Time, page 17
Meanwhile, her polar opposite, over here sitting in my chair? I had a love for humanity, enough to want to protect and save it, but “like,” on an individual basis? Meh. I tolerated most people, and by “tolerate,” I mean, “didn’t murder them all on sight.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as Kat laughed, her soft coos echoing over the outboard motor thrumming as we put out to sea and left the docks behind. Just another massive contrast between Kat and I.
Glancing at Harry, I saw his eyes move, darting toward me just for a second. “Yeah, you guys are different,” he said, as though helpfully confirming my own thoughts for me.
“Gee, thanks for that searing insight,” I said. “That’s a mighty hot take there.”
He rolled his eyes a little. “I don’t know why you think I’d be interested in Klementina, especially over you.”
It kind of stung when he said it as baldly as that. “Gee, Harry, what would give me the idea that you might ever have been interested in Kat?”
He didn’t cringe, but one of his eyes fluttered, and his lip curled at the corner. “Incomplete information.”
My jaw dropped slightly. “Well, complete it for me, then,” I said, more than a little hotly, but fortunately still meta-low. I saw Kat’s shoulders tighten in the wheelhouse of the small fishing boat, and I knew she was hearing our conversation, every word of it, even over the engine.
“That’s not going to lead anywhere we want to go right now,” Harry said, his words thick with stress. He kept his arm around me, but he looked so tense that it seemed like it’d take a jackhammer to get his muscle groups to release.
I clammed up in favor of saying something I’d probably regret later. And not even much later; more like after I heard the words leave my lips. I sat like that for a good while, the sun crawling up overhead and the boat revving up as the fisherman took us what looked to my eyes like south, though the sun was now high enough it was getting harder to tell.
An hour passed without a word exchanged, and still we maintained our close proximity. It was painful being this near to Harry and having him silent, almost resentfully so right now. It felt like he could have said something, anything, to defuse the tension, but he stayed dead quiet.
Part of me wanted to brain him, just to see if that would get him to make a noise, but instead I settled back and listened to the interminable sound of the engine running and Kat making steady conversation with the fisherman in Japanese. I didn’t understand a damned word of it, but she had him talking now. Laughing, too, occasionally. Damn, she was a master at this.
No wonder Harry had been interested in her.
The boat slowed as we approached an island. It had kinda crept up on us, and I hadn’t realized it was our destination until we turned, making an unmistakable beeline for it. It wasn’t what I expected, like an empty island with palm trees or tiki torches or—I dunno, Easter Island heads.
It was like a full-on, developed island, with a crumbling six-story building on the edge immediately facing us like the bow of a ship. The windows were empty, some of them broken by time or maybe rocks thrown by passing vandals. The facade was crumbling, and beyond it I could see other buildings on the island, which stretched maybe a half-mile or so. It was a full-on industrial complex, and it almost looked like a ship rising out of the water and from the horizon, until I realized what it actually was.
“Holy shit,” I muttered under my breath, “Akiyama really does have his own island.”
Harry just grunted, drawing another fantasy out of me in which I slapped the back of his head and got him to cough up some intelligible and soothing conversation. If he read this as a possible future, however, he did not mention it, which was probably wise on his part.
A small dock, the boards deteriorating, waited before us as we puttered up, the engines making a fraction of their usual rumble as the fisherman steered us expertly up against it. Staring at the dock, I realized this was going to be a little dicey. There were a few boards missing, and those that were still there looked rotted and unstable.
“Okay,” Harry said, studying them for a second. “I’ll go first. Follow me exactly.”
He jumped up on the edge of the boat and landed on the dock a few planks in. It squealed under his weight, but after he steadied himself, he leapt to the next, and I started to follow, bag slung over my shoulder.
Kat was wrapping up with the fisherman, exchanging some kind parting with him in Japanese. I hopped after Harry, taking great care to follow him exactly. “Klementina,” he called over his shoulder, not looking back, “fourth board, and mind your suitcase.”
“Don’t call me that,” Kat said, irritation just flooding out. I heard her jump behind me, though, and the board caught her, squeaking.
“Eyes front, Ms. Succubus,” Harry called over his shoulder, and it took me a second to realize he was talking to me. He must have avoided using my name to keep the fisherman from hearing it. “Don’t look back now.”
I followed Harry’s lead to the concrete quay, letting loose a breath I’d been holding when my feet touched solid ground and left behind the moldering planks. Harry reached out a hand and caught mine, just briefly, yanking me forward. I didn’t look back, and heard the boat’s engines rev up as the fisherman started to leave.
“Don’t touch me,” Kat said, her final hop bringing her down next to me. She waved off Harry’s helping hand and set the roller suitcase down, telescoped the handle, then flipped her hair, looking pretty put out. Not by having to come here, but because of Harry, I suspected. “What now?” she asked me, in a considerably nicer voice. Kinda confirmed my suspicions.
“Work our way to the interior of the island until we find Akiyama, I guess.” I looked around now that the boat was pulling away, and since Harry didn’t stop me, I figured I was probably safe to do so. I felt a little weird seeing the boat head off, cutting through the mild chop, the fisherman’s back turned to us, off to ply his trade while we … lurked on an abandoned island. “When is he coming back for us?”
“He’ll drop by tonight,” Kat said, looking a little forlornly at the boat. “If we’re here waiting, he’ll pick us up. Otherwise, he said he’d pass by tomorrow morning and again tomorrow night. I didn’t negotiate any farther than that, but I got the feeling he wasn’t going to come looking if we weren’t at the dock.”
“Smart move on his part,” I said, taking a breath and looking up again. From where we stood, the quay rose into a road that led past the edge of the building before us. No entrance to said building waited on this side, though a bunch of windows looked down at us, all of them empty and dark, kinda spooky. “I’m guessing Akiyama is behind the ghost stories. Probably wanted to dissuade people from stopping by. Makes me wonder what he did to dissuade them from—”
A belligerent shout from somewhere ahead caused me to jerk my head around. There was nothing there, just the dying cry echoing through the island’s buildings, coming toward us from somewhere ahead, up the winding path that led up the hill into the island’s interior.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” I muttered to Kat, then turned to find her—
Frozen. A quick look confirmed that Harry, too, was trapped in time, face stuck in wide-eyed surprise, looking up for the source of the howl.
And here I was, standing on the edge of a dock on a mystery island in Japan, the howl of someone supremely pissed off the only thing waiting for me ahead … and time frozen around me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Akiyama
He heard voices.
Sometimes they reached him on the wind. Fishermen, passing too close to the island, their outboard motors an affront to his ears and peace, to nature itself. He would listen to them, trying to find his inner calm, but … it was seldom to be found in the face of such disruption.
Most had gotten the message long ago: stay away from his island. It had taken concerted effort, but he’d managed, creating the illusion through long practice that something unpleasant waited here. Some o-bakemono, a ghost or fearsome spirit, unreconciled to the modern era.
But every once in a while … someone needed to learn the lesson afresh. The voices alerted him. His patience had waned long ago, and the outboard motor sounded like grinding metal in his head.
Shin’ichi Akiyama had long striven to be a patient man, but even such men had their limits. He climbed the ruined stairs, as he did every morning and evening for sunrise and sunset, but this time he rose prompted only by the noise of that engine. He needed to see in order to do what needed to be done, to scare the fishermen away from these shores. It should not be difficult; they would be a little distance off, and he could dissuade them with but a display of—
But no. This fisherman was not a distance off at all. He was at the very dock, and three people, Westerners—gaijin—were stepping off the boat and onto the dock.
He blinked in disbelief. Could it be …? No. He saw no sign of Weissman, who had been his only visitor in recent memory. Others of his kind had come, too, but … he had turned them all away. Politely, of course. They lacked the power that he and Weissman shared, and thus Weissman had gained an audience and they’d come to their accord. No one else made it past the docks.
The others had been his friends and acquaintances from the days of old. These, though …
They looked like children, Akiyama thought dimly, his patience at its end. The slipping was getting worse, and he could feel it, fraying at his decency. Was there any feeling more terrible than that pitted helplessness that settled like darkness in the belly? These Westerners, these children—they were an inconvenience to be dealt with, he thought darkly as they skipped across the rotted dock boards, showing their metahuman power by their dexterousness.
Akiyama leapt from the height and calmed the flow of time just as he was about to hit the ground. It took the pain out of the landing, slowing his movement to a halt before he could crash upon the pavement, and he stepped as easily down as if he’d descended one last stair. That done, he stalked down the path toward the Westerners, letting out a shout as he came over the hill.
Out of patience, he threw his hand out. They stopped as if he’d covered them in ice, from the blond on one side to the sagging man on the other. He ignored the dark-haired one in their middle and turned from them, his task complete. His mind was on other things—the slipping feeling, after all, was much more concerning.
Akiyama stalked back up the slope, mind whirling. This would need to be dealt with soon. His mind felt sluggish, and he racked his memory—the slipping was recent, was it not? Had it been going on long? The days, they ran together. He passed the courtyard and into the door to the building where he spent his time without even noticing.
He was moving back toward the room when he heard something behind him. Akiyama froze as surely as if he were one of those Westerners he’d paused in time. He listened, just for a moment, and heard the sound again —
The scuff of a shoe against tile.
Whirling, Akiyama found himself staring into the face of the dark-haired one. She wore a t-shirt and jeans, her hair slightly mussed and her jaw clenched. He said nothing, unsure of what he even could say. There, was, after all, a pale, dark-haired girl in front of him, which was …
Impossible.
He stared at her, and she stared back, until finally, she broke the silence with a simple introduction that seemed to spear his already-whirling mind with further incredulity.
“Hi,” the dark-haired girl said. “I’m Sienna. It’s nice to see you again, Shin’ichi.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sienna
Akiyama looked pretty gobsmacked when I walked up and called him by name. My words echoed through the building where we stood. Curiously, the signs of time’s wrath weren’t as obvious here as they were on the rest of the island. It was almost as though stepping into this building was like stepping back in time. The interior wasn’t exactly flawless, but it didn’t show nearly the weathering and decay that the exterior did; within these walls, the chairs, furniture, and other stuff were clean and untouched, decorating a functional, albeit slightly foreign (to me) outdated doctor’s waiting area.
Fury glowed in Akiyama’s eyes now, as the shock passed, and he jutted a hand at me, palm-first, from across the room. It looked violent, like he was lashing out at me, and by instinct alone I made a defensive move, as though trying to block him.
It wasn’t necessary; nothing happened. He looked at me, not a hint of recognition in his eyes, then muttered something in Japanese that carried a hint of self-satisfaction as I stood there, staring at him.
“I don’t speak Japanese,” I said, and he nearly jumped in surprise. “Kat does, but you kinda froze her, so—”
He thrust his hand at me again, barking something unintelligible, his face pinched into a hard scowl. His black hair was cropped short, but a little whorl threatened to cover the middle of his forehead, swaying as he pushed that hand at me again. I got it this time, his hand motion, and nodded. “Ohhh,” I said, “you’re trying to freeze me in time, like the others. I don’t think that’s going to work.”
His mouth fell slightly open, and he started to speak. It came out a) Japanese, and b) very scratchy, and he seemed to realize this after a second, because he stopped, cleared his throat, covering his mouth to do so (so polite), and then said, “Who are you?”
“I already told you,” I said, “I’m Sienna Nealon.”
He cocked his head at me. “Who?”
My shoulders sagged. “Famous the world over except for right freaking here, of course, where it would be needed most.” I tapped myself in the middle of the breastbone. “Sienna Nealon. Sienna.” His eyes were blank, devoid of recognition. “Superhero? Pain in the ass? … Nothing?” I looked around, searching for a way to break through this introduction business, and a fragment of our first conversation—well, my first, anyway—came back to me. I sighed, looked at the carpet—which was really worn, much older looking than the rest of the room—and raised my head again. “Sienna Nealon. The girl in the box.”
That got him to drop some of the hostility and aggressive lack of understanding. “You … are the girl in the box?”
Yeah. Figures that’d get through. “I have been so-called … by others,” I said. “Long story. Listen … we need to talk.”
“You … have time powers?” He suddenly seemed a lot more solicitous. Calmer now, as though he were now curious about me rather than enraged.
“Ah, no …” I said, “… at least not any I can control.” I frowned. “Or I didn’t, before. But now, suddenly I’m able to stand fast in the middle of these sudden time freezes, and it just sorta flows around me so—I dunno. I guess I have time powers now, though I have no idea how I got them—”
“You cannot … speed things up?” Akiyama asked, staring at me with that suspicion again. “Slow them down?”
“I … don’t think so?” I asked, though now I was not entirely sure of anything. I’d just assumed that these time freezes were happening independent of me and were somehow related to our destined meeting. “I’ve never controlled time before.”
He nodded, once. “This makes sense. I have not felt you make adjustments to the flow of time.”
“And you would have, wouldn’t you?” I asked. “Because you knew when Weissman did.”
His face got stony. “Weissman. That is a name I have not heard in some time. Nor have I felt his touch upon the turning wheel of time.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said, “because he’s dead.”
Akiyama cocked his head. “You were … a friend of his?”
“Ugh, God no,” I said, almost ready to spit. “I hated that bastard. I would have killed him myself if I could have managed it, but … my mother did instead.”
Akiyama’s eyebrow raised. “Your mother … possessed the power to control the flow of time?”
“No,” I said, wondering how lightly I should tapdance around the word “succubus” given how universally reviled we’d been among old-school metas. “She was … something else.”
A cloud settled over his face. “Then how did she defeat Weissman?”
Here’s where we were going to hit the first sticky wicket. “Uhm … you helped her do so. I’m not sure how, but I think you suspended his powers around her.”
Akiyama stared at me, and I wondered if he was going to bust out with, “I did not!” or some similar denial that I was going to have to argue through. Credit to him, though, he didn’t. “Did I indeed?” he asked, still suspicious, but not flatly arguing against it. “I find this …”
“Unlikely? Impossible?” I suggested. “Because that’s kinda how I felt about it when you came to me in St. Paul seven years ago and said we’d met before—even though I didn’t remember it. You said a lot of things I couldn’t reconcile at the time—you called me ‘the Girl in the Box,’ explained the concept of hakoiri musume, knew things about me that you shouldn’t have, told me about Nagasaki and St. Paul being sister cities—that one’s never won me a Trivial Pursuit game yet, but maybe someday—and you helped my mom kill Weissman and save my life.” I blinked a few times after spitting all that out. “Oh, and you gave me a bonsai, though it was tragically lost in one of a series of innumerable explosions that seem to follow me around like a dog following someone with bacon in their pocket. Still, nice gesture, and I didn’t kill it myself, so …”
I had a feeling that I’d just tried to force-feed Akiyama information through a firehose. I settled back, waiting to see what he might need clarification on—or if I was going to have to repeat the whole thing again—but he just watched me with his dark eyes, thinking it all through.
Finally, he said, “It could be as you say, though I do not see how from here.”
