body.”
She sits down on the comforter of the bed I didn’t sleep in, apparently without concern that it would glow under a black light. She’s wearing a black dress so short I’m a little worried that the comforter will impregnate her, and she crosses her legs as she leans back, as casually as though I had walked into the medical unit and announced I had a rash. Which I would not do. Because … hello, embarrassing. Minneapolis has clinics for that sort of thing.
“So here I am,” she announces, as though I might have missed her entrance.
“I really appreciate you coming,” I say, both nervous and a little ill from all that’s happened in the last day or so. “And so quickly. Thank you again.” I feel like I’m laying it on thick, but I’m grateful both because she took a ten-hour flight to get here on short notice and also because I’ve maybe kinda got a massive crush on her. So gratitude seems apropos.
She waves me off. “So what is this that is going on?” she asks. Her Italian accent and off-kilter syntax are ridiculously sexy.
I explain what’s happened. She nods along, looking concerned. She doesn’t really smile. Like … ever. I haven’t seen it, anyway. Her dark hair is straight and totally in place, which I find interesting considering she’s been on a plane as long as she has.
I get to the end of my story and she leans back, pondering. “The Vatican?” she asks.
I nod. “No idea who this Father Emmanuel is, though.”
She looks thoughtful. I let the doctor ponder it while I watch her in as non-creepy a way as I can. “So we should go to the Vatican, yes?” she asks.
I freeze. I’ve considered this, but honestly, I was waiting on her to get here … and possibly to do my thinking for me.
When did that happen? I used to work on my own, all the time. Sure, I’d take directives from Alpha HQ, but they left me alone with the run of most of the United States, and I was left to manage my own time. I took the initiative on things, dammit. I was Alpha in middle America; recruiting, keeping an eye on Omega, living the good life on the road and maybe having a one-night stand or two here and there—
Okay. Yes. Okay, that was me at one point. I was like the James Bond of metahumans, but more sensitive. And without a British accent. Now I find myself as the right hand man of my little sister, playing CHiPs or something with her. What was that cop show with William Shatner? TJ Hooker ? I’m like TJ Hooker’s partner. Did TJ Hooker have a partner? Whatever. I might as well be riding in the sidecar.
I blink as all this crosses through my mind, and I fear for the first time that I’ve become a beta male, a supporting character in a cast that’s headed by my younger sibling.
How have I not noticed this? She at least had a boyfriend—two of them. Why have I been content to do nothing?
I vanquish these wussified thoughts and nod sharply. “Yeah, let’s go the Vatican,” I say. I’m ready to charge the gates or storm the walls or something, anything to prove my manhood in front of Dr. Perugini. I know it sounds foolish, but I don’t care.
“It will be faster if we join a tour group,” she says to me, and I frown. Alpha Male—that’s my new nickname for myself—SHUT UP I KNOW IT’S LAME—is not a tour group joiner. She bats her eyelashes at me. Seriously, she does this. I know she’s doing it. She knows I know she’s doing it.
“Okay,” I say.
And Alpha Male gets blown away by the winds of reason as I nod along with her plan.
13.
Alpha Male may not like to admit it, but the cab ride proves that Dr. Perugini is right. When we reach Vatican City, we pass by an insanely long line that stretches in front of massive fortress walls. A few times I consider asking her exactly who they’re preparing to fend off siege from, and then I remember that this city is old enough that they actually have been besieged. Then I wonder if maybe they were besieged during World War II. I
She sits down on the comforter of the bed I didn’t sleep in, apparently without concern that it would glow under a black light. She’s wearing a black dress so short I’m a little worried that the comforter will impregnate her, and she crosses her legs as she leans back, as casually as though I had walked into the medical unit and announced I had a rash. Which I would not do. Because … hello, embarrassing. Minneapolis has clinics for that sort of thing.
“So here I am,” she announces, as though I might have missed her entrance.
“I really appreciate you coming,” I say, both nervous and a little ill from all that’s happened in the last day or so. “And so quickly. Thank you again.” I feel like I’m laying it on thick, but I’m grateful both because she took a ten-hour flight to get here on short notice and also because I’ve maybe kinda got a massive crush on her. So gratitude seems apropos.
She waves me off. “So what is this that is going on?” she asks. Her Italian accent and off-kilter syntax are ridiculously sexy.
I explain what’s happened. She nods along, looking concerned. She doesn’t really smile. Like … ever. I haven’t seen it, anyway. Her dark hair is straight and totally in place, which I find interesting considering she’s been on a plane as long as she has.
I get to the end of my story and she leans back, pondering. “The Vatican?” she asks.
I nod. “No idea who this Father Emmanuel is, though.”
She looks thoughtful. I let the doctor ponder it while I watch her in as non-creepy a way as I can. “So we should go to the Vatican, yes?” she asks.
I freeze. I’ve considered this, but honestly, I was waiting on her to get here … and possibly to do my thinking for me.
When did that happen? I used to work on my own, all the time. Sure, I’d take directives from Alpha HQ, but they left me alone with the run of most of the United States, and I was left to manage my own time. I took the initiative on things, dammit. I was Alpha in middle America; recruiting, keeping an eye on Omega, living the good life on the road and maybe having a one-night stand or two here and there—
Okay. Yes. Okay, that was me at one point. I was like the James Bond of metahumans, but more sensitive. And without a British accent. Now I find myself as the right hand man of my little sister, playing CHiPs or something with her. What was that cop show with William Shatner? TJ Hooker ? I’m like TJ Hooker’s partner. Did TJ Hooker have a partner? Whatever. I might as well be riding in the sidecar.
I blink as all this crosses through my mind, and I fear for the first time that I’ve become a beta male, a supporting character in a cast that’s headed by my younger sibling.
How have I not noticed this? She at least had a boyfriend—two of them. Why have I been content to do nothing?
I vanquish these wussified thoughts and nod sharply. “Yeah, let’s go the Vatican,” I say. I’m ready to charge the gates or storm the walls or something, anything to prove my manhood in front of Dr. Perugini. I know it sounds foolish, but I don’t care.
“It will be faster if we join a tour group,” she says to me, and I frown. Alpha Male—that’s my new nickname for myself—SHUT UP I KNOW IT’S LAME—is not a tour group joiner. She bats her eyelashes at me. Seriously, she does this. I know she’s doing it. She knows I know she’s doing it.
“Okay,” I say.
And Alpha Male gets blown away by the winds of reason as I nod along with her plan.
13.
Alpha Male may not like to admit it, but the cab ride proves that Dr. Perugini is right. When we reach Vatican City, we pass by an insanely long line that stretches in front of massive fortress walls. A few times I consider asking her exactly who they’re preparing to fend off siege from, and then I remember that this city is old enough that they actually have been besieged. Then I wonder if maybe they were besieged during World War II. I
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