Lifeless

by Adrianne Strickland

  “He did, Tavin,” Drey said quietly, meeting my eyes. “I don’t mean Ryse. I convinced them to let me try.”

  I blinked at him. “Try what?”

  “To save both of our necks. I know you better than anyone, and now that Ryse is suspended, I’m the most qualified, no matter how much they hate me for abducting you.”

  “Qualified for what?” My voice rose, but he couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. There was no way.

  Drey scowled at me. “Damn it, Tavin, don’t play dumb. This is hard enough as it is. I haven’t been a Godspeaker for almost two decades, but when I was, I was the best. I—I told the City Council that I could train you to do anything they want, like Ryse claimed she could do, but without driving you insane. And I can.”

  I stared at him in horror. He shifted in my mind, like he’d done in the past when I remembered he’d been a Godspeaker, but this time, the shift was sickeningly disorienting … and permanent, even though in reality, Drey hadn’t moved from his place at my bedside. My hands jerked against their cuffs, fighting to get free—away from him. It was futile, of course. “How could you?”

  Drey winced and averted his eyes. “Son, don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to help you.”

  My head shook in denial, over and over, and the pain didn’t matter. It didn’t hold a candle to what I felt inside. All of my hope was tortured and dying, as if I’d used the Word of Death on it. “You can’t call me ‘son’ if you’re going to do to me what Ryse did.”

  “Would you rather work with Ryse, then?” Drey growled, rounding on me.

  “No!” I shouted. “Hell no! But why not … why not Swanson or something?” I would rather destroy my relationship with Swanson, since there wasn’t much to destroy. Drey was far more of a father to me than my biological one, by far. I would have chosen anyone but Drey.

  Except maybe Ryse.

  “He can’t,” Drey said, his tone impatient now. “As the head of the Godspeakers, Swanson doesn’t work much with individual Words; he oversees all of them and their Godspeakers. Of course, he’s always had particular interest in Life and Shaping. And Death came under his direct purview as well, shortly before you were born. But he appoints those Words with Godspeakers who report directly to him.”

  I knew why Swanson had special interest in those Words. Life and Shaping, of course, had been the creative force behind the automatons, the creatures that would replace the Words against their will. And it was the Words’ will that had been the reason why the Council started building automatons in the first place—they wanted to get rid of the Words’ free will entirely, since it was a barrier to the Godspeakers’ full access to the Words’ power. We could still subtly resist the Godspeakers—and even resist our Words—through reluctance, stubbornness, fear, hatred, etcetera. Automatons, on the other hand, had no feelings, no will. It would almost be like the Godspeakers were Words themselves when godspeaking through the automatons. Minus the forced servitude, obviously. If they had the option, the Godspeakers would do things with the Words that we would never dare do. Things we didn’t even know we could do.

  I also knew why Swanson had a special interest in the Word of Death. Although physical interaction between Words and Godspeakers was strictly prohibited—all pregnancies being the result of artificial insemination using genetic material donated by competing countries—Swanson had broken all the rules and gotten Em (a nickname for the Italian-inspired Morte) pregnant with me. So, naturally, he assumed more direct control of the situation in order to keep the secret from getting out.

  “Swanson never actually took over any individual training himself,” Drey continued. “And in the case of the Word of Death, it’s a particularly challenging position that not many are willing to fill. At Swanson’s request, I worked as Em’s Godspeaker before I left the Athenaeum with you. Prior to that, I’d worked with Hayat, the Word of Life, and I found the change … disturbing. It was one of the many reasons I was happy to leave with you. After I was gone, a man took over, finishing up Em’s tenure as Death and then working with Herio until … there was an accident.”

  I snorted. “Accident, my ass.”

  Drey folded his arms, looking both stern and defensive. “You see why it’s not a popular position. With the Word of Death, there are occupational hazards beyond your average Word, and it requires a certain personality type: someone who likes toying with death. Not many people are like that. I’m not. The position was never again filled for Herio, since Herio always went above and beyond what was required of him. He didn’t need a Godspeaker to guide him.”

  So that was why Herio had been able to keep his shirt on most of the time. Lucky bastard. Or not so lucky, seeing as he was dead.

  “Swanson kept a personal eye on him,” Drey added, “but that was it. So while Ryse built a career studying the Word of Death, she never gained any practical experience until she was assigned to you, as your Godspeaker.”

  “I’ll bet she couldn’t wait,” I said with disgust. “I mean, come on. Don’t they test for psychosis or sadism before hiring these people? Gods.”

  “There weren’t many candidates to choose from. Not that I approve of their choice. That woman … ” He blew out a breath. “I don’t want to say what she is.”

  “She’s a horrible bitch.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Drey said, but without conviction. “And say what you will about Ryse, but the woman is sharp. No one else, Swanson included, has the depth of knowledge or skill necessary for your case. Except me.” He paused. “And besides, Swanson can’t work with you for other reasons.”

  Drey’s expression filled in the gaps in what he was saying: Swanson couldn’t work with me after everything he’d done to try to save me from this life. It would be like digging his son’s grave.

  “But you can?” I demanded.

  Drey sighed heavily and took a step back from my bed. “It’s me or Ryse. Tavin, as much as you don’t want me to do this—as much as I don’t want to do this—wouldn’t you rather it be me instead of her?”

  Silence hung between us.

  “I figured you’d say yes, which is why I approached the City Council. Even if you say no, I might become your Godspeaker anyway, just to keep you from going the way you were headed.” He paused, letting silence fall again, but only for a few seconds.

  The way I’d been headed was toward either insanity or death, and in less than a month’s time. Maybe this was my other option. I didn’t know how it was yet, but hope stirred feebly in me. It was battered by my other tumultuous thoughts, and yet it wasn’t quite dead, like me or my soul.

  Drey half-turned for the door. “So, what’s your answer? Do you prefer me as your Godspeaker over Ryse?”

  I hesitated. “Well, yeah. But you said it yourself—you don’t want this job either.”

  “And I also said that you need to think about yourself right now. I’m willing to do a few things I’d rather not do … for you, Tavin. And what I’m asking in return is: will you do a few things for me that you’d rather not do?”

  Apprehension wrung my empty stomach like a rag. This wasn’t yet sounding like a third option, just a more pleasant version of option one or two. “Maybe … it depends … ”

  Drey slapped his leg, his usual motion to hustle me into the garbage truck for work in the morning. “That’s a good start,” he said. Then he asked abruptly, “How’s your headache?”

  I squinted, as if I could somehow see inside my skull. “Better now. Why? Where are you going? We’re not going to work on anything right this second, are we?”

  “Not exactly,” he said with a mysterious smile, and then moved for the door. “Let me introduce you to someone. She’s going to be your new partner.”

  “She? Drey!” I hissed at his back, highly conscious of my hospital gown and the straps on my arms. “I can’t meet anyone like this. Look at me!”

 
“Trust me,” he said, knocking on the door with a chuckle. “She won’t care. In fact, she probably prefers you this way. You can’t defend yourself.”

  My hiss rose to a rasp. “What?”

  He didn’t answer because he was halfway out the door, speaking to someone else. Then he was backing into the room, something in his arms. He turned, and before I knew what was happening, he dumped a writhing, whining ball of fur into my lap.

  It—she—was the puppy. The one I’d refused to kill. And she wasn’t scared of me now, especially in my vulnerable state. Her thin tail whipped like mad, wagging her scrawny body back and forth and beating against my arms and shoulders as she clambered her way up my chest.

  “What’s she doing here?” I asked in alarm, craning my neck to look at her. “You’re not going to make me … ?”

  Drey’s smile faltered for a second. “No, Tavin, nothing like that. Not her,” he added, giving me the sense of darker things to come. He’d promised to make me a good Word of Death, after all, not the Word of Butterflies and Rainbows. My hope faltered, too, but then he continued. “I saved her because she saved you, in a way. She’s yours.”

  Saved me how? I wondered. How was my fate any different other than Drey was now the deliverer of it instead of Ryse? But I couldn’t focus on much beyond his reassurances because the puppy had reached my face and was trying to lick it off.

  “Gods!” I sputtered, spitting as she licked my lips. I twisted away, but not far enough with my hands pinned, so she only staggered and wriggled her way back in for another attack. “Get her off me!”

  Drey only laughed, a great booming guffaw that I hadn’t heard in a while. By the time he’d finished with it, the puppy had coated one cheek in slobber, and then my neck as I’d tried to tilt my face out of reach.

  “I’ll pick her up when you name her,” Drey said, when he could draw enough breath to speak. “You know how important names are, so think long and hard.”

  “Bastard!” I wailed helplessly.

  “An inappropriate name … because she’s a girl!” Drey wheezed, tears of a different sort in his eyes. And then he bent over, having to brace himself against the bed.

  I swallowed more curses to save time. “Okay, uh … ” I strained my neck even farther, hoping the white ceiling would give me inspiration. But the puppy blocked even that when she tried to climb on my face. Her short fur, which was about all I could see, was a splotchy black and white: piebald.

  “ … Pie!” I shouted around the fur trying to work its way into my mouth. “Her name is Pie! Now get her the hell off me!”

  “Pi, like the mathematical constant?” Drey asked in surprise.

  “No, like the dessert!”

  He finally rescued me, picking up the puppy and giving me a skeptical look over her squirming back. “Pie? That’s the best you can do?”

  I scowled at him and tried to wipe my face on my shoulder, but my hospital gown was askew and I ended up only smearing slobber on the inky beginnings of the Word of Death. “I was under pressure, thanks to you. And what’s wrong with Pie? It’s good, it’s sweet, and it doesn’t usually attack my face. It’s a hopeful name.”

  Pie could keep my remaining hope alive for me, in whatever pitiful state it was.

  “Pie it is, then.” Drey set her down on the floor, and I heard nails scratching on metal as she immediately tried to scale the bedrails to get at me.

  “She’s energetic,” I said, dropping back on my pillows. It was the understatement of the century. “And I think my headache is back.”

  Drey cleared his throat, a funny tone coming into his voice. “Call her a belated birthday present if you want. You … uh … turned eighteen a month ago, on December 13th.”

  I stared at him in bewilderment. “I have a birthday?” It sounded dumb as soon as I said it, but I was used to not having one.

  “Of course. It’s only about a month earlier than the other Words’ birthdays, which traditionally fall in January after the New Year … though Herio’s was about nine months later than the rest because of your supposed stillbirth.” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, I’ve always known the date, but I could never tell you until now.”

  A month ago, they’d barely started letting me out of restraints or my hospital room—though perhaps not much had changed, seeing as I was back in both. I was officially an adult, a time when I was supposed to be free to make my own decisions, and yet I was anything but free.

  Not to mention that in another month, I might still end up dead no matter who my Godspeaker was.

  This meant that somewhere, Khaya was turning eighteen. At least she was free. I closed my eyes again. “Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any weirder.”

  “I thought you might want to know,” he said, sounding hesitant.

  I opened my eyes. “Of course I do. And thanks for telling me, and for Pie, and … the rest. I’m just a little overwhelmed by everything. Not to mention dizzy.” I felt oddly stretched—filled too full, and yet somehow hollow at the same time, like a balloon.

  A fitting image, as far as birthdays went.

  “You need some fresh air. How about you take Pie for a walk?” Drey began unbuckling the cuff on my nearest wrist.

  I shot him a glare. “You could have let me go from the beginning.”

  That probably wasn’t true. He’d likely been told to wait to release me until I’d agreed to have him as my Godspeaker. I didn’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t agreed, and I was glad I didn’t have to find out.

  “But then I wouldn’t have been nearly as entertained.” Drey’s tone was both diplomatic and far too amused for diplomacy.

  As soon as one hand was free, I attacked the other cuff, ripping it off me as fast as possible. I sat up all the way and sourly rubbed my wrists, then my face, wincing as I chafed a sutured cut high on my cheekbone. I was lucky the puppy hadn’t clawed it, and I shot Drey another glare for good measure.

  “Come on,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder with a grin. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  eight

  Drey brought me some clothes, black of course, and left the room with Pie while I changed out of the hospital gown. At least the long-sleeved shirt was cotton and slightly less fitted than my Necron suit, and the pants were even looser canvas.

  I still winced and hissed as I put them on, more bruises and cuts coming to light on my legs and arms. I would have traded a box of Captain Crunch for a quick heal from Khaya … and every box in the world to be with her, wherever she was. The lump on my head and the cut on my cheek seemed to be the worst of the damage I’d taken, and I was grateful for the soft, stretchy neckline as I gingerly maneuvered it over my head. There was a zipper along the back but I ignored it, pretending the shirt was normal.

  I rapped on the door when I was ready to go, and Drey opened it.

  “With any luck,” he said, “you’ll never have to knock to leave your room again.”

  “I didn’t lose my apartment after my little screw-up?” I asked, stepping out into the white hospital hallway.

  Pie promptly assaulted my shins. She was now on a purple leash, a purple collar around her neck. I wouldn’t have picked that color, or a collar period, which reminded me too much of my monitor bracelets. But at least Drey hadn’t chosen pink.

  He shook his head, though he didn’t look congratulatory. “Never mind that your ‘little screw-up’ almost cost you a lot more. And just so you know, Khaya’s apartment wasn’t easy to secure in the first place.”

  So it had been Drey’s doing.

  “But your living arrangement is entirely up to me now,” he continued, “as is whether or not you have to wear protective clothing. There are quite a few Godspeakers, Ryse chief among them, who believe you’re going to hang yourself with all the slack I’m giving you. So … don’t. Treat your relative freedom like a hard-wo
n and easily lost privilege. Don’t abuse it.”

  “Right. No noisy late-night parties at my place. Although I am an adult now … ”

  He shot me a look and started down the hall. “Tavin. Take me seriously.”

  I was, more than he knew. But there was no denying my mood had significantly improved, and thus my ability to be an ass. I followed him, picking up Pie after her twig-like legs became tangled in the leash and she craned her neck to chew on it in irritation.

  “You should teach her to heel,” Drey said with mild disapproval as I caught up. “She needs to learn the leash.”

  “Like me?” I asked in a casual tone, without looking at him. I kissed the top of Pie’s silky head and nearly got my nose nipped.

  He sighed.

  “Anyway, Pie needs to put on some poundage before she has to drag me around,” I said. “She’s half-starved.”

  “No, she’s not.” Drey reached over to pet her. Instead of allowing him, she chewed on his fingers. “She’s naturally thin. She’s a greyhound, purebred.”

  “Really?” I held Pie up in surprise, turning her around to study her shape until she squirmed in discomfort. She obviously didn’t like being so exposed. I cradled her against my chest again with an apologetic squeeze. Being on display wasn’t my favorite thing either.

  Life probably wasn’t reaching peak potential when you could relate to a puppy.

  “But she was in line to be … you know,” I said, not letting myself think about what I could have done to her. “Why on earth would Ryse use a purebred?”

  “Why does Ryse do anything she does?”

  “Because she’s twisted,” I said without hesitation. “And whatever she destroys has to be worthy of her attention.” I also didn’t let myself think about Khaya’s garden. I couldn’t, not yet. Or maybe ever.

  “Worthy of the Word of Death,” Drey said, his expression grim.

  “Ugh. A purebred victim for her special killer.” I looked down at the little bundle in my arms. Pie latched onto my gaze and yapped excitedly until I lifted her onto my shoulder. Her tail whipped me in the face a few times until I pinned it against her hindquarters with my hand. “Well, you were too good for me, huh, Pie?” I said as she snuffled my ear with a cool, damp nose. “Now I’ll have to prove I’m worthy of you. Feeding you is probably a good first step.” My stomach gurgled. “And feeding myself, so I’m alive enough to feed you.”