We took out Glitzy’s yacht in the meantime. This should keep anyone from following the spirit back to me at the Nest and it gave us time to talk, along with Fog, Zach, Ela and Dawn. Zach was more than a bit freaked out – the first time out on the sea, along with his blindness and Glitzy’s enthusiastic sailing style, all that together is a bit hard to stomach I guess. But we made it back in one piece and I think the others enjoyed themselves.
My spirit found the mage, a witch who runs the Green Nymph talismonger in Snohomish. Fog wants to pay her a visit and see what’s what with her. I think I’ll get Rusty to dig a bit, see what he can find out in the Matrix. The spirit was that of a Scrapper who died during the raid, leaving behind a wife and three kids. He asked me to see to it that his wife met someone else, he doesn’t want her to be unhappy. I’m not 100% sure whether my spirits really are those of the people I knew and I am not going to ask them questions to make sure. But sometimes, it’s awkward.
Back at the Nest, Aileen came to the Barrel with bad news: Picasso over at the Jungles has been shot. His killers are a couple of kids and I’d bet anything that the gang selling Tempo at the Jungles has put them up to it. Someone had filmed the whole thing and I don’t know about Growler, but I had the bad feeling that I may have been looking at my own future there.
I’ve been meaning to talk to Growler for a couple of days and this was as good a moment as any. I suggested an alliance with Black Flak – the Scrappers need allies badly and I think they fit well. Not the most powerful gang, but it’s a beginning. We also invited Gilettes to the talk, we have plans for him and it’s time he gets involved in the big decisions. He brought up the Hellhounds, another gang that will probably gladly accept an alliance with the Scrappers. Shame they made the Spikes into enemies. But we’ll talk to the Blood Mountain Boys anyway, just not officially.
My shift at the clinic was fairly quiet, so I decided to clean up a couple of things at the office. I came across Whistler‘s knife and that was like a punch to the gut. In the time directly after his death, I had serious flashbacks lots of times, triggered by things that reminded me of him. It’s gotten better, but this one was heavy. I cut myself badly on the hand with the knife to get out of it and, frankly, to numb the pain with something that hurt only my body. It worked, kind of, like cutting myself always did. The mixture of pain and relief is still familiar to me and in that moment, it was welcome. Liz found me and told me in no uncertain words to get a grip. She’s right of course. The last thing I need is to start this shit again.