Stiletto (82 page)

“After all, we can just grab a Checquy person whenever we need one,” the man was saying. “For God’s sake, they do go home, some of them. Not the Court, apparently, they’ve all been staying tucked away in their fortresses for the past few weeks, but the rank and file go to their houses and apartments.”

Not
this
little black duck,
thought Felicity.
I never get to go to my place. Had to put my dog in the boarding kennels.

“Anyway,” said the man, “I have to make sure there are no surprises tucked away. And see if I can get a clue about the nature of your powers. I admit the whole idea is fascinating.”

Good luck,
thought Felicity.
The scientists at the Estate spent years trying to figure it out.

“You’ve got quite a few scars, you know,” he remarked.

I do know that; I was present when I got them.

“Good musculature.”

Why, thank you.

Then he was moving around, up into her field of vision, peering down into her face but not her eyes.

Oh, I know you! I saw you in the photos. You’re Pim, the boy Odette gets all teary-eyed about when she thinks no one sees.

I’ll give you credit, you’re quite a cutie.

He reached out and touched her face, and she could see the crescents of her cheeks rise up a little at the very bottom of her vision.

He’s opened my mouth.

Then he was coming closer, and his face was intent. His eyes were a smoky gray.

You
are
yummy,
thought Felicity.
Odette has good taste in terrorists.

“You used to throw up your food,” he said finally. “Years ago. They repaired your teeth, and did a pretty good job of it, but I can still see traces.” He still hadn’t looked her in the eye. “But I don’t think that’s particularly relevant to our situation here. You don’t have hollow teeth filled with cyanide, and no foldaway fangs.

“Now, I just want to take one quick look under your skin,” he said. “No big cuts, but if your powers are touch-based, then maybe your epidermis will show something interesting.”

Sure, knock yourself out,
thought Felicity.
I’m just gonna lie here and work on my haikus, since I have nothing better to do.
He moved down so that he was just barely in her field of vision.

“Just a small incision on the palm, and I can peel it back and s —
merde!
” There was a fizzing sound, and an acrid smell wafted through the air.

Oh, good,
she thought.
I get to smell things too.
Then a cloud of bottle-green smoke was billowing up from somewhere and filling the room. It grew denser and denser until she couldn’t see anything. Even the radiant light from the walls and ceiling was blotted out.
Did that come out of me?
she wondered.
Good.

In normal circumstances, the prospect of a torrent of apparently poisonous gas emanating from her might have been mildly concerning, but she’d already accepted the entire situation as hopeless. Now, anything that might screw over her captors was good.

“God!”
Pim was choking, coughing, wheezing, and, from what she could tell, swearing a lot in a language she didn’t know.
Guess something went wrong.
She felt a little bit of satisfaction at the thought.
See? Not in control of everything, are you?

Eventually, however, the smoke grew thinner, and light began to shine through again. She couldn’t see Pim, but the weak sound of coughing seemed to be coming from somewhere near the floor. All she could do was stare up at the ceiling, which was not in good shape. There were gray splotches from which no light shone, and sections where the skin was drooping down limply. Pim’s retchings went on for a while, and when his face finally appeared in her field of vision, his skin was red, his eyes were weeping, and he did not look happy.

“So, it seems that someone from the Broederschap injected a few things into you,” he said tightly.

Oh, yeah, the inoculations,
remembered Felicity. They seemed like a long time ago.

“I should have guessed. Stupid of me. Do you know what they did?” he asked. “They put some weapons into your system. Some very, very nasty products. Very clever too; they reacted to the bone scalpel I was using. The Broederschap prefers to use bone blades — they’re sharper and better than steel ones. But the shit in your veins could read it. If you got shot with a normal bullet or cut your legs shaving with a metal razor, nothing would happen. But as soon as your blood comes in contact with Grafter-grown bone,
fssss!
”

No kidding. I wonder if Rook Thomas knew about this?

“It’s designer stuff, masterpiece product,” he said. “And meant to kill me. Maybe kill the whole group.” His face was stern.

Is it going to kill me?
she wondered.
Is my blood all poisoned and toxic?

“Marcel came up with the original in the seventies, I think,” said Pim. “He must have perfected it since. It may even react specifically to the bone of one of us. Very clever old man.” He shook his head.

“Unfortunately for him, it was in the files Claudia grabbed. And I made a vaccine for it. It took a while to activate, but it worked. We are prepared for all of their weapons. So fuck Marcel, and fuck them all. Their hidden weapon failed.” He was smiling now, and it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. Then there was the sound of a phone ringing. He turned away to answer it and spoke some words in Dutch. He hung up and turned back to Felicity.

“Hmm. I will come back to you in a bit,” he said.

So I’ll be alive then?

“I want a much closer look inside you. But for the moment, my girl is waiting to have a talk.”

Oh, Odette’ll be thrilled to see you,
she thought.
I’ll just stay here, shall I?

She heard him walk away.

Wanker.

“All right,” said Claudia. “Pim will be here in a minute.” She hadn’t had to pick up a phone or anything; she had simply cocked her head and moved her lips a few times. Odette nodded, leaned forward in her chair, rested her elbows on the table, and put her hands over her eyes. The others in the room sat solemnly, except for Sophie Gestalt, who picked up a magazine and flipped through it.

Odette’s head was churning. There were so many things she needed to say to Pim, and she needed to get them absolutely perfect.

If I just say it the right way, then I can convince him,
she told herself.
I can tell him about Felicity and how she’s actually a good person despite being Checquy. That most of the Checquy actually seem like good people despite being Checquy. I can tell him about how she and I worked together to fight monsters who hurt people but who were really themselves people who had been hurt. And that it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever done.

And I’ll explain to him that all the things we love in humanity, the big ideas and the little kindnesses, they’re so delicate. They’re so easily smashed. That what the Antagonists are doing makes the world a worse place. And the Checquy helps to keep the world stable. They keep peace.

I can make him see that it’s not too late. I know I can.

She heard the sound of a door opening and closing.
I won’t look up,
she thought.
Not yet.
She heard his footsteps coming closer and the little sounds of other people turning in their chairs to see him.

“Odette?” Pim said finally.

“Yes?” she said.

“Aren’t you going to look at me?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, and she looked up.

She was relieved to see that he was still the same, that he hadn’t changed his face. The face she loved. Despite herself, despite all her concerns, she was so happy to see him. And then she felt a hand close around her heart.

His mouth was opening to say something, but his expression was confused as, without meaning to, Odette found herself standing up.
What am I doing?
she thought. Her limbs had moved without her conscious effort. And now her joints were locking. Everyone was looking at her warily, and she wanted to say that it wasn’t her, that she didn’t understand either, but she couldn’t speak. Her body took a long, deep breath — more breath than she thought she’d have room for — and her jaws forced themselves wide open.

She screamed.

It was a sound unlike anything Odette had ever heard before. It had parts of her own voice woven into it, at least at the beginning, but they were overlaid with the voice of someone else — a different woman. The two screams twined around each other, almost like a duet. And then the sound rose up and up, and all traces of Odette were lost, left behind. There was only that strange voice, that woman’s voice she did not know, coming out of
her.
And she couldn’t stop.

Pain sparked all through her body. Her wrists stung, and she felt as if she were being stabbed all over her torso, in her eyes, in her muscles. A wave of agony washed through her. Her eyes rolled up, and she saw that she wasn’t the only one affected.

Next to her, Claudia was shuddering, and the cords that emerged from her eyes clacked and rustled against each other. Inside the clear plastic, Odette could see, the tiny nerves grew black and broke. Blood flooded through the tubes and then it, too, turned black.

It’s destroying our implants!
Odette realized dazedly.

Simon had his hand on her wrist, and she felt his rubbery white surgical skin become liquid.
No, I don’t want to see!
Odette thought, and she had enough control left to close her eyes. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t understand the words, heard only the sound of his voice falling away into gurglings. His hand slid off her and he crumpled to the floor, tearing down one of the blinds as he fell.

She opened her eyes a crack and saw that Saskia was crawling across the table to her. Her once-beautiful eyes were now bloody red. Black lines around her neck showed where gills had been hidden, ready to open and let her breathe in the ocean. Now they were rotting inside her. Her elbows buckled, and she fell on the table. Saskia’s spurs were unsheathed. They were beautiful little blades, sculpted to be razor sharp, and they were dripping with venom. With all her strength, she pulled herself closer and closer to Odette. Her eyes had lost their focus, but they were still fixed on Odette.

Yes!
thought Odette.
Please! Do it! Kill me! Anything to stop this!

But instead, the elegant little weapons fell away from Saskia’s wrists, trailing strings of muscle and ligament. She stared at her forearms and then looked up at Odette. They were both thinking of the same thing, Odette knew: The little sacs tucked away in Saskia’s forearms. Carefully cocooned in layers of bone and Kevlar, and full of poison. Odette felt her own sacs shred and disintegrate inside her arms, but they were empty, drained in that attic in Muirie.

She saw the moment when Saskia was killed by her own body. Her friend’s torso stiffened and then thrashed as the venom rushed through her. Then she was still. Odette had no idea what toxins Saskia had carried in her — she’d kept changing them, going for the more and more exotic.

But still Odette kept screaming.

And Pim was turning, stumbling, trying to get away from her.
Run!
she thought desperately.
I love you! Get out!
He shambled into the shadows, where she saw him totter and fall. A dark shape that lay still.

They’re all dead,
she thought dully.
Am I going to be allowed to die too?
She could feel her implants being destroyed, but the pain no longer registered. It was just a sensation. Her muscles were breaking down, and her eyes were losing focus. Her skin burned.

Finally, the screaming stopped. There were no echoes — there hadn’t been any sound for a long time. Odette staggered on her feet, then fell backward, sprawling on the floor. She felt wetness under her hand and didn’t want to know what it was from. All she could do was suck air in through her burning throat.

She discovered that she could cry. So she cried until her tear ducts stopped working. And then she lay there, breathing.

“Well, they didn’t see
that
coming,” croaked a voice. It took all her strength, but Odette managed to flop herself over. Her limbs were rubbery and smacked on the floor. Beyond the mess that was Simon’s body, she saw the source of the voice. It was Gestalt. The blond woman lay on her back, but she turned her head to stare at Odette. “Judging from your reaction,” she said, “I don’t think you saw it coming either.”

Odette couldn’t even shake her head, but she found that she could speak, sort of. Her voice was raspy.

“I don’t even know what it was,” she said. “I — I think my great-uncle put something into me. A weapon.” She was thinking of the surgery that she had gotten at the last minute before coming to England and that, in her naïveté, she had been so thrilled to receive.
They trusted me,
she thought.
But trusted me to do what?

Gestalt opened her mouth to say something, and clear liquid ran out of her throat and over her lips. She spat. “Please excuse that,” she said. “I was going to say, congratulations, you’re a soldier. A Pawn. They use you. It’s how it works. You wouldn’t believe the number of people I sent off to their deaths.”

“Did they know you were sending them off to die?” asked Odette bitterly.

“Not always. But whatever your family put in you, it certainly did a number on Grafter organs. My spine is killing me.”

“They put implants in you?” asked Odette. “In that body?” Her gaze flickered up and down Sophie.

“Oh, yes,” said Gestalt. “Quite a few. Of course, in all the bodies, there was always that phone thing so the one girl could look out through my eyes.”

“Claudia,” she said weakly. Claudia, who was sitting dead in her chair, still plugged into the wall.