Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy)

by Thea Atkinson

  Ami pushed at Kat's body, pulling himself out from underneath her as Theda wrapped her arms around the woman's shoulders, keeping her hand clamped down around the woman's mouth. She struggled, elbowing Theda in the ribs and managing to twist like a gator to her back on the floor, throwing Theda off and to the side. But there wasn't much after that. The bliss took the rider, and she lay staring at the ceiling, her jaw slack, pupils invading the mint-green of her eyes until there was barely any iris left colored.

  Theda was almost afraid to look at Ami. She expected him to curl into a fetal position the way she'd done her first time, lay there, too ashamed to even pull up his jeans. But he was on his hands and knees, his jeans still off his hips. His throat emitted the most guttural sounds of anger and pleasure she'd heard, his hand pumping his member with angry, almost desperate ferocity. When he came, he arched to his knees and aimed the jet of semen at Kat's face, roaring at her, cursing, shouting fuck you fuck you over and over.

  Theda squeezed her eyes shut, knowing all too well the intimate need to reverse the shame back onto the assaulter, how cathartic it must be for him to let it go, and how ultimately inadequate the act was just the same.

  It was he who spoke first, his voice throaty with something Theda could only identify as victory.

  "Took you long enough," he said.

  She took in the almost casual way he hitched his jeans back over his hips.

  She should look away, but found she couldn't. She searched for words, and found the most likely ones.

  "I couldn't remember which smear was the inert one," she said.

  "So you gave her both?"

  She nodded.

  He stood, taking the time to toe the rider as she lay on the floor. "Smart," he said. "Except what the sweet fuck are we going to do now?"

  They'd planned it so carefully. Theda would take the inert smear, staying conscious so she could be aware of where the rider took her. Cain would follow, and if by some chance Kat decided to take Ami too, his would be the godspit, keeping him blissfully ignorant of anything they would try to torture out of him later. Now that was all gone to hell in a hand basket, pardon the religious metaphor.

  With the general passed out and under the influence, they would have no way of finding Ezekiel. And when the woman did wake, they were both in for a world of hurt.

  Theda shrugged, trying to form some sort of answer. "Without Cain," she said, "we've got no chance."

  "So we run?"

  Run. Something she'd always been good at. Except now she didn't want to run. She wanted to find Ezekiel. Running just wasn't good enough anymore.

  "What's the point?" she said. "She'll find us eventually."

  "Then we kill her?" He looked at the rider with disgust and Theda wasn't sure if his revulsion was aimed at Kat or if he was repulsed by the idea of murdering her.

  "She's the only one that can lead us to Ezekiel," she said.

  Ami shrugged. "And that's a problem because?"

  Theda glared at him. "You know that's a problem."

  It seemed as though he wanted to argue the point, but even as he looked to speak, he swallowed down what he was going to say and turned toward Cain instead. "Do we just leave him there?"

  Leave him there. That was out of the question. Cain deserved better than that.

  "We could at least wrap him in something," she suggested.

  "And then what?"

  She eyed Cain's form, thinking that maybe this God-created-once removed man might find some peace finally. "I don't know. Find a church?"

  The body on the floor twitched at the words. The chest lurching upward as though offended.

  "A church?" came a small voice from the prostrate form. "Are you trying to kill me?"

  Chapter 20

  Theda rushed at him, feeling the elation of hope stream back in. "We thought you were dead."

  "Obviously," Cain said, groaning his way to his side. He coughed, working up bloody sputum and spitting it onto the floor next to the forearm that propped him up. He grimaced, clutching his belly.

  "Stay still; you're hurt," she said, pressing him flat again. "Ami, go get a clean towel and some water. And there's antibiotic ointment in the bathroom--"

  "Theda," Cain cut her off.

  "It's not much, but it's something, Cain."

  "Theda?" This time Ami. "You think ointment is going to help a gunshot wound?"

  "You have a better idea?" Her voice was a shriek. She hated hearing it that way. To distract herself, she worked at Cain's shirt, thinking to peel it open, give the wound some air, see how bad it was. Cain's bloody hand covered hers. She looked down at it, swallowing hard.

  "Don't," he said.

  "We have to try, Cain."

  One corner of his mouth lifted in an apologetic smile that didn't reach the green of his eyes. "You don't understand--"

  "I do understand. We aren't going to just let you die right here in front of us."

  "No," he said. "That's not it. I--"

  "You will shut the hell up and let me try." She pulled her hand free of his, working fiercely at his shirt, peeling it away from the bloody skin, easing it off inch-by-inch, surveying the area. She tried to remember her First Aid. She'd taken a course in order to babysit so many years ago. All that came to mind was the image of bubbly spit which meant blood in the lungs. What to do for it she couldn't recall. She couldn't even recall how to make a sling. Stupid, stupid girl. She'd gotten the damned certificate hadn't she? And now she couldn't imagine what in the hell to do for a sprain let alone a messy gunshot wound.

  "Where in the hell is the towel, Ami?" she said, frustrated.

  Ami was there, of course, towel in hand, but he didn't pass it to Theda. Instead, he lifted Cain's head and eased the cloth beneath it.

  "No," Theda said. "To clean the wound, to--"

  "To nothing, Theda," Ami said. "You can't do anything for him that will matter."

  Theda caught Cain's eye.

  "He's right," the horseman said. "But not for the reasons you think." He spit in his hand and smeared it over his belly, washing away some of the blood, scraping as though it were sauce on a counter. Theda searched for the wound. Her fingers moved to his skin, probing.

  She eyed him warily. "Where is it?"

  "There is no wound."

  "But..."

  He tapped his forehead where his wine stain birthmark went white beneath his fingers, and his eyes locked onto hers. "'And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.'"

  "You can't be."

  "Can't I? You wanted to bring me to a church."

  "Because you were dead, because I thought for a stupid second that--"

  "That I was Cain," he said. "I am."

  She fell back on her haunches, trying to process the possibility. The first Cain. Adam and Eve's son.

  "I never thought you were the original. Well, not really. The reincarnated Cain, maybe..."

  She floundered because she couldn't reconcile the biblical stories with what she knew now of the god, of the fact that this man had seen the god, had spoken to him, been marked by him. It was too much. First Ezekiel confessing he was a fallen angel for shit's sake, and now this, this delusional man trying to make her believe he was the original Cain. He'd have to be thousands of years old. She must have shaken her head in disbelief because he touched her knee, laying his palm down on it.

  "You witnessed the Apocalypse and you doubt I'm him?"

  "The lab," was all she could think to say and he smiled again.

  "Yeah, she shot me, all right." He winced as he moved to sit up, casting his glance to where Kat still lay. "Hurts like the dickens, but it heals."

  Theda was still reeling, the sense of freefall slipping over her, and her brain started to mix and match the possibilities, piecing ragged bits together in an oddly cohesive mosaic because if she couldn't weave them, if they didn't go together, she'd have nothing to fall on.

  "Ezekiel knew," she said. "That's why he didn't want her
to poke at you too long when we were in the hall."

  "She shot me five times in the chest," he said. "About ten feet from where you guys found me. She's not stupid. She knew something was off."

  Theda grabbed the towel and ran it over his chest, his stomach, clearing the skin of blood. Scars everywhere, risen slugs of flesh, dents that looked like gouges. She stuck her finger in a crater, trying to press her nail inside. He yelped and grabbed her hand.

  "I'm real," he said, rolling to his side. "The bullets just get absorbed somehow."

  "It's a miracle," she said.

  "Sure, if you believe in that sort of stuff." He got to his feet, swaying for a moment, then catching Ami's eye, nodded in Kat's direction. "You got lucky, I take it."

  "Too lucky." Ami scowled at the rider for a moment, then started to laugh. Theda suspected he found nothing actually funny, but couldn't stop. When he jammed his fists into his pockets, straining his face to the ceiling, she was certain of it.

  "It's okay, Ami," she said. "It's a bad joke. That's all. He doesn't know."

  "Know what?" Cain did look confused; if he was pretending, he was doing a great job.

  "Ami got lucky," Theda said. "With our warrior kitten over there."

  It took a moment, but the horseman's face eventually revealed just how well he understood. "I see," he said. His chin seesawed back and forth. "She's hardcore, that one." He surveyed the Red General as she lay face up on the carpet, taking in the sheen of cold semen on her cheek that dripped to the carpet.

  "Sorry for that," he said but had the sense not to wait for Ami to respond. "How much time do you think we have?"

  "Time?" Theda said.

  Cain nodded. "Before she wakes up, comes to, or whatever it is that happens to a spitter when the fix wears off."

  Theda shrugged, trying not to feel offended. "I think my first time I was out for about twenty-four hours, but the drug was new; they've dwindled down the potency since then."

  Cain eyed her head to foot. "You're about five-foot five. She's a good five-nine." He regarded Ami. "You're the chemist."

  "It's not superior product." Ami shook his head. "Just good enough to sell to the hardcore spitters who will forget the drug doesn't deplete dopamine and tell themselves they're building tolerance."

  "How long?"

  "Maybe eight hours."

  "We need more time than that."

  Theda had watched the exchange with interest, but now she was confused. "For what? We can't get very far in a couple of hours and I'm not going anywhere until I find out what she did with Ezekiel."

  "Same page, Theda," Cain said. "Which is why we need to keep her out longer."

  Without further comment, he made his way to the kitchen. Theda heard him rummaging in drawers. Ami lifted his shoulders in shared ignorance when she looked to him for answers. After a few moments, the horseman returned with a pair of black-handled scissors. He crossed the room to kneel next to Kat and bent to peel open one of the woman's eyelids. "Can't do anything about the eyes," he mumbled to himself. "Except maybe sunglasses," he said. He stuck his fingers into the blood-matted hair, lifting it to examination. "Not exactly a feminine haircut. Not sure about the red hair."

  "What are you talking about?" Theda said, eyeing the scissors.

  Cain regarded her from his spot kneeling next to Kat. "Change of plans," he said. He eased back to his feet, clapping his hand down on Ami's shoulder. "We can't use her to take us to General Eazy, obviously. But we do have another woman."

  Ami seemed to be on exactly the same wavelength, and he didn't seem to like what he was understanding one little bit.

  "She's too short," Ami complained.

  "Standing, yes," Caine said. "But if she had to be helped in, supported, if she were leaning on someone, it might work."

  "What might work?"

  Cain ignored her question. He addressed Ami instead. "Can you get more smears?"

  "Look who cares about my day job now," Ami said.

  "We don't have time to argue. Can you get more? Can you make more?"

  "Why do you think there was an inert smear?" he said. "I had to concoct a substitute for the catalyst." He shrugged. "The drain cleaner is just running out. No one to manufacture it anymore."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  Ami's tone changed. "I'm pretty sure I just did."

  Theda had the sneaking suspicion the scissors would be used on her hair and not Kat's. "Someone tell me what's going on," she said.

  Cain ignored her. "I'm going to ask you one more time," he said to Ami. "Can you make more?"

  Ami refused to answer.

  "General Eazy's life might depend on it."

  "You think I give a flying fuck about the general? It's Theda who matters. The bitch is out; we can just run." He reached for Theda's hand. "Let's not waste any more time. Let's just go."

  Theda pulled her hand away, sure that what Cain wanted was in no way easy, safe, or pleasant. Ami's aversion solidified her certainty.

  "Can you make more?" she demanded.

  Ami looked sullen. "I have about six scripts left, but no catalyst."

  Cain lifted a shoulder. "Then make some. What do you need?"

  "Ammonia mostly. A few other things." He seemed wary of offering too much information. "But she'll be awake no doubt by the time I manage it."

  "Then you'd better hurry."

  Theda dared a glance in Kat's direction. "But that still doesn't help. We still don't know where Ezekiel is."

  "I'm laying bets he's at the boutique," Cain said. "And if he isn't, it's at least the best place to begin."

  Theda didn't like the sound of that. Her knees went weak. "I don't know if I can do that. Sasha knows me."

  "But you're not going in as yourself. You're going in as Kat. Most people don't look her in the eye. Most people try not to give her a good hard study at all. Ami here will keep the general well lubricated while we check it out. If he isn't there, then she'll still be alive to be of use to us."

  "And if he does end up being there? If we manage to get him out? What then?"

  "Simple. She dies as easily as anyone else."

  In the end, they dyed Theda's hair with a spread of bold red ginger in a box that Cain bartered for at the drugstore down the street, and Ami cut Theda's hair into slashes of locks they could spike out with gel. She looked ridiculously young, and so far from the general that Theda wanted to cry at the futility of the plan. When Ami produced a pair of high-heeled boots to make up the height difference, Cain exclaimed in delight while she scowled at them.

  "I wear sneakers, Ami," she said coldly. "I do not wear heels."

  "Today you do," Cain said, distracted, digging in the general's pockets. They'd left her too long, too trusting in the godspit to keep her down, and now he was obviously getting anxious about controlling her if she woke up. He murmured to himself in relief when he pulled out a knot of plastic ties.

  "Where did you even find these things?" she asked Ami, holding the boots out by the tops, wrinkling her nose. "They stink."

  Cain twisted Kat's hands behind her back, laying her sideways on the floor. He took a moment to peer up. "What does it matter?"

  "It matters," Theda said. "What if they're lousy with fungus?"

  He sucked the back of his teeth and put his hands on his hips as he looked down at the rider. "Do all their eyes roll around like that?" he said. "It's creepy."

  Theda pursed her lips, offended. "They," she said, stressing the pronoun, "all react differently." She tried to pull on a boot and ended up skip-hopping on one foot till she nearly fell on the blissed-out general. When she regained her balance, she noticed the smear remains lying on the floor next to Kat, forgotten in the rush to prep the plan.

  She pointed at them, not quite believing what she was seeing, hoping she was just tired. That she didn't truly comprehend the way the inert one looked because she'd never seen it appear that way--all violet and purple, screaming in the colors nature dressed poison in signal
its danger to birds and insects alike.

  "The smears," she said to Cain, trying not to look at Ami. "Get them."

  Cain leaned over, craning his neck to see. He froze when he spied them: one perfectly white, ungodded and plain, the other, the true smear, inert and unswayed from its original purpose having completed its reason for being.

  "It's violet," he said, not thinking what it might mean to Ami, not sparing his feelings. Theda's gaze flew to her friend; too late, his gaze locked on the exhausted smears.

  "Fuck," Ami said. "She's got HIV."

  Chapter 21

  No one understood the allure of godspit like a junkie. Whether or not Theda would have called herself an addict before the godspit, after the first tingle of bliss fired her synapses, she knew she'd never be able to describe herself in any other way again. She was weak in the face of it. It filled the empty spaces. Even as she felt it consume the darkness, she found more shadows for it to devour, more emptiness to spread into. She even hollowed out spaces deep in the recesses of her memory just so there would be something to fill in.

  She'd already taken a dozen smears onto her tongue by the time Henrik had found her. The early post-apocalypse slipped away in a blur of days where she salivated for one more fix followed by nights when she surrendered to whatever came her way so long as the ecstasy blinded her. She was a mess. Unwashed and starving, taking her mortality with a hefty dose of complacency gifted to her by the Apocalypse. She'd run out of money by then. Had eaten the last bit of boxed cereal she'd managed to ferret from her mother's apartment before a gang of horsemen turned her out. She slept in a ratty sleeping bag stained with the semen of half a dozen assaults and was sick of fixing out in the open, vulnerable to any bastard walking by.

  And then Henrik. Oh Henrik. Fresh-faced like a choir boy from her father's church. Dressed in a suit of all things, looking for a tumble in a back alley. Seeing him on the street corner made her think of her father's church and all the holy beatings she'd received at the foot of his pulpit as he labored so lovingly to cast out the demons who possessed her. Such dedication for a man who so frequently lost wagers to his own Mephistopheles. Such paternal devotion to care so heartily for her immortal soul that he sacrificed work on his own to ensure her salvation. Oh Father, gone to his heaven already, but so much better suited to this new version of Earth, with its every nuance so unlike the one he preached.