Outcast

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  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.”

  23

  “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.

  24

  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.

  A chill crept up my spine, and dread pooled in my belly. “Nik,” I said, squeezing his arms through the leather. “Please. Help me, please.” I gave him a shake. “Nik . . . I need you.”

  His gaze refocused, slowly, and it was almost like my words had jumpstarted his mind.

  “Help me find—”

  “I know where she is,” Constance whispered.

  My eyelids opened wide, and both Nik and I turned to stare down at her.

  Constance knelt with her head drooped, her blonde bob hanging in disarray around her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with each halting breath. “I’ve been in contact with her,” she said, voice hoarse. “She’s here, in the city . . . underground.”

  I looked from Constance to Nik and back, seeing the shock and uncertainty I felt mirrored on his face. I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you telling us this?”

  “The disease was never supposed to get out,” Constance said, raising her head to peer up at us. A hint of defiance shone in her eyes. “It was created as collateral. When Initiative Industries first brokered the negotiations between Ouroboros and your Senate, your people would only agree to support our longevity research with funding and”—she glanced away, clearing her throat—“resources if we helped them develop the disease.” By resources, I had no doubt that she meant living test subjects. People, human and Nejeret alike. “It was their way of ensuring we didn’t go back on our word and tell the whole world about them.” She looked at me. “About you.”

  I scoffed. “What does this have to do with Mari?”

  “She and I oversaw the development of the project, but Scott and Gregory handled the day-to-day while Mari and I worked on something that wasn’t strictly on the books.”

  “The ba transfer,” I guessed.

  She nodded. “The technology to remove a Nejeret’s ba already existed—all we had to do was figure out a way to transport fragments of ba into a human subject. Mari theorized that even the smallest, microscopic amount would spark the transformation . . .” Constance shook her head. “But every single time we tried the procedure, the second the balance between human soul and Nejeret ba shifted in favor of the immortal side, the anti-At we’d used to transport the ba fragment would eat away at the newly forming ba like acid through flesh, and the subject would die.”

  Constance looked at Nik. “You’re the one she told me about, aren’t you—the one who can make the transfer work?” There was a flicker of hope in her eyes, even after everything.

  Nik didn’t respond, didn’t even nod. Instead, he looked at me. “Even with Mari’s help, there’s no guarantee that this’ll work. It’s still just theoretical. And assuming the procedure is successful, there’s no way of knowing how much of Garth will be left once his soul is transformed by the ba. He might not even be Garth anymore.”

  “But it’s all we’ve got. Even if there’s only a one p
ercent chance that this’ll work, the odds are still better than if we let the disease run its course,” I said, sounding a little lost, even to myself. I was grasping, and I didn’t care. “He’ll die, Nik. We have to try.” Gods, I sounded like a broken record.

  It took Nik a long time to answer, but finally, he nodded.

  I exhaled heavily, relieved to still have him not just on my side, but at my side. I looked at Constance. “You know exactly where Mari is? You can take us to her?”

  With a hand on the corner of the table, Constance climbed up onto shaky legs. “Yes. Yes, I can, but . . .” She licked her lips, wringing her hands. “I want something in return.”

  I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, and a quick glance at Nik showed the hint of a smirk curving his lips, as well. “What do you want?” I asked her.

  She looked from me to Nik and back. “Use me as a guinea pig. If the procedure doesn’t work, I’ll die, but if it does work . . .”

  “You’ll live,” I said with a rough laugh. “And a hell of a lot longer than you would’ve otherwise.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she said, and to my amazement, she meant it. “If it works, you have to promise to use the procedure on my son. It’s the only way he’ll ever have a chance at a normal life.”

  I stared at her, weighing her request. Was it possible that everything she’d done had been for her kid? I would never say I approved of her methods, but I couldn’t deny that she was a solid mother. Maybe a little extreme with the whole putting the well-being of her kids first—ahead of the whole damn world—but she wasn’t all bad.

  Finally, I shook my head, a wry smile twisting my lips. “Why the hell not,” I said, offering Constance my hand. Besides, I needed her just as much as she needed me. Some of the best partnerships started that way.