God's Eye

by Scudiere, A. J.

  Margot frowned as Katharine scrambled for a plausible excuse for what she’d said–something that didn’t involve visitation from black cats and creatures with razor claws. But Margot asked no such thing, just launched into another display of nerdy intelligence. “Aramaic isn’t right. Again, the alphabet is so different, you would have recognized right away that it wasn’t English. But it might be Latin.”

  Her long fingers snaked for a thick purple book, reminding Katharine of the talons she’d seen the other night. Deftly, the librarian thumbed through the pages, then stopped. “Did it have a bar over the E?”

  Katharine scrambled to her feet for the first time since Margot had approached. “Yes, kind of.”

  Her heart scrambled in her chest, trying to get away from what she didn’t know. She had been telling herself the mark was a glitch, an old fingerprint on the mirror, a smudge and nothing more. A bar over the letter E complicated things immensely.

  Margot turned the dictionary toward her, one long, almost ghoulish finger pointing to the word just as it had been on her mirror that morning: cav$$. Her voice was almost condescending, but Katharine’s pulse was too fast for her to bother being offended. “It’s not pronounced cave, it’s cah-way.”

  Katharine didn’t care about that, only what she read as her eyes traced the across the print.

  In Latin the word meant “beware.”

  • • •

  Zachary sniffed at the food on his counter. He’d ordered it from a nearby restaurant and wanted to claim that he’d made it himself. That would impress Katharine. However, when she caught him–and she would–the lie would not impress her. So he left the meal in the boxes.

  He could have conjured it, could have simply conjured anything he needed. But the effort that act required would have taxed him. It was a great irony that in his true form he could obtain anything he needed and as many things as he needed, except the one thing he needed most: Katharine’s belief. He had to appear as she expected, as something she accepted.

  She was very average in that respect. Humans in general had preformed ideas. It helped their brains deal with the world around them. But, though they had the ability to think beyond their immediate input whenever they wished, people rarely did. If you gave them what they expected, they didn’t look further, didn’t question. So it was far more important that he put his energy into being the Zachary she knew than making it look like he had cooked the meal for her.

  His head turned. The high-end maid had left flowers in several places around the condo; he would grab one of the bouquets and take it next door to Katharine.

  His mouth twitched, as though he were a real human. He wanted Katharine to come here, to his place, but that would require planning. Because she couldn’t stay–he wouldn’t be able to hold form long enough. If he was promoted after this task he would likely be granted the strength to do so, But again, his work was here now, and he wasn’t of a high enough order to pull it off. Yet. He had to make do with what he had. So she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t be in his bed when he lost control of his form. Even if she slept through all of it, what if she woke in the night and he wasn’t there?

  No, he needed to be with her at her place–needed to be able to make his excuses, such as they were, and leave.

  Wandering the unit, he looked for something to wrap the flowers in, before coming to the conclusion that he had nothing of the sort and would have to take the entire vase. He’d make sure she saw the bouquet as a sweet gesture rather than as a lack of planning. Tucking it under one arm, he grabbed the handles of the plastic sack with the stacks of savory-smelling Styrofoam boxes and turned his front door handle.

  Zachary didn’t bother locking it unless someone was there to watch. No one would enter his unit without his permission, and even if someone did manage to get in, once there they wouldn’t steal from him. They wouldn’t be able to; some deep, buried, innate sense would save them from the urge.

  It was twenty feet from his doorway to Katharine’s, and he prepared himself as he made the short walk. There were things he needed to do while he was there, information he had to get from her, if he was to save her from Allistair’s plans.

  She opened the door almost as soon as his finger lifted from the chime. Her smile was radiant, but the smell hit him like a slap across his face: she reeked of Allistair. But he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t react. Zachary forced a grin to his lips and greeted her warmly, even though she bore the scent of the other.

  It had been clear for some time that she had been in contact with his opponent. When Zachary touched her he could pick up the tracers that Allistair left behind–he could smell the strong contact between the two, and initially he had wondered how his rival was interacting with her. But it had never been as strong as it was when he picked her up for lunch. The impression of Allistair, touching her skin, of his merely being near her, had threatened Zachary’s composure throughout the entire meal.

  Katharine hadn’t given up any details. No matter what he’d asked, she had said nothing about Allistair. Zachary hadn’t gotten a good look at his opponent through the veil the other day, but he’d been around long enough that he would recognize Allistair’s eyes from the times they had crossed paths in the past. But when the sensations of Allistair’s touches had been so prominent on Katharine at lunch, Zachary had been forced to follow her up afterward.

  He had been so certain that he’d staked out prime territory, getting a unit next to her condo. She was easy to track and to follow. So he’d thought it would be as easy to protect her from Allistair, but that shifty bastard had actually gotten into the one place where she spent more time than her home. And Zachary was furious with Allistair for besting him, even in this slight way, and with himself for letting it happen.

  During dinner, he kept a calm appearance for Katharine, and his mouth kept up with chatter and pretty compliments throughout the meal. He fed her, and part of him paid attention to the conversation and how her eyes darted to the flowers time and again. But there were more important things here than her childhood and her plans at Light & Geryon, and he needed to dig them up–needed to know what she knew.

  After the meal, while they were clearing the dishes, he pushed his way in, reading her thoughts. He needed to be sure that she really didn’t mind if he left her in the kitchen to clean up alone. It was ideal–he could check out her place while she was occupied. But humans were truly different from other creatures in one respect only–they were practiced liars, every one. Katharine would say she didn’t mind if he left her with the dishes, but if she didn’t truly mean it anything he gained in knowledge would be lost on other ground.

  So he reached into her thoughts again, nudging her toward contentedness, pleased that she was so easily swayed. When he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t hold it against him, he left to wander through the unit. It was a different design from his own but familiar enough that he could check the place discreetly while Katharine made noise in the kitchen.

  He picked up Allistair’s scent again in the living room and bedroom. But unlike the smudges on Katharine herself, it wasn’t overlaid with the ripeness of humanity. His rival had walked this place often. Zachary trailed his fingers across the surface of the desk, as he had on previous visits, picking up visions and knowledge in a way that normal human flesh did not allow. He saw the creatures and faint outlines of soot, but most importantly he did not sense the human Katharine knew as Allistair.

  Satisfied with his search, his feet took him into the bathroom, where he pushed the silver lever on the sleek new toilet, flushing it for effect. He washed his hands to get them wet and smelling of soap, to take up the required time. He couldn’t afford any discrepancies nagging at the back of Katharine’s brain. For all that she ignored the world and the cues around her, she was fairly intelligent. With the way things were going lately, she would start paying attention any day now–which was Zachary’s first goal. Once she woke up, she could decide. And he had to make certain that when
she did, she sided with him.

  In the kitchen, Katharine was loading the last of the dishes into the washer when he planted himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back, enjoying the embrace she thought she knew so well. But Zachary had no guilt about her perception of him as a human lover. In the end, she would have so much because of this time with him. He would open the world to her, and give her so much more than she even knew existed. So he let himself be pulled into the want radiating off her, caught glimpses of her need enveloping him, and leaned her into the counter as she wished.

  Katharine made love to him with a force he had not expected. And he took great satisfaction in the fact that their lovemaking left the tracers and the scent he needed. He would have to leave later, to recharge his energy, to change from this human form. Tomorrow when she went to work, when she went to where Allistair was, she would take this mark with her.

  Only Allistair would see it. But only Allistair needed to.

  CHAPTER 5

  Allistair was furious and there was nothing he could do. Last night when he’d come to watch over Katharine, her bedroom had reeked–not only of Zachary, but of sex. Humans didn’t truly understand it, didn’t see the ties they knit each time they joined together. There was no such thing as casual sex. And Zachary, not being human, didn’t knit those ties to Katharine, but she was surely binding herself to him.

  Allistair forced his breathing to even. He set his hands on the desktop and, in a very human way, methodically pushed air in and out of his lungs in an effort to appear calm. He could sense her coming down the long hallway, so he straightened his tie and pushed his white shirt down his chest, smoothing it. He told himself it was all a game, that he should act as though he wasn’t so invested. Not in her, not in the outcome. But it seemed he was unable to stop himself from thinking of either. This was life and death for him. If he failed … he likely would not be given another chance. And Katharine … if he failed, her life would be altered. However, Katharine’s life was going to be altered either way. There was nothing anyone could do about that. It had changed–beyond her comprehension or control–the moment she’d been chosen.

  The sound was the first human sense he noticed: the steady gait of a confident walk in a rhythm that was distinctly Katharine’s. It should have soothed him. She was here, momentarily away from Zachary, momentarily in the sphere she shared with him. But the next thing Allistair noticed was the faint odor. Still she smelled of his rival. Still she wore a shroud of color that preceded her down the hall. Tendrils in the soft pinks of sex and–worse–infatuation reached through the doorway before she even came close.

  He was losing ground rapidly if the colors came this far before she did. Already he was on the brink of losing it, just from the memories of wandering her apartment in the predawn. Against his will, he began to change. Allistair fought for control, but completely failed to gain it. His fingers lengthened while he watched, his jaw grew to support the long teeth that were one of the marks of his kind. Beneath his suit jacket, the skin of his back peeled, his shoulder blades sharpening into peaks, twin forms straining beneath the fabric.

  The heels tapped closer, the scent of Katharine and Zachary and sex rolled in, and as though it had its own life or mission, it wrapped around him, angering him further. The seam down the back of his suit let out the zippery noise of stitching starting to rip as the sound of her shoes stopped just beyond the open door. He’d left it open because he had wanted to hear her approach, never imagining it would cost him this.

  He took a deep breath, oxygen flowing into the lungs that still functioned. The core of him was still human, but if she walked in and saw this … she’d pass out, or scream, or … who knew? And then likely run straight to Zachary–which would surely spell Allistair’s death. No matter what she was getting used to seeing at her own house at night, she wasn’t prepared for this. For seeing so much of what he really was.

  No, that could not happen.

  So, as she came through the door, he fought for the one thing that had always been so elusive to him. Control.

  He turned his head away, tucking his face down and to the side so she wouldn’t see. He curled his claws into his lap and hunched over as she came through the doorway.

  “Allistair! Are you all right?” Faster now, the heels clicked toward him. His eyes, no longer human, saw her feet and legs in shades of gray, her worry turning her energy from the flush of pink to a sickly yellow. It bothered him that she was concerned and he was unable to answer or signal to her. The sight of his hand or even just the sound of his true voice would give him away.

  He chose to nod. At least the back of his head was intact. He’d managed to stop the change partway through. Still, he couldn’t let her see him this way. There was every chance the bumps straining against the material on his back would give it all away anyhow.

  When she didn’t say anything, he steeled himself, fighting to reverse the effects of his anger. Anger he wasn’t even supposed to feel. He was supposed to be impartial. He’d been dressed down for this sort of involvement time and time again. His kind stepped in, changed things, did their work, and got out. They didn’t engage and they certainly weren’t allowed to care. This was his greatest sin. His constant failing, his curse.

  He saw the colors of her reaching for him before he felt the touch of her fingers through the fabric he wore. Flinching, he drew up tight, still unable to speak anything she would understand, as her hand caressed the back panel of his suit. Luckily it still held together, if just barely, though he didn’t know how long he could maintain the half state he was in. Didn’t know if he’d be able to reverse the changes that had already come.

  This, then, was to be the end of him.

  It seemed a shame to lose it all over something like this, after getting in had been so easy. Allistair had presented himself in HR as the perfect candidate. His resume was exactly what they’d been looking for, he’d made sure of it. He’d added a few things and made a few historical notes so as not to look too good to be true. But, in fact, he was. He’d interviewed with Sharon, and used what push he had to get her to convince Mr. Geryon that he belonged in here with Katharine.

  Now he was exactly where he wanted to be, Katharine’s hand on him, her thoughts focused on him, and it was all wrong. He was going to ruin the whole thing.

  Allistair was resigned to his death just as her voice came again. “Allistair?”

  His name from her lips washed over him. The word was only one facet of what he took in from her; the yellow concern had changed to the bright blue of fear. Her fear. For him. It pulsed into him, through the point of contact where her hand lay across his back, the very tenuous threads of his jacket the only thing keeping her from seeing what she truly touched. But the force of the feeling that Katharine generated was enough.

  He couldn’t die. He had to stay. He had to have Katharine.

  From somewhere, Allistair conjured the will to force himself back into the form he needed. His eyes lost some of their ability to read the waves of colors coming off her, and the carpeting, her shoes, the worldly things he saw from his hunched-over position took on more color. His fingers shrank, the nails re-forming short and clean. His jaws clicked together as molars hit against each other, and he brought his new hands up to touch his face, feeling each part before he presented it to her. He rolled his back, the spine realigning as he did, his will a force of steel driving the changes beneath her unknowing fingertips.

  At last able to look up at her, Allistair found his human voice again. “Something I ate.”

  • • •

  Katharine figured frustration must be rolling off her in waves. She was glad her feelings weren’t a tangible force–she’d bowl over everyone within shouting distance.

  Allistair sat in his chair, squirming. He tugged at his tie, fidgeted his shoulders, and tapped one foot. She could easily believe that he felt her irritation, but he said he’d had bad catfish the night before and it had seemed to
be bothering him all day. He wouldn’t go home, though. He insisted he wanted to stay and work–and Katharine had to admire that.

  Usually employees were the first to take off at any semi-legitimate ailment that presented itself. But shareholders and owners put in the hours regardless. It was a test of the worthy, her father had always said. Mr. Geryon had once wished out loud that he could drug new employees or find a way to infect them with a cold so he could see how they would fare in that situation. It would save him from having to wait until the illness presented itself, which was usually far too slow for his timetable. And God help him if he got a healthy employee. He had lamented the ethical problem of infecting people, not because it offended his morals but because he knew he was outnumbered.

  Katharine secretly thought her father would be pleased if he knew of Allistair’s commitment, although she personally questioned her assistant’s judgment for eating catfish in the first place. It seemed like he had brought his own problems on.

  She had planned to check her email and go back to the library this morning–to do what she’d been supposed to do the day before. Instead she did what research she could from her desk, mostly to keep an eye on Allistair. He’d looked pale and a little clammy when she’d first come in and, even though she was the first to admit she had no maternal instincts–from whom would she have inherited them?–she didn’t want to leave him alone. She had yogurt and a granola bar at her desk for lunch, and still hadn’t been able to learn anything new about WeldLink except that its parent company was called MaraxCo. Unfortunately, that name meant less on the Internet than WeldLink.

  That in itself wasn’t a red flag. Unless the company was actively courting new investors or selling off a greater portion of its privately owned shares, old-school businesses often weren’t represented on the web very well at all. Sometimes there was a reference in another story or a byline, but that was usually it. Metalworks sold to other industries, not the public, so there was no reason to advertise or create a visitor website. Katharine would have to go back to the library and look for public records.