Head Rush (9 page)

“Then how would you know he has one?” I ask.

Ez gets the look of an elf in headlights.

“Unless you tried to penetrate it?”

The awkward silence confirms it.

Ez tried to penetrate Otto’s energy dimension. I feel sick. “Were you trying to dream-invade my fiancé?”

Simon puts his hands on her shoulders. “Lay off her, Justine. Of course she reaches out.”

“Penetrating is more than reaching out. There’s only one reason Ez would try to penetrate…”

“She was cut off from all touch for years,” Simon interrupts. “Can you blame her for wanting to know she can fight Otto if she has to?”

“He trusted you enough to take your hand, and you tried to punch through and dream-invade him?”

“He only took my hand because he knew I couldn’t penetrate.”

“It was Stu who framed you for that crime, Ez, not Otto. Otto made an honest mistake.”

She twists up her lips. “I know. I know Stu framed me.”

“Then why?”

“Justine,” Shelby says, “Ez is dining in home of man who imprisoned her for three years. She needed to know she could link to him. Like sighting person with rifle.”

My heart pounds. “And you’re telling me Otto’s fielded himself, with a field so deep and so subtle that I can’t detect it?”

Ez turns up her palms. “Hey, I could be wrong.”

Except she doesn’t think she’s wrong. And Simon and Shelby don’t seem surprised.

I swallow down a pang of grief in the silence that follows, feeling suddenly and strangely alone.

“Justine, if you’re so curious, you could try penetrating him,” Simon says. “You don’t have to zing him. Just poke in and spelunk him again.”

I spin around, glaring. “How can you even suggest that?” Spelunking is a maneuver where you punch down inside another person’s dimension and actually merge into them.

“He’d never know. Just get in and out.”

“
I’d
know.”

“So?”

“It would be a violation of…everything.” Specifically, it would be like pulling a thread that would unravel our whole relationship, just when I need to trust again. I think back to how he felt inside when I spelunked him last year: cool, orderly, solid. But it was such a violation.

“Don’t you want to trust him fully?” Simon asks.

“Trust is a state of mind, but it’s also an
activity
,” I say. “A choice that you make. Trust is my choice.”

Just then, the door opens and Otto strolls in with a beaming Ally on his arm. “Look who I found coming off the elevator.”

Ally’s my jock friend—my rollerblading buddy and former coworker at the dress shop. She’s a big, blonde tomboy, and like most Midcitians, she idolizes Otto.

Otto. Secretly fielded. Could it be true?

I go to her and we hug in a big, jolly way. But then I meet Otto’s eyes over her shoulder, and I get this flash of unease that cuts clear to the bone.

He escorts us to a candlelit table, bantering with Ally, who’s on a tirade about the Felix Five.

Am I being paranoid? It wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world for Otto to figure out how to wrap himself in a secret personal force field—he does have powerful enemies, and the city
is
under siege, after all. He’d be protected from bullets as well as a highcap attack. Or disillusionist attack, for that matter. But why not tell me? And it’s not as if I can bring it up to him.

I slam a glass of champagne. Somebody’s not being honest.

Distractedly, I play the hostess as Otto and Kenzo deliver the crab. I exhort Otto to dine with us, but he reminds me he’s no bridesmaid. The crab is a huge hit. People praise Otto and Kenzo’s chefly genius.

My unease stays.

I try to focus on my party. Ez and Ally get along surprisingly well. Simon’s pushing it, as usual; his stories are starting to shock Ally, and I have to kick him under the table after one too-extreme anecdote about his losing everything he owns and then getting beaten up so badly he gets hospitalized. The last thing we need is for Ally to start looking at the bunch of us too hard.

I’m mostly worried about Shelby. She seems more sullen than normal.

Basically, I’m overwrought throughout the whole dinner. But then, I
am
getting married in two days! Maybe overwrought is natural.

Otto comes in later and takes the chair at the far end of the table, looking suave and sexy in the candlelight.

Ally asks him about the crime wave, and he pronounces it nearly handled. “Things always look messiest while you’re in the middle of cleaning.” He has lots of grand plans for the city after the curfew is over, and he updates us on one of his favorites: the new port that will replace the blighted docks up around Sailor’s Sweep. He paints his vision of how it will revitalize the north side, and he wants it to be a rich site of public art and interaction. My friends have fun making suggestions; even Shelby gets into it, though her jagged-glass park idea will probably not be implemented. Ez declares that there should be people acting like citizens from different historical periods of the city, mingling with the park-goers and having conversations about the leading concerns of their various eras.

Ally, who’s quite drunk now, thinks the Sailor’s Sweep tragedy of 1849 should be represented. In the Sailor’s Sweep tragedy, an empty ship crashed into the shore after a storm—it’s believed that a rogue wave swept all the men away into the ocean, though their bodies were never found. “We should have guys pose as the dead sailors in period sailor suits, crawling around on the boulders and scaring people.” Then she claps a hand over her mouth and turns to Shelby. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. Your man—I didn’t mean to remind you of—”

“Is only reminding when one forgets,” Shelby says.

It was on those lakeshore rocks that Avery died.

“I’m still sorry,” Ally says.

“Be sorry for killer of Avery,” Shelby says. “Because I will kill him slowly. And painfully.”

A hush falls, heavy as a sledgehammer.

“And I shall saw off his tongue with dull, serrated knife,” Shelby continues. “Then I will pierce his brains with ice pick through his eye. Then I will remove his heart and throw it to crows. He will wish he never lived, I promise you.”

Her hatred feels strangely intimate—an uncouth article of grief.

“Do you know where Packard is, Shelby?” Otto asks.

Shelby grits her teeth, hate flaring in her eyes. “Would I be here, do you imagine?” She tilts her head as she addresses him. “Do you think I would dedicate my life to destroying killer of Avery, as I have indeed done, and then squander opportunity to make him pay, just to dress up and have dinner?”

“He’ll be brought to justice,” Otto says. “Mark my words.”

“Do
you
know where he is?” she asks Otto.

I shoot her a warning look she doesn’t acknowledge.

“Not yet,” Otto says.

Shelby pushes wild rice around on her plate, fork clinking on the china.

Ally drains her wine and slams down the glass with such force I’m shocked it doesn’t break. “Well, if Police Chief Sanchez was still…” she looks confused. “I mean, if you were still Chief Sanchez, instead of Mayor Sanchez, you’da got the guy.” She squints at Otto. “Am I right, or am I right?”

“I can assure you,” Otto says, “Chief Sanchez is most definitely on this case.”

Ally nods. “There we go.”

Shelby’s fixated on the candle.

“Well, Shelby, we’re all glad you’re here,” Simon says.

She glowers up at this sentimental utterance.

“Because really,” Simon continues, “it’s gauche for the maid of honor to go on a murderous rampage in lieu of attending the bridesmaids’ dinner.”

Shelby snorts, eyes on the candle.

“And I should warn you,” Simon continues, “killers’ severed heads on posts are not acceptable as reception décor this season.”

Ez raises a finger and says, “Nor their intestines as streamers.”

“Nor fingers as finger food,” Simon adds.

“Yuck!” Ally’s waving her hands. “Yuck!”

Shelby wears a mysterious smile. Though she claims there’s no such thing as happiness, she does delight in this sort of talk.

I’m not finding it amusing. Sure, I saw him kill Avery, but the idea of Packard hurt or dead upsets me deeply. I know that’s why I called out when it was too little and too late yesterday—just enough to scare him, but not enough to get him caught. Why should I feel so protective of him?

I feel Otto observing me and I give him a quick smile. What does my detective see? I reach across and take his hand, smoothing my fingers over his. It really is outrageous that Ez thinks he has a secret personal force field.

“The crab was so delicious, so exquisite.”

“You said that already, my dear,” Otto says.

“And I might say it again.” I squeeze. His skin feels normal. His energy dimension feels normal. It would be easy to punch in and test him, but I won’t.

I shouldn’t!

Kenzo arrives with a carafe of coffee, plus creams and sugars, then he retreats. I make my coffee
cow brown
, as Packard used to say. Thinking of him saying that gives me a good feeling in my heart, and then I force myself to remember what he did. And then I tense up in fear, waiting for the cranial pain.
God! I’m so sick of myself.
My mind is like one of those snakes trying to eat their own tails.

“Justine!” Ally pokes me and I look where everyone else is looking—Kenzo is back, now with a pyramid of chocolate truffles on a tray.

“Oh my goodness!” I say. “Kenzo, will you marry me?”

“Oh no you don’t.” Otto comes over and stands behind me, gently places his hands on my shoulders, and kisses the top of my head. I put my hands over his.

Again I glide across his energy dimension. I could settle the whole question right this instant. Simon’s right—I could spelunk him. Really fast. In and out, though it’s a dangerous maneuver, because you risk getting trapped. Simon developed the technique, needless to say.

I trail my pale fingers over Otto’s dark knuckles. I could just burn a hole and slide in. Otto would never know.

I try to shake the idea out of my mind, but I can’t. Hell, maybe it would be better if I tested it. Just to remove the suspicion!

“We are so going rollerblading tomorrow,” Ally says. “The whole circuit. Bring your goggles; it’s going to snow more. Cleatskates.”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan.” I rub the backs of Otto’s hands, pressing them to my shoulders. I touch his energy dimension, the dimension that surrounds and pervades a person’s physical body; it’s cool, orderly. Could he really have fielded himself underneath? Right there, I decide I have to know. I tell myself it’s because of the way Packard abused my trust. But that’s just an excuse—I have to know, and before thinking about it any further, I use my focus to burn a tiny hole, just to see if I can. I’m gratified to burn through easily. Unfortunately, the fact I can burn a hole in his energy dimension doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a force field under there. I could make a hole in somebody’s sweater; it doesn’t mean they’re not wearing a bulletproof vest.

Ally’s talking about the last time we went rollerblading, how Max the bodyguard grumbled.

I push my awareness over the hole, readying myself to spelunk. You have to trick yourself into spelunking a person because it goes against human nature to join so deeply with another. It’s wrong on every level, what I’m about to do, and certainly not what a loving, trusting fiancée does. Nevertheless, I take a deep breath and start easing down into him, letting the separation between us dissolve.

But I just slip sideways over the surface.

I try again, with more intention this time, allowing myself to freefall.

Nothing.

I attempt to plunge in, outright, the way you might jump from a high dive into icy water, shoving aside all hesitation and simply going for it. Much to my shock, I’m blocked. I can’t jump in, punch in, plunge in, nothing.

My friends are right: my fiancé has surrounded himself with a powerful, protective field.

Ally extols the greatness of girl’s hockey. Otto chuckles warmly at some smart-alecky comment Ez makes. I rub his hands less tenderly.

Why wouldn’t he tell me? Generating a personal force field is a surprising and newsworthy enhancement of his powers.

I catch Simon watching from across the table. He knows what I just did—I can tell from his smug smile.

I look away. It’s all I can do not to tell him to go to hell, to send everybody home. How could Otto keep me in the dark?

Simon stands, raising his glass. “I want to thank our host and hostess for this wonderful dinner.” He grins at me, then at Otto, who is still standing behind me, still with his hands on my shoulders. “I’ve heard it said that trust is both a state of mind, and an activity.”

I bore into him with my eyes. I’m going to kill him.

He continues: “Or wait. Is it that trust is a state of mind? Whereas, the
lack
of trust is an activity?”

I swallow, betraying no emotion.

“Or is it that trust, like love, is a state of the heart? Yes, that’s it. And love is a state of the heart, but also, an
activity
. And quite an awesome one.” Ally and Ez snicker. Otto chuckles behind me. Simon continues: “With these wise words in mind, I want to wish our hosts, Otto and Justine, a happy future full of love and trust, and the right kind of activity.”

“Here, here,” Ally says. People clink glasses.

I look up at Otto and give him a smile I don’t feel. Then I level my smile at Simon, and this smile is one I do feel, and it’s definitely an activity, too—the activity of fist suppression.

Chapter Six

Soon after we finish our coffees, four police escorts arrive and suddenly everybody’s saying good-bye. I’d wanted to talk privately with Shelby, but apparently the police can’t wait around.

“Tomorrow,” she says.

I watch the elevator doors
clunk
shut. Otto comes up and stands beside me. “I think people had a nice time,” he says, winding his fingers in my hair.

“I hope.” I really want to confront him about this force field thing, but how?
Hey, Otto, my bridesmaid tried to penetrate your energy dimension and was blocked by a force field, and then I tried to spelunk you, and I couldn’t. What’s up with that?