Two: And To Top That

1.

We continue.

It's just before 11 P.M.

Clifton Street, Saratoga Springs, upstate New York, deep autumn, unusually chilly—in fact, there've been snow showers on and off the past few nights, flakes swirling in baroque filigree around street lamps, powdering pines, lacing the knotted limbs of oak and chestnut.

Victorian mansions, subdivided into apartments, line the street.

A couple passes a car. The windows are steamed. The denim jacket girl turns to her tie-dye boyfriend: "They're staying warm." And both laugh, moving on, huddled. He says, "Gives us ideas, right?" She leans in. Such a smile. They both think: Score.

But inside the car. Something different altogether.

James Thomas. 40-something. Tweed and leather patches. Ruffled hair. Roughly handsome.

Daryl Tudor. Early 20's. Stunning hair, exotic face, yellow-green eyes.

The professor and his student.

A chat.

No. Much more than that.

Not fogged-window romance at all—or is it?

Indeed, in that one moment before he passes out, James—Compelled—utters, begs the word: "Please."

So Daryl lunges.

James can feel Daryl's mouth pressed against his and the air being sucked out of his lungs. Things grow milky white, blindingly light, and then ...

2.

... that was it until James opens his eyes.

A forest—deep, dense, laminated with iridescent morning dew.

He realizes several things at once, a kind of overloading of sensations:

He's naked—and it's cold.

He's lying on his back looking up into the trees—heavy pine, spruce, and hemlock boughs arched down towards him.

He's terrified. He can barely breathe, as if the moment before he had inhaled something extraordinarily hot and now was trying to recover.

And most of all—the thing he senses most—is the smell—not of the forest but of cologne.

Daryl's cologne.

Rich sandalwood, patchouli, layers of musk.

Deep in his nostrils, on his skin.

He bolts upright.

Daryl stands a few feet away, in his long tweed coat, leaning against a tree, a wide, old trunk supporting a chandelier of hemlock branches.

The black hair, strands across his forehead and eyes.

Yes, those eyes: green, yellow, glowing.

The smile, those lips.

Compelling.

Calmly, deeply: "Good morning, James." He approaches with an extended hand, ready to help James get up. "Welcome to the world of the Awakened."

3.

"Were you expecting him?" The first officer looked up from her note pad.

"Yes." Sari tried to speak firmly, but it was difficult.

"When?"

"He's always home at some point before 10 or 11. And if he's late, he calls." Sari took a sip of coffee.

"And you say that The College called, too?"

"Yes." The other officer answered for her, as if impatient with the pace of the inquiry. "He didn't show up for his class this morning ..."

"... which never happens." Sari finished the thought, reclaiming the conversation. She liked the woman; she loathed the man: Like he's looking through me or something.

"How long have you been together?" She asked. It was woman to woman, eye to eye, as if the other weren't there.

"About six months," Sari said.

"And this is his place or yours?"

"His. I moved in about three months ago."

The man broke in: "Little quick?"

Not to be intimidated: "Not if you're in love."

But he forged ahead. "And he was your professor?"

"Yes." She felt the tremble in her voice: "Is that a problem?"

"Whatever." He turned away to check out the bedroom hallway.

The woman leaned in, "Don't mind him."

"Well, I do mind." Stay in control, Sari. She spoke quietly, as if the other woman were the only other person in the apartment: "It's bad enough James isn't here. I don't need another person—some man, some police officer who's supposed to be helping me—judging me or James. Yes, James and I love each other. Yes, he was my professor, but that was a year ago. Yes, he's older, by over twenty years. Yes, he's Anglo and I'm Pakistani. Yes, he's Christian and I'm a Muslim. Yes, he's a lot of things that I'm not. All things I've had to hear about for the last six months from my parents and some friends. The not so subtle whispers around campus—'Oh, wasn't she Professor Thomas's student? Aren't there rules? She's so young? Must be his midlife crisis'..."

Officer Harnett reached out her hand and gently interrupted. "It's OK, Sari. It's OK. I'm here to help you. Truly."

"Then send him away."

"Don't worry about Jackson. I'll be your contact at the precinct." She reached into one of the pockets of her uniform cargo pants and pulled out a business card. "Call me." Then she leaned in to whisper: "And fuck Jackson."

It was the first smile Sari had that morning.

The only one.

4.

James leans back, refusing the hand—manicured, smooth, a work of art.

"What happened to my clothes?" He covers his groin. "What did you do to me?"

Daryl kneels down next to him. "I didn't do anything nasty if that's what you're afraid of. I'm a gentleman," he smiles coyly, "and never take advantage of a person in distress."

It's almost too smooth, something he'd expect to witness in a movie—the suave young hunk, playing all innocent, but dripping with intent.

"Where are my clothes, for Chrissake?" He tries to say it calmly—in control—it comes out stifled rage.

"They're here." The air around James's body scintillates for a moment—browns, opalescent blues, golds, earthy reds—shimmering, gathering around his legs and torso, then his arms—tighter, closer and closer, until layer after layer of cloth materializes. In a few moments he's dressed—jeans, red flannel shirt, an elbow-patched jacket, a butterscotch colored scarf, knit gloves—everything from the night before.

While James stares—This makes no sense; what the fuck's going on?—Daryl rises and extends his hand once more: "During the Awakening, we become our true natures. No clothes, no masks. Just us. Voyagers pure and true."

He continues to hold out his hand.

James keeps staring.

Those eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

"Well you sure as hell seem to be enjoying all this."

"And I'm not taunting you or doing anything ..." He hunts for the word: "Doing anything ... ill-willed."

"You're smug and cruel. Doing things I don't understand. Telling me bullshit about Martians and Voyagers and Vampires and Werewolves. About auras around Marked people. About Awakening. For Chrissake what kind of sick fucker are you?"

The hand is still there.

"I've told you everything, James. You can believe it or not, but the truth is that now you're one of us. You have the Mark. You're one of the Voyagers. You've been fully Awakened."

"Assuming any of this bullshit is true, I wasn't given any choice. You just decided I needed this and that was that? Is that how you do things? It's like being fucking raped, for Chrissake." He gets up without Daryl's help and walks a few paces towards a deeply contorted hemlock, years of ice and wind having done their bonsai witchcraft.

Then nothing.

The silence is contoured by minute details:

A branch crackles overhead.

The flap of a bird wing to his right.

Two squirrels dart over the leaves, the sound intense, amplified.

What's happening now?

Heightened senses. Deeper insights.

He turns. Daryl is still over by the other tree, maybe three or four yards away.

I'm not saying anything, not speaking...

But you can hear me, can't you?

I... I...

Awakened, James. Awakened, that's all.

5.

"I'm gonna meet him at Uncommon Grounds tonight." Daryl drank beer.

"When'd you set that up?" Val sat opposite him at the kitchen table.

"I didn't. He's always there. Plus I did a quick peek and saw him sitting there. So I'll show up."

"Unannounced."

"Unannounced. Why not? It's a public place."

"I don't have a good feeling about this." He shifted his chair, ready to get up. "Besides, you really think Thane's on target about him?"

"Dead on." Daryl took another swig. "This guy's got an aura so intense, I can barely look at him in class."

Val got up to get another beer. "You good?"

"I'm fine."

Val reached in, pulled out a can, and sat back down. He could always count on Daryl to be stocked.

"Do you think he's ready?"

"I think so. He seems pretty laid back in class, gives good lectures, talks to the students."

Val popped the top. A short hiss of foam. He smiled.

"What?" Like I don't know what you're really thinking.

"Don't give me your 'what' bullshit." Val shot an I-got-this-one-figured-out glance: "You know 'what'."

"You're afraid that ..."

"... that you've fallen in love with your Marked One again."

"Again? Bullshit. Again."

"Bullshit, my ass. Last time we found a Marked One you fell head over heels for the guy and you know where that ended up."

Daryl searched Val's glowing yellow-green eyes. You're always right, son of a bitch.

Yes, I am. You know I am. I care for you little brother. You with a broken heart ain't a pretty sight. Besides this guy's straight.

Maybe not. He seems attracted to me. Val took a swig.

Because he senses his Mark. Recognizes his true nature in you, too. It's not a crush. It's recognition.

He spoke aloud: "I hate it when you get all practical on me." And walked out into his living room.

"He's heterosexual. Get it." Val said with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, just maybe he's also hetero-flexible." And laughed right back.

Val rolled his eyes. "Hopeless."

6.

James is about to say something, when the forest air cracks.

Daryl raises a hand and listens carefully.

Gun fire.

Maybe 400 meters off.

"There. You hear that?"

"Of course, I do. Jesus, guns. Fucking great."

"Head over there—see it?—the cave—about a hundred meters from here." Daryl points. "Over there, behind the thicket."

More fear—if that were possible. "What the hell's going on?"

"We need to move first. I'll tell you on the way."

Twigs, oak leaves, a few pine cones crackle underfoot.

A few rifle volleys sound.

Getting closer.

They pick up their pace and make it to the cave entrance, a narrow slit in a wall of boulders.

"Quick. Inside." Daryl pushes him through, follows in, reaches out, and drags a branch to conceal the opening. "Hopefully they'll be so busy shooting they won't see our tracks."

James curls up and holds his knees; he hasn't felt this scared since childhood nightmares sent him to the comfort of his parent's bed. "Please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Daryl sits next to him and places an arm around him.

James wants to move away, but doesn't. He looks up.

Why am I still so attracted to this whack? Why do I feel so...

It's OK James. I'm not here to hurt you. You're Awakened now. Can't you feel it? That's the attraction. He wondered if Val was right about that.

Rifle shots go off near the entrance; they can hear people rushing past.

What's happening? And despite himself, he leans into Daryl and begins to sob.

It's 1759, and the men scrambling by are French soldiers in a retreat from Roger Townshend who will die, though ultimately the British win. His loss will be deeply felt. We're here to change things up. Roger is one of us. And if Roger lives, history gets re-written.

7.

Sari had to take control of the situation.

She walked into Uncommon Grounds—Broadway's homey competition for the Starbucks two blocks down—over-stuffed chairs, tables, a bar counter, recessed lighting, a few paintings—and waited for Cath to finish taking an order.

Done, the customer walked towards a nearby table and Cath headed to the far end of the counter to prepare tea.

Sari caught up and leaned through the stools over the oak top. "Cath." She was nearly whispering.

"O hi, Sari. How are you?" Today her hair was green, spiked.

"Have you seen James today—Professor Thomas, I mean?"

"No, Sari. He was here a couple of night's ago, but that was it."

"A couple of nights?"

"Yeah. He was working here at the counter. Almost where you're standing right now."

"Was he alone?"

"Yeah." She poured hot water into the infuser. "Wait." The tea began steeping. "Daryl joined him."

"Daryl?"

"Sorry. Daryl Tudor. Cool guy. Student at the College."

"And they talked?"

"Yeah. For a while. I think Daryl's in one of Professor Thomas's classes."

"And then what?"

"Nothing really. It was closing time and they left."

"Together?"

"Hard to tell. They were talking, but I wasn't listening. Maybe they went someplace else or they each went their own way."

"Are you sure you don't remember?" Sari was still talking quietly, but there was obvious urgency in her voice.

"You OK, Sari?"

She couldn't say what she was really thinking at that moment—and didn't want to say he was missing.

"Yeah, fine."

And walked out.

8.

"And you're sure about meeting him tonight?"

Half exasperated: "Yes, Val. That doesn't mean I'll do anything—in fact I probably won't. But I want to establish a relationship. Get him to trust me."

"This could be risky."

"It always is."

"I mean really risky. And how much do you want to tell him?"

"Everything."

"Really now. Everything. Hmm, let's see. What does that include? We're from another galaxy. We settled on Mars and when Mars went to crap, some of us came to Earth. Do you get to the good part? How we were flesh eaters? How we became cannibals back on Mars when the local wildlife ran out? How we started chewing our way through the mammals here on Earth, especially those pesky first humanoids. Yum." He smacked his lips.

"You're fucking gross, you know that?"

"Well, it's true right?"

"Not all of us. And that's the problem, right? There are only a few Feeders left; the rest of us stick to non-humans—always have. And we only kill weaker species to survive."

"Thank you Mr. Darwin."

"Charles was a good man."

"That's right. You knew him. Are you going to include that in James's debriefing, too? That we can teleport and Fold through time. That we can speak telepathically?" He got up from the kitchen chair—"Are you fucking nuts?"—and sat next to his brother on the couch.

"No, Val." He glared: "I'm not nuts. I'm scared. We need to build our forces; that's what we have to do, and you know it. Get rid of the Feeders once and for all. And that means that from now on, everyone who's Awakened has to be told everything."

"So that you can do what?"

"So that we can change how this has all happened. Give ourselves the edge."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Not all of us are Feeders, Val. We can group, overpower them and ..."

"... and what? Kill our brothers and sisters?"

"They still feed on humans. Hell, they still feed on each other. They'd feed on us given half a chance."

"So killing them makes us better?"

9.

You're shitting me, right?

It's 1759 and...

1759. You want me to actually believe that we're now...

A group of men race past the cave opening, firing their rifles, some pausing to reload, then move on again.

Those are British soldiers. They're chasing down the last French troops in the area and their Huron scouts. It's not the French I'm worried about. It's the Hurons. They might pick up our trail. So far so good.

James stops sobbing. A new fear: This guy's completely insane.

"Step back from it, James," Daryl speaks aloud. "Look at all you've been through in the last few hours. It's all real, right? Why can't this be real, too? We Fold through time. Not great distances. The record is about 400 years, but we don't risk more than that. Some of us've done it for fun, but I'm doing it to change history."

James stands up, crouching slightly under the low ceiling. "First you tell me I'm a descendant of some ancient race of intergalactic travelers; now you're telling me that—in addition to mind reading—I can zip around the centuries at will. This is really bad, B movie crap. Emphasis on the crap."

Daryl gets up and puts his hands on James's shoulders as if to shake him. "Listen to me. This is the truth. You've gotta trust me."

"Yeah, you've really instilled trust, all right. Give me a break."

"Please. Listen."

James looks deeply into Daryl's eyes. A wave of calm floods him.

Compelled.

This is the absolute truth. Once we settled on Earth most of us fed on the local animals, but when the first humanoids started to hunt us down, some of us started to feed on them instead. And continued through the ages to feed on humanoids. That's where all the damn legends and myths got started. What I'm trying to do—what a few of us around the planet are trying to do—is put an end to it, stop the killing.

So then why the fuck are we in 1759, for Chrissake? James is trembling; he finally understands what people mean when they say their minds are snapping. Exactly what it feels like. A bundle of branches, a hodgepodge of brittle wood—and in a moment, at any second now, all of those branches are going to spontaneously start to crack in two, snapping loudly, uncontrollably, and I'll be dead.

This is so hard, I know, James. And maybe I fucked up on how I should've done this, but things need to change.

James just stares, his eyes glazing over.

It's Daryl's turn to feel terrified. Oh Jesus. Let's get you back.

James whispers: "Home."

Yes, yours. Not mine. Too dangerous.

10.

Startled, Val steps back, then looks around the corner cautiously.

There she is.

Dammit. Thomas's girlfriend.

With determined steps Sari walked down Clifton towards Daryl's place.

"Shit," he said aloud.

He had to think fast.

What if they're...

11.

"We're back at your place."

James was half conscious on the couch.

"Can you hear me, James?" He paced for a few seconds. What've I done now? I fucked up. Val was right.

"Well, it's a little late to be worried about that, right?

Daryl swung round just as Val materialized in a stream of colorful vapor a few inches away. Once embodied, he grabbed his brother's arm. "I fucking warned you that he might not be able to take it all. Do you realize the sensory overload you've put this poor guy through?"

Then he stopped and looked at James lolled across the sofa.

"Jesus Murphy. You weren't kidding. The guy's practically glowing."

"Told you. His Mark's stronger than anything I've seen in years."

Val let go. "That's still no reason to try so much so soon."

"You're right, OK? There. I said it. You were right. I should've taken it slower."

"Hell yeah. Besides, I still don't get why you have to do it this way. And have you even consulted with any of our brothers in Canada or Europe?"

"I spoke with Jean-Claude and Thane."

"Two? Out of how many?" He walked towards the door. Steps approached. "We can figure that out later. Right now we got a bigger problem."

Val held up his hand, counting down fingers.

When he reached one, there was a knock at the door.

Val smirked: That's Sari.

Sari? Daryl moved closer. As in James's girlfriend? Shit. And went pale.

No kidding.

12.

"And that's what he told you?" The eyes blazed nearly red.

"Yes, I swear." Thane could barely get the words out.

Ran eased up his chokehold. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I've always been loyal."

"Loyalties can be broken." He pulled his Henley straight, adjusting the top button—

"I've risked everything being his friend."

"What risk?"—running a hand over his dreadlocks—"Even if Daryl knew you were really a Feeder, he'd never kill you. He's turned too soft. He'd kick you out, that's about it. That's a risk? Don't make me laugh"—smoothed out his sleeves.

"Yes, risk, Ran. Risk of me being ostracized from our clan, from his clan, from everyone. To walk alone."

"Oh, boo-hoo. Little Thane doesn't want to walk alone." A candle sputtered from the energy.

Thane backed away from the cave wall where Ran had pinned him. "Don't mock my feelings."

"Grow up." Ran walked to the entrance.

"And don't turn your back on ..."

"... and don't give me orders. I need to have a loyal soldier in the front lines; someone I can count on. Sometimes I think you're just too ... what? Close? Too infatuated with Daryl. Too easily turned to his way of thinking."

"If that were the case ..."

Thane found himself against the cold stone again, Ran's forearm pressed violently against his throat. " ... If that were the case, then you and he could try to make his plan succeed. Diminish the clan. Destroy our chances for feeding. Mass starvation, murder if he has his way."

"I swear." He fought back throwing Ran to the ground with a thought. "Enough."

"Oh, he's fighting back. Good. Though you'd grown a bit tepid."

"Like hell." He was sitting full-weight on Ran's chest. His turn: Cold thumbs triggered on Ran's cheek bones. "If I say I'm with you, if I say I'm loyal, I am."

The stare down lasted a full minute.

The he unleashed the Chant: "You will feel what you have done."

It burned.

"You will feel"—he pressed his thumbs in as hard as he could—"what you have done."

Thane jumped up and dissolved into the air at the cave entrance where just an hour before—or perhaps just three centuries before—Daryl and James had hid.

Ran lay there humiliated.

Then sobbing.

Then curled into a ball, feeling the pain of years.

13.

There were two more knocks.

Silence.

Then a key clicking in the lock.

"James. You there? It's me." Sari opened the door.

"James," she called again. "Sorry I'm using the key, but you said if there was an emergency, I could..."

She stopped short.

Something was off. The room was empty. Everything—at first glance—seemed in order. But something.

Something.

The cologne?

The heaviness of the air.

The cold?

Barely whispered: "James."

She shut the door and walked to the kitchen.

They were there, darting from corner to corner, the three of them—James being held up, cradled by Val—too fast for her to see.

But she sensed the infinitesimal breeze blowing through the room, around her, a cold draft that swirled about her ears.

"James?"

Barely conscious: Let me say something to her.

They both said: No.

She'll leave. She'll think I've...

Behind her, the air burst into filaments of kaleidoscopic light.

Thane stood there.

Vividly blond.

Volcanic red eyes.

His knee length leather coat still iridescent.

She gasped—partly fear, partly awe, partly the irresistible beauty.

Thane threw his hand up, a conductor ready for an imposing downbeat: "Where is he?" His voice resonated, the deepest note on a cathedral's organ.

And brought it down to his side, the air in the room suddenly energized, ions flaming. There in the brilliant, diffused smolder, the shadowy outline of Daryl, James, and Val stood behind Sari.

She whirled around, a trapped animal, seeing she was surrounded.

"James?" He was barely distinct.

"Yes," as a voice on a scratched, Edison cylinder might sound—so distant, a mere facsimile.

Back at Thane: "Who the hell are you?" She ignored her terror, screaming: "What's happening?"

"Let them tell you." He pointed to the trio behind her.

There was nothing left. They materialized in a whoosh of static.

James, revived, rushed to Sari, embracing her from behind, though she struggled to get free.

"It's me. Don't be afraid."

She gave a backward kick into his shin and ran towards the door.

Thane intercepted.

She tried to scream, but nothing emerged—just the empty O of her mouth.

He released her.

"My turn now." Thane said. "What the fuck is happening here?" He spoke to them as she immediately backed against the door, clutching the knob with her right hand.

He put up his hands and stopped moving. "OK, OK."

"Thane," Daryl tried to speak calmly, "why are you here?"

"To stop you from screwing this up."

"Screw up what?"

"Give me a break, Daryl. You've awakened James, haven't you? And you tried to initiate the Change."

Told you this would go to pot. Val smirked.

"Don't be so self-righteous. You're in on this, too."

"I warned him; he didn't listen. Little brother rarely does."

"Well little brother could ruin everything and now that she's seen, we're really in a fix."

"Then tell her. Tell her everything." Daryl moved closer.

"We don't tell humans," Thane said.

"That's the problem," Daryl was face to face. "We need humans to know the truth so that the Feeders won't win."

"Do you have any fucking idea what you're suggesting?" He pushed Daryl aside and walked towards the kitchen. "Tell the humans the whole story? Really. OK, let's see what happens." Thane turned towards Sari, frozen in place. He approached—her hand couldn't turn the knob. "Well, my dear, it seems you've stumbled upon us. Let's see. Where to begin. For starters we're ... we're what, boys? What are we? Vampires? A little. Werewolves? Closer to the facts, probably. Ancient? Definitely. Been on this planet for millions of years. Vraiment. Not many of us left and despite all the myths, fairytales, and legends, mostly anonymous, friendly." He leaned in, inches away from her face, "Yes, we suck blood, we howl at the moon—but like I said, most of us are nice enough, limiting the banquet to woodland mammals, stray dogs and cats, the things that won't be missed." He pulled back; she was mortified: She had wet herself. "Although I must say—despite the meager amount of blood—that I've a taste for raw salmon these days. I've kept the local sushi place absolutely thrilled with my takeout orders. I cheat, of course, a little rat blood with the wasabi, heightens the effect." He threw his head back for a quick spurt of laughter.

"Stop this," Val moved in. Thane threw up his arm and Val froze in place.

"In a moment. First, let's finish the tale of the Voyagers and the Marked and the Awakened." His voice rose in pitch and volume. "And the Feeders like Ran and their enemies like you, like us, and the poor humans caught in the crosshairs." He turned to Val and Daryl. "Yes, let's tell them everything and see how their society reacts. Superstitious, greedy, war-loving humans who'd rather shoot a stranger than find out his name, who'd rather enslave a woman than empower her, who'd beat up the queer or hang the black man or incinerate the Jew or imprison the Afghan without a trial long, long before they'd have civil discourse. Drive the stake in the heart, cut the throat, shoot the silver bullet, throw the holy water. Yes, the wonderful world of humans. They'd really get a blast out of us."

"That's not all of 'em and you know it." Daryl screamed; Sari and James bent over from the pain that shot through their ears.

"Really? How do you think humanity would react to know that about 50,000 Voyagers—isn't that the last count?—lurk—and that would be their word, wouldn't it?—lurk among them. And how? How exactly are we going to announce ourselves? A five minute spot on BBC World News? A bit on CNN? A commentary by Martin Brundle, perhaps? From race cars to finish lines with Vamps and Wolves? Brilliant!"

"Maybe if you weren't so fucking cynical, we could tell. Not everyone, you idiot. But a few. Intelligent, thoughtful men like James who might help us."

"Help us get rid of the Feeders? And how do we do that?"

Sari took her hand off the knob and despite her embarrassment—she was deeply conscious of her wet underclothes—took a few tentative steps into the room.

"I don't know who you are," she started feebly, "but I'm not what you describe."

Which gave James the courage to add: "No we're not. Not all of us at least."

"He's right, Thane." They all felt a little bolder.

"Yes." If only a bit, Val sensed the tension in the room lessening. "What you describe is true of many humans, I'll grant you. But not all. And if we can convince just a few of them that most of us are peace-loving, maybe, just maybe we'll be able to eliminate the Feeders."

Sari reaches into her trench coat pocket.

They're too self-involved to notice, she thinks. I can do this.

She'd wanted to tell James. Truly. But she hadn't. Maybe she was afraid of his judgment. Whatever, now she's glad.

"Eliminate them?" Thane said.

"Yes. And that's where the Time Slipping comes in. If we go back and stop them back in earlier centuries, they won't be around now."

She feels the cool handle, then a surge of energy. She doesn't care what happens next. I'm taking action. That's what matters.

"Oh, so killing off our Feeder brothers and sisters three hundred years ago is more morally acceptable than killing them off now?"

Forgive me, James. A few deep breaths.

"Yes, if it means centuries later there'd be no Stalin or Hitler or Sadaam."

She cautiously pulls out the pistol—sleek, black, comfortable in her hand.

Aims.

Val's eyes lock.

James sucks in a breath.

Thane twists round, sweeping his hand in a flaming yellow arc—

—and she dissolves before their eyes in a sputter of cinder and static.

James runs forward, Daryl catches him, holds him in place.

"I rest my case." Thane whispers smugly.