Anton Strout - Deader Still

“Wait, wait, wait,” Connor said. He came over to me. “Jane and Wesker ? What? You think she’s doing the dark deed with the Dark Dud?”

He started laughing and shook his head.

“What?” I said. “I’m dead serious. What’s so hard to believe about that? He’s powerful, commanding; they share an affinity for dark things . . .”

“But he’s Thaddeus Wesker ,” Connor said, unable to control himself. I felt the uncontrollable urge to smash him in the face. When he saw the serious look in my eyes, he composed himself. “Look, kid. I know that actually maintaining a relationship is new to you. It’s probably why you’re having all these out-of-whack jealousy issues. It’s like you’re in high school.”

Connor was right, though I hated to admit it. I felt my rageful urges calming down.

“I’ve never had to deal with any of this before,” I said. “I’m in uncharted water here.”

“You and Jane make a cute, if annoying, couple,” he said. “Don’t blow it over something as ridiculous as your imagined jealousy, okay?”

“Should I really be taking this advice from someone as single as you?”

Connor’s face darkened.

“Hey,” he said. “My being single is a choice. I made that decision when I entered the Department, so that no one close to me would ever come to harm. Let’s not get off topic here. We’re talking about you.”

I stared down into my hands—my powerless hands.

“Believe me,” Connor said. “There are worse problems than not having paranormal powers.”

“Things okay with you?” I said. Like the lights going out in a house, Connor’s eyes changed right before me, and he looked away.

“It’s nothing, kid,” he said, but I could still see he carried some kind of extra burden. That letter he had received had something to do with his brother. I would have bet money on it. Why had it been blocked from me in my psychometric vision, though? I had to find out.

“You know, you can talk to me,” I said. “About anything.”

Connor gave me a sidelong look of suspicion. “Is that an order?”

My stomach clenched at his words.

“Knock it off,” I said simply.

The Inspectre pushed his way back through the crowd, elves and Klingons flying to his left and right. He approached the booth, breathless.

“Anything?” Connor asked.

“As you said, the blasted wagon of theirs is nowhere to be found,” the Inspectre said.

“So there’s nothing we can do,” I said, frustrated. The only people who might have any sort of answers about the chupacabras or my power loss had literally vanished into thin air. It was all I could do not to scream. “I have to get out of here.”

The Inspectre, still winded, gave me a stern look.

“Sir, please,” I begged. I held my ungloved hands up to him. “We’re called the Department of Extraordinary Affairs. Right now I’m barely qualified for ordinary affairs, if that. I just need to get away for some time to think.”

My pleas seemed to soften the Inspectre, and he nodded.

“Of course,” he said finally. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off from the show floor and collect yourself.”

“Yeah, kid,” Connor said. I turned to him.

“Can I use your phone?” I said.

Connor hesitated. I never asked to borrow it from him, but that had been because I generally didn’t want to trigger off anything personal of his unless it was under the right circumstances. Without my powers, it really didn’t matter what I touched, but Connor didn’t move to hand it over.

“Mine melted in the Oubliette, remember?” I reminded him.

Connor nodded, and reluctantly pulled out his phone. He started to hand it to me, then pulled it away. “Maybe I should dial whatever number for you, just for safety’s sake.”

I reached over and snatched the phone from him. It felt oddly liberating not to have to worry at all about keeping my power in check while holding it. Liberating, yes, but also a little bit empty.

“Give me that,” I said, stepping away before he could grab it back. “I just need to get in touch with Jane.”

I’d have to contend with Mina and the heist details later, but now that I was powerless, the desire to see Jane was suddenly overwhelming. Sure, I had poor impulse control, but I wasn’t scheduled to take “Controlling Your Poor Impulse Control” until next spring anyway, so I couldn’t feel guilty about it.

I called Jane and begged her to meet me once again at Eccentric Circles in half an hour. I didn’t feel like heading into the Black Stacks over at Tome, Sweet Tome in my current condition. Jane agreed to meet me downtown. I hurried off the floor of the Javits Center and headed down to the bar.

Eccentric Circles was jumping considering it was midafternoon, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Thanks to the gypsies, I could walk around gloveless. Normally a bar was a potential minefield for my psychometric powers. It felt weird to be bare-handed.

Since Jane had farther to travel coming down from Tome, Sweet Tome on the Upper West Side, I grabbed a beer and settled into the same booth Jane and I had dined in at the back of the bar the other night. By the time she showed up, I was down to the dregs of it. She had her trademark pile of arcane books sticking out of her shoulder bag. She didn’t look happy.

“All this research is going to kill me,” she said, “or, at the very least, crush me.”

“I hope you didn’t bring any books that have a vendetta against me,” I said, holding up my hands in a defensive posture.

“It’s not the books you should be worried about,” she said, with a little attitude to it.

I was a little blindsided after our time spent patching things up last night.

Jane’s eyes went to my bare hands as she slid the bag off her shoulder and onto the seat. She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not wearing your gloves,” she said.

“Yeah, about that . . .”

I told her everything that had happened since seeing her last—about Central Park, chasing dead Dr. Kolb, and about the confrontation with the gypsies on the convention floor at New York Comic Con.

“So they just evil-eyed you?”

I shrugged. “Something like that. All I know is that I haven’t been able to read a single thing psychometrically since.”

Jane took my hands across the table.

“Wow,” she said.

We sat there in silence for a minute, the bar and the rest of life continuing on around us.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah.” I smiled. “For so long, my power dictated who I was, or limited what I could do. I came to the Department of Extraordinary Affairs because, let’s face it, where the hell else was I going to fit in with what I could do. Now I feel kinda free. I thought about it while waiting for you . . . Maybe I should leave the Department. I thought I’d run it by you before I came to any real decisions, though.”

Jane looked wounded, but then she shook her head.

“I don’t think you want to quit, Simon. I really don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked. “It’s not like I fit in with our little Island of Misfit Toys anymore. Besides, I wouldn’t have to deal with seeing you working for Wesker anymore . . .”

Jane sighed but squeezed my hands.

“Despite whatever issues you seem to be having with me, Simon, you’re good people. This job is in you, even if you’re never able to read another item in your life.”

“How do you know I’m all that good?” I sure didn’t feel like all that good a person. I was a jealous boyfriend and a deceiver. I thought about Mina and the fact that I was about to help her steal something. Was that what a good person let himself get wrapped up in?