by Nazri Noor
But then his eyes flew open.
Have you ever seen one of those horror movies where the hero’s just brushing his teeth, or flossing, maybe, minding his own business, when out of nowhere his reflection’s mouth curves into a sinister, demonic smile?
That’s what this was. That’s what happened. My heart was punching against the inside of my body, thumping at the sight of my own fucking face grinning at me with too-wide lips and far too much unfriendly intent. And in the jade light of the peach it was easy to see that his eyes were black. Jet black.
Mine were supposed to be blue. His eyes darted at me, like he always knew I was there. He wasn’t supposed to see me coming. He wasn’t supposed to hear me.
He wasn’t supposed to move so fast.
Chapter 8
In only two quick bounds the creature had closed the distance between us, his free arm winding up to strike. No time to panic, or for the yelp to move past my lips. I sank into the shadows, stepping into the Dark Room, the air displacing over my head as the creature missed its blow.
My lungs fought for breath as I shuffled through the tunnel of the Dark Room, board still in hand. It was hard enough to breathe there, and I didn’t need the uncertainty of what I was fighting to complicate things further. But tell me, how would you react to finding a near-perfect copy of yourself that wanted to kill you?
I clenched my fingers tighter over the plank as I reemerged in reality, crouched in a section of the warehouse at least a couple dozen feet away from where I had left Other-Dustin. Sweat slid in trickles down my nape as I surveyed the darkness for the beacon of green light that should have given him away, but he was missing.
Did he escape? Unlikely. The look on his face was thick with malice. No. Not his. It. This thing wasn’t me, wasn’t a man. I refused to accept that it was human. It knew who I was, and it drew pleasure from knowing that I was so disconcerted by its existence.
Something scraped against the ground. The thing was behind me, its leer grotesque, its teeth a sickly green in the light of the peach still clutched in its hand. I spun on my heel and swung the board with all my might. Other-Dustin raised its other hand to intercept the board, making a fist – and punched clear through the wood.
Fuck.
Broken splinters of wood clattered to the ground. Other-Dustin shook its fist back into an open hand, knuckles specked with blood, then aimed another blow at my face. I dodged, scampering backwards into the darkness, my eyes glued to the creature even as it trundled and bore down on me.
No way. There was no chance in hell that it could have been Thea. She was prone to speeches, the big damn villain that she was, and to shows of bravado. Brilliant spears of light, spells meant to destroy. But this thing was coming at me with everything its body could give, every swipe and surge of its extremities another attempt to kill and to maim.
Other-Dustin rushed me again, reaching for my collar, tugging at me with an infernal strength. I wasn’t that strong. Shit, no human should be that strong. My eyes darted around the darkness of the warehouse, scoping out Sterling’s position.
Where the fuck was he? I wasn’t going to out him. If there was one tactic we stuck to at the Boneyard, it was never letting the enemy know how many of us were present. It made them overconfident, and ultimately, easier to overwhelm and subdue. But if Sterling didn’t come soon –
Stall. That was the best I could do. If shit got real, I could slip away into the Dark Room. That would work, wouldn’t it? It only had me by my collar. Fuck, why didn’t I test this with someone from the Boneyard?
I already knew the answer, though: they liked me well enough, but not enough to risk getting dragged to an alternate dimension full of shadows and blades that would rip them to pieces, with or without my command.
“What do you want?” I croaked, the gathered fabric of my shirt and jacket cutting into my throat.
“What do you want?” the thing said, in my voice, with my mouth. But its eyes, God, its eyes were all wrong.
“Who are you?”
The thing’s grin dropped, and it tilted its head. Its hair fell away from its eyes, gleaming and black.
“Who are you?” it said, the words cold, and coarse. Could it only repeat things? It brought its face closer to mine. Other-Dustin was panting, as if the contact was exhilarating, as if excited by the imminent promise of violence. Its breath misted on my cheek. It was colder than the night air. My skin prickled.
Fuck. Fuck. “What are you?”
The thing grimaced. Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say.
“What are you?” it parroted, its voice high and short as it grabbed my clothing tighter, beginning to shake me. “What are you?” it demanded, its voice – my voice – shrill and breaking, spittle forming at the corner of its mouth. “What are you?”
I didn’t know. On some level I understood that the creature could only repeat what I said, but it cut me to hear those same horrible words from my own mouth. What was I? Hecate said so: I was an abomination. A beautiful monster. And what was it that monsters did?
I lifted my hand to the thing’s shirt, to the tattered assortment of clothes it had put on its body, searching for a spot of material that wasn’t drenched in its ice-cold sweat. It followed my hands with wild, black eyes. The fire I lit with my hands reflected in those eyes, turning them into coals, black and orange and smoldering.
Other-Dustin shrieked, beating at its clothes, doing a horrible dance as it stamped and flailed, one hand thrashing at the flames licking at its body, the other still cradling the Leung family’s artifact.
It flailed and screamed, body ablaze, slamming itself against the walls to smother the fire. For whatever reason its desperate bid to survive was working. Maybe it was the sweat soaked through its clothing that helped, or maybe it was some bizarre, inhuman instinct to live on.
It came at me again, burnt skin exposed through incinerated patches of its shirt, no more dead, but a whole lot angrier. I thought I had time to shadowstep, but it lunged, leaping for my throat. The two of us crashed to the ground, my back slamming painfully across the concrete. It straddled me, thighs locking around my chest and my ribcage. The thing clasped one too-strong hand around my throat, then started to press.
“What are you?” it croaked, pushing down on my neck so hard that my head ground into the cement. I groaned in pain, except that there wasn’t much air left to groan with. Wheezing, choking, I grabbed at Other-Dustin’s wrist, but nothing. It was far too strong.
Nothing for it, then. I had to shadowstep, whether or not it meant taking the thing with me. I willed myself to melt into the earth, to pass through my own shadow into the Dark Room, and my heart thumped ever faster when I realized I couldn’t.
I simply fucking couldn’t. The lining between that reality and this one held fast, the first time since I’d awakened to my talent that the membrane between worlds was impenetrable. I couldn’t take Other-Dustin with me. I couldn’t shadowstep, and with cold, stark dread, I realized what was worse – I was going to die.
Then a crack, and a faint exhalation of air. Other-Dustin grunted, the gleam in its eyes fading, the strength in its grip fading even faster as it wavered, then collapsed backward. I gasped, sucking at the world for air, relishing its sweetness as it came rushing back into my lungs. I clutched at my throat, breathing deeply, deeper still. I was alive. At least one of us was.
Sterling stood over the both of us, dusting his hands off, already reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. I stared down at Other-Dustin’s corpse, at how its neck was positioned at a completely unnatural angle.
“You killed it. You snapped its neck.”
Sterling took a long draw of his cigarette, then exhaled a stream that vanished into the high ceiling of the warehouse. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
Death wasn’t the result I had wanted. I had no intention of killing the thing. It might have known something. But even as I watched its limp body, studied the grim lifelessness of its black eyes, I
knew that this creature wasn’t anything normal, not some human mage in disguise, not a magical thing hiding under a glamour. Then what was it? Had an entity sent it to cause trouble for me via impersonation? Worse, had the entity sent it to kill me?
“You should have acted more decisively,” Sterling huffed. “That could have gone so much more badly for you.”
“But we could have captured it. We could have questioned it.”
“You could have died, you idiot.”
I bit my lip, my eyes focused on the ground. “Yeah. Okay.”
Sterling sighed, an irritated, long-suffering sound. “Thank you for saving my life, Sterling. Thank you for disposing of the thing that was trying to kill me. You’re so strong, and brave, and handsome.”
I rubbed at the soreness on my neck, already sure it was developing into a bruise. “Thanks,” I muttered.
He grunted, sifting through his pockets. I frowned when I realized what he had retrieved from inside his jacket.
“A syringe?” And a pair of phials.
“I might get hungry.”
“Sterling. That’s disgusting, even for you.”
He rolled his eyes again. “It was a joke. We might be able to use this thing’s blood. Just trust me on this for once.” He kicked the corpse, as if to test whether it was truly dead, then bent low to begin his extraction. “I’m sure it won’t mind.”
I turned away, suddenly squeamish at the sight of Sterling very nearly desecrating what very well could have been my corpse. I should have had the balls to do it myself – to kill it – but I hesitated. Maybe I was afraid. But I didn’t need the flames, nor did I need to shadowstep to escape.
All I needed to do was hone my connection to the Dark Room, to open just enough of a gap between it and our reality, and I could call a blade of gleaming shadow to kill it in one strike. But I didn’t. Fuck it, I couldn’t. How do you kill something that has its own face? Hell. How do you kill something that wears your face?
Sterling rose from the floor, pocketing his effects, then nudging the corpse with his boot once more. It almost felt like he was getting a kick out of it because it looked so much like me.
Then the corpse moved.
Sterling sprang towards me, hauling me by the back of my jacket with his horrific vampire strength until we were safely away from Other-Dustin’s twitching, convulsing remains.
But it wasn’t coming back to life. Smoke rose from the thing’s body, hissing and churning, and I bit back my revulsion when I realized that the corpse was melting, disassembling into its fluid components right before our eyes.
The smell of burning meat filled my nostrils, and I fought the urge to retch. The last of its organic matter bubbled and burbled on the cement, and the smoke cleared. All that was left of the creature was a puddle of gore.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Sterling tugged on my collar, pulling my face uncomfortably close to his. He thrust one hand out at the puddle. “This won’t be the last of this, Graves, and the next time you run into one of those things, you need to be ready to end the fight quickly.”
“I set it on fire,” I mumbled. “What more do you want from me? What more do you want me to do?”
“Show that you’re not afraid of some magic trick. Show that you can handle your clones.” Sterling stabbed a finger at Other-Dustin’s remains, then released me roughly, his eyes twin points of steel, his voice like the edge of a blade. “It’s simple. The next time this happens? Kill yourself.”
Chapter 9
God but I couldn’t get the stench of burning meat out of my nose. The walk back to Madam Chien’s apothecary had done its work of replenishing the air in my lungs with something almost fresher, but it stuck to me still, lingering like a terrible memory. Barbecued flesh, simmering fat and skin, hair scorched to cinders. Worst of all was not knowing whether it was human.
And Sterling was no help at all. He’d taken up the task of describing Other-Dustin’s death to Prudence and the others with a little too much excitement. Madam Chien’s face screwed into something very much like a dried plum as Sterling went on, gesticulating wildly and placing emphasis on how he very much enjoyed killing my mirror image.
Even Gil was cringing at the retelling, as if I needed further evidence to signify how utterly fucked up this all was. I’d watched someone with my own face die right before me. It made me wonder if I would look like that when I died, with my mouth half open, drool at the corner of my lips, my eyes unfocused and glazed. Those terrible black eyes.
“A doppelganger,” Madam Chien said. “That does not bode well for you, shadow boy.” She pushed her fists into her waist, surveying her shop. The broken glass had been cleaned up, at least.
Prudence shrugged. “It’s already dead. Isn’t that what they say? You’re fine if the doppelganger dies.”
I knew she was trying to be supportive, but it hardly helped, knowing what Sterling had said about the possibility of there being more of those things out there. Surely the same creature couldn’t have stolen the Heartstopper, then broken into Bastion’s place, and then Madam Chien’s, all in such a small span of time.
“Could be fae,” Gil offered, sweeping at an already clean floor with a broom. “Which is even worse. A changeling? Cripes, it could be anything. It just needed a glamour.”
“The fae would have left something behind. A token, a corpse, something to tie their bodies to their realm.” Sterling shook his head. “I’m telling you, this thing practically dissolved.”
“Carver,” I breathed, finding my voice at last. “If anyone has an answer, Carver does.”
Gil deposited his broom in a closet by the counter. “You two head back to the Boneyard and ask him, then.”
“The Boneyard?” Prudence quirked an eyebrow.
“Long story. But best option there is. You guys go talk to Carver. Prue and I will stay here with Madam Chien until morning, or at least until someone shows up to fix the window.”
Madam Chien patted the back of his hand, her eyes brightening as she grinned. “Such a good boy. You’ll make a good husband. Stay here. I’ll make tea.”
Gil blushed crimson. I grinned, but the smile dropped clear off my face when Prudence lifted her finger and rushed me.
“Behave,” she said.
I raised my hands, backing away. “Hey. I didn’t say nothing.”
Her finger thrust past my head. “No. About that.”
I followed where her finger was pointing. The grimace came naturally to my face. I wasn’t expecting Bastion to be standing on the sidewalk outside the apothecary. Sterling followed my line of sight, and I could tell that his posture tightened.
The Boneyard and our “friends” at the Lorica might have broken bread together once, but it was clear that Sterling was still a bit sore about that one time Bastion dropped a car on him.
“Hey,” I told Prudence, clenching my fist. “He threw the first punch, okay? I didn’t even get to hit him back.”
“Just – he looks sorry, okay? At least I think he is. Look at the dumb idiot.”
I did. Bastion’s shoulders were rounded, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. Even his hair, normally styled to looked mussed and effortless, seemed limp. I squinted at him, and grumbled. This was by design.
The fucker needed something from me. I could say whatever I wanted about disliking Bastion Brandt, but I couldn’t call him stupid. He had his own brand of cunning, and I hated to admit that it was working – at least at raising my hackles.
I gave Madam Chien and the others a curt nod, then pushed my way through the front door. The door chimes tinkled, then again as Sterling followed cautiously, sticking weirdly close to my back. Bastion’s lips were pursed. He looked up at me, back down at the sidewalk, then scuffed one of his shoes against the ground. The asshole. I knew that trick, too.
“All right, Brandt. Spit it out. You want something, just say it.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’ll be real, that
caught me off guard.
“I mean it. I’m genuinely sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like I did.”
“Lashed out is an interesting way to put it,” I said, rubbing my jaw. Asher really did a great job. I thought there’d be bruising at the very least, but I felt fine. “So. You need something. You wouldn’t have shown up here past midnight if you didn’t.”
Bastion clenched his jaw. Ah, I knew it. His eyes flitted from Sterling, then back to me. “Okay. But not here. We need to talk. Ride with me.” He thumbed over his shoulder.
I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed the black luxury sedan parked right behind him. I was just going to ask where his motorcycle was when an older man stepped out of the driver’s seat, then opened the rear door, his head bowed slightly.
“Huh,” Sterling said. “Fancy.”
“He’s coming with,” I said, patting Sterling on the shoulder.
Bastion frowned. “Really? Is that necessary?”
Sterling hissed. Vampire instincts, I guess. Old habits die hard.
“Can’t hurt, can it? I’d feel safer. Shit’s going down in Valero, man. You’ve obviously heard about Prudence’s grandma, or you wouldn’t have known where to find us.”
“Fine. Just – fine. Hurry and get in.”
Sterling slipped into the car first, and I followed, ending up sandwiched between him and Bastion. The first thing I noticed were the leather seats. Firm, but somehow luxuriously buttery. The second was the minibar. The third, when the driver climbed back in, was the fact that he was wearing gloves.
“Either you’re planning to murder me somewhere nice and private, or this is the beginning of a very interesting party.”
“Neither.” Bastion leaned forward, and in the calmest, kindest voice I’d ever heard, spoke again. “Remington? Home, please.”
The driver bowed his head of white hair, muttering something that sounded very much like “Yes, sir.”
