Indefinite Renewal Page 8

  “Nick, about what I said—I was just kidding around. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “We know you’re still a little touchy about her,” Hillary chimed in, “and we’re sorry we brought it up. It just slipped out.”

  “It’s okay,” Nick told them, touched by their honest regret. “Really. I know you guys didn’t mean anything by it.” He fumbled in his desk drawer, pulled out an L pass and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “Look, I’ve got to go straighten some things out, okay? I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He turned toward the door.

  “Nick . . .” Gordo’s voice was quiet, a mere shadow of its usual jovial self.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nick assured them, managing a smile to show that he meant it. “It’s okay—I just need to think a little bit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and maybe we’ll go see that new action thriller after class. Okay?” They relaxed a little at the mention of the movie, convinced it meant this crisis would pass. “Later.” Nick left them there and headed down the hall again, nodding to professors as he worked out the best way to get to the Club.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daniel had apparently been serious about Nick’s being a member of the Renewed now, because when he reached the Club the doorman checked his name against a small leather notepad and then held the door for him—if he remembered Nick’s earlier pretense he didn’t show it. The cool relief of the air-conditioning washed over him, sending goose bumps down his arms. The place was still quiet, and Nick wondered if it was always this way, walking slowly down the hall to the sweeping staircase he remembered, and up it to the paneled door behind which he had awakened what seemed like years ago, in another life, another world. There was no answer when he knocked, and after a second he tried the handle. Locked.

  All right, fine. Nick headed back down the stairs, peeking in the open rooms for anyone who looked like they might be able to help him. He did see other people: a few men and women in one of the rooms, four of them playing cards at a square table and a handful of others watching; two men engaged in a game of darts elsewhere; and an older gentleman in one of the front rooms, engrossed in a book. But no sign of anyone who worked here. There was always the doorman, but most likely he’d only know whether a person was in or out, and Nick could figure that one out for himself.

  Finally he returned to the front room, opting to approach a solitary stranger over a group. He approached the man cautiously, footsteps almost silent on the thick carpet—he was loathe to disturb anyone’s reading but felt obliged to at least ask about Daniel’s whereabouts before he gave up and went home.

  The gentleman looked up as Nick approached, turning clear emerald eyes on him, and lowered his book, waiting. He had silvery gray hair, a great mane of it swept up and back, and a bristly mustache covering his upper lip, and small round glasses, which he folded and placed in the breast pocket of his long coat. He looked like the illustration from a Dickens novel, some distinguished lord or wealthy merchant who helps the hero out of difficulties and becomes his mentor and friend. There was an aura of wisdom about him, almost a physical sensation, and a sense of tranquility, like a broad old tree.

  “Excuse me,” Nick said softly, feeling like a small child asking an adult where his mother was. “I’m looking for Daniel—Daniel Sinclair. Do you by any chance . . .?”

  “He’s not around just now,” the imposing older man replied, his voice a deep rumble and his words faintly accented. “But if you care to linger I am certain he will turn up shortly.” He slipped a bookmark into his book—Nick caught a glimpse of the cover but the title didn’t appear to be in English—setting it on the table at his right elbow, and indicated the chair next to him. “Would you care to have a seat?”

  “Thanks.” Nick slid gratefully into it, feeling the soft cushions adjust beneath him, and stretched his legs out, reveling in the sensation of comfort. The older man continued to study him, and he remembered that he hadn’t introduced himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he remarked, leaning forward to offer his right hand, “my name is Nick—”

  “Gordon,” the stranger cut him off, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Yes, I know. I go by Michael Church.” His hand returned to the arm of the chair and his eyes continued to bore into Nick, but he seemed a little less rigid now.

  “Nice to meet you, Michael.” Nick nodded idly, eyes still studying the rest of the room, and then paused, head swiveling back as the rest of his new acquaintance’s words sank in. “What did you mean by ‘I go by’? That isn’t your real name?”

  “Michael” smiled. “No. As you grow older, you will learn that you need to change your name occasionally, if only to fit in with the times.” His smiled broadened, became a grin. “Also, it seems a tad strange if a man lives for sixty-three years and then disappears, to be replaced by another man of similar appearance, with exactly the same name. Just a trifle suspicious, no?”

  Nick found himself smiling as well—despite his stern appearance, there was something about this man that made him feel at ease. “So what is your real name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Michael shrugged. “No, I do not mind.” He leaned back into his chair and folded his hands in front of him, the shadows adding a sinister tone to his features and making him seem far older. “But I think I will leave that for you to discover on your own.” Then he smiled, dispelling the strange severity that had settled over him, and laughed. “Think of it as a game, if you will. Games are one of our favorite ways to pass the time.”

  Nick smiled too. “I guess that’s a major concern around these parts. So you’re a Renewed too, right? Is everyone here one?”

  Michael nodded. “Yes, except for the staff. Only Renewed are allowed to join—hence the name. Daniel created this place almost two hundred years ago, as a meeting place and getaway for us all.” His face twisted briefly into a scowl. “And of course, by being the one to build and own it, he gained a certain amount of prestige among the others.”

  Nick studied his companion’s face. “I take it you don’t approve of all the competition that goes on here?”

  That elicited a heavy, almost theatrical sigh. “No, I do not. Oh, I admit, when I was younger I played along, trying to accrue as much money and fame and ability as the rest, but I tired of it. Perhaps it was because I had already achieved some measure of fame—Renewal came late to me, you see, and so I lived first as a mortal man, and experienced life’s trials and tribulations fully, and knew her poetry well. After a time as one of the Renewed I found that I no longer desired to be looked up to—I simply wanted the peace to follow my own interests unimpeded, without having to worry about whether someone else was better at it or knew more about it than I did.” Another smile creased Michael’s face, this one a very self-satisfied expression. “I take no sides, and no one bothers me—I have enough age and status that they respect my desire not to play their games.” He leaned forward and favored Nick with a conspiratorial wink. “Besides, it is often useful to talk to someone who is neither a follower nor an enemy, but simply an objective equal, perhaps even a friend.” His eyes passed over Nick then, and settled on something beyond and behind him.

  “Is that not right, Francisco?”

  “Certainly,” a new voice agreed from that direction, and Nick almost gave himself whiplash spinning around. The man leaning against the doorframe was shorter than him by a good five or six inches and whipcord slender, with a long braid of blond hair and a narrow, clean shaven face. He wore a loose white pirate shirt and worn jeans, but there was an air about him that seemed more appropriate to silk doublets and gold-embroidered capes. Nick thought he recognized him from the group that had been playing cards.

  “You are an invaluable asset, Michael,” the newcomer continued, entering the room and moving closer with a light, almost mincing step. “Someone we all like and admire, and can talk to without any fear of being compromised.” Michael smiled and nodded at the compliment, and the little man turned his attention to Nick. One hand s
hot forward, and then looped back in an elaborate flourish before spinning to the side as the end of a grandiose bow. The newcomer seemed almost to dance, his movements fluid and airy and possessing a certain grace that Nick, for all his new coordination and poise, knew he could never match.

  “I am Francisco d’Montan, formerly from Naples.” The gentleman straightened and his surprisingly dark blue eyes, the color of an autumn twilight, sizing Nick up. “And you, of course, are Nick Gordon.”

  “That’s right.” Nick offered his hand, but Francisco didn’t move any closer so he let it drop back onto the armrest. “It seems like everybody knows my name these days.”

  The little Italian shrugged. “That’s hardly surprising. You must understand that you are the first newcomer in almost two hundred years. Jonathan was the last.” He glanced around idly. “Have you met Jonathan yet?” Nick nodded. “Ah, good. His real name is Johan verHarkerneiss, you understand—he’s Dutch, originally. Not that you can tell anymore, of course, but I always think a person’s native land has an effect on who he is, don’t you?”

  “I guess.” Nick was a little dazed by the man’s running stream of conversation but was impressed by his grace and a little wary from the sharp gaze those eyes had first directed at him.

  “Good, good. I had meant to introduce myself before, but Daniel has been keeping you to himself.” Those eyes focused on Nick again, and the earlier trivialities faded before their power. “Watch out for him. He may seem all camaraderie and warmth at times, but underneath it all he’s cold as ice, and twice as calculating.” A smile creased Francisco’s face without ever reaching his eyes—they continued to bore into Nick. “Of course, so am I.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Nick replied, trying to shake the chill the other man’s stare was giving him. “I’ll keep it in mind, but so far I haven’t seen any of that. Daniel’s been very helpful.” Nick didn’t mention the arguments he and Daniel had already had, though whether that was out of loyalty or caution he couldn’t say.

  “Mm, of course,” Francisco agreed. “You’re an unknown quantity, and he wants you on his side. He’ll be all purrs and warmth, like a big cat, until he gets what he wants—then he’ll crush you underfoot and bat you aside.” All Nick could see were the eyes—they had expanded somehow to fill his whole world, a featureless dusk that made him want to run for shelter and cower until dawn. “Ask him about Lucian.”

  “Who?”

  “Lucian of Samosata,” another voice replied, and Nick turned back toward the doorway, the sound freeing him from that deep blue spell. He already knew what he would see—Daniel stood by the door in gray and black, brandy snifter in hand, eyes fixed not on Nick but on Francisco. He walked forward unhurriedly, moving past his rival to stand by Nick’s chair.

  “Lucian is the oldest Renewed any of us can personally remember,” Daniel explained finally. “He was a Greek writer and philosopher during the Holy Roman Empire, around 150 AD. He’s mentioned in various literature and history books—he is sometimes credited with writing the first proto-science-fiction story, a piece called ‘A True Story’ about a trip to the moon.”

  Francisco glared as Daniel sipped his brandy, and his voice was harsher than before, no longer playful. “Tell him what happened!”

  Nick glanced up at Daniel for the answer, aware that he was seeing the latest volley of a very old argument, and his self-proclaimed mentor sighed. “No one knows what happened to Lucian—he simply disappeared some four hundred years ago. Francisco is convinced that one of us did away with him—specifically, me.”

  “Tell him all of it!” Francisco demanded, and then looked toward Nick himself, voice softening just a little as a note of pleading mixed in with the anger. “Daniel didn’t just kill him—he absorbed him, took everything Lucian had ever been and learned into himself!”

  Nick turned to Michael this time. “Is that possible? To absorb another Renewed?”

  Michael nodded. “Possible, yes, perhaps, but one of our few universal rules is that we don’t. If we start absorbing one another, things could grow truly monstrous.” His eyes swept over the two combatants. “No one knows what happened to Lucian—he simply disappeared. Francisco has never been able to find any proof to support his claim.” A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “Even I cannot divine what occurred there.”

  “Exactly.” Daniel nodded gratefully to Michael. “It is an empty accusation, and always has been.” Then Daniel stepped away from the chair and toward the door, beckoning to Nick with his free hand. “Now, if you’ll both excuse us, Nick and I have some things to discuss.” Despite his casual tone, his words were sharp, almost clipped, and his steps were quick and strong.

  Nick rose and followed him, pausing at the door. “Nice meeting both of you.” Francisco snorted but managed a disinterested wave, and Michael favored him with a soft smile. Then he turned and followed Daniel upstairs and into the room he had seen last time.

  Once the door had swung shut Daniel drained his glass and hurled it at the wall. “Bloody bastard!” The glass shattered against polished wood, scattering about the floor in a falling cascade of sharp points and glittering edges. “How dare he accuse me of that again!” Nick simply sat on the couch and watched him rant. After a minute Daniel calmed down and wandered over to a chair, although his face still showed his anger.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered, hand stroking his beard absently. “Francisco and I are rivals—have been for a few hundred years now—and it gets a little strained at times.”

  “So it seems.” Nick wondered how much of this man’s true nature he had glimpsed in that one moment of unguarded anger. But then Daniel took a deep breath, tossed his head back, and smiled, brow unknitting, and he was calm and friendly again.

  “So you came back. Good, good—I knew you would, eventually.” His eyes ranged over Nick, pausing briefly on his newly expanded chest and shoulders, but only a slight smile showed he had noticed the change. Instead Daniel rubbed his hands together briskly. “And you’ve started to meet the others—I’m glad. I admit I’ve been hoarding you so far, but I thought it might be easier to relate to one person than to a whole host of strangers. Besides, I knew that sooner or later you’d get to know everyone, especially if you spent any time here at the club.”

  Nick waited until the older man paused for breath. “It’s nice to meet some of the others, but that’s not why I came.” Daniel leaned forward attentively, and Nick hesitated a second, then pressed on. “I need some answers.”

  Daniel sat back and spread his hands, adopting the expression of a lecturer fielding comments after a presentation. “Fire away—I’ll answer as best I can.”

  Nick stood and began to pace, trying to marshal his thoughts and still maintain his composure. “I can feel what Amy felt, inside of me—I have her memories, her emotions, her thoughts. Why?”

  “Ah, yes, I should have warned you about that,” his mentor admitted, stroking his beard again. “That is one of the dangers, especially at first—to be honest, it’s been so long since it happened to me that I forgot about it. Basically, what happens is this—every time you absorb someone fully, you gain all of their self, their ka, their chi, their soul, whatever you want to call it. That includes their abilities and talents, their knowledge, and their thoughts and feelings.” Daniel steepled his fingers, the tips of his forefingers against his lips. “Now, as near as I can tell, anything you don’t already know simply gets added to your store of knowledge, even if you knew something on that subject before—for example, you might gain an understanding of horses that you never had before, while your knowledge of driving simply improves and increases. The same goes for abilities; you got better coordination, but you already had some so hers simply added to your own. With thoughts and feelings, however, it works differently.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s because those are more personal, more subjective—you do get them, but they’re kept separate from your own, a new little core of experience and personality inside your hea
d.”

  Nick continued to pace, hands clasped firmly behind his back to keep them from shaking. “So you’re saying that every time I do this I’ll have to carry their thoughts around as well, forever? And they’ll just keep piling up?”

  “No, no, nothing so horrible as all that,” Daniel assured him. “This affected you so strongly because the girl’s energy makes up so much of your total—you were drained, so the energy you absorbed from her carried more weight, made more of an impression.” He studied the pacing young man. “Have you absorbed anyone else since then?”

  “Yes, a few days ago.” Nick explained about the burglar, and Daniel simply nodded. “I’ve got his thoughts as well, but they’re not as strong.”

  “No, they wouldn’t be.” Daniel stood up and went to the wet bar, returning to his seat with a fresh glass and the decanter of brandy, which he set down on the table between the couch and the chair. “Take a look at this.” Nick stopped his pacing and sat back down, a little amused at the idea of a demonstration involving brandy.

  “This is you,” Daniel explained, pointing at the brandy glass and pouring just a drop inside. “This is you when you were Awakened—almost completely devoid of life-energy.” He held the decanter over the glass, tipped so that the amber fluid swelled gently against the lip of the container, struggling to spill into the cup below. “Now, this is what happened with Amy.” The decanter leveled out slightly, just enough so that the fluid could escape, and Nick watched with morbid fascination as the bottom third of the glass filled up. “See how much of your energy you owed to her?” Nick nodded, eyes still locked on the warm orange of the brandy. “That’s why her thoughts are so strong, because ninety percent of your energy came from her. Now, this is the burglar.” The container tipped again, and Nick had a brief vision of Charlie screaming in the shadows of his bedroom as the liquid filled the glass almost halfway. “Notice how he only makes up half of your current total? His effect on you isn’t as strong because he’s a smaller part of the whole.” Daniel lowered and re-stopped the decanter, the demonstration finished, and scooped up the glass, leaning back into his chair and taking an appreciative sip. Nick, eyes still fixed on the glass, shuddered at the symbolism, then sank back himself and let the meaning sink in.