by M. R. Forbes
In that moment, I understood. He hadn't let me live because he wanted to meet me. He wanted the chip. The access key to gain control of House Red's assets. He wanted to make sure it was still in the necklace before he cast me aside. Had all that bullshit about freeing the original humans, the ferals, been no more than that? When it came down to it, were he and Tarakona nothing more than a pair of thieves?
"I've waited a long time for this. House Red and House Black in my hands, the true strength of the ancient world only a few cuts away. My father is a blind, megalomaniacal fool. He tried so hard to keep the House out of my hands. First Danelle, and then Kotori? And if that wasn't enough, he arranged for the House of his mistress, his whore of a mistress to endure by bonding a fucking elf!"
His face clenched in anger, and he took hold of the dagger, lifting it from his belt.
"Ever since Moutohora, I knew what I had to do. Black doesn't know what's best for this world. He only knows what's best for him." He took a few deep breaths to compose himself and closed his fist over the data chip. "Thank you for this."
"You're welcome." I said, my voice muffled.
Then I spit the dice at him.
Everything stopped. It was as if all of time warped around the pair of bone cubes, as they traveled the six feet between him and me. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. There was no sound, no air, no anything. I wasn't wearing the mask, not yet, but in my mind I could hear the spirit's cold laughter, and the cries of the souls it devoured.
The dice hit him in the chest, and clattered against the planked floor. It was only once they had bounced around and finished settling that the world regained itself.
He looked at me, and then down at them. He didn't know how to react. Nobody did. Not until the darkness rose from them.
Not until the force of the power lashed out.
Snake. Lightning.
His eyes grew wide, and his lip curled. His body convulsing, his tongue sliding in and out of his mouth, his muscles contracting and expanding, contorting him in a twisted dance of death. Next to me, Veronica's brother was suffering the same fate, as were two of the skinwalkers behind him, and the pair of vampire guards. I had offered up six souls, willing to risk that I would have to be one of them to satisfy the spirit. It had made its choice.
It had screwed me.
One of the skinwalkers was still standing, completely unaffected. He stared at Matwau, a look of confusion across his angled face. Then he looked at me.
Veronica's brother had taken my guns and given them to the vamps to hold. I took three quick backwards steps, coming up next to them, punched one hard in a quaking face, and stole the weapon from its hand. The skinwalker changed his shape, from man to something else, something lean and muscular, hairy and clawed. I shot the second vampire in the head, and managed to get my other gun from it while it tumbled to the ground.
The skinwalker leaped towards me, and I opened fire, planting an entire clip of bullets into its shoulders, its chest, its face. I saw an eye explode, and it cried out in pain.
It didn't stop coming.
I ducked down, dropping the empty pistol and getting myself behind the dead vampire. Claws sunk into its flesh, and teeth tore into its throat, ripping away in an effort to reach me. I let go and rolled to the side, coming up and firing three more shots at its head. The wound had made it a little more careful, and it put its hands up to protect itself.
I used the precious seconds to reach up behind my head, to where the mask was resting in the back of the hood. I grabbed it and put it to my face, feeling the bones knitting themselves together around me, hearing the screaming and the echoes, the laughter and the excitement.
Snake. Lightning.
I needed to stay alive for another twenty seconds.
The skinwalker growled and charged again, and I backpedaled away, trying to buy time. I threw myself to the ground to escape a heavy tackle, rolled away and took two more shots that struck it in the neck. It roared in pain, even as I watched the wounds begin to close. I was running out of ammo.
Matwau's knife. It wouldn't do much, but it was a good last resort if I needed to try to stick the other eye. I ran for it, towards the wizard, who was frozen on his hands and knees.
I heard it coming, and I threw myself to the ground, momentum carrying me forward and sliding me across the floor. I stopped only a foot away from Matwau, the knife within easy reach. I started grabbing for it.
He looked up at me.
His eyes were burning in flame, his visage twisted. His lips shook, and his tongue hung from his mouth. The rest of him was still.
He was overcoming the power of the dice.
I took the knife in my hand and turned myself over on my knees, bringing it across and down in one quick stroke. The protruding end of his tongue fell to the floor, and he grunted in pain.
That was when the skinwalker hit me.
I felt the claws dig into my side, puncturing flesh and muscle and bone, and throwing me backwards a good twenty feet. Everything exploded into white hot agony, and I tried to cry out, finding my lungs not quite functional. Tears sprang to my eyes from the pain, and I lifted my head, firing the gun towards the approaching mass through blurry orbs, trying to slow it down.
Then all I heard were clicks. I dropped the gun, and tried to raise the knife. It must have fallen out of my hand when he hit me. My eyes started drooping closed.
The power of a soul, for the power of a soul.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
What is it with...
"It's about fucking time."
The power fed into me, changing me into someone, and something, else. I felt the strength, the vitality, the energy, the power. I felt my lungs filling, my ribs healing, my skin closing. The skinwalker was close now, so close.
He came face to face with another of his kind.
I roared with the power of the beast and threw a heavy fist into its face, the force of the blow casting it aside. It growled and skidded on the floor, righting itself and coming back again. I got to my feet and set myself, catching its claws when they came in at me, turning my hips and throwing the monster again. It rolled and got up, charging back a third time. It was a brawler. I was an artist. As a human I didn't stand a chance. As a skinwalker... I caught its arms in my grip and held it, muscle against muscle, desire against desire.
I didn't want to die. I didn't have to die. All I had to do was overpower this thing.
We stayed locked in position, growling at one another, sharp teeth clacking together, spit flying in both directions. I narrowed my eyes and pushed harder, feeling it give an inch at a time, desperate to win the standoff.
It yelped in pain, its arms rocking back. I got it turned around, elbows locked behind its body in a tight submission hold.
It wasn't good enough.
I leaned forward, sinking long, sharp fangs into its neck, tasting the flesh and the blood as it poured from the new wound. It was almost enough to make me puke, almost enough to lose the fight for me. I steeled my will and kept at it, lifting my jaws, shifting them forward, and biting again. It wasn't good enough to just wound the beast. He would heal if I did, just as I had healed. I had to deliver a fatal blow.
I didn't taste the spine when my teeth crushed it. I knew when it happened, because the skinwalker became a lump of fur in my arms. It was only then that I stopped chewing, only then that I stopped fighting. I pulled my face away, refusing to look at the carnage I had wrought. I took heavy breaths, turned, and vomited onto the floor.
I was still bent over when something else hit me. Something bigger and stronger than the skinwalker had been. I didn't see it at first, because the blow slammed me into the rafters against the wall, shaking the entire structure and leaving me face down.
I didn't see it until it picked me up and turned me around, holding me off the ground in an impossibly large hand.
"Ooh are ong oie," Matwau rumbled, his words distorted beyond understanding by the loss of his tongue.
It was true that Tarakona had changed him. It was true that he had given him power. He was massive and scaled, sharp edges running down hundreds of mottled brown segments and plates that covered every inch of him. Small red eyes peered out between heavy, spiked lids, and hot, fetid breath poured from his mouth into my face.
"Excuse me? I didn't quite get that."
He roared at my mockery, rearing back and throwing me to the ground, forcing me off my feet, slamming my back hard enough to break it. He lifted his foot and tried to bring it down on me, but I caught it over my head and pushed, bringing him off balance enough to stumble back a few steps.
In that moment, I wished I had taken the Mark Six.
Instead, I pushed myself backwards, slithering like an upside-down snake. I scrambled along the floor, heading for the dead skinwalker. Matwau was on me again in an instant, kicking me in the side, his scaled foot rending flesh and bone. After the third kick I caught the foot, turning his ankle and bringing him to the ground with me. He hissed in anger and raked his hand across my stomach, opening it up. I shoved backwards one last time, and got my hand on the dead skinwalker's ankle.
"Get up you hairy son of a bitch," I said, sending the power into it. It's eyes shifted and it began to stir, its head rocking in confusion. I pushed harder, sending energy through the thread, forcing it to do my will. The drain on me was enormous, and I could feel my own enhanced constitution quickly slipping away.
It fell on top of Matwau, grabbing his hand with dead strength. He screamed and flailed, ripping into its dead flesh, tearing and cutting it to ribbon.
It didn't notice.
My wounds healed, and I got to my feet. The dead monster was still clinging to the wizard, still trying to fight, biting and scratching with razor hands and teeth. It was enough to annoy, and to buy me some time.
Time to do what?
The knife was on the ground a few feet away. A knife, against whatever he was? It sounded ridiculous.
It was my only chance.
I bent over to pick it up.
The power of the mask wore off.
"Wait. What? Too fucking soon," I said, feeling all of the immense strength sucked away. I lost the connection to my zombie in an instant, nowhere near strong enough to hold him as myself.
I didn't bother to pick up the knife.
I turned to face Matwau, and fell to my knees, sick with weakness.
I coughed.
He threw the corpse aside and stared at me, unmoving. He knew he had won. He knew there was no hurry. I had used every trick I had, and still come up short. He was going to take on Black, and maybe he was going to win. What he would do after that... at least I wouldn't be alive to see it.
He took a step towards me.
"You killed her, you know," I said. "Danelle. Your sister." I wasn't going to let him end me without trying to get in any last remarks. "It wasn't her fault Black didn't want you to have the House, and to be honest... I can see why he would rather give it to your tree-hugging brother. Black might be an megalomaniac, but at least he isn't a glorified thug."
I spit at his feet, the action making me cough again.
"So, come on. Come on and get it over with. Choke me, break me, disembowel me, whatever. I'm done. I'm just fucking done."
I had already made my peace on the walk to the yard. I had already asked the stars to say goodbye to Karen and Molly for me, though I didn't know if they heard my request through the gloom. I had promised Dannie I would see her soon. I didn't think that would be a good thing for either of us. At least we'd be together.
Matwau stared at me without moving. Then he looked over to the center of the gym, where Jin was strapped to the table. She must have been gagged, too, because she hadn't made a sound.
He moved towards me.
I took deep, even breaths. I tried to fight against the terror that was rising up in me, the fear of dying and what waited just beyond. I didn't want this asshole to see me sweat, to see me scared of him. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
He came right up to me, my face in line with his hips. I looked up at him, defiant. He looked down at me, pleased. He reached out with his left hand and picked me up by the neck, holding it light enough that I could still breathe. He brought my face to his a second time.
"Aelle as aitch." It didn't sound like much, but I knew what he had said.
He drew his other hand back, and planted it in my gut, the sharp scales ripping me apart once more, causing his hand to sink into my body. He kept his eyes on the dark vacuum of the mask's the entire time, and I was glad he did.
It made it easier for me to stab him in one.
I had tucked the knife into the pocket of the hoodie without him seeing. I had retrieved it when he lifted me. I brought it up and in, sinking it into the deep socket at an ascending angle, hoping that it was long enough to reach his brain.
It must have been, because he dropped me and fell backwards to the ground, dead.
I fell to the ground, too, and I lay on my back, spread eagle and bleeding out. I stared up at the roof of the gymnasium, and tried to remember when I had last played basketball. It must have been before Molly was born. I missed basketball.
I expected I should be frightened. I expected I would have thought only of Grandma Sophie, of the screams of her death, the terror of her final expression. I expected I would have mimicked it while I passed from this world into another. I knew something sinister was waiting for me, and yet I was calm. Unafraid.
The power of a soul, for the power of a soul.
It came as the softest whisper of promise in my mind, shrouded in the echoing stillness of the damned. It was an offer I hadn't been expecting. I'd already used a soul.
Six souls. It is a fair trade.
I heard them. There was one there I didn't expect.
A strong one, yes? Take it.
I did. I took Matwau's power, and I let it come into me. I felt it giving me strength, and putting me back together. I pulled myself to my feet.
I looked down at the olive flesh. I was naked, the robe Matwau had been wearing missing.
There, on my bare chest, was a tattoo of a dragon. It was black to Jin's red, but just as intricate, just as impossibly lifelike. I ran my finger along it, noticing that it had edges and bumps, texture as well as form. Matwau had said something about bonding. The tattoo must have had something to do with it.
I found his robe discarded on the floor and slipped it on. I wondered briefly how the magic would deal with that, since I knew I was still dressed beneath the facade. It was a curiosity for another time. It was great I had killed Matwau, but we were hardly safe. I didn't know if Tarakona was here or not. I didn't know if the ferals outside would decide to come in.
I made my way over to Jin, still motionless on the gurney in the center of the room. As I reached her, I saw that her right breast was exposed, leaving her tattoo visible.
It was glowing, matching the light of the stone positioned behind the table.
She didn't move when she saw me. Her eyes just followed my hands as I reached up and pulled the leather bit from her mouth.
"Tarakona, please don't do this. Please."
Tarakona?
"I only did what my aunt asked me to do. I never wanted this responsibility. The family needed me. What was I supposed to say? Please."
Her eyes were pleading now, sparkling in the light around us.
"Jin. Wait." I reached for the straps that were holding her wrists, and started unbuckling them. "It's me, Conor."
"Conor?"
I got her left hand free, and she reached up and started undoing the clasp on her head.
"Yeah. It's me. Matwau is dead. I just look like him. It's magic from an artifact." I wasn't going to tell her where I had gotten it.
"Who's Matwau?"
I got her other arm free, and she sat herself up, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around me. I could feel her shaking against my shoulder, and I returned her grip, holding her tight a
nd resolving everything I had learned into the best version of the truth I could manage.
Matwau wasn't working with Tarakona. Matwau was Tarakona. He used the discovery and retrieval of the stone from Moutohora as a cover, his chance to create a fictional enemy to move against his father and his father's mistress, and get the ball rolling on the whole thing. Veronica's brother had said science was the bridge between his power and the skinwalkers. He had invented something to create them. Maybe he had given them my treatments? Jin had never said what the others changed into.
Had he wanted to free the ferals, or was that part of the cover, too?
"Matwau who?" Jin repeated, breaking the embrace to look at me, her eyes wet.
"It doesn't matter," I replied. I realized it didn't. Dead was dead. There was no coming back.
Unless I brought them.
I undid the ankle straps and helped Jin down off the gurney. The stone stopped glowing the second her feet hit the floor, the connection between them broken. She shifted the blanket to cover herself and looked over at the mess I had made, not reacting to the artifact at all.
"How much did they give you for this job?"
"Two million."
She laughed. "You need to raise your rates."
I let myself smile.
Something outside exploded.
It was enough to shake the building, sending paint chips down from the ceiling.
"The data chip," I said. "It has to be on the floor somewhere. We need to find it and get out of here."
She started scanning the ground. The chip was tiny, the size of a fingernail. How the hell were we going to find it?
I had forgotten I had Matwau's power. I opened myself up to the fields, listening in on the mixture of the frequencies. I expected a noisy din. What I got instead was melodic, enchanting, beautiful. In that moment, I knew what Veronica and Black had meant when they called death magic a stain. It was a jackhammer to a violin, a spider to a butterfly.
I stood in the center of the room, breathing in the energy and waiting. I was ready to fight.
"I've got it. And your dice," Jin said. I glanced over to where she was kneeling, holding the blanket around herself in one hand, and the chip in the other. "Let's grab the stone and get out of here."
