The Madness Project (The Madness Method)

by Bralick, J. Leigh

  Kor flicked a glance at him over his shoulder. “Back off.”

  Zag froze, face white with fury.

  To me, Kor said, “Call him off or he’ll do something stupid, and I’m not playing.”

  “Zagger!” I said. “I’m fine. Get back.”

  He hated me for saying it, I could tell. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t come any closer either.

  “Get your hands off me,” I told Kor. “Now.”

  “Make me.”

  “What is your problem?” I cried, for the second time. “This is idiotic.”

  “What’s your problem?” Kor retorted. His hand tightened on my collar, pressing against my throat. I half-expected to catch the stench of liquor on him, but I didn’t smell a thing. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here? Didn’t you hear a word I just said? Do you think this is a damn game? I’m here for one reason only, and that’s to make sure you don’t get ripped apart when they throw you on the streets.” He drove my shoulder back with a glare like shattered glass. “Are we clear? They will tear you up and spit you out, and they won’t even blink. You walk out there with this attitude, this arrogance? No Mask you wear will save you. So stop playing by the rules. They won’t.”

  I slammed my arm against his and pushed him as hard as I could. I felt a little less like a weakling when he staggered a step and released me. But I didn’t say a word. I dragged the chair upright and straddled it backwards.

  “So tell me how to survive.”

  “That’s better,” he said. He holstered the gun and turned to Zagger. “We’re here for the same reason, too. We both want to keep him alive. So stay out of my way.”

  “I’ll make that decision.”

  Kor swung toward him. I sprang back to my feet, slamming my hand against the chair and sending it crashing to the floor.

  “STOP IT!” I shouted. “Both of you, shut up and look at me.”

  They both turned around, Zagger contrite, Kor surprised. I went to Zagger and pushed him back a few steps, out of Kor’s hearing.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m doing this.”

  “Let me know when you’re finished with him and I’ll make sure he has a warm send-off.”

  I patted his shoulder and pushed him toward his chair. “You can stay, but only if you keep that big mouth shut. Got it?”

  “Fine, but if he crosses the line…”

  I just looked pointedly at the chair, and he turned away with a heavy sigh. I returned to Kor and folded my arms.

  “So where do we start?”

  He grinned, savagely. “Fight me,” he said. “No weapons.”

  I jerked back, but he didn’t even blink. The man was dead serious—and, I was beginning to suspect, dead crazy too.

  Suddenly I got the sinking feeling that ten years worth of boxing lessons would do me little good. Kor didn’t stand in the correct stance. He didn’t stand in any kind of stance. He just folded his arms and stared at me. And yet I had the sinking feeling that whatever I did, he’d make me look like a first form novice again. I gritted my teeth and went in as hard as I could. Might as well go down in glory.

  He caught my arm, and something cold and round drove up under my chin. I flinched.

  “You said no weapons,” I gritted.

  “I lied.”

  He withdrew the revolver and slammed it into its holster. Zagger hovered in the background, pale and sweating, his hand twitching over the grip of his own gun.

  Kor grabbed my shoulder by the neck, squeezing hard, and brought his face close to mine. “Do you understand now? Do you really understand? Because if I haven’t got it through your thick skull yet, I quit.”

  “Yes,” I said, hoping I didn’t look as defeated as I felt.

  He released me. “You took a lot of lessons in Namolo ring fighting, didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Forget all of it.”

  “Ten years,” I said, turning away. “You expect me to replace ten years of lessons with a few weeks of undisciplined fighting?”

  “Undisciplined,” he echoed. I could hear the smirk in his voice without even looking at him. “Expecting someone to play by the rules when you’re on the street could cost you your life. If someone suggests disarming to fight, he’s got a knife up his sleeve. If he seems to be alone, he’s got a band of thugs out back. And if he’s got a band of thugs who promise to let you fight one-on-one, they will take you out if you start to win. Are we clear?”

  “So, what do you do?”

  He grinned, wolfish. “Carry a knife in your sleeve.”

  “Cheat.”

  “There’s no such thing. There’s only survival.” He glanced back at Zagger. “He knows that. Don’t you?”

  Zagger glared at him but said, “He’s right. Any bodyguard worth his salt doesn’t train in Namolo. You learn Cashina.”

  “Street fighting,” Kor said, noting my confusion. “Learn to fight using anything and everything in your environment. Brutal. Efficient. Simple. No rules except to incapacitate your enemy as quickly as possible.”

  “And that’s what you want me to learn?” I asked. My confusion had nothing to do with understanding the name Cashina, and everything to do with my upbringing. “I thought it was forbidden for the nobility to learn Cashina.”

  “Yes,” Kor said, his eyes glinting madly at me. “But we’re not talking about the nobility, are we?”

  Chapter 15 — Hayli

  Something was digging into my back. I tried to flinch, but my whole side had gone numb—numb from cold, numb from the way I sprawled there. A minute and I realized I had a thick wood beam tracing the line of my spine, and the skin from my left shoulder to toe had got all prickly and wouldn’t wake up.

  I tried to move again. This time I jerked, hard, because suddenly I didn’t find aught on either side of me. My arms flailed and my stomach pitched, and for a second I just chased my breath, round and round. Then I picked my head up, carefully, and blinked at the confusion of shadows around me. A minute and I realized that the greyish haze hanging over my head was a pitched roof, all weathered wood and cobwebs and rusting nails. And me, I was laying flat on my back on the brace that spanned from wall to wall.

  Good perch for a crow. Not a great perch for Hayli.

  I sat up and slung my legs over the beam, the long splinters plucking out the last whole threads of my breeks. Pigeon droppings and wet rust turned the air sour—sour and sharp and stale like the room never breathed. Only a few wispy slats of dim light snaked in through the broken windowpanes, but not near enough for me to see by. I sort of glimpsed some bits of corroded machinery down below. Nothing I cared much to jump down onto, not from my height. The things looked like torture devices even without being half zotzed.

  A familiar little surge of panic shivered through me. I had no idea where I was. No idea how long I’d been out. This was exactly why I hated Shifting. I dug my hand against my forehead and tried to think back to how I’d got here. I’d been at the gala. The Prince’s birthday gala. Stars, the Prince had been talking to me. He’d sat there sweet as could be, and slagged me about stealing food…like he thought I was an actual person. My heart did a little somersault and I shivered from head to toe. What would Pika say about that?

  And then.

  And then what? I’d panicked. Panicked because of Zagger, Zagger of all people! And I’d Shifted. I had the vaguest memory of Tarik staring at me—staring at the crow—but that was all. Just one glimpse. Still, that made more of a memory of my crow-life than I’d ever had before.

  So here I was, sitting on a roof rafter, stuck as a pig. It wasn’t the most awkward place I’d ever woken up, though.

  I held my breath and edged my way toward the wall, while the beam grumbled under my weight and spat out a trickle of dust. From the end of the brace I could sort of see a way to pick my way down, hitching on the window frame and some bits of furniture stuck up against the wall. Trick was not to think about it. Thinking usually got you into trouble
.

  I stuck my foot out and caught the window frame with the toe of my boot, then quick as a wick I hauled myself back up. That wasn’t going to work. I never had a problem climbing up things. Getting down was the problem. So I sat still for a tick, staring down and trying to wrap my head around a solution.

  Somewhere below, glass shattered.

  The rainbow noise ricocheted off the walls, and some dozy pigeons up in the beams with me exploded into the air. I ducked when one strafed my head. Ducked, and lost my balance. My hand shot out, snagging the window frame as I fell. I gasped as my shoulder wrenched up, and fast as I could, I scuttled the rest of the way to the ground. I pitched myself into a dusty cave behind some machinery and crouched there on the cold hard stone, holding my breath against the pain and the fear.

  Could have been a cat, or an ambitious rat. Could have been a person. Or…or a thayo. God, please no. I didn’t really want to meet any of them, especially not a daemon.

  Then I heard the voices. Footsteps shuffling in broken glass, pretending at being quiet. I got to my knees and peeked around the corner of my cover. Dust motes hazed the air, and in the doubtful light I couldn’t see much but the shadows rippling between the walls.

  “Gotcha!”

  An arm shot around my waist, dragging me backward. I screamed and bucked and tried to wiggle free, but whoever it was had got a grip on my hair too, and that hurt like a devil. My legs lashed out, but couldn’t reach squat.

  “Lemme gan!”

  I threw my head back, gratified when it struck something solid and the man behind me yelped like a dog.

  “Do you have her,” another voice asked, “or should I call in some help?”

  The arms tightened, an elbow digging into my back. “I’ve got her. Little hellion.”

  A man came from the shadows to stand in front of me. I barely got a goggle of his face, just a hint of spectacles and grey or pale hair, and a suit coat with brass buttons and velvet lapels.

  “You’re sure about this one?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. Bring her.”

  I writhed again, flailing my arms like a pinned squirrel. “Take me where?” I hollered. “What d’you want from me?”

  A hand pressed over my mouth. I thought he was trying to shut me up, but then…

  A smell.

  Sweet.

  Burning…burning…burning

  White walls.

  White walls surrounded me. White lights glared at me from the white ceiling, like little suns drilling pain into my skull. My nose prickled from a cold chemical stench that somehow smelled…white. I blinked but it wasn’t my eyes gone boggy—the place really was that strange. I’d never seen a place like it. Everything was much too smooth. The walls too flat, the ceiling too even, the surface under my hands cold and glassy.

  It felt like a lie.

  Somewhere close by, just where I couldn’t see, I could hear folks talking. I strained but couldn’t make out their words, just the low murmur—men—with the occasional laugh and the squeaking of wooden chairs.

  A minute and I tried to get up, but I couldn’t budge. My legs wouldn’t move. My arms wouldn’t twitch. I just lay there helpless, breathless…head pounding, stomach tied in knots. And I’d thought the rafter experience was the most nightmarish wake-up imaginable.

  “She’s awake,” someone said.

  Shoes tapped on a tiled floor.

  Flinching, I tried to pick up my head. It was the only part of me I could move. Thick grey straps across my chest and legs pinned me against a metal table, the silver surface blinding under the bright lights. I gave a few feeble attempts to thrash free, but somehow I couldn’t even Shift, no matter how hard I concentrated. I’d never tried Shifting with my hands tied, so maybe I had to be free to make it happen. Figured.

  So. I was good and caught. I swallowed hard to keep from panicking, and drew in a long deep breath. I couldn’t find aught else to focus on besides the walls of that room, and…

  A man shifted into view above me, none as I’d ever seen before. He was tall and thin, wearing a thick wool jumper and a grey silk tie like any old gent, but he had a face like vinegar and eyes like a devil. And he was staring at me as if I were the one who’d dragged myself there.

  He pulled a stool up beside me and perched on it, wrinkled hands folded in his lap. I stared at his nails, because they looked far too pretty to belong on a man’s hands. And still he just sat there and watched me. I ground my teeth until my head ached. He studied me exactly the way the Hole lads studied a dead cat they’d found once—all morbid curiosity and cold fascination.

  “Who’re you and what’d you do to me? What d’you want me for?” I asked, when he didn’t speak for much too long.

  One brow perked up. I imagined he smiled.

  “Don’t be sullen,” he said. “Who I am doesn’t really matter. I’m more interested in who you are. What’s your name, love?”

  And he said it with all the hate in the world.

  “What d’you need it for?” I spat.

  He glanced away and shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

  I craned my head but couldn’t see aught but a dark mirror spanning almost the whole wall.

  “Who’re you talking to?” I asked. I twitched my head back to frown at the man. “No one else’s here. What kind of bug house is this?”

  “Call her Seven,” a voice said, drifting disembodied from somewhere near the mirror. It sounded familiar—it belonged to the spectacled man who’d watched me get caught. “If she doesn’t have a name.”

  I shivered, blurting, “I’ve got a name!”

  I bit my tongue soon as the words got out. Why should it bother me if they saw me as a nameless? Safer if they did. And I was an idiot to be so proud, hanging on to my name like it meant something.

  The devil-eyed man squinted at me. “You’re a shape-shifter.”

  “Am not!” I shot back, then, “Says who?”

  He sighed and stood, and stepped back behind my head. I twisted and strained but couldn’t get a glimpse of him, and my heart took off racing. Seeing him was terrible. Not seeing him was near a hundred times worse. I listened close, though, and caught a grating and rasping like a drawer opening up, and the rustle of hard objects.

  “My man saw you Shift,” his voice said.

  “Maybe he was swacked.”

  The drawer slammed. “Don’t try my patience.”

  “Bog off!” I snapped. I would’ve spat at him like Coins had taught me, except I knew it would just end up on my own face, and that didn’t seem terribly impressive. “What got him in a rat hole like that? And where’ve you got me? I’ve got folks looking for me!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “No one’s looking for you.”

  His face suddenly filled my view, his hand clamping on my chin. He tilted his head, contemplating me like a puzzle. He passed his other hand over my forehead, holding some little brass gadget that looked rather like a pocket watch, except it was much too thick.

  “What shall we do with you,” he murmured, as if I had a say in the matter. “Never caught a Shifter before.” He glanced over his shoulder and said, “These readings are phenomenal.”

  I worked my jaw but his hand gripped harder and harder, till I thought maybe my teeth would pop loose. I dragged in a breath through my nose, but the sharp chemical smell burned and turned my head dizzy. I couldn’t do aught but stare up at him. Couldn’t even ask him to let me breathe.

  “Will it be even work with her? And if it does, will it be useful?” the other voice asked. “I don’t want to waste any more energy on useless specimens.”

  “Oh, who’s to say? That’s the thrill of it, Doctor. You never know what will turn out to be useful.”

  “Fine, do it. But don’t forget the amnesic. She can’t remember any of this.”

  The man’s face pulled back, and he smiled, and pain exploded through my spine.

  * * * *

  “Hay
li.”

  A hand dropped on my shoulder, a hand from the dark, dark cold. Pain like a flash surged all through me. I tried to open my eyes but an image flickered across them…white walls…a masked face…

  Blood.

  They’d said I wouldn’t remember, but I did. Bits and snatches of light and pain…and words, words, words.

  The hand tightened. I shrieked, or tried to, but the sound gummed up in my throat. My muscles twitched, wanting to fight but failing. The harder they twitched, the more it all hurt, but I couldn’t stop… Had to get away… Fly away…fly away…

  “Hayli, open your eyes. It’s me. Calm down.”

  “Tarik?” I mumbled.

  The low laugh finally got my eyes open, only to find Derrin there, kneeling by my side, his hand still tight on my arm. He looked paler than ever, and I stared in surprise when I read the relief in his eyes. Derrin had been worried about me?

  “You disappear for five days, end up in a gutter, and wake up thinking I’m the crown prince? What exactly happened after we split up?”

  I blinked at him, trying to figure if he was angry. But I couldn’t focus on anything. I was cold, cold, but everything in me burned like I’d caught fire. My hands shook, and then my arms shook, until my whole body twitched with shivers. Derrin pulled me up, which didn’t hurt near as much as I expected. Next thing I knew I was floating, watching the street upside-down as it bobbed in time to Derrin’s steps.

  We passed under a street lamp and Derrin glanced down at me, his face shifting to a frown.

  “Oh Hayli,” he said. “What did you get yourself into?”

  “I dan’ na! What’d they want with me? How’d they know?”

  “Hush, girl. Almost there.”

  “I did it, Derrin,” I moaned over a raggedy gasp. “Did what Kantian told me not to. Shifted. I’m so sorry…”

  He just shook his head and kept going, and I gave up trying to care.

  Chapter 16 — Tarik

  “So tell me,” Kor said, one day out of nowhere. “What are you going to tell them your gift is?”