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“And you’re all full of fear,” B said. “You’re all terrified, and he wants hearts filled
with fear. Teyolia. The life force that feeds the gods and controls the universe. It’s
stronger when you’re afraid.”
Marla turned around in her chair and looked at him. She had almost forgotten B was
there. Rondeau was trying to shush him, but Marla said, “Did you have another dream
last night?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I found a sybil to interpret it. I had to give her my autograph as
payment, but I didn’t sign my real name. She said it didn’t matter, but I think she was
disappointed.”
He’d found a sybil. Just happened to find one. Maybe he really was more than a secondrate
seer. “What are the sorcerers afraid of?” she asked.
B didn’t hesitate. “The same thing you are. They’re afraid of losing control.”
Marla didn’t react. It was a fair cop, but she didn’t need to let it show, especially not in
front of Dalton.
“Hey,” Dalton said. “Weren’t you in that bad sci-fi movie with Dolph Lundgren? You
played his surly teenage son?”
“That wasn’t me,” B said. “I think that was River Phoenix. But it’s okay. I get that a
lot.”
“River Phoenix is dead,” Dalton said, matter-of-factly. “He overdosed years and years
ago.”
“It’s a nasty way to go,” B said.
“Not as nasty as having your heart scooped out by a crazed Aztec warrior-priest, and
that’s true whether the world is real or a simulation.” Marla laced her fingers together in
front of her. Finally, they might be able to get down to business. “What’s your plan of
action, and how can I help? I’m a guest in your city, after all.”
Dalton shook his head, as if astonished at her audacity. “I wouldn’t call you a guest,
Mason. In fact, it’s probably best for everyone if you go back to your own city. Let us
take care of things here. Mutex is more dangerous than we’d expected, but we’ll track
him down. You have bigger problems. I’m sure you know you’ve already made a rather
significant enemy. The ruler of Chinatown has put a price on your head. I don’t care—
I’m as rich as I’ll ever need to be—but there are other people who might want to collect
that reward.”
“You’ll have to put me in touch with a good bookie,” Rondeau called, still apparently
engrossed in shotgunning video-game aliens. “I might be able to get decent odds betting
on Marla, since nobody in this town knows her. You know, back home, they won’t even
take bets on the people who try to kill her? It’s a bummer. That used to be easy money.”