"Ryan, think about what you're doing," Nadja said.
Up close, the smell of her was overpowering. The feel of her against him, bringing back memories. Images of times past-the deep blue shimmer of the waves on Maui, a kiss stolen during a sudden impulsive moment behind the doors of her office on Prince Edward Island. The endearing sound of her gasp when he surprised her from behind, running his hands up under her shirt to tickle her back.
"You haven't been yourself, lately," Nadja continued. "Roxborough changed you."
"Tell them to put the guns down," Ryan said. His voice was a grating whisper; he was trying to stay anchored in the present. The handle of the pistol in his hand felt slick, sweaty in his grip.
"Try to remember who you are, Ryan," Nadja said. "Shut up, slitch!"
"You said you remembered in Washington."
And he had remembered. Had felt the loss of Dunkelzahn so poignantly that he had crumpled to the floor and sobbed. He could still see the Washington sky full of flying dragons, weaving their tapestry of fire and magic. He remembered Dunkelzahn, his massive, sinuous bulk crouched beside Ryan as he gave instruction in the theory behind dragon magic. The fact that, in reality, no separation existed between the various kinds of magic-physical or spell or conjuring magic. These distinctions were a product of the limited minds of today's magickers, and were artificial. Dunkelzahn reassured Ryan that, in time, he would be adept at each kind.
The tide of memories came flooding back. Dunkelzahn's telepathic thoughts resonating in Ryan's mind. The jovial
humor of the dragon as he reprimanded Ryan for a misplaced step or an awkward strike. Dunkelzahn was the only parent Ryan had ever really known. He didn't remember much of his life before the dragon had swooped down to save him in El Infierno. Now Dunkelzahn was gone.
/ have no room for these sentimental feelings, he told himself. / must get on with the business at hand.
"I did remember," Ryan told Nadja. "And it nearly destroyed me." He pulled her with him, edging back toward the open door of the helo. He kept his eyes on the security guards. There must be no outward doubt about whether he intended to carry out his threat to kill Nadja. Even if he was no longer sure of it himself.
"But it didn't destroy you," Nadja said. "You have survived just as Dunkelzahn knew you would. Like / knew you would. It's Roxborough-whatever he did to you has affected your mind."
The edge of the helicopter's open side door pressed into the back of Ryan's thighs. He remembered his childhood as young Thomas Roxborough. The boy without want; the child with the most toys, but the fewest friends. But that was all right, because what he'd learned from Father was that friendships-all relationships, in fact-were transitory and superficial at best. It was a valuable lesson if you didn't want to get hurt.
"I'm not Roxborough," Ryan said, pulling Nadja with him into the cargo hold of the helicopter. "But not the Ryan Mercury you knew either. I'm both and neither."
It hit Ryan then that he hadn't been with either of his "fathers" when they died. He'd never had the chance to say goodbye to Frederic Roxborough when his body could no longer struggle against the VITAS infection. He'd also been absent when the explosion vaporized Dunkelzahn.
The depths of his own loneliness, which had shaken through his bones when he'd nearly died from acute lupus, had struck him as poetic justice. But it had been Father's lessons that had saved him then. He'd never given in to the disease, never accepted the doctors' six-month death sentence. The UniOmni vat had kept him alive; it was still keeping the original Roxborough alive.
Alive and alone forever.
"Ryan Mercury is still inside you," Nadja said. "I can see him when I look at you. I felt him in Washington. I loved him…" She broke down then, losing all pretense of composure as the tears welled in her eyes. And once they started, they flowed freely. "I still do."
"You're just trying to confuse me," Ryan said, and he heard desperation in his voice.
"No, Ryan, I just want you to think. There's something inside you that's making you selfish and devious. You can overcome that if you just think about it. If you feel what's in your heart."
"Give up the sappy bulldrek, Nadja."
"Dunkelzahn had confidence that you would always remain true. Otherwise he'd never have chosen you."
"Dunkelzahn abandoned us, Nadja. It's about time you realized that." But Ryan said it without conviction. He didn't really believe it. He didn't know what he believed anymore.
His grip on his Walther loosened. His focus wavered for just a second. Maybe he could believe her; he did love her.
Then again, maybe he should just kill her, make the world black and white again. Clear cut. Simple.
There is an evil voice inside us all, Ryanthusar. Learn to hear it within yourself and come to understand it, for it is a crucial part of you.
Dunkelzahn's words came rushing back into Ryan's mind as he held the gun to Nadja's head. But always remember that how much you act upon what that voice tells you defines who you are.
Am I a murderer? Ryan thought.
No.
It was a simple answer, but it struck him hard, like a sucker punch in his gut, making him gasp for air. "Nadja," he said, choking out the words through the tight constriction of his throat. "I'm sorry." Ryan lowered his hand, pulling the barrel of the pistol from her jaw and holstering it. "Help me."
Nadja turned and wrapped her arms around his chest. Holding him close. The smell of her filled his nostrils, washing through him like warm tonic. Her dark hair softly tickled his face. Her lips murmuring under her breath, "It's all right, Ryan. I love you. I love you."
The world tilted under Ryan, the solidity of the ground
rocking and shifting and sliding away like his fleeting will. He leaned on Nadja for support. With her help, he had won. He had beaten Roxborough. He'd overcome his desire for power at the expense of his friends.