Invincible (A Centennial City Novel) - By Fionn Jameson Page 0,9
me.”
This was certainly a strange conversation to have in a bar, but it appeared most people around us were occupied with other things. Like drinking. Flirting. Trying to find someone to take them home, trying to find someone with whom they didn’t feel so alone.
Alone. Had I ever felt truly alone?
I didn’t think so.
Not when I walked with Death at my shoulder.
“I will,” I said. “Your death will bring about an end. An end I must achieve, whether I wish or not. I’m sorry, Jason. There are some people who are nothing more than sacrificial lambs. You are one of them.”
He didn’t try to nay-say me. I took it as a good sign. “I don’t care. If I can get the bloodsucking motherfucker, I’ll die happy. I’ll die willingly.”
There seemed little point in staying anymore. “We’ll meet again. Tomorrow.”
I barely heard his voice over the roar of the steadily growing crowd. Perhaps it was better to leave now; crowds always unnerved me to a certain degree. Too easy for someone to slip a dagger through my ribs and walk away. Paranoid? Not at all. Like Jason said, better safe than sorry.
“I’ll give you my number.”
I decided to take a chance and reached forward.
His hand moved so fast I didn’t register a thing until his fingers wrapped around my wrist, fingers a bare inch from his injured palm. “I told you not to touch me.”
“So you did,” I said smoothly, briefly wondering how I kept my voice so nonchalant, when I was anything but that. “I thought to test you.”
“Don’t touch me. I mean it.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “I don’t think you’re anything like you pretend to be, Jason.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m exactly as you see me. Nothing more.”
He let go of my hand roughly, almost pushing me off balance.
Such speed.
Such strength.
That I could not see his movement…was curious.
And frightening.
And exhilarating.
“I’ll give you my number,” he said, as if the last thirty seconds had never happened.
But it had.
I saw the way his eyes narrowed.
Saw the way his lips curved.
I took a step back, put space between us. “Don’t bother. I can find you. Blood of my blood, blood of your blood, don’t you remember?”
“Fine. Nine work for you?”
“I hope you mean nine at night.”
He snorted. “Did you think I meant nine in the morning? Lady, I’m going to fall asleep at nine in the fucking morning.”
It was none of my business, but… “And why would that be?”
“It’s night right now,” he said. “They’ll be up. Now that we’ve got a plan, there are some things I’ve got to look into. You say you’ve got friends, but I’m not entirely without help, either. I’m not going to wait anymore. Not when I’ve got someone like you on my side.”
“Seems prudent. I’ll meet you then.”
He nodded and turned back to the counter, hunched over his empty cup like he meant to find salvation at the sticky bottom.
The door was obscured behind the crowd and by the time I managed to slip outside, my shirt was damp with sweat.
Downtown Centennial City never truly slept, no matter the time or season and I pushed my hands into my pockets, navigating my way through the crowds of people, most of them talking loudly as if afraid of the silence.
I never understood that. There was much to learn from silence, a strange sort of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere.
I walked two blocks of busy, bustling night establishments before I recognized a pattern of walking steps behind me.
Someone was following me. Low heels, judging from the muted staccato beat on the pavement.
The back of my neck prickled, but I continued walking, mind whirling with questions, possibilities.
I never had anyone follow me before. I was usually the one doing the following and it was a strange feeling, to be on the other end of the mirror, or so to speak.
Should I stop? Should I keep on walking?
I stopped.
So, too, did the steps.
Fingers creeping up my wrist where I could feel the warm metal of the dagger on my fingertips, I took a deep breath. “May I help you?”
“Leave the man alone.” A feminine, husky voice. “You’ll leave him alone or else there’ll be hell to pay.”
I resisted the urge to turn around. What if she should flee? “And who would I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“I’d rather not say,” she said. “You don’t need to know who I am. Leave him alone. If you attempt to contact him, I might as well finish you off here.”