his lips. "Yes. Like that."
"So what did you see, fortune teller? Or would you rather I call you ‘prophet?'"
He reddened. "I… uh. Ian. The baby. I saw something about him."
"Where’d he come from?"
"A woman—his mother—she gave him to me. In a subway station. She just handed him to me." He took a deep breath. "I’d been... waiting for him. He’s also, um. Special. But in a different way."
"What happened to his mom?" Janeane asked.
"Train got her." Janeane arched that eyebrow again, but said nothing. "He…he could be either a great man of peace, bringing everyone together…leading billions to freedom. Or…he could be a terrible monster."
"And you want to make him into a saint." Janeane said softly. The sea swirled all around her.
"No," Michael said. "I’m taking him off planet, to Valen. Someone else will do the rest. I just have to get him there."
He was telling her everything. She could tell anyone; she could turn him in, destroy him. But somehow he wasn’t afraid.
"What’s on Valen?"
"Someone who will make him into a saint," Michael said. "I don’t know any more than that."
"And Jane’s friend?"
"I need her. She...she was in every vision of success. I don’t know why…not really."
They regarded one another for a long moment.
"So, the sea," Janeane said smoothly, voice like a rushing wave. "The sea...I’ve always seen the ocean. I love the ocean."
"That’s all I see for you. Everyone else has death, fear, hope, despair…horrible things. Wonderful things. It’s…so strong, sometimes. But you!" Michael desperately wanted to take one of her slender hands in his. "You are so calm. Nothing but the ocean. Peace. It’s beautiful."
She smiled knowingly.
"I could look at you all day! You’re so beautiful!" Michael said, feeling a dam threaten to break inside him. "It— I—"
He regained his control. "Sorry."
She planted a cool kiss on his forehead. He almost fainted, but looked up into her deep brown eyes instead. Miles and miles of calm, placid sea reflected back at him. She placed a single finger on his heart. "When you need me, I’ll be here."
She let herself out of the room. Michael shuddered. He was drenched in his own sweat.
The tide ebbed; the ocean receded. He felt cold and alone.
Doubt started to creep in. Who would she tell? Who was listening? Joe had always told him to play his cards close to his chest. Don't reveal what you don't absolutely have to, never ever tell someone the truth of what you are and what you can do. Now he’d all but given his entire hand to a woman he’d only just met.
He collapsed on his bed. There was nothing for it, now. He rummaged in his pack and held the mirror up to his face.
—Terror, death, fire, victory .
Janeane would not betray him. Not that he could see. He breathed a sigh of relief, and went to find Broken.
[CHAPTER 8]
B roken opened the door at the knock. Her silver hair was disheveled, and she tasted nothing but beer in her mouth. It was kind of the previous occupant of the roo to hide alcohol everywhere.
"Can I come in?" he asked. She shrugged and stood aside.
"How are you?" Michael asked.
Again she shrugged.
"Did you sleep well?" Shrug. "Did anyone come to see you?"
"Andrew did. Three times."
Michael nodded, seeming to think that was significant. "How about Jane?"
Broken felt a little pang. "Nope."
"She’s probably busy with Ian. So you knew her before?"
Broken nodded, struggling to keep herself lucid. "She was Doc’s assistant. We called her ‘Lucky.’ Because she was."
"That was her, um, ability?"
"Good for a doctor."
"So why isn’t she there anymore?"
Broken shrugged again. "Luck went bad."
Michael digested that. "You mean, she used to have really good luck and now she has really bad luck?" Broken nodded. "Wow. That’s awful."
Worse, Jane was like a walking curse now. But Broken thought better of mentioning that.
"Maybe…maybe we ought to get out of here soon,"
"So what did you see, fortune teller? Or would you rather I call you ‘prophet?'"
He reddened. "I… uh. Ian. The baby. I saw something about him."
"Where’d he come from?"
"A woman—his mother—she gave him to me. In a subway station. She just handed him to me." He took a deep breath. "I’d been... waiting for him. He’s also, um. Special. But in a different way."
"What happened to his mom?" Janeane asked.
"Train got her." Janeane arched that eyebrow again, but said nothing. "He…he could be either a great man of peace, bringing everyone together…leading billions to freedom. Or…he could be a terrible monster."
"And you want to make him into a saint." Janeane said softly. The sea swirled all around her.
"No," Michael said. "I’m taking him off planet, to Valen. Someone else will do the rest. I just have to get him there."
He was telling her everything. She could tell anyone; she could turn him in, destroy him. But somehow he wasn’t afraid.
"What’s on Valen?"
"Someone who will make him into a saint," Michael said. "I don’t know any more than that."
"And Jane’s friend?"
"I need her. She...she was in every vision of success. I don’t know why…not really."
They regarded one another for a long moment.
"So, the sea," Janeane said smoothly, voice like a rushing wave. "The sea...I’ve always seen the ocean. I love the ocean."
"That’s all I see for you. Everyone else has death, fear, hope, despair…horrible things. Wonderful things. It’s…so strong, sometimes. But you!" Michael desperately wanted to take one of her slender hands in his. "You are so calm. Nothing but the ocean. Peace. It’s beautiful."
She smiled knowingly.
"I could look at you all day! You’re so beautiful!" Michael said, feeling a dam threaten to break inside him. "It— I—"
He regained his control. "Sorry."
She planted a cool kiss on his forehead. He almost fainted, but looked up into her deep brown eyes instead. Miles and miles of calm, placid sea reflected back at him. She placed a single finger on his heart. "When you need me, I’ll be here."
She let herself out of the room. Michael shuddered. He was drenched in his own sweat.
The tide ebbed; the ocean receded. He felt cold and alone.
Doubt started to creep in. Who would she tell? Who was listening? Joe had always told him to play his cards close to his chest. Don't reveal what you don't absolutely have to, never ever tell someone the truth of what you are and what you can do. Now he’d all but given his entire hand to a woman he’d only just met.
He collapsed on his bed. There was nothing for it, now. He rummaged in his pack and held the mirror up to his face.
—Terror, death, fire, victory .
Janeane would not betray him. Not that he could see. He breathed a sigh of relief, and went to find Broken.
[CHAPTER 8]
B roken opened the door at the knock. Her silver hair was disheveled, and she tasted nothing but beer in her mouth. It was kind of the previous occupant of the roo to hide alcohol everywhere.
"Can I come in?" he asked. She shrugged and stood aside.
"How are you?" Michael asked.
Again she shrugged.
"Did you sleep well?" Shrug. "Did anyone come to see you?"
"Andrew did. Three times."
Michael nodded, seeming to think that was significant. "How about Jane?"
Broken felt a little pang. "Nope."
"She’s probably busy with Ian. So you knew her before?"
Broken nodded, struggling to keep herself lucid. "She was Doc’s assistant. We called her ‘Lucky.’ Because she was."
"That was her, um, ability?"
"Good for a doctor."
"So why isn’t she there anymore?"
Broken shrugged again. "Luck went bad."
Michael digested that. "You mean, she used to have really good luck and now she has really bad luck?" Broken nodded. "Wow. That’s awful."
Worse, Jane was like a walking curse now. But Broken thought better of mentioning that.
"Maybe…maybe we ought to get out of here soon,"
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