"Could be Lawson, could be the Chinese..." Hobbes trailed off.
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.
"Aw, crap?"
"Aw, crap."
And another hand knocked on the door.
* * *
6/8
"Port Columbia PD! Open up!"
"Darryl?"
"What, you're surprised? You sneak away from Albrecht on the way to the
hospital, he's gonna come find you." Eric came back to himself and stood to get
the door.
"Yeah, kinda figured that out." Sarah's expression still held concern, but with
it a healthy dose of annoyance.
"What, everybody's listening at doors, now? What is this, a French farce?"
Hobbes rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, nice going, Mr. National Security."
"What, this was my fault? Don't think so, Fawksey. You're the one who went
see-through and nuts on the nice locals." Albrecht walked inside, and asked,
"So who's Arnaud?"
The name sent a pulse of burning cold through Eric again. Kevin wasn't even
talking anymore. He was angry, dangerously angry, and Eric began to lose
himself again. The black bird called, and he pulled himself back.
"That's classified," Hobbes replied.
"Classified? What could possibly be more classified than H.G. Wells over here?"
"You don't need to -"
"All right," the detective said. "Look, I liked you guys. I really did. But
I'm fed up with all this cloak and dagger crap. You said somebody drugged your
partner?"
"You heard that too, did you?" Claire sighed.
"So let's use Occam's Razor. Simplest explanation, right? Who do we know that
makes designer drugs?"
Hobbes and Fawkes chorused, "St. Germaine."
The black bird took wing.
* * *
"Sarah, look, I'll buy your cab fare, just go home, will you?"
"Darryl, just . . . look after Eric, okay? Something's up."
Eric tried to focus as they approached the garage. Focus eluded him.
//Arnaud.// Hatred. Not his own. Perversion of his blood, murderous rage.
Dangerous feelings for ghosts. He willed his flesh to stay gold, and found
Fawkes watching him.
He looked at the lanky man. The thief. How did he know that? Kevin was too
close. "Fawkes. Darien. I - I think I'm going to need your help. Kevin..."
"Look, cut the psychic friends crap out." The amiable Fawkes had changed since
that name had been spoken. Just the word seemed to change people. //Arnaud.//
"Believe or not. Your choice, but Kevin, he's too angry." Eric spoke in quick
sentences, forcing the words out. He was so cold. "I've felt this before.
Once. Tried to turn me, take over. If this Arnaud is in on this - Kevin wants
to kill. For you. You can't let him."
Fawkes blinked rapidly. "You are crazy. You know, if you're so damned worried,
you can stay here." He ended in a low growl.
"Not an option. Not anymore. Just remember." Eric was drowning. He looked up
at Darien through hooded eyes. "Don't let him kill. He'll be lost."
The agents left in their van, and Albrecht in his car, returning to St.
Germaine's. Sarah got in a taxi. And Eric looked at his bike. He fought the
presence pushing in on him. Top Dollar, who'd killed him, whom he'd killed, had
possessed him once, seduced him with music. Kevin surrounded him with righteous
rage. He thought he was still fighting, but somewhere he'd lost track, because
he wasn't in the garage any longer. He was riding through a mansion's gates.
And, he noted dispassionately, looking at his pale, black-edged hands, he wasn't
quite Eric any more.
* * *
The mansion was cold and dark, and empty of staff. //No live-in help? My
favorite kind of estate.// Those same thief's instincts told Darien that there
should, at the minimum, be security.
"Fawkes! Get over here . . ."
Darien found Bobby in the foyer. Hobbes knelt near a body, while Albrecht
scanned the room, gun drawn.
"St. Germaine?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Oh, crap." Fawkes looked at Albrecht. "Look, Occam's razor, it's pointing to
Arnaud right now, so you really oughtta know he goes invisible, like me."
Albrecht's eyes widened. He turned in a slow circle, gun drawn, searching the
darkened mansion. "And that helps how?!"
"Well," A lilting accent called from up a winding staircase, "I suppose it will
make you feel a little less stupid when you get shot." Albrecht, not stupid,
dove for cover behind a column, as did Fawkes and Hobbes. Fawkes quicksilvered
his eyes, and caught a flash of pink before he doubled over.
"Was he on your list?" Fawkes asked, as a bullet chipped marble near his thigh.
"Number two," Hobbes allowed, then, to Darien's stare, said, "Chrysalis, okay?
They were number one. I was close!" He ducked two more shots, then hollered,
"Why St. Germaine, Arnie?"
"Fun as it is to see Fawkes nauseated, Marc didn't perform to my satisfaction.
I wanted a real Quicksilver inhibitor, not an emetic. I had higher hopes for
poor Germy. I did think he wanted to see his beloved Czarina again."
"See . . . but you don't have the . . ." Fawkes looked at Hobbes. Hobbes
looked at Fawkes. "Aw crap," they chorused. "The tiger's invisible."
"You put a gland in the tiger!? Why!?"
"Hobbes, I thought you said you knew how I thought." The voice was closer now.
"Two reasons. Can you guess?"
"Leverage. You wanted to be the only one that could get her back," Hobbes
began,
"That, and beta testing," Arnaud finished. "Sad to say, the emetic properties
of the inhibitor made the poor dear rather ill. I don't think that jogger
stayed down. Thank you, by the way, for allowing me to test it in a human with
the gland."
"Oh man," Darien said, "You really have Dr. Evil's disease, don't you? You
realize you just told us your whole plan, right?"
"What does it matter? I'm going to walk out one of these doors and get away, if
I'm lucky I can shoot Hobbes, and I'll pick up elsewhere. This is over." A
black bird flew in through a high window, and punctuated the statement with a
caw.
Swallowing hard, Darien tapped Hobbes on the shoulder, then quicksilvered
Hobbes' eyes and the bridge of his nose. Hollow-faced, Bobby tried hard to
ignore the gagging noises as he scanned the room, attempting to aim. A pink
silhouette aimed back at him, point blank . . .
* * *
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.
"Aw, crap?"
"Aw, crap."
And another hand knocked on the door.
* * *
6/8
"Port Columbia PD! Open up!"
"Darryl?"
"What, you're surprised? You sneak away from Albrecht on the way to the
hospital, he's gonna come find you." Eric came back to himself and stood to get
the door.
"Yeah, kinda figured that out." Sarah's expression still held concern, but with
it a healthy dose of annoyance.
"What, everybody's listening at doors, now? What is this, a French farce?"
Hobbes rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, nice going, Mr. National Security."
"What, this was my fault? Don't think so, Fawksey. You're the one who went
see-through and nuts on the nice locals." Albrecht walked inside, and asked,
"So who's Arnaud?"
The name sent a pulse of burning cold through Eric again. Kevin wasn't even
talking anymore. He was angry, dangerously angry, and Eric began to lose
himself again. The black bird called, and he pulled himself back.
"That's classified," Hobbes replied.
"Classified? What could possibly be more classified than H.G. Wells over here?"
"You don't need to -"
"All right," the detective said. "Look, I liked you guys. I really did. But
I'm fed up with all this cloak and dagger crap. You said somebody drugged your
partner?"
"You heard that too, did you?" Claire sighed.
"So let's use Occam's Razor. Simplest explanation, right? Who do we know that
makes designer drugs?"
Hobbes and Fawkes chorused, "St. Germaine."
The black bird took wing.
* * *
"Sarah, look, I'll buy your cab fare, just go home, will you?"
"Darryl, just . . . look after Eric, okay? Something's up."
Eric tried to focus as they approached the garage. Focus eluded him.
//Arnaud.// Hatred. Not his own. Perversion of his blood, murderous rage.
Dangerous feelings for ghosts. He willed his flesh to stay gold, and found
Fawkes watching him.
He looked at the lanky man. The thief. How did he know that? Kevin was too
close. "Fawkes. Darien. I - I think I'm going to need your help. Kevin..."
"Look, cut the psychic friends crap out." The amiable Fawkes had changed since
that name had been spoken. Just the word seemed to change people. //Arnaud.//
"Believe or not. Your choice, but Kevin, he's too angry." Eric spoke in quick
sentences, forcing the words out. He was so cold. "I've felt this before.
Once. Tried to turn me, take over. If this Arnaud is in on this - Kevin wants
to kill. For you. You can't let him."
Fawkes blinked rapidly. "You are crazy. You know, if you're so damned worried,
you can stay here." He ended in a low growl.
"Not an option. Not anymore. Just remember." Eric was drowning. He looked up
at Darien through hooded eyes. "Don't let him kill. He'll be lost."
The agents left in their van, and Albrecht in his car, returning to St.
Germaine's. Sarah got in a taxi. And Eric looked at his bike. He fought the
presence pushing in on him. Top Dollar, who'd killed him, whom he'd killed, had
possessed him once, seduced him with music. Kevin surrounded him with righteous
rage. He thought he was still fighting, but somewhere he'd lost track, because
he wasn't in the garage any longer. He was riding through a mansion's gates.
And, he noted dispassionately, looking at his pale, black-edged hands, he wasn't
quite Eric any more.
* * *
The mansion was cold and dark, and empty of staff. //No live-in help? My
favorite kind of estate.// Those same thief's instincts told Darien that there
should, at the minimum, be security.
"Fawkes! Get over here . . ."
Darien found Bobby in the foyer. Hobbes knelt near a body, while Albrecht
scanned the room, gun drawn.
"St. Germaine?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Oh, crap." Fawkes looked at Albrecht. "Look, Occam's razor, it's pointing to
Arnaud right now, so you really oughtta know he goes invisible, like me."
Albrecht's eyes widened. He turned in a slow circle, gun drawn, searching the
darkened mansion. "And that helps how?!"
"Well," A lilting accent called from up a winding staircase, "I suppose it will
make you feel a little less stupid when you get shot." Albrecht, not stupid,
dove for cover behind a column, as did Fawkes and Hobbes. Fawkes quicksilvered
his eyes, and caught a flash of pink before he doubled over.
"Was he on your list?" Fawkes asked, as a bullet chipped marble near his thigh.
"Number two," Hobbes allowed, then, to Darien's stare, said, "Chrysalis, okay?
They were number one. I was close!" He ducked two more shots, then hollered,
"Why St. Germaine, Arnie?"
"Fun as it is to see Fawkes nauseated, Marc didn't perform to my satisfaction.
I wanted a real Quicksilver inhibitor, not an emetic. I had higher hopes for
poor Germy. I did think he wanted to see his beloved Czarina again."
"See . . . but you don't have the . . ." Fawkes looked at Hobbes. Hobbes
looked at Fawkes. "Aw crap," they chorused. "The tiger's invisible."
"You put a gland in the tiger!? Why!?"
"Hobbes, I thought you said you knew how I thought." The voice was closer now.
"Two reasons. Can you guess?"
"Leverage. You wanted to be the only one that could get her back," Hobbes
began,
"That, and beta testing," Arnaud finished. "Sad to say, the emetic properties
of the inhibitor made the poor dear rather ill. I don't think that jogger
stayed down. Thank you, by the way, for allowing me to test it in a human with
the gland."
"Oh man," Darien said, "You really have Dr. Evil's disease, don't you? You
realize you just told us your whole plan, right?"
"What does it matter? I'm going to walk out one of these doors and get away, if
I'm lucky I can shoot Hobbes, and I'll pick up elsewhere. This is over." A
black bird flew in through a high window, and punctuated the statement with a
caw.
Swallowing hard, Darien tapped Hobbes on the shoulder, then quicksilvered
Hobbes' eyes and the bridge of his nose. Hollow-faced, Bobby tried hard to
ignore the gagging noises as he scanned the room, attempting to aim. A pink
silhouette aimed back at him, point blank . . .
* * *