Holidays are Hell

"Nothing will be open," Joseph said, holding her hand, cradling it in his lap. He looked handsome, rested, his eyes moving over her face, out the window, searching.

"Maybe not," Six said. "But at least we will make good targets. Perhaps attract the attention of someone who will lead us back to his master." Anger curled through her. "I have been thinking about the terrorists, Joseph. Trying to imagine what they would want with someone like you."

He grunted. "I have been thinking about the same thing, ever since Chenglei first contacted me. Trying to understand what Jihadists would want with someone who most definitely falls outside their religion. Not that I need to understand too much. Hate is hate. Hypocrisy rules. And there is precedent."

"What do you mean?"

"How much do you know about World War Two and the Nazis?"

"I have studied the history," Six said. "But I admit to focusing more on the problems this country faced. I have spoken to many elderly, and they have told me the stories."

"Yes. There are a lot of stories," Joseph said grimly. "But one thing I learned long ago, from the European side of the war, is that the Nazis—and more specifically, Hitler—were so consumed by their desire to win, that they began seeking… alternative methods. Inexplicable methods, of an… unnatural origin."

"You mean," she said slowly. "Something like you."

"Something like that," he admitted. "Thankfully they never tapped into anything real, though they came close enough to make some individuals nervous. And not just those with powers like mine, but competing governments who in turn began developing their own programs to explore alternative weaponry within the paranormal. The Russians were the most serious, second only to the Germans. My grandfather was part of that program. He managed to leave it after the war. Illegally, of course. He escaped into Mongolia and never left. He took the daughter of a shaman as his wife, and they had a son."

"A family legacy, then."

"But it doesn't answer any questions."

Shanghai traffic was lighter than usual, but the Bund surprised them by being quite crowded. It seemed to Six that every family had taken the afternoon to travel down to the heart of the city and see the sights. Days off were rare for most; the New Year festivals guaranteed at least one.

"We must stay away from the waterfront," Six told Joseph, after being dropped off by the cab. "There will be undercover military there for sure, and they will know my face. Xiu must have been discovered by now."

As she spoke, her eyes seemed to blur, vision worsening almost to blindness until suddenly, without warning, everything snapped back into focus. Six gasped. She could see… everything. The individual pores on a woman's face—who was standing more than fifty feet away. The brand name on the buttons of a man's jacket, far across the street. Her vision swooped and burned like she was an eagle flying, and it was dizzying, frightening.

"Check," she said. "Is the poison—"

"No," Joseph said grimly. "It hasn't progressed. But you're still suffering the side effects."

"Just as long as I do not suffer anything else. I am still me, correct? I still… feel."

"You have your heart," he said quietly. "I won't let you lose it, Six."

"You will not have a choice, if the poison spreads."

Joseph said nothing. The street they were on was the main artery running parallel to the Bund. The architecture was European in origin, neo-classical designs from the twenties up to the forties. Immense monoliths that had stood the test of time far better than most modern Chinese buildings constructed in only the last few years.

Six and Joseph did not take a walking tour of those massive buildings. Instead, they walked into the Peace Hotel and found a bench in a little nook off the main foyer, crowded with tourists, most of them from America and Europe.

They sat, holding hands. Joseph began a search with his mind. After a moment, he invited Six to join him, and she found herself swept into his thoughts, carried alongside him as he traveled another world, seeking danger.

He found it, almost immediately. Right on top of them. A sickening lurch of knowledge that made them both reel.

There is a bomb in this hotel, said Joseph, horror leaking from his thoughts. My God. It's a person. A person—

Six was already running, the location in her mind, the face of the man. She barreled through the crowd, ruthless, battling her own feelings of shock. She had expected this in theory—the Peace hotel had always been on a list of possible targets to be wary of—but thinking and knowing were two separate things, and there was a part of Six that could not believe it was happening here, now. Not now.