The Last Adventure of Constance Verity (24 page)

“It wasn't wrong,” said Tia. “But thanks anyway. So, how's the ordinary life going?”

“Not so ordinary.”

Tia said, “Want to talk about it? I'll grab a wine cooler and a beer.”

“Thanks. I missed you.”

Tia smiled. “I missed you, too. Not just the adventures, either. Although I was beginning to realize I'd never be kidnapped by pirates again.”

“I thought you were sick of pirates.”

“The normal kind, sure, but I have a fondness for the singing kind. Dashing and swarthy and full of good cheer and honor of the sea. It was more like a themed cruise than a kidnapping. And I thought, how the hell is that going to ever happen again without Connie in my life?”

She smiled at the memory. Sometimes, being a cosmic maguffin had its perks. It had helped that Tia had a strong singing voice, and that the crew of the Cursed Melody had been in need of a solid mezzo-soprano. She'd fallen in love with the incorrigible Captain Sullivan and even considered sailing with him into the sunset. But after a while, all the shanties ran together. And the rum. So much rum.

She completed her thought aloud. “And the bodices. Don't even get me started on the bodices.”

By the time Sullivan had revealed that he and his men were were-eels and that Tia was to serve as their were-eel queen, she was already pretty sick of it.

It'd been a nice dream while it lasted.

Connie and Tia caught up over a beer and wine cooler.
Tia was less interested in cosmic secrets than in Byron.

“You're going to give it a try?” she asked.

“I think so. I can't keep messing with the guy. He's too nice. Doesn't deserve that.”

“Sounds boring,” said Tia with a grin.

“He's ordinary. Not boring.”

“There's a difference?”

“For me, there is. I'm worried I'll screw it up, though.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Tia. “But we usually screw these things up. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don't know. Try not to screw it up.”

“Not Byron. About your extraordinary life.”

“Not sure. I thought I was out, but there's apparently more to be done,” said Connie, “and I want you to do it with me.”

“Maybe I should sit this one out.”

“You're my sidekick.”

“Hardly. I'm always getting into trouble, taken hostage. I don't do anything. I'm lucky to be alive, really.”

“What are you talking about? You saved me from Thelma the dragon.”

“You would've saved yourself.”

“Oh, no, I definitely would've eaten her if you hadn't been there,” said Thelma.

“Why do you want me along, anyway?” asked Tia.

“There's a dynamic,” said Connie. “You don't make it far in the adventuring game as a lone wolf. Even the Lone Ranger had a partner.”

“There have to be better candidates,” said Tia.

“The truth, then?” Connie sighed. “All right. I'm good at what I do, but most of the big stuff I've done, I've played second banana. I wouldn't call myself a sidekick, but I've been one as often than not. Everything I can do, I know someone who can do it ten times better.

“I know what it's like to be overshadowed by extraordinary people, to doubt yourself and your abilities, to wonder if you're good enough.

“I could make some calls and get someone else. I know plenty of people who could help me deal with this, but then I'll likely end up in the passenger's seat while someone else solves the problem. I don't want someone else to solve this problem.”

Tia chuckled. “You want me because I'm not special enough to steal the spotlight. I'm so boring, you don't have to worry about me becoming the hero.”

“That's not what I said,” replied Connie.

“Sounded like that to me,” said Thelma.

“I never said you were boring.”

“Look at this place.” Tia gestured at her living room. It was nicely decorated, but there was nothing exceptional or unique about it. It was only a living room, serviceable but unremarkable. “It screams boring and replaceable.”

She knocked a lamp over. It broke on the floor. It didn't matter. She could always buy another one.

Connie said, “Tia, you're many things, but you aren't
replaceable. And I need you because you're the person who I can trust to watch my back.”

“I'm still trying to figure out what you want to do.”

“Me, too. I know I don't want to be a regular person, but I also know I don't want to always have to be an adventurer, too. But I can't help but think that there's more to be done. If I walk away now, I'm leaving it unfinished.

“The first step is to get the caretaker spell back. The rest . . . I'm just winging it. But I'd feel better if you were there with me. I won't lie to you. You'll probably end up kidnapped at some point, hanging from a cliff. But I'll be there to save you. It's what I do.”

Tia laughed. “I can't believe I'm considering this.”

“I can't rush headlong into danger without my trusty sidekick. That's just asking for trouble.”

Tia shook her head. “What the hell? I still have a few vacation days saved up, and it's not like I'm doing anything interesting.”

“That's my girl.”

They clinked their beer and wine cooler together.

Connie said, “Let's go fix and/or break the goddamn universe.”

L
ucas Harrison sat in his lonely apartment. It wasn't much to look at. He didn't spend much time there. The sparse furnishings were limited to a living room set he'd ordered out of a catalogue and a bed he rarely slept in.

It wasn't his job that kept him busy. Monitoring Constance for his mysterious masters wasn't difficult work. Nor was much expected from him as a member of the secret society he'd joined. It'd worked exactly as promised. Harrison had risen through the ranks of a nameless government agency, serving more as a bureaucrat than a secret agent, without much effort on his part. He followed orders, not knowing where those orders came from or why he followed them. He'd learned a few things here and there. Secrets he wasn't cleared for. Almost all of them by accident, because he wasn't the sort to seek out mysteries.

He'd followed orders, and promotion came. He'd spent his entire life avoiding responsibility, and it'd worked out well for
him. He didn't take chances, but he didn't screw up, either. Nobody had anything bad to say about Lucas Harrison. Not his agency bosses. Not his secret masters. Although if they did, he wouldn't have cared enough to find out.

Those decisions he'd made and those many more he'd not made had led him here, to a dark, gray apartment with a beer in one hand and a TV remote in the other. The batteries had died in the remote, and he stared at the blank TV screen across the room. There wasn't any point in turning it on.

He'd seen too much. He knew just enough to realize how fucking pointless it all was. Everyone lived with the illusion of control, but they were all just part of the Engine. He was a cog or a spring. Or a screw or a bolt. Something helping to hold the whole indifferent contraption together but nothing so dynamic as a moving part.

It hadn't bothered him for years. He'd found some comfort in it. Existence was a great grinding device, and every part did its job. Every part had no choice but to do its job.

But then he'd learned the truth. He'd stumbled across a few secrets, and despite a lifetime of habits, he'd sought out more. He still didn't understand most of it, but he understood enough. There was no point to it. Not for him. Maybe everything did have a grand purpose, but he didn't. He'd thought, foolishly, that perhaps his job was to convince Verity to do what needed to be done, but even that had been a waste of time.

He wasn't the first guy to discover he'd thrown his life away too late to fix the problem. He'd hoped Verity would
help him the same way she helped others. In the end, even she'd been unable to.

People milled around outside his front door. They'd finally come for him. He thought about running for it, but there wasn't a point. He chugged down the last of his beer, dropped the bottle, watched it roll around in lazy circles on the floor.

“Fuck it.”

The front door opened. They had a key. Why wouldn't they?

Four agents in gray suits and dark sunglasses marched into his apartment. They were almost identical. Same haircut. Same square jaws. Same wrinkle-free suits. One was a woman, but it was difficult to tell at a glance. Harrison had seen their type before. Government issue. He assumed they were manufactured in a factory somewhere. Probably outsourced to China. He imagined a small Asian woman fixing their ties in place, and it made him smile.

“Hello,” he said.

The agents surrounded the chair.

“Light switch is over there.” He nodded to the wall. “But you probably already knew that.”

They didn't turn on the lights. He wondered how they could see at all in the dark with those sunglasses on.

“You've been talking to Constance Verity,” said the lead agent. Harrison assumed this agent was the lead, though they were interchangeable.

“That's my job, isn't it? Keep tabs on her. File reports.” He saluted. “Like a good little bolt.”

“You have compromised the integrity of this operation.”

“Screw this operation,” said Harrison. “Do you even know what the operation is?”

The question bounced off the agents' bulletproof professionalism. If there was a Great Engine, then these were the type of people content to be part of it. They never thought beyond orders. They never wondered. They never deviated. They were never dissatisfied. They weren't built like that.

He envied them.

“I won't do it again,” he said. “I swear by the Council.”

“What Council?” asked the woman, though her voice was nearly identical to the lead's.

“Oh, I'm sure there's a fucking Council. There always is.”

“We need the files,” said the lead.

“What files?” asked Harrison with insincere innocence.

The agents started tearing his place apart while the lead kept an eye on Harrison.

“It's all lies, y'know,” he said. “Most of it. Some of it. I don't know how much, but I know it's enough. But you don't care, do you? Why should you? Why should anyone? There are just the lies underneath the lies we tell ourselves.”

The lead said nothing. Didn't twitch a muscle.

Harrison loosened his tie. “I don't suppose I could trouble you for another beer?”

“The files, where are they?” asked the lead. “The documents aren't any good to anyone.”

“Then why do you want them?”

The agent frowned very, very slightly, as if processing a foreign language.

“Right. Orders,” said Harrison. “They're right. The files aren't any good. Not to me. Not to you. Not to anyone you work for. But I thought—no, I hoped—they'd be useful to somebody. But she's out of the equation. Or in it. Whatever. It was a stupid hope, anyway.”

“Tell us where you've hidden them,” said the agent.

“It's pointless, all of it, but if you and your Council of Shadowy Masterminds want them, then I think I'd rather keep them. Consider it a fuck-you to the universe. Not to you personally. I don't have anything against you.”

Harrison smacked his dry lips. He could go for another beer, but that wasn't happening.

“Is this the part where you threaten to torture me?”

The lead drew his weapon and pointed the pistol between Harrison's eyes. “Unnecessary. We'll find them.”

Harrison stared down the barrel and sneered. “Just do it already.”

Somebody knocked on his door.

The lead put a finger to his lips.

“Somebody order a pizza?” asked a gruff voice.

The lead shook his head at Harrison, indicating he was supposed to send the pizza boy away. He did, not to save his own life but to save the delivery guy's.

“Wrong address,” he shouted.

“Look, I got a pepperoni here that will be taken out of my
tips if I don't deliver it to someone. Don't suppose you'd be interested?”

“No, thanks!”

“I'd eat it myself, but I hate pepperoni. Hate everything about pizza after three years on this job.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” shouted Harrison.

“No need to be rude, pal. I'm just trying to work something out.”

Harrison shrugged.

The lead nodded to Agent B (or C or D), who moved toward the door. He peered through the peephole. A moment later, the door came crashing in, smashing his face and knocking him back. He went for his gun, but Connie punched him in the throat and broke his hand with a twist. To credit his professionalism, the agent didn't make a sound as she kicked him senseless and to one side.

The other agents went for their guns as Connie shut the door, disappearing in the shadows of the darkened apartment. Shots rang out. Harrison shut his eyes. He should do something, but he'd never been in a firefight. He wasn't that kind of secret agent. He had the training, somewhere buried inside, but by the time he accessed it, the fight was already over.

He opened one eye, just in time to see Connie plant her knuckles in the lead agent's gut, who crumpled in defeat. She took his gun away from him and pushed him into the corner with the other agents.

“How did they
not
shoot you?” asked Harrison.

“That's what they get for wearing sunglasses in the dark,” said Connie as she pulled him out of the chair. “We should get out of here.”

“Give me a second.” Harrison grabbed a beer out of the fridge and followed her. “I didn't know you knew where I lived.”

“Detective,” she replied. “You're lucky I dropped by when I did.”

They boarded the elevator and went down.