I continued on like that, eyeing those across the table from me, not letting them look away. “You know,” I said, “the cute little homeless boy you guys yanked off the street? The one you infected with an engineered disease?”
I paused, putting the slightest pressure on the sword as it inched down a male board member’s arm. Mercy’s blade cut through the fabric of his sleeve. I couldn’t remember this guy’s name, but I was fascinated by the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and temples. I leaned in, focusing on his quaking eyelashes. “You know,” I said, voice hushed, “the boy you let good ol’ Mitch have some quality alone time with before you released him. The one you hoped would infect as many people as possible.”
My current friend yelped, and the coppery scent of blood reached my nostrils.
I straightened and glanced down at his arm, where a dark spot of blood blossomed on his sleeve. “Whoopsie,” I said, tone flat. “My bad.” I winked at the guy before raising Mercy and once again resting her blade on my shoulder. “Guess I got a little too eager.”
“You’re insane,” a guy said from Constance’s end of the table. He was the youngest looking of the board members, and I pulled the name Scott Easton from memory.
I also pulled a needle dagger from my sleeve with my free hand and flung it his way. It struck him in the forehead, sticking in his skull and reverberating with a dull thwang. He shouted out in pain, then brought his shaking hands up to his forehead. I’d used just enough force to get the knife to stick in the bone, but not enough to actually pierce his skull and enter his brain.
“I’m not insane,” I said, stalking around the table. I yanked the dagger free from Scott’s dense head, wiped the tip on his shoulder to clean off the blood, and shoved it back into its sheath up my sleeve. “I’m mad. There’s a difference.”
“I—” Constance cleared her throat. “I remember him—the boy, Sammy, I mean.”
I took a step back from the table, eyeing her. For some reason, I’d hoped she’d been in the dark about the finer details of this particular project.
She licked her lips. “I don’t know how he got out, and I swear I didn’t know about Mitch, but . . .” Her body was trembling, but her voice was steady. Ballsy chick. “I can only imagine.”
“It was her idea,” someone said from the other side of the table. It was bony Melinda Jones. “We never wanted any of this. We called for a vote to un-chair her today . . . because she’s gone too far.” Melinda’s eyes burned with a feverish intensity, and her breathing picked up as she went on. “She’s led this board astray. The things we’ve approved because of her . . .” Melinda shook her head. “We’re going to set that all to rights today.” Her chest heaved with each successive breath.
I stared at her, sword on my shoulder and expression bored. As I blinked, I let a grateful smile light up my face. “Finally, someone’s talking. Thank you, Melinda, truly,” I said, nodding in gratitude.
Her shoulders relaxed a bit.
I sheathed Mercy and started around the table, heading her way.
The tension returned.
“You’re going to make this so much easier,” I said, running my fingertips over the knot of the leather bracelet on my left wrist as I drew near to her. Melinda started to spin her chair around so she was facing me, but I tugged on the slipknot holding the bracelet on my wrist. A fraction of a second later, the leather cord was wrapped around Melinda’s neck, cutting into her throat.
Gasps filled the room, and people leaned back in their chairs. Some even brought their hands up to their own necks. And what do you know, not a single person stood or lunged at me to help poor Melinda. They just watched, horrified, as I began to strangle the life out of her.
“This is what happens when you lie to me. Honesty is the best policy, after all,” I said, ignoring the bite of Melinda’s nails as they gouged deep trails across my forearms and the backs of my hands. I looked at Constance, then scanned the others’ faces even as I kept the garrote tight around Melinda’s neck. “I already know you were all involved to some extent. I need to know who oversaw that project. Who’s responsible for the disease?”
“Scott,” Constance said, pointing to the young man sitting two chairs down from her. “And Gregory.” She glanced at the man sitting to her left, then looked off to the side, deflating. “And me.”
Disappointment flooded me. I let up on the pressure of the cord around Melinda’s neck, taking a step back from the table as I rewrapped the garrote around my wrist. Melinda collapsed forward on the table, a sobbing, gasping mess.
“Let the others go,” Constance said. “It’s me you want.” Damn, but just when I was ready to write her off as a genuinely bad egg, she had to go and do something noble. She was making this really hard on my conscience.
My eyes met Nik’s, and when he nodded, the corner of my mouth lifted. “Sure,” I said, looking back to Constance. “We’ll let them go.” I made my way around the table as I secured the slipknot on my bracelet, holding out my hand when I neared Nik. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the rolled-up sheet that had been tucked into his back pocket. “Thanks,” I said when he handed it to me.
I shook the doorway-sized fragment of gray bedsheet open, pleased to see that the gateway I’d created back in the apartment was still active. I hadn’t been certain it would survive a trip through another gateway, but it had. Good to know.
Under the tense, watchful stares of the terrified board members, I grabbed a stapler off a side table and used it on the wall to hang the sheet. The scene on the other side of the gateway was gray and dismal, as any good dungeon should be. I couldn’t see any of the Bainbridge Nejerets at the moment, but I knew Heru was there in that dank underground space, waiting with a handful of others for the arrival of his newest guests.
Once the gateway was up and running, I tucked my chin to my chest and whispered, “Alright, Dom, let Lex know they’re on their way—ten to start with, but three more should be following soon.”
“Very well,” Dom said. “I shall return shortly.”
I turned around, facing the rapt room. “As your oh-so-courageous leader requested, I’m letting the rest of you go.”
I looked at Melinda. Her neck was red, raw, and oozing blood where the leather cord had bit into her skin, and she sat a little slumped in her chair, bloodshot eyes puffy and cheeks tear-streaked. I thought it was best to start with her. She already knew, firsthand, the consequences of pissing me off; I doubted she’d risk it again, even if the task I gave her seemed utterly impossible . . . like walking through a bedsheet hanging on a wall.
“On your feet,” I said, drawing Mercy and pointing the blade at the traumatized woman. “You’re first.”
Melinda stood, movements wooden, and looked at me without really seeming to see me.
“Walk,” I said, flicking the tip of the At blade at the gateway.
She moved like she was sleepwalking, only pausing when she was a few inches from the sheet. I gave her back a firm smack with the flat of my sword, and she stumbled forward through the gateway. And once again, Melinda was the cause of the gasps filling the room. Lucky girl.
“On your feet,” I said, pointing Mercy at the man with the bleeding arm. “You’re next.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Well, well, well . . .” I rubbed my hands together, eyeing Constance, Scott, and Gregory, who were all huddled at the far end of the table. The last of the nonessential board members had just passed through the gateway to Heru’s dungeon, and I was now free to focus all of my attention exactly where it was needed—on the three little piggies, making all that mischief under their roof. “I wonder which one of you has the straw house,” I pondered aloud.
They exchanged wary glances.
I fingered the vial of infected blood hanging around my neck as I wandered back to their side of the boardroom. All three tensed up visibly as I neared them. Ever so slowly, I made my way behind their chairs, watching them watch me out of the corners
of their eyes. Letting the tension build. Letting the fear take over.
“Which of you will give in first?” I asked. “Who will collapse under the slightest pressure?”
I stopped behind Gregory’s chair and settled my hands on his shoulders. The top of his balding head was shiny, like he’d plucked any final straggling hairs. I could almost see my reflection in his bald spot, and I thought he might even oil that oh-so-shiny skin. His shoulders bunched up when I gave them a squeeze, and he held his breath when I leaned in, resting my chin on his right shoulder.
“Which of you has the most to lose?” I asked, looking across the table at baby-faced Scott. I blinked and shifted my attention to Constance. “Or the most to leave behind?”
The color drained from her tastefully made-up face.
I grinned, slow and sly. I didn’t have to actually kill her, but threatening to do it—to leave her precious children motherless—would be enough to loosen the tongue of any mother who gave two shits about her kids. And from what I’d seen of Constance, she gave way more shits than that.
“Did you and your kiddos enjoy the movie the other night?” I asked her, straightening and cocking my head to the side. “That’s a pretty fancy-schmancy home theater you’ve got there.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but she blanched even further. After a rough swallow, she licked her lips, her focus darting around the room from me to Nik to the sealed-off windows behind him and the two impassable doors in the opposite wall.
“No way out, Constance,” I said, tapping my fingernail against the At vial—clink clink clink. I glanced at the gateway. “At least, not to anywhere that’s even remotely as pleasant as here.”
“W—what do you want?” she asked, tears spilling over the brim of her eyelids.
“The cure.”
Her eyes locked on me, her pupils so dilated by fear that the black drowned out the natural gray-blue of her irises. She shook her head slowly, her eyes rounding. A thin sheen of sweat coated her pale skin, giving her a sickly, pearlescent glow. “I—I can’t—”
I stopped tapping the At vial. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“I can’t!” she said, voice shrill and eyes wild. “I wish I could, I swear, but—”
I kicked Gregory’s chair, and he rolled a couple yards down the table, making room for me to squeeze in beside Constance. I placed my hands on the polished tabletop and leaned in toward her. “But what?” I asked, voice hushed. A few strands of her blonde hair swayed in the wake of my words.
Again, she licked her lips. “The—there is no cure.”
My nostrils flared, and I searched her eyes, her face, looking for the telltale signs that she was lying.
“Honestly, I wish—”
“Shut up!” I shrieked, straightening and settling in to pace alongside the table. Either Constance was a damn good liar, or she was telling the truth. I had to believe the former; the possibility that there was no cure was too horrifying to accept. I might actually have to kill someone to get the truth. A human—either Scott or Gregory. Maybe then dearest Constance, here, would take this seriously.
“Little sister—”
“Not now, Dom,” I snapped. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he see that I was in the middle of something? It was a terrible time for a chat.
“It’s Garth,” he said, ignoring my dismissal.
“What?” I paused, placing my hands on my hips. “He totally disregarded what I said about getting to the compound, didn’t he?”
“No, little sister. He arrived a couple hours ago.”
“Then what is it?” I asked, staring hard at Scott, who was watching me like I had a stick of live dynamite stuck up my ass.
“Neffe just got the results from his blood test,” Dom said. “It came back positive, little sister. He’s infected.”
My heart stumbled a few beats, and my grip on Mercy’s hilt faltered. The sword slipped out of my hand, landing on the hardwood floor with a sharp clatter.
Nik took a step away from the sealed-off windows. “What is it? What happened?” He was suddenly in front of me, only I couldn’t remember watching him close the distance between us. He gripped my upper arms. Squeezed, hard. “Kat! What’s going on?”
I shook him off, reaching up to twist open the vial of infected blood even as I stepped over Mercy and marched back across the room to where Constance still sat. I drew the needle dagger from my left sleeve once more and dipped the point into the vial.
“Kat, wait!” But Nik reached me too late.
I scratched the dagger across Constance’s smooth cheek in one sharp motion. She flinched back, her hand flying up to cover the shallow wound. Shallow, but deep enough. Garth was sick; now she was, too.
“That was infected blood, bitch,” I hissed, leaning in until I was so far into her personal bubble I was practically giving her a lap dance. “Tell me the cure, or I’ll leave you in here until this fucking disease kills you, too.” I leaned in further, my nose less than an inch from hers. “Or maybe I’ll wait until you’re nearing the end, you know, the part when you lose your shit and attack everyone around you?” I laughed bitterly. “Maybe I’ll wait until you’re rabid, and then I’ll send you home. How long do you think it’ll take the kids to realize you aren’t their mommy anymore—for them to see you as the monster you really are? For them to run from you?” I narrowed my eyes, studying her expression, soaking in her fear. “Too long, I bet.”
Constance’s eyelashes fluttered, and tears streaked down her pasty cheeks. “Please . . . no . . .”
“Tell me the cure,” I yelled.
“There isn’t one,” she yelled right back. “Please, kill me. You have to kill me. I—I can’t go home like this. I can’t spread this to my babies.”
I backed up, leaning against the edge of the table and staring at her, utterly dumbfounded.
“Kill me.” She pushed her chair back and dropped to her knees before me. Her fingers gripped my legs, her manicured nails turning her fingers into talons. “Please, kill me,” she begged. “Please. There’s no cure. I swear there’s no cure. Just kill me.”
My heart went cold. Because I believed her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Garth is sick . . .
I stared down at Constance, kneeling on the floor at my feet. Clinging to my legs. Begging me to kill her. She was sick, too. She was infected, and there was no cure.
Garth is going to die . . .
All the moisture that should’ve been in my mouth was gone, leaving it a desert. I gripped the edge of the polished boardroom table behind me, my palms slick with sweat.
This is my fault . . .
I should’ve known better than to send Garth to the one place infested with this manufactured disease. I should’ve known better than to crawl into his bed. I should’ve known better than to fall for a fucking mortal. I had known better. I’d known better, and I’d done it anyway. But I’d thought I would have a little more time with him, that he would have a little more time before his mortal body wasted away and his soul faded into oblivion.
My eyes burned with the need to cry, but I blinked the tears away. I didn’t deserve the relief of tears. Garth would’ve had more time if I hadn’t invaded his life. From now on, I would only get involved with Nejerets. I was off humans, for good.
If only Garth was a Nejeret . . .
I blinked again, straightening from my slouched position, my eyes searching the blank wall just a couple yards away as an idea formed. An impossible idea. What if we’d been looking at this whole situation all wrong? What if it wasn’t the disease we needed to cure? What if it was mortality? What if it was humanity?
Slowly, my focus shifted to Nik, standing off to the right near the wall. “Mari,” I said, recalling what she’d told us about her work with Ouroboros that stormy day on the roof, just a few floors above where we stood now. “We need to find Mari.”
She’d wanted Nik to work with her because his sheut power would enable her to transfer slivers of a
Nejeret ba into a human being and graft it to their mortal soul. She’d claimed that, if the procedure was done properly, it would transform a human into a Nejeret.
I shoved Constance to the side, ignoring her cry of surprise, and took a step toward Nik. “Don’t you see? There’s no cure. This game—we can’t win it. It’s rigged against us. But if we change the rules . . .”
Nik stared at me for several, pounding heartbeats. I could see his mind working, could tell he was right there with me. “You want to turn the infected into Nejerets,” he said, his stare intense, his pale blue eyes burning with an unearthly fire. He shook his head ever so slowly. “Kitty Kat . . . Mari’s theory was just that—a theory. She never had success with the process.”
I took another step his way. “Because she didn’t have you, Nik. Remember? She said storing the ba sliver in anti-At poisoned it. But if you do the transfer . . .”
Nik crossed his arms. “That’s assuming we can even find her.”
It was a far from easy task; we both knew it. Over the past week, I’d been asking every Nejeret I crossed paths with if they’d been in contact with Mari or her mother, Mei, but none had seen or heard from either of them since Mari rescued her mom from the Ouroboros lab and the two went into hiding. Even Heru, whose sheut gave him the power to teleport to any place on earth by simply thinking of someplace, something, or someone, had failed to locate the pair. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Mei could do the exact same thing, only better.
I took one final step toward Nik and reached out, gripping his forearms. The leather of his coat sleeves was smooth and warm to the touch. “We have to try,” I said, pleading with my eyes. “It’s Garth.” My chin trembled, and my throat threatened to close up. “Dom just told me—he’s sick.”
Nik clenched his jaw, his eyes locked with mine, and time seemed to slow. To stretch.
He blinked, breaking the spell, and his focus slipped past me, his gaze growing distant. It was a look I recognized from the days when he’d shared his body with the god, Re, from the times when he would withdraw from the outside world to look within, to converse with one of the creators of this universe. Except that god was gone, now. Dom had warned me that Nik was broken inside, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was seeing evidence of that truth right now.
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