by Ana Calin
I walked along the bookcase, where a very old edition of The Canterbury Tales, title painted in gold, caught my attention. I let my fingers glide over the cold glass, imagining the feel of all the history behind it. The Gutenberg Bible, without question an original edition from the 1450s, of which I knew there were only forty-eight copies in the world. Priceless.
The shelves that I followed along with slow steps and lips parted in fascination ended at the border with a tall door, which opened into a study cluttered with yet more books. A massive mahogany desk and a leather armchair the color of brandy stood in the middle.
I walked in with reverence, steps slow and careful. The atmosphere felt veritably old, the smell welcoming, and I would have thought myself transported to another century if this room didn’t contain one glaringly modern element – a thin, shiny laptop on the desk, no manufacturer logo – among thick books and papers scribbled with formulas. The writing stood statement for “male,” spiked and powerful.
The book next to the laptop was on organic chemistry. Another one seemed to go in depth on genomics and molecular genetics. One random touch on the laptop keyboard, and the screen sprang to life, revealing a file with yet more formulas. I could barely read them without my eyes crossing, and wondered why the laptop didn’t have a password.
I lowered myself onto the chair, picking up the scent of young fir. Damian must have spent the morning here. I leaned back, hands caressing the chair arms, and my eyes fell on an old-fashioned cardboard file next to the laptop.
I took it – no title, just a cardboard file as anonymous as it gets – and opened it to read “Recruitment and Procedure” on the first page. The paper was thin, almost translucent, the writing clearly old, probably the product of a typing machine from back when they were still state-of-the-art. At first unaware of the treasure that had fallen in my hands, I merely skimmed over until it dawned on me what I actually held.
The Executioner file. A report on how Damian had killed those people at the inn, recorded as “potential.” On how BioDhrome had barged in during the early morning hours in tactical gear, and “disabled” him as well as the other survivor. How they’d kept him completely naked in a dungeon, away from any luminous source. Natural light was especially avoided during the “upgrading procedure.”
The darkness was supposed to help achieve a “solid connection with the subject’s unconscious mind,” which was given as a must-requirement in order to trigger the necessary chemical processes in the body. The Regent himself had “worked” on the Executioner and “switched on” his Core.
My first impulse was to call Damian. I sprinted back to the bedroom and grabbed my cell. My fingers trembled as I untangled the charger cable, dropped to my knees, and plugged it into a socket by the door – the first one I could spot.
I bit my lower lip impatiently, urging the phone, “Come on, come on,” then cupping it tightly with both hands and willing the display to light up faster. But before “Contacts” was able to load, the device gave a series of vibrations that signaled a flood of incoming messages.
I frowned at it, unable to decide what to do first – call Damian, or check the messages. The display now showed 15 of them and one voicemail. This must be serious. Tension pulsed in my temples and, before I hit “Read,” a thousand scenarios crossed my mind – that Varlam had hurt Leona, that BioDhrome got my mother....
But all text messages were from Tony, starting with:
Alice, respond ASAP.
If you want to keep your pet Leona, get back to me.
Come meet me, Alice, or you’ll never see her again! Not alive, anyway.
All the other texts were a variation thereof. I’d bitten my lip bloody by the time I put the phone to my ear to listen to voicemail, hoping against hope it was a message from Leona this time. But it was Tony again. I could hear his steps in the background in that specific tempo of a man on the run as he spoke.
“On my way to Café d’Art, staying in public eye. If Novac’s people do anything to me, there will be witnesses. Meet me there. Come alone.” His voice went low and gruff. “If you bring your lover boy along, I’ll make sure BioDhrome takes Leona down, even if it’s the last thing I do. Trust me, Alice, I CAN and WILL do it. Involve Damian Novac, and she will suffer.” The message ended with a click, sealing Tony’s voice seemingly in another world.
Café d’Art stood a safe haven for its most loyal drunkard, Tony. I wondered how long he’d wait for me there. Apparently, Damian’s men were on to him. BioDhrome has no more use for him, Damian had said to me on the club night. I can do whatever I want with him. Surely, Tony knew, and this was him taking measures. Fear for Leona’s life sent me neurotic.
Ignoring Tony’s demand, I gave in to my first impulse and called Damian, but he didn’t pick up. I called again – still no answer. I called Leona over and over again, and each time there was no answer. The urge to get in touch with her became overwhelming, shutting down all reason. I stormed down the stairs to the main hall.
A tall woman was just opening the front door. Streaks of silver hair mingled with dark tresses in a coiled thick bun, her clothes a starched two-piece that revealed her as some kind of she-butler. Her steps were unmistakably light. I recognized them – she’d been the one in our bedroom this morning.
My brain switched to high frequency. I ran after her as she stepped outside.
“Please, please!” I called. “Where’s Damian? Can you get Damian?”
Unfazed, the woman placed herself like a wall before me, her hands clamping my upper arms. They felt like freaking pliers. Even taller than she’d seemed at first, and clearly athletic under her neat butler clothing, she had an air of sporty elegance. Her face was wrinkle-free and her attitude stern. She seemed like someone of long experience and serious training – yet not as a butler.
“You’re not going anywhere, young lady.” Even her tone was that of a governess bred in a warzone.
“Please, I need to get to Damian A.S.A.P.”
“Whatever your emergency, it will have to wait.”
“It can’t freaking wait! It’s a matter of life and death.”
“The only life we’re concerned with preserving is yours, and that is ensured.”
I grew desperate. “I don’t have time for this! Please, just call Damian.”
She turned me around, forcing me back the way I came. Struggling to resist her proved useless. She was much stronger, sinking those wood-like fingers into my flesh.
My eyes darted around for a way to escape her hands. Struggling, I managed to look back. That’s when I saw the black car just driving in through the gates. Not Damian’s. I glimpsed two men through the windshield, both silhouettes smaller than his.
“They’ll tell you the same thing I did,” the woman said. Seemed she read my mind.
“Can’t you just call him?”
“He’s in a meeting with the Cleric. Nothing but your safety would justify interrupting, and none of the guards will take that chance, trust me.”
I drew in a deep breath and crossed myself internally. Summoning all my courage, I sent an elbow to the she-butler’s ribs. Being almost skinny proved useful for once. My pointy elbow and the element of surprise did the job. It must’ve felt like a stab to her.
The woman crouched, and her hands loosened just enough for me to free myself and sprint out the door towards the now widely opened gates. I sped out without looking back, but from the corner of my eye, I did see black shapes springing out from between nearby buildings, increasing pace after me.
Damian’s men. They won’t listen.
I dashed left and then right, guided by the town map that seemed engraved in the back of my mind. I managed to reach the cab station by the museum simply because it was close enough. Just a little further and they would have caught up with me. Out of breath, I flung myself inside a yellow Dacia Nova, managing “the café at the Ovidius Theater,” and urging the young man behind the wheel to drive off.
“Relax, Die Ha
rd, who’s chasing you?”
They approached like termites; I saw them through the rear window.
“Please,” I begged. He glanced into the rear view mirror, then stepped on the gas with a pitchy, “Shit!”
Damian’s men-in-black couldn’t follow at Upgrade speed. At least not out in the open, where they’d draw attention with their superhuman abilities. But they could get their cars in just a few minutes, so I prompted the driver to turn into side streets so they’d lose our trail until we’d come out into the Mircea Boulevard, where too much attention would again prevent an obvious chase.
“Fuck,” and “Shit,” came out of the young man’s mouth as often as holes in the asphalt jolted the car, but he didn’t slow down. Only the moment we halted with screaming tires at Café d’Art, I realized I had no money on me, and went pretty please on him to follow me inside so I could borrow some from Tony. He practically threw me out of the car, cursing and flailing angrily. Money was obviously not an issue anymore. As soon as I slammed the door, he just sped away like Road Runner.
I found Tony sitting at his usual table at the very back with a morning coffee and a cigarette, unshaven and disheveled. A disturbed expression spread over his piggy face.
He sprang to his feet when he saw me, puffy hands running through his hair in an attempt to speed-style it into a more presentable shape. He crumpled the coat that hung on the chair by his side and pulled the seat for me. I stopped by it, gripping the chair’s rest.
“I’m here. Now call whoever you must, and get Leona to safety once and for all,” I demanded.
“Hello to you, too, my love. And I’m fine, your lover boy’s thugs didn’t hurt me, thank you. Although they have been on my tail for days.” He scanned the crowd behind me as if to see if I’d been followed. Indeed, Damian’s men stormed into the place with mean faces, shoving people and empty chairs from their path.
“I did everything in my power to lose them,” I hurried to say.
“We can still lose them. Come,” he urged.
I hesitated. His eyes found mine, small and sharp, fitting the snake that Anton Anghel was. I saw his true face clearly now.
“I can make sure she’s hurt badly, Alice, if you don’t comply,” he said through his teeth, and reached for my hand. But I resisted as he tugged to drag me after him. That I didn’t trust him went without saying, and there was a knot in my stomach.
“Will you take me to her?” I demanded.
“Of course,” he said, looking over my shoulder impatiently. I glanced behind, too. Damian’s men were already dangerously close, but a group got up from a table nearby just in time to block their way and slow them down. I wondered if the group were BioDhrome’s people, always present here, undercover.
Tony used the diversion and slapped aside the heavy curtains that separated the café from a small tunnel that led into the theater building, right behind the table Damian and I had sat at the evening we’d spent here together.
We stumbled down dark stairs and bumped against things in the obscurity, but Tony soon began to feel his way more dexterously.
“Where is she?” I demanded. The knot of mistrust went tighter around my stomach with every step, and I desperately needed some kind of proof he would keep his word.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said.
I stopped and wrenched myself from the grip Tony held on my upper arm, right above the elbow – where Mom had told me potentially violent men grab women.
“I’ll find out now.”
His eyes narrowed with cunning. “BioDhrome has her, Alice. And I’m taking you in with them now, too.”
My heart jumped to gag me. “Are you freaking crazy?”
“You’ll help them bring down Damian Novac,” he said, “and then you and I can start fresh. BioDhrome will provide us with everything we’ll ever need: money, a new life, in exchange for your assistance. And your soul-sister Leona will be safe forever, I guarantee that.”
“You can’t guarantee anything in BioDhrome’s place, you stupid dick!” Rage boiled in the pit of my stomach. Tony inhaled sharply, as if the insult didn’t quite offend him – rather turned him on.
“Hector Varlam and BioDhrome have always honored their deals with me, Alice,” he replied, a sleazy thumb rubbing my lower lip. I shook my head and waved my hand as if avoiding a flea, grimacing to mark my disgust. His hand dropped to his side. “Besides, I know how to secure my position. Your killer may be big in muscles, but I’m big in brains.”
“You’re a maggot, that’s what you are. Like Damian said.”
Again that sharp intake of air, and a small shudder that seemed to go all through him in a way that seemed to give him pleasure. Who would’ve guessed. He took my hands in his and came so close that the tip of his nose almost touched mine.
“I love you, Alice. I swear to God I do. But I’ll tell you this: If Novac’s men –” he pointed in the direction we came from, where steps already sounded loud. “You have two options: we die together like Romeo and Juliet, or we both live, together.”
My stomach turned, making vomit imminent. The thought of a love story with this pig was nauseating. I tried to pull away from him, but his hand tightened around my wrist.
“I’m not playing, Alice.”
He stared hard at me, and when I tried to pull away from him again with an angry, “Go to hell,” he flipped a pocketknife in his other hand and then right up under my chin. I turned to stone.
Chapter Six
“I’d rather kill you than see you run back to his arms,” Tony grumbled through his nicotine-stained teeth.
Fear rendered me as moldable as dough as he spun me around, keeping his little knife under my chin and pushing me through the dark auditorium.
“Don’t make a sound, Alice, don’t you dare call for his men.”
He pushed me up onto the stage and then clambered up himself before I could make for a sprint. Still stunned, I hovered for too long.
He held the blade at my throat, knocking down props with my body as he moved to the nearest exit door backstage. But the closer it got, the more the frosted glass pane darkened – a man-in-black approaching, and gripping the door latch. They were everywhere, invading the theatre from every crack like a plague, and I thanked God for it.
Tony took a skidding turn up zigzag stairs, now dragging me after him, surely hoping our chasers would finally lose our trail. A weak chance, since Tony’s heavy-smoker breathing wheezed against the mosaic walls.
The upper floors housed props and dressing rooms, always lonely in the early morning hours. Tony threw open a chipped wooden door and shoved me in.
“Oh yeah, that’s smart,” I spat as he pulled me behind a hanging trolley with costumes crammed together. He didn’t reply, and by the way he breathed, he was in panic. I would have taken advantage, hit him like the she-butler back at the villa, and made for a run, but I didn’t want to risk harming Leona with my actions. Plus, I didn’t know where the knife was.
The room had no windows as far as I could tell. Dust tickled my nostrils. Weak light came through a small frosted glass built in the upper part of the door, and the smell of naphthalene made me itch.
“These people won’t stop until they find us, Tony,” I hissed.
Tony’s body pressed against mine in the corner where we hid, hot, his clothes damp. “BioDhrome’s people are on their way,” he said, and wrapped his thick, fluffy arms around me.
I STRUGGLED TO GET away from him, but Tony proved stronger. He held me tighter, compelling me to stillness, and then he said the most preposterous thing ever.
“You would’ve crawled back to me when you got enough of the sex with the beast, Alice. Believe me; you would’ve wanted back to something more profound.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “I’m not so sure about those big brains of yours,” I sneered. “But even if that were the case, I wouldn’t dare cross Damian. He’s a very dangerous man, Tony. You’re taking a huge risk here. If he gets his hands
on you ....”
“I have BioDhrome’s protection; he can’t touch me.” But he didn’t sound so confident anymore. Steps approached on the corridor, and they sounded determined.
“They’re in here,” a man called, and more joined him. I could tell by the rapping sound of foot soles on the mosaic ground. I didn’t have to look at Tony to smell the fear burst out with sweat through his skin. By now, it was surely clear to him that his strategy wouldn’t buy enough time.
“Get the boss,” the man outside called.
I recognized Damian’s slow, powerful steps as they approached on the hallway. There was something unique about the way he carried himself, a specific combination of strength and elegance that I’d grown to know so well. I could visualize it perfectly. He was always like a stalking panther. The door opened, and only moments later the hanging trolley was yanked aside with a screech, replaced by his statuesque shape.
The beauty of his face and those devilish eyes that nailed Tony in place left me breathless, as they did every time I saw him. Dressed all in black, he looked like Hades himself who’d come to claim a soul. It struck me that he might believe I wanted to run away with Tony, whose arms loosened off me, as if he was pulling away from a ticking bomb.
“Let me explain,” I managed.
“No explanation needed, Alice,” Damian said in his deep voice that sounded calmer than he was. “Step aside and let me deal with the pig.”
“What will you do?” For some reason I couldn’t help pitying poor dumb Tony.
Damian didn’t reply, his glare like a beast’s as his hand clenched around Tony’s throat. Tony seemed to cough his tongue out, hands desperately slapping Damian’s rocky arm, his legs kicking the air between the two of them. His eyes bulged out and his face reddened as Damian’s hand wrenched tighter and tighter around his neck. I wanted to cling to Damian’s arm, scream at him to stop, but the look in his eyes petrified me.
Tony struggled so desperately that the knife fell from wherever he’d kept it and clattered on the floor. Damian glanced at it, then his eyes flashed back at Tony.