None of it really mattered to Sara. She was but a blip of breath in the city’s current life-cycle. She’d died in a blink, and after a few articles in the paper, she was a distant memory. You were born alone, and you died alone. Everything else in between was just trying not to be alone.
That’s why she’d been surprised to see the exhibition flyer with her face painted all over it. She had to go and see, no matter the risk. At least she’d made her trip worth it, and the boss would be proud.
The Quadrant was where Sara stumbled after her altercation. He’d fried her brain, and short-circuited her wires, but her new biology worked furiously to save her, and it had. For now.
At the lower end of the Quadrant, bordering on the highway that separated the haves from the have-nots, was the tallest southern building which appeared to be filled with office space. The offices could be real, and housed by authentic workers going about their day-to-day life, or they could be fake—each floor made of dummy corporations and actors hired to drink their double decaf soy lattes and laugh at their friend’s jokes by the water coolers. She wouldn’t put it past the Syndicate. Their influence reached far, and their resources came from bottomless pockets.
Most workers were gone by the time she slipped through the glass rotating doors into the lobby. The security guard at the front desk barely lifted his heavy gaze from his mini television as she went past, careful to hide the blood still covering her shirt. There was no doubt in her mind the guard’s nonchalant demeanor was simply a cover to hide a lethal expertize. It was all part of the ruse. Make the building appear harmless, no one important in here at all, but if they somehow got to the top, past the biometric scanner in the elevator, then they wouldn’t like what they found. No one in this building was who they seemed.
When the elevator doors opened, she stepped quietly into the maroon carpeted hallway.
“You’re late.”
She jolted as the monotone voice slid through her mind, almost sexless in its timbre. Whirling around, she faced the source—a nightmare dressed in white. Ribbed leather pants and steel capped boots made for kicking. A unisex reinforced jacket no doubt filled with concealed weapons. A white mask in the shape of a falcon covered the top half of a face. Platinum silver hair draped down shoulders to mid back. The only flesh exposed was a pale dainty chin, pink lips and a tiny nose hidden under the bird’s hooked beak. Two deep blue eyes framed with thick lashes blinked back at her. The soft features in the nightmare’s stature caused Sara to believe she was female. She couldn’t be certain, though, because the brutal and emotionless way Falcon dealt with insurgents, made her something else all together.
And Sara loathed to discover the truth.
“Where have you been?” Falcon said. It was a name Sara had invented, but a name most other Faithful had come to adopt behind the woman’s back. As far as Sara knew, the woman had no name, and was simply addressed as “my darling” by the boss.
“Out,” Sara replied vaguely.
“You have not been cleared for extracurricular activities, replicate.”
Sara jut out her chin. “I am a Faithful of the inner circle. I have information the boss will find invaluable. If you can’t trust me to my own volition, then I don’t know why you gave me access to this level.”
Those unnerving eyes blinked at her, and then she lifted a white gloved hand and crooked a creaky finger. “He’s waiting.”
Down the hall they went, and through another guarded door to enter into an enormous open space with windows overlooking the entire city—north to the Quadrant, and south to… well, the shit end of the bird.
The boss liked to see out, but for no one to see in, so the room was kept dark, with most light coming from dim lamps near the center couches, and the city’s neon lights refracting from beyond the double paned glass. Nothing else was in the room but an enormous mahogany desk facing the south-side, couches in the middle, and empty space facing north.
There he was, staring at the Quadrant’s central park, thirty levels below. A dark, tall silhouette, with his hands behind his back, he could almost be a statue.
Sara hesitated and looked at Falcon, but she had already taken a position near the stainless steel elevator doors and stared ahead with no emotion. When not even a twitch of the lip was given, Sara continued toward the boss and stood next to him, silent, just like he.
They stared at the city until Sara’s jack-rabbiting heart steadied to a rhythmic thud-thud. During this time, Sara’s thoughts derailed from panic to confidence and then back again. Why wasn’t he speaking? He obviously knew about her extracurricular activity. He must know. Falcon knew. Why wasn’t he talking?
Probably because he was okay with it.
Was he?
She stared down, down, into the dark night and zoned in on the darkest rectangle at ground level—the tips of trees and a black lake spread out in a warped kidney shape. Only a soft twinkle of light from the park lamps glowed there. It looked peaceful.
“What do you call this new style of architecture they’ve brought to the buildings here, Sara?” The boss’s voice was deep, thick and smooth. The kind of voice that cut through with a sense of efficient purpose. He never wasted or minced words. He was the kind of man who people listened to, because he only spoke when there was something important to say.
Sara looked up at him. The harsh city lights turned his usual soft, handsome features into sharp, villainous angles. When she met him, she’d supposed he was in his forties, but that was years ago. He’d told her a story about the Lazarus children once, and it sounded as though he were a grown man at the time of their birth. If that was true, he should look older than he did. Perhaps the same technology used to bring her back to life kept him young. Whatever the case, he was older than he appeared.
Remembering his question, Sara glanced back at the city and took in the buildings. A few towers and sky-scrapers surrounded the Quadrant, but not many. Most high-rises were in the financial district toward the head of the Cardinal City bird. Here, most were lower level buildings ranging from Victorian era architecture to something older, but most had received new facades that gleamed with aluminum, copper, and neon blue lights.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Neo-Gothic? New Gothic?” She wasn’t an architect, what the hell did she know?
“I call it a sham.”
She held her tongue. There was a story coming, and she knew better than to interrupt.
“Beneath that shiny exterior,” he continued, voice as smooth as butter. “The old decayed building is still there. They’ve done nought but slap on a flimsy mask to cover a broken, decrepit truth. It’s like using cosmetic surgery to fix bone cancer. No matter how nice the exterior looks, its structure is dying.” He walked away from the Quadrant side, and toward his desk facing the south-side. “You see, this is why I face my desk south. At least here they are honest about their demise. Hiding behind a lie is not a long term solution. If you can’t cut the cancer out, it’s better we put them out of their misery.”
Sara followed him, but stopped to stand beside his desk as he caressed the top of the single photo-frame facing him. A picture of a brown-skinned woman and a little girl smiled back at him. The young girl had brown hair and big brown eyes that made Sara think of a sad puppy dog.
“That view is a reminder of what will happen if we fail,” he added softly. Although his eyes never left the frame, Sara knew the view he spoke of was out the window. When he met Sara’s eyes, something hard and unforgiving stared back. “It’s why you live down there, and not in the lap of luxury.”
A flush came over Sara. “I know. To be closer to the sinners. To execute them whenever an opportunity presents itself.”
“So why did you go to the exhibition”—he waved his hand slowly to the north—“all the way over there.”
A lump formed in her throat.
“Because…” Because she wanted to see that family one last time. Because when her face was the center of the exhibition, a little voice inside her was
curious about being a memory.
“Don’t tell me you’re missing them?” he chided. “Ruining their reputation was the only way to split the Lazarus family. To pit them against each other and ensure they gave up their crusade to save the city. We want them desperate, full of despair and ready to become their sin incarnate. They escaped us once, and I had a lot of explaining to do to our investors. This is our chance to get them back and on our side.”
“I don’t miss them. I was curious that’s all. I thought with the situation regarding the replicates that gathering more samples would benefit us. If you gave me more time, I can get more.”
“Time is what we do not have. Our replicates are expiring. You’re expiring. There is nothing else we can glean from the Lazarus family and without that missing piece of the genetic puzzle, your cells will reproduce until you age rapidly and die at the tender age of three months. I’ve told you, we’re working on it. In the mean time, you were supposed to be using your new life to maximize the sinners eradicated from the city. If you cannot follow orders and fulfill your end of the bargain, I will find another who will.”
Sara lifted her chin. “I gave my life to the Syndicate, literally. I let myself get blown up. Don’t tell me I haven’t fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
A shiver racked her body at the memory of her death. She wasn’t supposed to remember. They said she’d be reborn without the pain of knowing, without the deadly poison that withered her old heart thrumming through her veins, but it had been all saccharine, empty promises. The toxic accident that caused her past life’s slow death was still fighting to re-emerge, and she remembered it all. Every detail of the bomb fragments ripping into her flesh, embedding in her skin, tearing her apart. The walls crushing her leftover body. She remembered the moment her heart stopped beating, and she remembered the regret.
A good man had loved her once.
Despite the elation of being Wyatt’s bride-to-be, she knew she’d never truly be welcomed as their own, and that knowledge had eaten her up inside. Driven her to do the unthinkable—collect biological samples of her loved one behind his back, and hand them to the enemy. All so they could turn her into one of them. A copy. A clone. But better. An improved replicate.
The Deadly Seven were created to rid the world of sin, but when Mary Lazarus stole them from the lab and softened their minds, they didn’t kill. They prevented. They didn’t have the guts to eliminate. But Sara did, and that was the end goal for her and all the other replicates. To turn them into deadly warriors who could sense sinners just by being near them. Warriors who could kill without discovery. The silent death the world needed to bring it back into balance. She would be a goddess among men… immortal, powerful, omnipotent. If only the new scientists could get the process right.
They needed the blood of the seven to work out the missing parts of the deadly genome sequence the original scientist had hidden under layers of false DNA. She was right to go to the exhibition, despite what he said. The answer had to be in their blood. It had to be, else she was doomed to live and die, over and over again, never fully getting rid of the toxins still disintegrating her heart.
“Do you have anything else to say for yourself?” the boss said.
“You mentioned once that the original scientist lied to you about the seven being imbued with special mutated abilities. It wasn’t a lie. The youngest has developed powers,” she said. “He’s evolved.”
“No,” the boss whispered, incredulous. “It can’t be.”
“He electrocuted me with his hands. I was lucky to escape with my life.”
The boss’s gaze swung to Falcon’s, and they shared an unspoken revelation. She stepped off her perch near the elevator and stalked toward Sara.
Sara’s mouth went dry. Was this it? The end of her life?
Would they be satisfied with the tiny nugget of information she’d garnered during her battle with Evan?
Sara flinched when Falcon placed claws on her white, bloody waitress shirt. The enforcer ripped it open to expose Sara’s chest. Buttons scattered across the floor. Red scorch marks in the shape of hands were imprinted down her neck and body. Evidence she’d spoken the truth. The lady looked to her master, waiting for instruction.
He stepped forward. “Explain.”
“I-I…”
“Speak up, woman.”
“I think it has something to do with the girl he protected. The doctor.”
“Go on.”
“She—” Grace licked her lips, took a deep breath and then stopped herself. If she was wrong about this, it would be her end. But if she was right—her shriveled heart clenched—if she was right, it would be their end. Sara remembered hearing tales around the Lazarus family dinner table, always after one of Wyatt’s magnificent feasts. Mary told of a fabled mythical mate who would save them from their sin. They’d all laughed and scoffed, but secretly, they’d wanted it. Who wouldn’t? But maybe it really was a lie. If Sara got it wrong, the boss would skin her alive.
“Sara. You were saying?”
“She’s a doctor who treated him at the hospital. Perhaps she did something to him there that triggered his ability.”
“So… Gloria lied to me. All those years ago she said their special abilities failed to manifest. I believed her.”
Silence expanded in the room. Sara dared not draw her gaping shirt closed. Falcon stood beside Sara, a soldier waiting for the signal.
Then the boss whirled to face them and grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth. To anyone else, he could have been a charming aristocrat. A charismatic politician who wanted the best for humanity—to eradicate crime and to save the innocent. But to Sara that grin belonged to the devil.
And she’d sold her soul to him.
He started to laugh. A sly chuckle at first that grew to a loud boom shaking his entire body.
“He’s developed powers,” he kept repeating, shaking his head, tears running down his cheeks. He took Falcon’s shoulders and shook her. “He’s got powers!”
Sara dared a glance at the enforcer. She too had a small smile lifting her lips which was unheard of. Falcon never smiled. Was this a good thing? Did she do good? Sara allowed herself a moment of elation.
“You know what this means, my darling,” the boss said.
“Yes,” Falcon replied. “His DNA is unlocked.”
“We need him here, where we can study him.”
“The doctor will be a problem.”
The boss stalked toward Sara. He forced her face up with a finger under the chin. “You want this life, Sara?”
“Yes.” The word trembled from her mouth. With every ounce of her being. She wanted to live. To be remembered.
His eyes dropped to Sara’s mouth. “I don’t think you do.”
“I do.”
“Then show me. Show me how bad you want it.”
His finger trailed down her chin to her neck and collarbone. He flicked one side of her draped shirt to the side to view her exposed bra and scorched neck where he stared. It was all Sara could do to hold back the cringe.
His gaze lingered, but she kept hers straight on, locked on the shadows ahead.
What did he mean? Show him. Panic began to well. It was one thing to seduce Wyatt for information. Who wouldn’t love bedding a sexy, lethal and loyal man who could actually cook. This man standing before her was something else entirely. Sara wasn’t even sure if he was human. Plastic, cold, calculated and dark inside. The boss let her shirt go, and the flap covered her chest.
He went toward his desk, speaking over his shoulder. “How will you bring him to us, Sara?”
Sara exhaled. “I would get rid of the doctor. She’s seen my face and her death would destroy him. Failing that, I go back to the divide-and-conquer strategy. Then when he’s weak, we take him.”
“But you won’t fail, will you Sara.”
She shook her head.
“Good,” the boss said, sitting in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Perhaps we try t
his another way. Perhaps it’s time to take you out of the squalor, but first, my darling, show Sara what happens to replicates who disobey me.”
He swiveled his chair to stare out at the south-side, ignoring Falcon’s reflection in the window as she came up behind Sara, hand brandishing a glinting dagger. Sara closed her eyes and prayed the lesson would be quick.
Eleven
The Lazarus House building had been designed to facilitate their secret mission to protect the innocent. Secret basement sub-levels dedicated to a workout area, research lab, medical, and tech workshop including tactical communications support and reconnaissance. Flint built tech in the workshop, and being an ex-assassin for the Hildegard Sisterhood, Mary spent her time honing and shaping the battle skills of any Lazarus stupid enough to enter the workout room.
The street level was split into two public establishments separated by a lobby. As you waited for an elevator, you’d see patrons eating at the restaurant called Heaven on one side. In the evening, you’d see on the other side, a nightclub called Hell. Currently being refurbished, the club was due to open in a matter of months. When designing the central city building, Parker had the idea to hide them in plain sight. So when the Lazarus family arrived and departed at strange hours of the night, it was easy to get lost in the crowd. It also explained why they had an excessive security system—surveillance cameras were everywhere.
But Evan wasn’t headed down, he was headed up, toward the living quarters, namely the communal apartment reserved for family entertainment and eating. Sloan never left the gaming room. It was the room he waltzed into now, almost gagging at the stale smell. Empty soda cans and packets of crisps littered the floor in a trail leading to a room where the flicker of a soft light glowed, and the tick, tick, tick sound of controller buttons being savaged were heard. Evan kicked rubbish out of the way and went to stand at the open doorway.
His sister sat on a sectional sofa with her back to him watching the big screen in front of her. The cat’s ears on her gamer headset glowed blue. Her long, dark pig-tails looked ratty and unwashed. No doubt if he walked around the couch, he’d find her dressed in only underwear and socks. The socks kept her warm, apparently.
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