Busted Flush

Kate felt the disconnect every time she went there. She’d grown up with Peregrine on TV and all over the covers of magazines. She was an icon, probably the most visible and famous wild carder ever, with her stunning presence and spectacular wings. And here was Kate, dating her son.

The penthouse was beyond posh. It wasn’t opulent or over the top—that was just it. Everything was tasteful and perfect, from the clean lines of the gray leather sofa set and glass coffee table, to the giant arrangement of hyacinths on the twelve-seater dining-room table. Real flowers, not silk, changed every week by the housekeeper. Last week had been orchids.

John grew up with this. He walked in here, and it was home. Kate still felt like she’d landed in a photo spread in Vogue. She was getting used to it—it was definitely easy to get used to. But sometimes she wondered if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole.

She set her bag by the wall of the living room and took a deep breath, happy to be anywhere that didn’t smell like a third world country.

“Hello?” she called. Her voice echoed.

“Hey!” John appeared from the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. She was on him in a heartbeat, arms over his shoulders, pulling herself into a kiss. Awkwardly, hands full, he hugged her back. Their kiss was warm and long.

“Hi,” she said when they managed to separate.

“Hey,” he said, his smile bright. “Let me put this down so we can do this right.”

John set the bottle on the coffee table, where two glasses were waiting. Kate pulled him down to the sofa next to her.

The light from the other room glinted off the lump in his forehead. Sekhmet. A scarab-like joker living in John’s head. She gave him his power—he wasn’t an ace on his own, not anymore. But Kate didn’t like to think about it, that she and John were never really alone. Right now, moments like these, John was all hers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” John said. “You still look beat.”

“I’m just starting to wake up.”

She pulled her leg across his lap, half straddling him, and kissed him again. She rested her hand on his cheek, ran it across his curly hair. His lips moved with hers while his hands crept under her shirt, pressing against her back. She drew on his warmth, and the tension faded. They sighed together.

“Welcome home,” he said.

“Thanks. It’s really, really good to be here.” She could curl up in his arms and never leave.

“Yeah. I worry less when you’re with me.” He ducked his gaze, hiding a smile. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I’d have lasted this long.”

So serious. Of course he was, this wasn’t a game. The pundits sometimes joked: what, you kids think you can save the world? But they could. They did. Little parts of it at a time.

Not wanting the anxiety to creep back, she joked, “And if it weren’t for you, I’d have a million dollars and be the designated ace guardian of San Jose.”

He laughed, and she laughed with him, their heads bowed together. He said, “You really want to be the designated ace guardian of San Jose? Showing up for your guest appearance on Dancing with the Stars?”

“Oh, my God, no. Poor Stuntman. No wonder he went to work for the government.”

John’s eyes held uncertainty again. Still worrying.

“John, I wouldn’t change anything. I don’t want to be anywhere but right here.”

Their next kiss was slow, studious almost, like neither one of them wanted to miss a single sensation. He worked her shirt off, and she helped, raising her arms, leaning into his touch as his hands slid up her back. He dropped her shirt on the floor, then tipped her back onto the sofa, and it was some time before they actually made it to bed.

Kate heard a voice. She thought she was dreaming, some kind of weird, lucid dream, because her eyes were closed, but she felt awake. Familiarity intruded. John’s voice, muttering.

But it wasn’t John. He wasn’t speaking English. She opened her eyes.

He was looking at her, but it wasn’t him. Part of him belonged to Sekhmet, and sometimes she took over. The look in his eyes became older, harder, more experienced. That other gaze was looking at her now, with an expression that was both sad and annoyed. The situation was complicated: Isra the joker had been waiting for a great ace with whom she could join her powers and become Sekhmet, the handmaiden of Ra. But John didn’t become Ra. He’d been cured of the wild card virus. Isra might call herself Sekhmet, but she never got the power she’d longed for. There was no Ra, now. Her frustration with John, and with those around him, was plain, whenever she came to the fore.

The voice whispered in Egyptian. Kate wished she knew what she was saying. She was afraid the joker was saying, “This won’t last.”

Self-consciously, Kate pulled up the sheet to cover her chest. “I wish you’d leave us alone,” she whispered.

Isra heard her. “You’re children. Just children. You don’t understand.”

Kate frowned. “That’s not fair. After what we’ve been through, after what you’ve put John through—”