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"O? You there?"
Goddamn it... Maybe he should have fixed it up so it looked like he'd died in the blast. He could have left the truck at the site and walked out through the woods. Yeah, but then what? He'd have no money, no vehicle, and no backup against the Brotherhood as he went after the one with the scar. He'd be an AWOL lesser, which meant that if anyone figured out his disappearing act, he'd be hunted down like a dog by the whole Society.
"O?"
"I honestly don't know what happened. When I got there, it was dust."
"Mr. X thinks you torched the place."
"Of course he does. The assumption's convenient for him, even though I had no motive. Look, I'll call you later."
He clipped the phone shut and shoved it into his jacket. Then he took the thing back out and turned it off.
As he rubbed his face, he couldn't feel anything at all, and it wasn't because of the cold.
Man, he was in deep shit. Mr. X was going to need to blame someone for that ash pile, and O was going to be it. If he wasn't put to death on the spot, the punishment lined up for him was going to be severe. God knew the last time he'd been reprimanded, he'd nearly died under the Omega. Damn it... What were his options?
When the solution came to him, his body shuddered. But the tactician in him rejoiced.
The first step was getting access to the Society's scrolls before Mr. X found him. This meant he needed an Internet connection. Which meant he was going back to U's.
John left Wrath's study and walked down the hall to the left, sticking close to Tohr. There were doors every thirty feet or so running opposite the balcony, as if the place were a hotel. How many people lived here?
Tohr stopped and knocked on one of them. When there was no answer he knocked again and said, "Phury, man, you got a sec?"
"You looking for me?" came a deep voice from behind them.
A man with a whole lot of nice-looking hair was coming down the corridor. The stuff on his head was all kinds of different colors, falling down his back in waves. He smiled at John, then looked at Tohr.
"Hey, my brother," Tohr said. The two of them switched over to the Old Language as the guy opened the door.
John looked into the bedroom. There was a huge, antique canopied bed with pillows lined up on a carved headboard. Lots of fancy decorator stuff. Place smelled like a Starbucks.
The man with the hair switched to English and looked down with a smile. "John, I'm Phury. Guess we're both going to the doc's tonight."
Tohr put his hand on John's shoulder. "So I'll see you later, okay? You have my cell phone number. You just text-message me if you need something."
John nodded and watched Tohr stride off. Seeing those broad shoulders recede made him feel very alone.
At least until Phury said quietly, "Don't worry. He's never far, and I'll take good care of you."
John glanced up into warm yellow eyes. Wow... the things were the color of goldfinches. As he found himself relaxing, he connected the name. Phury... This was the guy who was going to be doing some of the teaching.
Good, John thought.
"Come on in. I just got back from a little errand."
As John breached the doorway, the smoky, coffee smell grew heavier.
"You ever been to Havers's before?"
John shook his head and spotted an armchair by a window. He went over and sat in the thing.
"Well, don't worry about it. We'll make sure you're treated right. So I guess they're going to try to get a bead on your bloodline?"
John nodded. Tohr had said that he was getting blood drawn and having a physical. Both of which were probably a good idea, given the stop, drop, and shiver he'd just pulled in Wrath's office.
He took out his pad and wrote, Why are you going to the doctor's?
Phury came over and looked at the scribbles. With an easy shift of his big body, he propped one huge shitkicker on the edge of the chair. John leaned away as the man pulled up his leathers a little.
Oh, my God... His lower leg was made up of a series of rods and bolts.
John reached out to feel the shiny metal, then looked up. He didn't realize he was touching his own throat until Phury smiled.
"Yeah, I know all about what it's like to be missing a part."
John glanced back at the artificial limb and cocked his head.
"How'd it happen?" When John nodded, Phury hesitated and then said, "I shot it off."
The door flew open and a hard male voice cut through the room. "I need to know - "
John shifted his eyes as the words died off. Then he cringed back in the chair.
The man in the doorway was scarred, his face distorted by a slash that ran right down the middle of it. But that wasn't what made John want to shrink out of sight. The black eyes in that ruined visage were like the shadows of a deserted house, full of things that probably would hurt you.
And to top it all off, the guy had fresh blood on his pant leg and left shitkicker.
That vicious gaze narrowed and hit John's face like a blast of cold air. "What are you looking at?"
Phury lowered his leg. "Z - "
"I asked you a question, boy."
John fumbled with his pad. He wrote fast and flashed the page to the other man, but somehow that just made the situation worse.
That misshapen upper lip pulled up, revealing tremendous fangs. "Yeah, whatever, kid."
"Back off, Z," Phury cut in. "He has no voice. He can't talk." Phury tilted the pad his way. "He apologizes."
John resisted the urge to hide behind the chair as he got raked over visually. But then the aggression radiating from the guy eased up.
"You can't talk at all?"
John shook his head.
"Well, I can't read. So we're SOL, you and me."
John worked his Bic quickly. As he showed the pad to Phury, the male with the black stare frowned. "What did the kid write?"
"He says that's okay. He's a good listener. You can do the talking."
Those soulless eyes shifted away. "Got nothing to say. Now what the hell do I set a thermostat at?"
"Ah, seventy degrees." Phury went across the room. "The dial should be here. See?"
"I didn't turn it up enough."
"And you've got to make sure this switch on the bottom of the unit is all the way over to the right. Otherwise, no matter what the dial is on, the heat won't kick in."
"Yeah... okay. And can you tell me what this says?"
Phury looked down at a square piece of paper. "It's the dosage information for the shot."
"No shit. So what do I do?"
"Is she uncomfortable?"
"Not right now, but I want you to fill this up for me and tell me what to do. I need one dose ready to go in case Havers can't get here fast enough."
Phury took the vial and unwrapped the needle. "Okay."
"Do it right." When Phury was finished with the syringe, he recapped it and the two spoke for a while in the Old Language. Then the scary guy asked, "How long will you be gone?"
"Maybe an hour."
"Do me a favor first, then. Lose that sedan I brought her back in."
"I already did."
The scarred man nodded and left, the door closing with a clap.
Phury put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor.
Then he went over to a mahogany box on a bureau and took out what looked like a blunt. Holding the hand-rolled between his thumb and forefinger, he lit it and breathed in deep, keeping the inhale down, closing his eyes. When he exhaled, the smoke smelled like roasting coffee beans and hot chocolate combined. Delicious.
As John's muscles relaxed, he wondered what the stuff was. Not marijuana, certainly. But it wasn't just a cigarette.
Who is he? John wrote, and showed the pad.
"Zsadist. My twin." Phury laughed a little when John's mouth went slack. "Yeah, I know, we don't look much alike. At least, not anymore. Listen, he's a little touchy, so you might want to give him some space."
No shit, John thought.
Phury slipped on a shoulder holster and popped a gun in on one side and a black-bladed dagger on the other. He went into a closet and came back wearing a black leather peacoat.
He put the joint or whatever it was out in a silver ashtray next to the bed. "All right, let's go."
Chapter Eleven
Zsadist was quiet as he stole back into his room. After he fixed the thermostat and put the medicine on the bureau, he went over to the bed and leaned against the wall, staying in the shadows. He became suspended in time as he loomed over Bella and measured the slight rise and fall of the covers that marked her breathing. He could feel the minutes dripping into hours, and yet he could not move even as his legs grew numb.
