Body Surfing

long time. She had often wondered if this was what she wanted: a lingering death after a long life, rather than being cut down in the course of the hunt. She wonderedhow long it had been since this woman had done anything useful, how long since she’d been able to do something that brought her a joy beyond tepid comfort. How long since she’d felt alive. No, Ileana thought, give me a spear in the gut any day.
    She found her clothes. Everything was there except for the knife and watch. It took a moment before she remembered Leo breaking the one, herself giving Q. the other. There was a clock on the bedside table. She had been unconscious for fourteen hours.
    She slipped out the door. She wanted to hold her gut but she forced herself to walk normally. She didn’t have the strength to argue her way out of here, let alone run. Leo had transformed her into a hunter all those years ago in Bihac. Had sharpened her senses, made her faster, more agile. But he’d done relatively little to augment her resistance to injury or her healing rate. Someone like Q. would have been well on the way to recovery by now, but she was not. But it didn’t matter. She had work to do.
    She would need a car, and a gun too. Well, at least that part of her task shouldn’t be hard. No one seemed to lock their doors in this town.

8
    J asper breathed a sigh of relief as the gilded gates closed behind Q.’s car. He wasn’t sure why, since he’d shown just a few hours ago how easy it was for a Mogran to breach the Qusays’ security system, but he was willing to settle for even the illusion of inviolability right now.
    Michaela’s mental gasp almost made him jump out of his seat.
    Is that the car?
    He looked at the wrecked metal carcass. Q.’s dad is a little weird .
    Weird? That’s just freaky . Then: Do you remember the accident?
    I remember everything. Even things I don’t want to. Do you?
    No , Michaela said, then added quickly Don’t show it to me. Please .
    I wouldn’t even if you asked .
    There was a silence. Jasper could tell Michaela was trying to formulate a question. He did his best not to eavesdrop.
    Do you have all those other thoughts too? she said finally. Like the ones Leo left in me?
    Just Jarhead’s and Larry’s . A pause. And yours .
    Will they ever go away?
    Jasper shook his head. Her head. I can help you manage them, but I don’t think I could clean them up without hurting you. They’ll always be there .
    Jesus . Jasper felt Michaela peek into the abyss. Felt her teeter, and pulled her back. There’s just so fucking many .
    They can be a strength for you one day. You can be a walking, talking encyclopedia .
    “—should be getting inside,” Jasper heard then. It took a moment for him to realize the voice had come from outside his head. “Jasper?” Q. was saying. “Michaela?”
    Jasper blinked. The car was in a garage. Q. was looking at him nervously.
    “Are you back?”
    “Sorry,” Jasper said. “It’s a little hard to negotiate sometimes.”
    There was a long pause. Q. scratched nervously at his watch. He pulled the gun from the glove compartment and shoved it in his pants.
    “We should get inside.”
    Inside the house, Q. tiptoed across the floorboards and peeked around corners.
    “You don’t think Leo’s here, do you?” Jasper said.
    Q. laughed sheepishly. “I was thinking about Miranda actually.”
    “The maid? She’s gone. I’d hear her if she was still around.”
    “God, you’re worse than Ileana.”
    “Shit! How is she?”
    “I didn’t stick around long, but the doctors seemed to think she’d be okay.”
    God, you guys sure rack up the body count, don’t you?
    Jasper laughed grimly, and Q. screwed up his face.
    “You know, you could tell me what she’s saying. That way I won’t think you’re laughing at me.”
    Jasper put Michaela’s hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Just assume we’re always laughing at you, old buddy. It’s easier that way. Now, what’s your big plan?”
    Q.’s shoulder remained tense under Jasper’s hand.
    “Q.—”
    “Look, it’s just fucking weird, okay? But I’ll deal with it.” Heshrugged Jasper’s hand off and stalked heavily toward the stairs. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
    Jasper followed Q. into his parents’ bedroom. His friend walked to one of the bedside tables—his mother’s, judging from the stack of romance novels—and picked up a clunky-looking clay pot. Q. took the lid off and turned it over. His mother’s