Page 6 of Not With the Eyes

Something flashed a lurid red on one of Dixie's screens, and his expression said everything as he turned to face them again, eyes landing on Scones. "She's dead, I'm sorry. They went in to capture her, and she wasn't having it, took about nineteen of them in a firefight before sheer numbers finally got her."

"Thank you." Scones did a sharp heel-turn and walked from the room. A moment later the back door slammed, and just seconds after that, Oberon could just barely hear an agonized scream. Rage. Despair. Anguish. Oberon had screamed just like when he had learned his entire family was dead.

After the grief came the hate, and that wouldn't subside until he watched the life bleed from Margaux Lachapelle's eyes.

"It would be nice if just once a plan of ours did not crumble before we ever got to execute it," Oberon said. "Maybe we should stop making plans."

Byron sighed. "It does feel that way sometimes. Give me time; I'll come up with something, if only because I know if I don't, you'll go gallivanting off anyway to try and do it yourself—whatever it is, you cagey faerie."

"I'ma cagey faerie? That's a hell of a stone for you to throw, Alien Overlord."

"Yes, well, I recognize my own and all that. Are you up for some light recon?"

Oberon laughed. "Is the sky blue?"

Byron managed a brief smile. "I'll let you know when everything is ready for briefing."

Oberon saluted mockingly and departed, returning to the kitchen for yet another round of coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he pulled up the news and related reports already obtained by Dixie and Byron. As they'd briefly mentioned, it looked as though they'd nailed Scones through good old-fashioned process of elimination.

Of the perhaps seven people in the whole world who could pull off every kill shot that had brought down several Dogs, four had air-tight alibies for at least half of them. Of the remaining three, only one had the money and means to travel so extensively, and after that the alibis Scones and his mysterious handler had arranged had swiftly fallen apart.

Strange, he would have thought Scones would be far more careful than that. Maybe he simply hadn't cared, past slowing the inevitable. Hadn't he said as much earlier? Sort of, anyway.

Reading over the details of Scones's hero kills, it was hard not to be impressed. Oberon had never paid close attention before, save to make note of which Dogs he no longer had to worry about. Finally going over the details, he could see why so few people could have made the shots. Even leaving out the targets were Dogs, and so a thousand times more difficult than ordinary humans, the shots came from tricky angles at difficulttimes of day—and night—and in places where it should have been easy for authorities to catch him. The gun and ammo used were top of the line, the kind that only those with special licenses could purchase. Even the black market rarely got a hold of them, they were that tightly controlled.

Oberon pulled up the specs on the gun, purely out of professional curiosity. He rarely used guns, relying more on stealth to do his jobs. The guns he did use… well, this one was so far out of his league it was laughable. If he tried to use it, he'd probably only succeed in killing himself. Handsome piece, though, as such things went.

"We called it the Widowmaker."

Oberon half-turned, watching as Scones stepped further into the kitchen. "We?"

"Military, the other groups I was in. You don't get to use a gun like that without being very, very good at killing. Kind of weapon where if you're great, it'll make you greater, but if you're only good, nevermind worse, then it's wasted on you." He moved to stand next to Oberon, and touched the screen, which shimmered and whited out briefly before switching to whatever source Scones had provided, likely an implanted microchip.

The gun that came up then was the same and yet not. It was the same matte black, splotched with various shades of gray to break it up, but the scopes and other features were different. "This is mine. My latest one, anyway. The accuracy required for my shots means one of these bastards is only good for about ten shots."

"All that time and effort and money, and it has to be ditched after ten shots?"

Scones laughed. "Welcome to the military. Those actually used by the military are handed off for training and the like, or cannibalized for parts. Mine are destroyed when I'm done."

"How do you get them?"

"I stole an entire shipment years ago. They're in a storage facility in the middle of nowhere, with no attachment to me whatsoever. I'm aiming to get to it before they do, in fact."

Oberon snorted. "Byron won't allow that."

"That's why I wasn't going to ask."

"I'm probably going to regret this, but…" Oberon sighed. "Want some help?"

Scones's eyes widened the barest bit before he caught himself. "You'reaskingto helpme?"

"I said I'd try to get along and I meant it, but don't think I don't still dream about throwing you in a crater."

"Aww, you dream about me."

Oberon rolled his eyes. "When do we leave?"

"Tonight, after everyone is asleep, or at least settled in, since I suspect Byron doesn’t actually do much sleeping."

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