Chapter 284

Chapter 284

It was going to catch up to me, eventually.

I cut the power in the building first. In the old days it would have been harder. The local power-grid was horrifically inadequate, but even that terrible system had more contingencies than the generator setups providing power now. As it was, a relatively non-destructive use of bought me at least a few precious minutes to work with. The fact that I’d turned the lights on earlier—effectively blinding the would-be ambushers before they turned it off again would help me. They’d had a minute longer than I had to adjust, but enhanced my perception in the dark, which put me one up on the rest of them.

“Matt?” Tara said, squinting at shadows, trying to pick out my silhouette.

With seconds to decide, I left the mask off. Whoever was waiting inside was waiting for Matt. And Matt was a region leader. Unfortunately, that also meant a hard breach wasn’t an option. There were too many people I knew off-line, too high of a chance there was a hostage.

Leaving Tara behind, I opened the door and slipped inside. The security shutters that covered the expansive skyline view were lowered, keeping the pitch-dark interior insulated from any external light.

Still, I could sense them. A grunt towards the back of the room, quiet breathing just loud enough to make out as a slight rasp. The smell—

Were they cooking in my fucking kitchen?

Either they hadn’t heard me come in, or they were slower than I’d expected. From a brief scan there was no plastic on the ground, and the best ambush point—the bathroom—was clear. Most of the noises I picked up seemed to be coming from the back of the room, behind the long couch.

Carefully, I pulled a crossbow and leveraged the dull-green dot just above the back cushion. I could see well enough now to put down the first head that popped up.

Talia’s voice suddenly resounded in my head, a mix of alarm and amusement. “Do not fire. Do not use any further abilities. Put away your weapon and attempt to smile.”

“Now you fucking talk.”

There was a snapping buzz as the power switched back on.

“Okay, not gonna lie, my life flashed before my eyes.” Someone who sounded exactly like Nick said.

“Speaking from experience, jumping out at him is a terrible idea.” Sae agreed, sounding equally unhappy. “We really ought to just spread out, hands on our knees, in clearly non-threatening positions.”

“Really doesn’t like surprises, huh?” Was that Julian?

“Dios mio, my knee is killing me.” Abuelita’s voice.

“Maybe we should just take it as a sign.” Kinsley suggested. “Grams can stretch out—”

“Pendejo, I am not that old!”

Slowly, I put a hand to my face, turned around and opened the door, allowing both a confused Tara and the dogs she’d apparently chased down and collected inside, then closed it loudly. A collective “Surprise!” rang out, as an absolutely stupid number of people jumped up from behind the couch, only partially contested by Sae’s “Don’t shoot!”

/////

Iris, Sae, and Charlotte sat cross-legged on the floor, intent on befriending the dogs. Sae and Charlotte kept shooting me apologetic glances—albeit for different reasons—while Iris seemed totally fixated on the animals, laughing as they sniffed her curiously and pushed her with their noses. Julian and Nick sat on the couch across from Professor Estrada, watching the girls awkwardly, as Nick turned repeatedly to check on me, glancing away when I looked at him.

There were enough people here that I should have been angry. Most knew I was jumpy on the best of days, and today had certainly not been the best of days. But tempering that with the fact that my mother was here, the story told itself.

I leaned against the wall next to her as she prepped a tray of tacos on the counter. “So... you mad at me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” Mom smiled thinly, as she portioned chicken and distributed it. “Your eighteenth birthday was weeks ago. We had to do something special.”

My birthday had always been a non-event, quietly acknowledged but rarely celebrated. It said a lot for how chaotic things had been lately that I hadn’t even realized, otherwise, I probably would have put it together.

“Guess I’m just wondering why you went with this format.”

“Because you don’t like surprises?” Mom rolled her eyes.

Yup. Her idea. Probably roped everyone else into it and insisted, and no one wants to shoot down the recovering alcoholic.

“Yeah.”

Unbothered, she continued to slice the chicken. “I barely hear from you anymore, let alone see you. If I’d messaged you about it, what would you have said?”

I shrugged. “That we should do it after the transposition deadline.”

The knife came down hard enough that the poor chicken probably felt it in the afterlife. “And then there would be something else in the way. Another crisis, more problems demanding your attention at all hours of the day. Not to mention,” She waved her hand towards the living room. “There’s no guarantee any of these people—people who clearly love you—will be here then. You need to treasure what you have while you have it.”

Pretty sure Julian and Charlotte barely knew me and had probably come by only to be dragged into this as collateral, but realistically, she wasn’t really talking about them. Or anyone else for that matter.

“If you feel like I’ve neglected you, or taken advantage of your contributions in any way, I’m willing to have that conversation.”

Suddenly changing the topic, she pointed out a tray of brownies. “I was warned not to eat those. You probably shouldn’t, either.”

“Mom.”

“It’s not about me. Even if it was, a region leader is an important person. The more important you are, the more time becomes a commodity.” She turned her back, continuing to prepare the food.

Tell that to the bug up your ass.

More annoyed that I didn’t understand why she was doing this than that she’d done it in the first place, I pulled up my messages from her and scrolled up. Beyond the usual parental hovering and check-ins, most of which I’d responded to, I found it. A message from the night we took down Sunny.

Damn. I’d seen it. I’d even replied to the next unrelated message she’d sent. But I’d never acknowledged the progress. Scrolling through the screen caps—how the hell was she using the UI to send photos, anyway—it looked good. More old Reddit than IRC, but seeing how the point was creating a resource for the general public, that was a good thing.

Mom strode over and put her wrists on my shoulder, grease-glistening fingers precariously raised over the red fabric and pushed me towards the living room. “Get out of my kitchen and enjoy the party.”

“Pretty sure it’s my kitchen,” I complained, even as she pushed a platter of tacos into my hands and pushed me out. Eventually I gave up and sat down next to Nick and Julien, glancing towards the latter curiously.

“Sorry—” Julien started.

“Here for other reasons and got roped in by gunpoint?” I filled in.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded.

“Your mother’s a very persuasive woman.” Charlotte added, leaning back and squinting as Marmalade lapped at her face. She chuckled. “After I was—um—recruited, I needed to go back to the complex to grab some ingredients, and she barely let me leave.”

Nick waggled his eyebrows at me. “Always nice to have someone who bakes in the friend group, am I right?” As usual, his double-entendres veered closer to single.

I shook my head. “Are you high?”

“Nooooo.” Nick lied, then grimaced, head bobbing slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Charlotte. “That really just the usual stuff? It barely tasted like anything other than chocolaty goodness, and I am sent right now.”

“Technically, yes.” Charlotte hedged. “Warned you to eat half.”

I snorted at Nick’s abject shock, chuckles growing into outright laughter at how called out and exasperated he looked.

“Holy shit, she actually out pop-cultured Nick.” Sae gaped.

“You coached her.” Nick accused me, still reeling.

“Swear to god I didn’t.”

“I just... like a good puzzle.” Tara pushed a bang behind her ear self-consciously. “Sorry if that was creepy.”

“You’re fine.” Sae waved away the anxiety. “If that’s the bar for creepy, Matt’s creepy all the time, and we still keep him around.”

“Whose birthday is this supposed to be again?” I flipped Sae the bird, and she responded in kind.

“Do me next!” Charlotte said.

Tara seemed surprised—both that her so-called party-trick hadn’t put anyone off, and that she had another taker. Nevertheless, she recovered quickly. “That would be Euphoria Season 1, episode 4.”

“Aw.”

“Nah nah nah,” Nick leaned forward, rallying. “You’re guessing what we, individually, think is best. Which is impressive. But you haven’t shared your opinion.”

“Well... Breaking Bad’s a great show...” Tara smirked.

“Uh huh...” Nick was on the edge of his seat.

“And Ozymandias is a great episode.”

“Uh huh...”

“But ‘Fly’ is objectively better.” Tara finished. Before she’d even completed her sentence, Nick collapsed over the arm-rest, groaning.

“Matt. I’ve been mortally wounded. She likes... bottle... episodes.” He croaked.

Tara absorbed his ridiculous display stoically, then looked to me. “Don’t think I’m getting the seal of approval after all. We might have to break up.”

“Unfortunate.” I waited a beat. “I’m keeping the dogs.”

“Bastard.”

Beside me, Julien had been unexpectedly quiet. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he felt out of place, until I picked up on the telltale eye-flicker of motionless UI manipulation. “Trouble?”

Julien shook his head. “Shopping, actually. If I’m gonna crash a birthday party, least I can do is buy you a present.”

This fucking guy.

I rolled my eyes. “You are literally the only person here who already gave me something.”

“What? Julien.” Charlotte squawked.

Nick slugged me. “Since when do you do gifts?”

Julien frowned and lowered his voice. “It’s not really a gift if it has a responsibility attached, is it?”

“If the inherent value overshadows the complexity of the responsibility? Pretty sure it’s still a gift.” I answered dryly.

“And it was something nice? Now I look like the asshole.” Charlotte huffed, fiddling with her UI for a few moments before swiping it away in frustration. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “What if I don’t charge for the glamour work? That could be my present.”

“The-who-what now?” Sae’s head whipped around, suddenly laser focused on Charlotte.

Shit. With the unexpected surprise, I still hadn’t had time to talk to Sae. About the glamour or the potion. “Uh—”

“It’s a hex.” Charlotte chirped. “Um...” She trailed off as Sae approached her, the other woman’s fists clenched, body trembling. “It’s... a bit like sculpting, only for... appearance and stuff. That’s why I came here. To talk about the commission... oh...” Charlotte trailed off as Sae removed her sunglasses.

“Could it fix these? Make me look normal again?” Sae pointed a shaking finger at her compound eyes, almost cringing, expecting a no.

I was slower than I should have been, struggling with a sensation that felt almost like a mental lag. Finally, I managed to interject. “Sae—wait.”

“Been waiting, Helpline.” Sae said, eyes still locked with Charlotte’s.

“There’s something we need to talk about first. Another more permanent option—”

She’d picked up on my discretion, but didn’t seem to care much. “Is the other option available now?”

“If you answer the way I think you’ll answer... no.”

For how fish-out-of-water she must have felt in this situation, Charlotte caught on quickly. “It’s painful at first, but the touch-ups are easy, and I’m happy to keep it intact until the more permanent option is available. Guessing... you didn’t exactly sign up for that.”

The sudden outburst of tears was natural. Almost expected. What was less expected was the way she hugged me. “You might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“That’s the brownies talking.”

“It’s not,” Sae sniffled. “Haven’t even had any brownies. Just the tacos.”

Something about the way she said it, then immediately hugged Charlotte, then Nick gave me pause. I glanced down at my plate and the half eaten taco, then glanced around. “Mom? Wait—Where’s Kinsley?”

“In the bathroom. Been there for a while, hope she’s feeling okay.”

Feeling a growing urgency, I knocked on the bathroom door twice, and when there was no response, opened it. Kinsley was prone on the bathroom floor dead asleep, snoring loudly, wadded up towel beneath her head serving as a pillow. The water was still running from when she’d started to wash her hands and apparently decided to take an impromptu nap instead.

I turned it off and left her there for the moment—despite the tile, she looked comfortable enough—and raced into the kitchen, searching the labels and containers for something specific. “Where—What did you cook the tacos with?”

“Love.” My mother chuckled at her own joke.

“No, the oil, mom. What oil did you use?”

“The only one I could find.” Mom passed me a bottle I’d never seen before, label handwritten in loopy feminine print. Cooking Oil: >25 Percent. Use with caution.

Slowly I panned the room, noting the numerous empty and half-eaten plates, including my own.

Well. Shit.