Damn Him to Hell

I located a high-ceilinged room lined with shelves of supplies. Cartons had been stacked along the walls to clear a place for an infirmary filled with cots. Along with Leibowitz, there must have been a dozen zombies, with the med students moving among them, checking pulses, making notes, administering IVs. Where in heck had they found IVs? Suspecting illegal pilfering, I didn’t ask.

Andre was on the phone, leaning against a stack of crates as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His silk shirt was filthy and looked as if he’d never completely buttoned it all day. He had pink glitter on his tight trousers. His usually styled thick black hair had fallen across his brow. And even though he appeared cool and unruffled, I could tell he was breathing fire. I’m pretty much the only one who generates that reaction.

He glowered at me, snapped off his phone, and, in a voice that thundered doom, said, “Call off your boyfriend now or he’s dead meat.”

I came all the way over here for that old argument? I was asleep on my feet and didn’t need more crap. I glowered back, said, “Good luck with that,” and, turning on my heel, walked out.

Hell, I’d just strolled through a Magic lab. Andre didn’t have nothing on me.

8

Knowing Max and Andre were growling at each other left me feeling like a bone caught between two dogs. Yeah, the Zone had to be hazardous to our health. But most of the people living and working there would have no lives at all otherwise. Where would a kid who turned invisible live outside the Zone? He’d be reduced to a life of crime. And Sarah? They’d have her in a zoo.

“Damn it, Saturn,” I muttered, “if you really wanted to give me power, you’d give me fairy dust so I could just make everybody happy.”

My head in a muddle, I stomped back to Julius’s kitchen, dumped a bunch of cans into a casserole dish with some chicken I defrosted from his freezer and a bunch of noodles, and shoved the concoction into the microwave. I threw some frozen rolls into the oven. I’d learned creative cooking while traveling around the country with my mother. I couldn’t guarantee the result would taste good, but it had the maximum number of calories and nutrition and served to distract me from Andre and Max.

My phone kept ringing—chiming church bells this time. The apartment is not in the Zone, I reminded myself. My cheap phone had just obviously been infected with magic juice.

I didn’t really believe in magic, but uranium was a dangerously reactive element. Which thought raised an unease that had been niggling in the back of my mind all day—what was in those pink particles? Of course, for all I knew, we’d all be blown sky-high before we had to worry about pink-particle contamination.

Once I had the casserole cooking, I checked my caller list. Max.

I really, really couldn’t afford to offend a senator, no matter how weird he made me feel. And I owed Andre a lot, as well, so I at least owed him an argument with my ex-do-gooder boyfriend’s conscience in an effort to keep the Feds from condemning the rest of the Zone. Still, it was hard wrapping my mind around Dane as Max— which was probably why I was avoiding him.

With a sigh, while my casserole cooked, I settled into a comfy chair in Julius’s front room and called Max back. I sure hoped no one was tapping his line or recording his calls, because they’d wonder why a powerful senator was talking to little old fractious me.

“Justy, I need you over here, now!” he shouted.

Okay, that was a surprise. I stared at the phone a full minute before returning it to my ear. “Why?” I asked cautiously.

He sounded immensely weary this time. “Because I asked you to, please?”

Wow, it surely must be serious for Macho Man to use the p-word. “Can I tell Andre that you’re not shutting him down?” I’m a tough negotiator.

“I can’t shut anyone down,” he said with disgust. “I have to stay as far from my family’s freaking plant as I can these days. Acme is a conflict of interest—you know this. I just wanted Andre to tell me what the hell was happening and if you were all right.”

The Max I knew would never give up, but I really didn’t know this Dane/Max person. Heck, I didn’t even know if souls inhabited brains or if he still had Dane’s brains or how in hell he was dealing with this weirdness. I grimaced as the microwave bell dinged. “Okay, let me feed a few people. Where should I meet you?”

“In Dane’s condo. Hurry, will you?” He gave me the address and we signed off.

I wouldn’t be human if my pulse didn’t beat a little harder at the thought of visiting a hunky senator in his luxury tower, but I had no intention of being anyone’s secret girlfriend. Max couldn’t parade me to embassy dinners, and I can’t stomach politicians, so we were so far from compatible as to inhabit different universes.

But Max had once been a friend. I could be there if he needed me.

I delivered the casserole and rolls to Julius, letting him work out how to feed whoever was hanging out in the warehouse.

Relieved that I no longer had to waste my evenings studying, I took Milo back to my place. Saturday night and now I had a date, of sorts. I glanced at my usual threads, removed the cotton T-shirt, found a fancier bra, donned a satiny shirt with my jeans, and considered myself well dressed. I added a leather jacket—after all, it was September and I was riding a Harley.

With my lion’s mane from the devil, I didn’t have to worry about helmet hair. I just snapped my hair into a clip I could take down when I got there. I wasn’t into bling, so Max would just have to take me as he’d found me.

I tried not to be too nervous when I drove up to the security gate at Dane’s place in Bethesda. The towering condos, ornate fence, and elaborate fountains screamed money, but the Vanderventers had million-dollar lines of credit at Tiffany. They could own homes like this all over the world.

I was just having difficulty picturing my biker Max living like this. He used to crash in a dive even more pathetic than my old one.

But it wasn’t my scruffy, curly-haired Max meeting me at the door once I was buzzed in. Senator Dane Vanderventer, with his stylishly coiffed chestnut hair, greeted me, wearing gabardine trousers, a quietly elegant tailored shirt, and a loosened silk tie.

We stared at each other uneasily. The senator was a little taller than Max had been, a little leaner, but he was still one good-looking dude, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and piercing blue eyes. His dimpled chin was even more impressive than Kirk Douglas’s.

“Lookin’ good, Justy,” he murmured as I removed my jacket.

The voice didn’t sound right, but the words were pure Max, and a shiver crept down my spine. He was the only one who used that nickname. Once upon a time I used to fling myself into his welcoming bear hug when he said that. I wanted to do so again. But it wasn’t the same.

Nervously, I resisted any such impulse. Hugging my elbows, I glanced around at the designer-decorated pad. Neutral tans and browns with splashes of black. Fat suede cushions, leather recliner, a huge flat-screen TV hidden behind a faux painting over the fireplace. It was obvious a man owned the place but didn’t really live there. No beer cans.

Gathering my wits, I dropped my jacket over the arm of the couch and sat down, crossing my leg over my knee and peering up at him as if I belonged here. “Okay, I’m here. I’m creeped out. It’s been a rotten long day, and I don’t want to fight. What do you need?”

In a familiar Max gesture, he ran his hand through Dane’s styled hair, disturbing the wax or whatever it is politicians use to maintain that polished image. A hank fell down over his forehead, and I almost smiled. I used to tease Max about the curl in the middle of his forehead.

“I need sanity, among other things,” he said bluntly. “Dane was a lying, cheating bastard. I’m still trying to pry his girlfriends out of my hair. Currently, they’re threatening to go to the media and tell them what a horse’s ass Dane is. I’ve told them to go ahead. I’d rather not even run for dogcatcher if it means putting up with their histrionics.”

“Histrionics, that’s good,” I said, knowing he was just venting and that he didn’t need me for this. “That’s a