Chapter Text
What little light filtered through the blinds into the Kirramans’ guest room fell across Vi’s face in stripes. She stared, unseeing, at the canopy over the bed.
Even after a few days in this ridiculous mansion, the concept of a “guest bedroom” still sent her for a loop. That shit was only necessary for a class of people with the wealth and leisure time to travel – and, what’s more, to invite their traveling friends and “social connections” to share their excessively large living space, and enjoy luxurious accommodations while doing so. The decadence of it made her stomach roil.
Bed was comfy as hell, though.
That’s where she spent most of her time. She lay on her back, arms crossed over her chest, her skin crawling with the fear that Shimmer still lingered in her bruised body; or she flipped over onto her stomach and buried her face in a pile of frilly pillows and screamed until she was hoarse.
When the bed got too comfy, and she just couldn’t fucking take the smothering fluff anymore, she curled up on the floor between the bed and the wall, away from the door. That at least felt familiar. And if anyone knocked while Vi was on the floor, she could pretend she’d been doing push-ups or some shit.
On the bed or on the floor, the name of the game was not thinking about Powder.
Vi sucked at this game.
Her restless mind cycled through a series of images, like Caitlyn poring over crime scene photographs in search of one more clue. Short blue hair and wide, wet eyes. Long blue hair and a cruel, inhumanly pink gaze. Tiny hand wrapped in hers, which was only slightly bigger. Sharp, bright fingernails gripping a gun. It didn’t make sense that they were all the same person. Just like it didn’t make sense that that person was dead.
Maybe. Caitlyn had her doubts. Vi, for her part, didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t even know what she wanted to believe anymore.
If Powder was alive, Vi had to keep going.
If Powder was dead, Vi could just … be done.
Which sounded really, really good right now.
She pressed her fists against her eyes, as if that would stop her from seeing the ruined corpse on the bridge. Not far from where they’d found their mother’s body, so many years before. At least she’d been recognizable. No lingering doubts there; her familiar face had been blank, eyes empty, nobody home.
There was a perfunctory knock at the door, and then Caitlyn swept into the room. Vi forced herself to turn her head and look. The young woman who had saved her – thereby earning her loyalty, thereby driving Powder away – stood over her tall and straight as a steel beam. She wore casual clothes, not her uniform – she had the tact not to wear it in Vi’s presence, not after that night – but she was every inch the detective all the same. Her eyes blazed with righteous anger and excitement, like she was mad but glad to be mad.
Vi understood. She preferred anger to despair. Anger was easy. Anger, she knew. And anger led to fighting, which she really knew.
Rushed and earnest, Caitlyn began, “Vi, I’ve just spoken to Jayce, and–”
“Ugh.” The supine girl pulled a nearby pillow over her face. “Spare me whatever words of wisdom he imparted.”
“It’s important. It’s about …”
The unspoken name made Vi’s stomach ache. She used every ounce of discipline she had to breathe slow and steady into the – what was this, satin? Whatever. Stupid pillow.
When her fight-or-flight response had subsided, she uncovered her face, but she didn’t meet Caitlyn’s intense gaze. The canopy was safer. “Did you get the green light for your little science project?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Caitlyn had the decency to pause. They’d fought about the proposed autopsy the night before. It had gotten ugly. After a moment, she said, “The body’s already been buried.”
“Good.”
“There’s nothing ‘good’ about the council concealing evidence,” she countered, and Vi could practically hear her eyes narrowing and mouth turning down in disapproval.
Vi ground her teeth together. "What would you even be looking for?"
"The tattoos. Were they real? If they were real, were they fresh? What color were her eyes? Was the hair dyed or a wig or what? And what about–"
Vi held up a hand, and thankfully, Caitlyn quieted. "When you were a little girl,” she said, “and you got hurt, or sick, or scared, did your parents comfort you? Did they wrap their arms around you to make you feel safe? Did they stroke your head until you fell asleep?"
"Yes. What does that have to do–"
Vi’s voice was thick. "Then they know the exact texture and weight of your hair. They know what it feels like between their fingertips. And they'll never, ever forget that.” Finally, she turned to look at Caitlyn, and held her eyes for a beat. She knew what she believed. “It was her."
A flash of empathy softened the enforcer’s face. She didn’t want to hurt her, Vi knew. Cared about her, in fact. Wanted a kind of closeness that had once drawn Vi in, and now made her skin crawl, even as she hated herself for recoiling. It was a good thing Caitlyn was offering, wasn’t it? Something Vi wanted?
Then the softness disappeared again, replaced by that familiar heedless determination. "But it's still possible–”
Vi’s voice was flat and hard as stone. "Cupcake, if you take my sister out of the ground, I will drop you in that grave and fill it in myself."
She tried to ignore Caitlyn’s flinch, and the wounded look in her eyes, and the reflexive urge to press on, push harder, push away. So many things she could say to put an end to this absurd attempt at friendship. More than friendship, honestly. The girl was offering her heart on a silver platter, like Vi was capable of doing anything other than smashing it to bits.
Caitlyn sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. The stone was a fake. Jayce just told me. Sevika looked them in the eye and dared them to call her on it. If she’d lie about that, we have to assume Powder and Silco are still alive.”
“That’s a leap.”
“No, it makes sense,” she insisted.
It did, but Vi wasn’t prepared to admit that. She shook her head stiffly. “Besides, if they are alive, they could be anywhere by now. Hopped through a Hexgate and – poof!”
“First of all, as if we’re not monitoring Hexgate traffic. Second, you really think Silco would leave Zaun? In the moment of his triumph?”
That made sense, too, damn it. “If someone in the Undercity doesn’t want to be found, they don’t get found.”
Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.” She lifted a hand, and let it hover for a moment, hesitating. Then it fell lightly on Vi’s arm – not a caress, just pressure, over her sleeve rather than skin-to-skin. “ You can find Powder. I know you can. You did before.”
Through force of will, Vi ignored the twin emotions warring inside her – a longing to lean into Caitlyn’s touch, and a primal need to run away from it. “No,” she replied. “What I did was stumble around the Lanes and almost get myself killed. She found me , with that blue smoke. She was looking for me. And if she faked her own death, like you think she did, then she won’t be looking for me anymore.”
“Blue smoke,” Caitlyn murmured – and then bolted up and snapped her fingers. “The tattoos. That’s it.”
Vi turned her head wearily. “What’s what?”
“The tattoos on the body looked just like Powder’s tattoos, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Vi drawled, as if talking to a stupid child, “because they were her tattoos. Because the body was her .”
Undeterred, Caitlyn’s eyes were bright and sharp again, the detective rather than the friend. “Indulge me for a moment. Let’s say it wasn’t her. For them to match so perfectly in shape and color, they’d have to be done by the same artist that did the originals.”
“I’m … not sure that’s how tattoos work.”
She ignored that. “Who do you think tattooed her?”
Vi’s face twisted up incredulously. “How the fuck would I know that?”
“Stop getting pissed off at me and think about it .” Caitlyn was pacing now, as if the speed at which her mind was moving required her body to move, as well. “For such a big undertaking, something so intimate, she would have chosen someone in the community, someone she felt comfortable with. Someone she knew before .”
“So this is how you ‘investigate’? Wild guesses and half-assed theories?” Vi snorted. “This is a waste of …” She trailed off, something tickling the back of her mind, and then furrowed her brow. “Wait. There was someone. Friend of Vander’s. Came to the Drop all the time, did tattoos right there at the bar. Powder begged for one, but she was too little.”
Face lit up, Caitlyn sat on the bed again. This time she was close enough that her leg brushed Vi’s hair. “Their name, Vi.”
“It was something about ink. Smear? Smudge? No. Blot. She went by Blot.” Her eyes widened, Caitlyn’s excitement reflected in them for just a moment – but then her face turned skeptical. “So you’re saying Vander’s friend tattooed a body-double so Silco could commit murder and fake his protege’s death?”
That brought Caitlyn up short. They’d talked a bit about Vander, about what a good man he’d been, about the non-violence he’d preached. Her scenario really didn’t sound like something a friend of Vander’s would do. She blew her hair out of her face. “If they were scared, maybe? I don’t know. All I know is, this is a lead. Someone who was part of your sister’s life, and may be able to prove or rule out my theory. I have to question her. And I want you there with me.”
“What?!” Vi sat up, suddenly tense as a wire. “No way. Nuh-uh. I am not going down there. Not while Sevika’s in charge.”
“Blot’s more likely to talk to someone she recognizes,” Caitlyn reasoned.
Vi sneered and gestured to her abdomen. “You trying to get me stabbed again? Maybe shot this time, for good measure?”
“Of course it’s dangerous, but surely it’s worth the risk.” With an attempt at an encouraging smile, she added, “We can watch each other’s backs.”
Vi regarded Caitlyn, taking in the high set of her shoulders and the hungry gleam in her eyes. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”
“Nope.”
“And if I say no, you’re gonna go without me.”
“Yep.”
Let her go , a dark voice whispered. Let her find out that her can-do attitude and persistent spirit count for fuck-all in the Undercity. Let her get herself killed.
But then another of those still-frame images surfaced in her mind. Tied up, gagged, eyes wide, panicked, gun to temple, forcing out muffled pleas for help. If she was going to let Caitlyn die, she would have done it then. Should have done it, maybe. But didn’t.
Falling limply back onto the bed, Vi muttered, “Fuck.”