Chapter Thirty-Seven

As far as Dash could tell, Leonid had been living on coffee and energy bars for the last week. He half-expected to walk into the lab one morning and find the little man walking around with a wheeled rack holding an intravenous caffeine drip.

In the last three days, he and Leo had made four unauthorized forays into highly secured areas: two in Soviet government facilities, one to an optics lab in the United Kingdom, and one to the Idaho National Laboratory's plasma research site. None of the visits had taken more than a hundred and ten seconds, which pleased Leo mightily. In between, the odd little super had worked twenty hours a day, stopping only when his body gave out from fatigue. Then he would retire to a shabby leather chair near a window in his lab and go motionless for a few hours, a habit that Dash found quite irritating.

Leo never made an effort to explain why they were taking the things that they took, or what the bewildering mass of wires and components and displays that cluttered three entire lab tables was supposed to do once he got it finished … if that ever happened. The time all this was taking seemed like years to Dash. Dozens of unpleasant scenarios involving his sister and Ivan Bolodnikov played themselves over in his head, and though Leo continued to insist that Violet was in no real danger, nothing he said could really calm him. When Dash pressed him as to how he could know these details, he would get a thousand-meter stare for several moments, shrug, and say, "I just know. You must trust me."

They weren't too far into the first day of their partnership before Dash decided that this answer bugged the livin' starch out of him.

They'd made their most recent 'withdrawal' around twenty-three-hundred, about ten hours ago, and after they got back Dash had tried to get some sleep, but found peaceful rest elusive. His dreams were haunted by misty visions of Reckoning doing unspeakable things to Violet, and he didn't really feel refreshed when he awoke at dawn.

He prowled around the nearest kitchenette, found some eggs, and made himself an omelet out of ten of them. That, half a kilo of bacon, and a liter of apple juice got him feeling a little better, and he went back to the lab. He wanted to be handy for their next extraction.

Leo was in one of his design frenzies, where he focused solely on the project before him and tuned out the rest of the world. Dash thought it looked a little like a trance, except that Leo's arms and fingers were in constant, rapid motion, attaching and testing and encoding and a hundred other things that totally mystified the big super. He couldn't even make a guess at what most of the equipment in the lab did.

The fourth time that Dash checked the lab, Leo had stopped. He sat up straight on his high stool, stretched hugely, and rubbed his lower back with a slight groan. Dash zipped over and asked, "Is it finished?"

Leo stared at him and blinked twice, slowly. Then he said, "Hmm? What was that?"

"Your thingy. The anti-cyborg device, or whatever it is. Is it done?"

"Oh. No. Not quite." His gaze clouded over again. "I have to locate the next part."

Dash gave an exaggerated sigh. "So, how much longer?"

"Eh?" Leo wasn't looking at him.

"I said how much longer will it be until you're done? We can't wait forever!"

"Oh. Yes. You are right, of course." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried focusing on Dash. "It should be another four to five days. Certainly no more than six. That is assuming we can find the last three parts in a timely manner."

"Nearly a week? I can't wait that long!" Dash paced like a caged animal. "I gotta find him, and I gotta open up a can o' whoop-ass on him!"

Leo sighed. "And are you in that big a rush to die?"

Dash stopped and stared at Leo. "You seem very confident that he can kill me."

"He killed eight supers in five months. It was not difficult for him. The hardest part was not the killing, but the remaining undetected afterward. Before that he killed nearly a dozen over a period of several years. Many of them were powerful. Very powerful. You have amazing speed and you are strong. Your suit is proof against ordinary bullets and would save you many wounds in an ordinary battle. But he would take your speed before you could touch him, the slugs from his machine pistol can penetrate three centimeters of armor plate … and anyway, he would not aim for your suit. Attacking him before we are ready would be nothing but suicide." He ended his monologue with a prodigious yawn and rubbed his eyes again.

"Hmph. Maybe." Dash crossed his arms and moped, "But I don't have to like it."

Leo slipped off the stool and weaved his way over to his recliner. "I need … get busy … find alloy for the resonance mask housing … no time … no time." He plopped down into his chair, laced his fingers together over his chest, and stilled his breathing. His face went limp.

Dash gazed uneasily at the flaccid features. Leo's eyes had deep, deep dark circles under them. His skin looked pinched and sallow, and his whole frame seemed … drained, somehow.

"This workload can't be good for you, little buddy. You've gotta take a break some time, or you'll kill yourself."

There was no answer from the motionless figure.

##

"More tea, Shield?"

"No, thank you. I've still got half a cup."

Ivan poured another cup for himself, and set the decanter back down beside the samovar. He and Violet sat in a pair of antique wing-backed chairs on either side of a low table in a small anteroom off the main corridor, not too far from the kitchen. Violet liked the room for the old tapestries on two of the walls, and they'd adopted it as their dining room. Although it was June, in this place the evening air grew rather more than bracing and the cold did its best to penetrate the old, stone walls, so Ivan built a fire in the grate after supper each night. Violet was staring into it now. Ivan was staring at her.

Pretending not to notice his frank appraisal, she rearranged her legs on the seat, placed her cup on the table, and leaned back with a sigh, her eyes closed. "I feel like Belle."

Ivan's expression shifted from 'penetrating' to 'quizzical'. "You certainly do not look like a bell. Why do you feel like one?"

"No. I mean I feel like Belle. The character from that old fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast. She was imprisoned in an enchanted castle, with invisible servants." Violet held out a slim hand, indicating their late meal. "The only difference is that our invisible servants are various forms of electricity."

"So … do you feel like a prisoner?"

"More than you know."

Ivan dropped his gaze. "I am sorry for that."

"Yeah. So was the Prince, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Neither can you."

"I know it is hard, but we must remain out of …"

"Yeah, I know. Gotta hide from The Demon." She turned a pained look on him. "Erkki, are my powers ever going to come back?"

"I trust so. From what little I have heard of The Demon's influence, they should. But I do not know how long it will take. To my knowledge, only two supers were so drained and allowed to live afterward, and it was only because it amused Achmedjan to toy with them. One of them got his powers back in ten days, the other in three weeks."

"Were they able to get away then?"

"No."

"… Oh." She stared at the fire again. Ivan rose and poked it up, then added a log before returning to his seat.

"Do you think he did that to Dad, too?"

"There is no way to be sure. But he attacked your mind. That attack on Mr. Incredible was purely physical, and may not have had such an effect."

"Yeah. Maybe. But Dad's power is purely physical."

"I do not know, Shield. Where The Demon is concerned, there are too many unanswerable questions."

"Boy, you got that right."

They lapsed into silence for a bit before Ivan asked, "Would you like to go out?"

"Out? Out where?"

"Out for a walk around the grounds. It should be clear, and with no artificial lights nearby the stars are really quite brilliant at this altitude."

She considered that briefly and shook her head. "Y'know, I think … I think I'll just go on to, uh …" She stole a very quick glance in his direction. "… to bed." Her hands fidgeted with each other for a moment. "I, um … don't feel much like walking." She got up and paced to the door.

He rose to follow her. "Is your new room comfortable now?"

"Oh, yes! It's much better than that first room." She stopped at the door and turned in his direction, her hand gripping its edge. "The wall hangings help a lot and the, uh …" She dropped her gaze. "… the bed's nice and big."

He caught his breath, wondering if that comment might hold two meanings. "Do you … need anything?"

"Need? Like what?"

"Oh, uh … You were chilly last night."

"Um … I, uh … that is, no, I'm … pretty sure you got me enough blankets now." She glanced back up. "Thanks, though."

He was standing very close. "You are most welcome."

She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. A brief impulse struck her to say to him that he was 'most welcome' to join her, but she fought it. His blue-green eyes were nearly black in the dim light, dark and very intense, and she had no desire to look away. "Well," she replied, her voice trembling just the slightest bit, "G'night."

"Shield?"

"… Yes?"

He could read nothing in her expression as she stood there, her delicate, oval face upturned, but her vulnerability and her nearness brought his own longings much too close to the surface. The hunger nearly overpowered him. Over the course of the day, they had not spoken of the kiss they had shared that morning, but its shadow fluttered around them like a moth, refusing to go away. He knew that he wanted more … much more. He hoped she did.

He cleared his throat. "You said that you felt like the girl in Beauty and the Beast."

"… Yes. I did."

"So …"

"… So?"

"Am I, then, the Beast?"

Those fine, indigo eyes widened ever so slightly. She took one slow breath and said, "You … might be."

"Did she not … find that, in the end she had … real feelings for the Beast?"

Violet nodded but did not otherwise reply. She hadn't moved a centimeter since opening the door.

"Then perhaps there is hope for me."

She gasped, almost inaudibly, but didn't say anything. He thought she might have shivered the tiniest bit.

Clamping down furiously on his emotions, he caressed her hand lightly with his, clasped it gently, briefly, and released her. "Sleep well, Shield."

She stared at him so long that he began to grow nervous. Then she blurted, "Violet."

He started at the suddenness of her voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's my name. You can call me Violet." She turned abruptly and fled down the long hall.

His eyes followed her until she got to the corner. He stood there for a few moments, gazing after her, and then he sighed heavily and went back to his chair.

Most of what passed for a conscience in Ivan Bolodnikov had been burnt to a cinder several years back. Nevertheless, his work with Violet, and especially their close proximity over the last few days, was stirring the ashes a bit. For the first time since he began his machinations to get her where he wanted her, a tiny shred of doubt settled in his mind.

Apart from his brother, Violet was the first truly good and decent human being he had dealt with in his memory. She didn't have hidden agendas. She refused on principle to play with his head. He'd figured out that the skinny-dipping incident had been nothing more than an impulsive experiment, and that she had been deeply embarrassed by her actions. She honestly tried to do the right thing, and do it consistently.

Hmph. How, he asked himself, would you know? 'Doing the right thing' was a nearly alien concept to him any more. Until now, the 'right and wrong' of what he was doing with her had never been an issue. But lately he had begun to consider, however briefly and lightly, how the end result of his plans might make her feel in the long term.

Was he, he wondered, actually falling in love?

Was that even possible for someone like him?

The consequences of his actions, on a personal level, rarely entered into his calculations. If someone or something got in his way, he eliminated the obstacle. End of problem.

But … he couldn't do that with Violet. He didn't want to do that with Violet. He wanted her with him, not just for the moment, not just for gratifying his lust, but forever. He had never wanted anything else so badly in his life. He thought she might be headed in that direction, might be developing an attraction that could last for the rest of her life. He wished he knew more about the inner workings of her mind.

But could he really pull it off? She had family ties, strong ones. Could they all be severed? Was he really a good enough assassin to get rid of them all without ever casting suspicion on himself?

But if her family died, that would make her sad. He didn't want her to be sad. That thought shocked him. How long had it been since he'd cared about another's feelings?

Did he really care? Where would be the logic in that? Wouldn't injecting emotion into the situation, especially emotion of the intensity he knew was there, threaten the outcome?

Could he afford not to care? Was he even, at this stage of the game, capable of not caring?

For that matter, was his desired outcome still unchanged? He honestly did not know any more.

Too many questions.

He remained in the room, staring at nothing, making plans, brooding, trying to settle his mind for two hours. He finished the tea, collected their few dishes and took them to the kitchen, loaded them into the autoclave and started the cleaning cycle. Then, as he had done the previous three nights, he walked quietly to stand in front of Violet's door, where he listened to make sure she slept.

Up until now, he had simply completed his task and left. Tonight, he stood there a long, long while, trying to come to terms with himself. In many ways this really was new territory. For one thing, he had rarely had occasion to drain the same super's abilities more than once, and never in the past five years; that experimental stage was long past. He knew it wasn't permanent, and that the time it took for the powers to re-emerge varied from one individual to another. In his brother's case, for example, it took two days. Forty-eight hours, on the dot. The first time had been an accident, shortly after that episode with the CCK super, Sylph, who had tried to interfere with an assassination when Ivan was still nothing but an enforcer for a local crime boss. The second time with Leo had been a few years later, when Ivan had lost his temper over some trivial incident. Still forty-eight hours, exactly. But he had never, before this week, drained a super more than twice. In recent years, once was all he needed or desired.

Thinking back, he realized he had drained her six times thus far. Tonight would make seven. He wondered what sort of effect this might be having on her powers. There was no way to know. Would they dry up forever? Would they be weakened or changed in some fashion? No baseline existed to give him any hint of the right answer. He couldn't tell if it had made a difference with Leo. He had no metric to use.

As he stood pondering, he felt that insistent itch in the back of his head that told him her powers were re-emerging. Brow furrowed, he glanced at his watch. Nearly an hour sooner than yesterday; and that was forty minutes sooner than the day before. Not good. I'll have to keep a closer eye on her from now on. At that point he decided that maintaining the status quo would have to do for at least another day. A mask of dark emotion dropped over his face, and a translucent, golden glow shot through with blue-white sparks surrounded him briefly. A subtle snap sounded, and he left.

Violet turned in her bed, shivered, and pulled the covers up closer to her chin.