Stiletto (28 page)

Early on in Felicity’s schooling, the Estate had noted her fascination with stories of warriors and soldiers. She displayed a marked aptitude for martial arts and strategy. Her sessions with the Checquy career counselor had established that she was very interested in joining the Barghests. And so, after graduating from the Estate, Clements underwent intensive training in armed and unarmed combat, and then moved into active service with an urban assault team based in London. She had nine confirmed kills of people and two confirmed kills of creatures who, although they wore trousers, were not counted as people by the Checquy.

And this violence-obsessed killer is the woman responsible for my well-being,
thought Odette weakly.

*

“So do you have a cure for cancer, then?”

Startled, Odette looked up from the file to see a tall man looming over her. She hadn’t heard him enter the conference room, but the door was closed behind him. She tried to pull her thoughts together and out of the files.

“I’m sorry, what?” said Odette.

“Your lot are supposed to be masters of biological science, right?” said the man, a Checquy employee who looked to be in his forties. He was wearing a gray suit and carrying a leather briefcase, which he put down so that he could cross his arms.

“Well, I’m still learning,” said Odette. “But we don’t generally get cancer unless someone makes a mistake. My name’s Odette, by the way.” She thought about offering her hand to shake, but he was standing very close to her.

“You can alter people’s bodies?” he asked, ignoring her attempt to be polite.

“Um, yes.”

“You’re the best surgeons on the planet.”

“I suppose.”

“So does that mean you have a cure for cancer?”

“Uh... which cancer?” asked Odette, who didn’t like being loomed over.

“Any cancer,” he said flatly.

“Oh. Then yes,” said Odette tartly, and she felt triumphant for a moment as the man took a step back. He rallied, however, and stepped forward to loom again.

“And will this cure be made available to the British people?”

“Well, one dose of the cure involves slaughtering seven adult sea turtles and about three hundred cattle in such a way as to render the meat and hide unusable,” said Odette. “Basically, it leaves the corpses as a form of toxic waste. Making it is very labor-intensive. And it results in the recipient becoming sterile.”

“How convenient,” sneered the man. Odette could feel her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

“I’m sorry, English is only my fourth language,” she began, “but I don’t think that’s the right —”

“Shut up!” he spat at her. Odette noticed that his hands were clenched tight.

He’s not just being a jerk. He’s spoiling for a fight,
she realized with shock. She looked around anxiously. One wall of the conference room was glass, and throughout the day she’d had to make a conscious effort to ignore the stares of the passing Checquy staff, but now the corridor seemed to be empty.

“You Grafters can do a lot, can’t you?” he asked. “You can make soldiers bigger and stronger. You can make a man whose skin eats other people until he fills the room. And then tentacles reach out and pull people in and dissolve them.” Odette didn’t answer. There was a strong smell of ozone building in the air. She kept her hands in her lap, petrified of saying or doing something that would push him to act. Inside her forearms, she felt her spurs twitch.
Why doesn’t someone come?

“That meat cube in Reading?” said the man in a fierce whisper. “One of my friends got pulled in by that thing before Rook Thomas ripped it to pieces. I saw his corpse, bleached white and
eaten
away.
” The smell of ozone was burning her nose by this point, and she had a sense that something absolutely horrendous was about to happen.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Odette softly. “But that wasn’t —”

“Sorry? You’re
sorry?
”

Odette’s hands slipped off each other, and she looked down. An orange-tinged clear oil was covering her skin, as if it had condensed there. As she watched, shiny orange drops appeared on the sleeves of her suit coat.
He’s using his powers on me!
she thought wildly.
What’s happening?
What is this?
She shifted under his enraged gaze and felt herself slide a little on the seat, which was also suddenly slick with grease. She could feel more oil sweating onto her face and sliding under her clothes. The conference table was swimming in the stuff, and it was soaking into the papers scattered across it. It dripped down from the ceiling and oozed onto the walls.

“That wasn’t me,” she whispered. “That wasn’t us.”

“Of course; that was the
other
Grafters, wasn’t it?” snarled the man. There were tears in his eyes, and his face was red. Odette felt a pinch all over her skin, as if the oil were tightening around her. “The ones that invaded my country and killed children.”

“I —” began Odette.

“But don’t you live forever?” said the man. “Hasn’t your boss been walking around for centuries?” There was a jolt under Odette, as if the seat had been jerked suddenly. Except that the man still had his arms folded. “Centuries.”

What do I do?
she thought.
If I attack him or scream for help, he might kill me. So stay still,
she decided.
Don’t do or say anything that might provoke him. Maybe someone will come. Maybe he’ll calm down.

“It might have been a long time ago,” said the man. “But we remember, and we pass the memory along.” He stared at her, and her skin prickled sharply.

That wasn’t my nerves,
she thought.
That’s him.
She tried to lean back a little and found that it was difficult, as if she were wearing rigid clothing. She could practically taste the hate in the air. Her legs felt stiff, pinioned in her own skin and a shell of oil.

You’re holding my exterior,
she thought.
But there’s more to me than what you see.

She concentrated and engaged some nerves that were tucked away deep within her torso.
The moment he brings violence, I am not going to pull any punches.
Unless he calmed himself down, the man in the suit was going to be receiving a dose of venom that was normally found in the crural glands of the male platypus. It wasn’t fatal, but it was supposed to be excruciatingly painful.

That is, if he’ll even
let
me get a punch in
. She felt as if she were being held in a vise, the oil gripping her.

“Pawn Korybut,” said a voice. A woman’s voice. With an effort, Odette turned her head. There stood the small figure of Rook Myfanwy Thomas.

“Rook Thomas,” said the man, Korybut, not taking his eyes off Odette.

“Stand down,” said the Rook. Her voice was calm, mild even, but under that cool tone was the promise of dire consequences if she was not obeyed.

There was a horrible pause as Odette was transfixed by Pawn Korybut’s gaze. There was no change in his eyes. The rage and madness didn’t grow fainter. There was simply a man who was deciding what mattered most to him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said finally. Odette felt the prickling tightness on her skin easing, and she was suddenly able to slump.

“Now go,” said Rook Thomas. “You’re done for the day. It’s time to go home.” He picked up his briefcase and backed away. “You don’t talk about this to anyone, Pawn Korybut. You and I will discuss this tomorrow.” He nodded. Finally he turned and walked out the door. The goop, however, failed to mystically evaporate.

Odette buried her head in her hands; the oil squished on her palms and burned her eyes. It was not immediately clear, even to her, if she was crying. There were some gasping breaths and a fair amount of emotional turmoil, but no actual sobs. She looked up and saw Rook Thomas standing by her, looking sympathetic.

“I’m not crying,” said Odette, trying to muster up some dignity. “Whatever this stuff is, it’s in my eyes.”

“It’s everywhere,” said the Rook. “Let’s go get you cleaned up. I’d pat you comfortingly on the arm, but I don’t want that crap on me.”

“I can’t,” said Odette helplessly. “I can’t walk through the halls like this.”

“Oh, I’ve attended meetings looking far worse,” said Thomas dismissively. “No one will look twice at you.”

Persuaded by her practical tone and the fact that the liquid covering her was getting unpleasantly cold, Odette gingerly stood up, slipping a little on the floor. The Rook was staring, stony-faced, at the conference table. Odette looked down and saw several large cracks running through the wood. “Well, at least he vented most of his frustration on the furniture,” said Thomas. Odette shuddered. “Anyway, there are showers and spare tracksuits at the gym, so let’s get going.”

Rook Thomas led her, squelching, through the hallways of Apex House to the ladies’ changing room. There were more than a few curious glances, but Thomas ignored them, so Odette tried to do the same.

I’m making such a wonderful impression,
she thought.

“Did — did you use your powers on that man Korybut?” she asked finally.

“No, that was just me being his boss,” said Thomas. “Although I would have.” She opened the locker-room door, peered in, and then gestured Odette through. “No one else is in there, and I’ll wait here in the hallway to make sure that you’re not disturbed. Tracksuits are on the shelves by the towels,” she advised.

“Thanks,” said Odette, walking hurriedly into what might have been the nicest locker room she had ever been in. A thick red carpet covered the floor, leather couches lined the walls, and the lockers themselves were made of dark wood. She felt a trifle gauche to be trailing oil across the carpets and scurried to the showers. When she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she flinched.

Oh, marvelous,
she thought grimly.
I look like a whale sneezed on me.

To her immense relief, the stuff washed off easily — far more easily than the slime she’d been sleeping in. Under the hot water, her muscles relaxed, sliding back into their normal positions. She took the opportunity to have a private little cry, and then, once she was dressed in a nondescript gray tracksuit, she spent a laborious few minutes staring in a mirror and draining the redness from her eyes. She crammed her greasy suit into a plastic bag she’d liberated from a rubbish bin and wiped the better part of the oil off her shoes with handfuls of wadded-up toilet paper.

As she walked out of the bathroom in her sweat suit and high heels clutching her bag of clothes, Odette was secretly hoping that the Rook had left. That way, she could slink through the hallways, avoiding everyone, catch a cab to the hotel, and go straight to bed without having to talk or think about anything that had happened.

However, in keeping with the tone of the day, Rook Thomas had failed to leave and was leaning against the wall. She had stepped out of her heels and, as a result, was a good deal shorter. She was squinting at her phone and tapping away at it.

“What a fucking day,” said Thomas. She sighed and tucked the phone away in a pocket. “Miss Leliefeld, I am aghast at Pawn Korybut’s actions. His behavior was inexcusable, especially toward a guest and most especially toward a diplomat. On behalf of the people and the Crown of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, please accept my formal apology.” Odette blinked. The ritualistic language was somewhat at odds with the stockinged feet.

“Of course I accept,” said Odette.

“I realize we must tell Graaf Ernst,” Thomas said.

“Yes, I have to,” said Odette.

“I don’t know how he’ll take it,” said Thomas, “but the last thing we need in secret negotiations between secret organizations is more secret secrets. I’ll come with you when you tell him, and I’ll apologize to him as well.” Odette raised her eyebrows a little at the woman’s assumption that
she
would decide what would happen but found herself nodding in agreement. The Rook had that kind of authority.

“I saw how much that man loathed me,” said Odette. “He loathed the
idea
of me. And it’s not just him. People have been giving us poisonous looks since we arrived.”

“They’ve been brought up to hate the memory of the Grafters,” said Rook Thomas mildly. “I can’t expect them to stop overnight.”

“
You
were brought up to hate the memory of the Grafters,” said Odette. “And you seem all right.”

Thomas gave an odd little smile. “They’ll come around,” she said. “Now, let’s go talk with your ancestor, and then I’ll see about getting your bodyguard brought into service immediately.”

Oh, good,
thought Odette glumly.
I feel safer already.

*1
Some thoughtful soul had added a footnote explaining that a
hoogleraar
was a professor.

That evening, Felicity knocked on Odette’s hotel-room door. It opened and a short youth whom Felicity recognized as the brother looked up at her.

“Hello, I’m Felicity.”

“Hi,” he said. They stared at each other warily for a while. “So, I, um, I ordered a hamburger?” he said finally.

“I’m not room service,” said Felicity curtly, somewhat irritated by the way his gaze had paused on her breasts. “I’m looking for Odette Leliefeld.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m her new roommate.” This revelation appeared to lie completely beyond his comprehension because he continued to stare at her. But at least he was staring at her face. She sighed heavily. “Is she here?”

“Odette!” he called, turning slightly but not taking his eyes off her. The girl Grafter appeared and looked over his head, her eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re Felicity Clements.” She did not sound delighted to have the Pawn on her doorstep. In fact, she sounded as far from delighted as it was possible to be without having a chain saw at one’s throat or genitals.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Leliefeld.”

Odette pushed her brother to the side, and they shook hands gingerly. Odette tried not to imagine Felicity’s powers seeping into her skin and reading her history, while Felicity tried not to brace herself to get stabbed by those spurs. Both women let go gratefully and discreetly wiped their hands on their legs.