The Skin Hunter Series Box Set

by Tania Hutley

  “You’re still with the Fist?” I blink at him. “Didn’t people think they were behind the bombings? Isn’t it dangerous to be out in public with them?”

  “If anyone knew we were Fist members, we’d already have been arrested. Besides, the Fist had nothing to do with the bombings.”

  I shake my head. “You should still be careful.”

  “The president accused the Fist because he wants to silence us. If we let him scare us into backing down, who’ll speak up for Old Triton?”

  “If you stick your head up, it’ll get kicked off your shoulders.”

  It’s one of Tori’s favorite sayings, but I already know I’m wasting my breath. There’s no reason for Cale to be so passionate about how unfair things are for sinkers. He’s a floater who could live a life of privilege. But he has such an inflated sense of right and wrong, it’s practically a birth defect. He’s willing to risk his life for a city he doesn’t live in, and I can’t help but admire him for it.

  “Speak for yourself. You’re not going to the square today.” He finally lets his gaze meet mine, but his expression is tight and there’s no trace of warmth in his face.

  “I need to talk to Sentin.”

  “Not in public. You’ll never get close to him. And you’ll be arrested on sight.”

  “I’ll tie some cloth over my face to hide my scars, and keep my head down.”

  “You can’t risk it.” Cale’s tone is hard, as though he’s giving me an order.

  I resist the urge to tell him I don’t need him to protect me. It’s not like I haven’t told him that before.

  “I have to.” I keep my voice even. “My brother’s one of the director’s soldiers. I promised my mother I’d get him back, and I can’t do that by hiding here.”

  The doctor leans forward, her expression turning sympathetic at the mention of my promise to Ma. “I can help with your disguise,” she says.

  “You don’t get it.” Cale runs his finger over the condensation on the outside of his glass of juice. “The people I’m meeting are planning something.”

  “Planning what?”

  He hesitates, looking from Doctor Gregory to me, and back again. “To disrupt the announcement,” he says reluctantly, using his jeans to wipe the moisture off his finger. “That’s all I can tell you. It’s better if you don’t know.”

  Doctor Gregory folds her arms. “They’re not going to hurt anyone?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Not really?”

  Cale’s bronzed cheeks are reddening. He lifts his hands. “Okay, look. My understanding is they’ve planted a couple of poppers under the stage. They’ll make a big bang, but won’t do much damage, just force an evacuation of the square. The president will be there, and they want to embarrass him and interrupt Director Morelle’s speech. That’s all.”

  “I’m going anyway,” I insist.

  Cale shakes his head. “Don’t you get it? The place will be swarming with police. Not to mention the new Skins the director wants to show off. If you’re recognized, you won’t get away.”

  “This might be the only chance I get to contact Sentin.” I set my jaw.

  “I don’t like what your friends are doing,” Doctor Gregory interrupts. She frowns at Cale, uncrossing her arms so she can punctuate her words by tapping the table with her forefinger. “They could hurt innocent people. Besides, there’s a war on, and now, more than ever, we need to pull together. It’s not the time for political statements or terrorist attacks.”

  “Did you know the president shut down Sub Zero?” Cale stabs at his band. “Now the only feed we get is the official news on b-Net.”

  I stare down at Rayne’s band, which is still fastened uselessly around my wrist. If Sub Zero’s gone, it’s a huge blow to the Fist, who rely on the indie feed for their broadcasts. And not just the Fist. Pretty much everyone in Old Triton connected to Sub Zero for real, uncensored information.

  “They’ve cut off our only way to get the truth out, and Director Morelle’s using the war as an excuse to make conditions even more miserable for workers,” Cale runs his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “She’s converted her biggest factory for Skin production, and moved the manufacturing of all her other products to other factories. She’s not producing less, she’s just crammed more equipment into the spaces she has. And she’s forcing her workers to work a lot of extra hours.”

  I catch my breath, remembering the hoarse, exhausted way Ma answered her band when the doctor called her for me. I’d thought it was because we’d woken her. Before all this happened, she was already working so many hours I worried about her all the time.

  “All the more reason for me to talk to Sentin.” My tone is so harsh, both Cale and the doctor look a little startled. “Ma works in the Skin factory, and the way she sounds, she’s not far away from dropping dead on the job, just like my father did. If Director Morelle really started this war, then she’s killing my mother, and she’s stolen my brother to fight for her.” I narrow my eyes at Cale. “I don’t care what your friends are planning. I know what I need to do, and nobody’s going to stop me.”

  “You think Sentin will tell you the truth about what’s going on?” Cale asks doubtfully.

  “It’s a place to start.”

  Maybe I’m pinning too many hopes on Sentin, but I can’t stop thinking of the confident way he told me Director Morelle was planning to start a war. The Deiterran war is dragging my family further into misery, and if Sentin’s trying to end it, I’m on board.

  Doctor Gregory sighs. “I still don’t like it. But I can make sure you’re not identified. I have a magnetic wrap you can tie around your band that’ll stop it being read in case they sweep the crowd. And I can alter the way you look.” She gets up to open a drawer under one of her worktables, and rummages around in it before pulling out a couple of jars. “This is a two-part silicone modelling compound. It’s a little old, but should work fine. And I have some makeup to go over it.”

  “You’re going to paint my face?” I ask.

  “I used to be good at this kind of thing. Come on, I’ll give it a try.” She carries a chair into the bathroom and makes me sit in front of the mirror, a place I normally avoid. She spoons out a little of the gel from both jars, mixing them together on a small board. “Good, the compounds haven’t hardened. They look fine.”

  She uses a small, flat spatula to dab the goo into the hollow place in my cheek, where drops of super-heated polymer ate the flesh away. The stuff feels cold, but not unpleasant. In fact, it’s soothing. It stops my scars from itching.

  When she’s done smoothing goo over my face, she steps back to examine me. My skin is tightening as the silicone dries. I don’t like anybody looking at me so closely, but her look of concentration is so intense it’s almost funny.

  “Now for some makeup,” she says in the distracted tone she uses when she’s concentrating. “I’ll darken your skin. It’ll even you out and you won’t stand out so much. I doubt there’ll be many Old Tritoners at the square.”

  “They’re too busy working themselves to death,” I mutter.

  When she’s finished with my face, the doctor rubs dark makeup onto my hands. Finally she stands back with a nod. “All done. Your scars are less obvious, but still faintly visible from close up. I’m sure I’ve got bandages somewhere. I’ll put one across your nose and cheeks and it’ll look like you’ve just been tweaked and are waiting for the surgery to heal.”

  Opening my eyes, I stare at the woman in the mirror. That can’t be me. My face is smooth, and a healthy shade of tawny brown. Both cheeks are full and even. I look like a New Tritoner.

  I look like I’d never been burned.

  My heart constricts, and I jerk my eyes away. There’s no use wishing for things I can’t have. I’d never have survived all these years if I let myself do that.

  “Are you okay?” The doctor’s face falls. “You don’t like it?”

  I take a deep breath, getting my
self under control. Then, without looking back at the mirror, I reach for her hand. It feels fragile in mine, her skin loose. “You did a good job. Thank you.” I squeeze her hand gently before letting it go. I’m grateful that Doctor Gregory was the one the director assigned to look after us. If Director Morelle only gave her the job to sideline her, she made a mistake. Without the doctor, I’d probably be dead by now.

  “No need to thank me. I enjoyed it.”

  “Not just for the makeup. For everything. For letting me stay. For taking me in and helping me.”

  She shakes her head, puffing her cheeks out, but she looks pleased. “It’s nothing. Anyway, there’s one more thing you need if you want to go unnoticed. And believe me, I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you.” She pulls a pair of scissors out of her bathroom cupboard and reaches for my hair. “Just a trim to neaten things up. I don’t know who cut it for you, but they should get their eyesight checked. It’s crooked on that side.”

  Tori was the last person to cut my hair, and that was months ago. I like to keep a long fringe to cover as much of my face as possible, and usually get someone to crop the rest to shoulder-length so I can easily tie it up while I’m working. But I’ve neglected it for a while, so it’s way past that. The doctor’s right, it badly needs a trim.

  She takes it above my shoulders so it swings, and layers my fringe so it feels lighter. I don’t know where she learned how to cut hair, but she’s much better at it than Tori. I look like I’ve stepped out of a New Triton salon, though I don’t let myself study the mirror for more than a second or two. I don’t want to get too attached to my new look, or forget it’s just an illusion.

  When I walk into the living room, I’m both eager and afraid of seeing Cale’s reaction.

  Sure enough, his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. I feel my face go warm. Unexpectedly, my eyes prickle.

  Dammit, I don’t even know why I’m getting emotional. It’s just some stupid makeup, and what does it matter if he sees what I could have looked like if my life had been different? It’s not real. Underneath the makeup, my scars are as ugly as ever.

  “Let’s go.” The words come out sounding rough.

  “Sure.” He scrambles to his feet, then checks himself, like he’s trying too hard to be casual.

  “Wait a minute. First, let me take a look at your feet.” The doctor sits me down, kneeling in front of me, which means I can focus on her and not have to look at Cale. She changes the bandages she applied earlier, spraying on a liquid that cleans the wounds and numbs the pain. “You’re healing much faster than I would have expected,” she says as she helps me ease the sneakers back on. “I wonder if that’s part of it?”

  “Part of what?” asks Cale.

  I hesitate. Though I don’t want to keep any more secrets from Cale, if I tell him about how my Skin changed me, will he see me as even more of a freak? If I’m not quite human anymore, I’m not sure I want him to know.

  “I’ll tell you on the way to the square,” I promise.

  As a final touch, the doctor presses a wide bandage across the bridge of my nose, and gives me a cap to pull down over my eyes. The bandage starts itching right away, but I resist the urge to scratch in case my makeup comes off.

  “Time to go.” I start for the door.

  “Please be careful, both of you.” Doctor Gregory crams her hands into the pockets of her trousers, then perches restlessly on the arm of her couch. “Don’t go close to the stage. I’ll watch the announcement on the holo, but I wish you hadn’t told me what your friends were planning, Cale. Now I’m going to be on edge the entire time, waiting for it to happen.”

  “We’ll be careful,” I promise. But the exploding stage is the least of my worries. If Sentin’s there, I’ll somehow have to get close to him without letting Director Morelle see me, and Cale’s right, the square will be crawling with stompers. This could be a huge mistake. Still, I have to try.

  Chapter Five

  Cale and I get in a cab, and the streets are quiet at first. But it doesn’t take long before our cab connects to another in front, then more latch on behind. Soon we’re part of an endless string of cabs, and as we near the square, the sidewalks become full of people walking the same way we’re going.

  Reluctantly, I tell Cale about how the Leopard Skin changed me. Even as I’m determined not to lie, I can’t help playing it down. Still, he looks shocked. And he’s too quiet, listening to my explanation without asking questions like he normally does. The way he stares out the cab’s window without saying a word makes me feel desperate. All I want is to grab him and tell him again how sorry I am.

  Instead, I turn my own face away and gaze sightlessly out at the crowd. My throat feels so tight, it’s aching. Any chance of Cale forgiving me is getting more and more unlikely. As if my scars weren’t bad enough, and the way I couldn’t let him kiss me without freaking out, now he’s discovering how far from normal I really am.

  We get out of the cab a block or so from the square, and mingle with the throng of people streaming in. For such a big crowd, it’s strangely quiet. All the faces around me are grim, without a smile to be seen.

  My feet still hurt, though not so much that I couldn’t run if I need to. I stick close to Cale, but in spite of the New Triton sun, I feel cold and empty inside. I’m losing everyone I love, and the tighter I try to hold on, the more they slip away.

  A pair of stompers stand on every street corner with their hands on their weapons, scanning the crowd. I’m not as afraid of them now as I used to be, but I keep my head down and use Cale’s tall body and wide shoulders for cover. It’s not difficult to slip past the stompers when the crowd is so large, we’re being jostled on either side.

  At the far end of the square is the Presidential Office, a tall, solid-looking building about twenty-five stories high, with impressive decorative columns and arches. A stage has been set up in front of it, with a podium and microphone for the director’s speech. She’s not here yet, but a large group of reporters have set up their cameras next to the podium and are getting shots of the crowd arriving.

  A surveillance drone flies overhead, and I fiddle with the magnetic wrap tied around my band, checking it’s still fastened tightly under my sleeve. So many New Tritoners get themselves tweaked, the drones usually scan bands rather than trying to recognise peoples’ changing faces. Still, I keep my cap pulled over my eyes, just in case. Drones used to be common in Old Triton, but the Fist got so good at bringing them down, these days we hardly see any. Now they’re mainly used to police crowds.

  Cale stops dead, and I almost run into him. He stares toward a statue of Edward Morelle, the director’s grandfather and founder of the Morelle Corporation. It’s on the other side of the square, some distance from the stage.

  “I’m supposed to be meeting my friends by the statue,” he says. “But they’re not there.”

  I swallow the lump that’s been blocking my throat since his silence on the cab ride, and try to sound as normal as I can. “You want to go over there and wait for them?”

  He shakes his head. “Better not. I’ll just keep an eye out.”

  I motion toward the stage. “Let’s get closer.”

  “Not too close.”

  “But that’s where Sentin will be.” I turn to push my way through the crowd.

  “Wait.” He grabs my arm and a shock of awareness jolts through me. It’s not like the last time he put his arms around me, when his grip made me feel trapped. This time, I only feel glad for his touch. If he cares enough to take my arm, maybe I can hope he might forgive me.

  “It’s too dangerous,” he says. When he frowns I only see worry in his expression, not anger or disgust. More reason to hope.

  “You said your friends weren’t going to hurt anyone,” I remind him.

  “There’s always a risk. If they made the poppers too big, they could injure some bystanders by mistake.”

  He still cares about my safety. The realization eases the iron ba
nds crushing my heart and makes me want to throw my arms around him. Instead I gently tug my arm from his grip. “I’m sorry, Cale, but I have to get close to have any chance of talking to Sentin. You stay here and look for your friends. I’ll meet up with you later.”

  “No, we’ll stick together.”

  He lets me lead him forward, and we mingle with a group that’s crowding the stage. If people notice me for the bandage I’m wearing across my nose, it’s not unusual enough for them to look twice. I’m no threat, just a skinny—no, a slim girl who’s just been tweaked, wearing floater’s clothing, with a floater’s bronzed skin. Maybe my features aren’t perfectly even, my lips aren’t as full as they could be, and my eyes don’t turn up in just the right way, but the difference isn’t enough for me to stand out.

  I’m one of them.

  It’s a weird feeling. I keep thinking about the night I saw Rayne walk into the shelter. In Old Triton, she stood out like a beacon, her beauty as extreme as my own ugliness. Even with a bandage on my face, I never imagined I could walk unnoticed among people like her.

  A sudden blast of music from the stage makes me jump. The people around us focus on the stage, then move forward, cramming more closely together as everyone tries to see what’s happening.

  Cale twists around, peering through the moving people, still hunting for his friends. He’s looking more and more worried.

  “Something must have happened to them,” he mutters. “I don’t like it.”

  “Come on.” I lead him closer to the stage, wedging us into the tightly packed rows near the front.

  Somebody jostles me from behind, pushing me into the man in front of me. He grunts, but stays focused on the stage. “Deiterran,” he says in a contemptuous tone, and his friend spits on the ground. A few others mutter slurs, but nobody seems to want to say the insult too loudly.

  Craning my neck, peering between people’s heads, I already know what I’m going to see before I catch a jewel-green flash of scales.