Indefinite Renewal Read online

  Nick’s head was spinning as he assimilated this idea of games within games. “How many women are there among you—among us? You’re the first one I’ve met.”

  Marion shook her head. “Not true, although I’ll take that oversight as a compliment.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Angelique invited you to join the discussion at the other table, didn’t she?”

  “Angelique?” He suddenly remembered the older woman beckoning to him. “Oh, right.” This time he smiled back at Marion. “Your beauty blinded me, and I completely forgot about her.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “Flatterer. Actually, we make up about half of the Renewed. Not everyone frequents the club as much as I do, however. Plus you’ve been caught up in the latest game, so most of the people you’ve met so far have been the players, and they’re all men.”

  An earlier conversation came back to Nick. “Daniel said you were playing, too,” he remembered out loud. “He even said you were one of the top competitors, although you didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.”

  Marion sighed and took another sip of tea, then poured more from a small porcelain pot on the table before her. “As usual, Daniel mistook my actions entirely. I saw the battle over the stocks begin and decided that stocks were a good thing to own, so I bought shares in companies that interested me: some of those new hydroponics places, a pro-ecology corporation or two, an electric car manufacturer, an AIDS research lab, that sort of thing. I’m not surprised Daniel mistook it for competition—he does tend toward the paranoid.” Nick wasn’t sure if she were telling him the truth or not but didn’t get time to ponder, because the smile dropped away and she suddenly turned serious.

  “Watch out for him, Nick,” she warned softly. “He’s dangerous, no matter what he says, and he can hurt you.”

  Nick finished his beer. “What, by using me in his little games? I already warned him not to try it.” But she was shaking her head.

  “Even if he does use you, it’ll only embarrass you a little and hurt your pride. No, I’m talking about real, permanent harm.” Marion leaned forward until her face was only inches from his own—he could smell her perfume, and felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek when she spoke again in a hushed tone.

  “He may try to absorb you.”

  “What?” He jerked back involuntarily, and the pot rattled as the table shook a bit—several people from the other table turned to see, and Nick settled back into his chair, trying to regain his composure. After a moment the spectators turned back to their conversation and he leaned in toward Marion again.

  “I thought it was illegal to absorb another Renewed.”

  She nodded. “It is—if they’re a full Renewed. But you’re only a novice, sort of a provisional member. It takes roughly a century before you’re really considered one of us, and at that time you become off-limits. Until then, you’re in danger.”

  Nick’s head hurt from trying to follow the implications. “But why? Why absorb me?”

  “Because you’re a sort of shortcut,” Marion explained; then, seeing the confusion in his eyes, she elaborated. “It happens occasionally—one of us stumbles across a new Renewed, a person who has been recently Awakened.” Her brows knit slightly, eyes darkening to a dangerous forest green. “Sometimes it’s an accident, grabbing a stranger who turns out to have the same gift, but usually it’s deliberate—one of us has a child, lets him or her grow up, then tries to Awaken them by draining them almost completely. If the child dies, so be it. If they survive, they are brought in, trained, then set loose and encouraged to absorb as many talents as they can.” Her lips tightened into a grim line. “Just short of the hundred-year mark, the parent absorbs them again, this time finishing the job. Every talent they gained is absorbed as well, which saves the parent the effort of going after them one by one.

  “Of course, there is a price.” She shuddered. “You know that, when you absorb someone, you take in their emotions and attitudes, their thoughts and feelings, as well?”

  Nick nodded.

  “When you absorb one of us the same thing happens, only worse—their thoughts are stronger because they’ve lived longer, and they take longer to go away because they have more energy in them.” Marion’s hand shook slightly as she clutched at her teacup. “I know—I once had a son.” Nick stared at her, pressing back against the comforting stability of his chair, and she continued, her face warped by a look of pain and utter grief. “I was much younger, and I had been dallying with a man for some time; we neglected to take precautions, and I found I was pregnant.” She laughed, a trifle bitterly he thought. “I decided to see what it was like, and bore a son, then raised him and Awakened him—he had my genes, of course. I let him run around for eighty years or so, and then absorbed him into myself.” She lifted her cup and drained it as if it were something stronger than tea, refilled it and repeated the process. “It took three hundred years for his voice to fade from my head, and another fifty before I stopped having nightmares about it.”

  “If it’s that bad,” Nick asked quietly, “what makes you think Daniel might try it on me?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure he will; I just wanted to warn you of the danger. Any of us could do it to you. All we would have to do is touch you,” her hand darted across the table and clasped his, “like this.” He didn’t flinch or pull away, and she rewarded him with another smile, a real one this time, warmer and infinitely more attractive than her more theatrical expressions. She held on for a moment, then released him and shook her head.

  “Just be careful.”

  Nick nodded his thanks and fell silent for a moment, storing the new information safely away. Marion didn’t say anything more, apparently still reliving the memories of her son, and Nick decided that a change of subject might be in order.

  “The real reason I came here today was to get some information,” he explained, and she glanced up at him, memories moving safely back under the surface again. “I need some answers.”

  “Oh, I have lots of answers,” she purred, a lock of hair falling artfully over one eye, and she was back to being the confident, flirtatious woman who had locked eyes with him from across the room. “What are the questions?”

  Remember who she is, Nick reminded himself sternly, amazed and a little frightened by how easy it was to lose himself in the green glow of her eyes. “Do you know what Daniel was up to three weeks ago? Right before I showed up?”

  She thought about that for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, not really—he was keeping to himself a lot, which usually means he’s got something up his sleeve.” Her gaze turned shrewd. “You’re wondering whether he Awakened you deliberately, to drain you later like I suggested.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Nick nodded anyway. Then he told her about the incident in the stairwell, as well as he could remember it.

  “Well,” Marion said after he’d finished, “it is possible he chose you by accident, and realized you were one of us only after he drained you. Or someone else got to you, and he found you and recognized your potential.” She studied him. “You don’t know who tried to absorb you?”

  He shook his head. “All I can remember is a hand on my wrist. It was a man’s hand, but that’s all I know.” He saw the hand again in his mind’s eye, and then a flash of him shaking hands with Daniel, and shook his head. “It could have been Daniel’s, but I’m not sure.”

  Marion nodded. “It might have been coincidence that Daniel found you, but someone definitely absorbed you. So the question is why? What skills would one of us have wanted from you?” She brushed a strand of hair aside and shrugged. “Your youth isn’t enough—only a novice would go for youth alone, and you’re the only novice among us. Even Jonathan is experienced enough to only absorb those with some special ability to offer. What makes you special?”

  Nick thought about that, a frown forming on his lips, and finally shook his head. She was right—in all modesty, he had nothing to offer, no ability or skill that someone else
didn’t have better. His greatest gift was probably his understanding of genetics, but if they had wanted that they would have grabbed a brilliant professor like Carmichael. So whoever it was must have been going for him, specifically. They knew he was one of them. Which meant they knew who he was and where to find him. They had been watching him, probably since he was born. Which meant . . . He stood up, almost upsetting the table, and backed his chair away, nodding distractedly to Marion.

  “I’ve got to go check something.” He paused and favored her with a grateful smile. Thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure,” she purred, extending one hand to be admired. In a burst of chivalry, Nick did just that, executing his best bow and bestowing a warm kiss on the back of her hand. Then he turned and walked away, mind already working. When he glanced back from the doorway he saw that Marion was still watching him, an almost girlish smile on her face.

  The following afternoon, Brian called to see whether Nick wanted to play a little basketball, and Nick, delighted at the chance to work out some aggression, agreed eagerly. When they met at the gym an hour later, Brian was impressed by Nick’s new build, which Nick explained away as an attempt to finally get in shape. The afternoon proved, however, that an improved musculature and better coordination still didn’t make him a great ball player—it was the closest set they had played in months but Brian still won.

  Nick found himself thinking at one point about absorbing a first-string player from the school team and then challenging Brian to a rematch, and shivered violently for several minutes. He didn’t sleep well that night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The phone buzzed against his ear and he waited, counting the second between one ring and the next. Then, just as he was about to give up, a click emanated from the device instead.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom?” Nick leaned back in his chair, pulse racing, and tried not to sound too eager.

  “Nick? How are you? I tried calling the other day, but you were out again.”

  “I know, Mom—I’ve been really busy lately. How are you?”

  “I’m fine—how are you?”

  “I’m okay. Classes are going okay. Carmichael gave me a B-minus on my last paper but I’m revising it, so I should still be able to pull an A from him. How’s work?”

  “Work is fine—Anne-Marie asked how you were the other day. You should come and visit some time, say hi to everybody. They’d all like that.”

  “I will, Mom,” he promised. “Soon—finals are in a few weeks, and after that I’ll have more time.” He sat forward again. “Mom, tell me about my dad.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Why?”

  “I just want to know—you told me once, a long time ago, but I forgot most of it, and I was thinking about it yesterday. What was his name again?”

  “You mean the name he gave me?” After twenty-five years, most of the bitterness had faded. Most of it. “He called himself Luke Rawlins.”

  Rawlins? Hm. Nick turned that one over in his head. Taken backwards, it could almost be Sinclair, with a little slurring and a few extra letters. Was he reaching?

  “What did he look like?”

  He could hear her sigh over the phone. “Nick, why . . . ?”

  “Please, Mom. I know you don’t like to think about it, and I promise I won’t ever ask again, but I need to know.”

  “All right, all right.” There was another pause. “He was close to your height, a little broader, the same black hair you have but shorter, and almost black eyes. He had a beard, too, a short dark one—other than that, you look a lot like him. Satisfied?”

  “Yeah, I am, Mom. Thanks.” They continued to talk for a few minutes, about nothing consequential, and then Nick hung up with a promise to come visit as soon as school was over for the year. The instant the receiver was back in its base he was up and headed for the bathroom.

  His height—check. A little broader—check. Dark beard—check. Dark hair but shorter—Nick used a rubber band to pull his hair back into a crude ponytail. Check. The silvery hair could be deliberate, an attempt to look older—it had been almost twenty years ago. Dark eyes—check. Nick stared at himself in the mirror, squinting, trying to picture himself with a beard. No good—he just couldn’t see it.

  He headed for the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and then the cupboard for anything that would work. He finally found an unopened bottle of Hershey’s Syrup hiding in the back of the fridge, and hefted it triumphantly. Perfect. He opened it as he rushed back to the bathroom, glad everyone else was out partying, then applied the chocolate to his face, pausing only for a second as the absurdity of the situation hit him—here he was, a mature graduate student, smearing chocolate syrup on his face to see if his father was a thousand-year old Frenchman who was once considered a mythic demon. Then Nick’s hands finished their task, and he focused on the mirror—to see a thinner, light-eyed version of Daniel staring back at him.

  The flung Hershey bottle bounced off the image, sending a spray of chocolate into the air as it rebounded against the towels on the far wall and smeared them brown, sliding down them to fall burbling against the tiled floor.

  “Bastard!” Nick grabbed one of the towels and rubbed the sticky syrup off his face, then splashed himself with water to remove the last traces. When he looked up the image was his own again, but he still seethed. All these years he had been without a father, and his mother without a husband, never knowing what had happened to him, who he really was, why he had left so abruptly—one of the reasons Nick had studied genetics in the first place was because he had hoped to learn who his father was by tracing any inherited traits. And all this time, the bastard had been right here in Chicago, watching Nick grow up, waiting to snatch him away and use him as a pawn, an underling, in some immortal power-game!

  All these years, and Daniel had never revealed himself, never come to see him—even when he had Awakened Nick he hadn’t told him the truth, he’d said nothing about being related. That presumptuous, overconfident, callous, manipulative. . . .

  Nick studied himself in the mirror again, hot anger turning to cold malice, and a smile slowly creased his face—a nasty smile, one he had seen on Daniel before. Well, fine—if that was how it was, so be it. If Daniel wanted to play his little power-games, let him. Tomorrow Nick would confront him with what he had learned, just to show he couldn’t be led about so easily, and then. . . .

  Then the games would begin anew, and Nick would see whether he had inherited any of his father’s guile. Already plans were beginning to form, possibilities to suggest themselves, and he smiled again as he flipped the switch and drowned the bathroom in darkness. Oh yes, he was his father’s son, all right. And he was going to prove it to him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nick went to class, taught, spoke to Professor Carmichael about his revisions, then packed up and headed to the Club again. Gordo asked where he was going, and Nick made up something about research—he felt bad lying to his friend, and promised himself that soon he would spend more time with Gordo again, the way they used to. Everything would go back to the way it had been before. But first he had to deal with Daniel.

  At the club, Nick walked in and headed straight for the stairs. He took the steps calmly, purposefully, and walked quickly down the hall until he found himself in front of the door that he knew so well. He knocked once, knuckles stinging slightly from the contact with the hardened wood, and waited.

  “Who is it?” Daniel asked—he sounded far away, probably relaxing in his chair with a snifter of brandy, as usual.

  “It’s me,” Nick replied calmly, although his pulse was racing and his forehead was hot. “Open the door—Dad.”

  A moment passed, and then the lock clicked, the door slid open, and father and son confronted one another. Daniel didn’t seem particularly surprised.

  “So you found out.” He stepped aside to let Nick enter, and shut the door behind him. Nick glanced back, noticed the glass in his
father’s hand, nodded to himself, and took a seat on the couch. Daniel lingered by the door for a moment, lost in thought, and then returned to his own chair—he was wearing a light gray pullover and black cotton pants today, and his skin seemed tanner than before against the lighter shirt, but his eyes were as dark and dangerous as ever.

  “I knew you would eventually,” he continued after he had gotten comfortable again, legs crossed and brandy swirling gently in its glass. “After all, you do look a good deal like me.”

  “Just answer one question,” Nick demanded, forgetting for a moment his resolve not to raise his voice—faced with Daniel’s obvious knowledge of and apparent unconcern for what he had done, Nick could feel himself heating up. He fought to maintain control, to be as calm and cool as the man across from him.

  “Why?”

  Daniel frowned slightly, more puzzled than upset. “Why what? Why did I father you and then leave?” Nick nodded tersely, not trusting himself to speak. But Daniel only shrugged. “It just happened that way. I liked your mother, you know—not enough to marry her, perhaps, to tie myself down to one spot and to age normally until she died, but enough to stay with her for a few years. But when you were conceived I knew I had to leave.” He raised a hand to forestall Nick’s objections. “Yes, I did. They would have asked too many questions if we had gotten married, or even if I had signed the birth certificate—what was my Social Security number, who were my parents, where did they live, where was I from, where did I work? Back then I didn’t have any false papers—creating a fake identity was much easier but proving it was harder. I managed to lie to your mother for two years, and even so she used to wonder—she used to tease me about the fact that I didn’t even have a driver’s license.” His eyes took on a faraway, wistful look. “‘You could just up and disappear,’ she used to say, ‘and no one would know.’” His smile had just a hint of sadness. “She never knew how right she was.”