Turncoat Megan Derr (great novels to read txt) 📖

"Leave me—damn it!" Byron snarled, dropping the knife and holding his hand against his chest.

Dixie's frown cut deeper into his face. He strode across the kitchen and tried once more to get hold of Byron, who turned and gave him a hard shove. "Leave me alone!" He grabbed the knife and threw it in the sink, where it splashed in soapy water. Then he grabbed up the cutting board and the onion he'd been chopping, all with one hand, and threw it in the trash before storming from the room again.

"What in the ever living goddamn hell was that all about?" Dixie asked. "Byron ain't usually the crazy one around here." He ran a hand over his head, stared at the bits of onion that had been left on the counter and fallen on the floor.

And the weird smears of something purple. It looked like blood, except, well, it was purple. "What the hell was he chopping that comes out purple?"

"Huh?" Greg asked.

Leland rose and turned sharply, a look on his face that was sharp as a laser and twice as intense as a pissed off G.O.D. with a victim in their sights. "Purple? Let me see." He joined Dixie at the kitchen counter, dabbed his fingers in the small purple smear. "This is blood."

"Maybe I missed something somewhere, but I'm pretty sure blood is red."

"Human blood, yeah," Leland said, "but this isn't from a human. Byron's like Beatrice."

Dixie closed his eyes, counted to ten, and replayed Leland's words. Nope. Wasn't working. He still could not make any sense of the words being said to him. "What in the hell do you mean isn't from a human?"

"Beatrice isn't human, and she bleeds purple, like this. She said she crash-landed here centuries ago, when the meteor damaged her ship. Said she was the only one left, that the only other one to survive the crash died years ago. She never said his name…" He rubbed his fingers together, staring at the blood. "She was captured by the G.O.D. seven and a half months ago, along with some supers she'd been hiding so the G.O.D. wouldn't get them. A group of five seven-level kids, the oldest not more than twelve. She did that a lot—kept registered supers from winding up in the clutches of the Dogs. I was supposed to be with them that night, but the police scanner went off, an ugly robbery…"

"I remember it," Greg said quietly. "I was out scouting a building, and there was such a clusterfuck about that robbery that the cops weren't around anywhere else. I hit the building right then because I was never going to get another chance like that. Walked away with ten million dollars in diamonds." He frowned, rubbed a thumbnail across his lower lip. "I didn't know you did all that rescue stuff. I didn't even know there was a rescue cluster here."

"It's not here anymore, and I'm not part of it," Leland said. "The fucking G.O.D. almost got me that night. They had Night Terror at that damn 'robbery' and the whole thing was a sting. I managed to escape, barely, but by the time I got home, it was too late for Beatrice and the others. Now they're all with the G.O.D., and I could have stopped it if I hadn't been so stupid."

Dixie shook his head. "Darling, it ain't stupid to try and do the right thing, and it sure as hell ain't stupid to get your ass whooped by the G.O.D. I know better than most how ruthless and mean they can be. I wasn't but a kid when they shot my daddy point blank right in front of me. You're damned lucky they didn't get you, too, because none of us would have ever known. I sure as hell ain't heard about the G.O.D. having an alien. Hang on, I'm gonna go talk to Byron. Outer space, what the hell is next?"

After several long minutes of hunting, he finally found Byron hiding out in his workshop, fussing with bits and pieces that had probably come from the deaths of several high-end electronics obtained from the back of a truck. "So basically you are a dark faerie, just from Planet Faeries instead of Land of Faeries."

Byron looked up, and Dixie drew up short to see Byron was crying. "How—?"

"You left blood on the counter. I told you to be careful with that knife, you dumbass," Dixie replied. He slowly crossed the room. When Byron didn't flee or push him away, Dixie rested a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, why are you hiding in here? I'm half-computer and have to be defragged periodically. You think I wouldn't jump at the chance to add alien jokes to the things I can harass you about?"

Byron let out a cracked, broken laugh, then buried his face in his hands and started sobbing.

"Ah, hell, why does anyone let me talk?" Dixie muttered. "Ain't it obvious I grew up with just computer parts for friends?" But what he lacked in words, he tried to make up in deeds. It wasn't hard to get Byron on his feet and into a hug. "It's okay, Byron. I'm sorry we done scared you."

Several minutes later, Byron finally drew away. "Sorry."

"Shut the hell up. You ain't the one should be apologizing. Are you okay? Is there something we can do?" For the first time he noticed Byron's hand: the two bandaged fingers stained with purple blood. "You didn't cut yourself too bad, did you?"

"Bad enough," Byron said, sadness threading his voice. He slowly dragged his eyes up, peered at Dixie, looking more like a scared child than the easy, stoic man he knew. "You're not going to freak out or something? Try to kill me? Report me?"

Dixie shook his head. "Nah. More fun to rib you, and who would keep this place in shape for all of us to use if we went panicked villager on you? Anyway, idiot, you keep on forgetting that