Every Other Day (13 page)

18

Closer. Closer. You’re getting closer. This way, Kali. This way.

If the hunt-lust had been a hum under my skin before, it was a full-blown song now: sweet, melodic, unearthly.

I wanted to hunt. The thing inside me wanted to feed. No room in my mind for anything else, I wove in and out of the shadows, my inner compass set toward something that reeked of sulfur—something sleek and quiet, something wrong.

Normally, I scanned the papers for reports on preternatural activity. I liked going in knowing what brand of beastie I’d be fighting, but at the moment, I didn’t care what the instinct was driving me toward.

All I cared about was making it dead.

The trail ended a mile, maybe two, away from Bethany’s house, at a water park that was closed and abandoned for the winter. Getting in was easy enough, and soon, I was prowling the length of the park, surrounded by bright colors, mammoth slides, and empty, waterless pools.

On the horizon, across a sprawling parking lot, I could see the outline of a Ferris wheel—the fair coming to call and pick up the seasonal slack, while Water World stood empty, save for the shadows, the slides, and me.

I paused, tilting my head to the side, letting the sights and sounds, the smells wash over my senses, each one heightened almost to the point of pain.

Peeling paint.

Wet concrete.

A nearly inaudible hiss.

I whirled around, but saw nothing except the barest hint of shadow. I smelled something cold and wet and rotting.

I bent down to unsheathe my knife. I was close now, very close. The question was—close to what?

Beads of sweat rose on my skin, not because I was nervous—I wasn’t—and not because I was hot. It was adrenaline, plain and simple, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in a fun house–style mirror—installed, no doubt, to entertain the masses while they waited in hot summer lines—my brown eyes were glowing with an unholy sheen.

You’re close now. So very close.

I could almost picture myself here on a human day, standing in line for the Silver Bullet and stealing peeks at myself in the long line of mirrors, each a distortion, none an exact reflection of this body.

None of them the real me.

Somewhere, overhead, there was a creak—rusted metal, giving under the weight of something … something….

I looked up.

For a split second, there was nothing but the metal staircase, winding its way up to the top of the Silver Bullet, but then I heard the telltale sound of scales scraping against metal—a light swoosh, a tongue flickering out to taste the stale and humid air.

Whatever it was, my prey was tasting for me.

I averted my eyes a second before the creature came into view. It swung down from the rafters, its tail—the width of an oak tree, the length of my legs—wrapping around the creaking, rusted stairs.

Basilisk
, I realized, a second too late. Its snakelike body gave way to a triangular head with slit nostrils, a nearly human mouth, and eyes the exact color and cut of a ruby.

Knowledge of how to kill the thing flooded my brain. I might have been failing history, but this was the kind of pop quiz I was built for. To kill a basilisk, I’d have to drive my blade into its brain—easier said than done, given that my point of entry was a soft spot inside the creature’s mouth, and the fact that I’d die if I looked a basilisk straight in the eyes.

Moving swiftly, I turned my attention to the line of mirrors. In the right person’s hand, anything was a weapon, and with prey I couldn’t physically look at, I needed to get creative. Knife in one hand, I drove my elbow into the closest mirror as hard as I could—again and again and again.

The glass shattered, needle-sharp shards digging into the flesh of my arm. Using the tip of my knife, I pried larger shards loose from the mirror’s frame—one for each hand.

I slipped my knife hilt-first into my waistband at the small of my back, then tightened my grip on my makeshift blades. The rough edges of the glass dug into the flesh of my palms. Blood ran down my wrists like rain on a windshield.

Here, snakey, snakey, snakey,
I thought.

There was a hiss and then a thump as it fell onto the concrete behind me.

“That’s right,” I said softly, tracking its movement in the remaining mirrors. “Come to Kali.”

The creature pulled back, holding itself aloft, swaying. Short arms, capped off by gray, gnarled hands, grew out of its snakelike body. It moved its fingers as it swayed, and its lips parted, revealing pearl-white fangs. I could smell the blood on them, smell this thing’s last meal.

I waited. One second, two, three, four—the beast surged forward. With one last glance in the mirror, I spun, eyes closed, burying a glass shard in one glittering red eye.

The basilisk screamed—an ugly, all-too-human sound—and lashed out with its tail, knocking me back into one of the mirrors. My head hit the glass with a sickening
thunk
, but I didn’t open my eyes.

Didn’t wince.

I smiled.

Fangs the size of my index finger struck, burying themselves in my torso and ripping through my flesh. The venom should have burned like fire. It should have brought me to my knees—but it didn’t. Blood bubbled out of the puncture holes, and I felt a light breeze against my face as the basilisk pulled back and moved to strike again.

I rolled sideways, turning my head away from the creature’s lethal gaze before opening my eyes and angling the remaining glass shard in my hand to give me a better view of its motion. The serpent looked long and skinny—clownish—in this lying little piece of glass. My blood dripped off its fangs.

It wobbled, snarled, reached for me with ghastly hands—

Too slow.

“You poison me,” I said, driving my arm backward, aiming the shard at its one remaining eye. “I poison you. Karma’s a bitch.”

It came for me again, but I turned, driving the shard back into its skull, obliterating the eye and, with it, the basilisk’s biggest weapon. Opening my own eyes, I stared it right in the bleeding face. It began shaking, bucking wildly, hissing-screaming.

I brought my hand to the small of my back, withdrew the knife. Glancing down at the puncture holes in my side, I saw that they were already healing—an angry purple-black color giving way to the pink of baby-fresh skin.

Moving impossibly fast, I was beside the basilisk in an instant. I tackled it, pinning the top half of its body to the ground, dodging its tail as it slammed down with enough force to shatter the concrete. With a final, gurgling hiss, the basilisk opened its mouth to strike again. I shoved the knife into its open mouth, ignoring the fangs and driving the blade back into its brain.

Dizzy, I pulled myself to my feet and let go of my prey. I stumbled backward. It swayed. It gargled.

It went down. Hard.

My chest rose and fell as I watched the basilisk’s life fizzle out in front of me. After it stopped moving, I paced forward, examining its corpse. In the four years I’d been hunting, I’d only seen one other basilisk—and this one was easily twice its size. If I’d looked it in the eye, even once, it might have had me.

If I hadn’t been so strong, so fast—if my wounds hadn’t started healing, if the venom coursing through my veins even now had been as fatal to me as my blood was to it—I’d be dead.

I retrieved my knife, shoving the thing’s massive head to one side. “Not today.”

I waited for the release that usually came from hunting, but it didn’t come. The air was thick with the smell of blood—the monster’s, mine. I could feel it, taste it.

I wanted it.

That’s not you, Kali. That’s the Nibbler.

I barely heard Zev’s words, barely registered the fact that he was back, that whatever the men in masks had been doing to him, it was over now. I was too focused on the present to process. I’d hunted. I’d killed. And now, the only thing left was a burning, incessant hunger.

Thirst.

I could feel the lines of gold on my body pulsating, rearranging themselves. I could feel the
ouroboros
heating up. It didn’t hurt—but I felt it.

I felt it everywhere.

Hungry. Thirsty. Perfect, blessed heat.

Giving into the urge, I brought my knife up, even with my face. I turned it sideways, watching the basilisk’s black-red blood drip down onto the concrete, one drop at a time.

I brought the blade to my lips.

I opened my mouth.

And I fed.

Nineteen hours and twenty-nine minutes.

It was barely eleven thirty in the morning, and I was already on my third set of clothes for the day.

This time, I didn’t need Zev to tell me to burn my old ones. I took another shower, too—as much to rid myself of the memory of what I’d just done as to wash my body clean of blood. Though my wounds were well on their way to healing completely, I bandaged my side before slipping on shirt number three and a pair of my own jeans.

I wondered how long it would be before someone found the basilisk and called the police—and then I wondered how exactly Water World had come to play host to a creature that was native to climates far drier and more brutal than ours.

More than that, though, I wondered if I’d ever forget the way its blood had tasted—bitter, like cocoa powder, with just a hint of sour milk.

Human blood tastes better,
Zev said, right on cue.

I chose to ignore that comment, and focused instead on the fact that Zev was alive and seemingly well.

“So,” I said, knowing that I didn’t need to speak out loud, but doing so, anyway, because it made his presence feel less intimate, less intrusive. “Chimera Biomedical.”

I couldn’t say more than that without sounding flippant or sad, so I stopped.

Chimera Biomedical is not your concern, Kali. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.

I pictured the cement cell, the men in masks.

“So you’re enjoying their hospitality?”

Zev snorted.
I got stupid. They got lucky. Right now, the odds are stacked in their favor. That won’t always be the case.

I dragged my fingertips through my wet hair, combing out the tangles and trying not to think about what, exactly, Zev might do once he got the upper hand. “How long have you been there?”

There was a long pause, and I could practically feel Zev deciding whether or not to tell me the truth.

Two years.

I literally stopped breathing.

It’s not such a long time,
Zev said, his voice meditative and soft,
for someone like us.

I couldn’t help the way that last word echoed through my own thoughts.

There was an
us
.

I’d never had that, never known for a fact that I wasn’t one of a kind.

“I’m going to get you out,” I said, my throat dry and my eyes tearing up. “You know that, right? I can’t just leave you there. I’m going to get you out.”

That’s not a good idea,
he said sharply, each word more implacable than the last.
There’s a lot about this place you don’t know. You can’t win, Kali, and you shouldn’t try.

“Wanna bet?” I asked, matching the steel in his tone with some of my own.

Zev paused, and when he finally replied, his words were deliberate, like he was used to doling out cruelty in measured doses.

You’re young, Kali, and you’re inexperienced, and if yesterday was any indication, you have an Achilles’ heel that I do not. Don’t let your Nibbler fool you into thinking you’re something you are not.

Zev’s words hit their target. In another twenty hours, I’d be human again—basilisk bait, breakable, a normal teenage girl. If Chimera caught me and put me in one of their little cells, I wouldn’t hold up nearly as well as Zev had.

I wouldn’t last two years.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, staring myself down in the mirror. “I guess that means that whatever I’m going to do, I need to do it quick.”

Zev must have sensed that arguing was useless, because he stopped trying to tell me what to do. Good. Maybe I’d actually managed to keep him from realizing exactly how hard that last comment of his had hit me.

I’d only had a couple of seconds to marvel at the fact that there was someone else out there like me before that someone else had turned around and reminded me that even to our kind—his kind—I wasn’t quite right.

I was still out of place.

I was broken.

I tried not wonder if I would ever fit in anywhere—ever feel like a whole person instead of two broken, disconnected halves.

I looked away from my own reflection and picked up my toothbrush. I brushed my teeth—over and over again, until the only taste on my tongue was Aquafresh. I looped my hair back into a ponytail and then considered my options.

I’d meant what I’d said to Zev. Broken or not, outlier or not, I wasn’t just going to leave him there to rot. I wasn’t going to sit back and hope that Chimera wasn’t going to come for me next.

I needed to know where they were keeping Zev. Who was involved. What the company knew about me. I needed proof—the kind that could be used as insurance or taken to the police.