Staying Dead - Laura Anne Gilman [91]
Sergei refused to rise to the bait. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed comfortably across his chest, watching the two of them with a carefully upturned quirk to his lips. Just because he hadn’t played the game in years didn’t mean he had forgotten how. And with Wren to practice on for all that time, he knew for a fact that the expression on his face was guaranteed to frustrate anyone it was turned on.
“Christ,” Jorgunmunder went on, reacting to Sergei’s body language as though he’d read the script beforehand, “it’s in everyone’s best interest that the information be shut down, before someone who isn’t content to just look at his pretties gets hold of too many!”
And that, Sergei thought ruefully, was always the problem. Everything the Silence did was reasonable. Was for the better good of humanity—as the Silence saw it. And for the most part he agreed with their goals, their reasons.
It was just the way they used up their people. People who saw too much, did too much. Cared too damn much. And all the doing and seeing and caring doesn’t do more than stem the tide.
He would have done anything—had done everything—to keep that weary, bitter awareness out of his Wren’s eyes.
And yet…they had a point. He’d worried about Wren’s description of what she’d seen at the mark’s house, too. “Look. I’ll get what information for you I can. I always have.” Without him, they’d still have nothing more than rumors about the Council’s existence. “But back off. No more shadowing, no more harassing. No more manipulating. If you’ve talked to Douglas then you know the most you’re going to get is me, not her. Leave Wren alone. She’s not to be any part of your plans.”
“Don’t you think maybe that’s for me to decide?”
All three men jerked to attention. Sergei cursed both his inattention and the standing order that, no matter what time of night or day it was, a woman matching Wren’s description would always be allowed into his flat, no questions asked. He had meant it to be for her safety. Another good plan gone to hell. Seems to be a theme for the day.
She stood in the doorway, arms firmly planted on her hips, and stared at them. No way to tell how much she’d heard. No matter, it was all damning.
“All right. Since I’ve crashed the party, do I get an invitation after the fact?”
Andre turned so that he was facing her completely. “This is Genevieve?”
Sergei gave him an “are you kidding?” look. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
Andre didn’t bother replying to that. “Ms. Valere. My name is Andre Felhim, and this is my associate, Poul Jorgunmunder.”
“Generally speaking, people who have associates who look like that tend to say things like ‘I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.’ That your deal?” She ran her hand against the wall, as though testing the texture of the paint. Sergei recognized the move for what it was, a gathering of current from the wiring that ran behind the plaster.
“Wren…” he warned, even as Felhim rushed to reassure her.
“I assure you, there will be no need for…violence. On either side.”
She flicked a glance at Sergei, asking for feedback, which reassured him somewhat. She might be angry, but it wasn’t out of control. Yet.
“It’s okay, Wren.”
Her hand dropped from the wall. Sergei hoped that the Silence agents didn’t make the mistake of thinking that meant that she was unarmed. No Talent ever was, a lonejack even less so. Paranoia was how they stayed clear of the Council. He should have been paying more attention to that lesson. He sighed inwardly. Douglas had been right. He was better suited to working within the system, not without.
“Right. Felhim and Jorgunmunder. Harassing my partner—” A subtle emphasis on the words, a touch heavier on my. “Talking about something my partner—” Again the emphasis, this time on partner. Sergei hid a wince. She was definitely angry. “—doesn’t want me to know about.” She moved farther into the room, her boots making solid noises on the hardwood floor. Of the four in the room, Wren should have been the one overwhelmed. She was