“Me?” she squeaked.
“Sexiest thang I ever saw in my life was you in that armor targeting an enemy and takin’ ’em out, one by one. I’d be honored to buy you a steak as big as Texas.”
“There’s only one restaurant in Naoma. I’m wearing a dress,” she bargained, “meaning wine, not beer, and no peanuts on the floor.”
“I’ll pick you up an hour before sunset. In a car. And I’ll have flowers.”
“Flowers?” She looked at me and said, “Holy shit. What am I supposed to do with flowers?”
Jolene interrupted. “Put them in a vase with water and every time you see ’em, think of the great guy who brought them to you.”
“What she said,” Amos said.
“Okay,” I said, knowing I would be making another thrall, but not seeing a way out of it and honestly too sick to really care. “You’re hired. Cupcake. Send his Morphon directions to the boardinghouse in Naoma. Make arrangements for a room there.” I had never said those words. But I had trade goods, cash, and jewels. Financially, I wasn’t hurting for the first time in my life. “And Cupcake, you know where to deposit Enrico.”
“Got it. I’ll see you tonight,” Cupcake said to Amos, punching info into her Morphon. “And remember. No peanuts.” With a little wave, she hauled Enrico off, and Amos puttered away into the dark on one of the appropriated motorbikes. Jagger motioned Jacopo to stay with the bikes and cut comms. I cut mine, leaving Jagger and me alone in the night.
I studied the OMW enforcer, wondering what my latest transition would do to him. To us. “What did McQuestion say about Jacopo?”
“I put Marconi and him in contact. McQuestion negotiated an arrangement with Marconi. Marconi gets his daughter in exchange for Jacopo.”
“Mutual hostages,” I said, thinking about an OMW daughter sitting beside Mina at Marconi’s dinner table. I wondered how long it would it be before the assassin shoved a pencil through her temple into her brain. I shook the thought away.
“What about us?” Jagger asked.
“I’m sick. There maybeno us. You might be free of our nanobot connection after this transition.”
“Nanobots or no,” he said, giving me a half smile, “we got something between us.”
“You’re the enforcer. You don’t get to have relationships outside the OMW.”
“Little Girl, there are ways. It’s been done before.” He stepped to me and enclosed me in his arms. He felt cool against my feverish skin. He kissed me gently, as if aware that my chapped lips hurt. “Contact me when you find Warhammer. I’m part of your war now.”
“We’ll see how you feel after this transition,” I said. “Meantime, let me go. I got things to do. A war to plan.”
Jagger couldn’t resist a direct order. He backed away. Which broke my heart.
“Take Jacopo through back roads until he’s lost and can’t find his way here. Then you and he go to McQuestion and deal with this little hostage situation. Go do the OMW thing; be the enforcer and his little crack-shot Hells Angels sidekick.”
Jagger cursed and walked into the dark. I heard two bikes start up, one a Harley, one a Kawasaki. They too motored into the dark, heading in a direction away from Naoma. My heart breaking, my steps unsteady, I walked to the office. Enrico was blindfolded, still bound, and leaning against the office when I stooped and placed my hands on his face again. I pushed with my blood and my nanobots, speeding his transition.
???
For days, Cupcake and Amos moved Enrico and me back and forth, from the med-bay to my bed, keeping us stabilized and giving Enrico intensive—very intensive—Berger-chip treatments throughout his transition, a timing and intensity I hadn’t tried. It was Cupcake’s idea all the way, Old Man Marconi’s chosen chips teaching Enrico about Italy—the historic, pre-World War III Italy—and how to speak Italian.
At the end of the first three days, I climbed from the med-bay and, while I wasn’t great, I was okay-ish. Enrico, who had been blindfolded the entire time, was ready to go home, though he was a very altered, very Italian Enrico, who had forgotten how to speak English. Marconi might not like that part, but the intensive chip therapy seemed to have drastically lessened Enrico’s attachment to anyone. Which was amazing.
Now that I was stable, Amos was in the med-bay, learning via chip how to maintain all the equipment in the scrapyard and how to fly a high-altitude, low-orbit WIMP engine fighter jet, which he had always wanted to learn. He and Cupcake had clearly spent the last days growing closer, a lot closer, and she cast loving glances at Amos before she took off, driving the still-blindfolded Enrico to a mutually agreed upon safe place for Marconi to pick him up.
For the first time in ages, I had the office to myself. Well, as much to myself as the giant of a man in the med-bay allowed.
Alone, I drank a cup of coffee and grieved Harlan, because that was what vengeance was for. Then I walked into the morning sun, Spy and the black cat on my heels. I realized that the black cat hadn’t been brought for neutering. So that meant . . . he and Spy were like the male fighter cats and the older queens. Okay. Good to know who the next generation of cat leaders would be. I’d have to figure out what to call him.
I wandered through the scrapyard, seeing all the changes Cupcake had made while I was confined to the med-bay. Smith’s had been organized chaos when I took it over, and that had remained my style through the years. Cupcake had different ideas, and the place looked good.
Tapping my comms, I said, “Mateo. You around?”
“Affirmative. Your two o’clock.”
