attacked.
“By me?” Jan asked. Her tone made the question sound sincere, not at all defensive.
He nodded in Greta’s direction.
“Me?” Greta asked.
“You can’t come week after week and not talk,” Martin said. “You listen to us, but you don’t share anything of yourself.”
“You’re still mad about last week,” Harrison said.
Martin started to deny it, then said, “Yes! Yes I am. Everybody’s pretending like nothing happened.”
“She’s not a monster,” Harrison said. “Those scars—”
“Then let her prove it,” Martin said. “She should share something. Anything. Put some cards on the table.”
“I’m right here,” Greta said softly. “Please stop talking about me in third person.”
Martin still could not look at her directly. The monster burned in her, heat spilling from her mouth and eyes. A basilisk.
“I’d prefer not to,” Greta said.
“You can’t keep hiding from us,” Martin said.
“I won’t. I just . . . I can’t. Not right now.”
“That’s what you keep saying.” He looked at Harrison. “But you talk to him, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Harrison said.
Jan said, “Does anyone else have thoughts on Greta’s participation in the group?”
No one spoke. The silence dragged.
“Cowards,” Martin said.
Harrison and Greta again left the building together. They did not pause at Harrison’s car this time, but strolled on down the sidewalk, walking side by side, almost touching shoulders. Intimate.
Martin watched from across the street, but he did not move until they turned the corner. He did not need to follow closely. He’d tuned the frames to Greta’s frequency, and her trail hung in the air, clear as the lightpath of a Tron bike.
He followed the monster’s shimmering wake down two blocks, then across a parklet. The pair was far ahead of him. They crossed the street and entered an Irish pub with a wide front window. Harrison held the door for her.
Night was falling, and the streetlamps were humming to life. Martin stepped into a doorway of a closed stationery store that was kitty-corner from the bar window, about thirty feet away. He waited, thinking of stealth games like Gunpoint and Metal Gear Solid . If only the frames would throw up a red exclamation mark over his head if he was detected.
After a few minutes he was rewarded. Harrison and Greta took a table near the window, lit up as if on screen. They learned toward each other, talking earnestly. There didn’t seem to be any other customers in the pub.
Greta burned, and he could barely look at her. He studied Harrison’s face instead, trying to squeeze meaning out of every expression. That smile; was he flirting with her? Laughing? Then Harrison hopped up and returned with their drinks. When he sat down again he was facing slightly away from the window.
Martin stepped out of the doorway and moved closer to the bar, staying close to the brick wall of the building. He took up a new position at the mouth of a narrow alley. The couple wouldn’t be able to see past their reflection in the window; if he stayed in the shadows, he should be invisible to them. He watched them for ten, fifteen minutes, recording every second for later analysis. Unfortunately there was no app he knew of that could lip-read from video. HAL 9000, already way past due, was still in the future.
Harrison reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. Martin nearly laughed when Greta pulled away.
“Hey,” a voice behind him said. “Pervert.”
He turned, and a fist caught him in the throat. He went down to his knees, gagging. A boot caught him under the ribs and drove the air out of him. His brain flared in panic. Dwellers , he thought. Finally.
But no. These weren’t the lizards; they were humans in sharp-toed boots and dark clothes, though he couldn’t figure out how many of them there were. Two, three? He lifted his head, and something hard smashed into his face. Pain blinded him.
“Don’t even
“By me?” Jan asked. Her tone made the question sound sincere, not at all defensive.
He nodded in Greta’s direction.
“Me?” Greta asked.
“You can’t come week after week and not talk,” Martin said. “You listen to us, but you don’t share anything of yourself.”
“You’re still mad about last week,” Harrison said.
Martin started to deny it, then said, “Yes! Yes I am. Everybody’s pretending like nothing happened.”
“She’s not a monster,” Harrison said. “Those scars—”
“Then let her prove it,” Martin said. “She should share something. Anything. Put some cards on the table.”
“I’m right here,” Greta said softly. “Please stop talking about me in third person.”
Martin still could not look at her directly. The monster burned in her, heat spilling from her mouth and eyes. A basilisk.
“I’d prefer not to,” Greta said.
“You can’t keep hiding from us,” Martin said.
“I won’t. I just . . . I can’t. Not right now.”
“That’s what you keep saying.” He looked at Harrison. “But you talk to him, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Harrison said.
Jan said, “Does anyone else have thoughts on Greta’s participation in the group?”
No one spoke. The silence dragged.
“Cowards,” Martin said.
Harrison and Greta again left the building together. They did not pause at Harrison’s car this time, but strolled on down the sidewalk, walking side by side, almost touching shoulders. Intimate.
Martin watched from across the street, but he did not move until they turned the corner. He did not need to follow closely. He’d tuned the frames to Greta’s frequency, and her trail hung in the air, clear as the lightpath of a Tron bike.
He followed the monster’s shimmering wake down two blocks, then across a parklet. The pair was far ahead of him. They crossed the street and entered an Irish pub with a wide front window. Harrison held the door for her.
Night was falling, and the streetlamps were humming to life. Martin stepped into a doorway of a closed stationery store that was kitty-corner from the bar window, about thirty feet away. He waited, thinking of stealth games like Gunpoint and Metal Gear Solid . If only the frames would throw up a red exclamation mark over his head if he was detected.
After a few minutes he was rewarded. Harrison and Greta took a table near the window, lit up as if on screen. They learned toward each other, talking earnestly. There didn’t seem to be any other customers in the pub.
Greta burned, and he could barely look at her. He studied Harrison’s face instead, trying to squeeze meaning out of every expression. That smile; was he flirting with her? Laughing? Then Harrison hopped up and returned with their drinks. When he sat down again he was facing slightly away from the window.
Martin stepped out of the doorway and moved closer to the bar, staying close to the brick wall of the building. He took up a new position at the mouth of a narrow alley. The couple wouldn’t be able to see past their reflection in the window; if he stayed in the shadows, he should be invisible to them. He watched them for ten, fifteen minutes, recording every second for later analysis. Unfortunately there was no app he knew of that could lip-read from video. HAL 9000, already way past due, was still in the future.
Harrison reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. Martin nearly laughed when Greta pulled away.
“Hey,” a voice behind him said. “Pervert.”
He turned, and a fist caught him in the throat. He went down to his knees, gagging. A boot caught him under the ribs and drove the air out of him. His brain flared in panic. Dwellers , he thought. Finally.
But no. These weren’t the lizards; they were humans in sharp-toed boots and dark clothes, though he couldn’t figure out how many of them there were. Two, three? He lifted his head, and something hard smashed into his face. Pain blinded him.
“Don’t even
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