She was a silhouette, a slapdash stroke of black ink painted over garish pink and green. The puffed up neon plumage of the old city burned against the mirrored towers. She was miles away, on the other side of the room. His eyes were barely working; his hands were locked stiff. The trek was arduous on his stiff knees. He collapsed onto her, arms around her waist and head rested in her armpit. The lapel of her coat flapped against his face until he could wriggle enough to get it to stay under his cheek. There was a fine crust of salt on the fabric. The smell of her sweat gave him refuge, fought off the acrid tendrils of burnt gunpowder and hair and flesh.

She stroked the back of his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A piece of the building’s shattered skeleton fell, made a glancing strike on the ruined floor and bounced out into free-fall.

He flinched at the noise, squeezed her. She leaned out over the edge and watched the girder crash into the pavement. With her head in the light he could see, even through the grainy fiber pass-throughs in his eyes, that her nose was not the right shape. Blood dripped off her chin. The height made him dizzy, he tried to pull her away from the edge, back inside the broken walls.

When she moved it was of her own will. He trailed behind, a buoy in her wake. It was dark inside. He stumbled. She caught him.

“Oh, sweetie! This is going to cost you so much.” Bedelia’s voice fluttered. She danced a few steps down the bar, making gun-hands at a lonely-looking shock jockey at the other end. She bounced back over, blonde pigtails bobbing behind her, and cradled one of Cybil’s hands, snaking steel digits between Cybil’s long, callused, fingers. “I own you, now, girl. Now come on back and help me into my business dress.”

The corner of Cybil’s mouth curled. Her scalp tightened. She snatched her finger out of the little blonde’s mouth. A trail of spit fell on the bar. The music she had been ignoring finally pounded its way into her skull. Red crept in around the edges of the pulsing club lights. Her heartbeat accelerated.

Bedelia slipped off behind the bar, beckoning to Cybil with a shiny, curled, finger.

Brilliant light flooded the remnants of the corner office. The bellowing wind became a gale; a harpoon struck the tile floor. Cybil pulled the cable free and snapped the hook into a d-ring on her armor.

“Let’s go home.” She yanked hard on the cable and clamped her arms around Tim, throwing his around her neck.

There was the outline of a silent aircraft hovering above them in the iridescent abyss. The cable was reeling in. Like a child on a tree, he held onto Cybil as tight as he could.

“Is that who I…”

“Yes.”

“God. Dammit. You should have let them keep me.”

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