by J. C. Nelson
“Not a bad idea, but they tell me it uses more electricity than a small city, and might catch fire if we have it on for more than thirty minutes.” I moved to stand near her, and she moved away, approaching the glass barrier that held the Re-Animus. Double walls of glass combined with ozone electric air filters kept it contained.
“Let me go,” it screamed. “She’s coming for me. I have to get away.”
Grace pressed her hand to the glass. “Who?”
“Ra-Ame, the pharaoh’s daughter, scion of the darkness, our mistress and queen.”
Amy swore under her breath. “How dare you speak that name? It is a name that brings only agony to those who say it. The words themselves are cursed.”
“Ra-Ame.” Grace spoke softly, clearly. “Ra-Ame. Ra-Ame. I don’t believe in curses. Or spells. What I do believe is that in the next few months, we’ll learn enough about how the Re-Animus work that if she shows up, we’ll put her in a box right next to this little guy. They can be buddies.”
Amy shook her head in disbelief.
I rushed to intervene. “All right, ladies, I think that’s enough show-and-tell. How about we head on up to the cafeteria, and Amy can fill us in on what they do differently where she comes from?” I could stay between them, play referee.
“Brynner Carson, report to dispatch, emergency. Director Bismuth, report to dispatch, emergency.” A woman’s voice on the intercom gave me an escape plan.
I would have run to the elevator, but I had to wait for Amy and Grace, and they took their sweet time, trading jabs with each other.
Director Bismuth met me when we exited the elevator, spreading her arms. “I specifically said you were not to be called, Brynner. You are to report to Medical. Ms. Roberts, I need your translation skills.”
Her tone said she was hiding something, what I couldn’t say. I’d spent years learning to read people, especially women, but the cues I learned to focus on didn’t really help in this case. “What’s going on?”
“Medical, Mr. Carson. Right now.” She tried to look imposing, and failed.
“You didn’t say please.”
A troop of field operatives burst around the corner, nearly running into me. The commander saluted me. “Sir, we don’t know what to do. There’s a security situation out front. I thought you’d want to handle this personally.”
“What?” I glanced to the director. Her eyes were glassy. “What is it?” I pushed the director aside, walked down the hall, and exited the building. In front of the building, the BSI logo graced a ten-foot copper disk set in stone.
Around the outside lay a circle of hieroglyphs, in fresh blood.
“Grace?” I turned back to the entrance, to see she’d followed me out.
Grace knelt, scanning the hieroglyphics. When she looked up, her eyes stared through me, vacant.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. What does it say?”
She looked past me, to Director Bismuth. “Where?”
Director Bismuth ignored the question. “Brynner, report to Medical to complete your evaluation immediately.”
“This is the seal, the intent.” Amy stepped up, pointing with a nimble toe. “It says, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay a thousand times.’” She knelt, pointing to the glyphs in the upper quadrant. “Let his name be erased.” She moved on, quarter by quarter. “Wipe his blood from the earth.” “Let death hunt those who love him.” “Death that Follows.”
Grace looked around wildly, her eyes brimming with tears. “Where are they?”
And a wave of terror eclipsed me, one I hadn’t known for nearly two decades. I flipped out my cell phone and dialed. It rang and rang.
I dropped the phone and ran to the commander who’d come for me. “Show me.”
“We dropped them with standard rounds, then used type twenty-two symbols. Found the ID on the man and figured you’d want to know.” He moved a line of guards to the side, and I fell to my knees.
My aunt and uncle lay on the sidewalk, their bodies broken.
And I could no longer think.
GRACE
I knew the moment I read the outer ring what it meant. Knew right then who the messengers had been. I wanted to take care of Brynner, but what words were there to say? It didn’t escape me that I, and the only person left I cared for, might be next.
Aunt Emelia’s face was distended, purple where she’d choked to death. Bran’s neck twisted at an impossible angle. Bullet holes covered them, and blood drained from the fingertips they’d used to write the glyphs.
Amy stepped up and looked at the bodies. “They still carry traces of the old one.” She knelt and held one eye open. It blinked close, then opened again. “We must finish what has begun.”
From the black sheaths on her hips, she drew out curved blades that fit across her fingers, like brass knuckles with blades. I moved to shield Brynner’s view. If he wasn’t mad with grief already, seeing someone slice their bodies would push him to the edge of reason. Who knew if he’d come back?
I held him, though he stood so tall his chin rested on my shoulder, while the recovery specialists removed the bodies. Amy had cut the tendons so their limbs flopped lose.
When crowds gathered, I led him inside, like a six-foot-six, 250-pound child.
Director Bismuth caught my shoulder as we headed in. “I’ll have medical take Brynner to one of the furnished apartments on the twenty-fifth floor.” She consulted with an administrative assistant. “Number 253 is open.” She looked back to me. “It would be better if he spent the night alone.”
In what world? In what possible world would someone want to grieve alone? Or did she want to remind me of her not-sosubtle threat?
The doctors who surrounded Brynner left me at the elevator, and I fought to keep grief of my own from drowning me. Aunt Emelia had taken me in, welcomed me, even after she knew why I’d come. Only the fear that my daughter might be next kept me focused. I walked to the dispatcher. “I was wondering where I could stay in the area. Do you have a recommendation?”
She scanned my badge, and held up a hand. “Security says you aren’t to leave the building. Stay right here.” After a moment on the phone, she motioned to a side conference room.
I waited there until a young woman, barely old enough to drink, entered the room. She smoothed her black slacks and jacket, then entered the room. “Ms. Roberts?”
“Call me Grace. All the people who call me Ms. I don’t like.”
“It’s such an honor to meet you.” She blushed. “Could I get your autograph?”
I sat down, completely flustered. “Why?”
“You’re the woman who captured a Re-Animus. The president spoke on TV earlier about the operation. Is it true you did it single-handedly?” She waited raptly.
Yes might encourage her to do something that would get her killed. No was a lie. “I’m part of a field team. We do everything together.”
She frowned and checked her tablet. “That’s odd. I don’t see you having field status. It says here you’re chief of operations in BSI Analysis. Must be a mistake.”
No mistake. A promotion. And a message. “I need to know what hotel I can stay at. Something a step up from a Big 8.”
Asking where I could butcher a cat would have gotten a better response. She glanced around as if looking for backup, then shook her head. “You’ll have to share an apartment, but we wouldn’t dream of you being out on the streets. It’s not safe out there.”
“And it’s safe for you?”
She shook her head. “They aren’t finding my face painted in blood, or finding my name scribbled at the sight of massacres. I have an ex-boyfriend in field ops. He says yesterday a corpse spoke to him. Said two words. Your name.”
She handed me a plastic key like a hotel door card. My badge holder had a slot for it. I hadn’t known they kept apartments, though now it made sense. Finding a room wasn’t my number one priority. “I need to talk to someone from Personal Resources. About a private matter.”
/> “Are you pregnant? I can get a test to confirm if you are worried, and you’ll want to see Dr. Iridian on twenty. She’s real nice.”
“I am not pregnant, not that it’s any business of yours. Get me a Personal Resources representative. I’ll wait here until you do.”
She shook her head and left.
The minutes crawled by, becoming half hours, and then hours. And the man I’d wanted to see when I came down came in, the green button on his chest identifying him as Personal Resources. I’d never understood why the department existed. The employee introduction video drilled us over and over: You went to Personal Resources anytime you needed help.
In private conversations, every new employee learned what wasn’t in the video. Personal Resources could get you anything you wanted. Want to get high? They could arrange that. Need companionship for the night? They knew who could be trusted. Legal, illegal, personal, or mental, the men and women with a green dot could get it all, do it all.
Now that I’d seen the Re-Animus, I knew why Personal Resources existed. To keep BSI employees from going someplace else, where the Re-Animus might provide everything, in return for favors.
“I assure you nothing said in here will leave this room,” he said, the best introduction a Personal Resources manager could ever offer. “I’m Jarvis Harrington, and I’d be pleased to assist you, Ms. Roberts. Is this in regards to a sexual harassment incident with Mr. Carson?”
I shook my head.
“Would you like to discuss the matter with a confidential counselor? Again, I will sooner die and not be cremated than reveal the nature of your problem.” He spoke the truth. It was Personal Resources who put me in touch with my daughter’s care facility in the first place, finding a way to make it almost work on my meager salary.
“I have a lot of money. That’s what people tell me. And no, I don’t need financial counseling. I need you to make arrangements for me. My daughter’s in an invalid care facility in Portland. You can get the name from the records.”
“Records?” He raised an eyebrow.
“My last visit to Personal Resources.”
He shook his head. “To maintain your absolute confidence, I’m certain we don’t keep such records. Certainly not in computers. Perhaps in the head of the person who assisted you, but I’ve worked hard to make my memory not what it used to be.”
I wrote down the number. And the name. “I want to know my daughter will be somewhere absolutely safe. I want to make sure no one else knows where she is. That number is a woman I trust to care for her.”
He tucked the paper into his vest pocket and nodded. “I’ll take care of this immediately. It was a pleasure serving you. Please understand that if we see each other in passing—”
“You don’t know me. I owe you.”
He shook his head, and left without answer.
I took the elevator up to my apartment. Three floors below Brynner’s, and probably nowhere near as swank. Though tonight, he wouldn’t know or care about the plush carpet or silk sheets.
I wanted to go upstairs and knock until he let me in, and lay beside him, sharing a grief I knew personally. When a drunken bar fight claimed my brother, I spent three days in the psychiatric ward at Western State.
I held my badge up to the door lock, and it clicked. Inside, black travel bags lay scattered across a brown couch. A halfhearted kitchenette, two bedrooms the size of postage stamps, and a shared shower so very much in use.
With relief, I noted the sports bra hanging from the bathroom doorknob. For a moment, I’d wondered if they bunked me with a man. The doorbell rang, a gentle chime. I turned to open it.
Brynner stood outside. His eyes red and swollen, his skin pale. He trembled like he might have a fever. “I need to talk to you, Grace.”
Twenty-Five
GRACE
I glanced back to the shower door. “I’m not really alone, but—” “It’s okay. We don’t have to be alone. I know you and I . . .”
His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “I thought maybe you and I . . .” Again he stopped, slumped up against the door frame. “You saw my aunt and uncle.”
I nodded.
“They never did anything to anyone. They wound up dead. Worse than dead, because of me.”
As he finished the sentence, I held back my urge to vomit.
I’d been worried that he’d say “because of you.” Which was true, since I’d captured the Re-Animus. “How do you feel?” He shook his head. “I don’t feel anything. It’s like everything is a thousand feet away, and I’m watching it from outside my body. That’s wrong, right?”
I nodded, deeply familiar with that feeling. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that what came next would be worse. “We had fun, didn’t we?” He barely looked at me, his eyes red. The tone of regret in his voice made me worry. Not for my safety, but his own. “More than fun.” I stepped closer, inches from his face.
“Stay away from me, Grace. If I have nothing, those goddamned Re-Animus can’t take it from me.” He put out a hand to shove me away, but I pulled him to me.
And kissed him, once more, his lips salty with tears, his body shaking with pain that no stitches could heal. For a moment, I thought he might melt into me, yielding. But he stepped back.
Then his gaze locked past me.
“Brynner?” asked a woman with a familiar accent. Amy. She stood at the bathroom door, with a towel wrapped around her waist and her arms crossed over her chest. Water dripped from the tangled bracelets on her wrists. “I did not know you would stop by. I would have dressed.” With that, she stepped back into the bathroom.
“I’m leaving.” Brynner looked back at me. “Good-bye, Grace.” When he’d gone, I shut the door, and slid to the floor with my back up against it.
Amy came back out, dressed in black silk pajamas. “I am pleased to have company. Are we sharing this apartment?” I put my head down on my knees. “For as long as I’m here.
I want to see a few of the tests, but I think it’s time I found a new job.”
Amy sat on the kitchen floor across from me, her legs crossed.
“I do not think that is wise. You would be taken within days, perhaps hours if the night was dark.”
I looked up at her, meeting her stare. “Why does everyone think the Re-Animus care about me?”
“Few have slain an old one, Grace Roberts, and lived to tell the tale. Never has an old one been taken against its will. You have brought fear to them.”
I wanted them to feel fear. “Good. And you think I’m safe here?”
Amy pushed herself to her feet and walked the perimeter of the living room. “This building is like no other. Even the old one who sent a message dared not come himself. Only Ra-Ame, or perhaps her soldiers, could enter it.”
“So I’m safe.”
“No.” Amy began to laugh. “You will learn soon enough, the old ones are vengeful of wrongs committed against them. Their wrath follows for generations, for even the slightest offense.” Generations. That would include my daughter, but only if they could find her. If it was her life, or that of every Re-Animus on earth, I had no qualms about my choice. “I’d love to see them try. We captured one, Brynner nearly killed another, and if another one wants to volunteer for my lab, well, I can use samples. Are you thinking one stronger than the one Brynner fought at the hospital?”
“No. Those committed to Grave Services do not leave our home for such a trifling matter.” Amy’s voice fell to near a whisper. “For taking an old one, you will surely stand in judgment before Ra-Ame herself, Grace Roberts. In the old land, the seers hear whispers in the shadows, saying she is awake. Salt and water, sunlight and holy symbols, legends say these mean nothing to her. But against the lesser old ones, you are safe.” Amy underestimated me. Underestimated BSI Analysis. But I loved my freedom. “So I’m stuck here in the same building as Brynner.” The thought of an army of the dead waiting for me didn’t bother me as much as one man. “I can’t stop thinking about
him.”
She pointed a finger at me. “Then speak no more of his name tonight. Instead, you will tell me something else you are passionate about. Trade one passion for another.”
I shook my head. “I’m tired. Even with you driving, I’m tired. And by the way, talking to a man while wearing a towel?
In American culture, that says something—I don’t know—I guess it’s different in Egypt.”
Amy’s lips split in a smug smile. “No. The language of a woman’s body remains the same. Did you expect modesty?” “A little. I’d heard Egypt is somewhat reserved.” She laughed. “I am not a Muslim, Grace Roberts. I wore a hijab because in my home, men expect such things. I had hoped to taste American life, and American men. Did I appear coy and surprised?”
With a pain in my heart I wanted to lie about, I pointed up the stairs. “You nailed it. And as for men, there’s one more on the market as of a few minutes ago.” Was he ever off the market? I didn’t know, but couldn’t lay claim to him anymore. “Where I come from, we would say he is not a man. His kind live to hunt the old ones, like the demons of long ago. No man can hunt monsters so long without becoming one.” Where I came from, we said please and thank you to people who risked flesh and bone for others. “He’s the ‘monster’ who has saved more lives than anyone else I know, including mine. And demons . . .” I glared at her. “You don’t even want to get me started.” Amy’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Tell me what you know of demons.
And tell me what lies you Americans say about these ‘Re- Animus.’” “I’m not in a good mood.”
She nodded and walked to the cabinets, where she found a coffeepot. “That means you will be honest. Where I was raised, we say polite speech is the garden path to lies. Let there be no lies between us, Grace Roberts.”
“Demons. Don’t exist, end of story.” I rose and walked to the table. “Re-Animus. Well, let’s start with the fact that they aren’t some sort of evil spirit. How’s that for something to argue?” “You would understand why I believe otherwise?” She arched her eyebrow at me without a hint of defensiveness. “Sure. You’re just like Brynner. Doesn’t make you right. I think the closest analogy we have is a pack animal.” I caught her question coming and held up my hands. “I’m not talking intelligence. They’re incredibly intelligent. I’m talking nature. Territorial. Defensive. The longer they’re around, the bigger their territory seems to grow, and they don’t tolerate each other.” She didn’t respond until the coffeemaker spewed black bile into the carafe, then she served me a cup. “It is a fascinating theory, Grace Roberts. I do not think correct, but fascinating.
