throw at me. (I say pretty much, because no one’s actually tested it against a nuclear blast, or a full-on faerie curse . . . but the family Armourer was working on that.) With the armour in stealth mode, I couldn’t be seen by anyone or anything, including all kinds of electronic surveillance. (I’ve never been too sure how that actually works; presumably the torc rewrites the signal, to edit me out. The Armourer did try to explain how the strange matter in my torc works, and I had to go and lie down in a darkened room for several hours.)
I strolled in and out of the parked cars, resisting the urge to strike down some of the louder and more obnoxious drivers with an invisible fist round the ear, and quickly decided it was in everyone’s best interests if I got out of there as fast as possible. So I broke into a run, moving faster and faster as the incredible strength of my armoured legs kicked in. The cars became just a blur as I got up to speed, shooting in and out of gaps in a split second, thanks to my speeded-up reflexes. I was laughing into my featureless golden mask now, arms pumping easily at my sides as I really hit my stride. The world was just a smear of colours, every sound dopplering down behind me, and I wasn’t even breathing hard. My family has the best toys in the world.
Soon enough I was past the pileup that had caused all the congestion, and was sprinting in and out of moving traffic. Cars and trucks and bikes roared along, filling all the lane space available, and I had to slow down or ˚ risk running right over them. Reflexes are great, but they’re no match for an idiot behind the wheel, of which Los Angeles has more than its fair share. I got fed up dodging drivers who changed lane with no warning and no signal, so I waited for a lengthy articulated to come along, raced along beside it to match speeds, and then jumped up onto its roof. My armoured legs sent me flying through the air, and then absorbed the impact on landing so completely the articulated’s driver never even knew I was there. I struck a heroic pose that no one could see, just because, and surfed the articulated all the way to Anaheim.
I got hit by an awful lot of insects, but the armour just absorbed them.
When we finally got to Anaheim, I switched from vehicle to vehicle, riding the roofs as I followed the street map I’d memorised, and jumped off a block short of the Magnificat. I found a quiet side street, and armoured down when no one was looking. And just like that, I was just another tourist, wandering happily down the street. The air was blisteringly hot again, and so thick with pollution you could practically chew the stuff, but that’s what you get for living in the real world. No one paid me any attention as I joined the throng in the main street, heading for the Magnificat. There’s nothing memorable in my appearance. I’ve gone to great pains to appear to be just another face in the crowd. Field agents are trained to blend in, and not be noticed. It’s a useful skill for a field agent, not looking like anyone in particular. The last thing you want in this business is to be noticed or remembered.
Even when I was still a long way off, I could see the Magnificat Hotel. It was the tallest building for miles, a massive steel and glass block that towered over everything else, effortlessly dominating the scene without a single trace of character or style in its appearance. The neon sign with the hotel’s name was almost brutally ugly. Everything about the building shouted that it was there to serve a purpose, nothing more. All very efficient, but a total pain in the arse to look at. Ugly buildings are like ugly women—you can’t help feeling someone should have made more of an effort. I said this to my girlfriend Molly once, and she hit me. I’ve got a lot more careful about what I say out loud since I acquired a girlfriend. I still think things, though. Sometimes very loudly.
Luther Drood was already there, waiting. He looked exactly like the photo in his file, except even more tanned, if that were possible. Luther was a tall, heavily