Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

finally. "Was it good for you, too?"
    Hazel laughed and pushed him away. "You're back to normal, stud. Now get on your feet. They're screaming for you downstairs."
    They stood up and smiled at each other. Neither of them knew quite what to say next. "Thanks," said Owen. "You saved me. I could have died in here, but you brought me back. I didn't know you could do that."
    "Lots of things you don't know about me, Deathstalker."
    "That's true. Where's Silver?"
    "Out in the streets somewhere. Fighting for his city. I'd never have pegged him for a hero, but it just goes to show how you can be wrong about people."
    "Well," said Owen. "None of us are perfect."
    It was as close to an apology and a reconciliation as they were going to get, and they both knew it, so they moved on to other things.
    "You know," said Hazel, as they headed for the door, "this could happen again, if you use the boost too much."
    Owen shrugged. "I've been doing what's needed. The boost makes it possible for me to do what I have to."
    "I know how that feels," said Hazel. "Blood does the same thing for me."
    They stepped out into the hallway and looked at each other. Finally Owen smiled slightly. "Guess it takes one addict to recognize another. Now let's go down and play the hero one more time, and pray the poor bastards depending on us never find out about our feet of clay. You're a good friend, Hazel. I don't know what I'd do without you."

    "Don't push it, aristo," said Hazel d'Ark, smiling despite herself. And they went down the stairs together, leaning on each other just a little.
    Down in the bar they found the whole room cleared of customers, not to mention furniture. The chairs had all been pushed up against the walls, so that the city Councillors could crowd round a large circular table in the middle of the room.
    They were studying a map of the city and arguing loudly, with much gesturing of the hands. People were darting in and out the front door all the time, bringing in computer terminals, monitor screens and other useful equipment from Tech Quarter. Runners came and went with up-to-date information, pausing only briefly before rushing out into the night again. With the comm systems down, they had to be the Council's eyes and ears in the city. Luckily, people in Mistport were used to improvising.
    The proprietor of the Blackthorn Inn watched the chaos from behind the safety of the long wooden bar at the end of the room. Cyder had a quick smile that didn't always reach her cold blue eyes, and thin scars crossed one side of her face like worry lines. She used to be the hardest-working and hardest-hearted fence in all Mistport, but was now a highly respectable citizen, owner of a popular and thriving tavern, and according to her old friend Silver, just possibly in line for Council membership. Only in Mistport, Owen had said. Don't you believe it, said Hazel.
    Beside Cyder, nursing a mulled ale, stood the young man called Cat—Cyder's sidekick, lover, and occasional fall guy. Cyder wasn't known for being sentimental. Cat had pale youthful features, dominated by dark watchful eyes and pockmarks that tattooed both cheeks. He wore a white thermal outfit that enabled him to hide in the snow and the mists with equal dexterity. Tall and slender.

    Cat was a deaf mute, and quite possibly the best burglar in the city. He was supposedly retired, now that Cyder had the means to keep him, but roof runners of his quality were always in demand, and he liked to keep busy.
    Owen and Hazel moved over to the bar, and Cyder scowled at them both. "I don't know why I let you in here. Every time you barge into my life, everything goes to hell in a handcart and my tavern gets trashed. I'd take out insurance against you, if I could find anyone dumb enough to underwrite the policy. Just look what's happening now! I'm a spectator in my own tavern! I was making good money till the Council threw my customers out, and they're too busy to drink much themselves. Who's going to pay for my loss of custom?"
    "Relax," said Owen. "I have some associates in the city who'll be only too pleased to make good your losses. Well, actually they won't be too pleased at all, but they'll still do it. Because they know I'll cut them off at the knees if they don't. Possibly quite literally."
    "So, what's happening here?" said Hazel, after she and Cyder had embraced briefly across the bar and kissed the air near each other's cheeks.
    "We happy few are organizing the resistance," said Cyder,