Close Enough to Touch Page 8

  Byron said, "Algernon Lachapelle, 3-level breezer with sufficient military skills you were placed in special forces, trained up as a sniper. When you were honorably discharged after your ten-year, you joined the Shades, G.O.D. black-ops. Currently you're listed as retired at the recommendation of your doctor, suffering from PTSD and several other problems, and decided to travel the world to rest and recuperate."

  "That's the clinical summation of my life, yeah," Scones said. "That 'doctor' is really my handler, though. She gets me the intel and access I need to reach my marks."

  "Why do you need a handler to go around killing G.O.D.?" Oberon asked. "Or do you also do side work?"

  "Why, do you need someone killed?"

  "How would you feel about being commissioned to commit suicide?"

  Scones laughed. "I always knew you'd have teeth."

  "And claws."

  "Enough. Oberon, what is your problem?" Cab asked.

  "He's scum, that's my problem. He's Lachappelle's son. He could call her right now and tell her exactly where we are and we'd all be fucking dead."

  "You'd be long gone by the time they could reach you here, and I don't help my mother," Scones said, voice hardening. "Not after everything she's done to me and would never do for me." He stared at Oberon, who stared back.

  After a couple of long, tense minutes, Oberon turned away with a few softly muttered words of French and vanished through the door that led to the bedrooms.

  Matt glanced at Scones. "You weren't kidding about how much he was going to hate you."

  Leland's brows rose. "Okay, two questions: how do you two know each other; and why does Oberon hate you so much? Because his loathing seems very, very personal."

  "My mother was always dragging me along when she visited various Dog facilities around the world," Scones replied. "Some of the worst shit I ever saw was in those places, and one that particularly stood out was the place they kept Matt. I remember when he was strapped to tables, cut open in a hundred places, and hooked up to so many machines it was hard to tell there was a person in the mess somewhere. They certainly never saw him as a person. I also very briefly met Mason Mountebank, when you—" he gestured to Dixie, "were just a little thing."

  "You must have been a kid yourself."

  "I was ten, yeah."

  Dixon eyed him thoughtfully. "I woulda been about three or so I guess, if I'm remembering your age correctly."

  "Thirty-six, give or take a few months," Scones replied.

  Leland said, "So explain Oberon now."

  "Surprised you don't know that one, given all the secrets our Alien Overlord here is privy to."

  Byron sighed. "I wish we would all stop calling me that. But yes, I do in fact know the answer. Your mother killed his family. She was still quite young at the time, fresh out of training, couldn't have been more than twenty-one. A 6-level flame, the most dangerous type of elemental, hardest to control. Your mother has always been well-known for her exceptional control."

  "She was only twenty, actually, and quite proud of herself for that little bout of mass murder. She's good at controlling fire because she's a cold-hearted bitch."

  Leland looked between them, the grim set to their faces. "Mass murder? What in the hell did she do?"

  "Back then, not everyone was so keen on the G.O.D. and how much power the World Board just gave them, like giving children toys on Christmas. There were all sorts of rebel groups, most useless, some effective, a rare handful actually a genuine problem. Oberon's husband was part of one of those genuinely threatening cells. They were serious, dangerous, actually waking people up to how problematic the G.O.D. really was. They fucked up a lot of shit, and Oberon's husband was pivotal to all of it, the mastermind. His name was Evan Glass, but you won't find it anywhere now; the G.O.D. wiped him from existence.

  "Anyway, eventually Glass and his team went too far, to the point the Dogs could no longer pretend they were a small problem that would go away on its own. They sent my mother to take care of the problem and send a message so there wouldn't be further problems. She carried out her orders with gleeful enthusiasm. Located the apartment where Glass lived, sealed it up so Glass and whatever other collateral damage were present couldn't get out, and set it ablaze. A few people managed to get out, but she killed them right there in the street. By the time the blaze was put out, there wasn't even enough of Glass and their three children left to identify. Paris painted Glass a maniac, one of the earliest 'villains' as we classify them now, and then buried the whole thing faster than you can say 'cover-up.'"

  "Did you say children?" When Scones nodded, his face the grimmest it had been yet, Leland said, "I'm going to throw up." He pressed the back of one hand to his mouth. When they said she'd killed Oberon's family, he'd assumed they meant father, siblings. Which was bad enough. But killing Oberon's children.

  "Plenty of people in this world have reason to hate me, and I don't begrudge any of them, least of all Oberon. If I were him, I'd hate me too." Scones glanced at the way Oberon had gone, and Leland swore something like sadness, a bit like longing, flickered across his face for the barest moment.

  "Where was Oberon when this happened?" Matt asked.

  "Out of the country. He—she, back then—wasn't involved in any of this back then, just worked for a huge make-up company, had flown to Canada for a conference. The last known sighting of her was decades ago, somewhere in the United Tribes, and it could never ben entirely confirmed. No one even knew she had powers, let alone that she was a 7-level shapeshifter, until the G.O.D. was going through records before destroying them. She's been a thorn in their side for a long time."

  Leland didn't know what to say. The revelations certainly cast Oberon in a completely different light.

  Before he, or anyone else, could figure out what to say, Scones turned to Byron, once more all business. "So what's the plan now?"

  "Are you sticking around?" Byron asked. "If you do, your secrets will likely come out."

  Scones lifted one shoulder. "It was inevitable. A secret like mine doesn't stay one forever. Matt asked me for help, and I agreed, knowing the consequences. I've always worked solo, mostly for my safety and everyone else's, but you guys have declared war on the G.O.D. at this point, so going solo really isn't the safer option anymore. If you'll have me, I'm happy to join up with the Anti-Heroes."

  Byron looked around the room, and after receiving nods from everyone, said, "Welcome aboard. First order of business is to transport Ariadne and the children to their new home. It's up in Canada, though, so it's going to be quite the undertaking."

  Karl said, "I think the first order of business is to get some rest. This place will keep us safe for a few days, let everyone recharge, finish healing up. I assume food isn't an issue?"

  "No, we brought plenty," Byron said. "Dismissed, then. Everybody go relax. As much as any of us do, at least."

  Leland was more than happy to obey that edict, and Byron and Ariadne deserved some time alone anyway, so he wandered the facility until he came to a dusty lounge area that had probably once been a breakroom. Old vending machines, filled with snacks long past their expiration date, took up one corner, with a rickety table and chairs taking up most of the rest.

  Against the left-most wall was a sofa, and Leland sat down, more than happy to be off his feet again.

  It was over. He'd killed the Prince. His family could finally rest in peace.

  The thought brought no elation, though. Just sadness, exhaustion, and a bittersweet relief.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps, heart kicking up as Byron filled the doorway. "I thought you'd be with Ariadne."

  "She needs sleep; we agreed to catch up later. I can go if you want to be left alone."

  "No, please don't," Leland said, voice raspy. "I don't really know what to do with myself anymore. It's hard to believe the moment I've waited so long for is over. Done. We still have such a long way to go, though. I don't even know what our end goal is, once we've gotten rid of the
G.O.D. Will anything improve? Will they just come back with a different face? Will some variation of them take over?"

  Byron sat down next to him, graceful and beautiful. So heart-achingly beautiful, especially the depths of his faerie prince eyes. "We can't solve every problem out there. We've chosen to topple the G.O.D. Picking up the pieces, building something new… that will likely be left to other people. I certainly don't want the job."

  "You'd be good at it, but I can see where the limelight wouldn't suit you." Leland laughed. "If we did manage to survive this, what would you want to do?"

  "Live quietly. The world today, the world I left behind to travel the star… they're so loud and bright. So much. When we landed here back in the early sixteen hundreds, everything was so quiet. Silence for miles. At night the dark was so absolute, and the stars… It was so strange at first, but I grew to love it. I miss it even now, even more than I miss things about my home planet. Out here, deep in the mountains, reminds me a lot of that time. I'd love to live quietly again, just me, some animals… maybe a handsome telekinetic to keep me company." He looked at Leland, then looked away, cheeks going pink. "If, if that sounded of interest to him."

  "Sounds wonderful to me," Leland said, and slowly reached out, heart pounding in his ears. He lightly touched his fingertips to Byron's cheek, encouraging him to turn his head. "Though you've only been putting up with me while we're under duress, getting into fights, running for our lives."

  Byron laughed. "We're risking our lives on the chance we might save the world from a problem it barely knows exists. I'm more than willing to take a chance on what we could be when we're no longer Anti-Heroes, if we get that chance."

  "We will, damn it. I refuse to believe anything else. After all this time, it feels good to have real hope, something to aim for. A place to call home."

  Byron leaned in closer, hesitation and determination whirling in his eyes. "As long as you're there, I think anywhere would feel like home. I still remember what you said: home is in the heart."

  "And with those close enough to touch it," Leland whispered, and closed the remaining space between them. Byron's mouth was warm and soft; he tasted like minty candy and smelled like a spring day.

  It was the first time he'd kissed someone without being scared to death of what might happen, that he might hurt, even kill, the other person. Tears stung Leland's eyes, but he pinched them tightly shut and willed the tears away, focusing only on the kiss, the man in his arms, the way that moment felt like home and family.

  Byron drew back after several minutes, flushed and mussed and happier than Leland had ever seen him. "Want to go lie down for a bit? Kiss and cuddle and pretend for a little while we don't have to go out and kill more bad guys soon?"

  "Sounds perfect." Leland took the hand Byron offered and happily let himself be dragged away.

  Anti-Heroes will continue in Not with the Eyes

  Oberon's story is the same as all the other Anti-Heroes: people important to him were killed by the G.O.D. and he wants them stopped. But more than anything, Oberon wants himself. Herself. Theirself. He's taken on so many forms since his life was destroyed that he can't remember the face he was born with, and the G.O.D. long ago erased all evidence he ever existed in the first place.

  If a picture exists anywhere, it's deep within G.O.D. headquarters. Getting to it is another matter entirely, but with the G.O.D. in shambles after the Anti-Heroes' latest attacks, his moment has finally arrived.

  He expected it to be a solo mission, though, not a joint venture with the most aggravating person on the planet. Oberon has policies about how close he gets to anyone. The Anti-Heroes are colleagues, not friends. He has no family. And he wants absolutely nothing to do with the infuriating Scones.

  About the Author

  Megan is a long time resident of queer romance and keeps herself busy reading and writing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her wife and cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from readers and can be found all over the internet.

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