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“Whatever it is, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But let’s hear him out. It’s either this or something worse. I have a feeling it’ll be better than Tate’s proposal, or spending three years in a glass cube.”
“One way or another, this is our last night on the strip.”
“Then we better make some memories. And go shopping.”
“If you give any more blood,” Camina deadpanned, “you’ll have an aneurism.”
7
We found Augustine in another part of the city. Despite the crowds, somehow it wasn’t difficult to find him this time. He was on a raised stage surrounded by a crowd, but they weren’t here for him, they were gathered for a rock band concert on an adjacent stage, with flashing strobe lights and dancers.
Augustine was on some kind of raised dais, a VIP area with red velvet ropes, surrounded by at least a few more elite and a handful of his private guard; not quite soldiers, and probably not protection, either. More like an entourage. But they made a statement, in very fine, if eccentric, clothes. Augustine himself was wearing a long black coat, but underneath he had on a mesh shirt that left his waist bare, some gold chains, and a pair of rough dark jeans with strategic tears and glittering embroidery. I recognized Tate behind him, in a stunning white dress with a matching top. It was held together by thin strips and had flowing trails that whispered like liquid around her when she moved.
Augustine waved for us to join him, glaring at a few of the others until they moved away from the couches.
“What’s going on tonight?” Trevor asked. “Some kind talent show?”
“Well, sing all you want,” Augustine said, “but the ceremony is actually sort of an event, a happening. Not something we’d usually open to the public at all, but it’s been years since we’ve done it. A few of the new elite and most of our fighters have never seen a brute. Though some have faced down a slagpaw, few survived.”
“Wait, there’s a brute here?” Luke asked, looking around nervously.
“Not yet,” Tate smiled over his shoulder, nipping at his ear.
“The elite brutes were one of King Richard’s programs. I haven’t seen any around for a long time, but I know what they are from how my gang described them. In the beginning he made all his guards like that. They’re strong, but dumb. Easy for an elite to kill, and unnecessary for any normal criminal. He thought they made him look like a thug, which they did, so he stopped. But, they’re also effective.”
“How are they made?” Camina asked.
“The ash, isn’t it?” Trevor asked. “I was… like them. Only I go full slagpaw.”
“The key is balance. Ash, elixir, blood.”
“Whose blood?” Luke asked.
“Someone you love,” Tate said, filling in. She seemed annoyed with Augustine’s slow drawl.
“A little ash to bring out the wolf, a little elixir to keep you in control. And blood, to ground your humanity, while your body is fighting the toxins. You’ll be strong but aware. We already prepared the formula—”
“Hold up,” I cut in, raising my palm, “What exactly are we talking about here?”
“Trevor’s gonna hulk out,” Tate said, “and I’m going to kick his ass.”
“It will be a controlled transformation,” Augustine said. “For a small, very private gathering, I assure you.” He glared at Tate for ruining his surprise.
“This doesn’t look small,” I said, eyeing the crowd nervously. “Is it safe?”
“I can’t promise that, no. But it will hurt less than his previous experiences, and he’s handled those pretty well. Not everyone does. If Nigel has started making them again… we have to assume them into our plans.”
“You want to use brutes in the battle?” Camina asked.
Augustine nodded, obviously preparing for a long answer. Tate scowled and grabbed a bottle of champagne, sinking into the sofa with her feet up on Luke’s lap. He sat up straight and I saw his cheeks turn red.
“For most people, the ash is toxic. But for a few, it can change them, corrupting them into mutids. In the old days we’d test a dozen people, ten would die, we’d get two brutes. Everybody wanted to become one, because it was better than being weak. But that’s when fighting for survival was all that mattered. If you get the formula right, you can stay in control. Not shift all the way into a slagpaw, but end up halfway between man and monster. You’re at your fastest, most lethal, against an elite in full mutid form. But brutes are tougher. An elite with a sword, would still cut right through you. But against the king’s troops, even amped up on elixir… with brute force you’re still something to contend with, maybe as good as twenty men. Maybe more. You’ll be able to do things regular men can’t, change the course of battle.”
“Richard used to send them as pawns,” Augustine continued. “We retaliated in kind. But it wasn’t worth the cost. The brutes suffer the thirst much worse. A dozen shifts, maybe twice that, and their humanity will be lost. If they shift all the way and go full slagpaw, like Trevor did, they could get stuck as senseless creatures, roaming the wastelands sniffing out the elixir that would bring them to their senses, barely conscious of why they desire it so badly. And they consume a lot of elixir to maintain. There are less expensive ways to rule a kingdom.”
“How many can we have?” Luke asked.
“They aren’t toy soldiers to be bought or traded,” Augustine said, with a slight frown, as if we were missing the point.
