Outcast

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “Say it, Kat. Promise me.”

  I rolled my eyes again. What can I say? I’m still technically a teenager, and rolling my eyes is second nature to me. It’s like breathing. “I promise to be careful,” I said, drawing out the word ‘promise’ in annoyance.

  “Glad to hear it,” Garth said with a dry laugh. “Alright, I should go. My family’s going to be disappointed, but . . .” He sighed. “I made this girl a promise . . .”

  Eye roll number three. In the kitchen, I could hear Nik choking on a laugh. I’d forgotten he was in there. Flustered, I quickly ended the call, stood, and marched into the kitchen, where Nik was in the process of washing the dishes. “You’re such an ass-turd,” I said, then chucked the phone at him.

  He caught it with wet, soapy hands, easy peasy, his expression all concealed amusement. “As opposed to all those other kinds of turds?”

  “Har har.” I leaned my hip against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest and tossing out eye roll number four. Apparently I was going for a record.

  “You should get some rest.” Nik tucked a plate into a free slot in the dishwasher. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even had enough dirty dishes to warrant using the dishwasher. “Take the bedroom. I’ll grab some shut-eye out here.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Did you really just offer me my bed?” Shaking my head, I pushed off the counter and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth before crashing. “Barely here a week, and you’re already acting like you own the place . . .”

  He laughed quietly as I walked away, and the sound was unexpectedly reassuring. Having him at my side meant the world to me. It meant that maybe, just maybe, my plan would work. I couldn’t help but smile. Just a little.

  ***

  “Almost done,” I mumbled around the cap to my second-most-faded black Sharpie. Chewing on the plastic helped me focus, allowing me to think less and let the electric hum the universe was channeling through me take over. My knees ached from kneeling on hardwood for so long, but I pushed through the pain.

  I was almost done with the gateway, just in the process of shading the glare on the polished composite floor in the lobby of the offices on the sixtieth floor of the Columbia Center, the Ouroboros Corporation’s Seattle base of operations. The lobby was the closest place to the boardroom that I’d ever been, and I’d never tried to create a gateway to somewhere entirely new to me. I wasn’t sure the magic would work if I didn’t already have some frame of reference. And now certainly wasn’t the time to test the extent of my gateway-creating power.

  “That was fast,” Nik said from the kitchen. He was fixing grilled cheese and tomato soup for our pre-ambush lunch. “Just under forty minutes,” he added, sounding impressed.

  The corner of my mouth lifted in the tiniest of smiles. I squashed my peacocking pride and refocused on the drawing on the hallway wall. In less than a minute, that extra-powerful zing of otherworldly energy pulsed through me, and the drawing bled to life. Janelle, the icy receptionist I’d grappled wills with last week, sat behind the long, curved reception desk, fingers clacking away on a computer keyboard as she spoke into her headset. Something about making sure everything was in place for the meeting. Apparently there would be bagels and fruit. Oh . . . and donuts!

  I sat back on my heels, admiring my work. It was so tempting to go through the gateway now, but doing so would defeat the purpose. We wanted—needed—all of the board members to be in the boardroom when we crashed the party. It was the only way to ensure all the required knowledge would be at our fingertips. Waiting would be a bitch, but at least there’d be crispy grilled cheese to help pass the time.

  Which, as it turned out, was fantastic. Who knew Nik could cook? I suppose it shouldn’t have shocked me, what with the thousands and thousands of years under his belt, but still, I was impressed. Perfectly melted sharp cheddar on toasted bread that was equal parts crispy and buttery dipped into creamy tomato soup that I was fairly certain was homemade forced me to redefine my personal idea of heaven. I happily stuffed my face and wasn’t the least bit ashamed when I licked the last bit of buttery goodness off my fingertips.

  “Guess you liked it,” Nik commented.

  I froze, the tip of my thumb in my mouth, and met his eyes across the small kitchen table. Remembering where I was and who I was with, I opted to finish cleaning my hands using the paper napkin in my lap. “It was alright,” I said with a halfhearted shrug.

  Nik snorted softly, then glanced into the kitchen. “Five till one,” he said, his eyes on the stove clock. “Let’s get suited up. We can take care of the dishes later.”

  My heart rate was already picking up, and I could feel my chest rising and falling with more enthusiasm than usual. It was game time. I nodded, scooting back my chair and standing. “Would you mind doing me a favor?” I said to Nik as I reached for the leather sword harness hanging from the back of the chair adjacent to mine.

  “Depends on the favor.”

  I paused, leveling a flat stare his way. So far, I’d never asked a single thing of him that he’d refused, never asked him to cross a line he wasn’t willing to cross, and I couldn’t help but wonder where, exactly, his line might be.

  “Can you make Mercy visible again?” I asked, holding the invisible At sword out to him. “I figure she might instill a little more fear if her potential victims can actually see her.”

  A slow, wicked grin spread across Nik’s face. “I have to say, Kitty Kat—I like the way you think.”

  22

  Nik and I stood side by side in the hallway, staring into the active gateway to the Ouroboros lobby. The board meeting was scheduled to begin at one, ten minutes ago.

  “They should all be in there by now,” I said, my elbow brushing Nik’s as I glanced at the watch on my left wrist. Nik had lent it to me so I’d stop asking him to check his phone for the time. The only other clock in the apartment was on the stove, and what can I say—I’m lazy.

  “Yep.” Nik’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he was wearing that long, black leather jacket that I remembered so well from the ill-fated weeks we spent hunting rogue Nejerets together—or attempting to hunt them—a couple decades ago. He was completely unarmed, mostly because with magic like his, he was the weapon.

  Like him, I wore a black leather coat, but unlike him, I was armed with more than just my wits and the innate magic afforded me by my sheut. Mercy was strapped to my back, returned to her full, visible glory. Needle daggers were tucked into the sheaths sewn into the interior of my sleeves, the corded leather bracelet on my left wrist doubled as a garrote, and a two-inch push knife was hidden in my belt buckle. I also had two not-so-hidden combat knives on the outsides of my ankles in boot sheaths and a fragile-looking At vial holding a couple tablespoons of infected blood hanging from a chain around my neck—our secret weapon—and my left coat pocket was stuffed full of black Sharpies, our backup exit strategy. Nik carried plan A, rolled up and stuffed into his back pocket.

  I glanced at Nik sidelong. His dark brown hair was slicked back, the sides freshly buzzed, and his pale stare was locked on the gateway, cold and focused.

  “We’ve only got one shot at this,” I told him.

  “Yep,” he said, not looking at me. He was in the zone.

  I rolled my head from one shoulder to the other, cracking my neck and psyching myself up. My whole body vibrated under the force of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. We could do this. I cracked my knuckles. We could do this.

  Licking my lips, I watched Janelle stand and walk to the edge of the curved reception desk to chat with a young businessman. From the looks of their body language, a whole lot of flirting was going on. For the moment, the two appeared to be the only people in the lobby. Janelle was distracted, some distance between her and the insta-security button. We wouldn’t get a better chance than this.

  “On the count of three,” I said.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Nik nod.

  “One . . . two . . .�
�� We exchanged a glance. “Three.”

  Nik and I stepped through the gateway. Janelle and her amorous colleague didn’t notice us until we were practically on top of them. We had them both tied up and gagged with At restraints and stowed under the reception desk—out of sight and mind—in less than thirty seconds.

  “This way,” Nik said, jogging toward the hallway shooting off from the right side of the lobby. We’d studied the building plans that morning, before I’d started drawing the gateway, and we had a pretty good idea of the layout of the entire floor. Our diligence paid off; we rushed past several offices and were closing in on the nearest of the two doors to the boardroom before any of the occupants of the offices could even get their doors open.

  “Hey!” someone yelled behind us. “You can’t go in there!”

  But their warning was too late. My hand was already on the door handle. Plus, it wasn’t like one little human could do anything to stop us.

  I shoved the door open and stepped into the boardroom, basking in the outraged gasps, shocked expressions, and half-standing poses of the twelve people seated around the long, mahogany table. A thirteenth person, a youthful businessman, sat in the far corner of the room, a tablet on his lap, his fingers frozen over the attached keyboard. Bad luck, him being here. He picked a terrible day to play note-taker to this group of corporate slimeballs. I almost felt bad for the guy. Except for the part where he chose to work here.

  Nik followed me in, and I heard him shut and lock the door.

  “This is a closed meeting,” a woman said from the head of the table. I recognized her immediately—Constance Ward, CEO and Chairman of the Board. The ends of her blonde bob brushed the shoulders of her cream silk blouse as she pushed back her chair and stood. Her stare was hard, her expression stony. Apparently corporate Constance was nothing like the warm, caring mother I’d peeped on a couple days ago. “You need to leave.”

  I took one more step into the room and pushed out my bottom lip. “But I heard there’d be donuts.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the spread of solidified At coat the walls, ceiling, and floor of the boardroom, looking so much like a rapidly spreading sheet of ice. In a few more seconds, it would coat the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room, blocking out the insanely gorgeous view, and we’d all be effectively sealed in.

  Constance’s eyes strayed from me as the imprisoning shell of At caught her attention. “You’re Nejeret,” she said, her head moving as she watched the progression of the otherworldly material. Her gaze returned to me. “I know you.” A hint of fear gleamed in her eyes. “You’re her—the Ink Witch.”

  “Gold star for you, Connie.” I flashed her a cheeky grin. “Cute kids, by the way,” I added with a wink.

  Her eyes rounded, and she blanched. Ever so slowly, she sank back down into her seat, her hand migrating up to her chest. She opened her mouth, then licked her lips. “You—how—” She swallowed roughly, her eyes tearing up. “Please . . . don’t hurt them.”

  I honestly hadn’t intended it as a threat. In a twilight zone kind of way, I sort of respected Constance, and I actually felt a little remorse for making her think I intended her family any harm. I mean, come on—I protect kids, I don’t kill them. My gut twisted as Abigail’s ghostly visage floated through my mind. Usually.

  “We’re sealed in,” Nik said from behind me.

  I took a deep breath. It was showtime. “Everyone sit down,” I said, reaching over my shoulder and drawing my sword. Mercy’s blade came free with a melodic ring.

  The few board members who’d risen from their seats when we barged in eased back down. Their movements were painfully slow, like they feared drawing my attention their way would put a target on their backs. Too late.

  I did a pointless but fancy-looking spin-twist with my sword, then flipped it up and rested the flat of the blade against my shoulder. Best if these corporate asshats realized Mercy wasn’t just for show, but that I knew how to use her; it might make the proceedings move a little faster.

  “Raise your hand if you remember a little boy named Sammy,” I said.

  Nik rounded the head of the table to take up a position on the other side, leaning back against the At-coated windows, his hands in the pockets of his long leather coat. He was the only person who moved in the long seconds that followed my request.

  After scanning the owlish faces surrounding the long table, I exhaled heavily, exasperated already. I whipped Mercy’s blade out, slapping it on the table’s surface. Every single human jumped in their seats.

  “Who remembers Sammy?” I started to move around the table, dragging the tip of my sword as I went.

  The razor-sharp At blade glided up the sleeve of a board member—a balding older fellow I recognized as one Gregory Spelt, Vice Chair of the Board. The blade traveled across the shoulders of his suit jacket, then crossed to the shoulders of the woman sitting beside him. Melinda Jones flinched when the blade first landed on her bony frame, then tensed up like she was being electrocuted.

  I continued on like that, eyeing those across the table from me, not letting them look away. “You know,” I said, “the cute little homeless boy you guys yanked off the street? The one you infected with an engineered disease?”

  I paused, putting the slightest pressure on the sword as it inched down a male board member’s arm. Mercy’s blade cut through the fabric of his sleeve. I couldn’t remember this guy’s name, but I was fascinated by the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and temples. I leaned in, focusing on his quaking eyelashes. “You know,” I said, voice hushed, “the boy you let good ol’ Mitch have some quality alone time with before you released him. The one you hoped would infect as many people as possible.”

  My current friend yelped, and the coppery scent of blood reached my nostrils.

  I straightened and glanced down at his arm, where a dark spot of blood blossomed on his sleeve. “Whoopsie,” I said, tone flat. “My bad.” I winked at the guy before raising Mercy and once again resting her blade on my shoulder. “Guess I got a little too eager.”

  “You’re insane,” a guy said from Constance’s end of the table. He was the youngest looking of the board members, and I pulled the name Scott Easton from memory.

  I also pulled a needle dagger from my sleeve with my free hand and flung it his way. It struck him in the forehead, sticking in his skull and reverberating with a dull thwang. He shouted out in pain, then brought his shaking hands up to his forehead. I’d used just enough force to get the knife to stick in the bone, but not enough to actually pierce his skull and enter his brain.

  “I’m not insane,” I said, stalking around the table. I yanked the dagger free from Scott’s dense head, wiped the tip on his shoulder to clean off the blood, and shoved it back into its sheath up my sleeve. “I’m mad. There’s a difference.”

  “I—” Constance cleared her throat. “I remember him—the boy, Sammy, I mean.”

  I took a step back from the table, eyeing her. For some reason, I’d hoped she’d been in the dark about the finer details of this particular project.

  She licked her lips. “I don’t know how he got out, and I swear I didn’t know about Mitch, but . . .” Her body was trembling, but her voice was steady. Ballsy chick. “I can only imagine.”

  “It was her idea,” someone said from the other side of the table. It was bony Melinda Jones. “We never wanted any of this. We called for a vote to un-chair her today . . . because she’s gone too far.” Melinda’s eyes burned with a feverish intensity, and her breathing picked up as she went on. “She’s led this board astray. The things we’ve approved because of her . . .” Melinda shook her head. “We’re going to set that all to rights today.” Her chest heaved with each successive breath.

  I stared at her, sword on my shoulder and expression bored. As I blinked, I let a grateful smile light up my face. “Finally, someone’s talking. Thank you, Melinda, truly,” I said, nodding in gratitude.

  Her shoulders relaxed a bit.
/>   I sheathed Mercy and started around the table, heading her way.

  The tension returned.

  “You’re going to make this so much easier,” I said, running my fingertips over the knot of the leather bracelet on my left wrist as I drew near to her. Melinda started to spin her chair around so she was facing me, but I tugged on the slipknot holding the bracelet on my wrist. A fraction of a second later, the leather cord was wrapped around Melinda’s neck, cutting into her throat.

  Gasps filled the room, and people leaned back in their chairs. Some even brought their hands up to their own necks. And what do you know, not a single person stood or lunged at me to help poor Melinda. They just watched, horrified, as I began to strangle the life out of her.

  “This is what happens when you lie to me. Honesty is the best policy, after all,” I said, ignoring the bite of Melinda’s nails as they gouged deep trails across my forearms and the backs of my hands. I looked at Constance, then scanned the others’ faces even as I kept the garrote tight around Melinda’s neck. “I already know you were all involved to some extent. I need to know who oversaw that project. Who’s responsible for the disease?”

  “Scott,” Constance said, pointing to the young man sitting two chairs down from her. “And Gregory.” She glanced at the man sitting to her left, then looked off to the side, deflating. “And me.”

  Disappointment flooded me. I let up on the pressure of the cord around Melinda’s neck, taking a step back from the table as I rewrapped the garrote around my wrist. Melinda collapsed forward on the table, a sobbing, gasping mess.

  “Let the others go,” Constance said. “It’s me you want.” Damn, but just when I was ready to write her off as a genuinely bad egg, she had to go and do something noble. She was making this really hard on my conscience.

  My eyes met Nik’s, and when he nodded, the corner of my mouth lifted. “Sure,” I said, looking back to Constance. “We’ll let them go.” I made my way around the table as I secured the slipknot on my bracelet, holding out my hand when I neared Nik. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the rolled-up sheet that had been tucked into his back pocket. “Thanks,” I said when he handed it to me.