The Black Tide (Outcast 3)

Jonas called him. She paused. But he's on his way back now.

The niggling sense of unease sharpened abruptly. Bear appeared and said, Jonas sent you this, and also wants you to remove the RFID chip from your left arm.

A small silver vial appeared out of the center of his energy and dropped into my hands. I frowned and turned it over in my hands. “What is it?”

Sleeping potion, in case you need to escape Charles.

I raised my eyebrows. “Why would Jonas think I’d need to escape Charles?”

He didn't. Nuri did.

“Did she say why?”

No.

Typical. I placed the vial under the bench, out of immediate sight. “Why does he want me to remove the second RFID? Nuri rendered it inert, so it shouldn't register when I go through a scanner.”

Normal scanners, no, but the Crystal Ballroom has full bioscanners on all entrances, and he said they’ll pick it up.

Which would raise alarms, because while all citizens were required to have an RFID chip, no one was supposed to have two.

I started opening the kitchen drawers until I found a knife sharp enough to cut into my skin, but fine enough not to make too large a wound.

With it in hand, I walked up to the bathroom, sat cross-legged within the shower cubicle, and began the deep breathing exercises that would throw me into the healing trance. But I didn't slip all the way down—I just went far enough to control both the pain and the bleeding while maintaining enough awareness to guide the knife.

It was a rather weird sensation to cut deep into my skin but feel so very little. Blood welled sluggishly, and muscles parted as I dug down for the chip. Silver soon glimmered deep within the red; I flicked it out then imagined the bleeding stopping and the wound closing up. When both had happened, I pushed up out of the trance and glanced down at my arm. There was no evidence of the cut, not even a scar—just a solitary trickle of drying blood. The precision of my healing skills really had sharpened dramatically since Jonas and I had been caught in that rift. Usually there would have at least been a faint line.

I picked up the RFID chip, placed it and the knife outside the cubicle, and then stood.

Cat came racing in. Charles is here.

“What?” I glanced at the nearby comms unit and saw it was only seven. “He's early.”

And cross, I think.

I swore softly as the unit’s chime sounded.

“Catherine? It’s Charles. I realize I’m early but—”

I pressed the audio button, cutting him off. “Is there a problem, Charles? It's not eight o'clock yet.”

“I know, but there's been a last-minute format change and they've decided to do the inauguration process earlier. It's thrown the whole council into something of a tizz.”

“I'm not ready just yet, but it shouldn’t take long to be so.” I buzzed open the door. “Come in and make yourself a drink.”

I quickly hid the chip and the bloody knife, and then stepped into the shower. Charles appeared a few minutes later, a drink in hand. His nostrils flared slightly, and I realized with horror he’d caught the scent of blood. I shifted, drawing his gaze and attention. His hunger stirred, and that teasing, metallic scent seemed to have been forgotten.

“Do they often change the schedule like this without warning?” I asked, as the shower switched from clean to drying mode.

“No, but apparently the chancellor has been poorl

y of late. They've altered the program so she's not kept out of her sickbed too long.”

I raised eyebrows, even as I wondered who the chancellor was and what she actually did. “Why get her out at all? Could a replacement not be found?”

“No.” He grimaced. “It is a matter of tradition that the chancellor performs the ordaining ceremony and hands the family’s crest to the heir, so that they can then place it in the wall of acknowledgment.”

None of which made much sense to me. I brushed past him and went down to my bedroom. Charles followed, his hunger growing as I combed my short hair into order and then got dressed.