“‘Covered in blood,’” she heard herself mimic as he stood up, seemed to almost eddy forward, near enough to touch. “‘C—covered in—’”
“Yes, dear. Just like that.”
“Whose...blood was it?”
“Oh, I don’t believe I ever got their names; professionals, you see. No element of friendliness about that transaction, I can tell you. Not like you and I.”
“...Can’t move.”
“No, of course not. That’s what the hypnotism is for, you see.”
Perfect teeth, so straight and white and shiny. She felt a tear streak down one cheek, thinking: He’s such an old man, and I’m not. I could—I should—
But she didn’t, of course, for far too long. And then there was a sudden, terrible pain, a tearing just above her collarbone, quickly followed by nothing at all.
—
When Leah came to again, everything hurt: her eyes, her guts, her skin. It was bright outside, enough to make her wince and flinch at the same time, cowering back, shoving herself as far underneath the table the old man’d been sitting at as geometry would allow for. Thank God, though, the two women standing in front of her seemed to have already figured out they should probably close the blinds before she woke, or lose their only witness to spontaneous inhuman combustion...
(What? )
...and oh, such an additional pain, so sharp and coring, to even think—let alone voice—that name. The one she was now forbidden access to, forever.
I don’t know where this is coming from, any of it, Leah realized, suddenly sick. Or how I know it...what I think I know, even...
Eyes flicking first left, then right, as though bracing herself for further attack; hands fisting so hard she could hear her nails grate on the floor beneath, scratching the linoleum, like claws. But the vertigo that immediately welled up made her want to put her head between her knees and moan, like a poisoned dog, so she did, while the women—sisters, they were definitely sisters, she could smell it on them—simply stood there and watched, the taller one projecting an aura of quiet authority and genuine sympathy even as the smaller simply rocked back on her bootheels, her sniper’s gaze never wavering from Leah’s face and one hand sneaking behind her back, feeling for some kind of weapon.
Better put me down quick, bitch, you want to keep me there, the unfamiliar mind-voice (that doesn’t sound like me) whispered in her head, gleeful-sly, all its worst instincts pricking up in anticipation of slaughter. Better not let me get a good jump in, ‘less you want to be wiping little sis’s blood off the wall...
Leah shook her head again, just once but sharply, to dismiss it. And made herself look back up, trying her level best to not only look harmless, but be so.
“That old man...is he still here?”
The taller one shook her head,
blonde braids swinging. “Long gone, I’d say. Given the temp on your friends.”
“Gue—Amir?”
“That’s what their badges said, yes. And you’re Leah, right?”
Leah nodded, sniffed, eyes blurred and stinging. But when she put up a hand to wipe away the tears, she drew it away smeared with red.
“Oh Jesus,” she said, staring at the result, no matter how the word hurt to use. “Oh God, oh Christ. What happened to us all?”
The taller woman sighed, and took a moment, like she wanted to choose her next words carefully. In the meantime, Leah found her eyes drawn to the tattoos she could suddenly see crawling up along the woman’s arms, weaving underneath the sleeves of her shirt to climb the sides of her long neck like vines. They were snaky, deep-carven things, some of them roughly keloided as though self-inflicted, a strange contrast with the woman—girl, really, Leah now understood—herself, who seemed gentle, almost sad. I want to help, her gray eyes seemed to say, though they both knew that was impossible.
(Yes, yes we do)
(How, though? Why?)
“His name is Maks Maartensbeck,” the tall girl began, reluctantly. “Professor Maartensbeck. Highly respected in our field; did a lot of good, once. Saved a lot of lives. But he hasn’t really been that man for a very long time now.”
“Then...what is he?”
“Oh, Leah, come on: you’ve seen the movies. He came in here at night, put you to sleep with a look, drank from your neck, then ripped your friends apart. So if you just let yourself think about it for a minute, I kind of think you already know.”
(Running her tongue along the inside of her lips, across her teeth, and feeling skin part, seamless. Knowing without even having to check how they would shine just as brightly as the old man’s now; white-sharp like the new moon. Her empty stomach contracting, and the rush and pulse of blood—not her own—rising in her ears, more beautiful than any remembered song.)