yet. It seemed to be a body, lying on some rubble, though she couldn’t see the face. A small “The End” had been lettered in the corner.

Did she dare touch it? It was almost like defiling a shrine, but at the same time, how could she resist the chance to be the first person to see what happened next?

Holding her breath, she reached over and gingerly picked up the eraser, setting it down carefully a few inches over. And then she looked at the picture and couldn’t remember how to breathe.

It was a dead body, alright.

It was Arc Angel.

Miranda staggered away until the back of her legs bumped into Bryce’s bed, and she sank down onto it, clasping her trembling hands together.

He’d killed her.

Her head swirled with questions. Why? Everyone loved Arc Angel; she was his most popular character by far. The fans would riot when they saw this. Though who knew when that would be. The page wasn’t inked yet, but it looked complete. How much longer before it went to print?

Even more importantly, when had he drawn it? Before or after she’d become his character? Miranda snorted humorlessly. Which option would be better?

It would feel less personal if he’d done it before he met her, but that led to perhaps the most important question yet: why hadn’t he told her? They were supposed to be working together. Of course she hadn’t been completely forthcoming with him either, but she’d been busy getting attacked, talking to the police and having every element of her body analyzed. No way could his excuse be better than that.

Righteous indignation swelled up in her, bringing her off the bed and over to the bathroom door. She deserved an explanation, and she was going to get one, dammit.

She didn’t want to bother knocking. She wanted to simply push open the door and march inside. But years of deliberately not making a scene was a hard habit to break, and she stopped to rap at the door. Her brisk knock swung the door a few inches into the room, but nothing else happened.

So she knocked again, hard enough this time to push the door wide open. The water shut off.

“Dammit, Matthews, I said I don’t need to go to the doctor.” Bryce’s arm reached out and grabbed a towel off the rack. “Quit hovering like you’re my mother. I took a pill,” he yanked the shower curtain aside, “and I’m fine now, so—Miranda!”

After being physically rejected like she’d been downstairs, she’d assumed she’d feel only disgust for the man, but that wasn’t the case. His beauty crashed into her like the Incredible Hulk’s fist. Fortunately or unfortunately, Bryce had wrapped the towel around his hips before opening the curtain. Miranda’s temperature immediately jumped up a few degrees, the heat dripping down from her face to her neck and chest.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She waited for him to reject her again, to tell her to get away from him. Instead, Bryce stepped out of the tub and sank down onto its edge, closing his eyes. His bare shoulders lifted and lowered as he began to slowly inhale and exhale as if meditating.

As he sat breathing, Miranda’s brain whirred even faster. Some of her indignation had been startled out of her by his sudden reveal, and another chunk faded as she concentrated on the fact that this man was obviously hiding something else from her. Well, no more. It was answer time.

After a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Dammit, Miranda, you scared the hell out of me.”

She crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eye. “I think it’s about time you told me exactly what is going on.”

He looked at the wall to the left of her head instead of meeting her eyes. “What do you mean?”

She took another step into the room. “I mean the pills and the breathing.”

Bryce grabbed another towel off the rack and started drying his hair, looking anywhere but at her.

“So I take vitamins and do yoga. So do a lot of people. Big deal.”

She nodded, but kept going. “Sure. But what about that mention of going to the doctor you just let slip?”

Bryce tossed the second towel over the side of the tub and stood up. “It’s only something you say when someone’s hovering. It’s not like I seriously considered going to the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He stretched his arms above his head, showing off defined arm muscles and a hint of slim waist between his toned abs and the edge of his white towel. Miranda couldn’t help but react; her pulse leapt and her insides got all melty.

But after the immediate physical reaction, her brained kicked back into gear, analyzing the situation. First, why was he trying to attract her after he’d already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her? Second, if he was trying to be seductive, he should have had a lazy smile and bedroom eyes. He should have looked like he had downstairs, when they’d kissed. Instead his features were pinched and pale, despite his attempt at a grin. And finally, while she’d never actually seen him without his shirt on, she couldn’t help but think back to the videos she’d seen from his various fan events, and how… virile he used to look. He remained hot enough to turn heads, or at least hers, but something had definitely changed.

He lowered his arms and gestured to the door. “Could you hand me my robe? If I’m going to be interrogated, I should probably have more clothes on.” He set his hands on his hips, just above the edge of the fabric, emphasizing how low on his hips the towel hung.

Even a day ago, Miranda would have been so flustered by the sight, sound and smell of this man that she’d have turned tail and run, if she’d managed to avoid passing out first. But this Miranda was different. Stronger. And smarter. Maybe even smarter than him. And efficient enough to try to kill two birds with one stone.

Miranda turned and swung the door forward, snagging the light blue robe hanging on the back. Over her shoulder, she asked “Is that why you don’t go to comic conventions anymore? You’re too focused on your health? Are you a germaphobe now?”

She turned in time to see Bryce wince, but he covered, and his response rang with its usual bravado.

“I just got tired of them. I wanted more time to work on my craft, push myself to the next level. Can I have my robe?” He held out his right hand in a casual gesture.

Miranda held up the robe by the shoulders, opening it for him to put on. “So you devoted yourself to working on Arc Angel?”

He turned and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Miranda dropped her hands but stayed where she was, letting his clean scent and his lies waft over her.

“I do write several other characters, but Arc Angel has always been my top priority, as you well know.” He pulled the robe shut and belted it, only then letting his towel drop to the floor. “I wanted to see if I could come up with new and fresh stuff for her.”

He turned to face her, and she stepped forward, closing the space between then. She smoothed his already flat lapel and looked him straight in the eye.

“Like killing her?”

Bryce jerked himself out of her reach, and planted his feet in an aggressive stance. “What are you talking about? Where did you hear that?”

His scowl was so severe that Miranda almost took a step back, but instead she moved into a position mirroring his.

“I didn’t hear it anywhere, I saw it. On your drafting table. You killed her!”

“That’s private! You had no right to look at—”

“You had no right not to tell me! She’s not just a character anymore, Bryce. She’s me! And I deserve to know that you’ve killed me. I thought you wanted us to work together.”

“I do, dammit!”

“Then why are you keeping things from me? Not only the drawing, but your health. What’s going on with you? We can’t afford to keep secrets from each other. Not now. Not when all hell is breaking loose.” She’d held strong through the whole confrontation until that last line. She couldn’t stop the little quaver that hit her words when she thought about last night at the dry cleaners.

Bryce looked like he was about to launch himself into an attack, his muscles tensed and poised to spring. Instead, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled it on a sigh, visibly forcing himself to relax. Miranda wanted to be relieved, but his face looked so defeated and empty that her breath caught.

“You’re right. I haven’t been completely honest with you. And I think it’s time that I was.”

A glimmer of the old Bryce charm appeared in the twist of his lips as he added, “But do you think it could be somewhere other than my bathroom?”

Still wary, but relieved that he seemed to be acquiescing, she nodded and walked back into his bedroom. He followed and headed straight to his dresser, where he started pulling out clean clothes.

“I’ll just wait downstairs…” Miranda said, trying to edge her way out of the intimacy.

“I don’t mind if you stay. I trust you not to peek. Though I’d be okay if you did.”

As much as she wished she could trust the flirtation, Miranda knew now that it was simply part of his persona, nothing personal.

She managed her old half smile and closed the door behind her.

Over the span of three days, Bryce had rejected her, lied to her and played her for a fool. But instead of being furious, sadness hung over her like a grey rain cloud. Yet another way she and Arc Angel were polar opposites. Arc Angel would’ve zapped any guy who treated her that way. But as tempting as attacking the problem sounded right now, Miranda knew it wouldn’t fix the way she felt.

Chapter 17

She got to the bottom of the stairs and hesitated before turning toward the kitchen. She’d never been in most of the house’s numerous rooms, and she didn’t want to go anywhere unfamiliar. And she sure as hell wasn’t going back to the library. The first two visits there had already given her enough nightmare fodder to last her for years.

The kitchen, with its cheery color scheme and big sun-filled windows, had the fewest negative associations for her. The first thing she saw as she entered the room was a full French press on the counter. She picked up the note propped against it: Caffeinated.

Regardless of whether the nice gesture had come from Bryce or Matthews, she couldn’t help but grin. The tension winding through her gut loosened a notch, and she managed to take her first truly deep breath of the morning before pouring herself a mug of the surprise beverage.

She’d only had time for a couple of sips before Bryce appeared in the doorway looking fresh and clean in jeans and a green crewneck sweater. He flashed a wide white grin.

“Enjoying your gift? I think Matthews likes you.”

He walked to the regular coffeemaker and poured himself a mug from the pre-brewed pot. He looked down at it regretfully before taking a swig.

“Damn, I miss caffeine.”

Miranda blinked as another puzzle piece fell into place. The decaf, the super-nutritious food, Matthews’ omnipresence… they were all due to Bryce’s health issues.

“Well, there’s no need to eat standing up like heathens. My mother raised me better than that. Why don’t we grab some food and have a seat?”

Bryce loaded up his plate with pancakes from a warming pan and coated them liberally with a thick, mashed berry syrup. Miranda wasn’t hungry, but she grabbed a muffin that looked packed with at least 20 grains and joined Bryce at the breakfast bar.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Bryce neatly slicing and eating his pancakes with a knife and fork, Miranda picking at her muffin and managing to leave more crumbs on the table than in her mouth.

When he’d polished off most of his pancakes, Bryce took another drink of coffee and began.

“What do you want to hear about first, my health or Arc Angel? Though I admit the two are connected.”

Miranda suddenly dreaded hearing about either. Well, they should probably start with his baggage, before they moved on to the his-and-hers matching luggage.

“Your health.”

Bryce sighed and sat back in his chair.

“Alright. Let’s start with the facts. To say I have a heart condition would be a bit of an understatement. Unfortunately, I have several. I was born with Ebstein’s Anomaly, which is an abnormal tricuspid valve. By itself, if it’s only mild or moderate, it doesn’t have much of an effect, so my parents decided against surgery to correct it. Which would have been fine, except that three years ago, I developed another condition: Wolff-Parkinson-White disease. I don’t know how much you know about anatomy…”

Miranda shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. The only science class she’d taken was computer science.

“Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Your heart is basically plumbing and electricity. The plumbing is the structure and function of your heart. The heart has four chambers. The top two are the atria, the bottom two are the ventricles. The electricity is what makes the heart beat, which ultimately causes the plumbing to work by allowing the blood to pass between the top and bottom chambers and then out to your body. Every heart has a pacemaker in the top right chamber, the right atrium, and you need a conduction fiber, called the AV node to send the signal down to the pumping chambers, which are the ventricles.”