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  By block five, he was struggling to catch his breath. By block twelve, exhaustion was setting in fast and hard. By block fifteen, that dull ache in his ribs had sharpened to a pulsing throb, and by block eighteen Gabriel was bleeding through his shirt.

  “Enough games,” he panted, pulling the wet fabric away from his skin—grateful that he’d at least chosen to wear something black. “How much farther? And why, in the name of all that’s good and holy, couldn’t we have taken a cab?”

  “I already told you,” Canary choked down the remainder of the cookie she’d been rationing for the last half mile, “physical therapy. You need to walk—”

  “I need to rest.” Gabriel came to an abrupt stop, putting his hands on his knees. “I’m not walking another step until you tell me where we’re going.”

  “Relax.” She turned him around with a gentle hand, angling him towards a decrepit building on the other side of the street. “We’re here.”

  He stared at it blankly for a moment before looking down at her in sudden surprise. “Is this some halfway house? You didn’t believe my story? You think I’m on drugs?”

  She shook her head, taking him firmly by the arm. “Not only did I believe you, but I’ve been thinking a lot about your situation.” The kindness of her voice was a stunning contrast to the strength of her hand. “It became clear to me that you can’t move on until you’ve reconciled your past. And you can’t reconcile your past until you get some answers. Find some closure.”

  How bizarre it was to be talking about this in the middle of the street. Gabriel’s eyes flickered this way and that before coming to rest on his strange new acquaintance. Perhaps that was the point, he thought. That she was a stranger. He wouldn’t be doing this any other way.

  “That’s precisely why I’m here,” he replied cautiously, unsure as to her point.

  Her eyes tightened with a profound mix of concern and pity. “No, Gabriel, you’re here to put a bullet in a man’s skull. You’re hoping that’ll somehow help. Not that I can really blame you,” she added practically. “You were raised by ghouls, after all.”

  Gabriel shifted impatiently on his feet, growing more and more agitated by the second. “What are you saying—”

  “I’m saying...there are other ways of getting the answers you seek.” Her eyes lit up with a twinkling smile as she gestured to the crumbling colossus. “This, my friend, is going to be the solution to all your problems. Care to step inside?”

  “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” Canary’s voice filtered down through the cobwebs as the two of them climbed the world’s most rickety stairwell. The kind that creaked precariously with every step. Why whoever owned the deteriorating apartment complex hadn’t sprung for an elevator sometime in the forties was anyone’s guess. How the place was possibly occupied was another mystery entirely.

  Gabriel glanced at the walls and resisted a shudder. “Like I wish I’d been vaccinated...”

  There was a snort of wheezing laughter as she smacked him in the ribs. “I meant your chest, Gabriel. That pesky little gunshot wound.”

  He gritted his teeth, glaring at her back with the power of a nova. “Well, I’d feel a lot better if you’d stop slapping it all the time.”

  Maybe it was a natural human reaction, maybe it was a result of living down in the caves too long, but Gabriel had a strong aversion to germs. It wasn’t something he was hyper-aware of himself, but it had been a constant trait since childhood. His old flat back in London had been absolutely spotless. Molly had invited him over multiple times just to ‘hang out’, after which he’d suddenly realized she knew he couldn’t help but straighten things if he was left in one place for any extended period of time. Needless to say, the building—which looked like it had leapt half-dressed from Tim Burton’s nightmares—was his own personal hell.

  “Don’t do that.” He grimaced as Canary threw out a hand to the wall for balance, then gave it a cursory wipe on her shawls. “It’s probably covered in some rare kind of mold.”

  She paused mid-step, twisting around in delight. “Are you a clean freak?” He didn’t reply, and she let loose a howl of laughter. “Oh, I bet you are! That’s hilarious!” Her eyes lit up with the thrill of discovery. “And it makes perfect sense. Trapped underground so long in a place where everything was beyond your control—”

  “I’m not your freakin’ case study, all right?” he snapped. “Let’s just keep walking.”

  She took another step, then threw a sly grin over her shoulder. “If you like, I have some hand sanitizer in my bag.”

  “You know what, why don’t you just lick the walls? Put us both out of our misery.”

  Five minutes and ten flights of stairs later, they had finally reached the top. It was here that Canary paused, straightening their clothes in a sudden effort to look presentable.

  “Now, before we go in there, promise me that you’ll behave,” she muttered under her breath, trying her best to straighten his hair while he held her easily by the wrists. “None of that sarcasm. None of that brooding wit. It’s not nearly as charming as you think, Gabriel.”

  He flashed her a dry smile. “Yes, Granny.”

  She rolled her eyes, glaring as if he was a lost cause. “On second thought, it’s probably best if you don’t speak at all. Just let me do all the talking. And whatever you do, don’t, under any circumstances—”

  “Who the bloody-he-heck are we meeting here?” He caught himself swearing just in time. It didn’t stop his frustration. “Some dark mage?” He yanked free of her grasp and gestured to the door. “Just ring the bell. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  I’ve got to stop saying those words out loud...

  “DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

  The second the door opened, Gabriel and Canary were under attack. Not from any conventional opponent, fighting with any conventional weapon. But from a tiny metallic creature, one that was wielding what looked like a pair of sharpened spoons.

  What the...?!

  Before either one of them could say a single word, the outline of a girl streaked in between them. Shoving Gabriel hard into the wall and turning her back on Canary as she scooped the little deviant into her arms, cradling it as though it was a real person. It was only then that Gabriel realized she hadn’t been warning the machine. She had been warning them.

  “Ah, Natasha! Good to see you.” Canary straightened up as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and gave the girl a warm smile. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but we were in the neighborhood and I was hoping to have a word. I’m assuming this is the infamous Karl?”

  The girl set the robot down on the floor and the three of them watched as it proceeded to skitter away under a table, beeping threateningly all the while. Once it was safely out of sight, she turned back to her guests with a weary sigh. “Hans, actually. Karl didn’t make it. Got himself stuck in the dishwasher on the spin cycle last week. There was nothing left.”

  Gabriel didn’t know whether to laugh or to leave. He also had no idea what to make of the girl now that she was standing right in front of him.

  His first thought was that she was beautiful. Absurdly so. The kind of beautiful that didn’t belong in a dank apartment, its windows covered to hide the sun. The kind of beautiful that belonged in a book. Or in a dream. Not here. Not anywhere in real life.

  But aside from that initial assessment, it was kind of hard to place her. She wasn’t blonde, but she wasn’t quite brunette. Her eyes weren’t blue, but they weren’t exactly green either. Everything about her seemed up to chance. From her vaguely punk clothing, to the screwdriver holding back her hair, to the black marker scribbled all over her shoes.

  “You made that?” He glanced back towards the robot, still clattering murderously away under the table. Unsure whether to be impressed or concerned. He settled on...wary.

  She didn’t answer. The whole time he’d been making his assessment of her, she’d been assessing him as well. Just as guardedly.

  Canary steppe
d in between them with a wide smile.

  “Natasha Stone, meet Gabriel Alden. Gabriel Alden, this is Natasha Stone.”

  Neither said a word. Neither relaxed their position in the slightest. Canary’s smile faltered for a second before she redoubled her efforts, pulling them both a step closer.

  “Gabriel just got into town,” she prompted them encouragingly. “He’s staying over at the Fischers’ for a little while.”

  Natasha nodded swiftly, then returned her gaze to Gabriel, a wicked smile dancing in her eyes. “You’re the guy who looked in to the fish tank and thought it was the Second Coming.”

  Gabriel held her gaze for only a second before turning accusingly to Canary. “Is that just how you’re introducing me to people—”

  “Puts a whole new spin on Finding Nemo,” Natasha added under her breath.

  “That’s hilarious.” Gabriel leveled her with a cold stare, then turned to Canary in the same breath. “Can we leave?”

  “Gabriel needs your help,” Canary announced with no further preamble.

  “He does?”

  “I do?”

  “Yes,” she answered them at the same time. “He’s having a bit of a memory problem. Natasha deals in memory manipulation—mnemokinesis. The best I’ve ever seen.”

  Gabriel looked at the girl uncertainly, scrolling through what little he knew about the study of memory. Mnemokinetics were rare. In his time with Cromfield, he had only ever seen two. They were highly prized for their ability not only to manipulate memories, but to retrieve them as well. Guiding you through a sort of existential journey. Like a spirit animal.

  But this girl didn’t look fit to be guiding anyone. Her eyeliner was smudged, her nail polish was chipped, and Gabriel highly doubted she’d eaten anything in the last six months that hadn’t come out of a bag. Between that and the Nemo comment, he was ready to call it a day.

  “I already have someone for that,” he said shortly, angling for the door.

  Canary caught him by the arm, dragging him back. “Yes, and if what you’ve told me about Julian Decker is true, the two of you couldn’t spend more than a few minutes in your mind before the pain would kill you both.”

  “A few minutes,” Natasha scoffed. “What kind of a mnemokinetic is he?”

  “He isn’t one,” Gabriel answered harshly. “He’s a psychic.”

  “A psychic?” For a moment, Natasha’s hard exterior cracked and he was able to see the sudden curiosity beneath. “Then how can—”

  “Will you do it?” Canary interrupted cheerfully. She’d clearly had quite enough of their sharp back and forth, and was eager to seal the deal and get on with it.

  Natasha shot her a quick glance, turning back to Gabriel. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before she abruptly shook her head. “I’m not interested.”

  He shrugged dismissively and headed for the door, but Canary caught him in a vise-like grasp—shooting Natasha a deceptively sweet smile over their shoulders as she held up a finger.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, can you give us just one moment?”

  Natasha rolled her eyes, folding her skinny arms across her chest and walking away to give the two of them a little privacy. At the same time, Canary spun back towards the door and yanked Gabriel down so the two of them were at the same height.

  “Are you serious?” she hissed, quiet enough that only the two of them could hear. “You would rather risk getting shot again than humble yourself to ask for a little help?”

  “I don’t need this kind of help,” Gabriel muttered in reply. “And, if you recall, I tracked down Stryder to do more than just answer a few questions.”

  “That’s right, you did.” She pulled herself up to her full height, looking him square in the eyes. “And do you really think he’s going to answer a single question before the two of you try to kill each other all over again?”

  It was a fair point. One for which Gabriel had no defense. He hesitated for another moment before taking a deep breath and making a visible effort to swallow his pride.

  “What do you want?” He sighed. Natasha glanced over in mock confusion, and he gritted his teeth before repeating the question. “In exchange for helping me. What do you want?”

  Her lovely eyes gleamed with smug victory, then she shrugged indifferently once again. “Nothing you could possibly offer.”

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows slowly and Canary, sensing trouble on the horizon, was quick to intervene.

  “Whoo!” She swayed comically on her feet, stumbling towards the nearest sofa. “It’s a hot one today! Natasha, would you be a dear and bring me something to drink? Maybe some of those wafers we had last time as well?”

  Natasha shot her a look, one that cut straight through all pretenses, but she did as she was asked, stalking off into the kitchen without another word. Canary watched her go with a faint twinkle in her eyes before turning hastily to Gabriel as well.

  “Go help her!” she demanded. “She can’t carry it all in by herself!”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes, but headed to the kitchen with a quiet sigh. He’d learned enough about Eliza Plutarch Duncan to know she wasn’t giving up without a fight. Best to indulge her a little. Let her get it out of her system so he could get the heck out of this shitty apartment, go back to his air-conditioned room at the Fischers’, and finally get some sleep.

  Natasha was busy assembling a tray of what looked like vanilla wafers when he walked in. And by ‘assembling,’ she was dumping them from a box onto a plastic platter. Gabriel had been right about the kitchen. It was the kind that obviously didn’t get a lot of use. A large sign was taped across the entire oven, ‘NO, Karl! Hans!’ and the well-used toaster was surrounded by at least a dozen empty boxes of Pop-Tarts.

  Truth be told, it looked a great deal like several of Gabriel’s old flats. Back when he used to travel the world doing Cromfield’s evil bidding. He’d never had much experience cooking, and all you were likely to find in those cupboards was a bottle of whiskey and a hand gun.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He glanced up to see Natasha staring at him straight on. There was something vaguely aggressive about her stance, and her fingers tightened on the tray as she waited for a response. He stepped forward quickly, holding out his hands. “Let me take that for you.”

  “I’ve got it.” She twisted it out of reach, but cocked her head towards the fridge. “But there’s some lemonade in there. Glasses are above the sink. They’re a little hard to—”

  Gabriel pulled down three of them, careful not to disturb the rest of the stack.

  “—reach.”

  The two of them looked at each other for a moment before Canary’s crackling voice warbled out from down the hall. “Gabriel’s from London, Natasha!” she called coaxingly. “All the way across the ocean!”

  Natasha rolled her eyes with the hint of a genuine grin. “Ohhhh, that London?” she called back teasingly. But she turned back to Gabriel, showing the first sparks of life. “England, huh?”

  He opened the fridge and pulled out the lemonade, feeling incredibly on edge without really understanding why. “You ever been?”

  She shook her head, dropping her gaze with a hint of embarrassment as she rattled the wafers absentmindedly. “I’ve never left the country. Always wanted to, though. London’s at the top of my list.” She looked up suddenly, those green-blue eyes locking onto his. “Do you like it there? Do you miss it?”

  A breath caught in his chest, and he found himself momentarily unable to speak. They were the color of the ocean, he realized. Her eyes were the exact same shade of those hypnotic waves you’d see crashing along the shore. A cold ocean. On his favorite kind of beach. The kind where you stuck your hands deep inside your jacket pockets and walked the pebbly shore. Staring out towards the horizon. The wind in your hair. The salty mist kissing your face.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, once he’d recovered. “I miss it.”

  The ghost of a frown shadowed across he
r face as she stared up at him. Echoed almost immediately with a flicker of curiosity. The two of them stared for a second longer. Both trying to see past the surface. Both trying to see what was underneath. Then a hacking cough made them both jump, and they quickly headed back to the living room.

  “There we are!” Canary leaned forward with a smile as they set their things down on a stack of books that served as a coffee table. “Some of that famous Brooklyn hospitality.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they don’t have that south of Bushwick,” Natasha replied as she and Gabriel settled themselves on opposite sofas. As if to emphasize her point, her face instantly darkened with a look of rage. “Oi, Apollo! You ever heard of a security deposit?!” Gabriel stared at her blankly, and she pointed to his shirt. “Don’t bleed on my couch!”

  He got up slowly, wondering in what world she possibly hoped to see a return on her roach-filled investment. “Sorry.”

  Canary’s eyes flickered nervously between them before she reached across the table to take Natasha’s hand. “So how about it, honey? Will you help the boy out?”

  Gabriel stifled a bored sigh as he absentmindedly stared out the window. No, she wouldn’t. She’d already made that perfectly clear. And that was just fine by him. There were other ways of finding out about his past. All he needed was to—

  “Can you put up shelves?”

  Gabriel blinked and returned to the conversation. Not sure if Natasha was kidding. When it became clear she was waiting for an answer, he lowered his glass with a faint frown. “You built a robot in your free time, but you can’t put together a couple of shelves?”

  Her eyes chilled immediately as she slammed her glass on the table, turning to Canary with a look of sheer indignation. “I can’t work with this!”

  “Gabriel—”

  “I can put up shelves,” he said quickly, looking back and forth between them as both women turned to him with a matching glare. In the end, he rested his gaze on Natasha—staring intently into her eyes. “Whatever you need. I can do it.”