AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Zacharov smiles at that, but when he sees me, his smile fades. “No one’s supposed to be in here,” he tells Anton.
“Sorry,” I say, sticking out my hand. “I’m a little drunk. This is a great party, sir.”
My heart speeds with fear. So much can go wrong.
Grandad grabs for my arm to pull it away, but Anton stops him.
“This is Philip’s little brother.” Anton’s grinning, like this is all a hilarious joke. “Give the kid a thrill.”
Zacharov extends his hand slowly, looking me in the eye. “Cassel, right?”
Our eyes meet and I am suddenly not sure I can go through with this. “It’s okay, sir. If you don’t want to shake.”
He holds my gaze. “Go ahead.”
No way out.
I take his hand in mine and cover his wrist with my other hand, pushing my gloved fingers up his sleeve, worming my finger through the small opening in the leather so I can brush the skin of his wrist. His eyes open wide when I touch him, like I’ve given him an electric shock. He jerks back.
I pull him sharply toward me. “Your heart just turned to stone,” I whisper against his ear. “Take a dive.”
Zacharov staggers away from me, stricken. He looks toward Anton, and for a moment I think he’s going to ask something that will doom me. Then he lurches against the outer panel of the stalls and, stumbling, bangs his head against the hand dryer. Gasping soundlessly, he slides down the wall beneath it, hand knotting in his shirt like he was trying to grasp his chest.
We watch him as his eyes close. His mouth gapes once more, like he’s trying for a last gasp of air.
It’s a hell of a performance.
“What did you do?” Grandad shouts. “Undo it, Cassel. Whatever you’ve done—” My grandfather looks at me like he doesn’t know me.
“Shut up, old man,” Anton says, punching the stall behind Grandad’s head.
I want to snap at Anton, but there’s no time. Lack of blowback’s going to give me away.
I concentrate on transforming myself. I picture a blade coming toward my own head, try to feel the impulse to work the work that danger feeds.
I have to freak myself out. I think of Lila, and me with a knife standing over her. I imagine raising the blade and feel the full weight of horror and self-loathing. The false memory still has the power to terrify me.
I actually jerk my hand a tiny bit in response, and then I feel my flesh go malleable. I imagine my father’s hand in place of my own. I picture his blunt fingers and rough calluses.
My father’s hand to go with his suit.
A small transformation. A little change. One that I hope will have minimal blowback.
A ripple runs through my flesh. I concentrate on taking a step toward the wall, but my foot feels like it’s spreading out, melting.
Anton reaches into his coat and flips open a butterfly knife. It twirls in his fingers, as bright as the scales of a fish. He leans over Zacharov and carefully cuts the pin from his tie. “Everything’s going to be different now,” he says, slipping the Resurrection diamond into his pocket.
Anton turns toward me, still holding the knife, and suddenly this seems like a terrible, terrible plan.
“I’m sure you don’t remember,” Anton says, his voice low. “But you made me an amulet. Don’t even think about trying to work me.”
As if I could do anything but fall to my knees as my body twists and contorts.
Through blurry, changing vision, I see my grandfather crouching near Zacharov.
My limbs change, fins rising on my skin, and fifth and sixth arms banging into the wall. My head thrashes back and forth. My tongue forks. Everything cramps as the bones wrench themselves out of their sockets. My eyes become a thousand eyes, blinking together at the painted ceiling. I tell myself it will be over soon, but it goes on and on and on.
Anton walks toward Grandad. “You’re a loyal worker, so it makes me sad to have to do this.”
