Evelyn Strange gave up remembrance for action, picking up a phone and dialing through the Institution system. “We’re ready for you,” was all she said before hanging up.
“Guess it’s time to get you undressed and strapped in, Reti . . . oh how much I’m looking forward to doing all this naked as a jaybird . . .”
*
Scio-anima has a very light touch. Perhaps not the lightest touch, but close enough to be insignificant. You don’t form it into a solid chunk or spray it about or even weave it, instead you slowly disperse it about you, one tiny waft at a time. If you’re interested in making shadows that is. Scio-anima can do more . . . can be surprisingly solid if it needs to be . . . but shadows . . . shadows were slow and soft and almost like walking through a house with an aerosol can . . . an aerosol can that didn’t need to be attached to your hand.
Corners were your best friends.
A spectromancer bent light around themselves to turn quasi-invisible; a sciomancer manipulated the environment to have a place to hide. This made sneaking into a building a slow process broken by moments of pure rushing speed. Like a spider’s movement. I’ve dove into more than one shadowy corner only to find myself with their company.
Eva popped open the backdoor of the dentist office.
Doors and hallways spread in front of her, with a sharp right corner, just like the blueprints of the building labeled. Three minutes of scio-anima left her, worked in front of her, slowly coalescing into darkness. There were fluorescent lights above her head, but dimmed, not blaring at full. Good. Easy.
When the shadow was finished, she silently closed the door behind her, leaving it unlocked. Always have an exit, two if you can manage it.
One: go back the way she came.
Two: smash her way through the glass at the front of the building and pray she wasn’t hurt enough that she could still stand and run off.
Door closed, she darted into her shadow. Just as she did a roar sounded from the front of the dentist office, followed by cursing and screams. Eva made out more than four specific voices. Most of them were feminine. The distraction was good, but she was far away from seeing anything. With another three minutes of scio-anima she worked hurriedly on a shadow all the way down the hallway in another corner. From the plans, at the second shadow spot, it would be a good run, then straight on through a door to the waiting room where the fighting took place.
Long run to that second shadow.
Long run to the door and then . . .
What?
Watch. Don’t get involved. Watch. Wasn’t her job to save a stupid Were.
From what she heard as she formed the second shadow, she wasn’t so sure Grant Little needed saving. There was the crack of broken bone, the thud of a body slamming into a wall. But then there was the whoosh of flame and the smell of burnt fur overwhelmed every sense, even as far away as Eva still was.
She darted to the second shadow finally.
More doors on either side.
But one directly in front of her, begging to be opened.
Growls, bodies striking each other, nervous laughter.
I know that laugh, that’s Isabel’s laugh.
More growling but pained, the buzz of . . . pressurized water?
The shadows at the edge of Eva’s vision were flashing violently…a lot of anima was flying around in that room. I believe Lover Boy would call it a ‘fuckton,’ maybe even a ‘mega fuckton.’
A final thud, then clinking of restraints being shut.
The door in front of Eva beckoned to her. Open it up and know. Open it up and step into a new adventure. How much she resisted as she snuck forward, going not for that main door out into the waiting room, but slowly opening the one that led into the secretarial area. She wasn’t visible from where she almost crawled along the ground, but neither could she see what was happening still.
She could make out muffled voices though, what could come through the tiny slit of where secretaries and patients interacted. The crossing point of two worlds, where services and pay were exchanged.
Eva worked a third shadow in a corner as she listened. Twenty minutes of anima, knife, gun, run away, she reminded herself.
“Broke my fucking arm!” a man yelled.
“I’m bleeding!” said another.
“Oh shut up and quit being babies the both of you,” from a woman.
I recognize that voice too, don’t I? But who? Are they from the Asylum? The problem with going to school with sixteen-hundred children at any one time is that you lost track of them over the years and it all became a jumble. More Asylum graduates working for the Curator . . . this is headed for a very dark place, too dark even for me.
“I told you they would track the big oaf! You didn’t believe me and now we’re out of a home,” another woman said. South American accented English . . . that was Isabel, Eva was sure. The greater mass of Asylum students was fuzzy, but she’d never forget the voice of anyone in Ultra Class ’09.
“We handled this one easy enough,” a third woman giggled, “let the rest come and get the same. I’m tired of hiding what we’re doing.”
“He wouldn’t like that!” Isabel rebutted.
“He’s not here to coddle you and back up your every mad thought though, is he?” the giggler mocked.
“Would you bitches shut up?!?” the first man said. “He broke my fucking arm and I have to kill Price tomorrow!”
Sapa . . .
“I’m bleeding!” the second man repeated in a panic.
“Men,” the first woman said angrily, “Isabel was kicked across the room, you don’t hear her whining.”
“Well, I’m not a freak like her, am I?” Sapa growled.
“Just a different kind of freak,” the giggler joked. Isabel giggled along with her that time.
The shadow was done.
“He must have tracked your car,” a fourth woman decided, her voice soft and pleasant but just a little wrong, like she was too distracted to give you all of her attention. “Move it down the street away from the building,” she ordered. “Ivan, go with him. When you return, Mary will see to your injuries.”
Mary . . . wait . . . no . . .
No, no, no!
Eva knew that last voice. Knew it down to her core, every student at the Asylum during her stay knew it and feared it and if they heard it they immediately left its vicinity. That’s impossible . . . it can’t be!
Eva stood up into her shadowy corner in the secretarial office. Still removed by the scene in the waiting room or not, her brain rebelled at what she saw. RUN!!! half of it screamed at her. DON’T MOVE, another part shrieked, DON’T BLINK, DON’T BREATHE OR SHE WILL NOTICE YOU.
Catherine Hayes, Mary O’Connell, and Teresa Garcia.
The Three Queens.
In the room with Conan Sapa and Isabel Soto.
Working for the Curator.
I have to tell someone, someone has to know . . . Lover Boy has to know!
Sapa was a great big brute of a man now, muscles covered with tribal tattoos fitting for a Pacific Islander, coloring dark, skin tanned, eyes bloodshot. He favored an arm hanging limply by his side, his teeth visibly clenched against the pain.
There was another man beside him, Russian by the looks of him. He had a hand pressed against his face, holding back a flow of blood that still trickled down the gaps in his fingers. He also shuffled his feet and swayed like an animal kept too long in a cage. Must be Ivan . . . you can see the Anima Madness in him. Long past the point where the Asylum would still let him walk around unattended. Or walk at all . . . either the Pit, a Recruiter’s needle, or a visit from me in his future.
A third man stood behind Catherine nodding along to her every word. Bald, pale, his lips were tied shut with stitches. What kind of freak show is this?
“I don’t take orders from you,” Conan Sapa told Catherine, taking a bullying step in her direction.
“He left her in charge,” Teresa sneered in Sapa’s direction. She looke
d at Sapa like she wanted to burn him, burn him as she burned Grant Little, burn him as she burned everyone.
“What do I care about what he wants? This week is about what I want!” Sapa raged back.
Catherine barely noticed that Sapa existed. She kept glancing to the side at something invisible. More invisible than even Eva in her shadowed hiding place, one room over. Catherine Hayes . . . she was tall and thin and everything most men claim they physically want in a woman. Everything I’m very much not, Eva thought with a bit of wry humor.
Physically want . . . mentally, not so much.
Catherine was at best a plain ol’ sociopath, at worst they’d need to write new books about her to diagnose her conditions. Most men tried to avoid that . . . no matter how tight your ass cheeks or how pretty your honey-colored hair is. Even Lover Boy steered clear . . . minor miracle that it might be.
Isabel was there, across the room from Catherine. She had the body of Veronica Lee, tall and beautiful and so sickly skinny Eva thought she could break her in half with a good punch. Isabel hugged her middle, a pose Eva had seen hundreds of times before when Isabel got uncomfortable at some social situation she didn’t quite understand. Like a toddler with a stomach ache.
Mary and Teresa as always were almost conjoined at the hip. Not as tall as Catherine, but both were still attractive. Mary had a naughty schoolgirl look even though she’d left the schoolgirl outfit behind a long time ago. Pigtails on a grown woman . . . it should be a warning sign, not a turn-on. Teresa was the curviest of the three, darkest features as well. Not green or blue eyes, only angry embers. Eva could smell the cigarette smoke wafting off of her from across all that space. If it’s just cigarette smoke . . .
Grant Little was strapped to a dentist’s reclining chair with metal restraints. His hands were cuffed and his ankles cuffed. Twice. Werewolf Alpha or not, he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. But he’s still breathing. Some part of Eva wanted to play the hero and rescue him, but as she kept telling herself: she was a spy.
Her job was to accumulate information and to give it to the Learning Council. Sure, sometimes she was an assassin too, and other times Samson sent her to give mysterious messages to Vampire Divines, but mostly . . . she was a spy. She had just learned the location of Isabel Soto and Conan Sapa, both of who were on the ESLED Most Wanted list. Number two and number three after the Curator himself thanks to their little show with Jason.
Jason.
Another part of her didn’t want to play the spy but the assassin. If it was only Isabel and Sapa she might have tried to take them on even. Seven bullets into Isabel. A scio-blade or two or three for Sapa. That would feel quite good.
But they weren’t alone.
Eva Reti was the only other person on the planet who knew it too.
So she had to get out of that dentist office.
Go back the way you came, she thought.
Only the others were moving about, dispersing. Escaping too quickly could be just as large of a mistake as escaping too late. Wait for the room to thin out and her odds increased. Yes, that’s it, that’s exactly why I’m just standing here in the shadows. It’s not that I’m terrified by being ten feet away from the Three Queens, like some poor Single who learned what the Blackjacks would do to you for the first time.
In the other room, Catherine slid up to Sapa, showing no fear over his size or strength. She always was one of those women who got off about the power differential she found herself at with men just by being a First Tier mancer. A dare in her eyes, a begging whisper, ‘try to touch me against my will and see what happens to you big, bad, tough man.’ “Fine,” she told him aloud, “sit there holding your arm for the next twenty-four hours then go into the cage with Price injured.”
Sapa snarled at her, hardly sounding human.
Catherine smiled with menace few could manage. “How long do you think you will last with him? My money is on him even without you being lame . . . but you with only one arm . . . I think I’ll bet my savings.”
“What will the boss say when I lose because you refused to heal me?” Sapa growled.
“You don’t care about what he wants, remember? Or once the woman outsmarts you are you appealing to daddy’s shadow for help?”
Ivan grabbed at Sapa’s good arm before he could swing at Catherine. “We go quick. No problem. Let them dispose trash. Head to backup hideout. Heal you. Sleep. Fight tomorrow. One more day. One more day. One more day.”
“I heard you the first time, you crazy bastard,” Sapa snapped, but he did turn to push his way through the front door. For just a moment, Eva saw freedom outside, and then the door closed.
“One day, someone like him will actually punch you in the face,” Isabel said once the men were gone, only the bald, stitch-lipped man left, trailing behind Catherine like a trained dog.
“Whoever he is, I’ll chop his hand off the second he tries it,” Catherine guaranteed with a sharp smile.
Teresa chuckled, Mary giggled, and Isabel snorted at her in annoyance. The last man with the stitched mouth said nothing, following Catherine around as she approached Grant Little’s side. Little was naked and badly bruised, but not burnt, perhaps healing when he Shifted to human. Wolf to human to wolf to human in such a short span, it’s likely that use of power had sapped him just as much as the fight had.
Catherine’s fingers slid provocatively from his navel, up his hairy but muscled chest, all the way to the base of his neck. “Anyone care to have a go?”
Mary stepped up with a giggle. She took in an eyeful. “Too ugly for my tastes, not roasted enough for Teresa’s. How about you, Isabel? You like Neanderthals after all.”
“You three should be nicer to me. The only reason I’m not in charge is because I was away when he sent you all here,” Isabel rebutted.
“Unlikely,” Catherine told her. “You don’t have the anima type to understand the ritual.”
“There’s more going on than your silly ritual,” Isabel pouted.
“Yes, there’s been everything involving you,” Teresa snapped back at her, “which has been utter failure . . . just like usual when we involve you in our plans.”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“Not fuck that cretin King Henry Price for one,” Teresa pointed out. “Destroy Heinrich Welf’s life like you promised us you would all those years ago? Kill his annoying little sister at least.”
“I was confused then!”
“You’re still confused.”
“I’m not crazy!” Isabel screamed at her.
“We’re all a little crazy,” Catherine whispered in the same tone you would use on a spooked horse. “You’re not alone, Isabel. We’re sisters in anima. Family, remember?”
Isabel scowled with Veronica Lee’s face. “I’m going to do a check of the perimeter.”
The Three Queen’s watched her go, so did Eva. Isabel went through the hallway door, using the same route Eva was planning to leave through. I’ll give her a minute to be away and then follow.
Even though the odds had never been better at saving Grant Little from certain death, she couldn’t take the risk. The Three Queens being the Three Queens, she’d only get off two shots before she had to contend with a very pissed off First Tier Ultra . . . and that’s assuming she didn’t miss or Catherine didn’t form some type of aero-barrier. She’d shoot Catherine first if she did it, then Teresa. Let Mary try to fend Eva off . . . and whatever the stitch-lipped hanger-on was.
You can’t do it.
Leave, get to the car, call Samson, tell him to send the cavalry . . . maybe even come himself.
She tried not to think about what she could do now that she had her prey so nearby. It was a far bigger fish than she’d set out for. Seven mancers. At least four of them were Ultras. Sapa was supposed to only be an Intra, but he sure was strong for one now.
Speaking of which . . . what was all that ceremony talk they were having?
There was a pair of dentist chairs laid out, a c
ircle of metal, some type of artifact between them and smaller ones surrounding. There were boxes in a corner and fold-out chairs. An over-flowing waste-bin filled with fast-food wrappers, a phone charger plugged into a wall socket. The very odd among the very mundane.
“Would you really not anger bang King Henry Price?” Mary asked Teresa suddenly. “Admit it! Tell me you’ve never fantasized about making him pop while you’ve got your finger burning a hole in his stomach?”
Teresa snarled. “Of course not! I suppose you’d take a go at him . . . provided he was chained down.”
“Catherine’s kink, not mine,” Mary giggled. “I’m more of a water tentacle kind of gal, especially the smaller the hole I can stick them in . . . nothing like watching a man decide if he should keep thrusting away or try to fight for some air, is there? It’s very . . . primal, the way they’ll kill themselves just to give their jolly boys a chance at piecing your eggs, and then once they’re spent you get to play God and decide if they get another go at it.”
“You’re lucky Isabel is around to be weirder than you are,” Teresa sarcastically pointed out.
“Catherine, what are you doing?” Mary asked, sliding closer to Grant Little.
“My joke wasn’t about screwing him, my joke was about using him for another ceremony,” Catherine whispered.
“We don’t have the other half of the equation,” Mary said. “Unless you want to use Mortimer. But then you wouldn’t have him trailing along behind you like a lost puppy.”
Mortimer, the man with stitches in his lips, growled at her, deep from his throat to get the point across.
Mary giggled at him. “I’m just playing with you, Morty!”
Were and a mancer for a ceremony . . . okay, got what I came for, the Lady can figure out what it all means and the United States Air Force can drop a cluster bomb on this entire neighborhood as far as I’m concerned.
Eva went the way she came, on her hands and knees with a part crab walk, part crawl. The door was the worst part. Doors were always the worst part. Making noises, hiding what was behind them. She’d listened for Isabel’s exit out the back, now the Facechanger could be anywhere. Not that she’s a Facechanger, but they never bothered to tell me what her title was as the corpusmancer Maximus. Maximus . . . what a thing to keep from the mancer population . . . they didn’t even tell those who reached the reunion courses at thirty-three. Learning Council only.
King Henry and the Three Little Trips (The King Henry Tapes) Page 11
