House Immortal (17 page)

“Are you here to see me?” I asked.

He tipped his head just a fraction, but I couldn't see his eyes behind those dark glasses. I could, however, tell that those glasses were recording everything I said.

“Matilda Case?” he asked in a flat tone.

“You can go back and tell the head of your House that he owes me a blood debt,” I said.

“Come with us.” He grabbed my wrist.

I stepped to one side, twisted my palm open and down. Punched his arm hard enough to break it. He growled, dropped my wrist, and took a step back.

I can hold my own in a fight. When a girl sees her parents dragged away, she throws herself into self-defense training for pretty much the rest of her life. Plus, I'd had to wrestle Lizard down more than once, and hunting feral creatures before breakfast was sort of a daily ritual.

But this wasn't a feral creature in front of me. This was a man.

I pulled my gun, finger curled against the trigger, before he had a chance to grab for me a second time.

“Don't try it,” I said. “I don't know you well enough to want you dead, but I am not afraid of sending you to the hospital to rethink your line of work.”

If those glasses of his were any good, he already knew
I had a gun. Just in case, I lifted it enough he saw it for sure.

So did his two buddies, who had taken a step toward us, and paused.

“Step back and step out of here. Tell your boss he has a debt to settle with me.” I thumbed back the hammer on the gun, which was old enough to make a very satisfying
clack
ing sound.

The two goons shifted their weight just slightly, suddenly more in the mood for a fight. I supposed they could pull the city down around my ears if they wanted to.

Too bad I didn't care.

The boss man's mouth twitched. He had a broken arm and hadn't more than grunted about it. I was glad I had the gun.

“I don't follow your orders, girl,” he snarled. “You will come with us. Now.”

The door behind him opened wide. A rush of chilly air whisked through the steamy café and cooled the sweat covering my skin.

“Gentlemen,” Abraham said, his low voice both carrying over and silencing the crowd, “you now have the full attention of House Gray.”

It may have been the horror of so many innocent deaths. It may have been the human spark that still burned in the twelve that brought them together in secret.—2098

—from the journals of L.U.C.

T
he men from House Black glanced at Abraham, and their anger was palatable.

“Fucking stitch,” the man who had grabbed for me muttered so quietly, I almost didn't hear it even though everyone in the place was silent.

Abraham heard it. His eyes tightened and his fist snapped out, faster than I could track, slamming into the man's shoulder. The audible
crack
of a bone shattering filled the room, accompanied by the man's scream.

Even the silence got silent.

Abraham pushed his forearm under the wounded man's neck and lifted until the guy was on his toes, struggling to breathe. In Abraham's other hand was a huge knife, which he flicked, taking off the man's left ear.

I supposed the guy might have been yelling if he had air to yell with.

“You will show me proper respect, citizen, and you will extend that respect to this woman.” Abraham sounded like he was giving a polite lecture on manners while the man gasped and bled. “She is under House Gray protection.”

My stomach knotted.

Abraham was destruction held down by a thin pin. If the men from House Black wanted a fight, someone was going to be dead by the end of it.

It wouldn't be Abraham.

“I am here to see that her well-being is intact,” he continued. “Have you damaged her, citizen Black?”

“That was not my intent,” he gasped.

“Understood. Now take your House Black business elsewhere before we have any other misunderstandings.” Abraham leaned back and lowered the man to his feet. The men from House Black all shifted as if they expected him to throw another punch.

Instead, Abraham opened the door, walked through it, and held it open. Two of the men stepped up and supported the injured guy as they made their way through the door and past Abraham.

Everyone in and just outside the café had decided they didn't need to use the door. Though I didn't think it possible, the crowd inside had pulled back a bit to give all of us a little breathing room.

“You are insane,” Right Ned said quietly after the men were well on their way down the street. “No one picks a fight with Defense in a coffee shop.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, releasing the hammer on the gun and tucking it away in my duffel again. “They picked a fight with me when they killed my parents.”

I turned and Neds, both of them, were grinning.

“What?” I asked.

“You,” Right Ned said. “Rebel. Always have been.”

“Don't forget it,” I said.

“Like I could,” Right Ned said with a grin.

I stepped outside. Pulled up short.

Abraham was blocking my way, scowling.

“Are you done?” he asked.

The crowd around us moved slower than before, a few people taking pictures of us.

Well, of Abraham.

Dressed in a light gray shirt and dark gray pants tucked into heavy boots, he made for a striking figure. Powerful, dangerous. Someone who stood out in a crowd without trying. He wore his sleeves rolled up so the
stitching on his arms and wrists clearly showed, and his collar was unbuttoned just enough that the line that began under the edge of his stubbled jaw could be seen.

He was making it very clear to anyone watching exactly who and what he was: galvanized.

I was staring and didn't care. It was hard to look away from the truth of him. He carried his scars, his pain, and the weight of hard years with a strength that radiated outward. It was primal, sensual, raw. And barely controlled. I couldn't seem to look away. I didn't want to look away.

Something about him caught a fire in me. I licked my bottom lip as heat stretched and filled my body and thoughts. Then my imagination took over and stripped him out of his clothes, just like when he'd been wounded back on the farm. Except in my little fantasy, I was naked and he wasn't bleeding. He was shirtless and pantless, and I was the one lying on the bed as he lowered himself down . . .

One of the Neds kicked my boot with his foot.

“I had clothes on,” I blurted.

Abraham's eyebrow twitched up.

“Mental,” Left Ned muttered.

“Say yes.” Right Ned said through clenched teeth.

Right.

I was standing on a sidewalk, lots of people watching. And recording. I should probably say something.

“All right,” I said, even though I couldn't remember what Abraham had asked me. “Sure. Yes. Thank you.” That should cover all the bases.

Abraham's stony expression did not change. “Come with me.”

I fell into step just behind Abraham, blushing so hard, my ears hurt. The crowd ahead and beside us cleared out just like when Welton Yellow and his galvanized, Foster, had walked the street.

No one asked us to pose for pictures. Probably because Abraham had just cut off someone's ear.

The Neds next to me seemed uncomfortable with all the attention.

Abraham kept a brisk enough pace that it didn't take long before we were down the stairs across the sidewalk and at the elevator door. Abraham opened the door with a key, waited for us to enter, and then stepped in behind us. The door shut silently.

“Never,” he said, staring over the top of my head at the wall behind me, his eyes burning red, “do that again.”

“Go for coffee?” I asked.

His eyes ticked down to meet my gaze. Smoldered. “Leave without telling us. Without telling me.”

I pressed my shoulders against the wall behind me and met that anger with a steady stare. “It was just coffee.”

“No, it was not just coffee. You drew the attention of two Houses, who intercepted you, and four more who didn't. In less than half an hour. Next time you want to go somewhere . . . Tell. Me.”

“So you can follow me?”

“So I, and House Gray, can run interference before you break someone else's arm or start another in-House war,” he snarled.

Right. That.

“He got grabby, I pushed him.
You
destroyed his shoulder.”

“And cut off his ear,” Right Ned added.

“You.” Abraham's voice rose. “Claimed a blood debt with House Black.”

I shoved my shoulders off the wall and stood up in front of him, toe-to-toe, my hands on my hips.

“They killed my parents. Walked into my house, murdered them, and dragged away the bodies. They owe me more than a debt.”

So much for cooling down. Anger radiated from every inch of him.

“House Gray can't fight every wrong that's happened
in your life,” he said. “First House Red; now House Black. Who else are you going to turn against us?”

“Us? I'm sorry,” I almost shouted, “but you seem to think that I've signed a contract and claimed House Gray. You seem to think that I
want
to be owned. I don't need a House to fight my battles, Mr. Vail. And I don't need you to do so either. Have I made myself clear?”

He narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. I thought for sure he'd explode. But when he spoke it was barely above a whisper.

“I am very, very clear about you, Matilda Case. And how foolish you are being.”

The elevator stopped and the door opened with a cheerful
ping
.

I was locked in a glaring contest. There was no chance in Hades I'd be the one who looked away first.

Luckily, someone else broke the tension.

“Abraham,” Oscar Gray said. “So good of you to return. We have a guest.”

Abraham's eyes flicked up over my shoulder, and his mouth set in a hard line.

I couldn't help it. I turned and looked.

Oscar stood with his back to the wide expanse of windows.

Next to him stood a man dressed all in black. Black shirt, black slacks, black belt, and shiny shoes.

From the way he held himself with equal poise next to Oscar, and the fact that there was a stern, black-stitched man standing behind him, I knew who he must be: John Black, the head of House Black.

H
OUSE
O
RANGE

H
e preferred to be obeyed. The arrogance of the galvanized, Robert Twelfth, had always been a fault in the creature.

Perhaps it was because Robert was the last galvanized stitched together and shocked alive. It had the fortune of receiving the most advanced technological and medical support. Perhaps it even thought of itself as human.

Slater Orange had owned several of the galvanized over the years. Robert Twelfth had been the least willing to obey him.

It was distasteful. Something he had punished it for repeatedly.

Still, the creature had been useful to him and his House in many ways over the years. And now it would be extremely useful to him one last time.

Robert Twelfth stepped into the small, tastefully appointed chamber. It paused just inside the door, hands at its side, eyes cast downward, as was appropriate. “You called for me, Excellency?”

Slater sat behind a desk and regarded the creature for a moment. Robert Twelfth was not his choice in bodies. Too small, bald, and sharp edged.

But it was a strong body. And it was immortal.

That last quality that made it the most desirable of all.

“How many years are left in your contract with House Orange, Robert Twelfth?”

“Thirty-one years, seven months, and two days, Excellency,” it said without hesitation.

“Are you aware there is a clause in the contract that will allow me, at my discretion, to release you from your contract with House Orange at an earlier time if I so choose?”

“Yes, Excellency,” it said.

“I have decided to amend that clause. To redefine your role in House Orange.”

Robert Twelfth didn't say anything, but Slater could see that its breathing changed. Not speeding up from fear; it was suddenly slow and even, as if Robert Twelfth was readying for torture or a fight.

A wasted effort. This would be a battle it couldn't win.

“Are you not curious as to your new post within the House, Robert Twelfth?” he asked.

“I am here to serve,” it answered woodenly.

“Yes,” Slater said, “you are. Good, then. Come with me, please.” He stood out of the chair, hiding how much effort it took to do so.

The doctors had said the virus had accelerated. It would kill him within weeks, even with the hourly doses of medicine he took. Without the hourly doses, the virus would kill him within days.

Slater had stopped taking the medicine three hours ago. From how quickly his strength had deteriorated, he believed his doctors were correct in their prognosis.

“Attend me,” he said as he walked through the door at the back of the room.

The galvanized followed him.

They proceeded down a long, clean hallway to the room at the end. A room he had not allowed Robert Twelfth to enter before.

Slater triggered the door to open just long enough for them to both step through before it closed and locked behind them.

No computerized equipment or beeping machines cluttered the room, though such equipment could be at hand in seconds. Instead the room was filled with strange devices made of copper, wire, bolt, and leather.

It looked like a madman's laboratory.

Or a torture chamber.

These were the things taken from Dr. Case's home.
These were the designs meticulously sketched in his research.

These were the things that Quinten had used to make a girl immortal, and these things would now make him immortal.

Two clean tables with restraining straps draped off the sides, lay waiting in the center of the room. An array of lights and a spread of medical equipment that was a collision of low and high technology spread out across clean trays.

“Today you will be undergoing modifications,” Slater said, holding his gloved hand out toward one of the tables.

Robert Twelfth hesitated.

“You will serve House Orange without question or pause,” Slater said. “I assure you no permanent harm will come to you, as is law by contract and seal.”

The galvanized made eye contact this time, hatred hooded there.

Slater met its gaze, waiting. His was the only power in this room.

Finally, the creature walked over to the table and lay down upon it. “What is it you want of me?”

“I want you to relax, Robert Twelfth. And when you wake, your purpose will be clear to you.”

Slater knew the galvanized couldn't feel pain. But that didn't mean it couldn't feel fear. The light sheen of sweat that covered its forehead betrayed its seeming calm.

“You may come in now, Mr. Case.”

Robert flinched at the name. A curious reaction.

Slater watched the galvanized for any other reaction as Quinten Case entered the room, but he didn't flinch, didn't blink.

Quinten wore clean clothes but not sterile scrubs. He had insisted that the kind of operation he was going to perform wouldn't spill blood.

Slater did not believe him, of course. But to ensure that the procedure went according to his wishes, he had
arranged for a small motivational offering to be on display.

Quinten Case walked over to the table and secured the galvanized's wrists, feet, and torso with straps even a monster like it could not break.

The galvanized and the man made eye contact, but they did not speak to each other. They both understood the price they would pay for stepping out of line.

“The injection,” Slater ordered.

Quinten Case selected a syringe from the table and inserted the tip of it into the galvanized's neck. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. He thumbed down the plunger.

Robert Twelfth's eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp. Unconscious.

“Now, Mr. Case,” Slater began. “You will note that your sister is still within my grasp.”

The wall behind Slater faded to display a screen.

Slater enjoyed watching the man struggle to close down his reactions to what he saw there.

His sister, Matilda Case, was standing in a room with the heads of House Gray and House Black, a mutant, and two galvanized. The screen showed the scene from three angles, as the scopes of guns followed the slightest shift of her every move.

“When you are done,” Slater said softly, “when you are successful in transferring my mind into the galvanized body, I will give those gunmen the code to stand down. It is a word only they and I know. If you try to kill me, your sister will die. If you try to stop me, your sister will die. If you are unsuccessful in transferring my mind, memories, and thoughts into that galvanized brain, your sister will die.

“And then you will die. Now begin.” Slater drew off his jacket and placed it neatly on a low table. He then lay on top of the table and clasped his hands across his ribs.

The body would be his, a house immortal. Death would be cheated. And then he would have all the time he needed to take rulership of this House and the others.

•   •   •

A man's voice repeated a message, the words making little sense:
Orange, hidden enemy,
and coordinates. And then the words were gone, and so was his memory of them.

The exhaled hush of mechanical equipment cycling, a soft ticking, and the clink of metal against metal woke Slater Orange. He opened his eyes.

He was lying on an operating table, staring up at the ceiling and lights pocketed there. But he could not feel a thing. Could not feel his body, his face, his own heart beating.

He inhaled. Panic, sharp and sour, coated the back of his throat. What had Quinten Case done to him? Had he paralyzed him? Had the transference failed? Was he dying?

Hot rage surged through him. That, at least, he could feel. If Quinten had failed, then he and his stitched sister would die.

Slater would make them suffer all the way to hell.

“The disorientation should pass soon.” Quinten stood to one side of Slater, near enough he could see him. His face was an impassive mask. He held a syringe in one hand and a bone saw in the other.

“The paralysis is temporary. Speech will return first.” Quinten's gaze flicked up, as if reading a clock or some other machine across the room. “Now,” he said. “I've done what you wanted. You have your new body. Call off your gunmen.”

A bone saw. Quinten was a clever man. If Slater didn't speak the word and call his men away from Matilda Case, Quinten would saw off Slater's head.

And the horror of it? Slater would not die. He would be trapped, bodiless, his thoughts suspended in a brain that never degraded.

In his desire to be discreet about this operation, this crime he was committing, Slater had disabled all
recording devices. There were no men standing by to kill the clever Quinten Case.

“She . . .” Slater wheezed. He inhaled, exhaled again. It was strange not to feel anything. But that was the coin paid for immortality.

He had known galvanized couldn't feel, but the reality of occupying a body that had no sensation was far more overwhelming than he had expected.

“She is alive,” he said. The dissonance of hearing his words come out in another's voice sent fear crawling over him. Madness scratched at the edge of his mind.

“Call off your snipers,” Quinten said again. “And let me speak to her. That will be the only proof I will believe.”

Slater ran his tongue across his teeth. Clumsy. Each body part was too thick, disjointed, and miles away from his control.

But he would learn to control this awkward vessel. He would make it his own. And then he would claim the head of House Orange again—the first immortal to seat such power. After that, he would take the world.

“Gòu,”
Slater commanded through a direct link triggered for just that one word.

Quinten Case glanced at the screen. The tightness at the edge of his eyes relaxed as the gunmen responded to the command by standing down.

“Now,” Quinten said, pressing the bone saw against Slater's throat. “You will open a direct line to House Gray so I can speak to my sister.”

“That was not our agreement.” Speaking was easier now, and even though he couldn't feel his extremities, he had a sense of where they were and how they would respond to him.

“We didn't have an agreement,” Quinten snapped. “Not since the day my employment became imprisonment. Your communication system is locked. Unlock it.”

Slater pulled both hands flat to his sides and pushed
himself up to sitting. There was power in this body. Strength he had not felt in decades.

Vertigo spun the room, but quickly passed.

Quinten had not pulled the saw through his neck.

Slater smiled. “You cannot kill me. It is not just my communications that are locked. It is my entire estate. But you knew that, didn't you?”

He had endured the pain of his own ruined flesh for decades. Having no sensation was so much better than being in constant pain.

“A brilliant man would have tried to break the codes, would have attempted escape. And you are a brilliant man, Quinten Case.”

“What I am,” Quinten said, “is a man who refuses to wear anyone's leash. And what you are is a man who put his life in my hands. That was a very foolish decision.”

“A calculated risk,” Slater said. “I don't fear you, Mr. Case.” He stood off the table, one hand still gripping the edge of it for balance. This body was shorter, but much, much stronger than Slater had ever been in his life.

“I am not done with you yet,” Slater said. “I know you have been scouring the Houses, looking for information on the Wings of Mercury, that lost experiment from more than two centuries ago. And I know you have found most of it. Most. There is more, a book of drawings and notes that once belonged to your grandmother, Lara Unger Case. The key to time.”

Quinten Case tried not to let his surprise show.

“Yes,” Slater said. “I know about the experiment. I know that in 1910, a scientist by the name of Case tried to stop time. I know the experiment failed and that it killed everyone within a fifty-mile radius. Except for twelve”—he tipped his head—“thirteen people, who fell into comas. Those thirteen survived the break in time and went on to become the galvanized. Immortal.”

“And I know you, Mr. Case, are unnaturally curious about what happened that day. What I do not know is why.”

“You will never know why if you don't release me.”

“That is not possible,” Slater said. “We could both gain by helping each other.”

Quinten tightened his grip on the saw. “Only one of us will live long enough to gain anything from that experiment.”

“The galvanized do not die.”

“Not yet,” Quinten said. “But time will collect its due sooner than you think.” He tipped the syringe, thumb on the plunger. “Release me. Now.”

Slater Orange spoke one word:
“Shandian.”

Electricity cut through the room in lightning strikes. It knocked out Quinten, who crumpled to the floor, twitching, and then lay still.

Fast, brutal, effective, and gone without a trace. It left Slater undamaged. Electricity could not harm galvanized. It was in their lifeblood. It, or some dark form of it, had given the galvanized life and reawakened them from their state of nonliving.

Slater made his way carefully over to the table where his old body lay. He considered it for a moment or two. He was surprised to feel anger at no longer owning it, anger at having been diminished in power even as he had gained physical prowess.

Galvanized were not human. But he refused to be thought of as property.

First, the body of Slater Orange must be transferred to a private, secure room, and left there to die. He had already taken care of the paperwork and contracts that would leave him, now Robert Twelfth, in charge of House Orange.

Slater walked to the door, gaining balance and
confidence with each step. He would wash and dress and prepare himself to become the first immortal to rule.