Halfskin (11 page)

They helped control the pain, dulling his nervous system but did very little to heal. He was mending the old-fashion way.

Time.

Until then, he lay comatose with his memories.

He didn't control George, didn't make him open the cell door. Didn't make him attack.

He merely baited him.

The first punch was all that Nix actually remembered. He covered up but George's fist landed on the side of his head like a club. The memories went dark after that, but Nix watched the incident from above, like an out-of-body experience from all corners of the room, like his eyes were surveillance cameras. He lay in the darkness of closed-eyes and watched George drop bombs.

His face broke on the third shot.

His ribs caved on the fifth.

George picked him up by the neck. Nix hung like a slab of meat.

The guards stormed through the door. Nix's face was red. It took five of them to peel George's hands off. The video ended just after George fell on his knees, looking at his bloody hands, weeping.

The new breeds knew where to send the video.

Cali saw it. She owned it. She would have it to bargain, if she needed it.

Until then, Nix faded in and out of consciousness, yearning for all his biomites to be fully online. That's when he'd heal. That's when he'd wake up.

And, maybe, he’d get to see Raine.

M0THER

Beauty is Biomite Deep

Nikki had seen houses that big, she'd driven by them, just never walked up to one. Now she was standing on the porch made from some sort of dark tropical wood. Ceiling fans turned lazily above them.

"You sure about this?" she asked Carly.

The house was dark except for a single light in the back somewhere. It didn't look like anyone was home. It looked haunted.

"Don't get your panties in a wad," Carly snapped. "This is the address."

But we don't know him. That's what she wanted to say, but Carly and Kim weren't interested in caution. They were 16. Their best years were now, baby.

As in, NOW.

Carly thumbed the doorbell. Inside, a melodious series of bells echoed. When the last one trailed off, Kim was giggling too hard to press it again. They dared each other to do it. Nikki had her heels on the top step when Kim's finger hovered over the button—

The door cracked open.

They screamed. They jumped.

An eyeball peeked through the crack. Then a smile. "Hello," it said.

"You scared us!" Carly slapped the door.

"What took you so long?" The boy opened the ornate door. He was illuminated by the streetlight humming at the curb, his complexion bluish, shadows hiding his eyes. Even so, Nikki could see his complexion was smooth as marble. His teeth straight, white and perfectly square. Lips wet and full.

Like an air-brushed centerfold.

"Come in, come in." He stepped aside. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"This isn't your house," Carly said.

"Mi padre's casa es mi casa."

"Ooo... he speaks another language." Carly and Kim hugged each other on the way inside, laughing along the way.

The boy stepped out, took Nikki's hand. "You must be Cinderella."

His eyes peered from shadows, cold as winter rain, blue as a frozen sky. His hand, though, warm as a soft blanket.

A large chandelier greeted her inside the foyer. She could see a grand piano in the shadows of a great room on the right and a spiraling staircase on the left. The back room, the only light in the house, was the kitchen.

Ten teens sat in a circle. A candelabrum burned in the middle. Perfect skin. Perfect teeth. They laughed with perfect pitch and cadence.

Perfect.

The boy leaned into her. He smelled like new leather.

"Watch."

And Nikki watched. One of the girls tucked her knees together and bowed until her forehead touched the floor. One of the guys wrapped something over the back of her neck. They sat back and watched her convulse. Nikki stuttered back but the boy put his arm around her, drew her close.

The girl threw her head back.

Eyes bright.

Smile vacant.

She sat back with a dopey grin while the boy and girl on her left and right held her steady. Nikki swore she saw her cheekbones lifting, cheeks draw in and lips plump up.

"Spiking," the boy whispered. "We're overriding our biomites, reprogramming them to do what we want. To look like..." He smiled, beautifully. "This."

"How?" Nikki muttered. "You need to be a doctor—"

"Or have the right connections."

The candles flickered in his eyes.

Each of them took their turn, always bowing, always coming up with a smile.

And always looking more perfect than before.

"You got to try this," Carly said, ten minutes after her turn. "Don't be afraid, girl. It's a rush."

Nikki noticed her blemishes were gone. And her nose seemed... slimmer.

"I don't know."

And around it went. Around it went.

Nikki nearly turned and left. The boy, though. Each time he smiled, she melted. And when he said he'd do it, he'd be the one that put the spiker on her neck and held her hand, she let him. She let him take her down to the floor. Let him guide her head to the cold floor.

And wrap the thing on her neck.

It was heavier than she thought it would be.

And warm.

Then hot.

It poked spots around her vertebrae. Flooded her brain with hot soup. She melted like a puddle of wax thrown on a hot plate. Colors swirled in a psychedelic mind storm. She was tossed into the sky, landed in Oz and skidded down the yellow brick road, tumbling...

And tumbling.

And laughter.

Her head was lead. She pushed with both hands to lift it. Candlelight flickered like stars and the perfect people laughed and smiled and—

Screamed.

They scrambled like rats, hands clawing the slick floor.

Nikki's cheeks rippled like waves. Her teeth were filling her mouth. Her nails slid out of her fingers like utility blades.

Later, it was reported, her biomites had an adverse reaction to the reprogramming module. She was dumped outside the emergency room.

Her head the size of a pumpkin.

20

Cali sat in the back of Northwestern Memorial Hospital's chapel. The room was small. The wooden pews were padded with long cushions. She propped her feet on a burgundy kneeling block.

Chicago was a foreign land. She'd been there with her husband. He bought two tickets to Miss Saigon. Neither one of them had ever been to the city (at least not when they were older), but he insisted they just needed a map. Of course, city streets were a lot different than small towns and they ended up in Cabrini Green below the train. She thought she was going to cry.

Avery fell asleep on the pew.

An elderly woman fumbled prayer beads in her fingers. Pretty soon, she fell asleep, too. Cali sat with her head against the brown paneled wall and listened to soft snoring. It was music to her ears, hearing her daughter sleep. Sometimes she leaned over to feel her warm breath on her ear. When Avery was young, she would crawl into bed and cuddle against her, breath tickling her neck.

Cali preferred the chapel to the waiting room. She'd spent enough time in hospitals to know that—between services—it was quieter. There were fewer people, too. She didn't think she'd be able to sit long in the waiting room, surrounded by people with all their heavy emotions and thoughts of dying.

Especially now.

The chapel was better. It contained hope, a sanctuary for the religious faithful that brought their belief in God with them. Sometimes, in the face of the hopeless, the illusion of a spiritual being carrying her through life's difficulties was helpful.

But she wasn't interested in that now. Cali just needed somewhere to focus, to steel her will and sharpen her wits. Battles were fought with the mind long before muscle joined the fight.

"Honey." Cali gently shook Avery. "Do you want something to drink?"

Avery's head rolled across Cali’s lap. She blinked a few times and looked around the strange room. She sat up and yawned.

"You thirsty?" Cali asked.

Avery nodded.

"Here, take this to the cafeteria and get yourself something to drink and eat."

Avery took the money and yawned. "Do you want something?"

The elderly woman woke up and looked around.

"No, thank you, sweetheart. You help yourself. Do you have your phone?"

Nod.

"Okay, good. I'll be right here."

Avery started away.

"If you get lost, just come back here, all right?"

Nod.

Cali returned to a quiet place in her mind and closed her eyes, where thoughts fell away. Where she could just be present. Where she didn't think. The time for thinking was reaching an end.

She felt them before they arrived. The new breeds sensed the arrival of security outside the chapel.

Cali opened her eyes.

There were a few more people in the room. A preacher was at the podium, leafing through pages. He pushed his glasses up his nose. Two men entered the room. Their hair was cut proper and their dark jackets concealed weapons. They didn't bother walking down the narrow space along the pews. One of them signaled Cali with his finger.

She quickly texted Avery
.
Wait for me in chapel. Going to see Uncle Nix. I'll come back for you.

She would be upset, but Cali didn't want her to see her uncle like that.

The gentlemen patiently waited. Cali handed her bag to them. They didn't bother asking her for identity. The one on the right—brown hair and a tiny soul patch—looked through the bag while the other one, the one with slick black hair, pressed a scanning device on her. Cali tingled as her biomites responded to the device.

The new breeds remained quiet.

"39.9%." He put the scanner away. "You're almost a redline."

"So I'm told."

"We'll be holding onto to your bag," Soul Patch said. "Do you have any liquids on you?"

"Didn't the scanner tell you?"

"We have to ask."

"To give me a chance to lie."

He blinked slowly. Waited.

"No," she said. "Just me. Can we go?"

Soul Patch led the way out. Slick followed.

21

The elevator opened.

A hefty nurse intercepted Cali and her escort. She was doughy with a hook-shaped scar at the corner of her mouth. This was her floor. Soul Patch engaged her while Slick guided Cali past them despite the nurse's protests. A man sat at the end of the hall next to a door, his ankles crossed and a newspaper spread open. He folded it beneath his arm and stood up.

"Turn around." He made a twirling motion with his finger.

Cali faced the other direction and felt a scanner pressed against her back, evidently too shy to press it near her throat. "Didn't we already do this?"

She heard the instrument slide back into the sheath on his hip. He tugged her shoulder so that she turned back around and stepped aside. Slick nodded at the door. They waited as she hesitantly placed her hand on it. It swung open, heavy on the cushioned hinges, heard Slick ask the other guy if he saw the baseball game.

The room smelled like the hallway—clean, germ-free, and artificial. It was darker, more points of light—greens and reds and lighted numbers—dotted medical machinery on the wall and rolling carts. Plastic bags hung from hooks with clear tubes that dangled down to a bed—

Her back hit the door, pushing it closed.

Seeing the video... but this...

There wasn't much to see, actually. His body was covered beneath sheets and wrapped in gauze and casts. His head was fully encased and the nose was covered. Only the eyes were exposed, the skin dark purple, tinges of yellow. A tube exited his mouth, taped in place and attached to a ventilator that whooshed in and out with air.

She knew the extent of the damage, she knew what she was going to see. She saw his body at the end of the video, but seeing it in the flesh was...

I made a mistake.

A man stood at the foot of the bed, hands folded in front. His head was shaved, his face expressionless. The neck larger than the head.

"Four guards," she said. "You act like he's a criminal."

"He is." Marcus sat beside the bed, legs crossed; eyed her with the larger of his two eyes.