Free Nevermore: A Cal Leandros Novel by Rob Thurman

be more wrong.
    I could’ve been worse if we’d taken one wrong turn.
    So much damn worse.
    Our lives had changed. The difference was that it was a choice now. We’d always been warriors, soldiers, fighters, we always would be. Hell, we were paid to do it. It was our job, the perfect one for the adrenaline junkies a life of running would turn us into. Once the bogeymen chased us, now we chased them. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Except for occasional cluster fucks like Lazarus, I couldn’t see doing anything else.
    “That’s not true. They changed or it could be we changed. I
like
our lives. We both do. It’s not the perfect picket fences, golden retrievers, and PTA meetings. You didn’t expect that on a postcard from our future, did you?” I came close to laughing at the thought. “That isn’t us. It never was and it never will be. We’re Rom and I’m a little more than that. Could you imagine a life where you didn’t have a sword in your hand? It’s as much a part of you as the hand that holds it. Would you rather move to Jersey, mow your grass, and keep the pH in your pool at the perfect level?”
    Niko blanched. It was subtle, but I caught it. “I wouldn’t want those things if I could have them. A Stepford life, no thanks.” I went with the bottom line. “You saved me, my life, and my sanity, Cyrano,” I reassured. “You always do. Give yourself credit I’m not wearing a jacket that ties in the back and, hell, I’m
alive
. Twenty-sixand twenty-eight, did you really think we’d ever live that long?”
    “I—”
    “No, you damn well did not.” I answered for him. I knew my Nik, this Niko, and I knew neither would’ve wanted to tell the truth there.
    And that was without knowing the hundreds of other species of monsters that roamed the earth. Thanks to the Vigil freak, Nik was going to get that cherry popped a little sooner, but only by a few months. This was when we’d been in New York a mere few weeks. It hadn’t taken long for the city to open our eyes to the fact we didn’t live in a single horror movie. We lived in
all
of them.
    “But here I fucking am. We did good.” We had, too . . . up until Niko had been murdered, but that was a truth I didn’t want to and couldn’t tell. “Pat yourself on the back. You dragged us through some unholy, absolutely terrifying shit. You saved us. You saved me.”
    “This is Hallmark as goddamn hell and all, but could we get back to the part where someone wants to kill me? And
why
?” The angry mask of Cal’s face tightened further. Sharing me with Niko, with his brother, was not number one on his Christmas list. “Methuselah the assassin? That ring a bell? Someone from the future? ‘Come with me if you want to live’ like the movie? You’re telling me the older I get the less taste I have? And I am
not
Sarah Connor.”
    Big brother or not, Niko couldn’t keep a straight face at bitching of that epic proportion. It was a quickly smothered laugh, but it was there.
    “Jehoshaphat.
Jehoshaphat
the assassin. Keep up.” I lied, as I invariably do, with a clear conscience. “And this is the most tasteful T-shirt I own, Junior, so prepare. And we’ve had monsters follow us our whole lives; you find a little time travel hard to believe?” I reached forward and flicked his forehead. “But you’re right about you and Sarah Connor. There isn’t a gym in the world that could give you her muscles.”
    The switchblade came out again, and I promptly repossessed it to return to my jacket.
    “You don’t look like you could take on any kind of Terminator, no matter how good you are with a knife. And don’t call me Junior, asshole.” Cal glared resentfully at me, then passed his palm down over his face and let his shoulders slouch, suddenly too tired to be eighteen. Realizing if he couldn’t take himself—that would be me, with several weapons—what were his chances with a genetically altered super-assassin? Reading my T-shirt one more time