Zero Sum Advanced Review Copy Page 9

Two hours later we stumbled out into the night.

  “Awen’s Ghost, that Bill Weasley is so hot. I would love ta ride his broomstick all night—”

  “Jules!” I yelled, sheltering my virgin ears.

  “Oops!” She smirked. “Double-entendre, huh?”

  “And then some. Thanks for the image. By-the-way, can we actually do that?”

  “Broomsticks?” Jules strummed her chin. “In theory, yea…but do you have any idea how cold it would get? Yer eyeballs would probably freeze straight through.” Jules frowned. “I don’t think it would be a good idea ta mention this concept in front of Roster.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “Don’t worry, I hate heights. Let’s go get dinner.”

  “Heck, yea,” Jules said pumping her fist. “It’s apizza time!”

  I shook my head. “You mean it’s pizza time. I swear, Jules, sometimes we don’t speak the same English.”

  “No, apizza be a New Haven tradition. Come hither, neophyte.” Jules grabbed my hand and led me to a nearby parlor. She ordered something called a “white clam pie,” and we sat down outside to test out the new jackets.

  “Clams, Jules? I don’t know how they do things over on the Isles, but where I’m from, we don’t put clams on our pizza.” I crossed my arms in disgust. She had spent our last forty-five bucks on that abomination.

  “Yea, ya probably settle for dirt and prickles on a slab of sandstone. Don’t be barkin’ at what ya haven’t bitten.”

  The portly chef brought the steaming hot pie out himself. It smelled vaguely of heaven. “Jules, darling,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in months. We were worried you defected to Pepe’s!”

  “Oi!” Jules looked suitably aghast. “I’d never, Sal! It’s the bloody workload. Haven’t had the time ta swing into town, I’m a’fraid.”

  “Well study hard, dear—and you there,” he said, threatening me with his oversized spatula, “you make sure you take care of this one, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, awkwardly. “Best tutor I ever had.”

  The chef winked at me as he shuffled back inside. When I went to ask Jules what that was all about, I found that she was already chomping down on her first slice. There was no hope of talking after that. Best cheese and crust I’d ever had. Ten minutes later, I came back up for air.

  “Good call, Jules.”

  “See, I told ya it was the best. Why ya ever doubt my wisdom baffles my—”

  As Jules’s eyes widened, I already knew it was too late. I couldn’t sense anything dangerous with my Sight, but I was already kicking myself. There was a war on, people were dying left and right, and here we were goofing off in the middle of New Haven. Stars above, how reckless could we be? If Rei had seen what I was up to, she would have punched me in the gut again—and I would have deserved it. In the few seconds I had, I struggled to build up my will. I tried to work out the angles. How could I best shield Jules? Maybe I could tip over the table. That way I could shelter her from the first volley…My jaw tightened. Like a table would stop whatever was about to be thrown at us.

  “Oh. My. Gods.” Jules stammered. “Is that, is that Rei?”

  Huh?

  I eased the pent up mana back into the ground, leaving singed concrete behind. Satisfied I wasn’t going to blow up my new favorite pizza parlor, I turned to look over my shoulder. It was Rei. She was walking down the cat—sidewalk in five-inch black heels. Her long black dress clung tight enough to give just the right hints. A group of tourists decided they were better off safe rather than sorry. They held up their oversized cameras and fired off a few shots. Rei’s sunglasses slapped back the flashes, and she flicked her hair dismissively. The sidewalk devolved into slow-motion chaos. Folks just stopped what they were doing to stare. I shook my head. They should have been wondering why such a tall, thin girl could wear nothing more than a satin dress on such a cold autumn evening, but they were too busy going gaga. Rei appeared indifferent to it all. She checked her watch and gestured to the two men following her.

  “She has an entourage?” I asked. There had to be a dozen bags from all the places the wealthy went to incinerate money.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jules muttered.

  Taking note of us, Rei paused her procession and walked over. I did my best to keep my eyes from straying—but that black dress was like a handful of flares to the face. “Dieter. Druid,” she said, bowing slightly. “So this is where the two of you ran off to.”

  “Out shopping I see,” Jules replied tersely. Her eyes were locked on the bag labeled “Prada”.

  “Indeed. However, I fear the pickings were poor. I do find these boutiques lacking, but my request to travel to New York was denied.”

  Did that mean Rei could afford to take a train ride on a whim? Stars above…

  “We just finished up our debit cards,” I said stupidly.

  “I too. I bought this respectable pair of heels. Do you like them?”

  “Humph,” Jules said, inspecting her nails. “Well, I guess ya can’t expect all of us ta manage our money properly. I bought everything you see with my card.”

  “Indeed,” Rei said. She covered her mouth and yawned. “It shows.”

  Jules turned the same shade of red my dad did the time I dumped his stash of bourbon down the drain. “And I see we are stretchin’ the Tenets to their limits as usual,” she growled. The two men carrying her bags stared at Rei dreamily. Their shoulders were a bit too slack. Their attention a bit too focused.

  “Nonsense,” Rei retorted. “I merely asked these gentlemen for some assistance. Believe it or not, Druid, men actually enjoy assisting certain women in their labors. But you would be unfamiliar with such customs, wouldn’t you, Ms. Twigs-and-Berries?”

  I laughed uneasily at Rei’s Brillo pad-esk comedic stylings. Worse, passersbys weren’t passing by anymore. About a dozen people had stopped to watch this little tiff play out. Recalling the portion of the rulebook covering corporeal punishment for Public Displays of Magic, I said, “Ladies, ladies, ix-nay on the ireworks-fay in front of the Imperiti-way.”

  The two of them ignored me. They seemed intent on staring one another into the ground. Two construction workers started hollering for the requisite catfight. Visions of beer commercials were probably flashing through their heads. The men hadn’t factored in the part where the two little ladies flatten the entire block.

  I moved quickly around the railing to the sidewalk. As crazy as it might sound, I felt way more confident I could drag Rei off Jules than Jules off Rei. My eyes pleading, I whispered in her ear, “I’ll carry the damn bags. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

  Rei stumbled backwards like I’d just slapped her in the face. “Mi a kurvak faszat!” she screeched, and let loose a hacking cough.

  I stood frozen in place, utterly baffled.

  “Nice one, Dieter,” Jules said with a laugh.

  Gasping, Rei hobbled backwards on her brand new heels and toppled into the gutter.

  “What?” I asked, raising my hands into the air. “What did I do?”

  “Todd,” one of the bagmen asked, “how the heck did we end up here?”

  The other man shook his head clear. “No idea.” He checked his fine Swiss watch. “Look how late…who’s manning the shop?”

  “Oh God!” the other screamed.

  Dropping Rei’s bags, the two of them sprinted down the street.

  All the while, Rei continued to stumble around like a buffoon.

  “What did I do?” I asked again.

  Rei pointed a shaky finger at me. “You consumed one of those accursed pizzas, didn’t you?”

  “What? Yea, I ate a clam one with Jules. So what?”

  Rei fumbled for something in her purse, while Jules continued to cackle her head off. I frowned at her. Rei looked like she was having an asthma attack. I didn’t get what could possibly be funny about that.

  Still laughing, Jules walked over and whispered, “Arlic-gay, Dieter.”

&nbs
p; “Garlic!” I exclaimed. “Wait, that’s real too?”

  “Yes, you imbecile,” Rei croaked. She pulled out a big black marker from her bag and yanked the cap off with her teeth. This motion exposed the mother of all needles. I swallowed. I hated needles. I really, really, hated needles. Gritting her teeth, Rei jabbed her EpiPen straight through her pricy dress. Grimacing, she held the needle in her thigh as the epinephrine dumped into her bloodstream.

  “Anaphylactic shock? You’re that allergic to garlic?”

  Rei nodded as she crunched four Benadryl tablets with her teeth.

  I covered my face and mumbled ten to twenty curses into the palm of my hand.

  Thankfully, Jules had finally noticed the crowd. “Wonderful,” she muttered. “Dieter, grab her bags. I’ll go pay the bill.”

  I nodded grimly.

  +

  We walked back to the train station single-file, Rei a distant third.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled for about the fifteenth time.

  Clunking along ahead of us, Rei itched at her swollen ear. “Rejected,” she replied coolly.

  On the train, she sat in the adjoining car from where she lobbed the occasional wet cat glare.

  “I feel like an asshole,” I said to Jules as we sped out of New Haven.

  “Why do ya care so much? It’s not like it was gonna kill her. You can hit a drainer with a bus. A few garlic flakes aren’t gonna do the deed. And besides, she’s always messin’ with people.” Jules fidgeted in her seat. “Serves her right for shavin’ Monique’s hair last night.”

  I sighed. “Monique wanted to get her ass kicked last night.”

  Jules scrunched up her face. “What are ya talkin’ about?”

  “Come on. Monique was feeling terrible. She ordered Sheila out, and Sheila got her ass handed to her. Then she froze up and Roster got cracked. Rei was only—”

  “Why, Dieter? Why do ya always defend her?”

  “Jules, I don’t always defend her. It’s just that—”

  “It’s because ya like her, isn’t it?”

  “We’re…” Jules had caught me off guard, but explaining that our souls were kinda stuck together didn’t sound like a good idea. For a few seconds I didn’t know how to respond. “New York was…hard. Rei and I…she was there in a big way for me. I’ll never forget that. But we’re just friends, Jules.” Anything beyond that was craziness.

  “Nope. I’ve seen it before. She has ya under her spell. Folks get all silly in the head around them.” Jules shook her head in disgust. “Dieter Resnick, you’re a thicko, ya know that? She’s all polite and charmin’ on the outside, but that’s the outside. One time, my gran and I…” Jules bit her lip. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You have no idea what those animals are capable of. None.”

  I ran a thumb over the thick scar tissue on my palm. “Yes I do,” I said grimly. “And so far, it hasn’t been any worse than what I’ve done. You said it yourself, Jules, we do whatever it takes to survive. They’re no different.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Ya don’t know what it’s like in the Fiefs. Dieter, they treat the Imperiti there like cattle. They’re nothin’ but leeches. They’d be better off gone.”

  “And who are you to make that call?” I asked, my voice rising. “From what I can tell, every race in this perverted little sideshow called the Conscious is nearing extinction, but all anybody ever talks about is wiping one another out.” I threw up my hands. “You people are freaking crazy.”

  “Ya don’t get it,” Jules said stubbornly.

  “You’re absolutely right, Jules—and it’s something I never want to get.”

  Chapter 6

  WRIGHT THE SHIP

  I planned to spend Sunday sitting under a tree. Yea, it was freakin’ freezing outside—but that was kinda the idea. Cold meant alone, and alone sounded awesome. I threw on my new coat and robe, requisitioned a space heater from the outdoors club, grabbed an interesting looking book from the library, and headed out onto Elliot lawn. Last night had gone splendid. Rei didn’t want to talk to me, Jules hadn’t stopped yelling at me, and the rest of Lambda was in a funk. While we had gone shopping, the rest of the squad had spent all Saturday annoying the shit out of each other in the basement. By the time we got back, they were ornery as hell. On the positive side, Roster was up and walking again. On the negative side, Roster was up and talking again. Sadie’s case was graver. She was spending this chilly Sunday morning getting a second batch of skin grafts.

  After brushing a table clear of leaves, I fired up the heater and sat down to read. The random book of the day was Dalton’s Elements of Mass Effect Spells, a charming discourse on big-bang magic. It was kick-butt stuff: human sacrifices, plagues, and a great deal of smiting thine enemies with molten debris. (Did you know that for the low cost of twenty thousand souls you could be the proud owner of a Kraken?) I was an hour into mastering the dark arts when I heard the crunch of footsteps on the frozen grass behind me. It was Dean Albright. He was trudging over with his own book in hand.

  “Hello, Mr. Resnick.” Dean Albright was dressed in his usual finery. He wore a trim black suit and matching overcoat. He’d ditched the tie, though—a modest concession to the weekend.

  My head still buried in Dalton’s, I said, “You shall answer me three questions first, or we shall not chat.”

  “Okay…?” he said, scratching his wavy black hair.

  “First question: are you sane?”

  “Um, yes,” he answered.

  “Second question: are you allergic to garlic?”

  “Nope, only penicillin.”

  “Third question: do you come bearing gifts?”

  Albright grinned and pulled a thermos out of his heavy overcoat.

  “Access granted. Feel free to have a seat.” I closed my book and placed it on the table. The lamentation of the women and children would have to wait. “What’s up, doc?”

  “Nothing new. I’m just checking in. How’s Spinoza been treating you?”

  “Well he hasn’t killed anyone yet—but Friday was only his first day. I’m sure that if you just give him a bit more time he’ll deliver a body bag or two.”

  Albright poured out some coffee. “That tough, huh?”

  “Nah, he just smashed Sheila’s head into the cement, broke some of Roster bones, sucker punched Ichijo, rearranged Dante’s shoulder, and made Monique cry. He’s a featherweight, really.”

  “Good,” Albright said with a nod.

  I raised my eyes from my cup. “You approve?” I asked.

  “Of course, son. I designed the program.”

  I set down my coffee.

  “Mind enlightening me?”

  “Let me ask you a question.” Albright slid closer to the heater, cupped his hands, and soaked up the warmth. It was the first time I ever noticed them. They were both covered in scars. It looked like Albright had stuck them into a weed whacker a few years back. “You have survived two engagements thus far. Why do you think that is?”

  I didn’t even need to think. “Luck. I had no idea what I was doing. I was just flying by the seat of my pants.”

  Albright shook his head. “I disagree. In both instances, the enemy should have easily overpowered you. Luck might have saved you once, but not twice. And, son, we’re not even considering the original incident.”

  I shrugged and buried my head in my cup. Albright waited patiently for me to finish.

  “What can I tell you?” I said, finally. “Seat of my pants. I didn’t have any skills. I still don’t. I just tried to hit people when they weren’t looking.”

  “Exactly, son. You’re unpredictable. Would you ever try to go blow for blow with Roster? No. Would you ever try to force your way past one of Sadie’s fortifications? No. In every one of your fights, you have never once gone toe-to-toe with your enemy. You have zero faith that you can overcome an adversary through brute force, so you try something else.”

  “I’m sorry, but are you calling me a coward?”

&n
bsp; “Of course not,” Dean Albright said with a laugh. “Cowards run away—something you should consider doing more often, actually. No, son. I’m calling you a tactical fighter. You understand something fundamental about combat: full-frontal assaults only work if your opponent is both weak and stupid. Combat is not playtime. If you fail, you do not merely merit a failing mark. Your comrades are overrun. The people you care about die. In real combat, failure means you are left with a burden you cannot bear. And you don’t get to go cry in a corner. There isn’t going to be a corner left for you.”

  I shifted uneasily.

  “Son, a real battlefield lacks dignity and honor. When lives are being spent—actual human lives—those high-minded concepts lose their meaning. All that matters is victory. If you have blades, you’ll use blades. If you have rocks, you’ll use rocks. If there’s nothing but sand, you’ll throw the damn sand. A true war is only waged when men don’t want to live to see what failure looks like. You do what it takes to win. You go wherever necessity takes you.”

  I sat in stunned silence as he spoke. This wasn’t the Joseph Albright I knew. This wasn’t the affable dean of student affairs. This was an Albright from another time and place. He spoke of blades. When exactly was the last time blades were used in combat?

  “As a counterpoint, consider the arrogance Ms. Bathory displayed in New York,” he offered.

  I bristled. “Sir, she saved my life in New York.”

  “No, Dieter. You saved hers.”

  “W-what?” I stammered.

  “Tell me, son. Why did Ms. Bathory challenge them in hand-to-hand combat in a well-lit warehouse? Why did she erase every single advantage she has at her disposal?”

  “She…” I frowned. “Okay, good point.”

  “Heightened senses. Stealth. Speed. Training since childhood in all manners of combat. You have no conception of the technical proficiency Theodus expects from his broodlings. She was memorizing battle formations while you were still in diapers. So why did Ms. Bathory select a battlefield that erased every last one of her strengths?”

  “I think…” I examined the crisp brown leaves above my head. They didn’t offer much insight. I bit my lip. Was it all right to even say this? “For the thrill of it?”