“The Collector is going to hunt you down and tear you into little pieces, Jonesy,” Elle mused. “I bet the dogs are already on your tail.” She reached out a hand and gently twisted a lock of Andraeon's hair around her fingers. “Of course, I could take this off your hands.”
“I didn't take him out of his cage to hand him over to you.” Jones danced the world sphere over his knuckles. “Here's your world. Tell me where my daughter is.”
“Not even just a bit of his hair?” Elle tugged on the lock she held, making Andraeon wince.
Jones pushed himself up from his slouch against the counter and took hold of her wrist, squeezing just enough to make her release her grip on Andraeon. “He's not for sale.” He caught her gaze and held it, even when the black of her pupils spread out to cover the iris. “Andraeon, go in the bedroom, would you? Grab my stuff, we'll be leaving soon.”
Andraeon got up quickly, ducking away from Elle's arm and moving behind Jones to leave the room. As he did he brushed a hand across Jones's lower back, making him start slightly though he didn't take his eyes away from Elle's. Andraeon's footsteps faded away down the hall and a tense silence settled over the kitchen.
“You don't get to keep him,” Elle said softly, finally breaking the silence. “You will, however, let go of me.”
Jones did so, though he didn't otherwise move. “I'll handle The Collector and anyone he wants to send after me.” He frowned as she laughed suddenly. “What?”
“Oh, you'll find out.” Her eyes cleared back to their normal green and she stepped away from him, sinking gracefully down into a chair and crossing her legs demurely. A pad of paper and a pen appeared by her elbow on the table. “Give me the sphere, I'll give you the information I promised you, and I'm sure I'll shed a tear at news of your death.” She spent a few moments writing on the top page of paper, then tore it off with a flourish and held it out to him. “Trade me and get out.”
“Thank you.” He handed over the sphere with one hand and took the paper with the other, slipping it carefully into his pocket.
She flicked her fingers at him. “Get lost. But if you do manage to survive the next few days and you decide you want to get rid of the kid, just yell for me. I'll come take him off your hands.”
“You can't want him that badly,” Jones said dryly. “You're not even offering anything for him.”
“I'm just trying to do my good deed for the century.”
“Goodbye, Elle.” Jones left the kitchen, glancing back over his shoulder once when he heard the back door open, and went into the bedroom to find Andraeon.
Andraeon was sitting on the bed, his hands folded in his lap and his back ramrod-straight. Jones's backpack sat on the bed beside him and the bed itself had been neatly made. At Jones's entrance, Andraeon got to his feet, tucking his hair behind one ear and offering him a hesitant smile.
“Ready to go?” Jones picked up his pack and slung it over one shoulder. “You can just... stay with me for now. We'll figure out what you want to do when I have my daughter back. Okay?”
“I want to stay. I'll help you find her.”
“Thanks.” Jones reached out automatically to ruffle Andraeon's hair. “You mind if I call you Drae?”
Andraeon's smile brightened. “Call me anything you want.”
“I'll keep it in mind. Let's go.” Jones led the way out through the front door and started down the front path. As they passed over the first stone he saw Andraeon shiver suddenly, and felt the hairs on the back of his own neck stand on end. A quick look around showed him nothing unusual; the neighbourhood they were in looked like a million other neighbourhoods, full of rabbit-hutch houses and cheap little cars. A couple of kids were playing around with a sprinkler down the block but otherwise the street slept in the mid-afternoon heat.
“Stick close,” Jones said, taking Andraeon's elbow and steering him down the sidewalk.
He glanced back casually once they were halfway towards the next road but still saw nothing moving. Trying to shrug it off, he kept Andraeon walking until they were able to flag down a taxi and relax for the ride to his apartment. As they ducked out of the taxi, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise again and it took all his willpower to stay relaxed and casual as he leaned in to pay the driver. He nearly fumbled his key sliding it into the lock on the front door, and he nearly pushed Andraeon in once it opened.
“You can stay in the spare room.” His voice sounded too loud in the silence of the apartment. “It's a little messy but there's a bed.” He looked Andraeon over critically. “I guess you'll need new clothes and things as well.” It felt good to have someone to take care of again and he felt himself begin to relax as he showed Andraeon the spare room, then to the bathroom so he could have a shower.
Jones went into his own bedroom to find some old clothes that Andraeon could change into until they went shopping. The room was clean, if still as filled with unpacked boxes as every other room in the apartment, and he made a mental note to add a large tip to the maid's bill. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd bothered to come back here, unless he needed money for more booze.
He didn't realize his hands had strayed to the bedside table's front drawer until he opened it and lifted out the half-full bottle of whiskey. He turned it over in his hands, watching the light reflect off the dark golden liquid, and felt the craving itching at the base of his spine. He knew from experience that he couldn't get drunk off the amount that was left; and a treacherous voice deep inside pointed out that it would help him to relax. He deserved it after the past few days, and if nothing else it would serve to celebrate the news on his daughter's whereabouts.
That thought dampened the craving and he carefully placed the bottle on the dresser; not inside the drawer, where it was hidden, but not in his hands either. He dug through his drawers until he found an old pair of pyjama pants and a T-shirt for Andraeon, and went to put them on the bed in the spare room. As he was walking down the hallway, a flash of movement in the kitchen caught his eye and he automatically looked towards it.
Something hit him hard in the back, a solid force that knocked him off his feet and sent him flying across the hallway until he hit the wall hard enough to crack it. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and sent a flare of pain up his side from his half-healed ribs. His vision went blurry for a moment and when it finally cleared there was a stranger standing in front of him, pointing one of his own guns at his head.
Jones carefully put his hands up, showing his palms. It hurt to breathe but he was still alive and that was always a good sign. “Hi,” he managed.
Amusement curved the corner of the stranger's mouth, a quick grin that was there and gone in an instant. “Hi, Jones. My name's Shasta. I'm supposed to kill you. Well,” the grin reappeared, “I'm supposed to euphemistically get rid of you.”
“I really hate banter,” Jones said, wondering if he dared go for the remaining gun on his hip. “Shoot me or don't, but don't monologue at me.”
“See, now I don't want to shoot you. I want to talk to you.”
“I don't talk well with a gun in my face.”
“I don't trust you enough to talk without it. Where's the construct?”
“The what?”
“The one you stole. The kid.” Shasta glanced down the hallway but the gun never wavered and he looked back before Jones could even begin to shift position. “In the shower?”
Jones nodded slightly. “What did you call him? A construct?”
“Yeah.” Shasta shifted his weight restlessly, but the muzzle of the gun never left Jones's face. “A golem, a living doll. He looks pretty real but he's not.”
Watching him, Jones thought he was talking more to convince himself than anything else. A slight hint of distraction had entered Shasta's eyes and Jones moved to take advantage of it before he even thought about it. He lunged forward, hitting Shasta's legs even as a bullet whined over his head and buried itself in the wall. They went down together in a heap and Jones knocked the gun out of Shasta's hand, sending it skidding across the floor, even as he reached for the other gun on his hip.
Shasta kicked him in the stomach, sudden and hard. The breath whooshed out of him and he grunted in pain, twisting aside to avoid another blow. They grappled for the gun on his hip but it caught in the holster. Suddenly afraid that it would go off and shoot him in the leg, Jones kicked himself free and tried to scramble to his feet. He didn't get far before Shasta grabbed his ankle and yanked him back, landing him hard on his front. His teeth clicked together as his chin hit the floor hard enough to stun him.
Before he could recover Shasta had flipped him over onto his back and pinned him, sliding the gun free of its holster and pressing the muzzle against Jones's forehead. “Look,” he said quietly, “I don't actually want to kill you. Don't force me to.”
“Nobody's forcing you to do anything.” This close Jones could see that Shasta's eyes were two different colours; one grey and one the blue-green of tropical waters.
The sound of the bathroom door opening sounded very loud in Jones's ears. He saw Shasta's eyes flick up towards the sound and suddenly knew that Shasta had completely forgotten about Andraeon during their struggle. Taking a deep breath he heaved himself up as hard as he could, knocking Shasta off-balance and to the side, and twisted to yell at Andraeon to run. Andraeon gave him a wide-eyed look, frozen in the act of drying his hair with a towel, then his eyes went to Shasta.
Jones felt the hairs all over his body stand on end, as though he were caught in an electrical field. It was suddenly hard to breathe, forcing him to gasp for air. Everything around him seemed to move in slow motion as Shasta started to raise the gun, finger tightening on the trigger. Jones tried to knock his hand aside but his body refused to respond to his commands, and darkness swept over him with the short, sharp bark of the gun firing.
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