The hair on the back of his neck prickling, Dr. Petrov slowly turned and stared down the long, sterile corridor toward room six-zero-two. “Nurse,” he said slowly, “pull his history for me.”
“Certainly, Doctor.” With a few swipes and taps on the device, she had it, and handed the pad over.
Male, aged twenty-nine, admitted mid-November after a head injury caused by a high fall. No response to pain stimulus, no verbal or motor responses, brain injury classified as severe. For all intents and purposes, he was as “alive” as a zucchini. His medical history indicated general good health prior to the accident, with the exception of diabetes which he’d had since childhood. It was being managed by a daily dose of . . .
Now all the tiny hairs on Dr. Petrov’s arms stood on end. He looked deeper into the patient’s history to confirm that he had, for the last twenty years, been taking Glucaphase, a once-daily pill manufactured—as all drugs were—by the Phoenix Corporation.
He’d seen a patient only yesterday who claimed her eczema was cured after going on mesalamine for ulcerative colitis. And last week another patient who’d been scheduled for open-heart surgery to correct an atrioventricular canal defect he’d had since birth had insisted on a final round of tests because, as he put it, “I suddenly feel finer than a frog hair split three ways.”
Those final round of tests showed a man in perfect health. His heart had mysteriously healed.
He’d been taking a drug for migraines from the Phoenix Corporation for six months.
“Doctor? Are you all right?”
With the feeling he’d been staring at something huge and obvious and looking right through it, Dr. Petrov slowly set the data pad back on the counter. He looked at the nurse. He said, “Have you done something with your hair? You look . . . different.”
The nurse, blushing, reached up and touched her head. “Oh! Thank you, Doctor. No, my hair is the same. But I’m not wearing my glasses, maybe that’s it.”
Yes, that was it. She’d worn an elegant little pair of gold glasses since he’d known her. Without them, her face looked younger, brighter. “Got contacts, have you?”
She laughed self-consciously. “No. Funny thing is, I just haven’t seemed to need my glasses anymore. Last week I realized I hadn’t been wearing them all day, and was getting around fine. Which is strange because I had terrible vision, but . . . it just sort of . . . fixed itself.” She shrugged, still self-conscious. “Not that I’m complaining!”
The buzzing from the ceiling lights seemed suddenly a thundering racket in his ears. “What a stroke of luck,” he said to the nurse, feeling as if someone had just pulled the wool from over his eyes to reveal a new and quite monstrous landscape. “Tell me, nurse, are you by chance taking any kind of medication?”
The nurse blinked at him, surprised. “No, Doctor. Nothing.”
A little of the tightening in Dr. Petrov’s chest eased. “You’re sure? Nothing?”
“I’m sure. I hate taking pills; I have problems swallowing them.”
“What about injections? Inhalants? Sublingual drops?”
The nurse was beginning to look nervous. “Doctor, I don’t get sick. You know that; I’ve never missed a day of work. And I don’t have any health problems. You could say I’m as healthy as a horse.”
Coincidence, then. Dr. Petrov was beginning to feel a bit better, until the nurse added one final thing.
“Well, except for that time of the month.”
The doctor froze, staring at his attractive young nurse, who was now looking back at him sheepishly.
“I get terrible cramps the first day of my cycle, so I just started taking Femistrin a few months ago. They’re these tiny little pills, so I can get them down without too much trouble.”
“I see,” replied the doctor, from somewhere far outside himself. And see he did, but in the clarity of this sudden understanding came the knowledge that revealing what he had just deduced would bring him nothing but trouble, most likely of the fatal sort. So because Dr. Petrov was, above all things, a practical man, he shut his mouth, gave the nurse his best bland, doctorly smile, and dropped the subject.
As he went about the rest of his day, a small, secret part of him marveled at the way Man continually underestimated the subversive, creative genius of Mother Nature.
He wondered what She had in store for the human race next.
TWENTY-SIX
It was a five-hour ride to Lu and Magnus’s next stop, through a dark wasteland of empty roads, skeletal trees in rotted forests, and sluggish black rivers, their banks clogged with decaying trash. Lu had never been outside New Vienna, and was horrified at what the Earth had become, littered with the corpse of civilization. Everything was abandoned, the towns and streets and sky, and her sense of loneliness and despair was crushing.
How could the world ever be made new again?
The idea had taken root: this hopeless world made new. She’d only just admitted it to herself, and was mentally trying it on like a new dress to see if it fit. It bunched and puckered in places, scratchy and too tight, but the more she dwelled on the thought of a different sort of world as they rode, the more stubborn the thought became, until she eventually realized it was more than a possibility.
It was an inevitability. In its current form, the world was unsustainable. Left so long neglected, it would eventually perish, and so would the ragged dregs of life that still inhabited it.
Lu didn’t want the world to die. She wanted it to be, as she’d been, resurrected.
Her plan to this point had only revolved around getting her mother and father out of the IF’s prison, but as she and Magnus navigated through the charred ruins of Europe, the plan seemed too small in scope. She could rescue her parents, possibly even set free the other prisoners, but what then? Where could they go? Where could they hide where they wouldn’t be hunted? And if she were to free them, how would all those prisoners survive in a world designed specifically to destroy them?
No. Rescue couldn’t be the ultimate goal.
The ultimate goal needed to be the death of Sebastian Thorne.
The problem was, Lu had no idea how she might go about it. How could she get to him? Where the hell did the man even live?
Another dilemma: Killing Thorne wouldn’t be self-defense. It would be murder. Premeditated. First degree. That little detail was giving her already raw conscience hissy fits.
“We’re off at the next exit,” came Magnus’s voice through the ear bud in her helmet. He was ahead of her by a few yards, as he’d been the entire trip since they’d left Nola’s, navigating a safe path through roads and highways that were more than occasionally strewn with obstacles. She pulled up beside him and he glanced over. Through the helmet’s shield she saw his eyes, glossed with fatigue, and she wondered how much he’d slept last night, on his back on the floor beside her bed.
As he pulled his gaze away and returned to his place ahead of her, Lu wondered if either of them would ever enjoy a good night’s sleep again.
When finally they reached their destination, a small cabin tucked away deep in the German wilderness somewhere between New Frankfurt and Nuremberg, she was exhausted, too, as much from the wild careenings of her mind as from the journey.
Their hosts, a gray-haired couple in their late sixties who spoke only hushed, hesitant German, were as different from Nola and James as day from night. Words were few and supper was served without ceremony. Lu realized, watching them skitter about the small cabin like creatures of prey in a nighttime woods, that they were terrified. Of what they were risking, harboring her and Magnus. Of what might happen to them if they were caught.
If courage could be defined as the ability to do the thing that scares you most, these people were giants of bravery.
“Wir in ihrer schuld sind,” Lu said quietly to the woman after the supper dishes were cleared and she’d shown Lu to
the cramped bedroom she and Magnus would be sharing. Another twin bed stared back mockingly at her from the middle of it.
The woman shook her head, then looked her in the eye. “No,” she answered in German. “The debt is ours. Had mankind been wise enough to stand up for what was right all those years ago, we wouldn’t be in the position we’re in now. The minute we turned our backs on you, we turned our backs on ourselves. That’s why we joined the Dissenters.” Her eyes were overbright. Her mouth was pinched. She looked as if she hadn’t truly slept in years. “There is only one way out of the fire, child, and that is to walk through it. But the Lord promises that if we have faith, we shall not be burned. And my faith could move mountains.”
Lu’s throat tightened. This woman reminded her so much of her father and Liesel it was like a spear through her heart. “Danke,” she whispered. On impulse, she threw her arms around the woman, and squeezed her into a hug.
She froze, but quickly recovered, even chuckling after a moment and patting Lu on the back. When she pulled away, some of the fear had left her face. She gave Lu a gentle, tentative smile, pinching her cheek like a grandmother. “I’ll give you pastries to take with you in the morning; you need some meat on these skinny bones. In the meantime, sleep. And sweet dreams, child. You deserve them.”
“You, too,” Lu murmured. The woman left on silent, slippered feet, and she and Magnus were alone.
“You like her,” he said, staring out the lone window in the room where he’d stationed himself since they’d been shown in. Like all the windows, it sported blackout shades, but he’d pushed them aside to peer into the night.
“I like anyone who offers me pastries.” She tossed her small pack on the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress, and pulled off her boots, throwing them into a corner. “Or who’s willing to stick out her neck for what she believes in.”
Magnus turned from the window, letting the shade snap back in place. She felt his gaze like two hot hands on her back, but refused to turn and meet it. Though everything was left to be said, also nothing was, and she didn’t have the energy for either. Avoidance seemed the best course of action. “You had the floor last night, so you should take the bed—”
“Shut up,” he said mildly. Startled, Lu turned and looked at him. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and she realized he’d said it on purpose to make her look at him. She raised her brows and gave him a look, which he waved off with an imperious flick of his wrist.
“You’re still the girl, and I’m still the guy. I’ll take the floor.”
“Excuse me, mister sexist, but I’m a woman, not a girl. Additionally, my gender has absolutely no bearing on our sleeping arrangements—”
“Shut up,” he said again, this time with a quirk to his lips that looked suspiciously close to a smile. “Woman.”
Lu studied him a moment. “Just out of curiosity, are you bipolar?”
“I’ve definitely been called worse.” He sat on a chair opposite the bed and pulled off his own boots, tossing them aside in the exact offhand manner she’d done only moments before. Lu couldn’t decide which was more disturbing: the sight of his bare feet, strong and oddly sexy against the wood floor, or this new lightheartedness that had come over him without any seeming cause. She wanted to ask him about it, but was afraid the question might chase away his good mood, so she made a noncommittal noise and went to use the bathroom.
When she emerged, Magnus was on his back on the floor with his hands beneath his head. His eyes were closed.
“At least take the pillow,” Lu protested, stepping around him to the bed. She pulled the pillow from it, dropped it onto his face, then jumped under the covers just in time to hear his growl.
The pillow came flying over the bed, this time landing on her own face.
“Stubborn much?” she muttered, wrestling it aside. She stuffed it under her head and stared up at the ceiling, realizing she was still fully clothed. That wouldn’t make for a comfortable night’s sleep. As surreptitiously as possible, she unzipped her jacket, slid the trousers down her legs, and kicked both out from under the covers so they slithered to the floor on the opposite side from where Magnus lay.
After a quiet moment, he said, “Was that your attempt at being stealthy?”
Lu’s cheeks burned. Even in darkness, she felt exposed. “Some people can’t sleep dressed, Magnus.”
“I took my boots off,” he said, perfectly reasonable, and Lu smiled in the dark.
“The things that make you smile,” he said to himself, a hint of laughter warming his voice.
“How did you know I was smiling?”
Another quiet moment. Then, all laughter gone, he whispered, “The air feels lighter. And . . . so does my heart.”
It sat there between them. Such a small thing, but it felt immense and dangerous, as if he’d admitted to murder, or plotting a government coup. It also felt fragile as a soap bubble floating on a breeze. She wanted to capture that bubble in her hand and stare at it awhile, before it burst.
Lu whispered, “Magnus?”
He waited, not answering. The silence was deafening. Her heartbeat went jagged, and she knew he could sense that, as well as he could sense her longing and her wretchedness, the hole that had always been inside of her that nothing seemed to fill, except him. Lu swallowed the words she wanted to say, a litany of I need you I want you I think I’ve loved you my whole life, and said other, less perilous, words instead.
“What you said before, about what the Ikati really are. Our true form. Will you . . . will you show me?”
A quiet inhalation. “Now?”
His voice was gentle, a little unsure, and his hesitation worked on her like a reverse spell, releasing her own doubt so she sat up in bed with sudden, ravenous confidence. She looked down at him. He looked back at her, his eyes shining mercury bright in the darkness.
“Yes. Now.”
Slowly, he sat up from the floor. Then he stood, holding her gaze, those silvery cat’s eyes flashing. He removed his jacket, then dragged his shirt over his head and let it fall, so that finally he stood before her bare-chested and magnificent, in spite of the snarl of scar tissue that marked all the skin on his right side. Or maybe even because of it.
His hands went to the top button of his trousers, and Lu couldn’t look away. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t.
She needn’t have worried, however, because before Magnus’s fingers had undone a single button, his hands and arms and chest had begun to glow softly, and the room was bathed in light.
It only took a few moments. He went from solid to beautifully amorphous, a man-sized shape of curling gray mist and tiny pinpricks of dancing lights, until the Magnus that had just stood before her had entirely transformed into a ruffling, shimmering cloud of vapor. His trousers slid empty to the floor and lay there, leaking air.
Lu jumped from the bed, clapping and squealing, bobbing up and down on her toes. “Yes! That’s amazing! I used to vanish when I sneezed before I learned how to control it, but this is—”
She fell still and silent because the beautiful cloud of vapor began to swirl around her in a sinuous coil, drifting over and around her whole body, slipping like living silk against her skin.
“Oh,” she breathed, lowering her arms as they were gently surrounded by mist. The mist trailed down her legs and Lu became acutely aware that she wore only her panties and a camisole. A tremor passed through her body, and the soft cloud contracted slightly around her, as if in an embrace.
Lu closed her eyes. She said his name, the barest whisper of sound between her lips. Feeling him like this was intimate and intensely sexual, so much so that a surge of heat passed over her, heat and desire, hardening her nipples and sending a spike of pleasure straight down between her legs.
The cloud of mist withdrew. She was left bereft, trembling, undone.
Then the mist changed
again, drawing in on itself to coalesce into another form, not man or mist, or anything she would have ever imagined in all her wildest dreams.
A huge, powerful body, rippling with muscles. Four legs and sharp fangs and a long, sinuous tail, almond eyes glowing phosphorescent green against a wedge-shaped head covered in glossy black fur. As was the rest of him.
A panther. The most incredible, impossible thing Lu had ever seen. Shock leached the strength from her legs, and she sank to the mattress.
The animal stalked slowly toward her, a low rumbling purr vibrating through its chest. In disbelief, Lu began softly to laugh. He stopped a foot away, watching her with those preternatural eyes. He was feral and unnaturally large, towering over her and looking as if he was about to devour her whole with that set of impressive teeth.
“Well,” whispered Lu when her laughter had faded. “Aren’t you a pretty kitty.”
His snout wrinkled, curling back to reveal razor-sharp canines. Lu sensed how dangerous he was in this form, far more dangerous and perhaps less rational than in human form. But she wasn’t afraid of him; she was fascinated. She reached out and tentatively brushed her fingers against his cheek, and oh, what exquisite plush softness, like the finest mink.
His whiskers twitched. The rumble deep in his chest grew louder. His eyes closed, just longer than a blink.
“Is this okay?” Lu slid her fingers along his jaw, rubbing softly, then scratched him behind the ear. He tilted his big head into her hand, allowing it, but slanted her a look she interpreted to mean he wasn’t a household pet, and if she called him kitty again he might be inclined to spray urine on her pillow in retaliation.
She bit her lip to stifle another laugh. “Does the sourpuss need some catnip to improve his mood? A little fresh cream, maybe? How ’bout a nice ball of twine to bat around?”
Into Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel) Page 25
