They Promised Me the Gun Wasn't Loaded by James Alan Gardner

Author:James Alan Gardner [Gardner, James Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Superheroes
ISBN: 9780765398789
Amazon: B078X24FKC
Goodreads: 37534849
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2018-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

10

Pupation

I WAKE.

Well, that’s a surprise.

And it’s not a groggy completely-out-of-it awakening. One moment, I’m in nothing-nothing-land. The next, I’m fully conscious, though I can’t see or hear. I’m floating on my back in goopy fluid, but I barely feel it: it’s the same temperature I am and soft on my skin.

I’m not moving—not even breathing. The fluid covers my face. I can feel my heart pumping, but no movement anywhere else. When I try to wiggle a finger, nothing happens. I’m not frozen, I’m just limp.

But I’m alive. So there’s that.

This isn’t my first resurrection. Since becoming a Spark, I’ve gone down hard several times. Injuries on the edge of being lethal, maybe even over the edge. And each of those times, I came back with a lurch into the light, like leaping out of the penalty box the instant the clock runs down.

This time … no light. I don’t want to think what that means.

My sister Jamie is a good Catholic girl. She believes in the classic heaven and hell. Sistine Chapel stuff—clouds and rainbows in one direction, fire and brimstone in the other.

My sister Jen is Catholic, too, but more progressive. Heaven is connection with God; hell is separation. It’s a self-chosen thing: if you want to be stubborn and proud, you’ll suffer, but it’s still your choice. It hurts when you choose to wall yourself off. God will wait till you change your mind.

My sister Jill refuses to label herself, but says she believes in rebirth. No heaven, no hell, just a trip to the memory-eraser. Then out again for another kick at the can.

And finally, sister Jo is a militant atheist. She was a dick this past Christmas, going out of her way to pick fights. She demanded I tell her what exactly I believe, and was quick to put words in my mouth.

Before I became a Spark, I didn’t know what to believe. My four older sisters said four different things, and I was just, “Why do I have to decide?” But now that I’m the world’s best authority on everything, I’ve got a thousand religions in my head. They’re all going at it with each other: the Vatican’s best theologians, Hindu swamis, Taoist sages, and shamans galore.

You want to argue points of the Talmud? I’m your girl. You want to navigate the niceties of Santería, candomblé, Obeah, and all their cousins? Just say the word. I’ve got the Mormon president on speed dial, plus a couple of ayatollahs.

I’m up to the gills in conflicting narratives. But do any of them apply, now that I’m a Spark? For superheroes, death is a colander. Sparks always leak back eventually.

Hope it happens soon. I may not be able to see or hear, but I hurt like a son of a bitch. That exploding dress literally blew off my tits.

Fucking Calon Arang. She set me up.

She hooked me with a spell that co-opted my body and positioned me so Robin Hood would shoot me. Then the dress blew me to shreds, making Robin look like a killer.

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