Inhuman (38 page)

I focused on the long zippered bag on the worktable — a body-sized bag — and my thoughts slowed until they crystallized into one chilling realization: This is where Cosmo’s mother had been turned into clothing. And the same thing was now happening to other manimals.

Something clacked across the room. With a tap, I darkened my dial, tucked it into my dress, and darted among the mannequins. In the far corner, a seamstress sat hunched over an old-fashioned sewing machine, her wide back to me. She wore a dirty kimono and seemed completely focused on her work, which had to be unending. Torn clothes lay piled on the floor by her feet — maids’ uniforms and white jackets like Dromo’s.

There was nowhere in this room to hide, but maybe I could swap my silk gown for something less conspicuous. I crept as close as I dared, snagged the hem of a maid’s dress, and dragged it to me. When the seamstress set the machine clacking once more, I snatched up the dress and stood. Again she paused, but only to fold the jacket that she’d been working on. I edged away from her, but then a collar with a glinting buckle fell from the folds of the maid’s dress and hit the floor with a
ping
.

I froze.

The seamstress turned stiffly, as if her neck was fused to her shoulders. When she faced me, I had to bite off my gasp. Her nose ended in a mass of small pink tentacles, like a star-nosed mole’s. We stared at each other for a moment, silent and gauging. Finally she spoke. Well, tried to speak. She could only manage garbled syllables. With a frustrated grunt, she hefted herself up and shuffled toward me.

Maybe she thought I was a servant? No. Not a chance. Not in a satin gown.

She pointed at the maid’s uniform in my hands.

I tightened my grip. “I need it.”

“Tra —” she wheezed. “Tra —” Her clawed toes jutted past the edge of her flip-flops as she hobbled forward, pointing at my chest. “Trade.”

“Trade the gown for the maid’s dress?” I plucked at my gown. She nodded. “Deal,” I said and turned my back to her. “Please unzip me.”

Despite having thick claws for fingernails, she had a delicate touch, and the gown fell away from my skin. As I shimmied out of it, the folded paper that had been in Cosmo’s hand fell out. I snatched it up and read “21:00 on roof.” The roof? What kind of escape plan was that?

I pulled on the ragged dress, fastened the collar around my neck, and then rubbed my hands on the basement wall until they were good and filthy. Without a second of hesitation, I smeared the damp grime over my face and down my arms. Finally I tore off my blue Ferae test and threw it into the corner. I had to get Rafe and be back here by nine, which was — I checked my dial — in an hour.

I glanced at the seamstress, who was brushing the satin across her cheek, and then she held the gown against her body. She swayed while making a rhythmic, chirping sound. Singing? Had the gown stirred up some long-buried memory?

She stopped abruptly and looked toward the corridor. A second later, I heard what she had: boot steps in the passage. The seamstress tugged off her head scarf and offered it to me. I took it gratefully and managed to pull it over my hair just as a five-man squad of handlers hustled into the room. Three of them hurried past, giving the seamstress and me the barest glance before moving on to search the hallways beyond. We stood silently among the mannequins as the two remaining handlers poked around the sewing room. After a moment, the seamstress slid my gown — now her gown — over a naked mannequin and thrust a pincushion into my shaking hands.

A handler strode over to us. “Did a young woman come through here?”

The seamstress shook her head while pinching in a side seam on the gown. I handed her a pin. The handler shifted his gaze onto me and I quickly shook my head. His look turned to one of disgust and he moved on, which meant — unbelievably — that I’d passed for a manimal!

I released my breath as the handlers left the sewing room. I’d bought myself a little time, but that was all. If I was going to escape from here and free Rafe, I had to get the handlers off my back. But how? Maybe if they had a bigger problem than me to occupy them. Something so bad or so dangerous that it would require all of the handlers’ focus and energy …

Not
something
, I realized. Four very dangerous
someones
would do the trick. And to make it happen, all I needed was a key.

I turned to the seamstress. “Omar is dead.” Her eyes widened at the news and then her lips pulled back. A smile? “Do you know where they would put his body?” I asked. With all the chaos, hopefully no one had thought to empty Omar’s pockets.

The seamstress led me down yet another dark corridor and pointed to a walk-in freezer. “Thank you,” I whispered, and with a nod, she was gone. I pried open the rusting door and stepped in, only to stumble. Omar had been dumped just over the threshold, limbs akimbo. I shoved him onto his back and unclipped the key from his belt loop — the very key that he’d used to taunt the queen. I clipped it into the neckline of my maid’s uniform.

I was just about to step out when a thought hit me. The queen — her breeding program. I pivoted to look at the shelves that lined the walk-in. Where else would she store the infected blood but in a freezer?

And there they were — vials, on a shelf, tucked inside a metal box with a glass top. I unclasped the top, lifted a vial, and read the word scrawled on masking tape along the side: “cuscus.” Was that a kind of animal? I didn’t know. I pulled out another vial. This one read “colobus monkey.” That was definitely a type of animal. I counted the rows. There were forty vials of blood in the box. A yelp of triumph escaped me. Thank goodness I was inside a freezer.

I quickly refastened the lid and put the box back on the shelf. I didn’t have time to check if the vials were all different or if there were duplicates, and I couldn’t take them to the zoo with me. The blood would spoil at room temperature. I’d have to leave the box here until just before Rafe and I met Everson on the roof.

I slipped out of the walk-in freezer only to hear the handlers’ whispers down the hall. I hurried in the opposite direction and came to a large room lined with animal pens. The servants’ quarters. This was where Cosmo had once lived with his mother. Thinking of him left me feeling shivery and close to collapse. I crouched in an empty pen with the heel of my palm pressed to my lips to trap a welling sob.

Cosmo … I buried my face in my arms. I could keep certain images pushed to the edge of my brain but not the sounds. Those kept playing in my mind, distorting and magnifying. The crunch of the handlers’ batons battering Cosmo long after he’d crumpled to the ground. The wet noise of Chorda tearing out the queen’s heart. His deep-throated growl. I curled onto my side in the hay, dizzy and on the brink of vomiting. But I couldn’t afford to give in to my grief. Not if I was going to escape and free Rafe. I squeezed my calf, digging my fingers into the bandage. Pain blazed up my leg and sharpened my mind.

A creak outside my pen propelled me into a crouch. I peered over the rough wooden wall. Manimals wearing thick collars had emerged from their pens to stare at me with glowing eyes. I swallowed against the ache in my throat and wondered what explanation I could possibly give for invading their privacy. And then I saw the babies cradled in their mothers’ arms and the children peeking out from behind their parents’ legs.

Hate for Chorda and his handlers hardened in me like clay in a red-hot kiln. How evil did you have to be to force people — children even — to live in pens in a dark, dank basement? It wasn’t their worst crime against these manimals, but after seeing so much mistreatment, it was one cruelty too many. Something inside of me snapped and suddenly I knew how it must feel to go feral.

A spiky-headed man straightened, his pointed ears erect. A badger-woman’s nose twitched. And then they all scurried back into their pens, dragging their children with them. A moment later, three handlers stomped into the room.

Flashlight beams crisscrossed the servant quarters. Hay snapped underfoot and gates were thrown open as the handlers searched the pens, breathing heavily under the weight of their leather aprons. I pulled my head scarf low over my eyes. The handlers kicked manimals awake, questioned them, and raked through their possessions.

A glaring flashlight sought me out and I lifted my face the way I thought they’d want. Someone gave a satisfied grunt. “Anything?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Only people who belong here,” said a husky voice. A familiar voice. I peeked over the top of my pen and saw Everson in a leather apron. He had bandages on both cheeks from where the feral had scratched him.

“People,” snorted the guard nearest to my pen. “That’s funny. I’m done with this pigsty. I’m going back to the barracks.”

The third handler followed him down the aisle, but before Everson could fall in line, I launched to my feet and blocked his path. “Stay,” I whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

I moved closer, lifting my gaze to his. “Please stay here with me.” If he’d just look at me … but no. He fixed his attention on the aisle beyond me as color crept into his cheeks.

“No offense, Miss,” he said stiffly, “but I can’t.”

One of the handlers behind me broke into raucous laughter. “Sure, you can. The queen is dead and so is her little project. No one’s gonna care if you get yourself a girlfriend.”

The other handler groaned. “Don’t listen to him, kid. And don’t get fooled just ’cause she’s not showing any animal now. If she’s down here, she ain’t human.”

Everson tried to sidestep me, but I couldn’t let him get away. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pressed him to the pen wall and put my mouth to his ear. “Ev, it’s me.”

He froze, then his bandaged cheek brushed my lips as he turned to look into my eyes and, finally, saw me. The
me
under the dirt and maid’s dress. He pressed a hand to the small of my back and fisted the fabric, pulling my dress tight, holding on to me as if I might suddenly vanish.

A tremor ran through him. “Actually” — he cleared his throat and shot the handlers a wry look — “I think I will stay.”

The first handler chortled. The other sighed. “Suit yourself,” he said.

Everson waited for them to disappear up the stairs before pushing back my headscarf. My hair tumbled down and he stared. I understood his doubt. I barely recognized myself. “What happened?” His voice was heavy with dread. “Are you …” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“No,” I assured him. “I’m fine. I —”

My words ended up muffled against his chest. He’d pulled me to him so fast, my brain hadn’t kept up. And now his breath stirred my hair. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His relief was so intense that something inside of me, which had been knotted tight, loosened a little.

There was so much I needed to tell him, and I would, but not yet. For just a moment, I wanted to be happy that we’d found each other and to feel sheltered against his chest. His hands lifted to cradle my face and suddenly, his lips were on mine. He kissed me softly at first, then turned ardent, and for the first time ever, I wanted more. My fingers curled against him as the warmth of his mouth sent electricity arcing through my body. When he leaned away to look at me, I was tempted to pull him back. To get lost in his kiss again, so that everything around us went away — the basement and the handlers and the things I had to tell him…. Sad things, I remembered with a start. Devastating things.

I stepped out of his arms and felt instantly cold. “What was that?” I asked in a breathless voice.

His expression turned rueful. “Back at the park, Rafe was right. I should’ve gone for the kiss.”

“You just thought about that now?”

“No, from the second you walked away. And after the handlers grabbed me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How I’d missed the moment. Missed it forever if I didn’t pass their test or if I never found you … I —” He glanced away with a half shrug. “I wanted to make up for it.”

“You did,” I assured him with a shaky laugh. “And then some.”

We stood awkwardly for a split second and then I reached for his hand. “Come on.” I tugged him into my pen, where we settled down in the hay. I traced a finger over the bandage on his right cheek. “I saw the fight. I was on the roof.”

He looked surprised. “And now you’re down here…. A lot’s happened, huh?” he asked gently.

I swallowed the ache in my throat and nodded. I wanted one more minute before I spilled it all and relived the horror. “Did you need stitches?” I asked, taking my hand from his face.

“Probably. The cuts feel deep.” He touched the other bandage with a grimace. “A handler closed them with surgical tape. I wanted to do it but they said there are no mirrors in this insane place.”

My minute was up. No more stalling. “Yes, by the king’s order,” I said, forcing out each word. “He doesn’t want to see that he’s turning into a tiger.”

Everson’s eyes flew to mine. “Chorda?” At my nod he sat back heavily against the pen wall. “That’s why they’re all scared of him. All except Omar.”

“Omar is dead,” I said and then softened my voice. “So is Cosmo.”

“What? No. I just saw him. He …” Everson’s words trailed off and for a moment we just stared at each other. “He’s dead?”