by Ramy Vance
Since the gods left, I’d changed illusions four times. The first time was the day they departed, and I didn’t understand how magic worked. I wanted to test the boundaries, to fully understand. The second time came two years later, when I decided I wanted to be the redhead I was now, a woman I’d seen at the airport in Montreal.
The third time, I became Katrina Darling. The litmus test was Justin, who never suspected I was anyone else. That was how good my illusions were.
And the fourth time, I un-became Katrina. I returned to the red-haired, green-eyed Isabella everyone in my life knew me as. The illusion that felt most like me. Going back was easy—because I’d already used it before, it only took five seconds off my life.
Going forward? That was the hard part.
I balled my hands to fists. I didn’t want to look like Serena Russo, to burn two months off the end of my life just to spend lunchtime pretending to be a scientist who had sold herself to the World Army.
But hey, maybe I’d eaten enough Twinkies that my future, arterially-blocked self would be grateful for an early end. Or maybe, I thought as the familiar bubbling started in my gut, I was just trying to make the most of a shitty situation.
Shitty wasn’t the right word.
Frightening. Depressing. Inviting the void.
Yes, those were the right words.
Once, I’d tried to describe to Aimee what it was like to burn time off my life. I’d compared it to approaching the edge of a cliff, beyond which was darkness. And burning time was like throwing yourself toward that edge.
“But we’re all looking out over a cliff,” Aimee said. “Humans and Others.”
“Right,” I said. “But imagine that, for five hundred years, there was no cliff. There was only a wide, rolling vista.”
Her eyes grew big. “And then an earthquake happened.”
“And then an earthquake happened,” I whispered. But for me, the gods’ departure wasn’t an earthquake. It wasn’t even a rumble. It was just that horn in the sky like a one-note tune, and then that voice pouring through the trees.
“Thank you for believing in us, but it is not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.”
And after it had finished, the world settled onto me like a blanket. Where before the rainforest air had seemed refreshing, mortality brought an exhausting and throat-clutching humidity.
Mosquitos began biting. Leaves began to hurt my bare feet.
And all at once, illusions became a commodity. My life for the face I wanted.
I was trading my future for a little power. A little magic.
Four years of mortality wasn’t enough time to get used to that.
Aimee tried, but she couldn’t truly understand. It was impossible for humans, who’d been mortal from the time they understood their own existence. Every time Others used magic, we were sacrificing ourselves. We were inviting the void.
And for a OnceImmortal to do that, we had to be compelled by either life-threatening fear, or an overwhelming desire to do right.
This was me doing right.
I pictured Serena’s black hair, the sheen of it. Her eyes. Her olive skin. Her long, coltish limbs. The magic thrilled me and sapped me all at once, my life force surging through me and floating away on a soft breeze. All the illusions of my long life flitted through my mind, the moments I’d stood in just this way, becoming someone else.
Except this time, I couldn’t indulge. I only had fifteen minutes to make this illusion happen.
The cracking began as my bones separated, lengthened, stretching me out like a child’s doll. My skull cracked, widened, reseamed, the bones of my face reshaping themselves more prominent, my chin jutting farther. I gritted through it as the muscles wound themselves over the new bones, and the skin over that.
When I opened my eyes, Serena Russo breathed hard in front of me. I gasped, one set of red fingernails rising to her mouth. She was me. I was the enemy.
I glanced around, felt almost dizzy. The world looked a lot different from six feet up. And I would have to get used to it—quick.
I grabbed my backpack, pulled out the pant suit and heels I’d bought last night. I had to estimate her size, and I’d nearly gotten it right. It was just a little loose through the arms and legs. The black heels cramped my toes, but I’d only need to wear them for the next—
I glanced down at my phone on the counter; a half hour had elapsed. GoneGodDamn, I’d lost my edge.
I pushed the backpack and my old clothes into a corner and clattered toward the bathroom door with the elegant little purse I’d brought. No time to practice—no time to do anything but go straight to the man I needed to see.
When I emerged from the bathroom, a gaggle of biology students stared at me. I recognized two of the girls from my classes, though they looked much shorter now. I gave them my best imperious look as I strode by, my toes protesting with every step.
I got into the elevator, took it to the third floor. When I stepped out, I spotted his door open, a yellow rectangle of light spilling out into the hallway.
Thank the GoneGods he was there.
Half a minute later, I stood at the threshold of his office, knocked politely on the door. “Prof—“ I started. What was his first name? It had fled my mind. “Uh, Steve?”
Professor Allman glanced up from his desk. When his eyes lit on me, I sensed the familiar glint of attraction. Really? I thought. Her? I mean, she was beautiful, but she was also horrible.
But the body wants what the body wants. And I could use this to my advantage.
“Serena,” he said, nearly tipping his chair over as he stood. Its wheels whined across the floor in one of the awkwardest demonstrations of male attraction I’d seen, and that was saying a lot. His hands rubbed on the front of his pants. “What a surprise. I thought you’d be out to lunch.”
So he knew about her lunch engagement. Great.
I stepped forward, leaning lightly against the door. “It ended early. And silly me, when I got back, I realized I’d left my keycard at my workstation. Can’t do much to help Others if I can’t get into my work, can I?”
I set hopeful eyes on him.
Here it was: his chance to be a knight.
“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Security couldn’t help you?”
Come on, Allman—I’m giving you an in.
I raised my shoulders. “They’re out to lunch, too.” I took another step forward. “Could you just swipe me in with yours?”
I knew his keycard would grant him access to Serena’s workstation because he was the volunteer fire responder for the biology building. Every building had a do-gooder professor who’d volunteered to be the responder—to usher everyone out when the alarm sounded—and Professor Allman was that man. He was also the guy who wouldn’t hesitate to help out.
Which was part of why I admired him so much.
He grabbed up his keycard off his desk, gesturing me into the hallway ahead of him. “Of course.”
I grinned as I turned and stepped out. Still got it.
↔
Professor Allman swiped us through the lab’s outer door, which gave two unusually pleasant chirps. I’d expected something more sinister, more ominous—two staccato klaxon bursts, maybe.
When we came inside, my eyes darted right to Serena’s workstation. As before, the door was still shut. The keycard entry blinked red.
And then I noticed all the people; the lab bustled with an unpleasant number of researchers—way more than yesterday. I’d thought the lunch hour would mean everyone would clear out. But no, turns out scientists have a terrible sense of work/life balance. I should have known.
One lifted his head and approached me in a burst of recognition, what wisps remained of his blond hair blowing under the heating vent. He stood at least a foot shorter. “You’re back,” he said, lifting his face, “that was a quick meeting.”
I nodded, pursed my lips. “You know how it goes.”
He gave a knowing nod. “Do I.” His eyes travel
ed to Professor Allman, who stood beside me. “Come to check in on your undergrads, Professor?”
The moment he’d said it, Professor Allman’s face dropped a few degrees.
I ground my teeth at the condescension. Whoever this guy was, I wanted to tell him that Professor Allman was a brilliant biologist, and he had a 4.5 on the website RateMyProfessor—
“Actually, Serena forgot her keycard. I’m swiping her in,” Allman said. He set a daring hand at my back—go Steve!—and guided me toward Serena’s workstation.
As we walked, I glanced at my phone in my purse. I had twenty minutes remaining, and that was if she took the full hour. Given the way that scientist had looked at me after I’d said I cut the “meeting” short, I might not get that full twenty minutes.
“Here we go,” Allman said, swiping his keycard. And with two more chirps, I was in.
I practically burst into her workstation, crossing behind the desk in two strides (Man, being tall had some perks). A stack of papers sat at one corner, which I lifted and began sifting through.
I needed to find that manila folder.
“You need anything else?” Professor Allman asked from the doorway, where he hovered in a bout of nervous fidgeting. “Coffee?”
I glanced up, my fingers still rifling through the papers. “I’m good. Thanks, Steve.” I added a wink, and I swear, I might have made the man’s knees wobble.
Ah, if only I could tell him how truly evil I was. Well, how evil Serena was. Maybe another time, after I’d done what I needed to do.
He disappeared out of the doorway, and my search became less dignified. I set my thumb on the edge of the pile and flicked through it. No folder.
I straightened, spun in a half-circle. To my left sat an elegant white filing cabinet with three drawers. I pulled open the top one. Empty. I pulled open the middle one.
Bingo. Manila folders.
Except there were about thirty of them.
I reached in, grabbing up the closest one. When I opened it, an image of something horrific stared back at me. It looked like a woman’s head, but with tentacles for a body. A different Other, but with a full file of documentation.
And probably an unfertilized embryo in a petri dish somewhere in this lab.
I put the file back in, moved to the next one. Another Other, this one also female, but with the lower body of an arachnid. Arachne.
Each file I looked at contained female Others, most of them stupidly powerful.
When I’d gone through eight files, I reached into my purse to see my phone. I had ten minutes. When I glanced over my shoulder, everything seemed as normal. No other Serena—yet.
Five more files. More Others. I pushed the second drawer shut, opened the third drawer.
Even more manila folders.
And it occurred to me: why was ultra-classified information like this being kept on paper? It should be locked away on a computer. Well, it probably was, but Serena Russo was a technophobe.
I had noticed it right away. She didn’t have a computer. She didn’t carry a smartphone or a tablet. She wore a wristwatch. When she and Allman had set up a meeting in my presence, she had written it in a paper planner.
If you were working for the World Army, technologically-averse was a terrible thing to be. Especially when one overly curious encantado decided to stick her nose in.
After three more folders, I finally found Empusa’s.
I had five minutes left, which meant I had to move fast. I shut the door and laid the file open on Serena’s desk. I pulled out my phone from my purse and started taking pictures.
Then I heard it: tap-tap, tap-tap. Those heels.
“Serena,” came a muffled voice, “you surprised me.”
I spent a second frozen, and then I flicked my phone over to text messages, shot off my pre-written text. It disappeared into the ether, and a second later read as delivered.
I only had two bars of reception. Please, I thought like a teenager waiting for her crush to acknowledge her text. Please.
I closed the folder, set it in the drawer and pressed it silently shut. Then I ducked down and waited. And prayed to the GoneGods for a miracle.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Serena’s shadow was at the door. She was rustling in her purse.
A swipe, and the double-chirp of the keycard entry. With that, the door began to open and I wondered if waterboarding would be effective on an encantado in her natural form.
But I wasn’t going to find out—not today.
With a burst of sound and light, the fire alarm went off. Somewhere in the building, Steve Allman was rushing to find his volunteer fire responder vest. But here in the biology lab, Serena let the door shut, and I was again alone in her office.
“Obrigado,” I whispered. Thank you, thank you.
I had minutes at most. Fortunately, resuming an old illusion wasn’t nearly as taxing—or as time-consuming—as taking on a new one.
Thirty seconds later, I rolled the hems of my fancy pant suit up so I could run barefooted out of Serena Russo’s office. I pushed my red hair out of my face as I navigated past the empty workstations and out of the lab, which had cleared at once.
Ahh, the good old threat of burning alive. Worked every time.
I ran down the hall and into the bathroom. I changed into my regular clothes and came out at a jog, bursting through the main doors of the biology building and crossing down the steps toward Aimee.
“Another stupid fire drill,” I said, turning back to look up at the building.
She rolled her eyes. “What a waste of time.”
Chapter 22
We dropped into our chairs, and I set my phone on the table between Aimee and me. My hands trembled at either side of it.
“I don’t think it’s safe enough here.” I glanced around the little deli we’d ducked into after leaving the biology building. We were only a couple blocks from the scene of our crime, and I was pretty sure the tap-tap of Dr. Russo’s shoes was going to be a trauma-trigger for the rest of my mortal life.
“Isa, there’s no one here except us.”
I pointed. “And that guy behind the counter.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s got earbuds in. And he’s jamming out.”
The Brazilian in me surfaced. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“OK.” She sighed. “He’s shuffling his feet and bobbing his head. Happy?”
I nodded, forcing a little smile. Faking it was making it, right? Even if I felt like a live wire on the inside.
“So, are you going to look at the pictures?” Aimee said.
I turned on the phone and unlocked it. As soon as I did, the last image I’d taken appeared on the screen. Aimee angled her head, and the two of us read what I’d captured from Empusa’s file, picture by picture.
When we got to the page detailing how to neutralize her, our gazes locked. “Holy shit,” Aimee said. “This is proof right here the World Army was behind this.”
“But why?” My eyes flicked back to the phone, then to Aimee. “Why would they do this on a college campus? There are more humans here than Others—in fact …”
“It’s all humans,” Aimee said.
“What is?”
“Everyone who’s been murdered. Not a single Other.”
My mouth hung open. She was right: at least four murders (that we knew of), and all Other-on-human. Not one instance of Other-on-Other. And while humans did outnumber Others in Montreal, if I had to guess at Empusa’s ratio if she were allowed to go on killing, it would remain 1:0.
All humans, no Others.
“They’re trying to instill fear of Others,” I said. “That’s why Tremblay wasn’t taking me seriously.”
“Who’s Tremblay?”
“The officer at the police station. He’s been in contact with the World Army.”
“Isn’t Justin a cadet with them, too?”
A needle pierced my chest; I set a hand there. “Yes.”
“D
o you think …?”
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t know about the connection between Empusa and the World Army. He’s not part of this.”
Her blue eyes stayed fast on me. “Are you sure?”
I slid my phone off the table, clicked the screen off. “I’m sure.” I dropped it into my purse, reached for my jacket.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m going to work,” I said. “I’m supposed to be in the lab.”
“If you were going to work, you would have looked at me when you said that.”
GoneGodDamn, she knew me well. I raised my eyes. “It’s not dark yet.”
“Don’t go after her, Isa. You and I both read what she’s capable of, and you’re not an Other-slayer.”
“Maybe not.” I rose from my seat. “But I know birds.”
She walked with me out of the deli and down the sidewalk. “Where are you going?”
The blessing and the curse of having a best friend: they don’t mind being clingy when they sense you’re about to do something dangerous.
“The butcher’s shop.”
“Uh … aren’t you a pescatarian?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize butchers only deal in non-fish?”
“Yes.”
“Can you give me something more than monosyllabic answers?”
“Well, give me something besides a yes/no question.” I was being difficult, and I knew it.
She threw her hands in the air. “Isa, why are you going to the butcher’s shop? I’m really nervous that you’re about to do something stupid.”
“I can’t tell you,” I said. I didn’t stop walking. “I’m sorry, Aimee.”
“Come on, without me you wouldn’t have gotten out of Serena’s office in one piece. You’d probably be in a World Army camp with a bag over your head or something.”
She was right, but that didn’t change things. I stopped, turning to her. Like mine, her cheeks were red and chapped from the winter wind. “Thank you for saving my behind, but please go home. I know you’ll get involved if I tell you more.”