Wilde Child 7

by Jenn Stark

He scowled at me. “You know I’m your biggest fan, Sara, but I’m not buying that you can see my cellular composition by holding my hands.”

  “I…” I shook my head. “I can’t explain it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right. If this keeps going and you analyze your mitochondria, I bet it’s going to look an awful lot like that of the cell samples we drew from the children in Father Jerome’s safe house. Which means whatever she sprayed on you…” I stared at him, shocked. “That was a spray. How is that even possible?”

  He stared right back. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Nothing works that fast.”

  “Unless it’s a poison, yeah,” I said. But the Fountain elixir wasn’t a poison, it was a miracle drug. A drug currently being unleashed on unsuspecting populations around the globe. “But I’m telling you, something is having an effect here. You look completely different since we left the clinic, and your…” I stopped, peering closer. I wasn’t wrong. “Your, um, skin is also peeling off.”

  “My what?” Brody jerked his hands out of my grasp.

  “Don’t touch it. Nikki—”

  “Already there. I’m calling Dr. Sells.”

  “Who?”

  “I said, stop touching,” I corralled Brody’s hands again, studying him. Nikki’s in-dash phone system connected, and she barked a command for Dr. Sells’s number. The woman didn’t answer, of course, but the answering service had dealt with Nikki before.

  “We got a low-level Connected drugged with—something new. Technoceutical on the black market most likely designed for cell regeneration. He’s been sprayed with it, and it’s doing a number on his skin. We’re bringing him in.”

  “Hold, please,” said the musical voice on the other end of the phone, probably IVR, probably installed by the Arcana Council. Dr. Sells might be the only Connected physician in a hundred miles, but because she served the Council in her free time, she had all the latest toys. Which meant she’d be bugged to the gills, but right now, that couldn’t be helped.

  Nikki glanced into the rearview mirror, then jumped when the line clicked again. “This is Sells. What’s the drug?”

  “No idea,” Nikki said tightly. “What clinic are you at?”

  “The primary. How long will you be?”

  “This time of day, twenty minutes.”

  “And he was sprayed? How?”

  “Atomizer.” I spoke up. “Small, looked like an asthma inhaler as much as anything. She carried it in her pocket. I’ve never seen drugs…” I shook my head, cutting myself off. I had seen gas-distributed drugs before, of course, I’d been a victim of one back in the day, right here in Vegas. But that drug had been pumped into a room, not blasted into someone’s face.

  “One spray only, maybe two. Some got in his mouth,” Nikki finished for me.

  “That will speed up the effects,” Dr. Sells said. “What are his symptoms?”

  “Eyes clear and bright, energy amped. Flushed, itching skin, which is starting to peel. Instant reaction of dizziness and inability to walk, but that seems to have worn off.” I glanced at Brody, and he nodded quickly.

  “Anything else?” the doctor prompted.

  “Elevated heart rate, from what I can tell.” I moved my hand to his carotid, and sure enough, it was thrumming away. “Sweats, shortness of breath, mild freak-out.”

  He grimaced and I continued. “How bad will this be?”

  “There’s no way to know,” Sells replied thoughtfully. “You’ve no idea the makeup of this drug?”

  “I’ll get the makeup of what we fear it is sent to you, but no, I don’t know for sure.” I didn’t want to share any more about my suspicions over the open phone. Not with Brody and God only knew who else listening. I thought about the children in Father Jerome’s safe house, the ones even now existing in induced comas. “We’ve got to track this down.”

  “No shit,” Brody muttered, and I squeezed his hands, ignoring the flare of electricity.

  Which was another symptom, certainly.

  “Victim is also registering a higher level of Connected ability,” I said, swaying into Brody as Nikki took a particularly hard turn. “No specific skills manifesting, but psychic sensitivity is definitely higher. Not sure what that means.”

  “It means you’d better get here in ten minutes, not twenty,” Sells snapped. Then she signed off.

  “Well, she’s a barrel of laughs today,” Nikki said into the silence, but there was no denying our uptick in speed.

  “Thing is—I really don’t feel bad,” Brody said. “If this is the high people are paying big bucks for, I can see them thinking they’re getting their money’s worth, especially if the skin change looks good.” He glanced at me. “Does it still look good?”

  I tried to ignore the patch of skin on his forehead, curling away from his temple. “Yeah, well, I think you got some kind of extreme dose. No way they would be spraying people like this in the rave clubs as test-run cases. There’d be a riot.”

  “Fair enough.” He swiped his hand over his brow. A fall of dead skin cells brushed off his face, and he blinked, turning his hands over. “What the hell?”

  “Just hang on, love chop,” Nikki said from the front of the car. “We’ll get you squared away before you become the invisible man.”

  By the time we reached the clinic, however, Brody had taken a marked turn for the worse. He slumped against me, electrical buzz saw be damned, and was drifting in and out of consciousness. His breathing was steady, but his heart continued to pound.

  “She better have a gurney waiting for us,” I muttered.

  “She does. Look there.” Nikki nodded toward the clinic’s entryway.

  Dr. Sells herself stood under the portico for incoming emergency vehicles, and she had both a wheelchair and a bed at the ready. As Nikki lurched to a stop in front of the building, an orderly hustled up to the car and opened my passenger door. At this point, Brody was practically in my lap, so the orderly helped both of us out at the same time, untangling us and lifting Brody onto the gurney.

  “When did he lose consciousness?” Sells asked, leaning over Brody as he was strapped in. She used a penlight instrument to study his eyes, and she flaked a few more skin cells off his forehead. “Is it just his face losing layers?”

  “So far.” I dusted my hands on my jeans. “I haven’t opened his shirt or anything.”

  “I’ve seen this. Bring him.” Without saying another word, Sells turned and started walking fast. I waited for Nikki to hand off the keys to another orderly, then we both strode into the hospital.

  The doors opened onto an enormous sitting room, and I missed a step as I recognized the man standing within as the doors slid shut behind us. Seeing Armaeus here in the hospital made me even more nervous.

  “What are you doing here?” I waved Nikki on. She paused anyway, and I realized it was in part because she was what was left of my security detail. That didn’t bother me as much as it should have. “Go on,” I said again. “I’ll be in shortly.”

  Armaeus smiled at her, and Nikki jerked at what was apparently a nudge in the right direction. She grimaced and stood her ground, resisting Armaeus’s mental compulsion.

  “Seriously,” I said. “Spill.”

  “Of course,” Armaeus murmured. “Dr. Sells advised me you were bringing in Detective Brody, and that he might be affected by this new strain of technoceuticals we are encountering. Do you have any of the base sample left?”

  “No—it was aerosolized. He got a face full of it. That seemed to be enough, though. He’s out for the count. You know what it is?”

  “I do not.”

  “Hold the phones, dollface.” Nikki’s face was stricken as she held up the two pills. “These pills aren’t Klonopin. Or at least not officially that. No markings.”

  My brows lifted. “You don’t think…”

  She grinned. “Sure as hell worth checking out.” She looked at Armaeus. “You haven’t secured any of the drugs yourself yet? To hear Ma-Singh talk, they’re blanketing the
streets with them.”

  “Not the originals.” Armaeus shook his head. “The knockoff market is already thriving, but the original strain eludes us.” Armaeus looked at Nikki’s hand, and his eyes glittered. “Until now, perhaps.”

  “Maybe.” Nikki deposited the pills back into her bra and gave him a broad wink. “You’ll be the first to know. I’m going to go find Brody and Dr. Sells.”

  I turned to follow her, and Armaeus spoke again. “Miss Wilde…a moment, if you will.”

  “I’m kind of busy here—” But when I turned around, it wasn’t only Armaeus standing there. Next to him was a child.

  The boy from the airport. And the warehouse. And the street in front of the medical testing building.

  “He’s come a long way to see you, Miss Wilde,” Armaeus said.

  Chapter Twenty

  I stood like an idiot for another moment more, staring at the boy. He was small, smaller than I’d thought from a distance, and young. He couldn’t be more than ten or eleven years old, and so thin he made my heart hurt.

  “Hello,” I said, as he stared at me with his big, soulful eyes. To my untutored mind, he looked Hispanic—dark hair, richly toned skin, dark eyes. He turned to Armaeus and murmured something.

  The Magician nodded. “English is best.”

  “Hello, Sara Wilde,” the boy said again, in a high, perfect little kid voice. “I was sent to find you—among all the others, I was chosen. And now I am here, and you are here, and you can save us.”

  I stiffened, my gaze going from the boy to Armaeus. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you sat down for a minute.” The Magician gestured to a seat, and the boy settled his small body into it, patiently waiting for me to sit down opposite him.

  The boy drew in a deep breath, undoubtedly ready to deliver another memorized statement, but I held up my hand.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He paused, blinking at me as if he didn’t understand the question.

  I tried again. “What’s your name?”

  “Oh.” His face broke into a smile, but what came out was another memorized spurt of information. “My name is Martine Angelo Diaz. I was abducted on June seventh, transformed on July first after many others failed to make the change. I was sent to find you…” Here he faltered, glancing to the Magician, though Armaeus’s face remained impassive. “I don’t know how long ago. But there were many vehicles and roads, and sometimes I would walk. It was hot, though. Always hot.” He looked around the sitting room, his smile full of wonder. “It is much cooler here.”

  “Where were you sent from?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot tell you. I can only take you there.”

  Every alarm bell inside me that could ring started clanging with authority. I didn’t care how cute the little boy’s face was, this had trap written all over it. Somewhere on the other side of Vegas I could hear Ma-Singh growling with disapproval.

  “That sounds interesting,” I hedged. “Do you know how long it will take us to retrace all those roads? It sounds like you were traveling a long time.”

  The boy’s smile broadened as if I’d just said the one thing he most needed to hear. “No! We do not start the journey from here. We start from the casa de pájaros.”

  I blinked at Armaeus, but he was now looking at the boy curiously.

  “The Birdhouse,” the Magician translated.

  “Yes! That is what they call it. Many beautiful birds everywhere, many people. Colorful. You will like it.” The child said this last so earnestly I had to remind myself once again that this was a trap.

  “The arcane black market in Mexico City has a facility known as the Birdhouse,” Armaeus observed, and I glanced at him sharply. He met my gaze, speaking into my mind. “The boy’s memories are consistent with that trajectory.”

  Uh-huh, I thought back to him. What about the trajectory from this Birdhouse to wherever it is he wants to take me?

  “That is a blank. I don’t think he knows.”

  So it’s a trap.

  “…Perhaps.”

  I switched to my outside voice. “Who sent you to me, Martine?”

  “You did,” he said again, all smiles. “You came to me in my dreams, like in the picture I painted. On the big wall.”

  I stared at him. “You painted that mural? How?”

  “The boys in the neighborhood, they had paint cans. I told them I would show them how to paint something small, and if I was good, they would give me enough paint. They didn’t believe me, but I taught them very much. Then they helped me.” He smiled. “It’s a very big wall.”

  “But—how did you have the skill to do that?” I pressed. “Had you painted before?”

  He shook his head, squinting at me as if I was testing him. “I saw it, I saw you. And I simply took what was in my mind and put it on the wall.”

  “But, how?” At his frown, I tried again. “Have you always been able to paint so well?”

  “Oh!” He shook his head, beaming. “No, not at all. I became transformed on July first, I told you. All that I have shown and done—this journey, finding you, the painting—that has been since then. Before, I was an ordinary boy, living an ordinary life. Now I am…something more.”

  “Right.” I swallowed. “And this process of transforming, how was it done?”

  With that, Martine’s face clouded, and for the first time since he saw me, he looked confused, almost lost.

  “I don’t—I forgot,” he said quietly.

  “Of course, of course,” I murmured. So it was bad, at least that much was clear. “Did they give you something to eat or drink?”

  “Bitter powder, like salt but it didn’t taste like salt. More…” He made a face, the same face Brody had made in the car, looking like he was trying to scrape off his tongue with his teeth. “Like dirt.”

  July first, he’d said. They’d given him this drug July first.

  “And how have you been feeling since then?” I forced a smile, trying my best to look friendly even though I wanted to launch a huge fireball—first toward that lake house Nikki had mentioned and then into a Mexican birdhouse. “You are well? Never sick anymore?”

  “Never sick,” he said, grinning. “I am a success, they say. Sometimes my heart is too happy in my chest, but if I am quiet and tell it to go to sleep, it does.”

  “Of course,” I said again, adding wattage to my smile. Inside, my own heart was churning. Two months and Martine was already starting to have a racing heartbeat, just as Father Jerome had warned. He was a Connected child, a gifted one from the sounds of it, likely able to manage the effects of the pills. Brody had been hit full blast with the drug, however. How would he—and the tens of thousands of people who were given sample bags—how would they manage it? Not well, I suspected.

  I had to destroy these drugs at their source, wherever they were being made, but the problem was bigger than that now. I had to find an antidote…find it and discover some way to get it to everyone who needed it. Thinking about that made my head spin, but one challenge at a time.

  I circled back to Martine’s original statement. “You said that I would save you, but you seem so happy. Why would you—any of you—need saving?”

  “Because we are like you, but we are not you, not yet. We need you to finish the process. That’s what is missing, why so many of us failed to transform, why some of those who did got sick. Because you weren’t there to help us.”

  I looked at him, a new thread of horror twisting through me. “I’m confused, Martine. How can I help you? I don’t know anything about this powder.”

  “But it is you who first brought us this gift, and you who complete the gift.” Martine said these words with such conviction that I didn’t bother countering them. Instead, I smiled. Again. This one harder to form than the last.

  “You must be very tired. You’ve come a long way.”

  His eyes widened. “No! I am not tired. We can go back right away—no
w, we can go now.”

  “You could go now,” Armaeus said, his tone gentler than I’d ever heard it before. He laid a soft hand on Martine’s shoulder, and instantly, the boy relaxed. “But you can also prepare. When one departs on a journey, it is wise to prepare. Sara must prepare, and so should you.”

  The boy frowned up at him. “But how can I prepare? I have my feet. That’s all I need.”

  “You can sleep,” Armaeus said easily. “More importantly, you must sleep. It is the only way you can begin with strength and end that way as well.”

  “Sleep,” the boy repeated, and already he sounded drowsy.

  You’re really good at that. You should probably have a show on the Strip.

  “I do.” Armaeus allowed the flicker of a smile to trace his gorgeous lips. “It’s called leading the Council.”

  I felt his touch in my mind, seeking out the broken spaces, and by the time he spoke again, it was aloud. Martine was now slumped against him, snoring lightly.

  “Go to Ma-Singh,” Armaeus told me. “He’ll be waiting for you with what you need.”

  I lifted my brows. “You knew this was what would happen? The boy coming here like this?”

  “There are many possibilities that unfold in time. This was one. Not one I would have chosen, but one I cannot interfere with. Its outcome is blocked to me.” He grimaced. “Blocked to the High Priestess as well.”

  “Good. I need her nosing around my business like I need a hole in the head.”

  “Miss Wilde.”

  “Mr. Bertrand,” I countered in the same tone.

  It was uncanny how Armaeus could make me feel like he and I were alone in the room when we were sitting in the midst of a crowd of people, but he did, somehow. He lifted his hand, and a light breeze brushed my hair away from my face. “You’re going to be going on what is known as a spirit journey—yes.” He said softly. “I’m aware that Ma-Singh used the term with you. He did so rightly. It is the path you must take, but it is one I would have avoided, out of all the possibilities. If I’d seen what was coming earlier, I could have altered the course of one, maybe two decisions…”

  “You couldn’t have done that, though, right?” I asked, peering at him. “There’s that whole noninterference thing, which I kind of think directly opposes anything that involves altering the course of someone else’s decisions.”