by M. D. Archer
“I’ll drop you at school, okay?”
I pull my head out of the fridge. She never does that.
“You have a lab in forty-five minutes, correct?” She’s holding a crumpled piece of paper that looks vaguely familiar. Oh yes, the class schedule that used to be pinned up to my noticeboard.
Sneaky, Mom, sneaky.
SHE DROPS ME on campus and waits until I enter the building.
I’d planned on turning around immediately, but the TA happens to be walking toward me right at that moment. Crap. Will he see me? Will he recognize me? I look around for a place to hide or a large person to duck behind, but it’s too late. He has seen me, and worse still, we are only a few feet away from where I’m supposed to be in lab, right now.
“Are you still in this class?” He holds the door open, not waiting for an answer. I turn to see Mom is still double parked, glaring at me from the car, so I nod and walk through the door, suppressing a sigh. Inside, I take a seat in one of the clusters of desks meant to foster group discussions. Too late, I notice Kirsten is sitting in a group directly to my left. She half turns her head toward me and acknowledges my presence with a small sneer. This is why I don’t come to labs. Well, one of the reasons. I fix my eyes to the back of her head and concentrate.
I hope there is a pop quiz today. Tamzin will definitely fail.
I knew she thought those kinds of mean things about me. I glower at her as the tutor brings us to attention and asks us to discuss the reading we were supposed to have done. As he fires questions at various people, I shrink down in my chair. I, of course, have not read the assigned chapter. When he calls on me to answer, Kirsten turns around with a smug smile, malice glinting in her eyes.
“Uh,” I stall, zeroing in on her thoughts. As I guessed, she is mentally rehearsing the perfect response to the TA’s question so that she can give it when I fail.
“Fascia are sheets of connective tissue, primarily made of collagen,” I start, staring into Kirsten eyes as I recite verbatim what she is thinking, “that attaches and encloses the muscles and other internal organs.”
The look on her face, eyes wide with disbelief, makes it all totally worth it.
AT THE CORNER of Smith and Jackson, Ruby is waiting for me, her bright red hair bouncing up and down. When I get closer, I see her eyes are closed and she’s dancing to her iPod, in her own little world, but when I get about ten feet from her, she opens her eyes.
“Hey, girl. How are you?” Ruby hugs me. “Hey, can we eat? I’m starving.”
“Sounds good.”
“So what’s new?”
“I just came from class.” I groan with an eye roll. I want to gloat about my telepathic takedown of Kirsten, but something holds me back, so as we walk to Chinatown, I tell her about my crafty mother.
We find a restaurant that has made the mistake of offering a weekday all-you-can-eat buffet special. We go back for seconds and thirds, piling our plates high, while the waiter watches us with a frown.
“Who cares?” Ruby scoffs.
“Hey, so I haven’t seen Nikolai in the last couple of days. Have you?”
Ruby nods, her mouth full. “Yeah. We got coffee yesterday. Why?”
“Dunno. I sometimes see him when I go for a run, but I haven’t recently.”
Ruby gives me a knowing look.
“What?” I ask.
She shovels more food in, then tilts her head. “I think he might be dealing with some Kirsten stuff,” she says, eyeing me.
I think I might be a lot easier to read than I ever knew.
“What kind of stuff?”
Ruby shrugs. “He doesn’t give much away, but she’s bugging him to spend more time together, and well… you know. The normal kind of stuff.”
“How long have they been together?”
“They started dating about a year ago. Hey, how are you doing post-breakup, by the way?”
“Yeah, okay. I feel like it was actually over ages ago.” I shrug. I become aware of the waiter staring at us and realize that we must look kind of odd, staring at each other so intently as we both chew food. He of course has no idea we’re having a conversation.
After one final mouthful, I push my plate away. “I don’t think I can eat any more.”
“Yeah, I’m done,” Ruby says. “What now?”
“Movie?”
“Yeah, the place on the corner has discounted daytime shows. Let’s see what’s on.”
The movie that starts in five minutes got pretty bad reviews, but when we see two cute guys buying tickets for it, we decide to see it anyway. Fifteen minutes later, we know two things. First, the movie is as bad as the reviews suggested, and second, the two guys—now making out—have zero interest in us.
“Okay,” Ruby says as we abandon the movie. “Now that the food has digested enough, let’s go try on some clothes.” She grabs my hand and drags me toward the mall entrance. We zip in and out of stores at lightning speed, not fast enough to raise anyone’s suspicions, but Ruby’s approach to shopping is as whirlwind as everything else she does. I find not one but two new outfits, and I buy both of them. I’m a couple of sizes smaller now, and I had birthday money from Mom just waiting to be spent.
We’ve paused outside another store when Ruby suddenly squeals.
“Shit, Tam! I have to go. I’m supposed to be at work in ten minutes.” Ruby works at Barracuda, a bar downtown, and I get the impression that she’s almost always late.
“No worries. Catch you later,” I say. She gives me a quick hug and then dashes off.
Should I do one more circuit of the shops? I rummage through my bags. I think I’m sorted but I amble toward the exit, window shopping on the way just in case I see one more amazing outfit. I’m almost at the escalators when it happens.
I pick up a scent.
After a quick scan of the immediate area, I see him stalking toward me, the menace in his posture unmistakable.
Lucan, Rogue, and here to fight me.
My stomach contracts.
There are about twenty people nearby. Closest to me are a cluster of schoolgirls staring into a shop window to my left, a couple canoodling by the mall map in front of me, and a woman with a toddler and a pushchair a few feet away to my right. She’s stopped to pick up a stray shoe, trying to keep the toddler within her sight as she struggles with the kicking leg of the infant.
The Rogue smiles at me.
What do I do?
A split-second decision is needed, so I make it. I run. He’s here for me, and I need to get him away from all these people. He takes chase instantly, following me past the escalators toward the stairwell that leads down to the basement parking garage. A few concerned faces track our progress, but no one follows us. I pant with the exertion, all my combat training disappearing as fear takes over, gripping at my chest, short-circuiting my breathing.
Halfway down the stairs, one of my bags catches the railing and I skid to the left. It’s all he needs to get close enough to take a swipe at me. The blow glances off my shoulder, propelling me forward, and I stagger, half falling down the rest of the steps. I wobble forward to grab the door handle and fall through, kicking out at his hand that’s grasping at my leg. I kick again, connecting with his knee, right on the kneecap, and he stumbles. I scramble forward, trying to get more distance between us.
Inside the parking garage, I cast a panicked glance around. The basement is half full of cars but empty of people. Good. He’s right behind me. This is it. This is happening. I take slow steps backward to the darkened recesses of the northeast corner as he advances forward.
“Wait, just wait,” I say, trying to stall. Can I do this on my own?
He stops a few feet away. Okay, this is definitely happening. His breath has quickened, and now so does mine. He crouches a little lower and I do too. The quiver in my muscles tells me they are ready. Tamzin Walker, nineteen-year-old future college dropout might not be sure about this, but it doesn’t matter because some ancient gene is awake an
d my body is responding to him, this challenge. It’s involuntary, it’s primal, and it feels amazing.
As he lunges at me, a wave of adrenaline surges me forward, but I’m clumsy, inexperienced, and he pounces on me, grabbing my throat to lift me up and slam me down on the roof of the nearest car.
“Oomph.”
My whole body vibrates with the impact, and he grins at me, pleased with himself, until I swing out my left leg and clock him on the jaw, using the momentum to slide off the car and follow through with a cross that whips his head to the right with a satisfying crunch.
“Ha!”
He turns back, but I’m already pummeling his kidneys. He staggers to the side and I follow, waiting until he lifts his head before delivering a crushing blow to the side of his head that sends him to the floor. Panting, I stand over him, fists clenched, eyes bright and focused on my target. He’s out cold.
Shopping bags grasped tightly in my still shaking hands, inhaling and exhaling in controlled breaths, I exit the mall and cross over to the bus stop.
I have never felt more alive.
Chapter 17
I stand on top of the T Tower, soaking up the atmosphere of the city. The occasional siren calls out, an impatient taxi honks its horn, a drunkard yells. The energy is different at night. The hustle and bustle of pedestrians, cars, and even the electronic activity from all the office buildings have been reduced to a hum, but it’s still palpable, brimming with untapped potential. The population changes too, as if it’s on some sort of split shift. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Not that only bad things happen at night, but it’s different. The energy that sneaks out from among the buildings, up from the sewers, and down from the hills surrounding the city center is different. It slithers and hisses as it shakes off the remnants of the day, whispering my name. I don’t speak this language, but I understand it.
I crouch down, contracting my muscles as I place a grounding hand on the concrete beneath me, enjoying the solidness of this old structure. There are other, taller, buildings downtown, but I like this one. The old architecture is more connected to nature, to earth, and it’s easier to climb—even I can’t scale up the smooth glass and steel edifices of newer buildings. I look around as I inhale deeply, like a battery recharging. I feel like a new person. Or maybe it’s that I finally feel at home in my skin.
I’m Lucan now, properly and officially, and I get why Dana had trouble verbalizing what this means. I’m now in control of my heightened senses and skills, and my body has transformed; but it’s more than that. It’s like I’m connected to the universe and to every other Lucan that ever lived. The feeling is immense, almost overwhelming.
My studies now just an unpleasant memory, I’m almost solely focused on my nighttime activities. My nightly runs, which started as a way to use up energy and because I need to feel the burn of exertion like I need oxygen, have turned into something else. I’ve been visiting the darker parts of the city, seeking out the places where bad people do bad things. So far my efforts have resulted in small, maybe even inconsequential differences, but it’s still something. Each time someone needed help, and I was there.
My Lucan senses guide me.
A raised voice carried to me by my Lucan hearing; an unusual scent picked up by my dog-like sense of smell; an intake of breath and a raised heart rate coupled with a cry of pain or distress.
I took a sacred oath when I joined the Consillium community, to protect our secret, but my midnight moonlighting isn’t breaking the rules, not the way I see it. Stopping people from getting hurt is the same as not harming them. So I ignore the Vincent-Dana hybrid voice telling me that every time I roam the streets looking for trouble, I risk exposure. I’m being careful. I never hang around long enough to be noticed.
Still, I’d felt guilty about defying the rules so soon after agreeing to them, until something happened yesterday that changed everything.
They found another victim.
Carly King was not a random event.
There is a serial killer in the city.
The media is calling him the Campus Crawler. Two female college students killed within a month of each other, with the same cause of death. Jennifer Bright, age nineteen, in her second year of an engineering degree, was actually the first victim. Initially thought to have died during a home invasion gone wrong, a tenacious reporter with inside information broke the story, and her case was reanalyzed. The same M.O. and some trace evidence—the papers won’t say what—links the two.
So it’s official. There is a serial killer on the loose and I’m a vigilante. Each night, I patrol the city. I don’t know what my plan is, exactly, except that I need to do this.
The sound of breaking glass brings my attention back to the present and down to the street below me. From up here, I can easily pinpoint the exact location. First I hear it, then I smell it, and then it’s like I have GPS in my brain telling me where to go.
Scale down the building and turn left.
Walk for 500 feet and turn right.
The crime currently underway is on your right.
The combination of hormones in this particular bouquet tells me whatever is happening involves two men and a scared female. I find them in an alley parking lot in the midst of dive bars, strip clubs, and back streets that lead nowhere but trouble. The two men and the woman are all drunk. It looks like a party that turned sour.
“Are you okay?” I call out. She doesn’t respond, but her body language, not to mention the stench of fear radiating from her, tells me that she isn’t.
“Mind your own business,” one of guys slurs at me, taking an aggressive step forward. The other stays with the woman, holding her arm.
“I was talking to her,” I say, lowering the pitch of my voice. I’m not going to growl, not quite.
The man in front falters at my tone, but then lurches forward. “Piss off.”
It takes me just two seconds to cover the distance between us, place my hand on his chest, and slam him to the ground. I step over him, ignoring his grunts of pain, and focus on his friend.
“What about you? Do you want to tell me to mind my own business as well?” I ask.
He looks uncertain for a second, but then drunken bravado kicks in. “Bitch,” he slurs.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He lets go of the woman and steps toward me as she moves backward. His hands curl into fists and his face twists into a sneer. “You’ll get yours,” he says and then steps straight into my fist, like the idiot that he is.
“Yes, I did.” I smile. “Thanks.”
I turn to the woman backed up against the wall and hold out my hand.
“You have your bag with you? Wallet and phone and stuff?”
She nods.
“Okay, let’s get you a cab.”
As its taillights join the line of cars at the intersection, my heart is still thudding with excitement. This feels so right. I’m meant to do this. I was born to do this. And I’m not going to stop.
The city needs me.
But the next night I get caught.
A hazy video captured what looks like a figure scaling down the side of a downtown building. The quality is bad—a less than top-of-the-range camera phone—but it’s still something. An impossible feat seemingly carried out by a human being.
An urban Yeti.
The Internet is thrilled.
People are divided about whether it’s a hoax, the result of a weird angle, or actual video proof of supernatural creatures. Some are even suggesting it’s the Crawler—not a bad guess given the location.
Dana, somehow, knows it was me.
“You dumbass.” She picks up a heavy book, sitting on the corner of her desk, and slams it back down. The desk wobbles. Any harder and I think it would have buckled. Her eyes flash yellow as her mouth tightens into a line. I thought I had seen Dana mad before, but I was wrong.
“Dana… I…”
“Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?”
&nb
sp; “You can’t tell it was me. You can’t even tell it’s a person, or that it’s real!”
This is lame and I know it.
“That’s your comeback? You aren’t even going to try to deny it?” Dana glares at me. “This is serious, Tam. I know Vincent is all chocolatey brown eyes and dimples, but the rest of the Consillium are not like that. The senior Principali, especially the ones in London, are serious dudes. Breaches of the rules are a big deal. Do you not remember me telling you that exposing the Lucan community can get you killed?”
I look down at my hands. It’s true, I had only got so far as imagining Vincent dishing out my punishment, which didn’t seem so bad. I hadn’t thought about the Consillium higher up than him. I hadn’t thought much about it at all.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, okay. But you said we can save people if they need help.”
“And how does that relate to you practicing parkour downtown in the middle of the night?”
“Uh…”
“You’ve got to stay out of the spotlight, okay? You just have to.”
“I’m trying.”
“Are you?” She holds my gaze before blowing out an exasperated burst of air and stalking out of her office, slamming the door behind her.
WHEN I GET home I can hear my parents talking about me before I get inside.
“…the weight loss… and, Mike, she got that box down in the garage. I just… I don’t know how she did it.”
“What exactly do you think is happening here, Kat?”
“I don’t know.” Mom sighs. The pause that follows is loaded. I want to read her mind, find out what she thinks, but I can’t do that. That’s how Lucans end up alone and isolated from their families. Hearing what people really think about you. Tapping into private thoughts that people think, but shouldn’t ever say.
“Don’t some drugs make you extra strong, or something? Crystal meth, or whatever it’s called? And it makes you lose weight.” Something in her tone makes me think Mom doesn’t really believe this explanation. At least I hope not. In the ensuing silence, I wonder whether Dad is seriously considering the possibility that I’m a meth-head.