The Mutant Season, Page 25

  Skerry nodded sarcastically. “Oh yeah, he’s the prettiest thing the mutants have been able to hang their hopes on in a long time.”

  “I love him. I want to work with him and help him.”

  “Don’t mistake worship for love, babe.”

  Andie stood up, hands on hips.

  “What do you know of love?” she asked hotly.

  “Enough to want to help somebody who deserves it.”

  In two steps, he was next to her, staring intently into her eyes.

  “You know, I really like you.” He took her face in his hands.

  Andie’s heart began to pound. She tried to pull away from his embrace. “Skerry. Don’t.”

  “Don’t struggle so much. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. Now, close your eyes. Close them.”

  Against her will, Andie’s lids shut tight.

  “Good. Lean back, Don’t worry, I’ll support you.”

  She felt his arm around her back.

  “Attagirl.”

  His hand was on her forehead, palm cool.

  “Count backwards from one hundred, Andie.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Just do it!”

  “Ninety nine, ninety-eight—”

  “Mentally.”

  She complied. The pressure of his palm increased.

  Suddenly she felt light-headed. Blue stars danced behind her eyelids. A roaring sound filled her ears.

  ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five…

  A hundred people, an army of voices, chanted with her. It was hypnotic. Deafening. Thought was almost impossible. And then the chorus receded, sound waves slowly moving backward, out of range, into silence.

  Andie opened her eyes, blinked twice. Her throat was dry. “What happened?”

  Skerry released her. “I implanted an autochant, with a spontaneous trigger should anybody start prying.”

  “Prying?” Andie sat down, reached for her drink. “You mean telepathic snooping? I thought it was considered bad manners in mutant circles. Don’t they respect mental privacy?”

  “Some do. But not all.”

  Andie shuddered at the implication.

  “Don’t be scared, toots. I just wanted to give you a little added protection.” Skerry smiled gently. “You probably won’t need it.”

  “What about this spontaneous trigger?”

  “The chanting will begin as soon as a telepath tries to gain access to any level of your conscious infrastructure. That chant will drive them away, and it’ll cut off as soon as they withdraw. Or you can trigger it yourself by thinking the word ‘defchoir.’ Make sure you close your eyes when you do. It’ll cycle for fifteen counts of one hundred, but you can interrupt it just by opening your eyes again.” He held up his hands. “Presto. Guaranteed privacy.”

  “You really think I need this?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Andie stared at him skeptically. He seemed sincere. Maybe she could trust him.

  “Skerry,” she said, “why did Michael marry a mutant girl?”

  He laughed bitterly.

  “He got screwed. Or, rather, she did. Literally.”

  “She’s pregnant.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yep. And he’s the proud poppa. So they got hitched, since the clan’s motto is flourish and multiply. And vice versa.”

  “Oh.” The closer she came to mutants, the less Andie understood them.

  “You look like you could use another drink.” Skerry hauled her to her feet. “Come on.”

  Michael had expected a large crowd. But he’d never expected Senator Jeffers to come to his wedding.

  The office suited him, Michael thought. He was so confident. Twice as dynamic as poor Jacobsen had been.

  A crowd of mutants clustered around Jeffers. When the senator turned away from them to address him, Michael was flattered.

  “Feeling a little dazed?” Jeffers asked kindly.

  “Yes. More than a little.”

  “It’ll pass.” Jeffers patted him on the shoulder. “Your wife is very pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your parents tell me you’re a double mutant. The same as your bride. Those are great odds.”

  Michael felt confused. “Odds?” he asked.

  Jeffers winked. “To pass the trait along. The more double mutants, the better.”

  “Oh. Right.” Michael smiled. “We’ll find out soon.”

  The senator rewarded him with a chuckle. “That’s the spirit,” Jeffers said. “We need more young men like you in the Mutant Union. Are you a member?”

  “I’ve been thinking about joining,” Michael said, although up to that moment, he’d never given the idea much thought.

  “Good. If you come to Washington, make sure you contact my office.” Jeffers handed him a memorychip. “Here’s some information that might interest you.” His smile warmed Michael.

  Halden appeared on their left. “Senator, there you are,” he said. “About the campaign…”

  “Michael, will you excuse us?” Jeffers asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned away.

  Michael looked around the room. Jena stood in a far corner, balancing two plates of food in midair, chatting animatedly with a turquoise-clad, greenish-skinned cousin from Petaluma whose golden eyes bulged distractingly.

  Jena? he queried mentally.

  No answer.

  Perhaps the mental link Halden had forged between them was only effective when they were in direct proximity.

  Michael chewed a piece of spice bread without tasting it. For just a moment he imagined Kelly’s face framed by purple orchids. Then he banished the image.

  No more Kelly, he thought. This is my life now. Maybe I will join the Mutant Union. Why not?

  “Meditating on matrimony?” a familiar voice asked. Skerry’s bearded face appeared, floating disembodied by the banquet table.

  Michael fumbled the plate of food he’d been levitating, nearly dropping it before his control stabilized.

  Skerry’s full image coalesced in a welter of miniature thunderbolts. Grinning, he stood next to the banquet table.

  “I thought you were in Canada,” Michael said. “For good. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I like to make surprise entrances. But I’d say you’re the king of surprises today, kid. Marriage? To her? I thought you were brain-bonded to some normal.”

  Michael tried not to wince. “Yeah. Well, something came up I didn’t expect.”

  Skerry shook his head. “Caught you, did she? I thought so.” He moved his head closer, voice conspiratorial. “You can still split with me after the feast. The hell with all this. Get away. Start a new life.”

  Michael smiled sadly. “You’re a little late.”

  “I’ll be in the neighborhood for a while if you change your mind,” Skerry said, shrugging. He looked over his shoulder toward Jeffers. “So what’s his grandness, the senator, doing here?”

  “Impressive, huh?” Michael said. “He was making a speech in New York, and Halden got hold of him, I guess. Besides, I wanted Andie to come.”

  “She likes working for Jeffers?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

  For the first time since he’d known Skerry, Michael thought his cousin seemed speechless. Finally, Skerry shook his head.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for her,” Michael said.

  Skerry gave him a sharp look. “I’m not the one with the taste for normal nooky.”

  Michael glared back. “Goddammit, Skerry, leave it alone!”

  “Sorry, Michael. Forget it. I’m sorry I said anything.” Skerry took a sample of salad from Michael’s plate. “Hmm, not bad. Zenora hasn’t lost her touch. Well, I wanted to pass along my commiserations. Talk to you later.”

  He sauntered away.

  James Ryton gave his son a quizzical look.

  “Talking to yourself?” he asked.

  “
Maybe.” Michael smiled. Perhaps he’d been the only one to see Skerry at all.

  “Damned flares.” His father rubbed his head. “I’m going to see the healer next week. Michael, you know we’ve gotten that house all ready for you and Jena. Are you certain you don’t want to take a week off? A honeymoon is an acceptable absence, you know.”

  “And you know we’re behind schedule on that microwave transmitter,” Michael said. “Half the second shipment of those damned calibrators was cracked. I want to visit a new supplier starting up in Virginia. You’re not up to the trip.”

  “But we’ve been using Kortronics for years.”

  “Well, they’re slipping,” Michael said. “You need me at work. I’ll take a honeymoon later.”

  His father patted his arm. “You do what you want, Michael. You’re a grown man now. I suppose the honeymoon will keep until you’re ready for it.”

  He started to walk away.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think Senator Jeffers can really get elected?”

  James Ryton spoke with vigor. “I certainly do. The man has real vision. And we’ve put a mutant in the Senate before.”

  He nodded and moved off.

  Michael allowed his plate to float gently down to rest upon the white, linen-covered table. Was it his imagination, or was his father already walking with an old man’s careful steps?

  Vainly, Andie searched the room for Jeffers.

  I’ve had enough of this party, she thought. Skerry’s gotten me good and rattled.

  She walked into a quiet room, empty save for a lone figure silhouetted against the window. The bridegroom. He had his back to her and was resting his head against the plasglas.

  Andie hesitated for a moment. Was this some other mutant ritual? The isolation of the bridegroom? Oh, the hell with it, she thought.

  “Michael? Why aren’t you downstairs celebrating?” she asked, voice gentle.

  He turned and gave her a quiet smile.

  “Andie. Having a good time?”

  “Sure. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Maybe I need some time to myself.” He glanced back at the window. “I love watching the snow. These February storms can be fierce.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” Andie said. “Give me a warm beach somewhere and an attentive cabana boy.”

  “Sounds nice,” Michael said. He seemed very far away.

  “Are you happy?” Andie asked.

  Michael smiled a half-smile. “That would be telling.”

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To the nonmutant girl you were in love with?”

  Michael stared off into the distance, jaw clenched. “It’s over,” he said.

  Andie fell a pang of pity at his tone.

  “Because you wanted it to end?” she asked.

  “No.” He closed his eyes.

  “Michael, I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Kelly? Not well. I heard she’s gone away. To the Air Force Academy. Going to be a shuttle pilot someday, no doubt.” His voice rang with bravado.

  Andie touched his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Sorry, again.”

  “Forget it.”

  He looked at her with sudden intensity. “You’re in love with Jeffers, aren’t you?”

  Andie blushed. “Michael, I—”

  “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to pry. But Andie, promise me that you’ll follow your heart. Don’t let anything stop you from doing that. Promise me.”

  “I promise, I promise.”

  He looked out the window at the falling snow and the gathering darkness.

  “That’s the most important, and hardest thing anybody can do,” he said. “Know what’s in your heart and follow it.”

  The wedding guests lingered long into the evening. Michael couldn’t blame them. Mutants rarely had a cause for such celebration.

  He’d rejoined the party to find Halden dominating a corner of the room. The Book Keeper was strumming his ancient banjo and roaring out the lyrics to a ribald song. A dozen mutants sat around him, clapping and singing along.

  With Tela’s help, Zenora floated the main table against the far wall to clear space for dancing. Joyfully, the mutants flung themselves into the air, touched the ceiling, hovered, floated down again, to repeat the process with elaborate spins and flourishes until they were red-faced and breathless. Those without powers of levitation received a boost from the more talented in the group.

  Without thinking, Michael bounded into their midst, leaping and spinning.

  “Here’s the groom!” somebody shouted. “Where’s the bride?”

  “She’s upstairs,” another voice cried. “Let’s bring her back to the party!”

  Guided by Chavez, the group levitated Jena down the stairs. She giggled with pleasure as they deposited her on her feet by Michael.

  He bowed with a deep flourish. “My dear, will you dance with me?”

  “Honored,” she said, and took his hand.

  Together, they floated up and up, turning in a slow arc as they spun about the room. Jena’s tunic billowed gently. She gave Michael a saucy smile, then waved flirtatiously at Halden as they passed over his head.

  “None of that,” Michael said with mock possessiveness.

  He pulled her closer, stared into her eyes for moment, then kissed her tenderly. Below, the onlookers cheered.

  Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all, he told himself. In fact, it might be fun.

  Wrapping his arms around his wife, he kissed her again. And again.

  23

  AFTER THE WEDDING, Jeffers spent three days fund-raising and speech-making along the Eastern Seaboard, stopping by every mutant community between Baltimore and Bangor. By the time he drove Andie back to her apartment from the shuttleport, they were both exhausted.

  Andie leaned back against the skimmer’s rich, dark-blue upholstery, savoring its softness.

  Jeffers rounded a corner with precision.

  He does everything neatly, she thought. Lulled by the rhythm of the motor, she slipped into a drowsy reverie of their time together on Santorini.

  Jeffers’s voice cut through her dreams. “I wonder how Ben’s been doing at the office.”

  Andie’s eyes snapped open. “Fine, I’m sure.”

  Jeffers gave her a sidelong glance. “I wish you liked him better.”

  Nettled, Andie sat up. “So do I,” she said tartly.

  “He’s been a terrific help to me.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Oh, years.”

  Jeffers slowed the car at an intersection, then scooted through before the light changed.

  “So you knew his mutant girlfriend?” Andie asked.

  Jeffers looked at her oddly.

  “No,” he said, voice controlled. “No, I never met her.”

  “Well, he told me all about her and what she did to his car. Sounds wild.”

  Jeffers’s smile seemed cramped. “Well, that’s Ben.” He stopped the skimmer by her front entrance. “Curb-to-curb service, my dear.”

  “Not bad. Want to come in?”

  “Not tonight, Andie. I’ve got some business to take care of.”

  “All right.” She kept the hurt out of her voice.

  Jeffers blew her a kiss and drove away.

  Inside the apartment, Andie greeted Livia, kicked off her shoes, and punched up her e-mail. She dispensed with the usual junk notes and saved the message from her mother to play back later. A priority message from the office blinked impatiently at her and reluctantly she keyed it up.

  Ben Canay’s green-tinged image flickered and formed on the screen.

  “Andie? Jacqui Renstrow’s replacement, Rayma Esteron, wants to see you ASAP. Said she’d be waiting for you tomorrow morning. Just wanted to prepare you.” Ben winked
and was gone.

  Oh, hell, Andie thought. Another snooper.

  She dialed up a bourbon from the mechbar and began to unpack. Livia wound in and around the clothing on the bed.

  “Blue is simply not your color,” Andie told the Abyssinian. “Maybe red. Those of you with golden eyes should stick to red. The mutants certainly do.”

  That was some wedding, she thought. Must have cost them a year’s income. Well, why shouldn’t the Rytons celebrate something? Losing their daughter and all.…

  She froze. An image had entered her mind: a mutant girl with mixed Caucasian and Oriental features, who held a knife in one hand and was using it to slash the fine leather upholstery of an expensive skimmer.

  Melanie.

  Ben Canay.

  No, she thought. It can’t be.

  She drained her glass in three gulps and dialed up another.

  It could be, she thought. And I have to know.

  She checked the wallchron. Six o’clock. Early enough on a Tuesday evening for Bailey still to be in. She keyed up the Washington police and punched in Bailey’s private code. It took five rings for him to answer. The dark circles under his eyes seemed even deeper than usual.

  “Red?” He nodded a greeting. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sorry, Bailey. I’ve got something that won’t wait.” She gave him a pleading look. He sighed.

  “Okay. Gimme.”

  “Benjamin Canay.”

  “A-Y?” Bailey turned to a keyboard at his side, entered the name, waited. In a moment, he looked up.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No record. Does not exist.”

  “I want to see his face when I tell him that,” Andie said. “You mean he doesn’t come up at all?”

  “That’s what I thought I said,” Bailey answered testily. “Have you got any other ID?”

  Andie frowned. “No…wait a minute! Can you use a voice print to make a search?”

  “Maybe. Takes a little longer.”

  “Try this.” She hit the e-mail replay.

  “Okay, I’ve got voice and image dupe,” Bailey told her. “Hold on.” He faded from view. In his place, an image of a smiling policewoman on a horse appeared. Andie sat on the couch, sipped her drink nervously, and waited. Five minutes later, the policewoman vanished. Bailey stared at her.