Revelation (36 page)

Like magic.

Like it’s a curse, and you’re heaven-spelled. You’re still blessed, Morgan. From what Luniel did to you. From loving him.

Her eyes burned, and she shook it off, determined.
Don’t think of him. Don’t even think his name. Just test it and see. You’re a doctor, not a charlatan.

She leapt up to scrabble in the drawers, coming up with a needle and a screw-in plastic sample tube. New gloves, snip snap, the used ones in the bin. Her fingers trembled as she swabbed inside her elbow with alcohol and pushed in the needle. She screwed the tube on firmly. Bright blood welled, agonizingly slow, and she gritted her teeth on impatience waiting for the tube to fill.

At last. She unscrewed the tube, eased the needle out. She slapped on a Band-Aid, careless, and ran to the fridge for a fresh, unrelated sample.

People were dying, right now. She didn’t have time for controls or full testing regimes. But desperate hope flowed in her heart, suspiciously like a prayer.
Just let it work. Let this be real.

The sample was already prepared and fixed, thanks to Suhail. She scrambled to slide the dish into the view slot. Grabbed a fresh dropper. Dipped it into the blood, her hands shaking. Refreshed the image. There they were, skin cells, engorged and
angry with the virus. Her throat swelled, a hot lump of anticipation. Carefully, she squirted in a drop of blood.

A tiny flash of blue lit the dish. On the screen, the red blood cells spread, flowing like a rain of bubbles, surrounding the skin cells. And then the bubbles dissolved, and the skin cells swelled and shuddered and…
transformed
.

Yes.

Her stomach clenched in triumph. Score. No time to waste. She had to test it in the wild. And what better place than Vorvian’s horrid lair? Her thoughts raced ahead, planning.
No way to replicate my blood so soon. Even if it’s possible. Have to use the real thing. And soon. Now. Before…well, before whatever it is wears off.

She jumped up and stuffed the tube into her pocket, stumbling in her haste. She’d need equipment. Something to subdue a victim, capsicum spray or nerve agent in a can. Syringes, gloves. More blood. She raided the drawers, stuffing what she needed into her coat pockets. She closed her eyes for a second, calming herself, and turned to leave.

The guy sitting behind her grinned.

She jumped backwards, hands flying to her chest. Black t-shirt, wiry brown arms, ripped jeans so tight they creaked. She gulped, sweat and crisp hashish, trying to catch her breath. “Jesus, Suhail. You scared the crap out of me.”

But at the sight of him, relief flooded her, cool and calming. Another human spirit in a night filled with monsters.

“Gotcha. Tee hee.” Suhail’s dark eyes shone, amused. Today, he wore a piratical golden earring and a red bandanna, and his t-shirt said
I’M OUT OF BED AND DRESSED—WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?
“Wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. You sick yesterday?”

“Uh. Yeah. What are you doing here so early?”

“Catch-up. Same old.” Suhail eyed her strangely, scratching his belly. “You look like shit, Dr. M. Big night?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” But the memory of Lune’s cheeky smile cut her like a blade.

“Try me.” Suhail tugged his shirt down, but not before she saw the glint of weapons. Gun down the back of his jeans. Switchblade stuffed into his belt. A gas canister’s lumpy shape in his pocket.

Her thoughts sharpened. Suhail was tough. Streetwise. Smart. And he had a gang of take-no-shit friends.

The kind of guys who could get her back to Vorvian’s housing project alive.

Assuming Suhail didn’t laugh in her face. And assuming Vorvian was still there. But she’d deal with that later.

Laughter broke in her chest. Surely, there was something wrong with her life, when the only person she could trust was a crazy gangboy. But she had little choice. Suhail had always stood up for her when it counted. And at least he wouldn’t trick her with magic.

Her lip trembled. No, Suhail wouldn’t enchant her with his bewitching smile. Wouldn’t deceive her into hungering for his touch, the fiery glint of heavenblue eyes, his mind-melting kisses, the burning ecstasy of his hardness inside her…

Her wits clogged like wet wool. This was ridiculous. Luniel was just a guy. Why couldn’t she let him go?

Just some guy. Yeah, right.
The cruel voice inside her head taunted her, unrelenting.
He gets you, Morgan. He fell from grace, and picked himself right up and fought on. He sees you, and he doesn’t shrink away. You’ll never have that again. Sure,
run. Hide your face from your reflection. It’s what you’re good at.

She eyed Suhail, nervous. “Wanna walk with me? I, uh, need some air.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, and they headed out, down the corridor and into the lobby. “So,” he added as they pushed through the dark-glass security door and outside, where the rising sun slanted a bright wake-up call onto the tree-lined sidewalk, “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

Morgan squinted in the sun, flushing. “Am I that obvious?”

“C’mon, Dr. M. We’re friends, right? What’s on your mind?”

She swallowed. “You know what you said the other night, about the Manhattan virus? God’s plan, and all that?”

“Uh-huh.” Suhail slung his wiry arm around her shoulder, easy. “Thought you didn’t believe in God.”

Doubt pierced her chest like a sob, and she swallowed before it broke. “Yeah. Well, have I got a story for you.”

Morgan finished talking as they walked out onto Park Avenue, and Suhail stared at her, his dark eyes shining. “Fuck me with a glow stick. You’ve changed your mind!”

She shrugged, hot under the heightening sun. The street was crowding already, commuters and loiterers, cafés and food stands opening. The greasy smell of hot dogs made her stomach growl. “So sue me. When porridge hits you in the face, you’ve gotta believe in oatmeal.”

Suhail grinned, and slapped her shoulder. He dug in his pocket for a twenty and bought two dogs, layering on the tabouli and chili, and handed one to her. “Welcome to the club, Dr. M. Pity you’re on the wrong team, but, hey, I can make allowances.”

“Who said I’m on any team? All I know is, this end of the world thing is real.”

“Everyone’s on a team these days. And somehow I don’t see you praying six times a day and covering your hair. But then again, neither do I. Look, pork! And I’m still here.” He took a huge bite of his hot dog. “So,” he managed with his mouth stuffed full, “this angel of yours. Is he hot? Can I meet him?”

“Not your type.” She ate, savoring the delicious flavor of oily meat and chili. She’d left out the part about sleeping with Luniel. She didn’t want Suhail to know she’d been conned so easily.

“Surely you jest. Everyone’s my type. They just don’t always know it yet.” A sly glint crept into his smile. “So…this Prince of Poison dude. You said he’s throwing his little munch party up by the Wards Island Bridge, right?”

“Yeah.” She shivered, remembering Vorvian’s slimy, poisoned kiss. Suddenly her appetite wasn’t so good. “It was horrible. Like a war zone. Bodies and blood and…and all those poor people…”

“So let’s kick his ass.”

“Huh?”

“Lock ’em and load ’em, and let’s whip some butt for God.”

“You mean it?”

“Hey, I’m a believer. If an angel came to me, I’d be saying ‘yes, sir, whatever you say, sir, go ahead and magic my blood, that’s fine with me.’ What is it you folks say? ‘God works in mysterious ways’?” He offered her a high five, his fingers stained with mustard. “Who the hell am I to say no?”

She connected, excitement twisting her stomach. “Thanks. I could really use a friend right now.”

“Screw this demon, right? This is our island.” He popped the last of his hot dog into his mouth and chewed, his words indistinct. “This cure of yours, it really works?”

“It did when I tested it.” She pulled the blood tube from her pocket. “This is all I’ve got.”

“You got plenty more in you, right?” He grinned, infectious.

“Uh-huh.” She forced herself to take another bite. She needed the food. “You got something in mind?”

“All in good time. How far do you reckon we can dilute it?”

She shrugged, sweaty hair sticking. “Who knows? I’ve never tried magic before. A bit, I guess.”

Suhail touched the SIM implant behind his ear to activate it. “Call Tariq,” he instructed, and winked at her as the call connected. “T., it’s So-so. Yeah, you, too…Listen, you know those gas grenades we ripped off from the National Guard? Yeah, the bio-bombs? I got a use for ’em. That thing we talked about…uh-huh. I got it right here. Can you be at 105th and First by”—he checked his watch—“zero-eight? Sure, I know the Kings won’t like it. You care? Bring the boys, it’ll be a blast…Heh. Thanks, I’m here all week. Kiss ya.”

He disconnected. “Dr. M., we have ourselves a plan.”

Morgan grinned. It felt good to have a friend who didn’t want anything from her, or ask difficult questions. She offered him the rest of her hot dog. “You want this?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m not hungry.”

“Thanks.” He took it, and polished it off.

She shoved hands in her pockets as they walked. “Question. What’s a bio-bomb?”

“It’s a disease weapon. A shell that disperses ionized cell-rich carrier particles. They stick to whatever they touch. Like the nerve gas in bug spray, only it’s not nerve gas, just vapor. You have to add the pathogen, or in this case, the cure.”

“My blood?”

“Yeah. At least we won’t have to worry about infecting ourselves.” He grimaced at her expression. “Listen, we didn’t start the Manhattan virus, okay? A bio-bomb is usually an artillery weapon. For an outbreak this big? You’d have heard the explosion in Queens.”

“Okay.” Morgan swallowed. She knew where the virus had come from, and it wasn’t a bio-bomb.

“But these ones aren’t shells, see? They’re modified tear gas grenades. Made for chemical agents, but we can pack ’em with biologicals just as easy. The idea is, you inoculate yourself against whatever it is, and then you fire it from an underslung grenade launcher. Of which good So-so just happens to have a cache.” They stopped at traffic lights, and Suhail peered out into the thickening stream of cabs and couriers. “So. We meet Tariq, inject the grenades with your blood. Find your demon and his zombie freaks. Brass ’em up, and watch the evil bastards burn in hell.” His face glowed with zeal that wasn’t entirely likeable, and he mimed firing a grenade, whistling as the imaginary ballistic fell to earth.

Morgan pursed determined lips. No, not likeable. Suhail might be fun to hang out with, but at heart he was a crazy-ass messenger of destruction. Anyone who thought it’d be cool to fire a biological agent at short range was either suicidal or insane, probably both. Maybe he thought God would protect him. Still, his fervor matched her own. Vorvian had destroyed lives. The sooner he was wiped from the earth, the better. And if that meant she had to go a little crazy-ass herself…

A cab zoomed past, and Suhail eyed the sun, already beating down hot. “It’s kinda far, huh.”

“Yeah.” She fumbled in her pocket automatically, and stopped. “No cash for a cab. Sorry. Subway?”

Suhail pulled his pistol from under his t-shirt. No one took notice. He cocked it, gunmetal gleaming in the sun, and stepped out onto Park Avenue with a two-handed grip, the barrel aimed skywards. “Nah. Let’s drive.”

Japheth cursed, blistering his fingers, and wrenched his shuddering sword point away.

Dash just stared at him, and it drilled right into Japheth’s unguarded heart like a demon’s hell-spelled blade.

He whirled away, fury sparking from his fingers, uncontrollable emotion spilling out. For centuries, he’d kept icy control, and now that was shattered. Surely, Michael was just testing him. This wasn’t the answer. What was the point of redemption, if he’d hate himself for eternity?

He hurled his sword away, and it crashed into the opposite wall, leaving a fiery trail. An acid-ripped scream clogged his lungs, and his rage exploded, an inferno of unreason he couldn’t quench.

Glass shattered, and wind howled. Orange flames licked his skin. His feathers singed. The walls shuddered and cracked. His skin was alight. His nerves shredded raw. He couldn’t contain it. Couldn’t fight his rage, his envy, his spitfire lust to gorge or fuck or kill.

Dimly, Japheth felt Dash’s knuckles crack into his jaw.

The punch flung him off his feet, and he collided with the wall and hit the ground with a bone-jarring crunch.

Dash grabbed his wind-whipped hair, yanking his chin upwards. “Enough, Jae. Wrap it.”

Japheth sucked in a burning breath. Centuries of bottled-up injustice stung his bones, and lightning crackled from his fingers to set the ceiling alight.

Plaster rained, a rumble of thunder. Dash shook him harder. “C’mon, pull your icy shit. Don’t fucking flake on me now. I need you frosty. You want your redemption? Help me stop the end of the world.”

Dash needed him. Purpose. Focus. He smacked his own skull back into the wall, hard, and the ugly hateclaws with a death grip on his mind loosened.

He panted, grasping for his lost control. Flames licked his fingers, and he snuffed them out with clenched fists. The fire around him shuddered, and flickered low. Gradually, the room refocused, the cool waters of habit flowing over his ragged heart.
Deny. Ignore. Club baby seals. Think about something else, before you do something you’ll regret.

Japheth scrambled to unsteady feet, dizzy. His burned flesh healed with a sickening squelch. His veins still seared like hellfire, the remnants of his sinful rage floating like evil ashclouds.

Dash grunted in satisfaction, and cuffed him over the head, hard enough to flash stars. “You deserved that, you little shit.”

Japheth gulped. Apology was inadequate. Would be forever inadequate. “Dashiel, I—”

“Shut up.” Dash eyed him, empty. “No time. You with the program, or do I have to kick your feathered ass?”

His skin stung with shame. Dash would just push this aside? Forget it? Pretend it never happened?