Unforgotten (33 page)

Maxxer’s gaze shifts uneasily toward the door. “Trestin?” She swats her hand in the air. “Oh, he has one of those faces.”

“One of those faces?”

“Meaning he looks familiar to everyone regardless of whether you’ve met him or not.” Her knee starts to bounce.

Why does she seem so nervous?

“But I
have
met him,” I argue. “I’m almost certain of it.”

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Maxxer says dismissively, “but first I believe we have some business to settle.”

I raise my eyebrows. “We do?”

She takes another sip of her drink. “Of course. It’s the reason you came, isn’t it?”

“The cure,” I say automatically.

She exhales, seemingly in relief. “Yes. I imagine Zen is very sick.” She sighs apologetically. “An unexpected side effect of DZ227, I’m afraid.”

“DZ227?”

“Sorry. It’s the official nomenclature of the transession gene. It would seem the way it was designed was simply too powerful for the human body to take in. It causes the natural immune system to attack itself, thinking it’s being infested by a virus. Anyone who has had the transplant, depending on their own chemical makeup and how often they transesse, would be dead within a year.”

“Including Alixter,” I verify, eager to finally have the confirmation that Kaelen would never give me.

Maxxer smiles. “Yes. I imagine that’s why he sent the agent to follow you. And why I had to take such precautions when I brought you here. He’s probably fairly ill. And fairly desperate. Which, of course, only makes
you
that much more valuable.”

“Me?” I repeat skeptically.

She cocks her head. “You
have
noticed that
you
are not affected by the gene?”

I quickly make a move for my pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see Maxxer flinch at my sudden motion. I withdraw the locket on the broken chain. “That’s because Rio made me this. It activates my gene when it’s open. He was worried about what the gene would do if I couldn’t turn it off.”

“Wise man,” Maxxer commends. “But in reality, he had nothing to worry about. You’re not like the rest of us, Sera. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

I look away. I think about the horrified look on the old Chinese man’s face when he held my wrists and declared my blood to be too strong. I think about Blackthorn, the horse on the Pattinsons’ farm, and the distrust I saw in his eyes every time I entered his stall. I think about the screams of rage directed at me as I was led through the streets of London. I think about my legs and how the fire ripped through them, shredded my skin, and gnawed at my muscle, and yet there’s not a single scar of evidence.

So yes, I’ve figured it out. But I’ve spent the last six months wishing it wasn’t true. Wishing I
was
like the rest of them.

“Your body, your mind, your genes, everything about you was perfected by science. I could transplant this gene into you a thousand times and it wouldn’t affect you.”

She may as well just say it. She may as well just tell me what I am. Or rather, what I’m not.

I’m not human.

“Which is probably why Alixter had to create another synthetic being,” she adds. “Because neither he nor his other goons can transesse anymore. Without that new agent he created, they’d have no hope of ever finding me. Or you.”

Once again, Kaelen’s face flits into my mind and my stomach wrenches with guilt.

That’s why he wasn’t sick.

Because he’s like me. He might very well be the
only
one ever to be like me. And yet I left him. I abandoned him.

“But Zen,” Maxxer goes on, oblivious to the torment in my mind, “Zen’s body didn’t stand a chance. It was too fragile. Like the rest of us.”

Fragile.
It’s the exact right word to describe the way he looked when I left. Ready to crumble. Ready to shatter into a million pieces. On the brink of death.

He never deserved it.

He never deserved this atrocity.

He never deserved me.

Maxxer places her glass on the table with a
clink
and rises to her feet. “Which brings us to the reason you’re here.”

As I watch her walk across the room, I can feel my heartbeat accelerate. And that mysterious anger begins to resurface at the thought of what will happen next. My palms feel greasy and wet. I rub them anxiously against my wet pants and stand up, following her with my eyes. She ascends the stairs gracefully, disappearing into the loft only to reappear a moment later holding a small, clear vial filled with an electric-blue liquid. She pauses at the top of the stairs, seeming to study my expression.

“This,” she begins, “is a repressor for gene DZ227. When injected directly into the bloodstream it will permanently disable the transession gene. The immune system will cease its attacks against the body and the recipient will experience a full recovery, essentially reversing all negative effects of the gene transplant.”

My legs are aching with anticipation. My fists curl and uncurl involuntarily. I feel my muscles tightening. Like they’re preparing to pounce. Attack.

The inexplicable wrath is boiling up, threatening to spill out of my mouth, my ears, my eye sockets. My whole body is hot. Searing hot. On fire. Like lava is running through my veins.

Just the sight of Dr. Maxxer holding that vial suddenly sends a thunderbolt of fury through my body.

What is happening to me?

She descends the stairs slowly, never taking her eyes off me for a second. My mouth has suddenly gone dry. Bone dry. I rub my tongue around it, practically hearing the scratching sound it makes against the inside of my dehydrated cheek.

Maxxer seems to be moving in slow motion and when I look closely at her hand, the one holding the vial, I see that it’s trembling.

Why?
Why would it do that? Why would she possibly be afraid of me?

She glides toward the table and ever so carefully places the vial down on the glass surface.

I attempt to swallow but there’s nothing to push down.

I glare at the tiny bottle in front of me. I take a step toward it, feeling fear rush over me. An inexplicable, paralyzing fear.

I can’t take it. I can’t.

Something inside is fighting against me. A warning bell is ringing in my head.

Don’t!
it cries.
Don’t take it!

But I have to! This is what will save Zen! Why wouldn’t I take it?

I press forward, ignoring the clamoring in my brain, the resistance in my muscles. I take another step. I’m within arm’s length of the tiny bottle. I lean forward, my hand shaking violently as I reach for it.

The tips of my fingers graze the cool exterior of the vial and then …

CRASH!

I let out a shriek and leap back. Dr. Maxxer rapidly withdraws five stairs up. Her bodyguards spring into action, surrounding the dark, wet figure that has seemingly dropped from the sky into the room, shattering the glass table in front of me, sending the vial flying across the room only to land with a soft thud against the carpet.

The figure—which I now see is a person—lies huddled on the ground, facedown, shaking. Shards of glass protrude from his skin.

The guards launch themselves on top of him, restraining him, pinning down his legs and arms. I hear the familiar sizzle of the Modifier and his body goes limp. The guard on the left pockets the device and together they flip him over so I can finally see his unconscious face.

I gasp for the second time in the past twenty minutes, breathing his name softly. Urgently.

“Kaelen.”

52

COMPELLED

Maxxer’s usual calm and collected demeanor is suddenly shattered like the pieces of table now lying on her carpet. “Who is this? Is this him? The Diotech agent they sent?”

I nod, fighting every inclination I have to bend down and touch his face.

“How did he find you!?” Maxxer roars.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know!”

“Your tracker.” She nods toward my left wrist. “Did you feel it set off?”

I shake my head, realizing this is now the second time Kaelen has somehow managed to find me without the help of a tracking device.

Maxxer bites her lip in thought and sits down on the stairs. Without even looking over at Kaelen, she waves her hand and orders, “Take him to the holding cell. Keep him deactivated.”

“Wait,” I say, watching helplessly as the two guards hoist Kaelen up by the armpits and drag him out of the room. “I don’t understand what’s happening. How could he possibly—”

My thoughts and words come to a crashing halt when my eyes land on the tiny glass vial lying only a few feet away, shimmering blue against the soft white rug.

Zen.

I can fix him.

I can fix all of this.

Once again, I’m drawn toward the small bottle. I move toward it. My hand extending in the direction of its salvation. I kneel down before it, reach out, and …

“No! Wait!” Maxxer calls, launching to her feet.

But it’s too late. The vial is already in my hands, clutched tightly. And then, suddenly, it’s as though the world has turned a shade of red.

My mind empties.

My thoughts vanish.

A rolling storm of blackness seeps into my head, hiding everything from view—who I am, what I want, who I love. I am no longer me. I am someone else.

An entity fueled by rage.

A brain capable of only one concept. One idea. One goal.

The hot ball of ferocity that had once been dancing around the edges of my consciousness is now all I can see. All I can feel. All I am.

It explodes inside me, the blast pushing me forward.

I rise obediently to my feet, storing the vial safely in my pocket.

For
him.

For Alixter.

He needs it. And he needs me. My mission is only half complete.

I glance up. Maxxer’s face is contorted in fear. The sight of her sends another frenzy of wrath bursting through me. It consumes me. It spreads to the very tips of my toes and fingers. My hands spasm with the anticipation of feeling her throat crush. My ears await the sound of her heart sputtering to a stop. My existence will not be complete until I watch the light fade from her eyes.

“Sera,” Maxxer tries, her voice cracking, laced with panic. But the sound of my name on her lips only fuels my fever.

I feel my legs instinctively bend into a crouch. My muscles coil. I spring forward, reaching her in a single, lightning-fast bound. I clobber her and we tumble down the last few stairs onto the floor below. Her head hits the final metal step, breaking open her skin. Blood flows, blooming red on the pristine white carpet.

She attempts to fight but her measly stature and human strength are no match for me. In an instant, I have flipped her onto her back. I sit astride her chest, one hand pressed against her windpipe.

Do it!
a raspy voice from far in the back of my mind commands.

“Don’t do it,” Maxxer pleads through her constricted throat. “Sera, listen to me.”

Do it now!

I press harder. Maxxer squeaks. The air trapped in her lungs, desperate to get out. She opens her mouth again. “This isn’t you,” she manages to croak out. “It’s
them
.”

Them.

The word tumbles around in my abandoned brain. Like a leaf caught in the wind. I shake my head, trying to brush it away, but it won’t stop echoing.

Them.

There.

Before.

The words Zen and I once used to talk about Diotech. To talk about my former life. When I was held captive in a lab. When I was a prisoner.

Do it!
the voice commands, sounding angry at my hesitance.
KILL HER!

I let up ever so slightly, only enough to allow her to speak. “What are you talking about?” I yell, the rage still piloting my body, still radiating out of my eyes and dripping into my voice.

“Diotech,” she chokes out. “They’re controlling you.”

No. That’s not possible.

My brain is aching. Splitting in half. One side is still being controlled by that unyielding wrath. The other is trying to make sense of everything. Trying to hold on.

“How?” I scream. “How are they doing it?”

“The … boy.” She’s barely able to form the sounds. They come out choppy and hoarse.

Kaelen?

But how could he possibly
—

I’m not given the opportunity to complete the thought. I feel myself being yanked into the air, thrown across the room. I land hard on the sofa, my legs tossed over my head. My neck makes a sickening cracking noise.

I hear Maxxer coughing violently. The air flowing hungrily back into her lungs. The sound of her life forces me to stand again, determined to put an end to it. But one of Maxxer’s guards is already there beside me, shoving me down again. The black steel of his Modifier flashes into view.

And that’s the last thing I see.

53

DISEASED

Music is what I wake to. Soft. Melodic. Soothing.

My eyelids feel like they’ve been sewn shut. I have to work hard to open them. Even more to focus my vision once I’ve succeeded. My pupils feel lazy. Not wanting to do what my brain is telling them to do. Because it would require too much effort.

Effort I can’t muster.

When I’m finally able to stare at one thing long enough to make sense of it, I realize that I’m looking at the ceiling. Or rather through it, at dark swells of flowing water.

I am still on Maxxer’s submarine.

We are still moving. To where? I don’t know. I doubt she ever has a destination in mind. If she were wise, her only goal would be to never stop.

I try to push myself up but my arms don’t work. And apparently neither do my legs. Or seemingly any other part.

Fortunately my lips seem able to form words. Although not very well.

“Whaa happened?”

“We gave you a sedative,” I hear Maxxer’s voice respond. “It should subdue the impulses.”