Dead of Eve (43 page)

Jesus, fuck. Knife in hand, I tied the rolled spares at my waist with the sash on my robe. Then I touched the door and put out feelers. Hunger pushed back. Enough for a single aphid. Close. The other side of the door?

Fffffound
rattled through me
.

I leaned into my back foot and kicked out with the other. The door crashed into a blur of swinging green limbs. The aphid’s back smacked the floor. Double-jointed legs buckled under it. I jumped on its chest and raised the knife.

“Found what?”

An accented purr rolled down my backbone.
Your doctor
.

I buried the blade in the creamy white orb.

Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more

Henry V Act 3, Scene 1

William Shakespeare

I planted my feet shoulder width apart on the kitchen floor and packed my voice with authority. “Take off your clothes.”

Creases deepened around the fat chef’s puffy eyes.

God knew what was happening to Michio at that moment. Every second counted. But I wouldn’t go after him without a plan. “Understand anything I’m saying?”

His jowls trembled. Sausage fingers clutched the counter behind him.

“Fine. Watch.” I untied the knives and removed my robe. “Now you.” I pointed a blade at him. “Quickly.”

He fingered the collar of his shirt. I gave him a long nod.

The marionette man scrambled under the counter. I grabbed his bony ankle and pulled him back. Unidentifiable words spewed from his chattering jaws as his hand shook through the sign of the cross.

I ripped open his shirt. Spit sprayed my face and dribble clung to his unshaven chin.

My blade bit his neck. “Clothes off. Now.”

He touched the nick and screamed at the smear of blood on his hand. I returned the knife to his neck. He jerked back and stripped off his clothes.

The fat chef’s pants smacked the floor. A white swath of material peeked from beneath the bulge of his hanging gut. He slipped his thumbs under the remaining waistband.

“No, no,” I shouted. “That’s enough.”

I yanked off my chemise and ripped it into strips to tie across my chest and waist. Red tinged the fat one’s cheeks but he didn’t utter a word.

Then we shuffled as one to the door. I should’ve felt guilty ushering them at knife point wearing only their underwear, but Michio was my priority and I needed their Yang. With the quivering man hooked to my side and my chest and the knife pressed to the back of the fat chef, I sucked in my fuel and filled my nose with fish and sweat.

Aphids lined the walls and pushed through open doors. Barbs on their forearms stood at attention. We hobbled through the corridor, past the anteroom and the quadrangle. Energy pooled in my belly and traveled up my spine.
Stay.

The aphids growled. Claws raised and reached, but their segmented feet remained rooted to the floor.

At the end of the hall, I stopped before a lone, driveling bug and extended an image of the Drone onto the unseen bond.

The aphid pivoted and led us to the stairway. The stairway to the lab.

Leave,
I commanded.

It lowered its green hunched body and hissed. I drew back the knife, exhaled and let it fly.

It clinked off the rock wall.

Mother fuck. Another knife. Another breath. Release.

It landed with a thud. The hilt protruded from one eye. The other eye rolled to the ceiling and the aphid collapsed.

I plucked the blade from the skull and pushed our huddle forward. Marionette man shook harder with each stair to the Drone’s lab. At the last step, he twisted out of my grip. I lunged for his legs. My fingers slipped down his clammy calf.

His screams followed him up the stairs and faded into the dark depths. Fuck. There went my contingency plan. I touched the knife to one of the big guy’s neck rolls. “Don’t even think about it.”

His mouth dropped and his head whipped in sharp shakes. I opened the door to the lab.

Our bare feet whispered along the flagstone, my knife angled at the potbelly. Traces of rubbing alcohol whiffed by. Machines beeped. One more staircase to go.

I unraveled the knife roll bound to my forearm, the steel jangling in my trembling hands. Then we stepped into the black hole and descended into the bowels.

I nudged the door. Its creak cut through the dark. The chef’s hand flew to his face against the onslaught of death and decay.

The dull glow of a sconce guttered next to Michio. His body, shackled to the wall, was a punch in the gut. I knew he wasn’t invincible, but seeing it was difficult to swallow. How had the Drone managed to restrain him? I imagined the army surrounding him, preventing escape. My heart knocked against my ribs.

Eyes closed, his head hung on his chest. No visible wounds. Maybe I wasn’t too late.

“Will you cooperate or join the doctor?” The Drone floated from the shadows, eyes seizing mine. His stiff slacks, collared shirt and long shiny curls, all black, melded with his sable cloak.

I shoved the chef in front of me, knife at his back. “What did you do to Dr. Nealy?”

“He is sleeping.” He slapped a painful hum at my chest, inflaming the ever-present network of aphid links battering me. “His supreme lack of fear for Allah’s judgement is arrogant. And unforgivable.” Venom laced his inflection.

My gut tightened. A buzzing hunger swirled around me. I kept my body angled behind the chef. “Release him. It’s me you want.”

“Release him?” He clicked his tongue. “Do not insult me, Eveline.”

The Imago stepped around the door. His smirk hovered over his .50 cal Desert Eagle, the gold barrel trained at my head. Two aphids crouched behind him, rib cages contracting, bodies swaying with unraveling tension.

I tested the knife’s weight, let it drop from my palm to my fingers. Could I chuck it and release a spare before the chef ran? Before the gun fired?

Deep breath. I spun the knife.

A boom shattered the room. Gun powder and dust clouded the air. My human shield slumped to the floor.

I enjoyed a moment of victory when the Imago gripped the hilt jutting from a spurting hole in his shoulder. He dislodged it, sent it clanking across the room. His pistol remained pointed at my head. I raised another knife.

“I can sense your telekinetic presence now.” The Drone cocked his head and flicked his eyes to the dead cook. “But it was invisible just a moment ago. Somehow, you are slipping behind shields and taking command of my troops.” A terrifying smile warped his features. “But you have a weakness. Something is keeping you from turning these guards against me now.”

Damn Yang. The aphids’ strings waited in my gut, thrumming to be plucked. But if I took hold of them, I’d pass out and reveal my weakness. Then I’d be hanging next to Michio. Or worse.

His long fingers vanished beneath his cloak and reappeared with a syringe. He uncapped the tip and touched it to Michio’s bent neck. “Drop the knives and stand here.” He nodded at the empty wall beside Michio.

My body hardened, primed for a fight. “What’s in the injection?”

“I have an exuberant supply of submicroscopic agents and genetically designed toxins. What should he be, do you think?” He dragged a pointed fingernail along Michio’s bicep. “He has the form and stealth of a mantis, but I bet he fucks like a scorpion’s dance. Did he give you a cheliceral kiss, little fly?”

I let the knives clatter at my feet and leveled a glare at the bane of mankind.

The Imago pressed his pistol into my back and nudged me forward. If I could touch him—any of them—and maintain contact, I’d own the guards. The opportunity would come. It had to.

At the wall, the Imago clicked the buckles in place. Minimal contact with his skin offered only feeble attempts at imbibing his energy.

He stood back and admired his work. My hands and legs, locked in restraints, stretched in an
X
. My options sucked.

I looked into the eyes of the monster fingering the plunger of his weapon. “I did what you asked. Lower the syringe. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

“Women and their promises.” He pressed the plunger with the needle buried in Michio’s neck.

Panic burned through my chest, stole my air. A horrible sound burst from my throat.

“Charming, Eveline. Please don’t wet all over my floor.”

“You sick bastard. What did you inject him with?”

Michio’s chin lifted. His eyelids fluttered and his jaw worked against his gag. Then his eyes met mine and widened.

“Michio.” The Drone traced his lips, spread around the gag. “Assure Eveline that the dose I just gave you was a stimulant to wake you. Do you feel human?”

Michio’s head dipped, raised, dipped again. The fire inside me dimmed. Only a little.

“Very good. Now, the reason you are here. I made a fascinating discovery when I compared your blood to the samples you’ve been providing.” His cape whistled as he swung a fist into Michio’s gut. “Our friendship, all the years we worked together, you were family.” His voice broke. “You kept her blood from me, knowing how much I needed it.” He bent, clutched his abdomen. The air around him seemed to rotate, thicken. He straightened and smacked his lips. “Your betrayal tastes so bitter, it will linger long after I dine on your girlfriend.”

Michio’s expression gathered into a silent and deadly storm behind his gag.

“Ewl em.” The Imago shoved his gun against Michio’s brow.

“Don’t be rude, Siraj. I much prefer him alive.” The Drone turned to me and caressed my face.

I pulled on his energy, one vile spark at a time. One stroke. Two. Then he yanked my head to the side and lowered his mouth to my exposed throat.

“Wait.” My lean into his grip belied my command. “You can’t ingest my blood. Your body wouldn’t absorb it.”

“You have no idea what my body can do.” Beneath the aroma of chemical cleansers, seeped something sinister and stale.

“You smell like your brother.”

Teeth grazed my skin. “My brother smells divine.”

I consumed his Yang through the tips of his meandering fingers and reached for my telepathic connection with the guards. The threads wavered. I grabbed hold with mental fists.

The Drone’s eyes slammed shut and his body hardened against mine. Silence. So heavy there was only the roar of my heart in my ears. Something was happening. The movement under his eyelids and the tremble in his shoulders told me he was communicating with his army.

His head snapped up. “We have a breach.”

Oh shit. Me?

The Imago stiffened behind him, turned toward the door.

Ba-boom.

An explosion vibrated the foundation, loosening rock and silt from the walls, and jarring my bones.

“We must hurry.” The Drone was already at the door, waving to his brother to follow.

The Imago hesitated, narrowed hard eyes on me.

The Drone followed his gaze. “You’re right. Stay with her. But I will not leave the guards.” He flashed me a horrific smile, one that would stick with me for a long time. “Do not release her.” He vanished through the door, the guards on his heels.

The Imago lapped the room, swinging his pistol and winding my body into a torsion of anxiety. Michio remained motionless, but his eyes darkened with every pass.

My throat tightened in a hot tangle of uncertainty over the explosion and fear for Roark and Jesse. My muscles thrummed to go after the Drone, but first, I had to take down the asshole guarding us. To do that, I’d have to bait him. “Your intimidation is only effective with me unarmed and restrained. Unlock my restraints and fight me like the little man bitch that you are.” I returned his scowl with a grin. “Unless, of course, your spear is too small.”

His pistol moved in a streak of gold. The butt whacked my face and sent my head careening into the wall. He crouched before me and unsheathed the Jambiya dagger. It whirled around his fingers and halted on my inner thigh. He leaned closer in a fume of stale cigar. “Awl ahh ew.”

A biting pain ignited under the dagger. “What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

He lanced the edge downward along my inner thigh. Then his mouth fell upon the wound. The suckling pitched fire through my leg, a melting of flesh from the inside out.