Blood Day
Author: J.L. Murray
Date: 2015-12-31 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Horror
Description: The lights went out and the streets ran with blood. When the power came back on, the monsters were in charge. And the children were missing. When the Reverents take over, they force humans to donate blood to feed their insatiable hunger. They overthrow governments and take away the music, television, and free will. The very meaning of humanity is about to change. But four people from completely different walks of life are about to deal the Reverents a blow that might rock the world to its foundations. Sia, a classical musician, who wakes up in an experimental hospital. Mike, a journalist with
Publisher: Hellzapoppin Press

Table of Contents

Title Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

BLOOD DAY

J.L. Murray

Copyright © 2015 Hellzapoppin Press

All rights reserved.

Cover by Eloise J. Knapp

For John.

One

The tree was breathing.

Sia shivered as something cold brushed against her cheek. She tried to open her eyes, then moaned as her skull exploded with pain. Fingers touched her mouth and, sluggishly, she realized they were hers. Straining to remember, she flinched at the ache in her eyes and teeth and bones. She kept her fingers at her lips as if she were a young girl reliving her first kiss. Her lips were colder than her fingers, and her mouth tasted of copper and Slack. And she was no girl. Sia couldn't even remember what it felt like to be a girl.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She couldn't remember anything, but she knew she had used. She must have gone to Trey's house; he was the only one left who could still get it. Steeling herself, she forced her eyes open. It was almost dawn, by the feel of the air. Her back was the only part of her body that was still warm, and she leaned into the source of the heat. Reaching behind her, she felt for what was holding her up. It was hard and rough. And hot. Her muscles screaming, Sia looked behind her.

A tree. Since when did trees give off so much heat? Sia rested the back of her head against it, looking up. Through the leaves and branches she could see a barely-lightening sky, clear and cloudless and perfect. Something fell on her face and it was the same coldness that had brushed against her cheek, waking her. She took it between her fingers. It was soft and cool and she let it rest in her palm. In the dim light of a flickering streetlamp it looked almost black, but she knew it must be a deep dark red. Because in the light, in the dawn, under a tree that gave off heat like a man, the petal that she held in her hand looked so much like blood.

Sia blinked hard and the hallucination disappeared. She was holding a petal in her hand. A black petal that had fallen from a tree that was probably warm because she had no doubt been resting against it for hours. She moved her cramped legs and felt something move against her boots. She looked around her for the first time and was sure she was hallucinating again.

She sat in the middle of a street. Apartment buildings rose up around her, cutting into the sky. Resting against a tree. In the middle of the road. The objects she'd felt against her feet were rubble where the tree had forced pieces of asphalt to crumble around it. Fighting the need to retch, Sia pulled herself to her feet, using a low-lying branch to pull herself up. The branch was alarmingly warm in her hand and she let go as soon as she found her balance.

“What...?” she rasped. Her head was pounding, her mouth so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She noticed again the taste of copper. She tried to lick her lips, but there was no moisture. Her lips tasted even stronger: sweet and metallic, with a strong scent, honeyed and savory at the same time. Sia pushed her hair out of her face and the smell grew stronger.

The sun was pushing up toward the horizon and the blue of the sky was visible. The streetlamp flickered off, but Sia could still see that she was covered in something that crinkled dry when she touched it. Something that smelled sweet and metallic. Something that looked black just like the petals of the tree.

There was so much blood.

“Oh my God,” Sia whispered. “Oh my God.” She felt a tear well up in her eye and roll down her cheek. It was cold by the time it dripped onto her hand. Cold and red. Sia touched her cheek where the tear had fallen down her face and her fingers came away dark, flakes falling away and floating gracefully to the ground.

There was a noise in the distance. Sia's eyes moved toward it slowly. A motor. A car. She squinted as it turned and sped directly towards her. Two pinpoints of light cut into her head and she staggered backwards from the pain, against the warm tree. Headlights. Not a car. A black van.

Movers.

She looked up into the headlights. The buzzing was so loud. It wasn’t inside her head. It was a car. She knew she should run. She should feel a sense of urgency now, but she didn’t have anything left. She was weak and lost and covered in blood. And the Movers had found her.

The headlights switched off and she heard voices. She blinked in the sudden darkness and it seemed to her for a moment that the stars fell from the sky. Then there were feet in front of her, feet that were attached to legs, long legs covered with a dark jumpsuit. Sia squinted her eyes to make out some letters. A name tag.

“Paaaaine,” she said slowly.

“That’s me,” said a voice. Long legs folded and now there was a face in front of her. A long, stubbled jaw and eyes that smiled even though his mouth was a stern line. “What’s your name, love?”

“Sia, sweet Sia,” she sang.

“Well, sweet Sia,” he said. “My name’s Desmond. It’s lovely to meet you.” He held out his hand slowly, like she was a wild animal.

“You’re a Mover,” Sia whispered.

“Yeah. That’s one word for it,” he said, smiling eyes crinkling. He pulled his hand back, studying her. “But don’t hold it against me, sweet Sia.”

“Please don’t take me away,” she said, a prickle of tears behind her eyes. “Please don’t. Just let me stay here. Let me die. I won’t hurt anyone. Just another Slacker.”

Desmond Paine’s eyes weren’t smiling anymore. He looked sad. But that wasn’t right, Movers weren’t sad. They crept up on you in the night. They took you away. They took your children away. They grabbed you and no one ever saw you again. But everyone knew you weren’t dead. The Revs wouldn’t kill you, that was too kind. They hooked you up to machines and pumped you dry for the rest of your life. Those were the stories: No one ever came back once the Movers came. She sat up straight, her back cold without the warmth of the tree.

“I would be happy to do that for you, Sia,” said Desmond Paine the Mover, “but I don’t want you to die.”

“It’s too hard,” said Sia. “It’s too cold. Everything’s cold now.”

“There must be something you like about living,” he said.

“Not anymore,” said Sia. “Everyone’s gone. And there’s no music.”

“You miss the music?”

Sia felt around by her feet and her hand wrapped around a large chunk of asphalt. She squeezed it hard in her hand.

“Music was my life,” she said.

“Paine!” said a brassy voice coming from the van. “Come on, what’s taking so long?”

Sia’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t alone. If she got away, his partner would chase her. And her legs felt like they were full of water instead of bones.

“I’m handling it,” he said over his shoulder, sounding irritated.

“Just tranq her and let’s get out of here,” the voice said.

Sia tried to stand, but she fell back again.

“Sia, hang on,” said Desmond Paine. “It’s not like it used to be. They want to help you.”

“So they can drain me,” said Sia, a note of panic in her voice.

“Not forever, though,” he said. “Not anymore. Just clean you up. Make you better.”

“I was better!” she said. “I was perfect before they came. I had everything.”

“We’ve all lost someone, love,” said Desmond Paine. “Don’t do what you’re going to do. Don’t try to run. Please.”

“Let me go,” she said.

“I can’t. They’ll take me if I do.”

“Then kill me. Please. Please.”

“Oh Christ, Paine,” said the woman’s voice again. Sia heard the squeal of hinges as the van door opened. Sia scrambled to her feet and grasped a branch on the tree, pulling herself to her feet. This time she managed to stay upright. She still held the piece of road in her hand. Desmond Paine stood up and Sia felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, then her vision, tenuous as it was, blurred even more.

The woman was standing next to Paine now. She was holding something that looked like a thin gun.

“Easy-peasy,” the woman said.

Sia fell back again and when the woman bent over her, Sia swung the arm with the rock. The woman caught it easily with strong fingers and the asphalt clattered to the ground.

“What’s with all these trees lately?” she said cheerfully to Paine. “All over the damn city.”

“I dunno,” Paine said, sounding defeated. “Maybe a prank?”

The woman was pushing up Sia’s sleeves. “Christ, she’s covered in blood.”

“It’s a brutal world,” said Paine.

“You sound like you feel sorry for her,” said the woman. “Just trash is all. Junkies.”

“We were all junkies before,” he said. “State-mandated, remember?”

“Times change, Paine,” she said.

Sia tried to focus on the woman. Her hair was short and curly and she was strong and broad, wearing the same dark jumpsuit as Paine. “When’s your blood day, honey?” she said to Sia, speaking loudly. “I can’t find a mark on her.”

“They won’t get my blood,” said Sia, her tongue thick in her mouth.

“They’ll get it,” said Paine. “Whether we like it or not.”

“Never had a blood day,” the woman said. “Can you imagine? Must be nice.”

“I don’t reckon any part of her life has been nice,” said Paine. “Not for a very long time.”

“Cry me a river,” said the woman. “Help me load her up, will you?”

Sia felt them lifting her, carrying her. Then she felt warm and dry and she heard a door slide shut. She couldn’t open her eyes. She felt herself slipping into sleep. Just before she was completely gone, she heard a voice in her ear. A whisper.

“I would have let you go if I had the chance,” said Desmond Paine. “But I would never have killed you.”

Sia could have sworn she heard music as she fell into sleep.

She woke to pain. Her muscles were clenched so hard she arched her back. Sia’s head throbbed and her eyes ached. She wanted to vomit, but the muscles in her throat kept throbbing open and closed and her belly was hard as a fist. Sia made herself force air slowly into her lungs in between spasms. It was always like this: the pain, the need, the sickness, the Slack.

Sia, what are you doing?

She rolled onto her side and retched. Flashes of memory came back to her as she heard her vomit splashing onto the floor, deep red. What did she do?

A memory of warm splashes on her face, screaming. Trey. Her friend. Her dealer. She had plunged the knife into him over and over, a faceless man raising Trey’s bloody wrist to Sia’s lips.

She had nothing left in her belly, but she couldn’t stop heaving. She killed him. She did that. Sia lay on her side gasping for air, the gags abating. Her head still throbbed, but there was a clarity to her thoughts. She was a murderer. She’d killed her friend to get high. And then an Englishman in a jumpsuit. A Mover. So she must be…

Sia opened her eyes a slit and squeezed them shut immediately. She was somewhere very, very bright. She could smell iodine and bleach. A hospital then. But they didn’t bring murderers to hospitals. They used to send them to prison, but not the Revs. She was no doubt slated to be a Bleeder. A permanent donor. Destined to be drained to the brink of death until the end of her short life. No painkillers even when it was excruciating, food through a straw. Hell. And needles. A lifetime of needles.

Sia, what are you doing? Who is that?

She rolled onto her back again and shivered. Her muscle cramps were easing, but the chills were setting in. Sia’s teeth chattered, the movement shaking her eyes in their sockets. She heard voices and tried to curl up, but she couldn't move her ankles. She pulled and felt the straps, heard the jingle of the chains. The hard surface moved as she kicked her legs. She was too afraid to open her eyes. If she looked it made it real and she wasn’t ready for this to be real.

“You over there. Stop that.”

The talking continued, voices murmuring and blending into one long, low sound. More than one voice. Curiosity got the best of her and Sia opened one eye slowly, waiting for the pain of the glare to subside before she opened the other. She was staring up into a fluorescent light. She blinked away tears from the brightness and looked away. She was on a gurney. Lifting up her hands, she saw that someone had made an attempt to clean her up. Most of the blood had been washed away, though it was still thick under her fingernails. She touched the front of her and found a clean gown had been put on her. Padded leather straps chained her ankles to the side of the gurney.

Sia lifted her head slowly and looked around, moving as little as possible. It looked like a hospital. The gurney was in a wide hallway as though she had been an afterthought. A nursing station sat across from her, the front protected with plexiglass. A man stood in front of the glass, talking heatedly to the nurse sitting within.

Sia couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he seemed upset. He wore a long brown coat and his hair was dark peppered with gray in the back. The nurse was glaring at him with a dour expression. Other than their voices, the hospital was eerily quiet. Quiet as the grave. Sia looked behind her to find no one there. All the room doors were closed. She pushed herself up and pulled on the ankle restraints. There was a padlock on each one. She tugged and they clinked loudly against the chains.

“Lay back down. You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

Sia looked over to see the nurse behind the plexiglass pointing a finger at her. The man turned around to look at her. He was in his fifties with a dark and silver scruff on his jaw that looked a few days old. There were bags under his eyes like bruises and he looked more tired than she felt. He raised an eyebrow at Sia and then turned and talked to the nurse again.

The nurse glared at him, wrinkled up her bony face, and said, “NO, SIR. I AM GOING TO CALL SECURITY NOW.”

He turned and made a beeline for Sia’s gurney, his coat flaring out behind him like a cape. He sidestepped the sick on the floor and grasped Sia’s hand.

“Quick, what’s your name?”

“My…name?” she said. She’d forgotten about trying to free herself. He was staring at her, something in his eyes that was like panic, but different. It was a need. Sia recognized it.

“Yes, yes, your name,” he said rapidly. “What is it?”

“Sia Aoki.”

“Okay, Sia Aoki. I’ll try to get you out of here. But answer some questions for me. They picked you up tonight, didn’t they? Slacker?”

“Yes,” said Sia softly. “Among other things.”

“Right, we’ll get to that. How did you get here?”

“Movers,” said Sia slowly. “They tranqed me. Stuffed me in a van.”

“SIR, YOU GET AWAY FROM MY PATIENT! I WILL CALL THE MOVERS!”

“They’re going to do something to you here, Sia Aoki,” said the man. “I don’t know what, and I don’t know why, but I’ll try my best to get you out. And when I do, you’ll tell me the whole story. Deal?”

“What are they going to do?” said Sia.

“I just told you, I don’t know,” he said. “Call me when you get the chance. Tell me where you are. I’ll get you out. I’m Mike Novak. I work at the Post. Got it?”

“You work at the newspaper?” said Sia.

“Mike Novak at the Post,” he repeated. “Call me, you understand?”

“I don’t like needles,” said Sia. “Please. Help me.”

“There’s nothing I can do now.” He looked around as the angry nurse picked up the phone behind the plexiglass. “Say it, Sia. Who am I?”

“Mike Novak. At the Post.”

“Good girl. Stay strong, okay? I’ll try to come back.”

And then he was gone. A metal door opened and shut and heels clicked on the floor as the nurse walked over to her.

“Well,” she said, “look what you’ve done all over the clean floor. Are you ashamed?”

Sia blinked at her. “Yes,” she said.

“You should be. Look at the state of you.”

Sia cringed from the nurse’s eyes. They were cold and mean.

“What did that man say to you, hmm?” she said, standing rail-straight with her feet together, her hands behind her back. “Did he give you anything?”

“What? No. He was…lost.”

“You know he only wanted to take advantage of you, don’t you?” The nurse cocked a thin eyebrow. “Do you know why?”

“No,” said Sia.

“Because you are weak. You are weak and pathetic. You are pathetic because you take the Slack and you are weak by nature. But we are going to change that.”

“I don’t want to take it anymore,” said Sia. “I’m so scared.”

“You have nothing to fear if you follow the rules,” said the nurse. “Do you follow the rules?”

“No,” said Sia. “I don’t like needles.”

“Would you rather they took it out of your neck? With their teeth?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose they are doing us a kindness by taking it out in an efficient manner, are they not?”

“I don’t know,” said Sia. “I guess so.”

“You will learn to overcome your fear of needles. Now what is your name?”

“Sia.”

“Well, Sia, how do you feel?”

“Not very well.”

“Good,” she said, smiling. “That means you are getting that poison out of your system. Soon you will be a functional member of society. My name is Evelyn Hauser. You may call me Nurse Hauser. You may not call me Evelyn. Miss or Ma’am will do nicely as well.”

“Okay,” said Sia. “Ma’am.”

“Very good. You’re not completely hopeless.”

“Am I to be a Bleeder?” said Sia.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A full time donor,” said Sia. “Is that why I’m here?”

“No, Sia,” said Evelyn Hauser. “We have something much bigger planned for you. But for now, some rest, I think. When you wake up you will feel very sick. I will not give you anything for the pain, do you understand?”

“Okay,” said Sia. She wrapped her arms around herself. “May I have a blanket? I’m so cold.”

Evelyn Hauser grunted and walked away. Sia eyed the restraints on her ankles. She wasn’t getting away. Even if she could get off the gurney, she was exhausted. Her muscles hurt. It seemed even her soul hurt. She wouldn’t get far, and then they really would bleed her. She sighed and lay back down on the padded slab.

The click of heels announced the return of Nurse Hauser. She plopped something heavy on top of Sia. A stack of white blankets. Evelyn Hauser shook one out and spread it over Sia. Then spread the other two over the first. They were hot as if they’d been in an oven. Sia began to feel drowsy.

“You see?” said Evelyn Hauser. “I am not unkind. I only want you to live up to your potential.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Sia. “What did you do before the Annex?”

“I played music in New York.”

“Rock and roll?” said the nurse, wrinkling her nose.

“No. In an orchestra.”

“Why did you come to Philadelphia?”

“I was born here. My mother lived—” Sia stopped. She suddenly remembered finding her mother, dead on the floor of the kitchen. Something was wrong. Someone was missing. Someone important.

“Well, you won’t be seeing your mother again, I can tell you that right now,” said Hauser, a haughty expression on her face. “No more mothers and no more music.”

“I miss playing music more than anything.”

“Is that so?” said Evelyn Hauser. She clasped her hands behind her back again. “Well, unfortunately you won’t be able to do that again, will you?”

“No,” said Sia. “No more music.”

“It’s not as though the world will miss one instrument, Sia,” said Evelyn Hauser. “You must learn to cope with the changing world.”

“Six,” said Sia.

“Six what, dear?” said Evelyn Hauser.

“Six instruments. I didn’t play one. I played six. I was a prodigy.”

“A prodigy, is it?” said Evelyn Hauser. “And a liar.”

“I’m not lying,” said Sia flatly. She felt a tear roll out of her eye and into her hair.

“Well then, that’s excellent news,” said Evelyn Hauser, a cheery note in her voice. “It means you can be trained.”

“Like a dog?”

“Like a woman who values her life. I cleaned blood off you, Sia. Shall I instead send you for processing, for whatever atrocity you committed tonight? Hmm?”

“No ma’am,” said Sia, quickly. “What do you want me to do?”

“For now, sleep,” said Evelyn Hauser. “We’ll work out the rest after you’re feeling better. That may take some time, Sia. You must understand that.”

“I won’t take it again,” said Sia. “I don’t want it.”

“Your body doesn’t know that yet, dear. You will not enjoy life these next few weeks. But this is a gift. A chance to redeem yourself. You want that, don’t you?”

Yes, Sia thought, she did want a chance to redeem herself. But not to the Revs. To Trey. To the mother she couldn’t save. To the husband too weak to go on living. Sia simply nodded.

“Good. Now sleep, and I will prepare a room for you. You’re the first, you know. The Revenants are calling you the Beta.”

“Why not the Alpha?” said Sia, her eyes heavy. She could barely hold them open.

“They will call you the Alpha if you survive,” said Evelyn Hauser.

Two

Mike Novak hated blood day. He cinched his trench coat and looked around, avoiding the eyes of the guards who walked up and down the line outside the Bank. Bleeders, Mike thought drily. Blood for the monsters. His chest tightened as a guard walked by. All humans: guards, processors, the people that took the blood. The Revs were the monsters, but everyone was ugly now. The Blackout had changed everyone for the worse. The wind was frigid and Mike’s eyes watered as he stomped his feet to stay warm.

“Hey, don't I know you?” said the woman in line behind him.

“No,” he said, barely turning his head. He didn't need to give her a better look at his face. It would just make things worse.

“Yeah, I know you,” she insisted.

He glanced quickly behind him. The woman's eyes were still burning into him. He saw the recognition in her face before he looked away.

“Oh my God!” the woman brayed. “It's you. I saw you on TV. You killed—”

“Quiet!” the guard said, stalking quickly over to them. He took out a nightstick and waved it. Mike snorted. “No talking in line,” the guard said, narrowing his eyes at the woman. She flinched as the guard slapped the nightstick in his palm. Her eyes darted from Mike to the guard, then back again. “No talking,” the guard said again, before walking away, sauntering up and down the city-block-long line of shivering, grumpy people.

A very thin man a few people up from Mike looked jaundiced and slightly yellow. He swayed on his feet. With the Revs taking more and more blood every time, these people were barely alive. Even the woman whose eyes were burning into the back of Mike's neck was pallid and almost gray. Mike felt weak, but he had always been robust. He had inherited his father's barrel chest and penchant for rowdy drinking, at least in his youth. These days he barely cracked a beer. It was all watered down now anyway.

“I know what you did,” whispered the woman.

“You don't know shit,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Everyone knows,” she whispered.

“And yet,” said Mike, “no one cares. Now leave me alone. It's my blood day. Let me enjoy my malaise in peace.”

“Murderer,” she said.

“Alleged,” Mike said. The woman was silent after that. The sun rose and made his head throb as its thin light burned into his eyes, the cold wind refusing to let up. The line moved quicker in the morning than in the evening, after work. It was a different crowd in the evening. Men and women in business clothes, mostly. Looking around, Mike saw elderly people, middle aged women, men with paunches who looked sad on their newly-paltry frames. There were no children, never any children, though some of the women rocked back and forth on their heels as though cradling a baby. Mike eyed the guard as he walked by again and sighed. The world was a wound rubbed raw.

Mike checked his watch when he reached the front of the line: seventy-two minutes and thirty-three seconds this time. Another guard waved him through the glass door she held open. Words painted on the door had been blacked out with sloppy swipes of paint. Mike remembered when this was an Urgent Care clinic. When the purpose of the building was to help people. He stepped in through the doors. A bored woman with a clipboard stood in the back, at the end of the hall beyond the exam rooms. She waved Mike toward her impatiently. Light glinted off the diamond studs in her earlobes.

“Name?” she said without looking up. She wore black frame glasses, her eyes and cheeks caked with makeup. She raised an overly plucked eyebrow and looked up at him. “Name?” she said again, an edge to her voice. She tapped her heel loudly on the dirty tile floor.

“Mike Novak.” She turned pages on her clipboard and checked something with a silver pen.

“Exam room two,” she said. “Next!”

Mike turned as he passed the first room, with its four waiting room chairs packed into the small space. He saw a woman's eyes roll back, the tube pulling blood into a small plastic bag continuing to drain her. A man staggering out of exam room three ran into Mike. His eyes were red with spider-webbed veins and his skin was dry as paper. A finger of blood ran down his arm.

“I got to get out,” he whispered huskily to Mike.

“They'll find you,” said Mike. “They always find you.”

The man pushed Mike weakly and ran stumbling, zigzagging, past the woman with the clipboard. Almost looking bored, the woman picked up a walkie-talkie from the counter and called the guards.

“We have a runner.”

Mike heard yelling from the back of the clinic. He closed his eyes for a moment, before turning and walking into the room marked with a large red 2. He sat in the only vacant chair, avoiding the eyes of the other three people in the room.

He gave 1.72 pints of blood, which was all they could get before he blacked out. When he woke he heard someone slur, “This is no way to live.” He was on the bus before he realized the voice had been his. He reached up and touched his temples, his head pounding.

“This is no way to live,” he said again under his breath. He made up his mind then. It would be the story of a lifetime. Philadelphia could burn for all he cared. What had it ever done for him? He pulled the cable to stop the bus and got off at the next stop. He wasn't far from his office. He weaved from time to time, but for the most part stayed on his feet. He felt a giddy thrill run through him.

“The truth,” he said. It felt odd just to say the word. And he was surprised by a thrill that he hadn't felt since long before Kyra died. Mike smiled. Kyra would have wanted this.

Mike pulled a beer from the fridge, popping the cap on the edge of the counter. His head throbbed. He needed water and food and sleep, but those things were not going to happen in the near future. He walked the four steps to the living room and slumped on the couch. There was a half-empty bowl of stale popcorn from the night before, and he stuffed a handful into his mouth, littering kernels around him. He left them. He took a swig of beer and let his head fall back on the cushions. There was a knock at the door. Mike sighed.

“Go away,” he called. “Nobody's home.”

“Come on, man,” came the muffled voice on the other side of the door. “Let me in. I've got to talk to you.” Desmond Paine. Just what he needed.

Mike hefted himself up from the couch and hurried to the door, opening it roughly. “What the hell?” he growled. He pulled Dez into the apartment and closed the door quickly. The bastard just grinned at him. “Do you not understand the point of being a secret informant? It means you inform and it's a secret.”

Dez nodded at the beer in Mike's hand. “Got one of those for me?” he said.

Mike looked at him for a moment before shrugging. “In the fridge,” he said.

“Thanks, mate,” said Dez, patting him on the arm. “Got an opener?”

Mike slumped back down on the couch. “Just bang it on the counter.” Dez did and came to sit beside him.

“So what do you want, Paine?”

He shrugged, the leather of his jacket creaking. “Can't I come see a friend?”

“We're not friends,” said Mike. “We're business associates.”

“If that's what you want to call it. But I don't have any other business associates willing to have a beer with me at six in the morning.”

“Been a long night,” said Mike, rubbing his forehead.

“Yeah, tell me 'bout it,” said Dez. “Had to pick up this junkie tonight. Cute as hell, even under all the mess. Had to take her in. Might have let her go if Rita hadn't been breathing down my neck, but that's the way of things these days. Least she won't come to no harm now, what with the new legislation.”

“No harm,” said Mike. He barked a harsh laugh. “She's probably better off dead than what they're going to do to her.” Mike shifted to look at Dez. “Why are you here, Paine?”

The man shrugged. “Thought you might have some more questions. Plus I need a place to sleep.”

“Don't you have a place?” said Mike.

“Too much weirdness going on,” said Dez. “Saw this Rev creeping around outside my building. Made me all twitchy. Especially because of all the shit I told you.”

“Right, fine,” said Mike. He drained the last of the beer. “I'll get you a blanket. One night.”

“Yeah, cool,” said Dez. “Thanks, Mike.” He grinned again. “You're going to blow them out of the water with this story, you know that?”

“Hope so,” said Mike. “Speaking of, I've got some work to do. I'm going in to work in a few hours. Don't break anything.”

Dez looked around. “You got anything breakable?”

“And lock up if you leave before I get back,” Mike said. He went into the bedroom and brought back a moth eaten wool blanket and a flat pillow. “This is all I have.”

“You should get some sleep, too, Mike,” said Dez, lying back and pulling the blanket over him. He stretched out contentedly. “You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks,” said Mike. “I have to get some work done. I'll sleep later. Bathroom's over there, next to my room,” he said pointing to two doors on the left side of the small kitchen.

“Thanks again, Mike,” said Dez, closing his eyes. “Real lifesaver, you are.”

“Just don't tell anyone,” said Mike.

“You have my word,” said Dez. Mike plucked the near-empty bottle out of his hand and put it by the sink. Paine was snoring by the time Mike closed his bedroom door behind him. He dug some clean, rumpled clothes out of a laundry basket and dressed. He found himself smiling as he caught the bus to the office.

The real news. He could get used to this.

He sat down in his cubicle, feeling like a carcass the dog dragged in, but started typing anyway, a fire in his belly. Clacking away on his old Remington, just like the old days. Telling the truth, just like the old days. Not giving a damn about the consequences, just like the old days. He didn’t even miss the computers that disappeared during the Blackout. He didn't pine for the days when he could fact check over the internet. This was real news and called for old school journalism. At that moment, he loved the typewriter.

And yet, his hands shook every time he took them off the keys, and his whole body vibrated, making his teeth chatter. He told himself it was the blood loss and swigged coffee. People poked their heads curiously over the partition to talk to him.

“Sorry, can't talk. Got a wicked story here.”

They walked away looking confused and worried. No one was enthusiastic about working at the Post. They were typists for the press releases the Revs sent them. There was no real reporting anymore, just congratulatory puff pieces about how the Revs were improving the world.

Mike finished and tapped the edges of the papers on the desk to straighten them. Fifteen pages, triple-spaced for the copy editors. All it took was fifteen pages to end a career. To end a life, maybe. They might just jab a tube into his arm and make him sit still for the rest of his life. That would be real torture. Mike re-read his story, barely recognizing what he'd just typed. He'd been in a fugue state during the writing, pounding it out all at once in a flurry of keys. He read it again.

“Hot damn,” said Mike. “Now that's a goddamn story.” Somewhere, he thought, Kyra was smiling at him. Mike slid it under the locked door to the office of his editor, Tess, and plopped down on the smelly couch in the break room. The clock above the door ticked loudly. Any second Tess would come back from lunch smelling like martinis. Any second, she would find his story – maybe the best story of his career – on the other side of her door. Any second...

But Mike was asleep and snoring loudly before Tess came through the elevator doors. It took five minutes for Vince Nakayama to shake him awake.

“Dude. Tess wants to see you.”

“Wha?”

“What did you do?” Vince wore red Converse sneakers and a tie.

“Nothing,” said Mike, sitting up and rubbing his face. He looked at his own cracked and faded loafers. “Just my job.”

“Tess sounded pretty pissed. You gonna be okay?”

“I'm a survivor, baby.”

“Dude. Don't ever call me baby.”

The lights in the hall were out when he headed toward Tess's office. Mike squinted in the darkness. All he could see was the frosted glass door at the end of the hall, bursting with light. Don't go toward the light. Mike smiled. Tess was decent, though. She'd been his colleague and a damn good journalist right beside him back in the day. They'd even had a fling once, back before he met Kyra. Tess was the only reason he still had a job after the murder accusation. They were friends. Weren't they?

“Hell,” Mike muttered. Should he have written that story? He was having second thoughts. He made his feet carry him down the hall. There was a strange smell in the air. Like the musty smell of a museum. What was done was done, though. He'd given her the story. Either she would print it or she wouldn't. If she wouldn't, he had other options. Groups that would chomp at the bit to get his information.

Another step, then another. He was halfway down the hall. The odd smell was growing stronger. Mike looked up, checking for leaks, mildew in the ceiling. He saw nothing. Figures moved in Tess's office, visible through the frosted glass. More than one person, then. Had she called someone?

Tess was raising her voice, which was nothing new. But Mike could hear a second voice, deep and increasingly urgent. He took a step back.

“You should go,” said a voice right behind him. Mike jumped, whirling around. A man stood there, towering over him, impossibly tall.

“Jesus,” said Mike, his heart pounding. “Where the hell did you come from?”

The man was looking at Tess's door, his pale face expressionless. He had dark eyes and lips that were red, the color of cherries, the color of blood. He looked down at Mike. His hair was dark as well and fell rakishly over his forehead. He wore a suit and tie and from a distance could be mistaken for a businessman.

“You are the one called Mike Novak?”

“Depends who's asking.”

“You must go,” said the man. “I will have need of you soon.” He started loosening his tie. Mike stared as he unbuttoned his jacket.

“I'm supposed to talk to Tess,” said Mike, finally finding his voice. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

The man's face stayed expressionless, but he shifted his weight and breathed out his nose noisily, as though annoyed by the effort of talking to Mike. “My name is not important,” he said. “But if you must address me, address me as Joshua Flynn.”

“How do you know my name, Joshua Flynn?”

Flynn arched an eyebrow, the first movement he had shown on his face. “You are with The Post. The whole city knows your name.”

“Right,” said Mike. “Who's in there?”

“Government officials,” said Flynn. “Three of them. Your superior called them.”

“Tess? Why?” said Mike, but knowing the answer already. Tess was driven, career-minded, but surely she wasn't heartless. Reporting someone to the Revs was a death sentence. Or worse, if the stories were true.

“I think you know,” said Flynn.

“My story,” said Mike. “About the junkies.”

He nodded. “You must leave.”

“Why should I trust you? I don't know you.”

Joshua Flynn looked at him for a long moment, his dark eyes unmoving. It made Mike uncomfortable to look at him; there was something about the man that he couldn't quite place. Then Flynn hunched his shoulders and opened his mouth and his features shifted. High cheekbones smoothed flat. Red lips darkened, sharp gray teeth emerged and covered the straight white ones in his mouth, stopping as razor-sharp points. His spine crackled and buttons on his shirt popped as he stretched and hunched. Flynn's almond-shaped eyes widened and flattened as he let out a hiss.

Mike felt his bowels turn liquid. “Jesus,” he whispered, stumbling backwards and falling on the carpet, without taking his eyes off the monster in front of him. “You're one of them,” he said, his voice hoarse and high. He struggled to stand. He was shaking and his legs seemed to be made of rubber. “How? They can't change. Not anymore.”

“I'm not one of them,” Flynn said, his voice guttural.

Mike could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He tried to make his feet move, but he was frozen. He was afraid he might piss himself.

“Go,” hissed Flynn. Mike heard the scrape of Tess's chair behind the door and footsteps. Several soft muffled voices. Flynn's nightmare-face stared back at him, the eyes reptilian, the nose flat and slitted. “The Revenants are here. Run.”

Mike didn't ask any more questions. He ran.

Three

Genevieve White woke up with a sob still on her lips, just as she did every morning. She had been dreaming of Hunter again. But there had been a woman there. She played the violin and Hunter laughed and laughed and laughed with blood soaking his tiny tee shirt…

She made a pot of watered-down coffee and sat on the small, ratty couch in the living room to drink it. As she sipped she stared at The Book.

She thought of The Book more and more these days. She could no longer fool herself into thinking it was simply a book like any other. Ever since she opened it— looking for that poem Griff would recite at the strangest moments—it had become The Book. The poem still thundered through her mind, even now.

“Paralyzed force, gesture without motion,” she muttered into her cup, not taking her eyes from the spine of The Book. She finished her coffee. “Damn you, Griff. Why didn't you take it with you?” Of course no one answered her in the empty apartment, but sometimes she half expected her husband to come up behind her and place his large, warm hands on her shoulders. Sometimes she forgot, and expected little Hunter to pounce on her when she came through the door after work. They were both gone now, and she did better when she forgot them altogether. The forgetting was just a different kind of pain. Every path just led to a brand new something breaking inside of her, and she wasn't sure how much more could be broken before she gave up on repairing herself. Viv roughly pushed the radio in front of The Book, obscuring it from curious eyes.

The words scrawled in the margins of The Book stayed fresh in her mind. She was too terrified to even think about it. Viv put her cup in the sink and got ready for work. She managed to catch an early bus and was seated at her station in the lab, already working, when the others came in.

“I heard he can read minds,” the lab assistant, Sonia, was saying to Mark, who laughed pompously.

“Those are rumors. The Revs haven't read minds since the old times.”

“And just when were these old times?” Viv called, not even daring to look up from her microscope. “Were you there, sharing the joy of reading tiny human minds all those centuries ago?”

“It's in the memo they sent,” said Mark, narrowing his eyes. “Did you even bother to read it, Viv? He's coming today.”

Viv looked up then, to see Mark smile unctuously at her. Without realizing it, Viv clenched a fist.

“Who's coming?”

“You don’t know anything, do you?” said Mark. “The president?”

“What?” said Viv. “Why?”

“Not so snarky now, are you?” said Mark. “We're not testing samples today, so you can put that microscope away. Today is all about Ambrose Conrad.”

Viv's heart beat in her chest. The president. The first voice everyone heard after the Blackout. The monster in charge of the world. What if he really could read minds? Would he know? Would he be able to tell just by looking at her? She stared at Mark. Sonia walked to the break room to hang her coat.

“Why is he coming here?” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “Is it publicity? It's not like he needs to win an election or anything.” She tried for a smile, but it faltered. Mark frowned at her.

“It's his country, he can go wherever he pleases.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know, Genevieve, you'd do best to curb your remarks. You never know who could overhear and be less...forgiving than I am. You could get in some very hot water talking about the Revenants that way.”

“Right. Sorry,” Viv said, hoping she looked sincere. “I'm very tired today. I'm not feeling myself.”

“You're not sick are you?” Mark said, suddenly anxious. “You can't be here when you're sick. You know how they are about illness.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Just bad dreams is all.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, as if he didn't quite believe her. “Just be careful. Especially today. We don't want anything to go wrong.”

Mark turned and left to put his peacoat away, and Viv took a deep breath. When her heart slowed a bit, she bent back over the microscope. Mark would be flitting around all morning, tidying things, yelling at the intern. She couldn't stand the thought of watching it all. She needed work right now.

The knock on the door came at exactly ten o'clock. To the second. Viv scratched out some notes before getting up to retrieve another sample. Mark glared at her as he hurried to the door. No amount of cajoling had torn Viv away from work today. Mark behaved as though he were in charge, but in truth no one was in charge. Not really. Viv would have wondered if what they were doing was even necessary, had she not seen what Griff had written in that book. Viv shook her head, pushing the thought away. She wasn’t strong enough to do anything about anything, so best to just do her job. Thinking got you arrested, and there was no coming back from that.

The woman in the doorway cleared her throat, and Viv sensed the heaviness of Mark's silence as he stood, waiting. Viv saw a thin, wiry woman with iron-gray hair, and a beak of a nose, tilting her head to peer around Mark at the lab. Mark held out his hand. The woman looked at it disdainfully and sniffed. Mark awkwardly put his hand down and stuffed it into his lab coat.

“I am Margaret Watts,” the woman said in a voice that was used to giving orders. “I am the personal secretary of Ambrose Conrad. I am here to prepare you to meet him.” She pushed past Mark and entered the lab. Viv found she rather liked Margaret Watts.

“His personal secretary?” said Mark, looking crestfallen. “He sent a secretary? This is a secure government facility.”

“I realize it seems highly irregular,” said Margaret Watts, “but what isn't these days?” She pushed her glasses up her nose with a finger. Viv was pleased to see that Mark's face was reddening and a trickle of sweat was rolling down his temple. “Sir, are you having some sort of attack?” said Margaret Watts. She said it as though even the thought was completely offensive to her.

“No,” Mark managed, and quickly recovered. “What should we do to prepare the facility for the president?”

Margaret was looking around the lab, her eyes first landing on Sonia standing behind the stainless steel table, her eyes as big as saucers. Margaret wrinkled her nose, and then her eyes slid over to Viv. “Ah!” said Margaret, jumping a little, then pushing past Mark in Viv's direction. “You'll do, what's your name?” She looked Viv up and down and seemed quite satisfied with what she saw.

“I am Doctor Genevieve White,” said Viv, controlling the catch in her voice. Margaret looked at the latex gloves on Viv's hands, the microscope turned on and lightly humming, the vials of blood tidily sorted.

“A doctor?” said Margaret, pleased, and writing on her clipboard. “You continued your work this morning even though you knew that you had to prepare for a visit from your president?” Margaret's beady eyes were magnified by her thick glasses.

“I told her to stop working,” said Mark, joining them. “I asked her to help me prepare, but she just kept on going.”

“On the contrary, it's admirable,” said Margaret Watts. “A woman doesn't lose her head in these situations like a man. Commendable, Doctor. You will show the president around the facility.”

“I'm sure that I am not the most qualified,” Viv started. She saw Mark's face turning purple again, but Margaret didn’t skip a beat.

“I can't have this one speaking to the leader of our world,” she said nodding to Mark. “He's obviously a sycophant. The president likes real humans, you see. The voice of the people.”

Viv was having a hard time breathing. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Forgive me for asking, Ms. Watts. But I'm just showing him around, right? He's not going to, you know –”

“Eat you?” interrupted Margaret, with a small snort of a laugh. “No, of course not. Revenants no longer drink the blood. They have done away with that barbaric tradition. It's all very scientific these days, as you well know.” She leaned in closer to Viv. “I think you will do very well with the president. And if you do, I will make sure that you are transferred, Doctor. It cannot be easy to work with this horrible man.”
“Actually, no, it's not,” said Viv, smiling slightly, looking at Mark.

“Well, then, that's settled,” said Margaret, ticking something off on her clipboard. “Now, about the president. He may seem strange at first. You have heard him speak on the radio before, haven't you?”

“Of course,” said Viv. “Everyone has.” She bit her own tongue so she wouldn’t continue on and say what she was thinking: “We don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Well, there's absolutely nothing to fear, so you can stop clenching your hands like that.”

“Sorry,” said Viv, not realizing she was doing it.

“He will not harm you. Just stay calm, and everything will be all right. He just wants to have a look around and see where his sustenance comes from. Now why don't you wrap up what you're working on and I'll go get the president.”

Viv tried to ignore Mark glowering at her as she tidied her work area. She dismissed Sonia for the day, since it was obvious they would not be doing any more work. The girl looked so relieved that Viv thought Sonia would hug her. At last, Viv heard the sound of at least a dozen shoes squeaking on the highly-waxed floor of the hallway. Mark stood up, sucking in his substantial stomach. Viv stood slowly, carefully. She breathed deeply.

Several men wearing identical suits descended on the room, looking under tables, counters, and stools, in refrigeration units, and in cabinets. Two more men came in and checked Viv and Mark's badges, passing information into fat walkie-talkies. After patting them down and declaring them clean, all the men went out, and President Ambrose Conrad walked in.

Viv almost gasped. He was tall, maybe the tallest man she had ever met. But he wasn't really a man. His hairless head sloped down onto a long, flattened face. A gash of a mouth couldn't conceal his impossibly long teeth, sharp like knives, but clean and gleaming white. Conrad's arms hung lower than seemed normal, and his hands were like talons. His body was too long, Viv realized. As if stretched. But the tailored suit hung perfectly around the weird body, Conrad's long teeth almost reaching his maroon tie. Margaret Watts walked in behind and stood beside him, her clipboard under one arm.

“Mister President,” she said, her authoritative voice echoing in the lab as she gestured toward Viv. “This is Doctor White. She seems to know the place better than anyone.” It was all so matter-of-fact. Like a business meeting. Only this was the POTUS, and the POTUS was a monster. A monster responsible for Viv's son disappearing. For her husband running off. For her job being taken away. For her life being torn apart into a million shards of glass. This monster was responsible for the state of the world right now, for the pain of every single person on the planet. There were other presidents of other countries, but they all took their orders from Conrad.

Viv shoved all the feelings into the back of her brain, just as she had every day since the Blackout. She forced her mouth to smile, her breathing to slow, her muscles to relax. She wasn't sure if she could talk, as her throat felt as if it had closed up at the sight of Conrad. But she placed one foot in front of the other and walked steadily toward him, holding out her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President,” she heard herself say, on autopilot. Gracious was her default setting.

Conrad shook her hand. She thought his hand would be cold, but he was warm and his handshake was firm. “Please call me Ambrose, er, Doctor White?” he said, still holding her hand. His voice was low and quiet. Nothing like the loud voice that echoed through a microphone during press conferences.

“Yes,” said Viv. “Genevieve White.”

Ambrose looked down at their hands, and she realized he was studying the color of her hand, so dark against his, the palest of whites. Viv could see blue veins running just below the surface. “Ironic,” he said. Your last name is White, but you are not.”

“The irony doesn't escape me, sir,” she said, smiling wider. “It was my husband's name.” She wanted to gnash her teeth, to spit at him. No one was supposed to care about race any more; it was barely acceptable to be human now before throwing race into the mix. But the ideal was not the same as the norm. And all these Revs were so old that they remembered. She had seen black Revenants, but they were rare. No need to make small talk and let slip how she really felt. That would only get her killed, and then no one would ever find Hunter. She swallowed heavily. A better way would be to ingratiate herself to this man, or whatever he was.

“Indeed,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Well, let us have a look around. I understand you'll be showing me the place?”

Viv wiped her palms against her lab coat and glanced at Margaret Watts, who was nodding her head. “Yes,” said Viv. “Follow me. I'll show you the purity testing station first.”

When they returned, Mark was sitting where Viv had been an hour before, head down at his work, his lip stuck out like a disappointed child. He leaped to his feet but Ambrose didn't even look at him as he passed. Viv felt Mark's eyes on her back. Margaret waited for Conrad by the door and Ambrose nodded at her as he stood beside her. The contrast of their heights was almost comical. The president turned to look at Viv.

“Miss Watts tells me you are in need of new employment,” he said.

“Oh,” said Viv.

“I have arranged for you to be transferred to the Hematological Purification Plant. It is a new facility that we will soon open—an adjunct to the Munson Experimental Hospital, which you may have heard of. You start on Monday next. Report to General Lawrence Davies when you arrive, and he will escort you to your post. You will, of course, be promoted to head researcher of your laboratory. I must apologize, I do not know which one. There will of course be more money, which I understand humans enjoy. I trust this is all satisfactory?”

Viv stood still as a statue, her mouth trying to move. Finally she let out a weak, “Yes. Thank you.” This seemed to be enough, because Ambrose nodded at her, and without another word, walked out the door. Mark was staring at the spot where Ambrose had been standing a moment before. His eyes were bugging and his Adam's apple was moving up and down. His face was gloriously red. Margaret stopped before following the president, pushed her glasses up her nose with her finger, turned to Mark and smiled.

“Just a secretary, eh?” Margaret said to him. Then she followed the president out the door. The sound of a dozen shoes squeaked back down the hall until there was no sound at all but the gentle whirring of machines.

Viv unbuttoned her lab coat. She unclipped her badge and tossed it along with the coat onto the table.

“Goodbye, Mark,” she said. “I hope I never see you again. Tell Sonia I'll miss her.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Wait,” said Mark, his voice strangled. “You can't go yet. It's only Tuesday. You don't start until Monday.”

“Yeah, but I have a lot of wine to drink before then,” said Viv. He was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Viv stopped and looked at him. “You are a hollow man, Mark. A stuffed man.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he sputtered.

“It's from a poem,” said Viv.

“What do you know about poetry?” said Mark.

“Nothing,” said Viv. “But I'm learning.”

She closed the door quietly and didn't look back, her feet carrying her down the hall as if leaving the lab like any other day, to go home and have a drink. To help her forget, for at least a little while.

Four

The first time they took her down the hall for what Evelyn Hauser called “rehabilitation,” Sia fought them. Two large men in blue scrubs finally strapped her down and ended up wheeling her entire bed down the hall. Sia’s hand hurt where she had punched the orderly, and to her satisfaction, his cheek was swollen and bruising by the time they stopped.

“Sia,” said a familiar voice. Hauser stepped out in front of her and Sia glared.

“What the hell is this?” she said. “What are you going to do to me?”

The rehabilitation room reminded Sia of an old horror movie, about a nineteenth-century insane asylum where patients were tortured. The walls and floor were concrete block, with drains set into the floor. There were no windows and several stations were equipped with what looked like torture implements.

“You said I had to get better first,” said Sia, her voice echoing the panic rising inside of her. “You said they wanted me to get better.”

“Of course,” said Hauser, holding up a large book. “It’s all part of the process, dear. You know I don’t want to do this to you either, but regulations require it, and I’ve never been one to shirk my duties.”

“The regulations require what?” said Sia, through gritted teeth and clenched muscles and tears. She’d been able to get through one full day without vomiting, a small victory, but was now in pain all the time, her muscles clenching and unclenching, and she couldn’t eat or sleep. Evelyn Hauser wouldn’t give her so much as an aspirin for the pain.

Hauser took a syringe out of her pocket and came towards Sia, who began kicking and wriggling under the straps. The men held her down as Hauser jabbed the needle into her hip.

“This will make it impossible to move,” said Hauser. “But you’ll still feel everything. You will therefore remember what will happen should you digress from your treatment.”

“But I havennnnnn…” said Sia, her face suddenly refusing to work, her vocal chords limp.

“Ah, it’s working,” said Hauser. “Get her up there, please.”

Sia felt herself being lifted, turned upright, strapped onto the cold concrete wall. She was being held by straps on her wrists, ankles, waist and chest. Sia tried to scream but no sound would come.

“You truly believe that you won’t ever use again, Sia,” said Hauser. “But studies have shown that junkies lie, even to themselves. It’s all in the book. We must follow the rules.”

Sia watched, helpless as Evelyn Hauser cradled the book to her chest, and the men disappeared around the corner. They came back with a large hose that looked like it had come off a fire truck. Sia tried to speak, tried to beg them to stop, but all she could manage was a long thin moan.

“You’ll thank me for this one day,” said Hauser. As the man with the swollen cheek turned on the hose, Sia saw that Evelyn Hauser had to look away.

The next day, Hauser brought Sia some pills.

“To help you sleep,” said the old nurse, reaching to stroke Sia’s hair as Sia swallowed them. Sia flinched away, the restrains stopping her wrists painfully. Hauser took her hand back and stood, straightening her sweater.

“You cannot fault me for doing my job, Sia,” she said. “The person you’re really angry at is yourself. I won’t allow you to be weak here, my dear. I’m tough, but it’s all to the benefit of my patients.”

“What was the benefit of paralyzing me?” said Sia, the very act of speaking painful. Her jaw had been clenched when the paralytic wore off, and her teeth felt like they had turned to a mouthful of nerves. Every centimeter of Sia’s skin felt as though she had been sandpapered down.

“So you wouldn’t injure yourself, of course,” said Hauser, her voice confident. “You were very upset.”

“Of course I was upset. You tortured me.”

“Not torture, Sia,” said Hauser. “Redemption.”

“You said they wanted to make me better,” said Sia. “Stronger.” She could feel the pills starting to work. She was feeling suddenly very tired.

“They do,” said Hauser. “But first, you must be punished.”

“Are you going to do it again?” said Sia, Evelyn Hauser growing far away and blurry.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” said Hauser. “Get some sleep.”

Sia woke blearily, what felt like days later, to someone jabbing a needle into her arm. It was the orderly she hit in the face. He put a finger to her lips.

“I’m just taking a little blood for tests,” he said, smiling. “I’m not as nice as Hauser. You hit me again, and this time I’ll hit you back.”

Sia let him take the blood. After he left, the vials of her blood clinking in his pocket, Sia tried to hug herself, but the restraints chained to the sides of the bed wouldn’t let her. She felt too tired to cry. She had brought herself here, Hauser had been right about that. She’d been weak. Sia blinked in the darkness. It was odd, though, she didn’t feel weak. She felt angry, alone, scared. But weak?

“I’m stronger than they know,” she whispered in the dark. And for a moment, she remembered someone once saying that to her…

She was still awake when Hauser came in the morning, clutching the blue book to her chest again.

“You’re due for another session,” said Hauser. “If you don’t fight us, I won’t have to give you an injection.”

“I’m never going to scream for you again,” said Sia, though her voice was low and shaky. “You won’t get me to scream.”

“I don’t want you to scream,” said Hauser, sounding genuinely surprised. “I just want to teach you a lesson. It’s the rules, Sia.”

“And you’re not one to shirk the rules,” Sia said.

“No, I am not,” said Hauser.

“I won’t fight you,” said Sia.

“Very good.”

Later that morning, the men handcuffed Sia to a wheelchair and wheeled her to the Rehabilitation Room. Hauser was waiting for her there, still clutching her book. It seemed to Sia that the book had become part of her body, she cradled it so much. Her precious rules. The man pushing her chair didn’t stop at the wall where she’d been hosed a few days before, but continued on to a corner with a cloth partition.

“Uncuff her,” said Hauser.

“Ma’am, is that wise?” Hauser glared at the orderly as though she had just been slapped.

“Uncuff her and stop asking stupid questions,” she said. “You are out of line.”

“Sorry,” said the orderly, reaching down and squeezing Sia’s wrist hard as he uncuffed her, sneering as she gasped in pain.

“You may go now,” said Hauser, looking at the orderly, her eyes like razorblades. “What is your name again?”

“Clark,” he said. “Reggie Clark.”

“Mr. Clark, you are relieved of your position.”

“What? You can’t—”

“Oh I can,” said Hauser. “Your insolence and your disdain for patients has cost you your job. Leave now or I will call my supervisor.”

Clark glared at her. “You can’t do this. They assigned me this job.”

“They will have to assign you another one. Good luck in the sanitation department.”

“I’m going to come back, and I’m going to kill all you bitches.” He pointed at Hauser. “Especially you.” As he left, Hauser picked up a phone from her pocket. She pressed a key and smiled into the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Kearns? A Mr. Reggie Clark is coming out. He has been terminated for threatening me. Please detain him.” She listened for a moment, then said, “very good, thank you.” Hauser pressed a button and put the phone back in her pocket, turning to face Sia.

“You see, dear? I don’t want to hurt you. I want to protect you. Had I not incited Mr. Clark, his sadistic tendencies would have been directed at you.”

“Why me?” she said. “Why not all the patients?”

“Oh, Sia,” Hauser laughed. “You are my only patient. Now stand up and take your punishment.”

The remaining orderly, looking more than terrified of Hauser, pulled back the partition revealing a bathtub. There was a cloth cover on top with a hole cut out right where Sia imagined her head would go. The orderly pulled the canvas back and motioned for her to step into the tub. Sia looked down and saw it was full of ice. There was a cart piled with tubs of ice next to it.

“Go to hell,” Sia said, gravel in her voice.

“We can put you in,” said Hauser, “but I believe you’ll find that even more distasteful.”

Sia looked at the orderly, but he was watching Hauser. Sia glared at the old nurse and pulled her gown off, throwing it on the floor.

“This isn’t you, dear,” said Hauser, stroking the blue book. “This is the junkie who will soon be redeemed.”

“I’m not going to scream,” said Sia. She raised her foot and lowered it into the tub. She hissed air in through her teeth as she plunged the foot to the bottom of the tub. Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. She told herself over and over that she wouldn’t cry.

But in the end she did cry. And that night, Evelyn Hauser gave her another sedative. Sia fell asleep to the woman stroking her hair, unable to push her away through the shivering, even hours after she’d been returned to her bed and covered in hot blankets.

Sia dreamed of a man, his dark, dark eyes pushing into her, staring at her, yet burning her at the same time. She startled awake with his name almost on her lips. She strained to remember him, but the tendrils of the dream slipped from her grasp.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” said a familiar voice. A dim light switched on and Sia blinked at the man standing there. He was wearing scrubs just like the other orderlies, but he didn’t look like any of the others. He was tall and thin, handsome, with beard stubble dotting his chin. He smiled and Sia knew that he probably got his way a lot with that smile. He was familiar.

“You want my blood,” she said. “Go ahead.”

He pulled a stool over next to the bed, tossing the blood kit on the floor. Sia looked at him, interested.

“You don’t remember me,” he said. He had an English accent.

“Should I?” she said.

“Dez Paine,” he said. “I’m the one who brought you here.”

Sia shrunk away from him, her eyes wide.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But you will if I make you?” Sia said.

“Jesus, what the hell are they doing to you here?” he said, looking disgusted.

“Rehabilitating me,” she said. “You should go. Movers aren’t supposed to come in here.”

“Relax, love,” said the Mover who was now an orderly and did not want to take her blood.

“Why are you here?” said Sia. “I’ll scream.”

“I don’t want to…” he began, then shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I want to help you.”

“You’ve helped me enough, thanks,” said Sia.

“I had to do that,” he said. “My partner, she’s crazy about the rules. She would have reported me. Maybe even killed me herself.”

“That’s a sad story,” Sia said.

“I know how it sounds,” he said. “But they were looking for an orderly, so I volunteered. And here you are.”

“Why did you volunteer?” she said.

He grinned again. “I’m going to bust you out.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you risk your life to bust a junkie out of rehab?”

“Sister, this ain’t no rehab,” said Dez Paine, looking at her wrists in their padded restraints.

“I have to stay,” said Sia, surprising herself. As she said the words she knew that they were true, but she didn’t understand why. She frowned, searching her broken mind for the reason. Without warning an image from her dream flashed in her mind. A pair of dark eyes. A man watching her. Her heart beat faster and she gasped for breath.

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Dez Paine. He fidgeted around on one of the wrist cuffs and it fell away.

“Stop it,” said Sia. “I have to stay. You can’t make me leave.”

“I’m trying to help you,” said Dez.

“I don’t want your help. Why are you doing this?”

He froze and looked at her. He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t remember,” he said. “I just have to.”

“No you don’t,” Sia said, anger rising in her chest. She didn’t know why she was upset. She didn’t know why she wasn’t eager to escape this horrible place. But for some reason, she had to stay. She had to…what? Search for something? Someone? She couldn’t get her mind to make the connections.

Dez was fiddling with the other cuff.

“Really,” she said, her voice steely. “You need to go. Now. I can’t go with you.”

“The pretty ones are always crazy,” said Dez, pulling the cuff off her wrist. He moved to pull the blanket off to uncuff her ankles, but Sia grabbed his shirt.

“Hey!” he said, as she pulled him closer to her face.

“Get the hell out of here or I’ll kill you myself,” she hissed.

He pulled away from her, breathing hard.

“What the hell, lady?”

“I’ll scream,” she said. “I’m a very important patient.”

“Why the hell do you want to stay?” he said.

Sia hesitated. “I don’t know. But I know it’s important.”

“The hell with that,” he said, pulling the blanket from her feet. “I’m getting you out. You’re delusional.”

Sia began to scream.

“So, you had a visitor last night, I hear,” said Evelyn Hauser, sipping a cup of tea.

“Yes,” said Sia.

“Friend of yours?” said Hauser.

“Of course not,” said Sia. “He was the Mover who brought me in here.”

“And why you?” said Hauser. She was sipping tea again, calm as could be, but Sia could feel her twitchiness.

“I can’t help that men find me attractive,” said Sia. “And I can’t stop them from following me when I’m chained to a bed.”

“They didn’t find him last night,” said Hauser. “He ran off and the guards couldn’t find him.”

“Too bad,” said Sia. “I hope he doesn’t come back.”

“Indeed,” said Hauser. She was looking oddly at Sia.

“What is it?” said Sia.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t go with him,” said Hauser. “You had a clear path to escape. Why didn’t you go?”

Sia shrugged. “I have work to do here.”

“Work?”

“Rehabilitation,” said Sia. “What will it be today? Swimming with piranhas? Swallowing red ants?”

“Electroshock,” said Hauser, frowning. “It’s just…”

“The rules,” said Sia. “I know. Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get started.”

Hauser stared at her, for a moment at a loss for words.

“Sia, it’s not going to be pleasant.”

Sia smiled. “I’m stronger than you know.”

Five

Mike looked at the white door, its paint peeling to reveal corroded metal. What remained spelled Fishtown Pupp t Theat. Mike had never even heard of a puppet theater before he met Deacon, and still had no earthly idea why anyone would choose to do business in one. Especially a defunct one. He turned the handle and held his breath as a rush of stale, mildewy air met him. He blinked in the darkness.

Voices from the storage rooms below grew quiet as he took his first, creaking step into the building. The smell of dust and rotting cloth filled his nose and mouth. Mike squinted in the darkness, drawing a scratched and battered Zippo lighter out of his pocket.

Mike peered around him by the light of the Zippo. He knew what he would see: glass cases on either side of the doorway. Women in wooden masks hung from strings, their white painted faces chipped and their silk robes dotted with dark mildew stains. Giant heads shaped like moons with bulbous noses slumped against the glass, their strings tangled in a heap. Regal girls in stained and rotted taffeta gowns, no bigger than dolls but with eyes that sparkled and followed Mike as he walked past. All of their eyes seemed to peer into him as he crossed the threshold into the theater. The once-scarlet velvet curtains at the stage now hung tattered and ragged and speckled with black. The backdrop had long since been torn or rotted away. Some of the seats had been torn out and carried off. The ones that remained smelled of urine and mold. Water dripped slowly from the ornate ceiling into puddles scattered throughout the theater. Mike found his way to the door, just as Dez Paine had showed him the first time.

As he descended the stairs, he closed the lighter and returned it to his coat pocket. He didn't need it. The basement got colder as he neared the bottom of the stairs and a brightness cast a watery light on the boiler room. Mike followed the light down a hallway. He noticed his hands shaking and stuffed them into his pockets. The voices resumed again and were growing louder and more raucous as he approached a brightly lit room at the end of the hall. A hulking man slouched against the wall outside the doorway, slugging at a silver flask and smoking a cigarette.

“You again,” the man rasped. He screwed the cap of the flask back on and put it in his pocket. “What do you want this time?”

Mike swallowed and straightened his back. “I need to see Deacon,” he said, hoping the hulk didn't notice the quaver in his voice. A piece of hair came loose and hung in Mike's eyes and he put a hand up to smooth it. The hulk watched him.

“Little nervous tonight, aren't you, friend?” said the hulk.

Mike looked down at his hand, still shaking a little. He put it behind his back.

“It hasn't been a good day,” Mike said.

“Who you working for?” He narrowed his eyes and looked Mike over, putting his half-smoked cigarette to his lips. Mike could tell it was a real one. Not a modern one that the Revs sold in the stores.

“No one,” said Mike. “Not anymore.”

“You get fired or something?”

Mike looked at him, knowing he looked pathetic, shaky, sick. He felt like throwing up again, but instead he took a breath. “I've been reported.”

“Aw, too bad,” said the hulk. He stopped glaring at Mike. “So you want Deacon to kiss your booboos, is that it?” He ground the cigarette under his shoe. “Don't work like that.”

“I just need a little help,” said Mike, an edge to his voice.

“He helped you the last time you were here.”

“This is different.”

“I know your kind,” said the hulk. “You think you're better than us until you get into a bind, and then you come looking for Deacon, signing away your soul, just like that. You're on top of the world again. But you know the best part? When we come to collect, you people always look surprised. Sometimes you get violent. You people have no sense of honor.”

Mike looked at the hulk, wondering what brought him to this life.

“I'll pay,” said Mike. “I always pay my debts.”

“You might not like this one.”

“Whatever it takes,” said Mike. He was surprised that the conversation distracted him, and that he was now feeling better. He nodded. “Whatever it takes,” he said again.

“Whatever you say, Novak.” The hulk shrugged and waved Mike through the door. Mike paused before going in.

“You got a name?”

The hulk frowned. “Why?”

“I might want to thank you later.”

“Matthew,” he said. “Blake.”

Mike nodded. “Thank you, Matthew Blake.”

“You were a little shook up,” said Blake. “I always try to talk you people out of it. I try. It never takes.” He sounded sad, and an emptiness behind his eyes suggested that he had tried many times. He looked away from Mike, shaking a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros.

“Thanks for trying,” said Mike.

“Be careful, Novak,” he said, lighting his cigarette. He met Mike's eyes one last time. “We're not nice people.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“Maybe,” said Blake. “But it isn’t a high bar.”

The room was filled with smoke. Rough men and a few women sat at collapsible tables drinking and playing cards, cigarettes and cigars perched on their lips. Paint peeled from the walls. Across the ceiling, more marionettes hung from small hooks. They were in far worse shape than the ones upstairs in the glass cases. Many were missing limbs, most were so rotted that Mike couldn't even see their faces. There was a painted clown with rows of what looked like shark teeth that had survived unscathed, but once-pretty dresses and curls and tiny tuxedos were moldy and falling apart. Their eyes seemed to escape even the worst damage. They followed Mike as he made his way across the room, choking on smoke and black mold and cheap perfume. Mike tried not to look at the puppets and focused on the man he had come to see.

Deacon was draped across a high backed red chair, looking withered as a dried leaf. He wore sunglasses that seemed to encompass his whole face, but they didn't cover wrinkled paper-thin skin sagging over drooping bones. Mike could see blue veins in the liver-spotted hands that clutched the arms of the chair.

“You're late,” Deacon croaked. There was a small, battered table in front of him, a long, thin knife with a mother-of-pearl handle the only thing upon it. On the other side of the table was another chair.

“Late?” said Mike.

“Sit down, Novak.” Deacon barely spoke above a gravelly whisper, but even amid the chaos and noise, Mike could hear him clearly. He tossed his sunglasses onto the table. His eyes were red-rimmed and tinged with exhaustion, the gauntness of his face giving him a hollowed-out look. Lines crisscrossed across his cheeks and spread out like sunbursts from his eyes. Deacon was a husk.

“I said sit.”

Mike sat, frowning at Deacon. The old man didn't look at him, but surveyed the room.

“How did we get here, Novak?” he said. “I used to be a king. Now look. Rotten ceilings. These fucking puppets. You think any of these assholes wouldn't slit my throat if it did them any good?”

“I don't know, Mr. Deacon.”

“Fuck you with the mister,” said Deacon, finally looking at him with his sad eyes. “Just Deacon. If we're going to do business, Novak, we have to have some kind of relationship here. Trust. How long has it been since you trusted someone?”

“Business?” said Mike. “What do you mean? You don't even know why I'm here.”

He snorted. “I'm Deacon. I know all kinds of shit. You know that better than anyone.”

“I haven't written a story about you in years.”

“Because they wouldn't allow it,” said Deacon. “Look, I get it. It was your job. And my business can be…controversial. But can you really say that I'm worse than the fuckers that sent you running here?”

Mike leaned back in his chair. “No.”

“Well then,” said Deacon. “We have an understanding.” He turned his head toward the crowd. “Get out of here. All of you. I need a private meeting.” His voice remained low, but it was as if he had just shouted the orders. Men stopped cutting cards, girls froze with shot glasses raised to their lips, the room became dead quiet. And then, as one, everyone stood up and filed out without a sound.

“See that?” said Deacon, raising a gnarled finger. “That's goddamn respect. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a giant cigar. Using the wickedly sharp knife on the table, he cut off the end. Mike pulled out his lighter and raised the flame to Deacon's stogie.

“How did you know I was coming?” Mike said, feeling suddenly eerie in the empty room. Smoke still hung like a curtain in the air.

“First things first,” said Deacon, blowing smelly blue smoke out of his mouth. “Ask me something personal. Anything. And then I'll ask you. Let's show some trust.”

“I wouldn't know what to ask you,” said Mike.

“You? The intrepid reporter? Surely there's something you're curious about.”

“Fine,” Mike said. “Why haven't they caught you?”

“The Revs? Blind motherfuckers, aren't they? They don't want to see us. We're under the surface, away from public view. It's why we hunker down in shitholes and keep things quiet. To them, we're the bacteria they try not to think about. Besides, I have powerful friends.”

“More powerful than them?” said Mike.

Deacon shrugged. “Some might say that. But that's two questions. My turn.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Deacon watched him, small and shriveled in his sport jacket, but still sharp as ever.

“Did you murder your wife?”

Mike stared at him. He opened his mouth, but thought better and closed it again.

“I answered your question, Novak,” said Deacon. “Do me the respect of answering mine.”

“Go to hell.”

“That is not polite, Mr. Novak. It's a valid question if we're going to work together.”

“Why do you keep saying we are going to work together?”

“Did you kill her?” Deacon eyed the knife on the table, like it was a promise. Mike looked away.

“No,” he said flatly. “I did not kill my wife.”

“Everyone thinks you did,” said Deacon. “The famous Kyra Novak murder. It was in the papers, on TV, before they took the televisions away. Weren't you even arrested at one point?”

“It wasn't me,” said Mike, meaning for the words to sound harsh, but they came out as defeated.

“Convince me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I can help you, Novak. Say what you will about me, but I've never done business with woman-haters. My Doreen would turn over in her grave. She fucking hated misogynists. And I loved her, so I hated misogynists too. Just because my wife is dead doesn't mean I stopped respecting her wishes. What about your wife's memory? Don't you want to honor her?”

“By going into business with a criminal?” Mike said.

Deacon smiled, a chilling spectacle. His teeth were small and brown and his whole face contracted into a series of wrinkles. Not in the eyes, though. His eyes stayed as cold as the blade of the knife.

“Who's the criminal, Novak?” said Deacon. “I could call them right now. The Movers. Who would they take, me or you?”

Mike swallowed hard. He stared at the wall behind Deacon. He thought of Kyra's face. Her skin had been so soft and smooth, even after she turned forty. Even after she got hooked on Slack and wasn't Kyra anymore. Even after she was dead.

“I found her on the floor,” Mike said. There was no emotion in his voice. He was used up. He'd been used up since it happened. He'd told the story to so many cops that he lost his voice for two days.

“Found her or put her there?” said Deacon.

“That's two questions,” said Mike. Deacon didn't look amused. Mike sighed. “I found her there. It was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. The day I found her, I stopped living. She hadn't been herself for a long time. She was taking Slack. She had a miscarriage and was depressed so the doctors gave her Slack. But she kept taking it. It was before the Annex, before the Blackout. Before anyone knew who the Revs were or what Slack was.”

“Vampire juice,” said Deacon.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Yeah.”

“How did she die?”

Mike felt his eyes go hard. He looked at his hands.

“There was no blood. I mean, there was some, but the bastard had ripped her goddamn throat out. A piece of her was gone, half of her soft, beautiful neck. Just ripped away. I could see inside of my wife, but it just looked like meat. She was just meat.”

Mike closed his eyes, remembering. Kyra on the ground, cold, so cold. He never should have left her alone, never should have left her. Mike gasped for air, blinking tears away. He thought he had used up all the tears, but here he was, crying in front of Deacon. Deacon had already said it best. How the hell had they gotten here?

“They tore out her throat and left her on the kitchen floor,” Mike said. “The only blood they left was from the bottoms of their shoes and a little that sprayed on the walls. She was goddamn blue. They stole her blood and left her for me. I don't think they knew who I was or who she was. That was just the way they were back then. Do you remember how it was? Before Conrad came in and got them all hopped up on science? Do you remember the bodies? The fear?”

“I remember,” Deacon said quietly.

“Before the Blackout, even,” said Mike. “Before the children disappeared. No one knew.”

“We know now.”

“The Revs killed my wife,” said Mike. “I knew later, but back then, no one knew. I was inches from prison when the Blackout happened. And when the lights came back on, our government was run by monsters. Not political monsters like before, but real ones. And in the beginning, everyone was afraid. No one cared about me anymore. No one cared about anything but surviving. So many people died. Everything was chaos. And then, we all just accepted it. We got on with our lives. We gave blood, we went to work, we didn't go out at night. You want to know how we got here, Deacon?”

“Tell me, Novak.”

“We got here because we let ourselves get here. We stopped fighting. We accepted it.”

“What do you suppose we should do about that, Mr. Novak?”

Mike paused for a moment, puzzled. “How did you know I was coming?” Mike said.

Deacon smiled again. “I think you know. Think about the Revs. Then think about someone worse. Have you met anyone like that lately?”

“Joshua Flynn,” Mike breathed.

“He's not like us, Novak,” said Deacon. He leaned forward. “You have to understand what you're getting yourself into here.”

“What does he want from me?” said Mike.

“Same as he wants from any of us,” said Deacon. “He wants to use us. But this time it just might be in our best interests: He's waging a war that isn't going to end pretty. It's going to be violent and a lot of people are going to die – or worse – before this is over. ”

“Will he protect me?”

“From the Revs? Yes. But who's going to protect you from Flynn?”

“Is he one of them?”

“I don't know, Novak. I don't know what the fuck he is. I only know that I am one scary motherfucker. I've killed people in more ways than I can count. Some were good people, most of them were bad. I've broken legs, ruined lives, I've killed entire families just to prove a point. But I'm an innocent babe compared to Flynn.”

“What if I refuse?”

“You don't have a choice,” said Deacon.

A shadow crept toward them. The room darkened and a strange sense of air being pulled out the room left Mike slightly dizzy. The fog of cigarette smoke was replaced with a smell of dust and old books and earth, filling his nostrils. Joshua Flynn didn't so much walk into the room as he seemed to be carried by his own shadow. His feet moved, but his movements were too smooth. He was silk in water, he was like an eel through the now-murky room.

“There is always a choice,” Flynn said. And then he was right beside him and when he stopped moving he looked so human that he took Mike’s breath away. He was vaguely handsome, but in the way that men in old tintype photographs were vaguely handsome. His lips remained just as red as before, but his cheeks were more flushed than they had been the first time Mike had seen him. He realized it had been earlier that day. It seemed like years.

Mike started to stand up, but a hand suddenly on his shoulder pushed him back down. He turned to see who was behind him, but there was no one there.

“Gentlemen,” Flynn said. He rested his sharp, dark eyes on Mike and he felt cold. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “Mr. Novak. So nice of you to come.”

“How did you know?” Mike said.

“I know many things,” Flynn said. “I understand that I am something of a mystery to you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Calm yourself, Novak,” said Flynn. “I mean only to educate. You know that I am not like the Revenants. You know that I am not just a man. So what else is left?”

“I...don't know,” said Mike.

Flynn suddenly smiled, splitting his face with a ghastly grin. “Only me,” he said. His red lips looked almost clown-like, and his perfect white teeth only reminded Mike of the sharper teeth resting just above them. Flynn's dark eyes danced, shining even in the dimness of the shadowy room.

“I think what Novak wants to know,” said Deacon, “is what do you want him to do. Assuming he's interested.”

“Is that what you want to know, Mr. Novak?” said Flynn. He was ten feet away, but Mike swore he could feel hot breath against his ear. He shivered and Flynn smiled. Mike preferred Deacon's smile.

Mike watched Flynn for a moment, narrowing his eyes. He thought of Kyra, dead on the floor. He thought of the hospital, Sia the junkie strapped down, vomiting all over herself. He thought of Tess, of the newspaper he'd dedicated his life to, the woman he'd worked with for decades. He thought of watching shadowy figures taking everything he owned out of his apartment. He was a ghost now. He didn't exist except to bleed.

“I want to know one thing,” said Mike.

“Which is?”

“Are you going to hurt them?”

Joshua Flynn smiled. Mike felt something like a finger caressing his arm. He shook the feeling off.

“We are going to obliterate them,” said Flynn. “They will be dust under our boots.”

Mike nodded. “Fine. Tell me what to do.”

“See there?” said Deacon. “That's how we do business.”

Flynn looked from Mike to Deacon, his lip curling distastefully.

“I'm afraid, Mr. Deacon, that this business does not involve you. It is strictly between Mr. Novak and myself.”

“Fuck you, Flynn,” said Deacon, heaving his weary body forward. “I set this up. You do not want to piss me off.”

“Don't I?” said Flynn. Something else besides amusement, besides revulsion passed over his face. Something like hunger. A whisper in Mike's ear sent a shiver down his spine. “Please leave the room, Mr. Novak. Wait for me in the theater.”

Mike stood, looking warily at the monster who was his new employer. Flynn was saving his life. But Mike knew what was about to happen. He looked at Deacon. The old man, for the first time, looked afraid. His rheumy eyes looked from Mike to Flynn and back again.

“Sit your ass back down, Novak,” said Deacon, a quaver in his gravelly voice. “I will kill you if you leave this room. You'll wish you went as fast as that wife of yours. Her death will seem like an answered prayer compared to what I'll do to you.” The knife flashed in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Mike. He didn't look at Joshua Flynn as he left the room. He didn't look back at Deacon. He closed the door behind him.

He glanced at the hulk, Matthew Blake, who was still smoking outside the door.

“Run,” said Mike, echoing Joshua Flynn's warning back at the office. “Just run.”

Mike could barely hear the old man's scream when it came. He paused on the stairs, and the scream stopped almost as quickly as it started. Mike covered his mouth with a hand to keep from screaming himself. He forced himself to continue up the stairs. He was in the theater, trying not to shake, when he saw Blake run out the door.

Mike waited in the theater for his malevolent benefactor.

Six

Viv got off the bus at the grounds of the Munson Experimental Hospital, looked up, and froze. Her eyes stopped blinking, her legs stopped moving, and even her breath stopped in her lungs for a moment. The building was as imposing as when it had been a mental institution, and the new towers and outbuildings extending beyond the original building gave it the air of a fortress.

Viv's eyes watered and she finally blinked, wiping away tears in the frigid wind. She took a gasping breath, and then another. She willed her feet to move, one in front of the other, until she was standing in front of the guard station.

A man in his sixties, portly, with gray hair and pudgy, ruddy cheeks looked cheerfully down at her.

“Can I help you?” he said.

“I...don't know,” said Viv.

“You're the new gal, aren't you?” said the man. He smiled and Viv couldn't help but smile back, though nervously.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” said the guard.

Viv broadened her smile, willing herself to ignore the sweetheart. The sly little nicknames to remind her that she was just a woman. She was just a black woman, no less. The nicknames were as pointed as a barb, even if the men didn't realize it. She was once outspoken about it. She was once outspoken about a lot of things.

It was a good thing they couldn't read her thoughts the way some claimed they could. Viv straightened her shoulders.

“Dr. Genevieve White,” she said.

“Doctor, eh?” said the guard, raising his eyebrows. “Good for you.”

Viv ground her teeth. “Thank you.”

He flipped pages on a clipboard. “Ah, here you are. Identification?”

Viv passed her ID. He pored over the picture, looked up at her face, eyes narrowed in concentration, then looked back at the card.

“I assure you that it’s really me,” she said, trying to sound friendly.

The guard looked up at her, smiling again. “Sorry, miss. It's only that we've had some...trouble lately. Just have to be thorough.” He passed the identity card back to her and she slid it into her wallet. “My name is Sidney Kearns, but everyone calls me Sid.”

“Nice to meet you, Sid.”

“And you, Dr. White.”

“Everyone calls me Viv,” she said.

Sid handed her a clipboard. “Sign next to your name, then, Viv.” He smiled when he said her name. She signed. “Okay!” he said, taking the clipboard and initialing by her name. He passed a bulky yellow envelope through the window. “This is for you, your badge and a key. The badge must be worn at all times inside the facility. If you lose your official badge, you will be detained and questioned before a new one is issued. Same with your key. It will open most doors in the hospital. Of course you won’t be able to access classified areas, but anywhere you need to go, your key should work. Do you understand?”

Sid's face had gone from genial to intensely serious. He studied her with bright blue eyes.

“I understand,” she said. She felt something hollow in the pit of her stomach.

“You will need your key to enter or leave the building,” Sid said, more cheerful again. “You’ll need your badge, so you may as well put it on right now.”

Viv took out a heavy rectangular card on a scarlet lanyard, and hung it around her neck. The front showed her name, some codes that no doubt denoted her job title or something similar, and her picture. It was the same picture from her identity card. Everything was governmental these days.

“You'll also find an employee manual and a map of the facility in the envelope,” Sid went on. “You are assigned to H-block.”

“H-block?” said Viv, smiling. “Sounds like a prison.”

Sid frowned. “Each department is separated into blocks. You are assigned to H-block. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Viv.

“You are not to enter any other block unless specifically requested by an administrator on that block. Even though you, yourself, are an administrator, you will not be able to request any interdepartmental consultations until your probation period is over. Do you understand?”

“Er, no,” said Viv.

“What?”

“I don't understand,” said Viv. “You said I'm an administrator. That can't be right.”

“It’s written right here,” said Sid. “No mistake.”

“I thought I was just doing...I guess blood testing, like I did at my last job. I was told I’d be a head researcher, not the administrator.”

“Congratulations on the new job,” he said. “Sounds like you're moving up in the world.” Sid's face slid back into cheerful mode. He grinned, showing a dimple on one pudgy cheek. “Good for you, Viv.”

At least he didn't call her sweetheart.

“I don't know about this,” said Viv.

“Relax. You'll do fine. Now. You have everything you need. If you look at your map, you'll see that the entryway for blocks F through J is just straight through and to your left.” Sid leaned out the window and pointed. “See that door?”

“Yes.”

“Go through that door, and follow the hallway to the left until you reach H-block. Your badge should get you in.” He smiled again. “Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred dollars.” His eyes crinkled at his joke. Viv made her mouth smile.

“I was told a General Lawrence Davies would be showing me around,” she said.

“Davies is no longer with us,” said Sid, narrowing his eyes.

“Did he get fired?” she said, smiling.

“It’s none of your concern, to be perfectly frank,” said Sid. “All you need to know is that Mr. Davies was a very curious man.”

“Oh,” said Viv.

“But we won’t have to worry about you, will we, Viv?” he said, smiling again.

“Thanks,” said Viv, wanting to scream. “I’ll try to mind my own business.”

“You're welcome, honey. Good luck.”

Viv felt the smile fall off her face as she walked away from the guard station.

“What the hell am I doing here?” she muttered to herself. But she knew what she was doing. She was surviving.

The door clicked open when she turned her key, but Viv decided she must have missed a turn in the cold, blank hallway where the lights were burned out. Now she was staring at a door with no letter on it at all and trying to remember if she’d stayed to the left. She looked behind her. After going up and down several hallways, she had seen every letter but H on the doors. The map was useless, just a sheet of paper with a series of lines and letters, and did not include any of the short staircases or the weird, meandering hallways. She stared at the metal door in front of her and took a deep breath. Since her key slid easily in the door, it must really be the right door. Viv thought about Sid the Guard, interjecting a series of warnings and threats. Surely they couldn't be upset if she got lost on her first day. They should have provided a guide to show her the way. She was, after all, an administrator now.

Viv frowned. That news wasn't happy for her. She had always loathed the humans in charge, ever since the Annex. And now she was an administrator. Would they expect her to report her own kind to the bastards in charge? More importantly, would she?

She looked up at the glaring light, a bare bulb surrounded by thin metal bars. The dull white walls and painted gray floor felt suddenly very tight. Viv gasped as she looked at the blank door in front of her. She couldn't breathe. She wrapped her hands around her ribs, trying to force herself to suck in air. Her head was swimming and her vision blurred with angry tears. She felt a pressure on her chest, like the dull walls were closing in, like the blank steel door was right on top of her, crushing her chest, her ribs, her lungs.

With a sound like a wounded animal, Viv crashed through the door and fell to her knees in a dimly-lit hallway, gasping for air. Her nostrils burned with the smell of iodine and cleaning fluid. Black spots swam in her vision, but after a few gasping breaths, they disappeared, her vision clear and crisp, the dizziness abating. She felt a hot flush rise in her cheeks. She rested against the wall until her heart slowed and the feeling returned to her fingers and toes.

Brushing herself off and looking around to see if anyone had witnessed her moment of weakness, Viv stood shakily. She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, pulling her key out of the lock and pocketing it. She closed her eyes and willed her face to rest back into its calm facade. It wasn't until she heard the click of shoes that she realized she was walking.

She strode through the hallway, glancing at fluorescent lights and blank green walls. After a few steps, the hallway opened up into a sort of lobby with no chairs. It looked very much like a hospital. Viv could hear the sounds of machines beeping and chirping somewhere close by. Doors lined the walls, most of them closed. A plexiglass window filled the corner, with what looked like a nursing station behind it. Viv frowned and headed toward it. It appeared to be empty. A woman's pink cardigan was hanging on the back of an office chair, charts and paperwork carefully assembled across the desk, a pen on top of a fluid intake chart. A door had been left open on the other side of the plexiglass, as though the nurse had to run out in a hurry. Viv could hear a woman's voice down one of the two hallways that led away from the lobby.

Viv headed toward the voice, heels echoing dully against the pale green walls. The floor here was painted white and shone with wax. Viv passed empty gurneys abandoned in the hall, tucked neatly against the hall in between doors. Some had restraints made of leather or canvas attached to them. One still had a pair of handcuffs latched to a bar on the side of the gurney. The cuffs gleamed under the fluorescents.

Viv stopped when she heard a small noise. She turned to find that one of the doors was open. Over the sound of her own heart thumping hard in her chest, it took a moment for her to register the sound of crying.

Without thinking, Viv stepped into the room. It contained only a single bed. There was no other furniture in the room. No pictures or windows or dressers. Upon the bed was a woman, who sat up with a soft noise like the sound a dove makes when she saw Viv.

“You're not supposed to be here,” said the woman, though she didn't look unhappy to see Viv. She wiped at her cheeks with the thin blanket that covered her.

“I heard a noise,” said Viv. “Are you all right?” Viv stared at the woman in the bed. She looked so familiar.

The woman gave a weak, pained smile that faded instantly. She was very thin, recently malnourished, Viv surmised. Yet her skin had a healthy sheen, as though she had recently started eating well. Viv eyed the IV that led to the woman's arm, which was dotted with fingerprint-sized bruises. The woman's gown slid off her thin shoulder, and Viv saw the same bruises there, too. Scars dotted her neck and forehead, nearly faded.

“You were an addict,” said Viv.

“Are you a doctor?” the woman said.

“Yes, ” said Viv, approaching the bed. “I used to be. But that's not how I knew. My husband was hooked on Slack. He had scars just like you. From the boils.”

The woman looked away. “I'm getting better,” she said softly.

“I can see that,” said Viv. “You look good. Healthy. Do I know you from somewhere?”

The woman looked back at her. She was timid, but with a cold anger behind her eyes. Viv recognized it; it was the same anger she revealed when she let her guard down.

“How would I possibly know you?” the woman said.

“I don’t know. Perhaps you were a patient of mine, from before?”

“No,” said the woman, her eyes watching Viv’s face, studying her. Viv had to look down at her hands.

“My name's Viv,” she said. “I'm afraid I'm really lost. I'm supposed to be starting a new job today.”

“I’m Sia,” she said. There was a quiet authority to her voice, as though she had been among the best in her profession, or part of the social elite. Her black hair was tied into a messy knot on top of her head, making her fine bone structure more striking. Even under the fluorescent lights, even with the scars and the starving frame, Sia glowed. “What's your job?”

Viv smiled a small smile. Not a fake one this time. “I don't really know. I think I'm doing something with blood.”

“Well, they must trust you,” said Sia, sounding bitter. “Blood is very important here.”

“Sia, are you all right?” Viv said. “Is this a hospital?”

“How should I know?” said Sia flatly. She pulled the blanket away with her free hand and Viv saw that she had a leather restraint, fastened with a small padlock on her wrist. The lock jingled merrily against the sidebar on the bed when Sia moved her hand. She pulled the blanket up to show Viv that both ankles wore the same restraints.

“I was well-behaved,” said Sia, her eyes dull. “So I get one hand free now. If I continue to behave, I'll get a foot. Isn't that lovely?”

“What happens if you don't behave?” said Viv carefully.

Sia flared her nostrils, fixing Viv with a stare. “Then they shock me again. Dunk me in ice. Drown me with a fire hose. What do you care? You're one of them.”

“I’m not…” Viv started, but trailed off. Sia was right. She was one of them now. The humans who were part of the problem. Viv felt something strange when Sia looked at her. A familiarity, an odd pressure behind her eyes.

“Don't worry,” Sia said, looking away from Viv, setting her free. “I'll be one of you soon enough. They've told me enough times.” She looked back at Viv and smiled brightly, her eyes cold. She had straight teeth that were slightly stained in spots. Probably from her recent bout with Slack.

“What's going to happen to you?” said Viv.

“Oh, they have big plans for me,” she said. “Sia Aoki is going to save the Revenants, didn't you know? I'm the Beta.”

“The Beta what?” said Viv.

“Hell if I know,” said Sia. “Are you going to save me, Viv?”

“Save you?”

“Every time some human wanders in here they tell me they're going to save me. You'll be the third, if you do. For a secret wing, this place gets an awful lot of traffic.”

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind Viv. She whirled and found herself eye-to-eye with a thin, stringy woman who looked to be around seventy. She had her iron-gray hair drawn back in a bun and a badge around her neck nearly identical to the one Viv wore. She made out the name Hauser.

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?” said the old woman. She glared at Viv. Sia laughed softly.

“I'm sorry,” said Viv. “I'm new here.” She held up her badge. “I got lost.”

“I should say you're lost,” said the woman. Her body was tense with anger.

“I'm supposed to be in H-block, but I got turned around,” said Viv. “I'm the new administrator there.”

“Administrator?” She eyed Viv, seeming unsure how to proceed. “May I see that badge?” Her voice was tight, but she appeared to be trying to control her expression. Forcing it from taut anger to impassive. Viv knew what she was doing because it was the same thing she did a hundred times a day.

Viv pulled the lanyard off her neck and handed it to Hauser, trying to hide the way her hands shook. She was sure everyone could hear her heart beating like a locomotive. The sound filled Viv's ears.

“I'm sorry, Ms. White,” said Hauser, giving her a tight smile.

“It's Doctor White, actually,” said Viv. She stood up straight as she said it. Trying to make it look like she believed the title meant anything. She heard Sia snort behind her.

“Manners, Sia,” said the woman, still staring at Viv. “I am Nurse Hauser. Evelyn, if you like.”

“Oh, that's fun,” said Sia. “I'm not allowed to call her Evelyn. Lucky you.”

Evelyn's nostrils flared slightly, and the tight smile came again.

“Come with me, Doctor. I apologize. We have to be careful though, and you really shouldn't be wandering around before you learn how we do things around here. Just recently we had a scare. A terrorist tried to kidnap one of my patients.”

“That’s terrible,” said Viv.

“It was a close call,” said Evelyn Hauser. “Come, I’ll show you to your block.”

Viv looked around at Sia as Hauser shuffled her out of the room. She felt she should say something to the woman. She didn't know what to say, or how she could talk with the nurse there, but she fixed Sia with her eyes anyway, wanting to make her understand that she wasn't one of them, that she would help if she could.

Sia met her gaze and Viv watched her expression go from guarded bitter humor to something soft and sad and human. The woman Viv heard crying was here. Not the hard, angry shell who had spoken so harshly. As Viv was guided out of the room, she saw something in Sia that made her choke and filled her eyes with tears.

This was the woman from her dreams. The dreams that woke her, screaming or crying or gasping for breath. This woman Sia was the woman who showed up every time Hunter died in her dreams, disappeared from her arms, or turned into a Revenant before her eyes.

Sia was the person who always saved her.

For a split second, she pictured herself pushing the nurse to the ground, slamming her fist into the smug, wrinkled face over and over and over again until blood covered her fists and the floor and the walls. She would hit her until she stopped moving, and then she would take Sia away. She would fuss with the locks with hands that were slippery with the crone's blood. She would take Sia away and then she wouldn't be alone...Then Viv realized why she was here, and why she had the dreams, over and over and over again. Viv used to believe that everything happened for a reason. Even as a woman of science, back when she was respected, she had always had a sureness in the universe around her. Everything was connected and everything happened for a reason. She’d lost that for a long time after the Blackout. But she knew what to do now.

She would make them trust her. She would make them love her. And then she would destroy every last one of them.

For Sia. For Hunter. For herself. For the entire godforsaken world.

Seven

“She will see you now,” said Evelyn Hauser, looking like she'd been sucking on lemons.

“Who?” said Sia, swallowing her pills out of a little plastic cup. Hauser handed her a glass full of apple juice that tasted too sweet and too watery all at once.

“She'll tell you her name if she wants to,” said the nurse. She took both cups from Sia and placed them gently in a trashcan. As if they would break. “It's not my place to talk.”

“Are you afraid?” said Sia.

“Afraid?” said Hauser. “Of what?”

“I don't know,” said Sia. “Everything. Them. Us. What we've become.”

“Of course not,” said Hauser, but she looked over her shoulder at the open door all the same.

“I'm afraid all the time,” said Sia. “I'm afraid every second.”

The nurse sniffed, pursing her lips again. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Sia. You follow the rules. You don't make a fuss. You're no longer restrained. Doesn't that give you comfort?”

“Comfort?” said Sia. “Not being strapped to a bed is supposed to be a comfort?”

“Careful, Miss Aoki.”

“Fine,” said Sia, pulling her robe tighter. “No, it does not comfort me to be free of my bed.”

“Perhaps if you were allowed to leave your room,” said Hauser. “Would you like to be able to walk around the ward?”

“Jesus, yes,” said Sia without hesitation.

Hauser even smiled a little. “Speak to her. Then we'll talk about privileges.” Hauser left the room and shut the door behind her. Sia heard the key in the lock.

After the black doctor wandered in, Hauser locked the door. There was a boy who relieved the nurse at night who came in occasionally to check on her. Sia would stay awake all through the night if Hauser didn’t give her a sedative. He always came in four times, the light pouring in around the door from the hall. She would lie in her bed with her eyes closed, her chest moving up and down, up and down. She would even will her heart to slow. Each time she heard the click of metal on metal, the turn of the key in the lock, the thunk as the boy tested to make sure the door was locked, Sia felt a cold hollow in her belly. Someday he would forget to lock the door. And then she would…what? Escape? She hadn’t escaped when she had the chance, why would she start now? Perhaps she would kill them all. Sia searched her mind for something she had forgotten. Something on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t remember what it was.

“Am I crazy?” she said aloud. Her memories of life before the ward were hazy, surreal. And there were monsters. She was sure that some of them were hallucinations. A few though, she wasn't so sure about. A man's face floated through her memories, disappearing and reappearing. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. And he was filled with something dark as well, Sia was sure of that. He had a nice-looking face, if a little ordinary. Sia remembered him taking her hand. She remembered the thrill of it.

The man's memory flitted away as the drugs started to work. She slept and dreamed she was on a stage, playing the most beautiful music.

It was two days before Sia met the woman Evelyn Hauser had spoken of. After breakfast, a giant of a guard came in with Hauser, his belly poking out like a pregnant woman. A replacement for Dez Paine, Sia guessed. Hauser strapped her to the bed while the man held her down. He didn't have to, though. Sia didn't fight.

“Are they going to kill me today?” she asked.

“Don't be stupid,” said Hauser. “You have a meeting.”

“I'd rather they killed me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” said the giant, his rancid breath making Sia turn her face away.

“Quiet, you,” said Hauser. “You're not here to talk.”

The giant wheeled the bed out of the room. Sia stared at the ceiling, watching each fluorescent light as it raced by. If she squinted she could make them look like one long light.

“Don't be nervous, dear,” said Evelyn Hauser, her heels clicking smartly as she walked beside Sia's bed. “I'm quite sure she isn't going to hurt you.” She met Sia's eyes and looked away, straightening her sweater.

“You're afraid,” said Sia.

“Of course I'm not.”

“Am I going to die?”

“No,” said the nurse.

“Pity,” said Sia.

“Before this is all over,” said Hauser, “you are going to understand that there are far worse things than dying.”

“I didn't say that dying was bad,” said Sia. “I'd rather die than live like this.”

“Like what?”

Sia looked up and watched the lights again. “Without color. Without fire. Without anything. It's just one long hallway lit by fluorescent lights. That's all we have anymore. This is it, Evelyn. Look around.”

“Not everyone is quarantined in a hospital room,” said Hauser, not even bothering to correct Sia for using her first name.

“Are you sure?” said Sia. “From what I've seen, everyone's trapped in their own little room.”

Evelyn Hauser stopped talking to her. The giant wove the bed down halls, through doors, past rooms. The ward was immense in size. Sia hadn't realized. Every once in a while she would see a door left open and see an empty room. No patients in hospital gowns, just empty rooms. Nurses and orderlies buzzed around the halls, though, nodding at Evelyn Hauser as they passed her.

The giant swung the bed around a corner and things started to change. The lights were no longer fluorescent, but soft and muted. The walls wore wallpaper instead of garish paint. And the smell of iodine evaporated into something flowery and understated. Sia craned her neck up to look where they were headed. She could see a figure a ways down the hall. It didn't look right; it was tall and bent at the spine, with freakishly long arms and a head that was hunched down into rounded shoulders.

“No,” said Sia softly.

“Calm yourself,” said Evelyn Hauser under her breath.

“No,” said Sia, louder this time. She pulled against her leather restraints, making the chains clink against the railings on the sides of the bed.

“Be quiet,” Hauser hissed.

“No, no, no, no!” Sia yelled. She arched her back and tried to squeeze her hands out of the restraints. “Take me back, I don't want to go. Take me back.”

“They're not going to hurt you, stupid girl,” said Hauser. She finally turned her head to look at Sia. There was fear in her eyes. “You must be still.”

Sia looked back to the figure, heart beating in her ears. She could now see the muted lights gleaming off of a completely hairless head, a face that was smooth and slitted. A red gash of a mouth from which emerged teeth as long as her fingers, deadly sharp. Slaver shone on his chin. From his clothing Sia guessed it was male, tailored suit and gleaming black shoes looking almost comical on such a body.

Sia looked to Hauser, who still kept her eyes on her. Evelyn wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, a nervous habit of hers. Sia swallowed down panic and fear and tried to slow her breathing.

“Close your eyes,” said Evelyn in a voice that had so much kindness in it that Sia wasn't sure it was the nurse at first. The old woman smiled, making her look like a grinning skull. “Just close your eyes. It will be all right.”

Sia did as she was told. She closed her eyes and stared at the backs of her eyelids. She thought of music and the feel of smooth ivory on her fingers. She imagined a piano under her fingers and started to play. Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 2. The panic evaporated and so did the world. She remembered every note, heard the echo of the music in the heart of the piano. She was on a stage, alone, the lights sending a prickle of sweat down her back. There was a large audience, but they meant nothing. There was only the music. Sia became one with the keys, and she poured everything she had into the music.

When she was through the first movement, the world came creeping back and Sia shivered with cold. The bed was no longer moving and the silence was oppressive. She felt a tug at her wrist and heard the smooth sound of a key in a lock. And then the restraint fell from her wrist and her arm felt so light it might float up over her.

It was dim in the room. Sia looked up, her heart feeling cold. The figure was draped in dark lace, head to toe. A dark-gloved hand emerged to unlock the second restraint, then moved down to the end of the bed to release her ankles. As soon as she was free Sia pulled her knees to her chest and sat up, hugging herself. She watched the figure, though all Sia could see of the eyes was a slight glint behind the lace veil. It was dressed like a ghost.

“What is this?” Sia said, the words coming out as a whisper. “Who are you?”

The figure started toward her before stopping abruptly. A gloved hand moved to adjust the veil, to keep it in place, Sia assumed. The silky gloves clasped in front of it, the figure sighed raspily.

“A friend,” said a smooth languid voice. She had a French accent.

“A creepy friend,” said Sia, hugging her knees tighter. She felt exposed in the hospital gown.

“I thought you might be ready to meet,” said the woman behind the veil.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

The veiled woman was silent for a long moment. Then she turned and walked across the room, toward the door. Sia thought she was leaving, but she stopped at a padded chair. She pushed the chair towards Sia and stopped right next to her. She was so close that Sia could smell the lavender and vanilla. The woman sat, her body twisting awkwardly, out of sync with the way she was dressed and the way she talked.

“There was an accident,” came the woman's voice. There was a richness to it, a pleasing note that Sia couldn't help but appreciate. “I was disfigured quite badly. You might be ready to meet me, but you are not ready to see me.”

Sia watched her. Now she could make out the large eyes.

“Who are you?”

The woman crossed her ankles, an action that should have been dainty, or at least graceful, but her motions were clunky, awkward.

“You may call me Mathilde.”

“Why is there a Rev outside?”

She made a gesture of dismissal. “You know where you are.”

“No I don't.”

“Ah,” said Mathilde. “They have not told you that you are at Munson Experimental Hospital?”

“They have,” said Sia. “I just don't know what this place is or why I'm here.” Sia swallowed. “Or what you want with me. I'm not anybody.”

“That's not necessarily true, is it, Sia Aoki?” said Mathilde, leaning forward. “You may not feel like much now, but you were someone, weren't you? In your society?”

Sia loosened her grip on her knees. Something about the woman's voice set her at ease.

“I was a musician,” said Sia.

“Not just a musician, ma belle,” she said, her voice rising in intensity. Sia found it hard to breathe. There was no air in the room. She started to sweat.

“A prodigy,” said Sia.

“And then, a genius. It was said that you were the wunderkind of New York City, was it not? You did not just play in an orchestra, but you also made a name for yourself as a solo artist. Sometimes playing up to six instruments in a single show. You were the toast of the town. For a time. Until the music stopped.”

“How do you know about me?” said Sia.

“I know many things, Sia.”

“Why is there a Rev outside your door?”

“Because the Revenants own this hospital. And you are important.”

“He’s outside your door,” said Sia. “That means that you’re the important one.”

“Pah,” she said. “It is you we are all interested in, Sia. Only you.”

“Why?” said Sia, wheezing. “Why am I important?”

“You will prove to us all that it can be done.”

“What can be done?”

Mathilde suddenly stood, breaking Sia's concentration. Cool air filled her lungs as the woman turned, pacing to a window and throwing back two heavy drapes. Light flooded into the room. Sunshine shone into Sia's face making her flinch and shield her eyes. When it became bearable, Sia lowered her hand. The sky outside was a brilliant blue, shining upon a snowy grounds that looked like a Christmas card. Trees weighed by the weight of the snow dotted the landscape. Sia uncurled herself and slid off of the bed, expecting someone to stop her. No one did. When she reached the window, she spread her hands on the glass, reveling in the cold.

“It snowed,” said Sia.

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “Though you are trapped here, life goes on.”

Sia could make out the shapes of benches and shrubs and even a fountain, accumulating white fluff. The building she was in wrapped around the grounds, forming a perfect large circle in the middle. The building itself looked very old, like a manor from a period film.

“What is this place?” said Sia. “I mean, what was it? Before it was a hospital.”

“It was once a mental institution,” said Mathilde.

“Are we still in the city?” said Sia.

“Yes. Technically.”

“I've never seen this place. And I grew up here.”

“It was for the very rich. The very rich could afford to keep even something this large a secret. Isn't that sad? A society driven by money.”

“Better than driven by blood,” said Sia.

“You say that,” said Mathilde, standing very close to Sia, “and yet, you are still here. Criminal, yet unscathed. That, to me, is mercy, ma belle.”

“Can I go out?” said Sia. “Outside, I mean. Just for a little while.”

Mathilde laughed a low, throaty laugh. “Ma belle, soon you can do whatever you please. Going outside is nothing. Sia, how would you like to play music again?”

Sia's knees went weak and she staggered away from the woman.

“This is a trick,” said Sia. She looked around the room. For the first time she noticed that she was in an office. Her bare feet sank into a plush carpet the color of wine. The walls were painted a deep green, and bright landscape paintings hung on the walls. A mahogany desk commanded one side of the room. The nameplate read: “Mathilde Briar.”

“Not a trick, Sia,” she said. Sia's head snapped back to look at her.

“Stop torturing me!” Sia screamed. “Why are you doing this to us? To me? Why couldn't you just send me away like the rest of the junkies?”

“Because you are not really an addict, Sia. Are you?”

Sia felt the wall against her back and she slid down onto the floor. Her face was wet and she couldn't breathe again.

“In fact,” said Mathilde, crouching down to look at her, “you have not wanted your drug of choice since you arrived, have you? Oh, you've had symptoms. Withdrawals. You were very sick for a time. But not once did you ask for more. Why?”

“Hauser wouldn't give me Slack,” said Sia, her voice thick.

“But you didn't even try. You had several accidental visitors as well. Did you ask them for this Slack?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Sia shook her head. She couldn't understand what Mathilde wanted her to say. “I don't know,” she said. “I didn't want it anymore.”

“Why didn't you want it, Sia?”

“Because I killed Trey. I was covered in his blood, like I ripped him apart. I did that.”

“Wouldn't that make you want to kill the pain, though, ma belle?”

“No. Yes. I don't know.” The truth was that she hadn’t even thought of Trey in a very long time. The murder seemed like an afterthought. That wasn’t right. How could murder be an afterthought? But when she thought about it she didn’t feel guilty. Not after the first night, anyway.

Mathilde reached out and took Sia's hand. It felt cool under the silk gloves.

“Would you like to know why you didn't want it, Sia?”

Sia looked at her. It was hard to breathe when Mathilde watched her like that. Why did it feel familiar? Sia nodded and Mathilde gripped her hands tighter.

“You didn't want it, because someone told you not to want it. A man who has followed you for many years, but who you instantly forget the moment he is gone. A very dangerous man. Not even a man, Sia. A devil. You know I speak the truth.”

“I dreamed of him,” said Sia, remembering the face. The dark eyes that watched her.

“I cannot stress enough, Sia. He is not a good man. He will kill you if given half a chance.”

“Hasn't he had the chance?” said Sia.

“What?”

“You said he's been following me for years. Wouldn't he have had the chance by now?” Sia couldn't shake the feeling the face brought up. There was fear there, yes, a curiously delicious kind of fear. But there was also a connection: A feeling of being drawn so fiercely to something that you couldn't let go. Even if she couldn't remember, she knew that Mathilde was lying to her.

“No one knows his plans, dear girl. He is unpredictable.”

“Why don't you just let him kill me?”

“Why would I do that?” said Mathilde. She laughed. “Sia, you are going to be the first. You are so special to us.”

“You've locked me up,” said Sia. “Chained me down, drugged me, shocked me, sprayed me with a hose.”

“To keep you safe,” said Mathilde. “The electroconvulsive therapy was for you. It helps get over the depression that the Slack brings on. The chains and drugs kept you from hurting yourself. And we locked you up so this terrible man cannot get to you.”

“Is he a Rev? This man you're talking about.”

“I don't like that word, but no. Not as such.”

“Are you?” said Sia.

“Am I a Revenant?” said Mathilde. “Would you like to see?”

Sia didn't move, didn't answer. She just watched Mathilde.

“Very well,” she said. “But don't say I didn't warn you.” She held out her gloved hand and gripped the glove with the other hand. The glove slid off and floated to the floor. Sia thought of the petals on the tree where they had caught her. They had looked so much like blood.

Mathilde had taken both gloves off now. The sun shone in on her skin, puckered and mottled by burn scars. She reached up and took her veil in her hands, pausing for a moment as if reconsidering, then pushed the exquisite black lace over her head like a dark bride. Sia gasped. Mathilde had once been beautiful, but her face was burned so deeply in places, that Sia wondered if what she was seeing was bone. Her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her nose. All that was left of Mathilde was a set of ruby lips and a pair of dark, dark eyes.

“I did warn you,” she said.

“What happened to you?”

“This man who follows you? He followed me too. This is the result.”

Sia swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. She stared at Mathilde's face.

“Why?”

“Why?” Mathilde echoed with a bitter laugh. “Because he could. Because he is who he is. Because he's...”

“Joshua Flynn,” said Sia, finishing the sentence.

Mathilde's lips twisted up in a smile of sorts. “You do remember.”

“I don't know,” said Sia. “The name just came to me. Why can't I remember?”

“Because he is very powerful. But you are the key to catching him, Sia. You are how we are going to end the suffering he is causing.”

“What about me?” said Sia. “I could die.”

Mathilde nodded and moved closer to Sia. She let herself fall back against the wall. So close to Sia that she could smell the lavender again. And another odor underneath. Sandalwood?

“Sia, if you help us, you will be free. Would you like that?”

“No one's free.”

“You will be. You can go where you like, play music, sing, dance, love, laugh. You will be your own woman, Sia. The first of your kind.” Mathilde reached up and stroked Sia's hair.

“I would do anything to play music again,” Sia heard herself say. “I would kill to feel something again.” The instant she said it she knew it was true. Mathilde had a way of making her believe, of getting her to admit things.

Mathilde smiled again and cradled Sia's face between her scarred hands.

“Good,” she said. “This is very good, Sia.”

“Will it be dangerous?” Sia said.

“Yes, very dangerous.”

“I could die?”

“Yes.”

“I don't care,” said Sia. “When do I start?”

“Your training has already started,” said Mathilde. “I suggest we find you some clothes. Are you ready to start your new life?”

“Yes,” said Sia. “When can I play? I want a violin.”

“In good time,” said Mathilde. “We must first teach you. You will have quite a transition to go through. If we succeed, then we will play together, just you and me, until the sun comes up. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” said Sia. Mathilde embraced her and Sia felt how cold she was. It was then that she realized what the smell was. Mathilde smelled of deepest earth, of dirt and roots and crawling things. It was subtle, but it was there.

Mathilde smelled of the grave.

Eight

“What the hell am I doing?” Mike looked around him and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

His second day in the farmhouse, the people started to arrive. Most were in their twenties and early thirties, but more than a few were Mike's age and older. One old man looked to be in his seventies, his grizzled beard showing his years in shades of white and gray. They were revolutionaries, part of a group who called themselves The Fallen. They looked their title, too. Dark circles and gaunt faces, Mike was quite certain that more than a few had a steady supply of some sort of drug, but he couldn't imagine where they were still getting it. No one dared sell any more, though with this group, he had no idea what the limits were. He'd seen the bulges of concealed weapons in quite a few jackets and pants pockets.

What little good that would do them. Mike recalled with a snort seeing a junkie shoot at a Rev in an alley not long after Kyra had died. The Rev wasn't even fazed. Just kept coming. The junkie was in shreds by the time the Rev was done with him. That was just after the Annex, during the Blackout, when the world was an endless horror. When the children disappeared. When blood could literally be seen flowing in street gutters. Before the obsession with medicine and germs and blood donation and IV's became part of Rev culture.

Mike was alone in the cold, chilly cellar, but he could hear the creaking of floorboards above him. Back and forth, back and forth with these people. Always moving, always antsy. Always nervous. They wouldn't tell him how they knew to come or who told them he was here, but Mike assumed it was something to do with Joshua Flynn. It had to be. Flynn was the only one who knew he was here.

After killing Deacon at the puppet theater, Flynn emerged to stare at Mike, cocking his head like some sort of reptile regarding a strange new thing it had never seen or wasn't sure how to eat.

“I have a task for you, Mr. Novak,” he said finally, wiping the corners of his mouth with a pinkie finger. “In your wheelhouse, I think. I'm going to take you there and then you will wait for my instructions.”

And that was all Mike could remember. The next moment he was waking up in a strange bed with crisp, clean sheets, and a look out the window told him he was surrounded by nothing but trees and snow and nothing.

Mike stood up from the rickety chair he sat on and pulled the cord for the bare light bulb and sat back down. He looked at the old-school printing press in the middle of the room. He thought he knew what Flynn had in mind. But he had no idea what to do with it.

It was a linotype machine. Mike wondered how Flynn had even gotten it down the stairs. It was far too big to fit through the tiny hatch upstairs that opened to a set of stained, creaky wooden steps. It encompassed most of the cellar, at its highest point nearly reaching the bare slats of the ceiling. There were boxes of tiny metal letter plates placed all around the machine.

“Goddammit, Flynn. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this?”

But he already knew. Mike thought he had probably known from the beginning, from the moment he had first seen Joshua Flynn's perfectly ordinary face at the office. Flynn wanted him to write news stories, just as he'd always done. But Mike couldn't figure out how he was supposed to do that sitting in the middle of nowhere with no phone, no computer, no anything but scores and scores of kids who watched Fight Club one too many times.

“Did you know they call you Mr. Novak?” bellowed a familiar voice down the stairs. Mike watched a pair of ratty shoes descend the stairs, creaking and sending up puffs of dust and dirt and melted snow. “Shit, Mike. You look like hell.”

“Jesus Christ, Dez. Where the hell have you been?”

Dez Paine looked around the cellar, his eyes landing on the printing press.

“What the hell is that?” he said. He stepped around it poking at the knobs. “That looks like some steampunk shit right there.”

“What's steampunk?” said Mike.

Dez smiled at him, the white of his teeth bright even in the dim basement.

“It could be said,” said Mike, “that this is all your fault.”

“The hell it was,” said Dez lightly. “I never even met that vampire bastard until after you wrote that story about the hospital. You tried to get the paper to print it, Mike?” Dez clucked his tongue. “Not very bright, mate. You know how this works.”

“Yeah,” said Mike weakly. “I know. I just thought...” he trailed off.

“You thought they'd all get behind you, yeah? That all the humans would rally. That we were still strong, we would fight.”

“Yeah,” said Mike.

“Bullshit,” said Dez, coming around the machine to look at him. “You had a death wish. The Revs are too deep, and we're too bloody weak.”

“I disagree,” said Mike. “If people know they're not alone, they’ll come together and fight.”

“And what?” said Dez, uncharacteristically intense. There was no hint of a twinkle in his eye, and his trademark grin was nowhere to be seen. “Get killed? Or worse? ”

“What else can we do, Dez?” said Mike, his voice rising. “Are we just supposed to give up?”

“We're supposed to survive,” said Dez. He nodded at the press. “You know I'm a fugitive now? I found myself at that goddamn experimental hospital hellbent on saving that Japanese girl. ”

“Sia? You tried to save Sia Aoki?”

“Yeah, Sia,” he said. “I go in to save her, and the crazy bird starts screaming her damn head off. Bringing all the guards and nurses running, and I had to make a daring escape.”

“Sounds like an adventure.”

“I don’t like adventure,” Dez complained. “I like to be alive. What the hell was I thinking sneaking in there? For a girl I only met for a second. A junkie.”

“Did you happen to see Joshua Flynn before you found yourself there?” said Mike.

“Yeah, I did, actually. And I told him to shove off, and then I…Oh,” Dez said, his eyes practically lighting up with understanding. “That blood sucking son of a bitch. He got into my head.”

“Join the club.”

Dez glared at him. “What the hell did you see while you were in that place, anyway? Must have been pretty bad to cause this much shit.”

“Just an old nurse who called security as soon as I got in,” said Mike. And Sia Aoki strapped to a gurney.”

“Well, you must have stumbled into something over there, Novak,” said Dez. He pulled a pack of smokes out of his inside pocket and lit it with a ragged book of matches. “I had a cushy government job before you came along, old man.”

“You could stay here and help,” said Mike.

“Damn right I'm staying,” said Dez. “Why the hell do you think I'm here?”

“How did you know I was here?” said Mike. “You said you talked to Flynn?”

“Well, he talked. I think. The whole thing's a bit muddled, to tell the truth.”

“Yeah,” said Mike, “he has that effect.”

“So he's one of them? Flynn I mean. He's a Rev? Because he doesn't bloody look like one.”

“Think back,” said Mike. “Remember the beginning? When they were killing everyone? Right after the Annex. Before they all started to look like monsters all the time.”

Dez laughed. “I don't remember shit, Mike. I was on Slack just like everyone else. The docs were handing it out like candy.”

“They all looked human at first,” said Mike. He looked away from Dez. “They looked just like us. Until they changed. Then, after they stopped killing us, when they started with the blood days, when they started injecting it, their bloodfaces got stuck or something.”

“Bloodfaces?” said Dez.

“That's what some of us called it,” said Mike, his voice quiet. “They changed when they were about to...feed.”

“So this Joshua Flynn...”

“I think he's a Rev,” said Mike. “But he's old. He said something about being the last of his kind.”

“What, they're a species?” said Dez. “Freaks of nature is what they are.”

“You're wrong, Mr. Paine,” said a whispery voice.

“Jesus!” Mike said, spinning and tripping backwards on the chair and falling into the printing press. Dez was on the floor, backing away from Joshua Flynn who had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Dez said.

Flynn smiled and Mike's guts froze up.

“I'm very fast,” said Flynn.

Dez stood up, brushing himself off. “Maybe go slower next time. There's goddamn spiders down here.”

“Why are we here?” said Mike. Flynn's eyes settled on him and Mike forced his voice to work again. “Why did you bring us here?”

“I brought Mr. Paine here so you would have a companion,” said Flynn. “So you wouldn't feel quite so alone.”

“What about them?” said Mike, motioning above them. “They won't let me be alone.”

“They are for errands,” said Flynn. “Surely you've figured out what I want you to do.”

“You want me to write stories,” said Mike.

“Yes.”

“And print them on this dinosaur.”

“It really is a gorgeous contraption, is it not? Two hundred years old and still works just as well as it did the day it was made.”

“And how am I supposed to get these stories?” said Mike. “Being out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, Mr. Novak,” Flynn laughed. His dark eyes sparkled. “You have a plethora of Baker Street Irregulars upstairs. Use them.”

“You want me to send out the kids upstairs to get real news?” said Mike.

“Of course,” said Flynn. “But let me be clear, Mike. It is not just real news as you say. I want you to gather rumors, whispers, ramblings. Print it all. Put it all on the page in smudged print and distribute it to everyone. Mail it out, leave it on park benches, shove it through mail slots.” Flynn's voice had grown heated, excited. His eyes seemed to almost glow.

“Whispers,” said Mike.

“Whispers,” said Flynn.

“What the hell does that accomplish?” said Dez. “We're risking our lives here. And you want us to print gossip. Piss on this shite, Mikey. No underground bloody newspaper is going to bring these arseholes down.”

“Oh I don't expect it to bring them down,” said Flynn. “But each strike is a chink in the armor.”

“Underground newspaper,” said Mike. “Do we have enough people?”

“As many as you need,” said Flynn.

“The hell with this, Mikey,” said Dez. “You're not buying this bullshit. How do we know this bastard isn't worse than all the other bastards who want to kill us?”

Mike looked at Joshua Flynn, who just smiled. Mike shivered.

“Oh, you don't,” said Flynn. “And do not mistake me, Mr. Novak. No matter how bad my so-called brethren may appear...”

“Yes?” said Mike.

“I am far, far worse.”

“Fantastic,” said Dez.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said Flynn. “I have a story idea for your first issue. It’s about the Revenants.” Mike and Dez looked up at him expectantly.

Flynn smiled, seeming to soak up their discomfort.

“I know how to kill them.”

Nine

“Things are going swimmingly, sir,” Viv said, speaking up to be heard over the machinery. She got up from behind the desk and walked to the door, closing it with a snap. She turned and smiled calmly at her superior, betraying no emotion. She'd gotten very good at looking into their faces. She hardly ever flinched any more. She sat back down behind her desk.

“As I was saying, sir. Everything is coming along fine. We should be up and running before you know it.”

“You needn't call me sir,” rasped the Rev. “You may call me Mr. Freen.”

“Mr. Freen,” Viv smiled. “How lovely.” She resisted the urge to scratch at the crawling feeling on her skin.

“The equipment has all been delivered, then?” he said.

“Yes. It is being installed as we speak. As you may be able to hear.”

“Of course I can hear,” he said.

“I mean no disrespect,” said Viv, her voice calm and serene. Her stomach churned.

“I apologize,” said Mr. Freen, closing his eyes. He was not completely bald like most of them were, but had a strip of downy hair that grew down the middle of his head. His face, though, was as smooth as the others. His nostrils flared as he exhaled. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“I am late for my donation. Forgive me. I become so...testy.”

“No apology needed,” said Viv.

“How much do they estimate the facility will be able to turn out?” he said, seeming to be making an effort to keep his voice friendly.

“The contractor told me that we could purify up to 500 liters if we kept up on maintenance.”

The Rev stared at her for a moment. He swallowed before saying, “500 liters per week?”

Viv shook her head. “Per day.”

A change came over the Rev's face. Viv couldn't quite say what happened, but there did seem to be an expression there somehow. The gash of a mouth turned up somewhat. The eyes were not so cold. The nostrils flared again. After a moment, Viv realized it was happiness. Or perhaps relief. Satisfaction?

“I would very much like to see it when it is finished,” said Mr. Freen. “Will you send for me before you begin the first batch?”

“Of course,” said Viv.

“What a sight it will be to behold,” he said, near-reverence in his voice. “You are doing a great service, Ms. White. This will provide clean donations for the entire world before we are through. Centralized purification. So elegant.”

“Thank you, Mr. Freen,” said Viv. “It's nice to be useful.”

“I read your file,” said Mr. Freen, leaning back and regarding her, the eagerness draining from his demon-face. “I was very sorry to hear about your husband. Did they ever find him?”

Viv straightened, and forced her own face to remain calm.

“No,” she said after a moment's recovery. “They never did. He just wandered off one day. I haven't seen him since. I'm afraid he never quite recovered after the disappearance of our son.”

“Ah yes,” said Mr. Freen. “Dark times, those were. After the Annex, yes? Such dark, dark times. Luckily, we found better ways.”

“Yes,” Viv smiled. “Better ways.”

“Your husband,” said Freen. “He worked for us, didn't he?”

“He did,” said Viv. “Well, the government at the time. He worked for the CDC.”

The Rev put a hand to his chest. “Valiant work. They paved the way for our current way of life. Now everyone enjoys a disease-free existence. Your husband was a hero.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate that.”

Viv's cheeks hurt from smiling. She recalled seeing a sharp letter opener in a desk drawer. She imagined thrusting it into Mr. Freen's creepy eyes so he would stop looking at her. He watched the vein in her neck closely when he thought she wasn't looking. Not that a letter opener would have any effect on a Rev.

Finally, Freen stood and straightened his jacket.

“Going so soon?” Viv said.

“I'm afraid that I really must get to my appointment. I am in deep need of a donation.”

Viv went to the coat rack and took down a long, dark cashmere coat. She would not be able to afford such a coat if she saved for a year. She held it out for Freen to shrug into. He nodded at her.

“You and I will be working together, Ms. White. I appreciate your efficiency.”

“It's Doctor, actually,” said Viv.

“I beg your pardon?” said Freen, his hands at the buttons on his coat.

“Doctor White,” Viv smiled. “My name is Doctor White.”

“Ms. White,” Freen said, “there are no doctors. We don't need them.”

“Of course,” Viv said. “How silly of me. I'm just used to it.”

“I will check in with you next week,” Freen said. He didn't look back at her as he exited out the door.

“Shit,” Viv said. She made it to her chair before collapsing back. She put her head in her hands but she didn't cry. Why had she said that about being a doctor? It was all going so well before that. “Stupid,” Viv muttered.

She had been at her new job for over a week and had yet to do anything but sign for packages and meet future employees. So far she'd met three and reviewed paperwork on a dozen more. She tried to get out and inspect the construction, but the contractors politely asked her to stay out of the way so she didn't get hurt. As far as she could tell, walls were being knocked down to combine three wards into one massive ward. The machinery being installed consisted of giant shiny vats, each as big as her apartment, and lots of fat, thick glass tubing.

“How does this work?” she asked one of the contractors.

“You know I can't tell you, ma'am. They like to keep things secret.”

Viv peeked out of the blinds in her office to watch a man climb up on top of the nearest vat only to drop the glass tube he'd been holding. It shattered in a cacophony of breaking glass that tinkled long after the thing had struck the ground. This led to two men yelling and gesturing at the poor fellow standing up on top of the vat, scratching his head.

Viv closed the blind. Just as she'd sat down at her desk again to pretend she was busy, there was a brisk knock at the door.

“Come in,” Viv called.

“Ms. White?” said a woman in a delivery uniform.

“Yes?”

“Sign here, please.”

She left Viv with a large box. Viv looked to make sure the blinds were still drawn before taking out the letter opener and sliding it under the tape. Inside the box was another, smaller box surrounded by packing material. Scrawled in black marker were the words “PLEASE DELIVER TO FOREMAN.” Viv lifted the smaller box out, brushing off packing peanuts. With careful movements, she sliced the tape. She could always say she opened it by accident.

Inside the box was the most curious object she had ever seen. She lifted it out carefully. The bottom was a flattened bowl of shining brushed copper, covered by a glass dome. Coming out of the dome in various directions were a mishmash of tiny glass tubes that curled this way and that, within which could be seen wires and metal contraptions. An electrical cord trailed out the back, a tiny hole on the opposite side. Viv found a package of small syringes left inside the box.

“Oh my,” she said. She ran to the door and locked it.

It was the purification vat on a tiny scale. A model of what was being constructed at that moment on her ward. And by the looks of the cord and the inclusion of the syringes, it was a fully working model.

Viv carefully put the contraption back into the smaller box and stared at it. She shoved the big box into the corner. She tapped the letter opener on her desk for a long time, looking at the box. Making a decision, she gathered it under her arm, unlocked the door and walked out of her office.

She waved to a nearby contractor on her way out. He waved back, grinning.

She was not a praying woman, hadn’t been for a long time. But she prayed as she walked through the whitewashed hallway. She took the steps slowly so she would not trip. She held precious cargo. As she opened the door and cold sunlight hit her face, she knew she would be okay. She could get to her car. No one had seen her. No one would question her.

“What's that you've got there, girlie?” said a voice.

Viv froze. She'd forgotten about the guard, Sid. He came out of the guard stand and stopped behind her. She closed her eyes to try to compose herself, to make her face calm, but it wasn't happening. Her heart drummed fast in her chest and she realized with surprise that she wasn't scared.

She was angry.

She spun on Sid, who had an amused look on his fat pink face. Viv had known men like him. Janitors at the university who looked at her with disdain. Store managers who followed her around hoping to catch her stealing. Sid didn't see her. He saw her skin. And she had far too much to deal with to let this continue. It was time for him to see her. Really see her.

She walked toward him, closing the gap so quickly that Sid had to take a step back. She was nearly as tall as him and half as wide. She thrust a finger in his chest.

“Listen to me now, old man,” she seethed. “You think you know me. You think you can talk to me in the familiar way that you do. You think you have the right but you don't. You will treat me with respect, guard. You will call me Ma'am or Doctor or Dr. White. You will never, ever call me girlie or lady or missy or goddamn sweetheart. Is that clear?”

Sid hadn't looked away from her the whole time she had been talking. She felt the anger flare in her eyes.

“You are my subordinate and I am the administrator of the largest ward in the hospital. Do you know what that means, Sid?”

“No,” he said, sounding weak. Unsure. He was afraid.

“It means that if I say I want a guard replaced, he gets replaced. If I want your ass out on the street, I will damn well put it there. How long do you think you can survive with no job, Sid? Do you think getting fired will be a positive change at your age? How long before the Movers pick you up mistaking you for a junkie? HOW LONG?”

“I'm sorry!” he said, raising his hands. “I meant no disrespect!”

Viv remembered using the exact phrase only a half hour before. She hadn't meant it when she'd said it either. She narrowed her eyes.

“Don't speak to me again, Sid,” she said quietly. “Or I will end you. Understood?”

Sid took another step back and opened his mouth, then thought better and closed it, nodding.

“Good,” she said. “I'm going home early. I'm not feeling well.”

Sid nodded again, looking slightly relieved that their conversation had come to an end. She heard him mutter under his breath as she left. She thought she could make out the words crazy bitch, but she ignored him. She held the box tight under her arm and made her way to her car.

She was breaking the law. She stared at the box on the passenger seat. She didn't know how closely the Revs were guarding this secret, but she was fairly positive that she would not only lose her job, but would be arrested and treated just like the junkies they hauled off, strung out on Slack. They would slowly kill her.

Viv took a deep breath. She waited for her heart to stop racing. Then she started the car.

It was worth the risk.

Ten

Sia watched from her window as the figures walked across the snowy yard, two tall and hunched figures who were obviously Revs, and three normal-sized human figures. They’d come from the trees, headed toward the main double doors that led into the hospital. Two of the normals kept trying to hold hands but the hunchers kept pushing them apart. Sia put her hand to the window pane, ignoring the cold that seeped through her skin and immediately into her bones. The moon was bright and gave an eerie blue glow to the snow. One of the figures fell and Sia watched as one of the strange-looking figures advanced quickly but awkwardly. She heard herself cry out as the shot rang out and blood turned the snow black under the glow of the moon. One of the normals began to scream and the glass in the window cracked.

Sia pulled her hand away and realized her knuckles were bleeding. She stared at them, the screaming outside beginning to fade. The window had exploded in a spiderweb of cracks, her blood smeared across the center like a scarlet spider. She crouched in darkness in her new room like a small child and tried to make herself breathe. She had punched the glass. Why? She hugged her hand to her chest, the hot throb of her knuckles almost comforting, the pain of the split skin like a warm bath compared to the ice she felt inside her chest.

“What have you done?” Evelyn Hauser said, looking at Sia's new room from the doorway, her new cracked window, colored red in the middle and cracked like a bullseye.

“I don't know what happened,” Sia said. “I didn't mean to.”

“Your hand, girl,” said Hauser, closing the door behind her and flicking on the light. She pulled Sia over to her new four-poster bed. The old nurse went to the window to close the drapes, but stopped as her eyes fell on the scene below. Sia came to stand beside her. The other figures were gone, leaving only the dead human lying in the snow. Clouds covered the moon, but the light from her window fell squarely on a splatter of red in the snow.

“It would look like roses if we didn't know what it was,” said Sia.

Hauser looked at her, put a hand on her arm, but Sia ignored her and took a step back.

“You know, you can't just walk into my room any more,” Sia said, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed. “I'm not your patient any longer.”

“But I am still your nurse,” said Hauser, pulling a roll of gauze out of her pocket. She unwound it without meeting Sia's eyes. “I can still help you, Sia.”

“I don't want any more tranquilizers,” said Sia.

“Are you sure?” said the nurse, swabbing Sia's hand with a pad that stung with alcohol. Sia felt the nurse's eyes on her face and forced herself not to flinch. “They can help you. I know you don't sleep.”

“How would you know that?” said Sia, finally looking at the old woman. It seemed she had aged in the past days. Her eyes, once so steely and cold when they looked upon her, had gone so soft and red-rimmed that they looked almost rheumy.

“Sia,” said Hauser, wrapping her knuckles in gauze. “I can be a friend to you.”

Sia laughed. “We are not friends, Evelyn,” she said. “I do not wish everything I say to be reported to someone. I wish to know the truth. Always. And do you know who the only one I trust is?”

Hauser nodded as she taped the gauze. “You're right,” she said, her voice heavy. “You are right to only trust yourself, Sia. But please listen to this, girl,” she said, letting go of her hand and looking at her with a bit of her old toughness. “If you don't trust me, at least promise me that you won't trust them either.”

“That's treason,” said Sia. “I should report you.”

“Fine,” said Hauser. “Report me. Report everyone. But don't trust anyone. Do you understand?”

Sia looked at her for a long time before nodding. The nurse stood up and walked to the door before stopping, her hand on the doorknob.

“It's a shame the floor was slippery in here. They really should get some rugs so you don't injure yourself.”

“Yes,” said Sia. “They really should.”

“Sia?”

“Yes, Evelyn?”

“If you don't see me again, I'd like you to know how sorry I am.” There was something hollow in Hauser's voice that made Sia turn to look at her. She had her back to Sia and was staring right at the door.

“I don’t forgive you, Evelyn,” said Sia.

“Not for you, Sia,” said Hauser. “I'm sorry for...other things.”

“What sorts of things?” said Sia.

Hauser was silent for a long moment. Sia could see her taking breaths deep into her lungs. When she spoke again, her voice cracked.

“If one were to gain access to Z-block, they might be able to help someone.” She twisted the knob, but stopped again. “Or at the very least, put them out of their misery.”

“What?” said Sia. “What's in Z-block?”

But the nurse opened the door and left Sia alone. When she looked out the window an hour later, the body was gone, along with the bloody snow that had looked like roses.

Sia managed to sleep a few hours, after tiring herself out pacing back and forth. She glanced at her new door half a hundred times. It wasn't the painted cold metal of her hospital room. It was carved wood and the only lock on it was on her side. She could just walk out. No one would stop her.

But they claimed they were going to let her go if she survived. No more running.

Sia dozed, still wearing the dark green tailored dress that Mathilde had given her. She had given her a corset too, which Sia had left on the reclining chair near the window. As she dozed she had a short, feverish dream of a figure made of shadows who bent low to kiss her. He came away and vanished like smoke, leaving a rich and metallic taste on her lips, sweeter than honey. She touched her lips and her hand came away red and she found herself uttering a name as she bolted awake: Joshua. Feeling shaken after a dream so vivid, Sia pushed herself off the bed, sweaty and bleary. She made her way to the window and flung open the drapes. Daytime poured in, large flakes of snow floating down from the sky. The fresh snowfall covered the courtyard and looked as pretty and pristine as when she looked upon the grounds with Mathilde.

Sia blinked in the light, frowning as she looked down on what had been a scene of extreme violence the night before. Someone was in the courtyard. A man dressed in black stood motionless in a group of trees. For a moment Sia thought he was part of the foliage, until he raised a hand in a wave. He seemed to be looking right at her. She gave a little gasp, startled. She backed away from the window, hiding behind the drapes. She looked back a moment later and the man was gone. Probably just someone who worked in the hospital, she told herself. A stranger. But there had been something overly familiar in the way he waved to her.

Someone knocked on the door. Sia stared at it for a moment, not comprehending what she was supposed to do. Finally she blinked and stammered, “C-come in.”

A man with a crewcut and wearing blue scrubs wheeled in a wooden cart. Sia stared at him as he stood and smiled at her.

“What's this?” she said.

“Your breakfast,” he said, shrugging. “Can I get you anything else?”

“What?” said Sia.

“Do you want anything?” He was still smiling, but seemed confused by her reaction.

“I was in a hospital,” she said.

“Yes ma'am. You still are.”

“No, I mean, I wasn't –” she looked at him. He seemed to want very much to leave. Sia narrowed her eyes. “Please send someone to replace my window,” she said, surprised how much like Evelyn Hauser she sounded. “I slipped last night and hurt my hand very badly.”

“I'm so sorry,” said the man, seeming genuinely appalled at the news. Sia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“And I'd like some rugs in here. These shoes are slippery and I don't think Mathilde wants to hear of me hurting myself again.”

“Of course,” said the man, irritating in his earnestness. His demeanor had changed completely from wanting to leave to wanting to please her. Sia realized he was afraid. He was practically crying. “Can I bring you something for your hand? You poor thing. Of course Madame Briar must be notified immediately. Please tell me what I can do to help you, ma'am. Would you like some ice? Perhaps some painkillers?”

“Jesus, no,” said Sia. “Just fix the window.”

“I'm so sorry,” he said.

“You can go now,” said Sia.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes,” said Sia with a sigh. “Just go away.” She couldn't trust anyone. She couldn't forget that. Especially not these people. She couldn't let anything slip to this man or anyone like him. She could not afford to show weakness to anyone, especially Mathilde. Sia very much disliked the feeling of her inner thoughts tumbling out of her when she had spoken to the woman. Something about her voice just made her secrets spill over.

Her breakfast was a croissant, warm and buttery, good hot coffee and some cantaloupe. She barely nibbled at it, so baffled was she by the sudden change in her circumstances. The day before she'd been strapped to a bed, her only possession a hospital gown. Today she wore a silk slip and slept on velvet. She had agreed to help Mathilde with Joshua Flynn, but she wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do. She didn't see how she could be of any use. Even if they'd once met, even if they knew each other well, surely she wasn't the right person for a job. He was a monster, if Mathilde could be believed. Sia snorted. She would never trust Mathilde in a million years, but was she telling the truth about Joshua?

Sia froze in her pacing. She had thought of Joshua Flynn purely by his first name. It was familiar, as though she'd used it dozens of times. Joshua. Why couldn't she remember?

Mid-morning, an elderly worker in dirty jeans and a sweat-stained blue shirt came to replace Sia's window. He smiled kindly at her.

“You may want to go somewhere else while I do this, ma'am. It's going to get pretty loud. And it's cold as hell out there. Been out yet today? We're supposed to get some kind of blizzard. Read it in the paper.”

“No,” said Sia. “I haven't been out.” She glanced toward the window and blinked at the brightness of the snow.

Two other men came in, carrying a large cardboard flat; the new window, Sia assumed. She sidestepped to get out of their way. They were much younger than the old man, and one dimpled a smile at her. She blinked at him and looked at the old man again. She glanced toward the open door.

“It's okay,” the old man said gently. “We won't bother your things, I promise.”

Sia nodded, taking a step toward the door. She poked her head out into the hall and looked around. It was a nicer-looking part of the hospital, though she supposed it was part of the same ward. The walls were dark with carved wood accents. A small table held a vase of fresh flowers. Sia looked back at the men, who watched her curiously.

“Boys, let's get to work,” said the old man. “So we can be out of the lady's hair.”

Sia took a shaky step out of the door, her heel sliding a little on a bit of melted snow one of the workers had tracked in. She caught herself. No one came rushing down the hall to shoot her full of sedatives or to chain her down. She carefully moved her other foot out of the room. She was now completely in the hall. She looked back into her room. The old man looked up from the electric saw that he was taking out of its case, and smiled sadly at her.

Sia hated being pitied. She turned away, closing the heavy door harder than needed. Still no one came. She took a step to her right, then another, her heels clicking on the tile. She looked uncertainly around one more time, before deciding to just walk until someone stopped her. She passed another room, the door open. It was empty. So was the next one. Every room was empty, without furniture, and had the heavy drapes drawn tight. But every ten feet there were small decorative tables with fresh flowers.

After passing two dozen empty rooms, Sia heard footsteps coming from the other direction; a woman, judging from the staccato sound of the clicks. Sia froze, unable to move. She wanted to dodge into the closest room and hide, but her legs wouldn't move. She thought of her last electroshock session and feared for a moment she would wet herself. Once when she struck Evelyn Hauser, there had been another ice bath. When she refused to eat, they strapped her to the wall and hosed her again, this time alternating icy cold and searing hot water. Sia began to cry, and that made her angry at the same time. But still her legs quivered like the bones had been removed and she couldn't stop the tears running down her face. When the approaching figure came into view, her vision was so blurry that she could barely make her out. But Sia would know that head-to-toe black lace anywhere.

The figure rushed toward her, and Sia was finally able to move her feet far enough to plunge herself against the dark wall, the force sending her to the floor, her knees banging hard against the tile.

“Sia! What happened?” said Mathilde. Her voice was concerned. Not angry at all. Sia looked up at her. She had put a tentative gloved hand on Sia's shoulder as she hugged the wall.

“Are you hurt?” said Mathilde when Sia didn't answer. “Did someone do this to you?”

“I...” Sia's voice seemed to be stuck in her throat. Her face was cold from the tears. She blinked, the panic subsiding a bit. “Y-you're not angry?”

“Why would I be angry?” said Mathilde. She crouched down next to Sia and took her hand.

“I just wanted to look around,” Sia said softly. “The man said it was all right.”

“Of course it's all right, ma belle. Why would it not be?” Mathilde watched her for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “I see. I'm afraid that you have not been treated very well, have you?”

“You're not going to shock me?” said Sia. “Or make me sit in ice?”

“I will never make you do anything you don't want to do, Sia,” said Mathilde. “Much less torture you. Come, now, get up. We cannot just sit here on the filthy floor.” She stood and pulled Sia up by the arm. She was much stronger than she appeared.

Sia stood, her whole body quivering.

“Oh, you poor girl,” said Mathilde. “Let us get you some tea, shall we? And then I'll give you a tour.”

“A tour of what?” said Sia.

“Why, of the hospital, of course,” said Mathilde. “I'm sure you've never seen it in its entirety. I think it is important that you see the good work we are doing here at Munson. Along with the...unfortunate necessities.”

Sia nodded. She felt out of sorts, confused, as she always did when Mathilde leaned close and spoke to her quietly. But the moment passed and Mathilde was leading Sia by her gloved hand down the hall past her room, around a corner, and then they were in a small dining room. Sia's shoes sank into a thick mauve carpet and the walls were painted a cheerful pink. There were potted plants with pink flowers spilling over shelves and pictures of gardens. A round white table with four white chairs sat in the very center of the room.

“It's excessively civilized,” said Mathilde apologetically. “Sit.”

Sia did as she was told. Mathilde picked up a nearby telephone and pressed a button.

“Tea for Ms. Aoki, s'il vous plaît.” She hung up the phone and joined Sia at the table.

“Thank you,” Sia muttered.

“My pleasure,” said Mathilde, her eyes sparkling behind the lace.

“I'm not like this,” said Sia, suddenly feeling a need to justify herself. “I've never been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Afraid,” said Sia. “I mean, I am afraid of some things. Needles. Big dogs. Heights. But I don't...do what you saw me do.”

“It's completely normal, my dear,” said Mathilde. “You've been through a trial. You were a victim of addiction. What was done to you was to combat that particular monster. I am sorry that it affected you in such a way, but in time you will recover. You may even thank the ones responsible for your rehabilitation. You are taking your first steps, really.”

“Steps toward what?” Sia said.

“I am of the opinion that you are stepping away from something, rather than toward it.”

“Okay then, what am I stepping away from?” said Sia. Stepping away sounded like running to her.

“Weakness,” said Mathilde. “The worst monster of all.”

“You think I'm weak?” said Sia.

“I think you were,” said Mathilde. “But I also think you will be strong in a very short time. Maybe stronger than any of us.”

Sia met her eyes. “What are they going to do to me?” she said.

“Oh, relax, ma belle,” Mathilde said, her voice cheerful and gay. “Only good things will come to you from here on out. You really must trust me. After all, I am not the one responsible for your suffering.”

“Who is then?” said Sia.

“Why, you are responsible, Sia. No one else. You must be strong now. You will no longer have the luxury of blaming others for your inadequacies. This is your call to action.”

“Oh,” said Sia softly. Her head was swimming again as Mathilde leaned closer to her, her voice lowering to a whisper.

Someone cleared their throat and a woman stood in the doorway with a tray. Mathilde waved her in. The girl set the tray on the table and then left the way she came. There were small, delicate teacups on the table, a graceful-looking teapot of the same china, and several small plates containing various cookies. Mathilde lifted the teapot.

“Now,” she said, as she poured the tea perfectly into the little cups. “I am going to teach you to be a lady.”

“Why?” said Sia.

“Because, dear girl,” said Mathilde, handing her a steaming cup, “your grace will make you strong just as much as...well, other things.”

“Other things?”

“In good time,” Mathilde said, a note of annoyance in her voice. “Now do as I do, Sia.”

Sia did as she was told.

Eleven

Mike cursed as he held the small letter up to the light.

“Is that an s or an 8?” he said.

Dez shrugged. “Just make the flunkies do this part.”

“I have to learn it so I can teach them. Stop being an asshole and come help me.”

Dez tossed the newspaper onto the cellar floor. “This is all bullshit, you know.”

“I know that,” said Mike. “But it's bullshit that keeps us alive.”

“I don't trust this Flynn guy,” said Dez. “He's shifty.”

“So are you,” said Mike.

“Yeah, but I'm a charming sort of shifty,” said Dez. “He's just creepy and ooky. No charm. And I always feel like he's sizing me up for a roasting pan.”

“Where'd you get that newspaper?” Mike said, suddenly realizing that Dez had been reading the Post. “That's my old paper.”

“One of the kids brought it back last night,” said Dez.

“Anything interesting in there?” said Mike.

“You mean is there anything about you?” said Dez. “No, brother. They're not going to print that shit. It's all hush-hush, you know that.”

Mike sighed. “I know. I just thought maybe...”

“Here's something,” said Dez, standing up and stretching his long body. He grabbed the rafters with the tips of his fingers. “You know these trees that have been popping up everywhere?”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “I saw one on my street a few months ago and my landlady told me it was a hawthorn, bigger than any she had ever seen. But those are, you know, pranks, right? Everyone says it's The Fallen doing it.”

“No way,” said Dez. “This is something else. I talked to one of our birds when she got back from her reporting gig last night. She's the one who gave me the paper.”

“Just chatting with her, eh?” said Mike.

“Beside the point,” said Dez. “She said there's trees popping up everywhere now. Two or three a night. They've got the Movers working overtime, not picking up junkies, removing all these trees. Roots and all. They're growing in the middle of roads and parking lots.”

“Okay,” said Mike.

“This bird said her friend was at one of these trees when they City came to cut it down. It was in the middle of a sidewalk. The damn thing started bleeding, Mike. Damn tree bleeding this thick black blood all over the sidewalk, sprayed her friend and all the people watching.”

Mike went silent. “She said something else, too,” said Dez.

“What’s that?”

“The Post? Your favorite little paper you love to hate?”

“What about it?”

“They had to shut down the entire office. There were three huge bloody trees inside the office. The ceiling was destroyed, floors, basement, the whole works. They had to relocate to keep the paper going. Pretty weird shit, right?”

Mike stared at him for a minute. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Weird shit.”

“Creepy trees growing in the middle of a building. What the hell?”

Mike tossed the tiles back into a box.

“You know, come to think of it, my last night on the Mover job, there was a tree like that.” Dez noticed the expression on Mike's face. “Hey, you okay, Mike?”

“You saw one of these trees?” said Mike.

“Yeah. The night I arrested Sia. She was leaning up against it, like it was a chair. That was some messed up shit. Pretty little Japanese girl so high on Slack she could barely talk, and she was covered in blood. Real blood, not any tree sap.”

Mike stared at him, something clicking in his head. “Why didn’t you take her to the prison? That's where they take the junkies now, right? For lifetime donorship?”

“Yeah, usually,” said Dez. “But we got a call on the radio. They told us to take her to Munson.”

“The experimental hospital,” said Mike. “What are they doing there?”

“I dunno,” said Dez. “The short time I was there, I was only in one wing. It seemed like a real hospital where I was. Except one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Sia was the only patient.”

“And when you found her she was covered in blood with one of these trees. Notice anything weird about the trees, Dez?”

“You mean besides how they spring up overnight and spurt blood everywhere?”

Mike met his eyes. “You ever really look at one of them?”

“I dunno,” said Dez. “They have flowers?”

“The trunks,” said Mike. “They look strange. Like something’s caught inside. Like the tree just grew around something.” Mike rubbed a hand on his face, his whiskers scratching like fine sandpaper. It seemed impossible, what he was thinking. Crazy.

“I think I know what they are,” said Mike.

“What? They’re trees, Mikey.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then what are they?” said Dez.

“Revs,” said Mike. “Remember what Flynn told us, about how to kill them? He said they die from a stake to the heart, but it has to be a stake from a very specific tree.”

“So?” said Dez. “You think that’s what these trees are?”

“I’m not sure,” said Mike. “But I think that our new benefactor is killing Revs. And I think these bleeding trees mark their graves.”

Dez stared at him, a skeptical expression on his face. “Why would he do that?” said Dez after a long time. “Isn't he one of them?”

“I have no idea what he is,” said Mike. “He's like they used to be. But something happened. They changed and he didn't. I know it sounds goddamn crazy. But it’s a theory. Those trees, you can’t deny you can see faces in them too. That you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“What do you want to do?” said Dez. “You can't write about Flynn in his own paper.”

“It wouldn't hurt to have the kids snoop about Munson, though, would it?” Mike smiled.

“We could go,” said Dez.

“They know our faces,” said Mike. “In fact, they are actively looking for both of us. Do we have any tech-savvy kids up there?”

“A few,” said Dez. “There's a kid with gaps in his teeth that's always fiddling with watches and shit. Girl from last night is a hacker from back in the day. Not that one can do that anymore.”

“Get the gap-toothed kid,” said Mike. “Tell him he's in charge of the printing press now.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I'm going to write some stories,” said Mike. He was almost hopping off the ground, rocking on the balls of his feet he was so excited. “You're going to make sure these papers get made.”

In comparing notes with Dez about the events of his last night as a Mover, Mike put together a narrative that started with Dez finding Sia under the tree, leading to Mike mentioning Sia in his story and being summoned to meet with three Revs, killed by Joshua Flynn in The Post building.

“There were three Revs in the newspaper office,” Mike concluded. “And they carried out three trees, right? After Flynn went in looking like a goddamn monster. Is that a coincidence?”

“Mike, come on, man. I mean, we don't want to get tangled up in this shit.” Dez was backing away from Mike.

“Why not?” said Mike. “What the hell else are we going to do? Stay stuck in this house eating hummus with a bunch of throwbacks?”

“If it keeps us alive? Hell yes,” said Dez.

“Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do,” Mike said, a hot ball of energy flaming up in his stomach. “I'm going to tell the truth. I'm going to make sure everyone everywhere knows exactly what's going on. I'm going to do it so well, that no one is going to be able to deny what's going on. And I'm going to make people give a shit again. The Revs aren't killing us anymore, I don't even know if they still can kill us. They've changed, everyone can see it. But we're so damn afraid that no one can see it clearly.”

“See what clearly?” Dez said. His voice was weak, tired. Scared. “They're not stronger than we are anymore,” said Mike. “We can stop all this. Joshua Flynn can stop all this. We can get our lives back again, Paine!”

“This is crazy, Mike,” said Dez. “You're going to get us killed.”

“Is that any worse than how we've been living?”

“Why do you think siding with Flynn is going to be any better than your garden variety Revs?” said Dez. “They're all the same, Mike. You said it yourself. He killed Deacon. He has a…what did you call it? Bloodface. Just like they used to. But here's the thing: he's killing his own kind. What in the holy hell makes you think he's not going to just pick up where his cousins left off?”

“But he's only one,” said Mike. “It's not the Revs people are afraid of, it's how many there are, and how organized they are. The Movers, the experimental hospital, the blood days. What we fear is the entire machinery of their bureaucracy. Their orderly paperwork, with all the humans helping them every step of the way. We fear them only because we don't think we can defeat them.”

“So?” said Dez. “How is Flynn any different?”

Mike squinted at Dez. “He strike you as organized? He killed Deacon simply because he was rude in the meeting. One word and the poor bastard was dead. Flynn acts on impulse, and he's leaving a trail of death.”

“He's got you writing a newspaper,” said Dez. “He's got the Revs scared. Assuming fear is even possible for them.”

“Oh, it's possible,” said Mike. “Or else they wouldn't be hauling people off in the middle of the night. They wouldn't have hobbled us by disappearing the children, way back in the beginning. They're afraid and they're weak.”

“They don't look weak.”

“So what exactly did you think you'd be doing out here, Dez?” said Mike. “Petting kittens and raising chickens?”

Dez sat down in the chair and glared up at Mike.

“You're a right bastard, Mike.”

“So are you, Dez.”

Twelve

Viv froze at the knock on her door. They’d finally come for her. They knew what she was doing and now it was all over. Just like Hunter. Just like her baby. Just like him, she would never come back. Her throat froze and for a moment she couldn't swallow. The knock came again, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

The Revs didn't knock. If the Movers came to get her, they wouldn't be knocking at her door. They'd kick it down and carry her out, probably bloody and screaming. Or fast asleep on tranquilizers.

“Who is it?” she finally said. She realized she was standing in the middle of the living room, shaking like a leaf. She glanced towards the kitchen to make sure everything was covered, then quickly placed herself in a chair and grabbed a nearby book.

“It's Tom from next door,” came a muffled voice.

Viv relaxed. Tom had been very nice when he moved in. She had helped him carry his boxes up after the Revs took his house. He’d invited her over for coffee after, but she’d politely declined as she had to dash to work. The tenant before Tom had been a good friend and it made her sad to see the rooms cleared out. Nothing of him remained after the Movers came in the middle of the night.

She opened the door and smiled. Tom's hair was graying at the temples and was in great need of a trim, and his beard had seemed to gone to a primal stage since the last time she had seen him. But under all the scruff he was still an attractive man. He smiled at her and she relaxed, the tension going out of her shoulders. Tom was harmless.

“Hey, long time no see,” he said. He was wearing jeans and a sweater. “I know this is weird, but I wondered if we could talk.”

“Talk?” said Viv, as though it was an alien concept to her. No one really talked any more.

“Well,” Tom said, running a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, “this might be weird. I just thought...maybe you wanted to get a drink with me some time?” He met her eyes and smiled in a sheepish way.

“A drink?” said Viv. “Like, what? A date?” She suddenly laughed.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It was a bad idea.”

“No!” she said. “A drink.” She weighed the idea on her tongue. She couldn't go on a date. She was married. Sort of. “I don't know,” Viv said finally. “To be honest, I'm kind of a mess.” Her somber expression made Tom's smile falter. She shrugged. “Really. A mess.” She looked down at the floor because as she said it, she felt it. The pain. The loss. She bit hard on the insides of her cheeks and tasted blood. It hurt, but it kept her from crying. She’d learned so many tricks that taught her not to cry.

“Who isn't?” he said, suddenly mirroring her seriousness. “We're all broken, aren't we? Come for a drink. As friends, if you like. I know you drink. I've seen the wine bottles.” The charming grin was back in place. Tom had a way of disarming her. He got her to let down her guard.

“One drink, maybe,” said Viv finally.

“I'll take that,” said Tom. “Tomorrow night?”

“I have my blood day tomorrow.”

“Afterwards, then. You'll need liquids anyway, right? At the pub on the corner?”

“Which one?” said Viv. “The Irish one or the hole in the wall?”

The Revs encouraged drinking. It was all they had left any more. Drinking and sex. People still got married, though it was a tired, sullen affair now, not the lavish ceremony it used to be. Funerals were few and far between, as people were disappeared by the Movers, clearing away their existence in the night. But the Revenants decided that humanity needed to drink watered-down booze in somber, smoky dive bars. Often there were pairs of Revs, watching the humans from a dark corner, stirring old fashioned drinks but not sipping them. Just stirring, stirring all night until closing time, at which point they would slink into the shadows.

“Your choice,” he said, his green eyes crinkling attractively.

“I'll take Irish,” she said. “Seven?”

“See you then, Viv,” he said, giving her a smile and turning to go.

She closed the door, her heart suddenly pounding. What the hell was she doing? She had stolen equipment from work in her apartment, and she was going on a date.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she said. But she found herself smiling as she walked back into the kitchen. She lifted the cloth that covered the new apparatus and stared at it. She took out The Book and flipped through it.

It had been Griff’s favorite book, and she had often seen him taking it from the shelf and flipping through it. Back when he’d still been himself, a man who read and worked and loved. Before the Slack, before Hunter disappeared. Before he left, Griff loved this book.

Viv stopped on a page and read the words aloud.

“Lips that would kiss,” Viv said, her voice quavering, “Form prayers to broken stone.”

Before leaving work with the model, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed, even to broken stone. Viv closed her eyes. Had it been just before Hunter was taken? Did she cower in the darkness, listening to screams, and pray for some unseen entity to save her? Or was it before Griff became addicted to Slack? Viv knew it was long before that. Long before Slack was introduced as a miracle drug: A cure for cancer, a cure for the common cold, a cure for everything. She had been so sure that all she ever needed in her life was science. Maybe she was right. There was no point in praying to a god she didn’t believe in. Even after Ambrose Conrad announced that Slack was made of processed blood. His own monster blood. The humans had inadvertently become every bit as addicted to blood as the Revs. They just craved it a different way.

Viv flipped the book to a different page. The page with Griff's notes. Griff was in charge of a government project before the Blackout. He’d worked for the CDC testing samples, but that was all he was allowed to tell Viv. He had told her that fantastic discoveries were being made. He was doing work that would change the world. In his fugue of Slack, after the Revs had taken over, he mumbled a confession to her.

“It was them, Viv. The whole time, I was testing their blood. And it was changing too fast to document. It was wiping out every disease, every germ we set it against, but…it was changing, too. It was as if the longer we used it, the weaker it became.”

Viv looked down at the writing in the margins of the book. Griff’s handwriting. Viv touched it with her fingers. There were lists of numbers, of figures that she didn’t understand. Code for genetic markers that Griff had tracked on his own, just in case. He didn't think his wife would need to decipher it until the very end. Viv traced over the words, the last words that her husband had scrawled along the bottom of the page. The handwriting was shaky here, drug-addled, no doubt, but readable, all the same.

The blood has to be purified, else it quickly mutates, resulting in fatalities, the line of writing said. And underneath that, two words: I’m sorry.

Viv wiped tears from her face and closed the book. She had to get her head right. Hunter. She had to always think of Hunter when she planned. It was all for him, after all.

“Now,” she said. “Let's see what you’re about.”

She traced the tiny glass tubes on the replica of the machine. She filled it with colored water and plugged it in, watching it filter out even the food coloring. She inspected all the levers and ways to take the machine apart, until she understood. At the very end of the machine was the answer. The blood needed to be pure, just as Griff had written.

Using two fingers, she opened up the tiny hatch on the end of the machine and added a single drop of blue food coloring. She went through the whole process again, watching the red-colored water filtered out drop by drop into the tiny copper vat at the end. It was clear by the time it passed through the last tube, but when it dripped out of the stopper, it was blue. Viv felt the tears on her face as her heart swelled.

All she had to do was poison the blood in her own facility. She knew how, and she knew that she had access. If the blood had to be pure, how could she hurt them? Poison? Diseases?

Viv remembered her coworker Mark’s face when she said she felt unwell.

You’re not sick, are you? You know how they feel about that.

“Oh,” said Viv aloud. She looked down at the blue water dripping out of the machine. And then she looked at her own hand, paltry, minuscule veins under her skin. But still pumping blood.

“They have to purify the blood,” she said. It was all so obvious now. The Revs kept getting paler, sicklier, a sluggish reflection of what they’d once been. She thought of Mr. Freen, with his expensive coat and constant hunger, always rushing off to get an injection.

Viv smiled her first genuine smile since the Blackout, holding her hand up to the light.

“All I have to do is bleed,” she said.

Thirteen

“What you are about to see will shock you, Sia,” said Mathilde, leading her down a hall that Sia had never seen before. “I must ask you to keep your emotions in check. Everything we do here is for a very good reason. I will offer explanations for every question that you ask.”

“Where are we going?” Sia said, gasping to keep up with Mathilde. The woman had insisted that Sia put on the corset for their outing, and Mathilde laced it up so tightly that Sia had to work to breathe. When she asked why she had to wear it, Mathilde laughed and said, Know only that you must learn to play your part.

“Usually I would suggest we start at the beginning, as all things should start,” said Mathilde, not bothering to slow her pace as she spoke over her shoulder to Sia. “But I believe we should save A-block for another day. You are not ready for it. Instead, we shall explore K-block today. It is the surgical ward.”

“But I thought there were no more surgeries. Everyone is healthy now. Isn't that the grand idea?”

“It is,” said Mathilde, “however, these are not surgeries to improve the human race. These are surgeries to explore. To expand the Revenants' knowledge of the world they have inherited.”

“The world they stole,” Sia said under her breath. She nearly bowled into Mathilde as she suddenly stopped and turned to look down at Sia.

“You will watch your tone, Ms. Aoki,” said Mathilde, the polite, carefree lilt of her voice gone. Sia could see her eyes glittering from behind her veil. “The ward that we visit today is a dangerous place for a human such as yourself. You will be quiet unless you are asked a direct question. You may ask questions yourself, but only direct them at me. You will not speak to the Revenants. Do you understand?”

“Revenants?” Sia said weakly.

“Yes, many of their kind work or reside in K-block. You will be surrounded.”

“Oh,” said Sia.

“Is this a problem?”

Sia thought of her music.

“No,” she said after a moment. “I'm sorry.”

“Let's continue, shall we?” Mathilde said, her voice cheerful again, the danger passed. For the moment. Mathilde drew a massive skeleton key on a chain from her pocket and unlocked a door. Sia followed her ridiculous black lace form into a cold hall with bare bulbs swinging gently in the outdoor breeze that seemed to stream through some high windows. Sia saw beams from a watery sun, irradiating dust motes high above. Mathilde moved as though she had walked this route a thousand times. Her skirt swayed gently around corners, up stairs, and through a set of double doors, where she had to use the key again. She slipped the chain around her neck, and the key disappeared into the lace. There was a large letter K on the door, Sia saw as she walked through.

And then it was as if they were in a completely different world.

Sia remembered that the hospital used to be a mental institution, and now she believed it. The hall they entered was bleak, the walls a dull, grayish white that made the eyes blur under the flickering orange lights. Arrows formed with blue tape on the floor offered directions. The putrid smell of urine and shit filled Sia's nose and mouth, and she exhaled to keep from gagging. Sia saw doors much like her room when she first arrived. But these windows contained fencing or crisscrossed bars, and the doors had a small slot at the bottom to slide food trays. Sia heard screaming and looked to Mathilde, who was watching her silently, her eyes glittering.

“Welcome to K-block, Sia,” she said. Then she turned and walked down the hall. Sia's mouth had gone dry, so she swallowed. Eyes followed them down the hallway. Sia didn't look in the little windows, but she could sense that she was being watched. A male voice screamed, My name is General Davies. They’ve taken my legs, as they passed, but Mathilde was undeterred. Sia wrapped her arms around her own waist and tried not to step in the puddles of liquid that dotted the hall floor.

They arrived at another set of doors, and again Mathilde used her key. With a quiet click, the doors unlocked and they pushed into yet another world. The screams grew silent as the doors latched behind them, and the smell of clean surrounded Sia. She breathed deeply. She could smell iodine, faintly, but otherwise it seemed like the lobby of any other office, with a cheap, though clean, pale blue carpet. A desk was set off to the side, behind which sat an attractive woman with bright red hair. She smiled widely with deeply red lips and big square white teeth. She looked like someone Sia had seen on television long ago, before the Annex.

“Madame Briar, welcome,” the woman said. “Do you have an appointment?”

“That will not be necessary, Celeste,” Mathilde said. “I am here on another matter. This is Sia Aoki. She is my protege.”

The million-watt smile was then directed at Sia.

“Welcome, Miss Aoki. My name is Celeste, so if you need anything, just go ahead and ask.”

“Thank you,” said Sia.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” Celeste said, looking at Mathilde.

“No, thank you, Celeste,” said Mathilde shortly. “We will be going into room 16. Please do not disturb us.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Celeste said, suddenly looking nervous. Mathilde turned, skirt brushing the desk and walked toward a hallway.

“Thank you,” Sia said to Celeste. The woman smiled, but there was something like fear in her eyes. She blinked at Sia like she'd forgotten she was there.

“Please take your time,” she said, taking care to smile perfectly.

Sia followed Mathilde. Next to the door to each room in this hallway was a large window lined with sparkling clean glass. Sia turned her head to look through a window and started as someone looked back at her.

“Oh,” she said.

“Don't worry, he cannot see you,” said Mathilde, pausing to look with Sia. The man was standing in front of the window and looking at a wound riddled with thick black stitches on his side. Another scar across his belly appeared to be healing. He seemed to be looking in a mirror and Sia realized the window was a two-way mirror.

“What's wrong with him?” said Sia.

“It's the opposite, actually,” said Mathilde, tipping her head as if studying the man. “He is immune to Salcoric Acid, more precisely, Slorcorum 151. You call it Slack. ”

“Slack?” said Sia, looking at the man. He had scars everywhere, as though he had been sliced open dozens of times. As he turned to move toward a small bed against the wall, Sia saw that part of his head had been shaved and there was a nasty purple scar.

“We wanted to know why the drug did not affect him, you see,” Mathilde said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “So we are taking samples. Kidneys, liver, brain. Even prostate. We want to know what part makes him immune. Do you understand?”

“Is he here against his will?” said Sia.

“Shall we continue?” said Mathilde.

“Yes,” said Sia, taking one last look at the man before following Mathilde.

Many of the rooms were dark, or had the shades drawn so they couldn't see in. The ones that didn't...Sia didn't want to look but couldn't seem to help herself.

“We wanted to see how large we could make her,” Mathilde said, as they stopped in front of a woman who appeared to be covered in skin grafts, her body too large, too round to be natural. Her upper arms were so swollen she had to hold them at an angle, her belly looked as swollen as a pregnant woman and just as taut, the scars from the grafts making her look like a crazy quilt of skin. “To see how much blood one human could possibly contain, one must make a larger human. We have added to her as she heals, but the blood gain is not as excessive as we’d hoped. And she is too large to work now.”

“What will happen to her?” said Sia.

“She will be taken to become a full time donor.”

“A Bleeder?” said Sia. “What has she done?”

“Nothing,” said Mathilde. “That’s the point. She cannot work. She must be worth something.”

Sia moved on, trying not to look at the woman’s face.

“The blood must be purified after it is taken,” Mathilde explained outside of a young girl's window. “Blood day, you see. We take the blood, and then we purify it so the Revenants can use it. Soon it will all be done here in one centralized plant. Isn't that grand? But I digress. This young lady was the subject of an experiment to purify the blood while it still flows through her veins. It was not successful. I apologize, I was not involved in this project, so I do not know the particulars. Perhaps some sort of chemical reaction?” As Mathilde looked into the window at the poor girl, Sia imagined that she considered her nothing more than a lab rat. Sia watched the girl, trying to move her hand to grasp a glass of water. The gray stone of her skin covered her legs, arms and neck. The pebbled skin made her unwieldy and she knocked the cup onto the floor. Sia saw her face crumple as she started to cry. Sia fought the urge to put her hand to the glass.

“Come along,” Mathilde said, moving down the hall. Sia followed, a cold weight in her belly. She didn't look through the windows until Mathilde stopped at one and looked in.

“Two people, one body,” she said, and Sia could hear the smile in her voice. Sia forced herself to look. Thankfully they were sleeping. Two men were connected, their heads on one wide set of shoulders, the scar down the middle of them barely healing. An IV drip ran into each man's one arm.

“You did this?” Sia said.

“Well, not me alone,” said Mathilde. “But the experiment was extremely successful. Twins, you know. Identical. They grew together like they were meant to be that way.”

“But why?” said Sia.

“Well, imagine the amount of blood they will produce,” said Mathilde. “And we wanted to see if we could. Besides, one of them was dying before the procedure. We saved his life by joining him with his brother.”

Sia nodded and tried to smile, but Mathilde was already on her way again. It seemed to Sia that the hall went on forever.

They went through a silver set of doors, dotted with rivets and containing a set of padlocks in addition to the main lock. Red letters proclaimed the area Restricted. Mathilde drew a second set of keys out of her skirt and opened the padlocks, hanging them on a hook to the right of the door as she opened them. She slid her key back over her head and turned it in the old, iron lock set under a brass doorknob.

Mathilde held open the door and motioned for Sia to enter. She took a tentative step inside, looking around. Everything seemed to be made of chrome. There were drains set into the floor and Sia saw a hose hanging coiled, like a thick white snake on the wall. The doors clicked closed behind Mathilde and she brushed past Sia and started down a hall on the other side of the room.

The layout was exactly the same as the surgical wing, with more security. Each door had a thick bolted lock, and the windows were reinforced with thick metal bars that gleamed under the bright lights.

Peering through the first barred window, Sia saw that the interior was also metal. The dim light was tinted red, as if for the nocturnal section of a zoo, so that the metal appeared to be the color of blood. She could make out a drain in the center of the room and a hunched shape on the bed. Sia half expected the form to be a large bat.

“What is this place?” Sia said. As the words left her mouth they were followed by a short scream as the hunched shape moved, so fast she barely saw it, and a nightmare face shrieked at her from behind the glass, dragging clawed fingers that were too long against the pane, leaving long, pale marks on the inside of the window. The shriek was soundless and Sia saw an intercom set into the side of the window. The Revenant's teeth were broken and jagged, still too big for his mouth as the sharp edges dug into his bottom lip, sending dark dripping blood down his chin. His head was misshapen on the side, and Sia could make out a ping pong ball sized dent on his temple. He had trailed off with the shrieking and seemed to be sobbing now, the racking moans taking all of his energy as he slid down the window and onto the floor, where he curled into a misshapen ball and cried.

“This is the Revenant wing,” Sia said.

“Yes,” said Mathilde.

“What did you do to him?”

“We tried to fix him,” said Mathilde, the cheerfulness gone from her voice. She sounded sad. “His name is Seamus. I knew him...before.”

“What's wrong with him?” said Sia.

“He went mad,” said Mathilde. “No one knows why. Perhaps tainted blood, but we do not know for sure. He is like a rabid dog and must be contained.”

“You tried to fix him,” said Sia, watching the hunched form on the floor convulsing.

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “We were obviously unsuccessful. Multiple exploratory brain surgeries only made him worse. We removed his frontal lobe, and that's when he started breaking his own teeth.”

“What's going to happen to him?” said Sia.

“Do you care?” said Mathilde. “After all, he is the enemy, is he not?”

“I suppose I don't,” said Sia. “Someone should put him out of his misery, though. Even a Rev shouldn't suffer this much.”

Mathilde snorted. “Come. We are running late.”

Sia froze at the next window. It looked like something from a horror movie. The Rev was female, and completely naked. She was strapped to a metal contraption, her arms outstretched as though she were being crucified. A vibrant scar ran down her face and up around the side of her hairless head, the ridges glowing in the blood-red light. The Rev's head lolled against her shoulder and she opened her eyes and looked at Sia. Drool glimmered down the front of her, a froth visible between her long teeth. She shuddered and her drooping breasts quivered.

“She volunteered for this,” said Mathilde. “She knew the risks.”

“Volunteered for what?” Sia said.

“To become human,” Mathilde said impatiently. “Now come, Sia.”

“You can do that?” Sia said. “Just turn them human?”

“Not yet,” Mathilde said. “Obviously we have work to do. We were not able to make her body accept the viable organ.”

“What organ?” Sia said. Mathilde sighed. “You promised to answer my questions,” Sia said.

“The brain,” Mathilde said, seeming resigned to being late. “We took out her brain and introduced a human brain. It did not take.”

“You just cut her brain out?”

“It was for science,” Mathilde said mildly.

“Why is she chained to the wall?”

“She is not chained,” Mathilde said, “simply restrained. When she lies on her back, she chokes on her own saliva.”

“You could sit her in a chair,” Sia said.

“We tried that,” Mathilde said. “She ate her own tongue.”

Sia stared at Mathilde, trying to figure out if she was lying or telling a horrible joke. She looked at the Rev again. Her head lolled to the other shoulder, saliva shining in the red light. Sia was sure they had given her some sort of drug. Possibly to numb her pain.

“It is all for a reason, Sia,” said Mathilde. “If we do not try, how will we know how far we can go?”

Sia didn't ask any more questions. She stared at the floor and followed Mathilde down the bright hall. The woman finally stopped in front of her and gestured to a window.

“I don't want to look,” Sia said.

“It's nothing to be afraid of, ma belle,” said Mathilde, her voice soft and coaxing. “Does this look familiar?”

Sia raised her eyes to the window, bracing herself for a horrific sight. But it was only a tree. A very large tree in a very strange room. The room looked elongated, stretched at the top, as though they had knocked out the ceiling and then coated every surface except the window that Sia looked through with thick, rough metal. It didn't shine like the other rooms, but instead had a dark, dreary, industrial appearance. The light wasn't red like the other rooms either, but was very bright. Like a floodlight. Or a sunlamp.

The tree itself took up the whole room. The roots trailed around the surface of the metal floor like snakes, moving up the walls in corners and starting the climb to the ceiling. The tree no longer had petals on it, but the trunk, a thick, twisted, pained-looking thing, bled a thick black sap that covered the floor directly underneath the trunk.

“It looks like it's bleeding,” said Sia.

“It is,” said Mathilde, then she gave a small shrug. “At least, we think it is. It is in so much pain.”

“The tree?” said Sia.

“Do you remember where we found you, Sia?”

Sia thought. She remembered blood.

“A bit,” Sia said carefully. “Bits and pieces. The Movers shot me full of drugs.”

“But do you remember anything before that?” Mathilde was looking into Sia, she could feel it. She had lowered her voice, and Sia felt that intense feeling of encroachment. As though Mathilde was poking around inside her head. She didn't like it. Mentally, she shoved Mathilde out of her mind. In front of her, the woman physically gasped and took a step back.

“I'm sorry,” Sia said. “I didn't mean to do that.” But she was really quite pleased with herself. She wasn't sure how she had known how to push her out, but Mathilde inside her head felt dangerous.

“Never mind that,” Mathilde said testily. “Look at the tree. Do you know what it is?”

“It's a tree,” said Sia. “I think I saw a tree like this.”

“Yes,” said Mathilde.

“It was breathing,” Sia said, then shook her head. “That can't be right. It must have been the drugs. I was very far gone when they found me.”

“Look closely, Sia,” said Mathilde. “Can you see something in the trunk? A face? Some arms? Legs? Look harder.”

Sia squinted, then stepped back. It was there, she could see it. A flattened face, long arms, legs, torso, its body twisted, as though writhing in pain, tangled in the twisted trunk of the tree.

“It's a Revenant,” Sia said. “But how?”

“Joshua Flynn is how,” said Mathilde. “Bullets, knives, ropes, all are useless against Revenants unless you get very creative. Taking the heart or the head will work, but little else. Flynn is crafty, though. He uses the old ways against us just because we have accepted progress.”

“Us?” said Sia. “We?”

Mathilde laughed. “A slip of the tongue. I mean them of course. The Revenants no longer employ the old ways. These methods, primarily used to murder humans, were quickly abandoned. They are so wasteful. To kill a human for a single feeding. But Flynn will not let go. He is so obsessed with preserving the old ways that he is now killing all Revenants who have adopted this improved way of life.”

“Old ways,” said Sia. “You mean when they used to look human?”

“So very long ago,” said Mathilde. “They used to be very fast, so fast you could barely see them. They practiced mind control. Some could turn into animals, I have heard. But no more. They stopped developing these powers and let them go. They take their blood in injections or I.V.s rather than killing. They are more just when it comes to punishment than the humans ever were. No one is killed. Not since the Annex. And it's all because of Ambrose Conrad.”

“The president?” said Sia.

“The same. He swept the world with his ideas. He instilled laws to protect your...our kind. He brought the Revenants to the upper world and showed them how to live in the light. He is very nearly a god.”

“A god,” said Sia, looking at the tree and remembering how warm it had been. The taste of something familiar on her lips. There was something about that night that she couldn't quite reach, she couldn't bring to the surface. She looked at Mathilde. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Oh my dear,” said Mathilde. “Everything.”

“I know you think I know something,” said Sia. “But I can't even remember. I don't see how I can tell you.”

“It's not what you can tell,” said Mathilde. “It is what you can do. What would you do for freedom?”

“From this place?” said Sia.

“From everything. From everyone. What if you were untouchable, even to the Revenants? As a diplomat, you would have complete freedom. No law could touch you, no man, Revenant or beast could hold sway over you. What is that worth to you, Sia?”

“Sounds nice,” said Sia. “But how do I know you're telling the truth?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” said Mathilde.

Yes, constantly, thought Sia, but she remained silent.

“Believe me,” Mathilde continued. “This is real. And you only have to do one thing.”

“Kill Joshua Flynn,” said Sia. “You've said that.”

“But I haven't showed you how,” said Mathilde. She walked down the hall and Sia followed. Big black numbers on the door read 16. The shade in the window was down.

“What I am about to tell you must never leave your lips to anyone else,” Mathilde said. “Your freedom depends on it. The music depends on it, Sia.”

“Okay,” said Sia, a tremor of excitement running through her.

“You are special, Sia. It can only be you with Joshua, do you understand?”

“I'm...not sure.”

“You have some kind of connection with him. He follows you. He has even been seen outside this very hospital, watching you. You will not want to kill him, Sia. But you must. And there is only one way to do it. You must get close. You must play the part. And then you must strike.”

“I wouldn't know the first thing about killing someone.”

“Don't be coy, girl,” said Mathilde, her voice frigid. “You killed a man the night we picked you up. Your husband abused you and disappeared. I do not fault you for these things, ma belle. We both know you are no angel. But for this task, you are perfect.”

Sia looked at the woman, her eyes shining through the lace.

“What do you want me to do?” she said, not bothering to make her voice sweet. Not bothering to act afraid. She realized she wasn't afraid anymore. Every restored memory gave her another piece of herself, even the bad, bloody bits. And now she remembered her husband. He didn’t wander off as she told people, and he did not kill himself. She now remembered killing him on a summer's night. She remembered shooting him in the gut when he had put his hands on her for the last time, and leaving him there to bleed. And she remembered a shadow nearby, something or someone that wouldn't quite solidify in her mind.

She felt she could breathe again. She would do this, whatever it was. She could do it. She'd already killed twice that she could remember. One more was nothing to her. She didn't even know this Joshua Flynn. He was just another Rev.

Mathilde answered by bringing out her keys and unlocking the padlock on door 16. Sia stepped in behind her as she opened the door and gagged at the smell.

The red light was back, but the room was just like the room with the tree, coated in a thick, raw metal, the roof far above them. The smell was like rotting meat and feces and a darker, more primal smell. Like animals in the zoo, the smell of rutting and pissing and rolling in the mud.

The Rev was chained to the bed, just as Sia had been only the week before. Though he was stripped naked, his long, pale thighs streaked with blood and shit. Even under the red lights, Sia knew that's what he was covered in. She knew he was insane, too, without him saying a word. And she knew Mathilde wanted her to kill him.

This felt like herself again, though the thought was odd. How could such a thing be her? Killing a Rev just to learn how to do it? To know what was in that wounded animal's mind? To know that it followed her because her veins pulsed with blood, that those dark eyes wanted to rip her apart and suck out her marrow?

“Do you want to know his name?” said Mathilde.

“Why would I?” said Sia. She stared at the thing on the bed. Its long teeth rested against his chin, discolored brown in spots. Sia realized one of his eyes wasn't real. It was metal of some sort. She couldn't tell in the red light, but she thought it was made of gold. The Rev flared his nostrils and wheezed at her.

“You'll know Flynn's name,” said Mathilde. “I wonder if it will make you feel something for him. If it will force sympathy on you.”

“He's a monster,” said Sia. “That's what you said, right?”

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “But he has a way about him. He will trick you.”

Sia looked at the woman robed in black lace head to toe.

“Is that what happened to you?” she said.

Mathilde stiffened under all her gauzy clothing. “I do not speak of what Joshua Flynn did to me,” she said.

“Why?”

“It makes one weak to talk about one's pain,” said Mathilde. “Remember that.”

“Sometimes you have to be weak to become strong,” said Sia.

Mathilde walked around Sia to stand in front of her. She looked her up and down.

“Something's different about you,” said Mathilde. “Something recent. What is it? This place?”

“I'm feeling more like myself,” said Sia. “Maybe you should try it. Air yourself out, Mathilde. Leave all the lace at home and walk with your face to the world.”

Mathilde shifted under her layers of clothing. “The world is not kind to one such as myself.”

“Kindness is overrated.”

Mathilde put her gloved hand up and grasped Sia's chin. She turned her face to look right into her eyes. Sia shrugged her off and stepped back.

“You were gentle when you came here,” said Mathilde.

“I was afraid,” said Sia.

“You're not any longer? You should be.”

“Maybe I should,” said Sia. “And maybe I am. But there's no point in trying to control it. The world is what it is, and you people are who you are. I'll do what I need to do to get the hell out of here. I'll do what you ask of me, but stop trying to convince me you're good, Mathilde. You're not. The Revs have done everything in their power to ruin my world. I'll do what you ask, but I'm not going to love you. And I'm not going to believe your lies.”

“Lies?” said Mathilde.

“Every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie,” said Sia. “I can see it as clearly as I can see that you are not human. I don't know what you are. You reek of death. So no, Mathilde, I will not love you. I won't ever trust you. But I will do what you ask me to do.”

Mathilde staggered a little, as though she had just been slapped. Sia ignored her and looked at the Rev on the bed.

“Tell me his name.”

“You...you cannot speak to me like…”

“Tell me his name,” said Sia, “so we can get this over with.”

“Magnus,” she said, slightly breathless. “Roger Magnus.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“Everything,” said Mathilde. She was looking at Sia, but she ignored her. “He drank tainted blood.”

“Surely that's an occupational hazard,” said Sia.

Mathilde sniffed, and sat down in a nearby chair.

“It's different now,” she said quietly. “We are too long without using our preternatural instincts. We purify the blood and inject it. It is very hygienic. Very antiseptic. We have lost the ability to thrive on...well...”

“Humans,” said Sia.

“Humans,” agreed Mathilde.

“Why do you think Joshua Flynn would be interested in a human like me?” said Sia.

“Oh,” said Mathilde. “He very much likes human girls. Women, rather. And you are his favorite type.”

“Because I’m Asian?” said Sia, prickling.

“No,” said Mathilde. “Because you are brilliant.”

“The music,” said Sia. It was the piano. A beautiful, shining baby grand that sang like an angel when she played it. A memory whispered at the edges of her mind, just out of reach.

“The music,” said Mathilde.

“If I do this today,” said Sia. “I want to play tonight.”

“Play what?” said Mathilde.

“Anything,” said Sia. “I will follow your plan, and kill for you, but I want to play. Piano, violin, I don't care.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” said Mathilde.

“Do you want me to do something? Or do you want me to shut myself away? You can still stick a needle in my arm. Bleed me dry. But it won't get you what you want.”

Mathilde didn't speak for a long time. The only sound in the room was the wheezing of the Rev on the bed. There was nothing in his good eye, Sia saw. No personality, no hunger, no nothing. Whatever he had been was gone.

“Fine,” she said. “I will get you a violin. But you will be supervised. And you will not be permitted to keep it in your room. You may play as a reward. One hour will be sufficient, I think.”

“Agreed,” said Sia.

“Are you ready?” said Mathilde. She rose from her chair, seeming to have recovered herself.

“Yes.”

She reached under her lace veil and brought out something pale and thin. She placed it in Sia's hand.

“It's about the heart,” she said. “Always about the heart.”

Sia looked down at the object in her hand. It was a solid piece of wood, heavy and warm and carved to a point.

Mathilde stood beside her.

“The blood of the Revenant is different. It is a miracle. It disobeys all laws of physics and biology. It is a living, breathing thing. Even the impotent ones.”

“A wooden stake?” said Sia. “I thought that was just a children's story.”

“Oh, it isn't just any wood,” said Mathilde. “It is wood from the most ancient of trees. Or from a tree that appeared in minutes where once a Revenant stood. Trees that we once thought were extinct. Joshua Flynn found one, and he is now making more.”

“Like the tree in the street,” said Sia.

“The very same. We remove them quickly so no humans will realize what they are. The blood activates something ancient in the wood, if it was not treated or burned. The wood grows. It animates. It thrives. But the Revenant is not so lucky.”

Mathilde reached up and touched her own shoulder, seeming to be grasping it, but whether out of pain or comfort, Sia didn't know.

“So if I shove this into him,” Sia said, motioning to the thing on the bed, “he'll turn into a tree.”

“Essentially, yes,” said Mathilde.

“That’s insane.”

“You must aim for the heart, though,” said Mathilde. “Otherwise the Revenant will remain alive.”

“Isn't that just as good?” said Sia. “A prison for however long he can survive, right?”

“Unless he gets out,” said Mathilde, and there was a strange note to her voice, loud and brash and truthful. “And you do not want Joshua Flynn to get out, Sia. You want him dead.”

“Do I?”

“He is vengeful. And he would not kill you. He would torture you for years if you do this thing to him. Better to end him.”

“So this is practice?” said Sia.

“Precisely,” said Mathilde. “Find his heart and plunge the stake through.”

“What if I plunge it into you?”

Mathilde laughed coldly. “You think there is only one of me?” she said. “Another just like me will take my place. And that one may not be so kind to you. Whoever it is will not care for you as I do.”

“That wasn't a lie,” said Sia.

“Of course I care for you, Sia. I hope to remain friends after this is all over.”

“You think I'm your daughter or something?” said Sia.

Mathilde didn't speak for a moment.

“Not a daughter,” Mathilde said breathily. “Something else.”

Sia walked over the Rev on the bed. The pillow was wet with saliva, the smell of feces rank. Sia wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Find his heart,” said Mathilde.

Sia looked at the sunken chest, the skin pale like the underbelly of a fish. She touched his sternum, almost pulling her hand away at the clammy, waxy feel of the flesh, but forcing herself to continue. The closer she got to the heart, walking her fingers across, the warmer the Rev's skin was. For a moment, she saw a faint glow under his chest. He grunted stupidly and she felt his chest vibrate under her hand. Finally she was right on top of it, the beat so strong that it seemed to push her fingers up and down with the strength of it.

“You know what to do,” said Mathilde. “Don't miss. Don't ever miss. You will need all your strength to push through the cartilage, and you will need to be quick.”

Sia grasped the stake in her right hand, keeping her left on top of the heart. The Rev looked at her blankly, one dark eye and one gold. He almost looked trusting. Sia raised the stake over her head. Keeping her eyes on the spot, she wrapped her left hand over her right. She could see the pulse of the heart under his pale skin, as though the Rev had nothing but bone and gristle left on his body. Again, she saw a flicker of light under her hand.

Sia cried out as she plunged the stake down, into the helpless thing's chest. It sank into him too easily, and she had to pull her hands away quickly, lest she sink into him too. He didn't make a sound. Just a light wheezing rattling around in his lungs. It sounded like relief.

“Back away, Sia,” Mathilde said, pulling at her with gloved hands. “Back away now!”

Sia stepped back as another sound came from the Rev's body. Black blood was pouring out of the wound in his chest. His eye had gone unfocused. He was gone. But something was happening. A sound like something stretching was coming from his body. A leaf suddenly emerged from the end of the stake, and the body began to move, swaying this way and that, head lolling, raising a foot off the bed, arms straining at the locks on his wrists.

“What's happening?” Sia asked, though she knew. She remembered.

“Only nature,” said Mathilde. “Nothing more.”

They stepped away until their backs were against the door. Sia watched in fascination as green vines snaked around the body. They seemed to clasp the Rev in an embrace, more and more wrapping around him, until Sia couldn't see the Rev anymore, just the glimmer of gold from his false eye. The green vines matured in mere seconds, turning brown and thick. They continued to stretch, bursting with leaves and tiny green branches along the way, growing around the body that had once been a Rev. Sia couldn't help but be enthralled by the process. The brown, wrapping branches soon formed a trunk, and the leaves soon grazed the iron ceiling high above them. She and Mathilde had to step out of the way as the roots climbed the walls. All the while, the tree was stretching, growing, taking form, and Sia could hear it and feel it and taste it in the air and she laughed.

It was beautiful. Soft black petals rained down on them, and Mathilde watched wordlessly as Sia danced in them.

Fourteen

“I don’t trust him,” Dez Paine said, pacing the length of Mike’s threadbare carpet. Mike sighed and turned away from his typewriter. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Dez?” Mike said. “So he seems a little off. Who doesn’t?”

“It’s those eyes. You ever notice? He’s got these little, squinty eyes and he's always watching. Always asking questions too, with this weird smile on his face. Something’s got to be done, Mike. I’m telling you, he’s one of them. I should know, I was too, remember? I can smell another Mover from a mile away.”

“What are you suggesting?” said Mike. He could feel the exhaustion in his shoulders. He’s been writing stories for the past seven hours and his brain felt like mush, his muscles cramped and sore. “You want to hit him over the head and drop him off in a gutter somewhere? Just because he’s a little shifty? What about all the druggies and alcoholics? They’re up all night long partying and then out all day grabbing intel.”

“They’re just kids,” said Dez. “But that’s the thing, Mikey. This guy doesn’t even fit in with this crowd. None of these kids even know him.”

“Wait,” said Mike. “Then how did he get here?” He blinked at Dez and put his glasses back on. He frowned as Dez stopped pacing. Dez fixed him with a smug look.

“I told you, Mikey. Kid is freaky.”

Mike leaned back in his chair and thought about it. They’d been putting out papers for weeks. Every couple of days supplies would show up on their doorstep. No one ever saw anyone deliver them, but they always had plenty of printing supplies, as well as food and coffee. The amount of paper delivered told them how many papers to print. Every delivery brought more and more paper, delivered in stacks, fresh and stiff and naked. The delivery that morning, Mike guessed, had brought thousands of sheets, stacked neatly in boxes and tied together with twine. They’d started with around a hundred.

What they were doing was a death sentence, Mike knew. If they were printing more papers because people were reading them, then something was different in the world. Something was different and it was all because of Joshua Flynn. Mike hadn’t seen him since he’d appeared in the basement and told them what they were meant to do. If this guy — Mike strained to remember his name: Craig? Kyle? — really was working for the Revs, then Mike couldn’t see any alternative… But he didn’t want to think that way.

“What should we do?” said Mike.

“Mikey, I think we have to kill him.”

Mike shook his head. Even though he had the same thought, they couldn’t devolve into murderers. Not now. Not them.

“We’ll be just like them if we kill him,” said Mike. “It’s what we’re fighting here.”

“It’s self-preservation is what it is,” said Dez. He sat down hard on the bed. “Shit, man, what else can we do?”

“Lock him away,” said Mike. “Tie him up. Find out who he is, and if he is a threat to us.”

“Mike…”

“I know, but I just can’t,” said Mike.

“What about Flynn?” said Dez.

“Let him sort Chris out.”

Chris. That was the name.

“I don’t have any way to contact him,” said Mike. “It’s not like we have a Bat signal for him.”

There was a sharp rap at the door and Dez gave Mike a cold stare as the door swung open and Chris stepped in, smiling.

“Is this a private meeting?” he said, his eyes too sharp, too curious. Mike pursed his lips and looked away from Dez.

“Yeah, but we’re done,” said Mike. “What is it, kid?”

Dez stood up and walked past Chris, bumping him with his shoulder on the way out.

“What’s his problem?” said Chris, still smiling. He closed the door gently behind Dez and Mike sat up, suddenly sweating under his arms. He needed to be on his guard with this kid.

“Where you from, Chris?” Mike said.

He sat down on the bed, bouncing once or twice like he was trying it out. Mike gritted his teeth.

“Philly, same as everyone,” Chris said. He practically gleamed with those white teeth. Mike didn’t trust people who smiled all the time.

“How’d you know to come here?” Mike said, his voice soft.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Novak,” Chris said, smiling wider. “Don’t you trust me?”

There was a crash at the front of the house and Mike’s heart jumped in his chest. He stood up quickly, but Chris remained sitting on the bed. A girl screamed and there was more crashing, glass breaking, wood splintering, shouting. Chris stood then, slowly, still smiling, then, even more slowly, he eased himself down to his knees, hands in the air, and lay down on his stomach on the floor.

“What…?” Mike said, backing toward the door. He opened the door and looked out. Someone ran past, shrieking. There was a cacophony of screaming from the front room and Mike couldn’t breathe. He looked back at Chris, lying belly-first. The boy looked up at him.

“Time’s up, Mr. Novak,” he said. “Time to surrender.”

Mike couldn’t stop himself, he slammed the door and kicked the kid on his way to the window. He shoved the window open, paint chips raining down on him as he gave it a shove. Cold air blew in, smelling like snow. He looked back at the typewriter, then put his head out the opening.

“It doesn’t matter where you run,” Chris said behind him. “They’ll find you.”

The Mover vans surrounded the front of the house. He heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall now, breaking down each door. He pushed himself out the window, toppling into the snow face-first, landing on a mixture of frozen potting soil and dirty snow. He crawled around the side of the house and almost lost his fingers to a set of tires. Mike looked up, his heart beating so fast he was sure this was where he was going to die. Then a familiar voice.

“Get on, you stupid git,” said Dez Paine, and Mike had never been happier to see the scruffy bastard.

“Can you drive a motorcycle in the snow?” said Mike, feeling stiff and old and awkward swinging a leg over the back, and wrapping his arms around his friend’s waist.

“We’re about to find out,” said Dez.

Mike was half-frozen by the time they got anywhere. No one followed them. Either the Movers hadn’t noticed the little bike peeling out off the side of the house or they didn’t care. The black vans stayed put and Mike and Dez rode off into the snowstorm.

The flakes were coming down thick and fat when Dez stopped at a lone clapboard house in the middle of a field. The paint was peeling, revealing a dingier shade of white underneath. Mike’s teeth were chattering.

“You shoulda worn a coat, mate,” said Dez, shrugging in his leather jacket. He was wearing gloves, too.

“How the hell did you have time to grab a coat and gloves?” Mike said, glaring at him.

“I knew that kid was no good,” said Dez. “Saw the vans pull up so I went out the back. I’ve had this baby stashed since we got here.”

“Just in case, huh?” said Mike.

“You’ve got a lot of brains, Mike, but you gotta look at the bigger picture. We’re outlaws, man. Outlaws from monsters. Be stupid not to have an escape plan. We’re essentially rubbing their faces in their failures with our little rags we’re putting out.”

“Where are we?” said Mike. The door opened and a woman came out to stand on the porch. She folded her arms across her chest. She was young, but not too young, and had a hardened look about her. She was not someone who had an easy life. Mike imagined that they all looked like that on the inside. But Dez lit up when he saw her.

“Hey, got room for us tonight?” he said, turning up the charm. He smiled, and Mike noticed that the corner of the woman’s mouth twitched.

“You better get the old guy inside,” she said, her voice just as hard as her face. “He’s going to freeze to death.”

“Old guy?” said Mike.

“Mikey, meet Delilah,” said Dez, affection in his voice.

“Stash your bike in the back,” she ordered. “Don’t want them nosing around here for you. That is why you’re here, isn’t it, British?”

“Aw, Lila,” Dez said. “You knew I’d come back.”

“Piss off,” she said and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction before turning and going into the house, kicking the screen door on her way.

“She’s real sweet once you get to know her,” said Dez.

“I bet she is,” said Mike.

“Just, er, don’t mention Flynn around her, okay? She’s a little touchy about the Revs.” Dez lowered his voice, even though they were alone. “They took her kid and two brothers after the Annex. In the Dark Days, yeah?”

“The Blackout, you mean?” said Mike.

“Blackout, Dark Days, doesn’t matter what you call it,” said Dez.

“The Blackout was hard on everyone,” said Mike. “And the rest of the days haven’t been kind, either.”

“And yet,” said Dez, “we’re still here.”

“That we are,” said Mike. “That we are.”

Mike spent the night on a dusty, scratchy orange sofa, but Lila gave him enough clean blankets to stay warm in the chilly house. Mike slept more soundly than he had in a month, even with Dez’s moans drifting through the door of Lila’s bedroom. In the morning Mike woke to sounds in the adjoining kitchen and found Lila making coffee in a percolator. She nodded at him when she saw him folding up his blankets.

“So you live out here all alone, Lila?” said Mike, conversationally. Lila stared at him and Mike wished he could take it back. Dez’s words floated through his foggy morning head and he cursed himself for being so thoughtless. Lila had lost a lot of family.

“It suits me,” she said coldly. “Revs don’t bother country folk too much. I can take in boarders if I need supplies. I’m not stupid, if that’s what you’re thinking. I sleep with a pistol under my pillow when strangers are in the house.” She raised an eyebrow at Mike and he smiled, embarrassed.

Lila put a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.

“No milk, you’ll have to drink it black,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mike said. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had a good cup of coffee.” He sat down at the scrubbed little kitchen table with mismatched chairs and Lila joined him. She wore a shabby cardigan over her dressing gown, the bottom of her nightgown wet from snow over her boots. She’d already been outside this morning. Her hair was down and fell around her shoulders in soft waves, her face prematurely lined, though it lessened when she didn’t know anyone was looking. Mike frowned. She must have been so beautiful before all this, he realized. The hardships they endured turned everyone thin and drawn.

“So what did you do?” Lila said.

“I beg your pardon?” said Mike, torn from his thoughts. “What makes you think I did something?”

She laughed, a light, pretty sound that didn’t match her Grapes of Wrath face.

“Mike, come on. No one comes here who isn’t running from Revs. So what happened?”

“I decided to tell the truth,” said Mike.

“Well, that wasn’t very smart,” she said, taking a sip. “Who’d you tell?”

“My editor.”

“Newspaper man? Should have pegged that from a mile away,” she said. “You’ve got that look. So you’re the guy who’s been putting out those little papers, huh?”

“You’ve seen them?” said Mike.

“Oh honey,” she said, surprised. “You don’t know?”

“Morning,” Dez said from the bedroom doorway, scratching his head. His hair stood on end.

“What don’t I know?” said Mike, ignoring Dez, who stumbled in and poured himself a cup of coffee like he owned the place.

“Everyone’s seen your papers,” Lila said, leaning back in her chair and surmising him. “Everyone in Philly and probably half the state. Maybe more. It’s all anyone talks about. You know, when the Revs aren’t around.”

“People are reading it?” said Mike. He looked at Dez, who shrugged and slumped into a chair drinking his coffee.

“More than reading it,” said Lila. “People are doing something about it. How do you not know?”

“I’ve been stuck in that house,” said Mike.

“Well, I tell you what,” said Lila, leaning forward again, conspiratorially. “The Revs are pissed.They put flyers out offering fifty grand for information about you. And anyone who works with you. That’s a lot of money, especially in times like these.” She looked at Dez and smiled. “Want some breakfast?”

Dez frowned and looked at Mike, then back at Lila.

“Oh goddammit,” Dez said. “You called them?”

Lila shrugged. “I had to. You know how it is.”

“How?” said Dez. “You don’t even have a phone.”

“Wore you out, and early this morning I went over to Henry Gotcher’s place. He’s got a phone.”

“What?” said Mike, confused. “You turned us in?”

Lila shrugged. “Girl’s got to get by. Nothing personal.”

Dez shrugged. “Guess I’d do the same.”

Mike stood up quickly, knocking the chair over. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” he said, his voice rising to a panic.

Dez looked at him mildly, then drained his cup. He stretched and stood up.

“It’s been fun, Lila,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Dez, what the hell is going on?” said Mike.

“We’re going, that’s what’s going on, Mikey,” Dez said. “Lady needs the money. I know, I know, you’re outraged. But be outraged on the bike, okay?”

“There’s a spare coat in the mudroom,” Lila said.

Mike spun around to look at her. “I will take the coat, but under extreme protest,” he said.

Lila shrugged again. “Whatever you want, mister.”

Dez pulled him out by the arm, grabbing the puffy green coat on his way out. Mike shrugged into it as they went around the house for the bike.

“Can you believe this, can you goddamn believe this?” Mike said, his voice rising. “Basic human decency is gone, Dez.”

“Simmer down, Mikey,” said Dez. “She’s pregnant. Terrified they’re going to find out and take the baby. She needs the money to hide.”

Mike was panting, his breath a cloud.

“Get on, man,” Dez said. “There’s not much time.”

The motorcycle shook Mike down to his bones. Though he was far warmer this time round in the stolen coat, for which he was grateful, though he was torn about how he had acquired it. Dez pulled into an abandoned barn that looked on the verge of caving in.

“What are we doing?” said Mike.

“Waiting for the Movers to pass by,” said Dez, peering out through some missing boards in the side. The place smelled of rotting hay and animal feces turned to dirt again.

“How long did you know she was pregnant?” said Mike. He remembered Kyra, his wife, so happy when she knew she was expecting. Then the grief on her face when she started bleeding, the red soaking through her pretty white dress three months later. Mike pushed the memories away quickly. They hurt like a blow to the stomach. He couldn’t think of her now. He would lose his sanity if he thought of Kyra.

Dez shrugged, not looking at Mike.

“She told me last time I saw her,” he said, watching the road.

“You see her often?” said Mike.

“Often enough.”

“Is it yours? The baby?”

Dez looked at him then. “I didn’t think to ask.”

“You didn’t think to ask?” said Mike incredulously.

“Look, mate, I got bigger problems right now. We’re running from Revs right now. How the hell am I supposed to take care of a kid?”

“Did you ever stop to think,” said Mike slowly, “that Lila turned us in because you didn’t think to ask?”

Dez looked truly surprised. “No,” he said. “I guess that might make sense.”

“You selfish prick,” Mike said angrily.

“Mikey, calm down.”

“Have you ever stopped to think of anything but your own skin? That woman could be carrying your child and you just left her to fend for herself. In a world where children disappear in a fog of blood and terror. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Jesus Christ, man, keep your voice down.”

“You’re a coward, Dez,” said Mike, with finality. “Just a coward.”

Dez raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never denied that. Besides, don’t blame me for all this. Blame your shifty creep of a friend, Flynn. It would be easy for him to help us out here, but where is the bastard? Nowhere. Spooky asshole. We’re not going to make it, Mikey. We need money to survive here, not newspapers.”

They heard a rumbling and a moment later a line of black vans came into view, driving in a line like a funeral procession.

“I might have some money,” said Mike quietly. He was still angry with Dez, but the man had helped him escape. If not for Dez he would have been picked up back at the newspaper house. Or splattered all over the floor.

They watched the last black van rise up over the hill and disappear. Without speaking, Mike joined Dez on the bike.

“So where’s this money, old man?” Dez said, tapping on the gas gauge.

Mike had the sudden urge not to tell him. To leave on foot and let Dez angrily pass him, flinging dirty snow from his wheels. But it was a long way to Philly, and Mike needed Dez just as badly as Dez needed his cash.

“Back home, Dez,” said Mike with a sigh.

“Your old place?” said Dez. “You just left it there?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” said Mike. “Revs were all over it. It’s hidden though. There’s a good chance it’s still there, under the floorboards.”

“A good chance?” Dez shook his head. “Barely enough gas to get us there. I hope there’s more than a good chance.”

“I guess we’ll just have to take a gamble,” said Mike.

“Mikey,” Dez said. “Sorry about the girl, man. I didn’t know she was going to rat us out.”

“I guess you can’t go back there now, even if you wanted to,” said Mike. “You think it’s yours?”

“What?”

“The baby, Dez. Jesus.”

“Oh, right. Hard to say. Probably not.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “Never happened before, with any of the others.”

“That you know of.”

“Can’t do anything about it now, like you said,” said Dez, irritated. “What do you want from me, Mike? You want me to be an honest man? Settle down? Smoke a goddamn pipe and read the paper? I’m sorry if I disappoint you, mate, but I’m interested in getting out of this alive.”

“You think we’re getting out?” said Mike. He really wanted to know.

“Don’t you?” he said, hopeful. “This has to end, right? Nightmares always end. Monsters always die. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

“Maybe,” said Mike. “But there’s always another monster, another nightmare.”

“That’s dark, Mikey.”

And as Dez started the bike and they buzzed out into the night, a thought occurred to Mike: the monsters didn’t always look like Revs. Mike thought of the girl, Lila, with her muddy snow boots and soiled nightgown, terrified to bring a child into a world that was nothing but pain. Mike suddenly didn’t want to touch Dez, even to hold on for his life.

Sometimes the monsters looked startlingly human.

Fifteen

The night Hunter disappeared was blacker than any night Viv had ever seen, before or since. She remembered peeking out of her window at the street. All the streetlights had been off for days. The power was out, the radio was silent, the newspapers stopped printing. The stores remained locked and dark, and not a single person appeared on the street. Everyone disappeared just like the light. Even during the day a dim, dusky fog covered the sun. Perpetual twilight, that’s what they had, for four days. Viv kept expecting military trucks to roll through the streets, Red Cross, anything to help them through this terror of not knowing. But no one came.

People later called this time the Dark Days. The Revs spoke of it as if it was ancient history, from the long-ago edge of memory. But it wasn’t long ago for Viv. She relived it in her nightmares every night. She tried every single day not to think about it. When the Revs took over the world, they called it the Annex, as if it were a minor political maneuver and not the end of all days. The Annex. As though they were a simple addition to the human world.

In Viv's neighborhood, the screams began on the second day. She stopped going out and checking to see if any neighbors had information. She stopped trying the locked doors of the grocery store. She stopped checking in at the hospital because people stopped coming to the hospital. She could often see dark, shining trickles traveling through the gutters in the dim daylight. She often hugged Hunter close to her, shivering on the couch with all the shades drawn, the house as silent as a tomb. She had never appreciated the noisy humming and buzzing of all the comforts of a modern home. A refrigerator dropping ice occasionally, the fan of the computer, the thrumming of central heat kicking on. She huddled under a mountain of blankets with Hunter in the silence and tried not to hear the muffled screams outside that ended alarmingly abruptly.

She sang to Hunter when he clutched at her, and she tried not to cry, the frenzied desperation welling up in her, expanding in her chest and making her want to scream. But she smiled and sang and laughed with her son. Griff was oblivious. She went into the bedroom to check on him several times a day. He would mumble answers at her, the prescription bottle in his hand. She didn’t know where he got the Slack, but in the past month it was suddenly available everywhere. At one time before the Blackout the punishment for being caught with Slack was immediate arrest. She even knew patients given lifetime prison sentences for selling their prescriptions. The turnaround was so sudden and shocking: All physicians, including Viv, were instructed to dole out the miracle drug like candy. It seemed to be a cure for everything: flu, AIDS, cancer, the common cold. It eradicated them all. The drug behind the Slack was very secret, too. The company that produced it wasn’t even disclosed. It was basically free to the patients, and made Viv think — even before they cut everyone off — that it was too good to be true. People seemed to get addicted to it quite easily, and for a time it seemed as though even her colleagues wandered around glassy-eyed and stoned.

But Griff, with his brilliant mind and gentle heart. She had never in her darkest dreams imagined that he would end up just another addict. The boils all over his neck and face made him look like something diseased. And he had an odd smell on the drug, like soil and dust. He’d never been violent to her, barely even a raised voice in all their happy years of marriage. But the night she tried to take his bottle of Slack away, he had struck her across the face and given her a bloody nose and a bruised cheek. Ever since, she had stayed away from him. At first, she wanted to call the authorities, an ambulance, even rehabilitation facilities. But the the cell phones were useless, and the landline just came back with a busy signal.

And then Hunter was gone. There one minute, gone the next.

Viv had a vague memory that she had to strain to hang onto. Like it was a dream that fell through her fingers like sand the more she tried to remember. All she could keep in her head was a feeling of panic, a set of eyes, the sound of Hunter calling for her, screaming. That was it. Viv sometimes stayed up until dawn broke over her shabby apartment trying to remember what happened. But every time, she came away frustrated and crying and hollow.

As she searched for Hunter the next morning, looking in cupboards where he sometimes played, checking the yard, under beds, Griff padded out of the bedroom and looked at her, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He stood in their drafty Victorian home in their upper middle class neighborhood, his dirty feet sinking into their plush carpet. He swayed where he stood, trying to keep his eyes trained on her, and she felt her belly fill with hatred. She clenched her fists at her sides, cutting into her palms with her fingernails. It was better to be angry, she found. Better than the alternative.

“They’ve taken Hunter,” she said, her voice quiet.

“I’ve run out of pills,” he said, his voice like a grunt.

Viv narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear what I said? Our son is gone. Whatever these things are, they have our son.”

Griff blinked at her. “Do you have any pills?”

She didn’t remember walking over to him, but then she was standing over her husband, sprawled on the ground and her knuckles were throbbing and she was hitting and hitting and hitting him.

She wandered the streets then, calling Hunter’s name until her voice was gone and the blisters on her feet were filling her shoes with blood. She went home and slept, cradling the stuffed rabbit that Hunter once carried with him everywhere. She dreamed of Hunter smiling and laughing, his one dimple showing as the most wonderful sound in the world came out of his mouth.

Viv would wake up and knock on doors. Rarely someone answered. But their red rimmed eyes would turn inward and they would whisper for her to go away, her son wasn’t here. On the third day, a man who looked recently aged beyond his years seemed to catch his breath.

“Don’t you know?” he said, his voice accusatory. “They’ve taken all the children.”

“Who has?” said Viv.

“Them. The monsters. Your son is theirs now.”

The man’s tone was so cruel that Viv was sure that he had lost a child, too.

“There must be something we can do,” she said, the tears spilling out. She sounded desperate, pathetic. “Please. If we find others like us, we can find them.”

“You think they’re alive?” he said. Then just shook his head and started to close the door. Viv stuck her foot out and stopped him.

“Wait. Please, you can’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” said the man, rage in his eyes. He was directing his anger towards her, the outsider. “I’m just goddamn surviving. And you should too. Go home. Wait for them to tell us what to do.”

Viv stared at the closed door for a long time, before she slowly turned and stumbled home. She went straight into the kitchen and found the bottle of bourbon she kept above the refrigerator. She uncapped it and drank deeply, stopping to cough as the liquor burned its way down. Then she tipped the bottle back and let it pour down her throat.

The power came on. Viv leaned against the refrigerator and slid down to sit on the floor and she felt the sobs rack her body as the fridge hummed behind her. She heard the radio come to life in the living room, first static and then a man’s voice.

“Humans. Do not be afraid. My name is Ambrose Conrad and I am your new president…”

Viv stared at the light fixture now bathing her high-efficiency kitchen in a bright glare and she started to laugh.

Viv sat in the Irish bar across from this man, too handsome and too easy to smile for her. Too eager. There was something off, she knew that right away. She herself had become damn good at bullshitting, and the man sitting across from her was definitely a bullshitter. Viv laughed at his jokes and drank the sickly sweet cocktails he brought her. She dearly wanted to leave and climb into a wine bottle by herself, but she sensed something wrong here. She had to be careful.

Viv stood up and her neighbor Tom stood too. She smiled.

“I’m just going to use the restroom,” she said.

“I’ll get us more drinks,” he said, too eager. Again. Viv walked across the smoky bar towards the bathroom. She slowed as she passed a shadowy recess, a single figure fingering a full glass in the large booth. Viv pretended to drop her purse and reached down to pick it up, glancing at the occupant as she stood again. Fedora, black coat, and the wet gleam of teeth in an ebony face that had long since turned ashen.

She closed the door to the bathroom and locked it, gasping in air that didn’t seem to make it to her lungs. She ran to the toilet and hunched over it as the drinks came back up, tasting basically the same as they had going in. Viv wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and splashed some water on her face. She looked in the mirror at the woman who had once been so strong. She pushed a curly tendril off her forehead and forced her heart to slow, her breathing to steady.

It was just one Rev, she told herself. It didn’t mean anything. Revs went to bars all the time, just watching. He wasn’t necessarily watching her, specifically. He could just be out enjoying himself. If Revs enjoyed themselves. The fact that Tom seemed overly eager was probably just her imagination. She was being paranoid. Paranoid.

“Paranoid,” she said aloud to her reflection. “Everything’s fine. He just likes me, that’s all.”

But even her reflection didn’t seem convinced. She popped a breath mint from her purse and went back to her table, watching the Rev out of the corner of her eye as she passed. He (or she?) didn’t seem to notice. Just sat, tracing the rim of the glass in front of him.

Viv sat back down across from her date and smiled. He smiled back, a million watts brighter.

“You know, Tom,” she said, “I’m suddenly not feeling well. I think I’d better call it a night.”

“Are you all right?” he said. He reached out and put a hand on hers. “I hope I haven’t done anything to offend you.”

Viv smiled and took her hand back as gracefully as she could.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just not used to liquor,” she lied. “I just need to lie down, I think. Besides, I have to work tomorrow and it’s getting late.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you. It’s on my way.” She laughed, trying to make it sound genuine. As they exited the bar, the cold, clean air blew over her, seeming to cleanse her. She breathed deeply, the taste of snow on her tongue. Tom reached down to take her hand and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Just stop this,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t really like me,” she said. “Just stop all this.”

Tom frowned. “You’re a gorgeous black woman,” he said. “What’s not to like?”

“No, you do not say that,” she said, suddenly angry. “You do not get to say that to me. I’m not a gorgeous black woman, I’m a gorgeous woman. Do you understand that you’re not allowed to say that? You don’t get to categorize me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tom, seeming sincere for the first time all evening. “I didn’t know.”

“Look,” Viv said. “I’m obviously not your type. So why are we here?”

He shook his head, his handsome face troubled.

“Did they send you here?”

The mask fell from Tom’s face and he regarded her coldly, his eyes sharp. She felt suddenly weak. Why had she confronted him? This whole thing was foolish.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.

Tom grabbed her by the arm and pretended to smile at her. Someone was watching.

“You don’t understand what’s happening,” he said through sparkling teeth, his voice ominous, but the stupid grin still on his face. “They’re everywhere. If I don’t go home with you, we’re both dead.”

“What? Why?” she said.

“You know why.”

The model, she realized. She’d signed for it, taken it home. She’d schemed to kill them, to taint the blood. The least of what would happen to her was permanent donor. If not death. She thought she might prefer death to being a Bleeder.

“Oh God,” she said.

“Smile. Look happy,” he hissed.

Viv smiled, but was on the verge of tears.

“Now, we're going to go to your place,” he said, “and you’re going to tell me everything you know about him.”

Viv turned to look at him. Hope fluttered in her chest. Maybe this wasn't about the model after all. She shook her head, keeping her face blank.

“Don’t play dumb, Genevieve. They know you were friends with him.”

“With whom?” she said.

“Mike Novak,” he said. “He used to live in my apartment. You’re going to tell me everything you know about him.”

Sixteen

Sia took off her shoes and walked to her picture window with a glass of wine, digging her toes into the thick carpet. She watched the snow turn from white to iridescent blue as the sky darkened, straining her eyes to look for an odd shadow in the courtyard. But the world was quiet tonight. She felt unsettled, a nervous energy vibrating her nerves and setting her teeth on edge. Sia frowned as her gaze slid over the grove of trees. It was where the man in black stood and raised a hand to wave at her. There seemed to be more trees now. The darkness was spreading quickly and Sia soon gave up her search. There was something important that she was missing here…

A curt knock pulled her out of her thoughts. “Yes?” she said, half turning from the window.

The door swung open and Mathilde stood on the other side. She was not wearing her veils. She stood there almost rebelliously, as if her scars were glorious adornment rather than old wounds. She looked at Sia from her ruined face for a moment, and Sia saw in her eyes disappointment, or envy, or sadness. Or perhaps all three.

“Mathilde?” she said.

“I have arranged what I promised you,” Mathilde said, her usual false cheer gone from her voice. “It was not easy to obtain.”

“Oh,” said Sia. She hadn't expected Mathilde to follow through so quickly. She had expected her to drag her feet and force Sia to repeat her request over and over.

“Is this a trick?” said Sia.

Mathilde half smiled with her pretty red lips, her scarred face twisting horrifically.

“That is what you said to me the first time we met. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” said Sia.

“I thought you such a weak little thing. Fragile, I thought. I could hurt you with an unkind word.”

“Won't you come in, Mathilde?”

“You are much changed,” she said. “Why is that? So suddenly.”

Sia set her wine down on the windowsill and walked toward the door.

“I've started to remember things,” said Sia. “Pieces of things. I'm feeling more like myself.”

“Yourself,” said Mathilde.

Sia leaned against the doorframe. “Yes,” she said.

“So this isn’t some great ruse, Sia Aoki? Something that perhaps Joshua Flynn dreamed up?”

“What? Of course not,” said Sia. “I don't even know him.”

“That you know of,” said Mathilde.

“Yes,” said Sia. “I suppose so.”

“I looked into your mind, Sia,” said Mathilde. She was looking at Sia like she was something strange. An odd bird she had never seen before. “You pushed me out. You pushed so hard. Like you knew how to do it. As if you’d been taught.”

“I haven’t,” Sia said, standing up straight. “Mathilde, you're not making sense. I hate it when you look in my head.”

“Yes, but no one has ever been able to resist me,” she said. “No one human, at any rate.”

“Well now someone has,” said Sia.

“There is something strange about you, Sia,” said Mathilde. She reached out with a scarred, gloveless hand and touched Sia’s face, an odd look in her eyes. Reluctantly, she drew her hand back, licking her lips.

Sia shrugged. “I'm only a human.”

“Yes,” said Mathilde, stepping back into the hall. “That is what my superiors said too. Perhaps I am being paranoid. You killed the Revenant today so easily. Like it was nothing.”

“It was nothing,” said Sia. “He wasn't even there anymore. You could see that, couldn't you? Besides, he wasn't human.”

“So easily,” Mathilde repeated, her eyes going glassy as she looked at Sia. After a moment, she shook her head and smiled. “Your instrument awaits you in the dining room. You have one hour. Good day, Sia. I'll call on you tomorrow for another...lesson.”

“Thank you, Mathilde.” Sia watched her turn a corner towards her office, and she was gone. She stepped into the hall in bare feet, the tiles cold against her skin.

It couldn't be real. There couldn't be an instrument in the dining room. There just couldn't. She let her feet carry her there. As she came through the doorway and her toes touched the stiff pink carpet, she froze. Evelyn Hauser sat at the table, looking more anxious than Sia had ever seen her. Her eyes kept flicking to a black case on the table.

“Sia, this isn't right,” said Hauser. “It’s against the law.”

“It's against their law,” said Sia, not taking her eyes from her desire. She walked across the room and reached a tentative hand to the case. It was cool to the touch. Sia pulled the case toward her and flicked up the silver fasteners. “We are going to make our own laws very soon, Evelyn. You need to decide whose side you're on.”

“What?”

Sia looked up suddenly and smiled. “I don't know why I said that. How silly of me. I'm sorry, Evelyn. I've been remembering things and it's made me act very odd.”

“I see,” said the nurse.

“I'm going to ask you to be quiet now,” said Sia. “I want to concentrate.”

She opened the case and let her eyes drink in the rich gleam of the wood, the graceful bend of the bow, nestled in the smoothest, richest red velvet. Sia lifted a flap set into the case and took out the rosin. With shaking fingers, she rubbed the rosin against the hairs of the bow, trying to remember to breathe. She only had an hour and she didn’t want the bow to slip, not even once. She wanted to play something beautiful. Just touching the violin sent shivers down her spine. Like it was bursting with electricity. She picked it up by the neck and nestled it against her shoulder. She paused and closed her eyes, drinking in the feeling of anticipation. All the long hours, days, weeks, months without music still made her chest ache, but for now she felt full again. Life buzzed through her.

When she brought the bow against the strings, Evelyn screamed, a short, quick shriek of surprise. Sia glared at her, and then closed her eyes again. The violin was in perfect tune. Someone had been taking care of it. It wasn't a cheap one, but instead, felt as though it was part of her as she held it. An extension of herself, and she would pour all of herself into it for the little time that she had it.

She brought the bow to the strings with no preconceived notion of what she would play. She was going to play herself. The song was Sia, and it would be sad and passionate and full of love and loss. And hate. Because, she was realizing, she had so much hate inside her that in the moment, she thought it would burst her open before she could play a note.

The first note brought tears to her eyes. The beauty of it, the way it touched her soul. She felt whole again. She breathed out and as she did, the music came. It was slow and deep and grazioso. She played until her arms ached, until her heart felt empty again, she played until she felt like her anger was no longer ripping her open. She played until she forgot the feeling of being loved and being hated and she couldn't even remember who she was anymore. She was limp when she put the violin back in its case, and she felt as spent as she had when she first came to the hospital, hopped up on Slack and chained to a gurney.

I promise I won't let them hurt you.

Sia paused, her hand on the bow, nestled in its spot in the case. Who had said that to her? Someone had. A man? Sia frowned.

A sob made her whip her head around. She had forgotten that Evelyn Hauser was at the table, watching her. It almost made Sia feel naked, to have someone see her play, but she had long ago gotten used to the feeling.

The nurse was a blubbering mess. Fat tears rolled down her wrinkled face and she wiped at her nose with a cloth handkerchief. She was shaking her head, as if in disbelief.

“What's wrong with you?” said Sia, closing the case, her hands unwilling to give it back.

“Sia, I didn't...I didn't know. The music, it was like nothing I've ever heard.”

“I told you I was famous.” Sia clicked the latches down.

“I didn't believe you.” Evelyn stood up, her face red and puffy. She put a hand on Sia's arm. Sia looked down at the hand touching her. “Please, let me help you,” Evelyn said, looking dewy-eyed at Sia. “We need to get you out of here. This can’t happen to you. Not to you.”

Sia pulled her arm away from the woman's grasp. Evelyn looked at her, surprised. Sia turned, letting the violin case go finally. It felt like losing part of herself again. But she knew it wasn't true. Playing the violin tonight had given her pieces that she didn't have before. Pieces that not even recovered memories could restore. Only music. Evelyn reached for her, thinking she was leaning in for an embrace. But Sia stopped, her lips next to the old woman's ear.

“You think you've done something here, Evelyn,” she whispered. “You think you fixed me. Ice baths, electrocution, drugs, disdain. Those were your tools. Torture, Evelyn.” She felt her shudder, but Sia reached out and grasped her shoulders so she couldn't get away. The woman was frail under her fingers. Sia felt she could snap her in two if she wanted.

“I'm not finished,” Sia breathed. “When I come back to this place, Evelyn—and make no mistake, I will come back—you are going to be the first person I kill. That is my promise to you.”

Evelyn gasped and tried to back away. Sia released her. The old woman stared at her in horror, rubbing her bird arms. Sia smiled and turned, her bare feet barely feeling the ground beneath her. She stopped at the doorway.

“Thank Mathilde for the violin, Evelyn. This has been truly enjoyable.”

“Sia...” said Evelyn. Her eyes were like saucers and another floppy tear ran down her cheek.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow then,” said Sia. “Do me a courtesy and bring me a carafe of coffee instead of one cup, will you?”

Sia stepped out and skipped back to her room. When she got there, she drew the bolt on the door, picked up the glass of wine, and sat by the window until dawn. Waiting. She thought of the man in black who waved to her from the woods. Someone was coming.

She could feel it.

Sia poured another cup of coffee and stared out the window, toward the copse of trees. It appeared even bigger today, seeming to encroach on a bench in the courtyard. But surely it had always been surrounded by trees and she just hadn’t noticed. She was sure she'd imagined the man, but it didn't stop her from looking every day. Mathilde was going to knock at any moment. She said she was going to show Sia H-block, but Sia was fairly certain the tour was going to end the way it always ended. With Sia killing a Rev.

She killed two so far. The second had been harder than the first. It was a woman, which shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. The female Rev screamed at Sia in one long, gravelly note, and Sia sympathized. In a way they were the same. Both full of hate.

She put her coffee back on the cart and yawned. The chair next to her window was curiously comfortable and she only slept a few hours in the past two days. She let her eyes close as she waited for Mathilde's knock.

She dreamed of the man again. This time, she wasn't afraid of him. She was playing the piano, a slow and haunting piece that had been written just for her. He sat on the bench next to her and watched her play. She could feel his eyes cutting into her and she started to feel warm, so warm. She kept playing but found herself gasping for breath. She was aware of his arm touching hers, his thigh pressed against hers, and then he touched the back of her neck...

Sia woke with a start and looked towards the door. It was open a crack, the muted light from the hallway slicing through the gap. She rose and straightened her skirt. It was a new one, deep violet. Mathilde insisted that she start dressing for “what she was made for,” whatever that meant. Mathilde could be so cryptic. Sia obliged her, though, as the clothes were magnificent. Sia peered into the hall, pulling up the long skirt so she didn't trip. There was no one there, so she stepped back into the room and closed the door.

Her heart went cold as a hand went tight around her mouth. An arm slid around her waist and pulled her back, away from the door. She tried to scream and clawed at the hands, but the arms were so strong she couldn't move them, like steel cables. The hands were fast and within seconds she was pushed down on the bed, one hand holding her down at the chest, the other still over her mouth, unmoving, as if it had been welded there. She felt her eyes twitching in her head like an animal at the slaughter.

And then his face came into view and she stopped struggling. She stopped trying to scream. She was still. His eyes, so dark, too dark to be real, cut into her just as in her dream. She felt liquid, suddenly, as though every part of her body had turned to water. The hands eased, the one at her chest sliding to her waist, the one on her mouth moving up to his own mouth, his finger to his lips gesturing for her to be quiet.

“Joshua,” she whispered breathlessly, the name belonging there on her lips. But how could that be? She looked into his face, and saw that it was not at all ordinary as she had thought. It was exotic and smooth and beautiful. She raised a hand and touched his cheek and he closed his eyes. He was not cold like Mathilde, his skin was so warm it felt feverish to the touch. He opened his eyes and opened his red, red lips. They glistened as if covered in liquid. Sia ran a thumb along his bottom lip and it came away red. Without thinking she brought her thumb to her mouth, licking the red away. It tasted metallic, rich, and sweet as honey.

“Sia,” he whispered, and she felt as though she could hear him say it a hundred, a thousand times and never be used to it.

“What's happening?” she said, unable to catch her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

“It's time to remember,” he said. She screamed as he placed his hands on her head, her eyes burned and a light brighter than the sun seared the inside of her skull.

And she did remember. She remembered everything.

Seventeen

“Shit. Out of gas,” Dez said, kicking the bike. It teetered over and fell onto the asphalt with an anticlimactic thunk.

Mike shrugged.

“Just as well. They’ll be looking for it. Lila told them what we were driving.”

“I guess,” said Dez. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

Mike looked around and realized they were near Washington Square. He pointed up the street.

“The old Post building is about four blocks that way,” he said. “My apartment building is about a half mile beyond it.”

“Well, let’s get going,” Dez said, casting a dark look at the motorcycle on the ground.

They walked for a long time, the silence hanging heavy in the air. Mike listened to their footsteps echoing on the ground. It was night now, and the most dangerous time to be out on the streets of a city he used to consider his. But it wasn't his any more. It was theirs now. Their city, their night, their world.

They came to the Post building and Mike stopped. He looked up at the dark windows, many of them broken, the tiny shards of broken glass glittering under the streetlight. Something had burst out of the building and pushed the glass out of those windows. He pushed the sparkling dust with his shoe and glared at the building. Everything that went wrong started and ended with this newspaper. Kyra died and he accepted that. He accepted almost anything to survive. But the news was sacred. It was beyond his reputation, his livelihood, the lives of his loved ones. He did not forgive himself for writing the Revs' propaganda. And he would never forgive Tess her treachery. He would spit on her grave if he had the chance.

“Mike,” Dez said in a whisper. Mike tore his eyes away from the building. Dez nodded across the street. A shadow moved in a breezeway. “I think someone’s watching us, mate.”

Mike looked at Dez, then back at the building. Then he walked up to the front door and pulled. It opened easily, to his surprise.

“What the hell are you doing, Mikey?” Dez said in a panicked whisper. “They’re watching us. We have to get the hell out of here.”

Mike looked into the darkness of the building. He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, walking through the doorway. As he stood there, breathing in his building, his paper, his life, he realized Dez was behind him. He looked back and smiled. Dez shrugged.

They walked into the ground floor lobby area and stopped, their jaws gaping. In the middle of the floor…there was no floor. Mike looked up at the ceiling to see the gaping hole that went through to the very top of the building. A goddamn skyscraper and something had punched through every floor of the building. Mike looked down through the floor. The basement was plain below them, with a gargantuan hole punched through the concrete floor and into the earth. It smelled of dirt and snow and worms. Mike took a step back.

“What the hell is this?” said Dez.

“Joshua Flynn,” Mike said, his heart beating in his throat.

“We should go,” said Dez. “We shouldn’t be here, Mikey.”

But Mike was already skirting the hole in the floor and making his way to the staircase, slipping on some rubble once and hearing bits of the floor clatter onto the concrete below. Dez grabbed the back of Mike’s coat and pulled him away from the edge.

“Shit,” said Dez. “Intrepid reporter to the end.”

“Thanks,” said Mike. He found the stairs and they went down to the basement. Chunks of concrete blocked the other side of the door and it took both of their shoulders against it to force it open. With the screech of metal on stone, they finally managed to squeeze through. Mike walked in and stared at the hole in the floor, scratching his head.

“Jackhammer,” said Dez.

“What?”

“That’s what we use to get to the roots,” said Dez. “They teach us how to use them when we get our licenses.”

Mike nodded. “I forgot you were one of them,” he said.

“Just trying to get by,” said Dez.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “So it was a tree, then?”

“Yeah, creepy buggers. Black, stinking sap. We’re not supposed to tell people about them.”

“The kids said there were three,” said Mike.

“You really think the trees are Revs?” said Dez, crouching down by the hole and looking down. “Seems a bit far-fetched, don’t it?”

“We live in a world run by vampires, Dez.”

The man looked up at Mike and grinned.

“You make a fine point there, mate.” Dez dropped a handful of rubble down into the hole and Mike heard a dull clatter immediately. “Ain’t that deep,” said Dez.

Mike looked up as a sliver of light shone down on them. Part of the moon was visible from very far up.

“The ceiling’s gone,” said Mike. “We have moonlight.”

“So?” said Dez. But Mike had already sat on the edge of the hole and was lowering himself into it. “Oh, hell,” said Dez, and Mike could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

Mike fell when he dropped, rolling his ankle. He gave a little gasp of pain, but after moving it around for a bit, it eased up. Mike stood, trying his ankle tenderly.

“You okay?” Dez said.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” said Mike. “Just getting old.”

“Getting?” said Dez.

“Shut up, whippersnapper,” said Mike. He squinted around him. Nothing but dirt and steep walls of soil topped by jagged ridges of cement. The bottom of the pit was about the size of his old bathroom. Small, but big enough to move around in. He stepped from one side to the other. As he turned to go back again, something raked against the side of his thigh. Mike felt around in the dense, frozen ground and found something sharp poking out. It felt like a stick or a piece of root. He dug in his pocket and brought out the pocketknife he kept there. He opened the blade and started digging around the thing.

“What are you doing down there, Mikey?” said Dez.

“Found something,” said Mike. He moved the small blade carefully in and out of the frozen dirt, trying to dig the object out carefully without breaking his knife. After he’d gotten the earth out from around it as best he could, he folded the knife and put it in his pocket. Then he spit on his palms like he’d seen men do in the old movies and grabbed onto the wood, bracing his feet against the side of the hole. He pulled as hard as he could and the root gave a little. He fell onto his backside hard, but he got back up and tried again. With a sound like ripping hair, the root came out all at once and Mike just about whooped with excitement.

Settle down, old man, he told himself. It’s just a tree root. But he wedged the root, two inches around and six inches long, into his belt.

“Help me back up, Dez,” he called.

It took a lot of clambering, slipping, and one fall on his ass, but finally Mike was able to climb up the side of the pit, helped by Dez using his leather jacket as a rope.

“What the hell is that?” said Dez, pulling his coat back on. Mike pulled the root out of his belt and held it in the moonlight. Something was dripping from it and, as Mike wiped his sticky hand on his pants, he realized he was covered in it. It seemed to be black in the moonlight, but it was hard to say in the watery light. Mike turned the piece of wood from side to side. It was knotty and lumpy in places, shapes seeming to try to burst from the grain of the wood.

“Mikey,” said Dez. “Is that…?”

Mike squinted in the light. The shapes resembled something vaguely rounded, something that almost looked like…

“Is that a goddamn toe?” said Mike after a long silence.

Dez took the stick in his hand and held it up to the light, his handsome face scrunching up to look at it. He pointed with his other hand.

“You can see the toenail there. And these are bones from a foot. Do you see?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah.”

“Mikey, you’re covered in Rev blood.”

“Jesus,” said Mike. He wanted to shower very badly.

“If they catch you like that, man,” said Dez. “I don’t even know what they’ll do.”

“Then I guess we’d better not get caught,” said Mike, smiling wanly. He felt dizzy.

“I mean, this is what you said, right?” said Dez. “You were right. The trees are Revs.”

“I didn’t really believe it myself,” said Mike. “I mean, I did, but it’s just so strange. How does this happen? What causes it?”

“I bet Flynn knows,” said Dez.

“I’m not going to go looking for him,” said Mike.

They heard footsteps above them and plaster dust rained on their heads. Mike and Dez flattened themselves against the wall just as a beam from a flashlight swept over the spot they had been standing a moment before.

“I don’t see anyone,” said a man’s voice. “You sure you saw them come in here?”

“Positive,” said a woman. “I’d know that turncoat anywhere. I worked with him for six months. The old guy looked like Novak, from the flyers.”

Mike looked at Dez whose eyes were panicked.

Mike touched the piece of wood at his side, felt the sticky black sap coming out of it. This wasn’t going to be the end. It couldn’t be. Unarmed, and cornered in a basement. Mike looked over at Dez again, but the coward appeared just as lost as he was.

“Shit,” Mike thought.

He would have to surrender. It was full time donor or nothing if he did. He touched the sharp end of the root in his belt. Was it sharp enough to pierce a vein? He could end it all before they caught him. But as he thought on it, he didn’t think he had the courage.

He thought of Kyra in her final moments.

Let me go, Michael. Please.

She was stronger than him, always had been. He told the police that she was dead when he found her. But that wasn’t the complete truth. The truth was she was almost blue when he found her. What blood she had left was pulsing weakly out of her neck and he was crying and putting pressure on the wound. He felt a cold, ghostly hand touch his wrist.

“Let me go, Michael,” Kyra gasped. “Please.”

And he had. He’d let her go. He removed his hand from her neck and the blood had come. And when he was arrested, he didn’t protest because he had as good as killed her. He had let Kyra die because he loved her and knew she was in Hell already. Losing the baby destroyed her. But he let it happen. The arrest was a punishment that he deserved, even if it was for the wrong crime. The lights went out as he sat alone in a cell. A few days later, emaciated and nearly dead from starvation, he’d been set free into a world he didn’t recognize. Into a world it hurt to be a part of, because it was the same world where he let her die.

Mike slowly eased the stick out of his belt and pushed the point against his neck. Could he do it? Could he end it all? He pushed a little harder.

“Mikey,” he heard Dez whisper. “Stop.”

There were footsteps on the stairs, heavy boots. Movers.

Mike held his breath and prepared himself. He couldn’t be a donor. It was worse than death.

But then there was an explosive bang that made his ears ring. The shot echoed hard in his skull and he felt Dez pull him to the floor as it came again.

“Stay down, Mikey,” Dez said.

Another shot, then another. The woman screamed and they heard the muffled sound of a body rolling down the stairs and thudding softly against the door. Then there were different footsteps. Soft and precise. The sound of metal on concrete again as someone pushed the door open.

“Tight spot, eh, Novak?” said a man’s voice, quietly.

Mike sat up and squinted as a hulking figure walked through the doorway and into the moonlight.

“Remember me?” he said, tipping his hat back with the muzzle of his gun. “You saved my life once, old man. Now we’re square.”

“Deacon’s man,” he said, recognizing him. “Matthew Blake.”

Blake holstered the gun and pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket. By the light of the match, Mike remembered telling him to run from Joshua Flynn at the puppet theater.

Mike could feel Dez start to say something and stop. Blake was a stone cold killer if he’d worked for Deacon. Dez knew what these men could do better than anyone. He’d wanted to be one of them. Mike guessed that his cowardice stopped him from rising in the ranks.

“What are you doing here?” Mike said, standing and brushing himself off.

“You’re all over the news, my friend,” said Blake, leaning against the door. “All the papers have your picture on the front page. It’s quite scandalous.”

“Mine?” said Mike.

“Your little resistance newspaper worked like a charm,” he said, tapping cigarette ash onto the floor and stepping on it with a well-shined shoe. “It’s got everyone up in arms. All the little well-behaved humans are now turning on the Revs. It’s glorious. The cops are hauling all the Revs they see off the streets and filling the empty jail cells with them. The Tribune even followed your lead and is printing real news stories. Not the Post of course, but they’ll join in when they see it works in their favor. Everyone’s clamoring to spend money on the black market, so it works well for me. I’m selling guns hand over fist. I can barely keep up with demand. Down in the depths of the nitty gritty, you have made me a very wealthy man.”

“Wealthy?” Mike said. He shook his head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” said Blake, smashing his cigarette out on the bottom of his heel and pocketing the filter, “that I’m going to be a king.”

“Is that so?” said Mike. “It isn’t often you see a king running around in the dark on his own.”

“Ah, well,” said Blake, and Mike could see the glint of teeth even in the dark. “When you're king of the criminals, it's not like you can trust any of them. I just had the feeling that you wouldn’t be able to stay away from this place. So when it came on the radio that you were on the loose and any sightings should be reported, I tucked myself away in the dark across the street. And waited.”

“But why?” said Mike. “It isn’t like you owe me.”

Blake straightened and brushed himself off. “On the contrary,” he said. “If it wasn’t for you, Deacon would still be around. I’d be guarding a door or a warehouse somewhere wet and cold. I sleep in the mayor’s old house, Novak. I’m warm and rich and it’s all because of you and your Rev friend.”

“I don’t know if Joshua Flynn is a Rev,” said Mike, flinching as he used the name.

“I think he is,” said Blake. “Old Rev, what they were in the Dark Days when you could hear the screams in the streets. You could smell the blood if you were brave enough to go outside. Even Deacon stayed locked up tight back then. Even Deacon.”

“Then Flynn’s worse than they are,” said Mike. “The Revs don’t kill anymore. They take the blood instead.”

“They don’t kill, eh?” said Blake, with mirth. “Do you feel particularly alive since they took over? At least the old ones let us be. They hid in the shadows and you didn’t know what was coming. You could live and forget about them.”

“Until they killed you,” said Mike.

“Everyone dies, Novak,” said Blake. “Give it time and every one of us will be dead. They just did it with style. These sickly bureaucrats, though. They’ve got to go.”

“Won’t that ruin your business?” said Mike.

“I’ve got enough money now to live very well for the rest of my life,” said Blake. “I was an English Lit professor once, if you can believe it. Until they took that away from me. I just want a life where I can sit and read my books and keep my blood all to myself.”

“I can understand that,” said Mike.

Blake nodded to Dez, who had been silent for the longest Mike had ever seen him.

“Can you trust this one?” said Blake. “He’s always been a little shifty.”

Mike looked at Dez. “I don’t know, but he’s been with me this whole time. Joshua Flynn chose him.”

Dez snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mikey.”

“Hey, you mess with Novak, you’re messing with me,” said Blake. “So what now? You have a plan, Novak?”

“No,” said Mike. “I might have some money hidden away. I was just going to…”

“What?” said Blake. “Run? Where? The bastards are still everywhere. Like cockroaches. You’re a hero, though, Novak. You should—”

But Mike never heard what he should do. Because suddenly an arm appeared around Matthew Blake’s abdomen, squeezing him, and a head was buried in his neck, and suddenly Mike was being sprayed with hot blood. He heard Dez gagging and scuttling around on the cement behind him, with no way out.

Joshua Flynn was standing in front of the only door, covered in Matthew Blake’s blood.

Eighteen

Viv glared at Tom as he locked her front door. He turned and looked at her, sitting on the couch, angrier than she had been in a very long time. Teeth grinding and fist clenching angry. Wanting to punch someone’s smug face angry. And Tom was smug and smarmy and a perfect target.

Viv closed her eyes. She had to get a hold of herself. If Tom worked for the Revs, anything she did to him would be a crime against them. Striking a Rev was an offense you did not come back from. Without meaning to, Viv’s eyes darted to The Book, nestled back on her tiny bookshelf. She thought of the message scrawled on the page. Turned out Griff hadn’t left her with nothing, he’d left her a solution. And she had a way to use it. But first she had to get rid of Tom.

“Why are you asking me about Mike?” Viv said. “Mike Novak was just a neighbor. I said hello to him in passing. Nothing more. You probably know more than I do, you live in his apartment now.”

“Well, I’m staying there, anyway,” said Tom. He pushed sweaty hair off his forehead and walked to the middle of the room. “And I know you and Mike had something more.” He smiled at her. “Didn’t you, Genevieve?”

Viv swallowed and looked away. This man didn’t have the right to know about that. No one did. It had been a well-kept secret between her and Mike Novak. A flash of a memory of Mike holding her, comforting her soon after she’d been forced to move from her home and into this apartment. Her desperate tears for her son and her husband and her life. Tears turned to kissing, and kissing turned to…

Viv crossed her arms and dug her nails into her shoulders.

“Have you had contact with him, Genevieve?” said Tom, bending down to look into her face. She saw he wasn’t handsome at all. The lines beginning to crease his face were cruel and his hairline was starting to recede.

“Of course not,” she said, putting as much venom into the words as she dared. She could feel the panic begin to fill up her chest.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a game. You need to tell me about Novak.”

“If you know all about him and me, you should know that I haven’t seen him,” she said. There were knives in the kitchen. She wondered how far she could get before he caught her. She felt wetness under her fingers and realized she was cutting into her skin with her fingernails. She put her hands down and folded them tightly in her lap. She forced herself to smile.

“Let me make us a pot of coffee and we can talk about this,” Viv said gently. “Civil. Like humans.”

“I don’t give a shit about civil,” Tom said. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her head back, making her shriek in surprise and pain. “TELL ME WHERE MIKE NOVAK IS.”

“I don’t know!” she screamed, trying to grab his hands, to keep him from pulling harder on her hair. “H-he was a widow,” she said quickly. “He worked for a n-n-newspaper. I don’t know wh-which one. Ow! Stop it, please!”

“There has to be something you know about him that I’m not seeing,” Tom growled into her ear.

Viv tried to shake her head, but yelled when he pulled harder on her hair. Her eyes landed on the radio that was hiding The Book. A calm slid over her then. An odd sort of calm that held her anger at its core. She knew what to do.

“Okay, yes, okay!” she shouted.

Tom eased up on her hair and smiled. “There now, was that so hard?”

“He left something here,” she gasped. “Something he asked me to hide. Please don’t tell them. Please don’t turn me in.”

“It depends what it is,” said Tom, letting go of her and standing up. He had a chunk of bloody hair hanging from his hand that he shook off onto the floor. Viv could feel blood dripping down her scalp. She felt oddly calm now, though. She could think when there was pain. The pain meant there would be no panic. And she found that she could pretend to be panicked just as easily as she could pretend to be calm.

“It’s something he stole from a hospital,” she said. “Something to do with the blood.”

“Something the Revs didn’t know about?” said Tom, his eyes lighting up. He rubbed his hands together. “Something I can bring to them?”

Viv raised an eyebrow, forgetting to fake panic.

“They don’t know you’re here,” she said. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

“So?” he said, irritated. “That means I can turn you in, or I can choose not to. Depending on how sweet you are to me, Genevieve. You know, that part was true. I have a thing for black girls. You’re a bit long in the tooth, but you seem like you have a nice body under all those blouses and slacks. I mean, would it kill you to put on a dress for a date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” she hissed.

“You didn’t know that,” he said, smiling again. Viv wanted to wipe that smile off his face. She wanted him to remember how he’d looked her up and down like a side of beef. She wanted him to remember how scared she looked right now. All she had to do was to get to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what it is, this thing I’m keeping for him. I’ll get it for you.”

“You think I’m stupid?” he said.

I hope so, Viv thought. She made herself smile again. “I thought I’d mix us some drinks and we could have some fun.” She felt her skin crawl as Tom took the bait.

He nodded after a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do that. I can see you wanting to be nice to me now. That’s smart.”

You don’t know the half of it, she thought. But she kept smiling as she stood up from the couch. She made her hips sway as she walked to the kitchen with Tom following behind. She opened the pantry and took out all the cans of vegetable soup and pinto beans and creamed corn and set them on the counter. Then she reached back into the cupboard.

“Easy,” Tom said, watching her. “Slow, so I can see what you’re bringing out.”

Viv smiled and slowed her movements. She saw him lick his lips. He thought this was going to be a double win for him. Viv brought out the model pump that she’d stolen from work, wrapped in towels. She passed it to him like it was a baby and he took it, looking confused. She glanced at his belt. He wasn’t even carrying a gun. She smiled and made her eyes soft as he looked at her, confused. He unwrapped the glass contraption, letting the towels fall on the floor.

“What the hell is it?” he said.

Viv shrugged. “I have no idea,” she said. “He said it was something to do with the blood.”

“Don’t you work at the blood factory?” he said. “The new one, where they’re going to do all the blood at once?”

“Oh, you know about that?” she said, trying to sound impressed.

“I do my research,” he said, turning the pump over and looking down at it. “I’ve been following you for a while.”

But you don’t know me, she thought. Smiling wider, she took a step toward the stove.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tom said, watching her. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She opened the cabinet that was now by her hand and pulled out a bottle.

“Can I make us a drink?” she said.

“Bourbon?” he said, setting the pump down on the counter roughly and walking over to her. “Where the hell did you find Kentucky bourbon?” he said, obviously delighted.

“I’ve been saving it,” she lied. She bought it from a woman who lived in the old Catholic church. She’d heard that the woman had connections to Deacon, but who knew what was true anymore. Even now the papers described Mike Novak as a revolutionary leader. The world was made of lies. Maybe it always had been.

Viv unscrewed the bottle and reached for two glasses, but Tom grabbed the bottle greedily from her hand and sniffed at it. He watched her as he lifted it to his mouth and drank. He choked and coughed, spluttering booze down the front of his shirt.

“It’s strong,” said Viv. “If you’re not used to it.”

Tom sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes and drank again, more carefully this time. Viv touched the drawer with two fingers. Tom lowered the bottle and looked at her. She thought he was going to offer her the bottle, but instead he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him.

“You know,” he said, reeking of whisky, “you don’t look that good to me anymore.”

Viv smiled. “You never looked good to me.”

“You watch your mouth,” Tom said, but Viv was away from him and before he could move to grab her again she was holding the weird glass pump. She watched him stagger. She’d noticed at the bar that he got lightheaded every time he finished a drink and would follow each with a glass of water. He couldn’t even handle Rev alcohol. It was no wonder he was staggering now, trying to focus on her after slamming a quarter bottle of Maker’s Mark.

“Oops,” said Viv, and she hadn’t felt this good in years. “You’d better be careful, I might just go and drop this.”

Tom raised a finger, touching his head with the other hand.

“You put something in this booze,” he slurred, looking at the bottle in his hand.

“No, sweetie, you just can’t handle your liquor. Now, me, I’m an alcoholic. Getting drunk is better than living here and remembering how good it used to be. I drink one of those every few days. The hangover’s not too bad if you drink it straight. If you have a taste for that kind of thing.” She held out the pump, balancing it on one hand. “This is just everything you came for, isn’t it? It would be a shame if it broke into a million pieces.”

“Bitch, you better not,” said Tom, focusing on her. He set the bottle on the counter, but missed and the whisky fell with a crash, sloshing amber fluid everywhere. The bottle didn’t break.

Viv watched Tom, as he took a step toward her. His vision was clearing, but that was okay. She still had time. She pulled her hand away and let the glass object fall to the floor. It was made far more delicately than a whisky bottle, though, and it was almost art the way it shattered into a million pieces, tiny bits of glass catching the light as they flew in every direction. Viv was at the drawer by the time Tom started yelling, his face turning purple with rage. But the knife was in her hand and she had him quiet and sitting in the chair in no time, the point sticking straight into a pulsing vein in his neck. One twitch and he was dead.

“I keep my knives sharp,” she whispered, marveling at how easy it had been. “No one knows you’re here, Tom. No one will come.”

“The noise,” he whispered hoarsely. “Someone will call.”

“No,” she said. “No one calls any more. No one brings the Movers into their backyard on purpose. We sort our own problems now and no one bats an eye. No one even knocks on the door to see if everything is okay. No one will come. Not for you, not for me.”

“You don’t have the guts,” he said.

“You don’t think so?” Viv said. “Well, I was a family practice doctor, I’ll grant you that. But I still know every nerve in your body. I know what’s going to hurt you the most. I know how to make you scream, Tom.”

He swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching as he watched her. He was trying to find the best time to overpower her. He knew he could, and Viv knew it too. She wasn’t planning on torture. This was a necessary evil, she told herself. He was going to hurt her, he was going to turn her in. He had planned this so carefully. The Revs didn’t even force him to, he did it because he liked it. She looked into his cold eyes and felt his coldness fill her, too. She felt her face harden and her stomach fill with ice. She felt every nerve in her body stand up and emit a buzzing sensation. She thought of Griff, her husband. Lost before he literally lost himself. She’d hated him, hated his weakness, and he knew it. And then the Revs took Hunter.

“I’m not going to do any of that,” Viv said, and she didn’t recognize her own voice. It was a cool, hollow voice, a voice filled with barely-suppressed rage. Tom noticed too, and his expression changed from smug amusement to fear.

“No, please,” he said. “Genevieve, please?” Then he couldn’t say anything else because Viv had the knife in him. It was harder than she thought, the throat seemed so soft, but she had to use all her weight to shove it through the skin. But after that, it was easy. The knife went in like it was meant to be there, over and over again. And when Tom tried to defend himself with his hands, Viv grabbed his wrist and extended his arm until she could see the soft, exposed back of his upper arm. She hooked his brachial artery with the tip of the bloody knife.

Viv stepped back as Tom gave a breathy gurgle, trying to hold his neck and his gushing arm at the same time. Viv gasped at the sight of it and looked down at the knife. She saw that her hands were bloody to the wrist, giving the impression that she was wearing scarlet gloves. She forced her eyes back to Tom. Everything was moving so slowly. The rage that she felt in her chest and stomach and eyes had dissipated, leaving her feeling empty and weak. Tom fell out of the chair onto the floor and his bewildered eyes met hers. It was shocking he was still alive, there was so much blood, all pooling around him, ruby red and beautiful. Viv crouched down next to him, the knife in her hand, dripping with blood. She stared at him. He hadn’t known her, hadn’t known what she could do.

“You know me now,” she said, her voice still not her own. A shiver went up her back at the chill of it.

Tom’s eyes dawned with acceptance and he let his hand fall from his neck, which was partly gone. Viv recalled a man during the Dark Days that looked like Tom did now. That man had been killed by Revs, monsters. She had just done the same. This man who had been working for monsters hadn’t realized that sometimes monsters looked like well-dressed, middle-aged black women with shabby apartments.

Tom's eyelids half closed as the pulsing blood became weaker. Viv rose to her feet and walked to the sink, rinsing off the knife and her hands. She felt as though she were pushing through water, as every movement took an incredible amount of effort. She kept reminding herself to keep breathing because she was holding her breath. Then she gathered every towel in the apartment, dirty and clean, and draped them around Tom to soak up the blood. Someone might report blood seeping through the basement ceiling. And despite what she said, someone might have reported the screaming.

She hadn’t so much as thought it when she heard voices in the apartment next door. The apartment Tom had moved into. Mike’s old apartment. She listened hard as two men argued. And then the door slammed and there were footsteps. Louder, louder, coming right towards her door. They were going to keep going, though. They were going to walk on past, she told herself. And then they stopped. And she heard a shuffle.

Someone was standing right outside her door.

Viv froze, her eyes wide. Vaguely, she felt the panic rising. She had just killed a man. Slowly, she looked down at her clothes, splattered with blood. It felt good to kill him, Viv had to admit to herself. But that was over and now she had to face the consequences. She had a dead man at her feet and someone was outside her door.

Go away, go away, go away, she said in her head. Please, please, please go away.

When the knock finally came, it was soft. They had found her. She looked down at the dead man.

“Who is it?” she heard herself say.

Nineteen

They met in a dark alley, on the darkest night Sia could remember. Not just because the blackness seemed to seep into the streetlights and wrap around the bars, muting their mediocre rock music. The first time Sia saw Joshua's face she had a gun in her hand. And her husband was gasping for breath at her feet.

She was shaking as she stared at Collin. He was shiny with blood and he was moving his mouth like a fish stranded on the beach. His small eyes were wide with surprise as he looked up at her. Fear. Fear for his life, but also he feared her. He. Feared. Her.

Sia knelt down next to him.

“You thought you had power over me,” she said. “But you were wrong. You will always be nothing to me.” She touched her throat. She could still feel his fingers there, digging into the soft flesh at her neck, squeezing slowly, watching her eyes as she gasped for air, fumbled in her bag.

When she shot him, he had screamed like a child. And then he hadn't been able to make any sounds at all.

“You'll never hurt me again,” said Sia. And then she did the oddest thing. She smiled. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled, but she was doing it now. And what's more, she felt happy, truly happy to see her tormentor bleeding out in a dirty alley.

“Are you going to finish him?” said a voice.

Sia started, turning quickly on her knees, falling back.

He was tall. So tall that he seemed a giant at first. He wore an old fashioned hat and a black cloak, like Jack the Ripper just coming from the opera.

“I...” Sia stammered, backing away.

“Don't leave that,” said the man. He walked over, closing the distance in a few steps on his long legs. He crouched down and picked something up and held it out to her. Her gun. Sia looked at his face then. He was smiling at her. Uncertain, she reached out and let him place the gun in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“They have so many ways to catch you these days,” said the man. “You're not even wearing gloves.”

“I didn't mean to kill him,” she said.

“You didn't kill him,” he said, nodding to Collin. “He's still alive.” He stood and offered her a hand. She realized she was sitting on the ground where she had fallen. It suddenly occurred to her how vile it smelled in the alley. Rotten Chinese food and piss and old grease. His hands were warm and dry and large, and when Sia was standing again, she didn't let go. His soft cloak brushed against her, and she wished he would wrap her up in it.

“Do you want him to live?” said the man, his voice barely more than a whisper. He leaned his head down and she could see the glimmer of his dark eyes. He wasn't smiling, but she felt it there, just below the surface.

“What?” said Sia, confused. “I have to call someone, I think. I don't know...”

“You don't have to do anything, Sia,” said the man. “Do you want him to live?” He poked Collin with a toe. His shoes were very shiny.

“How do you know me?” she said.

“That's not an answer,” he said. “Do you want him to live?” He brought a hand up and touched her bruised neck with his fingers.

“No,” she said after a moment. “I want him to die. But I don't want to go to jail.”

The man smiled again. “And if he could just...disappear?”

“I would welcome it,” she said without hesitation.

“Go home, Sia. Go to your rehearsal tomorrow. Pretend nothing happened. Throw your gun in the river. We'll see each other again.”

“What?” said Sia, shaking her head. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

He took a step back and bowed deeply.

“Joshua Flynn. At your service.”

Sia pretended she didn't hear any noises as she walked out of the alley and across the street. She pretended she didn't hear the ripping or tearing, or the wet coughing noise that was Collin trying to scream with a lung punctured by her bullet.

When she walked across the bridge, she dropped the gun off the edge, watching the tiny splash as it plopped in.

No one ever found it. And when the police came to her apartment to question her the next week, she told them that she had kicked him out months ago for cheating, but didn't he have a girlfriend who lived in Brooklyn Heights? The police did not come by again and seemed apologetic. They didn't notice the fine silk scarf wrapped around her neck to hide the fading bruises in the shapes of Collin's fingers, grasping her throat tightly.

She had a show the following week. It was sold out. A small but ornate theater, where they made up for the small dressing room by bringing her some very good champagne and filling the room with dark purple irises, which the manager heard were her favorites.

The lights were bright and by the first half hour, Sia was sweating in her beaded dress. Prickly heat ran up her back and made her itch, but she focused all her energy on playing. She played well, she could tell that night. The audience was completely silent, no one even dared cough as she played arrangement after arrangement completely her own. She no longer had to lie and say that her talented husband wrote all her music, that lie was as dead as Collin. And since he had disappeared, she worked feverishly on composition after composition, trying things she had never done before and making different sounds fit together that had no right to sound so rich, so hauntingly beautiful.

Murder made her whole again.

She knew he was there in the audience, but she couldn't say how she knew. And during the intermission, she peered around the curtain to look at the empty seats, coats bundled up in them as people went out for a smoke, or used the bathroom. But there he was. In the center of the fifth row. Sitting still and patient, hands in lap, hair rakishly messy, and dark eyes watching, searching, finding her and locking on. He smiled and she shuddered. She had to force herself to blink, to go backstage again, to hurry to her dressing room, panting and sweating all the more. She shook as she changed her gown and put on something black that flowed and touched everything around her. She downed a glass of good champagne to calm her nerves, and then she was back.

It didn't seem possible that she would be able to play anything after that, but as she sat down at the piano, the buzz of the theater winding down and finally quiet, she felt that they were the only two there. She felt his eyes on her and it was as if she wasn't wearing a gown at all, as though he could see her without even trying. The newspapers said she played so beautifully, the music dark and unearthly, that the reviewer found himself crying halfway through the second half of her show.

She waited for Joshua Flynn in her dressing room for half an hour, but he did not come. Sia put on her coat, checked her purse for her pepper spray, and walked back to her apartment.

The phone was ringing when she came in, cheeks numb from the cold. She dashed for it.

“Hello?”

“Setsuko?” said her mother's accented voice. “Setsuko, what is going on? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Mother. I just came back from my show.”

“Oh,” she said. There was a long pause. Then a stilted, “How did it go?”

“Really well,” said Sia, smiling despite her mother's obvious disapproval. “I think it was my best.”

“Well, good,” said her mother. “It's not the symphony, but I'm glad you're happy.”

“The symphony was stifling,” said Sia.

“Setsuko, I'm calling because Collin's mother phoned me. Is he missing?”

“It's Sia now, Mom,” she said.

“I don't know why you insist on using a name that isn't yours,” said her mother.

“Because Setsuko wasn't a good stage name,” she said. “And Dad called me Sia. I like it.”

“Okay, Sia,” she said. “Where is your husband?”

Sia sat down on the couch and took off her shoes.

“He's gone, Mom.”

Sia filled the heavy silence by crossing the room and pouring herself a large glass of red wine. She took a deep drink and opened the fridge, pulling out some leftover Pad Thai.

“What do you mean gone?” her mother said finally.

“Just...gone,” said Sia. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course I want to know, I'm your mother.”

“He had a girl somewhere. I found out. I kicked him out. No one's heard from him since.”

“You know, I love you,” said her mother.

“But?” said Sia, her mouth full of noodles.

“But, a marriage takes work, Setsuko. You cannot simply let it be. You must cultivate it.”

“Mom, he was abusive,” said Sia. “He hurt me. He tried to kill me.”

Another pause. “I didn't know,” she said. “Perhaps counseling?”

“No,” said Sia. “Collin is gone for good. It's safe here now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying,” said Sia, taking a deep breath, “maybe Ana can come stay with me for a while. I didn't want her here when Collin was around. I was afraid of what he would do. But it's safe now.”

The silence this time went on so long that for a moment Sia thought her mother had hung up. But then she finally spoke again.

“No.”

“No? You can't say no. She's your granddaughter, not your daughter, Mom.”

“I have raised her since she was two years old,” said her mother, stiffly. “I have raised her right. None of these ideas your father put into your head. He’s dead now, it’s time his grand ideas died too. She gets good marks at school, she's fluent in Japanese, and she's a good girl.”

“You've got her in that Japanese language school, don't you?” said Sia. “The one you wanted me to go to.”

“Public school was always your father's wish,” she said.

“Aren't you afraid she's going to feel out of place? She was born in Manhattan.”

“Ana has many school friends,” said her mother. “It's best if things stay the way they are.”

“She's my daughter!” Sia said, knocking her glass of wine to the floor. The glass shattered and wine the color of blood splashed all over the pale wood floor, splattering the wall and dripping down the refrigerator.

“As far as Ana is concerned, she is your sister,” her mother said and Sia could see her gnashing her teeth. “She is going to grow up in my house, and she is never going to know your shame, Setsuko. Do you understand?”

“There was nothing shameful about it,” Sia said, her voice a whisper.

“Then you and I have different ideas of shame,” she said.

Sia squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself not to cry.

“If you want her, if you really want her, not just one of your ideas,” she said, saying the word ideas as if it were something disgusting, “then you will build a real house. A real family. Husband who works, wife with a tidy house, and no chaos, Setsuko. Chaos is no place to raise a child.”

“It’s Sia,” she said. “And that will never be my life.”

“Then Ana will never be your daughter.”

When Sia realized her mother had hung up on her, she screamed, throwing the cordless phone onto the glass and puddle of red wine. She stood there panting, grinding her teeth. She was almost calm when she realized her foot hurt. She looked down and saw the blood pooling around her, the arch of her foot pulsing and throbbing. She sat down on the clean floor behind her and watched the blood, trickling thickly from a large shard of glass stuck deep inside her foot. Her stomach turned. She gripped the glass between two fingers.

“I wouldn't do that,” said a voice that made Sia jump and the glass in her foot moved, scraping against something hard. Bone maybe.

He was standing in front of her. He had swapped his shiny patent leather shoes for regular black ones, and though he wore no cape or hat, he looked just as out of place in an outdated suit and tie. His skin was pale, though there was a pinkness in his cheeks. His lips were red, always red.

“How long have you been here?” Sia said, her voice like a growl.

“There's a vein there,” he said.

“Will you help me?” Sia said.

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” he said. “All that blood...”

“You don't like blood?” she said. “Do you faint?”

He smiled. “Worse,” he said. “Much worse. Perhaps I can get you a doctor.”

“No,” said Sia. “I want you.”

The smile faded from his face. There was something about his eyes. He looked almost exotic with eyes that dark. It reminded Sia of paintings she'd seen in Paris of long-dead middle-eastern princes, of the Shahs of old who had withstood the Crusades...but not for long. He was pale, but he was not ordinary. He didn't belong in her kitchen. Maybe he didn't belong in this world.

“At least help me to the couch,” Sia said.

He hesitated, then stepped through the wine, the broken glass crunching under his feet. He picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her the few steps to her living room. He gently placed her on the couch and stepped away, watching her.

“Get me a towel from that cupboard in the hall, would you please?” Sia said. “And there should be some hydrogen peroxide in the cupboard to the left of the towels.”

He moved awkwardly, as though not sure he should be there. He came back with a towel, but not the peroxide.

“You're not going to need it,” he said, kneeling at her feet. He took her ankle between two fingers, as though he were afraid to break it. “You've gotten blood all over your couch.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Sia. “It was his. I always hated this couch.”

“Still,” he said, examining her foot, which was barely bleeding now. “It's quite a mess.”

“How did you get in here?” she said.

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “I go where I please,” he said. “You might say I'm not from around here.”

“You're breaking the law by coming in here like that,” she said. “I could call the police.”

“And tell them what? The man who got rid of your husband's body was in your house?”

“I didn't say I was going to. I just said I could.”

He looked straight at her then. “Sia, I need to do something strange to help you. I don't want you to look, do you understand? Close your eyes until I tell you to open them.”

Sia closed her eyes without hesitation. A thought passed through her head about how peculiar it was that she didn't argue. How peculiar that she trusted this stranger.

“How do you know me?” she said through closed eyelids. “I saw you in the theater. Is that how you know who I am?”

“I saw you play in a park in Philadelphia once,” he said. She felt a pressure on her foot and a dull ache. “The cello, as I recall. You were very good, even back then.”

“Philadelphia?” she said, her voice strained through the pain. “That must have been years ago.”

“Your mother lives there, doesn't she?” he said.

Sia arched her back at a searing pain as she felt him pull the glass out. The pain was almost satisfying. The feeling of something that shouldn't be there being released. It was excruciating, but also, somehow, deeply pleasurable. She heard Joshua Flynn give a wounded moan, but she didn't even think about opening her eyes. She could feel the hot blood gushing from her foot, warm as it ran down her heel. Then there was a deeper warmth, something soft and wet, and then nothing but air.

“My mother? Yes. She lives in Philadelphia. I grew up there. Have you been following me?” She realized the thought should alarm her. This beautiful, strange man following her for years, just to hear her play. But it didn't surprise her, for some reason.

“Did we we meet before the other night?” she said. He was pouring something warm and thick and wet onto her foot and the blood stopped pulsing. Her foot stopped throbbing. There was an odd, deep itch that she could feel in her bones, and then a hot ache and a feeling of heaviness on the sole of her foot. She felt a thrill go through her. It reminded her of when she was in college and her roommate convinced her to take ecstasy. Her limbs felt light and she could feel the dust particles float through the air and land on her skin, she could hear someone humming quietly in the apartment below her. She could feel the very molecules in the air, bouncing off of and into each other. And then she exhaled and the feeling passed. It had only lasted for seconds.

“Open your eyes,” Joshua Flynn said, and his voice was close, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. But when she opened her eyes, he was across the room with his back to her. He had gotten another towel and seemed to be cleaning himself off.

Sia looked at her foot. There was dried and drying blood all over, but as she rubbed it away with a wetted finger, she could see that there was no cut. Not even a scar. It was like it had never happened.

“What did you do?” she said.

“I fixed you,” he said, without turning.

“Why are you following me?” she said. Her voice wasn't accusing, just curious.

He turned then. He had blood on his shirt and his tie. He had taken his jacket off and draped it over the back of the couch.

“Your music,” he said. “It makes me feel something.”

“Feel what?” said Sia.

“Human.”

She frowned and he looked away from her.

“Will you play for me?” he said not meeting her eyes. “Now?”

“What, right this minute?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Why? You just heard me play in the theater.”

“That was for them,” he said. He finally looked at her, taking slow steps toward her, stopping before he stepped in the blood pooled over the floor. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “This is for me. Play for me, Sia. Just for me.”

She felt a warmth pass through her as she looked at him. He had killed for her. She was afraid to look away from him in case he disappeared again. She didn't want him to disappear, she realized.

“I'll play all night if you like,” she said.

His red lips raised into a wicked smile.

“I could listen to you forever.”

Sia didn't remember stopping, but the next moment she was waking up in her bed with the sun shining on her cheek. Her fingers were sore and when she walked into the living room, her violin was carelessly sitting on the couch, nestled between wadded-up bloody towels. The glass had been cleaned from the kitchen.

Joshua Flynn was gone. He had left a note in old-fashioned cursive on the kitchen counter. Sia picked it up.

“Danger is coming. But if you want your daughter back, I will help you.

~J.F.”

Sia awoke to a knock at the door. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. She breathed in as deeply as she could, until it was almost painful. When she breathed out again she was composed. She was who she needed to be. For now.

“Come in,” she said.

Mathilde entered, sizing Sia up.

“There is to be a party,” Mathilde said.

“How lovely for you,” said Sia. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m not feeling well.”

“It is in your honor,” said Mathilde. “My superiors insist that you come.”

Sia nodded after a moment. “Well if I must, I must. It seems I don’t have a choice.”

“No, you do not,” smiled Mathilde. “I hope you are able to recover from your illness before tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night then,” said Sia.

Mathilde stopped as she opened the door to leave. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” said Sia.

“It is to be a masquerade.”

Twenty

“I killed her,” Mike whispered. “I really did. I killed her. It was the same, the same as letting her die. I killed my wife.”

No way out of the pit, no way past Flynn. No way out of the world except to die, and the Revs wouldn’t even let them do that anymore. Mike thought of pitching himself headfirst into the hole in the floor, to break his own neck. But when he thought of dying he thought of Kyra: Kyra giving up, Kyra wasting away before his eyes, Kyra being weak. He hadn’t realized it bothered him until that very moment, with a blood soaked vampire looming in front of him, a branch made from a foot in his belt, and a coward retching behind him. He’d let Kyra die because she was weak. And he couldn’t stand it any more.

“Mikey,” Dez croaked. Mike fell to his knees. Kyra was in front of him now. Bleeding, but not dead. Mike reached out and tried to touch her.

“I should have helped you,” he said in a voice so unlike his own. But when he blinked he wasn’t touching Kyra nearly-dead. He was touching Matthew Blake, really dead. Warm but growing cold, the blood not even seeping any longer. Joshua Flynn was wiping his face with a white handkerchief, even though the whole front of his shirt was soaked. The moon was shining down on him like a flashlight, as if he attracted everything to himself, and even the moon couldn’t help but be intoxicated by his presence. He tucked his handkerchief away and looked at Mike.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he said. He pulled Mike up by the arm.

“Why did you do that?” said Mike.

Flynn looked down at the body of the college professor who only wanted to be left alone with his books and his own blood in his veins.

“He was in my way,” said Flynn.

“He was going to help me,” Mike said.

“I’m helping you,” said Flynn. “You don’t need him.”

“You just...killed him.”

Flynn smiled his ghastly smile, his teeth shining in the moonlight. “Don’t forget what I am,” he said. “I’m not a friend to any of you. I am a monster, a killer, a devil. Don’t confuse me with someone who will coddle you. I am what you fear. And I always will be.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” Mike said, gritting his teeth so hard it made his jaw ache.

Flynn looked down at Mike, still on his knees.

“I thought I wanted the Movers to take you away. I thought that would be best. I had a task for you to complete. Someone I wanted you to help.” He looked away from Mike and looked toward the moon. “But they love you now.”

“Who does?”

“The people. The humans. You’ve become the martyr they needed.” Joshua blinked at the sky as snow began floating down. Tiny, icy flakes that hit the ground sharply. Mike pulled his collar up as a few melted on his neck.

“You were going to let them take me?” Mike said, a complete lack of surprise in his voice. He looked at Dez, who was no longer huddling, but stood stiff against the wall, staring at the door like it was a glass of water and he was a dying man in the desert. “Just like that. Let me rot. Let them drain me. Some protector you are.”

“You misunderstand me,” Flynn said, and his voice was oddly soft. “I made a promise, and I do not break my promise.”

“What does that have to do with the Movers?” said Mike, pushing himself off the ground, standing shakily on his feet.

Flynn blinked again, his face moist with melted snow. Mike stared at him in the moonlight. He thought all this time that Flynn was perfectly ordinary, that he was nothing special to look at. But in the moonlight now, he could see he was utterly wrong. The shabby coat, the ordinary tie, told a story that wasn’t true. Joshua Flynn’s skin was radiant under the moon, his cheekbones high and his nose aquiline. The man — or monster as Mike was beginning to understand — was beautiful. Mike had never thought another man was beautiful before, but he saw it now. That was a trick too, as Mike knew only too well. Flynn’s face would change, become flat and formless, a slash of a mouth and teeth and sharp piercing eyes. No more. Nothing but teeth.

Flynn turned away from him, seeming to feel Mike studying him.

“There is a woman,” he said, as he paced along the edge of the pit. “I was hoping you could save her. Your incarceration would allow you to reach her.”

“Oh,” said Mike. “Oh, I see.”

Flynn turned and looked at him sharply. “Do not assume that you understand me, Mr. Novak. I am not like you.”

“You love her,” said Mike.

Flynn snorted in derision. “Love is human. Love is for cowards, for cattle. She is not an object to be loved.”

“Then why don’t you help her yourself?” said Mike.

“I cannot,” said Flynn, resuming his pacing. He was so nervous and unsure that Mike felt slightly baffled. The terrifying monster had a woman, and he was worried for her.

“Because you made a promise,” said Mike. “What kind of promise?”

“It is not your concern. I have changed my mind because you are too important now, a public figure, a legend. The humans will begin rebelling now. You must go to them, feed their discontent with their new governors. Make them see that revolution is the only way. The Revenants are weak, and together you humans can be strong.”

“They’ll get there on their own,” said Mike. “They don’t need me.”

“No, but they want you,” said Flynn.

“Who is the woman?” said Mike, his curiosity getting the better of him. He knew it was in his best interest to just do what Flynn commanded. His life was at stake, but, that curiosity was a part of him, had been for decades. Maybe all his life. It was the reason he became a journalist, and the reason he was colluding with a vampire and on the run.

“She is my secret,” Flynn barked. “None of your concern.”

“What are you going to do, then?” said Mike. “If you don’t send me to save her.”

Flynn turned to him and Mike saw the very human worry and confusion in his eyes. Joshua Flynn had been human once, and part of him still was. He may have been powerful, he may have been a killer, but he wasn’t a monster. At least not all of him.

“She doesn’t want me to save her,” said Flynn. “She wants to do it herself. She wants me to stay away so she can prove her strength. I made a promise.”

“Where is she?” said Mike.

“In the belly of the beast,” said Flynn, and Mike swore his dark eyes were shining. Could Joshua Flynn cry? Did he even remember how? “She must miss the music so…”

Mike turned to see Dez looking at Flynn, the cowardice gone, something odd in his face.

“What is it?” said Mike.

Dez shook his head, not looking away from Flynn.

“The music,” said Dez. “The girl.”

Joshua Flynn turned his gaze to Dez, his demeanor changing. He stood up to his full height, head and shoulders taller than Mike, an inch or so taller than Dez.

“What do you know of her, Paine?” Flynn rasped and Mike took a step back. The time for curiosity was over.

“I met Sia,” said Dez, “Mikey met her too. When I worked for the Movers, I was the one who picked her up. She talked about music. Asian girl. Japanese, maybe.”

“Your prejudices mean nothing to me,” Flynn said, his voice low and dangerous.

“No prejudice,” said Dez. “Just an observation. I’m just telling you what she looked like.” He was scared, but something in him had decided to man up. Perhaps he smelled an opportunity. A way out. “So you did send me to rescue her. Got into my head, didn’t you? Thought I was going crazy.”

“Sia?” Mike whispered. He’d forgotten all about her in the chaos. Mike swallowed thickly. “Sia Aoki?”

“Well, that explains why she wouldn’t let me help her,” said Dez. “She wanted to be there.”

In seconds, Flynn had them both flattened against the cement, his hands at their throats.

“What do you know about Sia?” he breathed. Mike could see the skin of his face twitching, like he was just on the verge of changing, just on the verge of ripping them apart.

“I…tried…to…help her,” Mike gasped. “The…story…the…hospital…You sent…Dez…remember?” Flynn was losing it, Mike could see the panic in his monster eyes.

“You can’t help her,” Flynn said, his voice like gears grinding against metal. “No one can. She won’t let them.” He slowly released Mike’s neck, and then Dez. They both slid down the wall and sat gasping for air. “She wants to join me, she wants that power,” Joshua was saying, pacing away again. “But she wants to take her own power first. She wants what’s hers. What her mother took but was too weak to keep.” Flynn turned and looked down at Mike. “They killed her so easily, Sia’s mother. Before I could get to her. She was to be a gift for Sia.”

“They took something,” Mike said, thinking that he should stop talking, and should just agree to be a revolutionary leader of the people, and rabble-rouse his sinewy heart out. But here he was, trying to get the story. And for what? No reason at all. Just because he wanted to know what made this monster tick. It fascinated him that the old Rev had fallen in love with a human woman. Sia Aoki, the beautiful damaged girl who he had met as a junkie hooked on Slack. But anyone who could make a Revenant feel love was nothing short of extraordinary. Sia was no girl.

“She was pretending,” said Mike. “She was never a junkie.”

“She has a child. A child of all things,” said Flynn. “She’ll never be a monster with a child around.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be a monster,” said Mike.

“She wants me,” he said. “She knows what I am. And she is more like me than even she knows.”

“She has a child,” said Mike, putting it together. “A child raised by her mother. So why is she in the experimental hospital?”

Flynn didn’t say anything for a long time. The silence was too thick, it felt claustrophobic. Mike felt a harshness in his throat, could still feel the cold fingers pressing into his neck. Finally, when Joshua spoke, it was like a bell chiming in the dead of night. It was so clear and concise and made such complete sense that Mike couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t put it all together before.

“Where do you think all the children have gone, Mr. Novak?”

Twenty-One

“Viv?” said a muffled male voice through the door. “Open up, Viv.”

“Just a minute,” she called, and her voice was thick now. Not cold and hollow, just slow and thick and stupid. She stumbled over Tom’s body, pushing herself into the bathroom. Grunting with effort, she pulled her fluffy white robe over her clothes, kicking off her shoes as she did so. She tripped over them as she went out. Hurry, hurry, she thought to herself. But she couldn’t hurry. She could barely remember to breathe. She blew out the breath she’d been holding.

“I’m not feeling very well,” she panted, sucking in air. “I…I fell asleep with the radio on. Sorry for the noise.” For effect, she switched on the radio. Ambrose Conrad’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“…for you should not waste valuable energy fighting those in charge. Embrace the modern way of the world. Let us take your burden from you. There is no need to choose when there are those who would choose for you…”

“Viv, open the door. Please.”

The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Her heart was pounding too hard in her ears now. She looked through the peephole, but the light in the hall was out again. She blinked at the door. She was caught. They knew about her and it was all over.

And then she could breathe again. It was all over. No matter what happened, it was over.

“…Revenants are not here to hurt you. We are here to help you. To save your world…”

She felt calm again and she didn’t forget to breathe. She almost smiled. They would take her now and she wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn’t have to pretend.

“…offered a helping hand when you could no longer save yourselves. There is no good or evil, just the efficient way and…”

Viv switched the radio off. She opened the door and squinted into the hall.

“Who’s there?” she said. A pale face presented itself in front of her own. A haggard, tired face with the silver whiskers of at least a week of not shaving. A handsome, aged face whose blue eyes twinkled blearily at her. As her vision adjusted she saw speckles of something dark all over his forehead and cheeks.

“Hey, Viv,” he said.

She shook her head. “Mike?” she asked. She didn’t understand. Her mind was overwhelmed by all that had happened in the last hours and she couldn’t process any more. She glanced at the body behind her and back at her old neighbor, her old lover. Two different worlds, two lifetimes colliding. “Mike Novak.”

“I’ve got some things to talk about with you, Viv,” said Mike.

“Well, I guess you’d better come in,” she said, still slow. Still muddy and leaden and hollow, after all. “Though, I should warn you, I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve just been next door and I—” Mike said, stopping when he stepped through the door and saw the body on the floor. “Oh.”

Viv was staring at Tom, his eyes aimed at the water stained ceiling, his throat open to the world. She fell back on the sofa and put a hand over her own mouth.

“He was going to hurt me, Mike,” she said from behind her fingers, her voice muffled. “He was looking for you and he was going to hurt me. So I decided to hurt him instead.”

“He was the one squatting in my old place?” said Mike. He crouched down and looked at Tom’s face, looked down at his still body. “Big fella.”

“He couldn’t handle his liquor,” she said. She met Mike’s eyes. “I was so angry.”

“They’ll be checking on him soon,” said Mike, his voice tight. “We have to go.”

Viv shook her head. “Bounty hunter. No one knew he was here. He bragged about it.” She took her hands down and looked at them like they were alien to her. “I just killed him. Just like that, I killed him.”

Mike sat down next to her and put his arm around her, and she let her head loll onto his shoulder.

“How could I do that?” she said. “How could I kill a person?”

“If you hadn’t,” said Mike, “he would have hurt you, right?” Viv shrugged. “Killed you, maybe. Turned you in to the Revs. While he went on his way with whatever they offered for information leading to me.”

“Fifty grand,” she said. “It was in the paper.”

“I heard that,” said Mike, remembering Lila. “That was a year’s salary for me. You could turn me in, say I killed the guy in your apartment. Fifty grand, Viv.”

Viv laughed and raised her head to look at him. “What the hell am I going to do with money? I’d just drink myself to death. There’s nowhere to run to, Mike. And there isn’t anything on this godless earth that will make me feel good again.”

“Did it feel good to kill this piece of filth?” said Mike. “Even just for a second?”

“For a second,” she said. She shook her head sadly. “But it doesn’t last. Nothing ever does.”

“I can help you, Viv,” said Mike. “Get rid of the body, clean up. No one will know.”

“I don’t care if they know,” she said. “As long as they don’t know until after tomorrow. After tomorrow, nothing matters.” She could still hear the slow heaviness in her voice, and she realized she was in shock. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She tried to stand and fell back when her legs wouldn’t support her.

“What’s tomorrow?” said Mike.

“I can’t tell you,” she said. Why did she say anything about that? She couldn’t think. She needed air. But as she opened her eyes, they settled on the dead body of Tom, who wanted to rape her, Tom who would have tortured her to get what he wanted. And there was so much blood. “Shit,” she said, louder than she meant to. The room started closing in.

Mike was holding her then, rubbing her back, crooning softly, just like he used to. Back when things had been worse for her. Though she felt ashamed for considering her own grief worse than killing a man. Viv squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm herself, tried to clear her head.

“It’s okay, Viv,” Mike said. “I’m going to help you. It’s going to be okay.”

But Viv knew it wasn’t going to be okay. She knew that whether her plan worked or not, the next day would be her last day alive on the earth.

Viv watched Mike from the passenger seat of her car. The shock had worn off a bit and she was feeling weak and empty. Mike didn’t tell her where they were going, just kept saying he knew a place.

He meant he knew a place to dump a dead body. Viv would have cried if she could have, but she didn’t think she even had the tears. She wished she’d had something to drink, but Tom had spilled the bourbon all over the kitchen floor.

“Who was the man?” she said, breaking the silence.

“What?” said Mike, surprised.

“The man you were with,” said Viv. “I heard you arguing next door. Who was he?”

Mike didn’t answer for a while. “A friend,” he said. “Just someone who was going to help me. But he wasn’t cut out for it.”

“Cut out for what?” said Viv.

“Doing what it takes to stay human,” said Mike.

“I don’t think any of us were cut out for that,” said Viv, thinking of the body wrapped in garbage bags in the trunk. “I don’t think any of us will ever be the same kind of humans ever again.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” said Mike. “You think we’ve lost our humanity?”

“Surviving isn’t humanity,” said Viv. “Living is. And none of us have lived for a long time. Not really.”

Mike grunted, and Viv could see the displeasure pursed in his lips. He watched the road.

“What are you mixed up in, Mike?” said Viv. “Why are you helping me?”

“We’re here,” said Mike, slowing the car.

“This is your old newspaper building,” said Viv.

“What you’re going to see,” he said, looking down at his lap, “it’s going to scare you. But I didn’t do any of it. I hope you believe me.”

“What’s going on with you, Mike?” said Viv.

Mike glanced at her, then looked out the window at the old Post building. In one of the broken windows, Viv saw an owl standing on the pane, looking down at them. She stared at it. She’d never seen an owl in the city before, and it seemed out of place. It seemed to meet her eyes, then spread its wings and soared away, between the tall buildings.

“I’ve gotten mixed up with someone who is very dangerous,” Mike said at last. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Someone worse than them. Someone they’re real goddamn afraid of.”

“That explains the bounty,” said Viv. “They never offer that much.”

“He’s not someone you can ignore,” said Mike. “But he wants the same thing we do. He wants the Revs gone.”

“Who is he?”

“They used to be like him,” said Mike. “Do you remember the Dark Days? Some people don’t. All the Slack and fear. It broke a lot of people.”

“I remember,” said Viv softly. “I won’t ever forget.”

“Right,” said Mike, glancing at her again. “Sorry, Viv. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all I have left,” said Viv. “The pain of losing him.”

“Do you remember how they were? Back before Conrad defanged them. Do you remember?”

Viv searched her memory. All she could come up with was a feeling: Cold, bowel-chilling terror. She shuddered.

“They did something to my mind during the Blackout,” said Viv. “I know it was terrifying.”

“They looked human,” said Mike. “Right up until they ripped you apart. And then they changed. Their bloodfaces, that’s all they have left now. They’re more tame, without the ferocity. They’re almost helpless now. A single germ and they’re gone. They’re fragile without the rage that made them strong. They don’t kill anymore, and that weakened them. And now if they kill, and drink the blood, it twists them, makes them sick, crazy. Eventually it kills them. They’ve made things so sanitary they can’t survive the way they used to. They’ve changed their own DNA for the worse.”

Viv was staring at him, wide-eyed. “How do you know about this?”

“Whispers,” said Mike, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “What the Revs talk about when they think they’re alone. They used to be able to read our minds, wipe our memories. That’s why you don’t remember them before. They’ve always been in the shadows, and there’s at least one who always will be. He’ll never stop. Not until they’re all dead. And then he can go back to being the monster no one remembers. The beast who feeds on us like cattle. But you know what, Viv?” He finally looked at her, met her eyes. “It’s better that way. It’s better to be occasionally hunted than brought to our knees. At least if we’re hunted, we remember how to live. At least when we’re dying we have something to make it all worth it. This isn’t life. Survival doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have something to survive for.”

“Who is he?” said Viv.

Mike swallowed, staring at her. She saw fear in his eyes. And something else, something like acceptance.

“Joshua Flynn,” he whispered.

“And this Joshua Flynn,” said Viv. “What has he asked you to do?”

Mike looked away from her again. She could see the pulse jumping in his neck by the streetlight shining down on them.

“Just one last thing,” said Mike. “One last thing and he’ll forget he knows me.”

Viv was silent for a few moments.

“I’m going to poison them,” she said. “That’s what’s happening tomorrow.”

“Poison?” said Mike. “How?”

“Blood, fresh blood. Germs and all,” said Viv. “Griff, he left a note in an old book. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me, maybe he just wrote it down so he wouldn’t forget, but I figured it out.They purify the blood. That’s my job. All the blood is going to be processed in one place so Conrad can keep an eye on it. One drink of raw blood and they’re gone. And all I have to do is drop it in in the machine after the purification has taken place. I just have to figure out how to do it without being seen.”

“You work at the experimental hospital,” said Mike, realization in his voice.

“I’m the administrator,” said Viv. “There’s a big party tomorrow. They won’t say what it is, but lots of Revs are coming in. Important Revs. I’m going to use it.”

“We may see each other again after tonight, then,” said Mike. “I’m going there too.”

“No one should go there,” said Viv. “It’s an evil place. You could run, Mike. I know you had all that money you were hiding. Take it and go.”

“Where would I go?” he said. “There’s nowhere to run, Viv. Besides, I gave it all away.”

“What? Why?”

“Because my friend is young and he might outlive all this.”

“The man you were arguing with.”

“He wanted me to come with him,” said Mike. “He wanted to save me. But he couldn’t even save himself. He’ll be lucky if he’s alive more than a week.”

“So why did you help him?”

“Because he had hope,” said Mike. “I envy him for that. Even if it’s simply a hope to save his own skin.”

“Why are you going to the experimental hospital, Mike?” said Viv.

Mike hesitated. “I have to help someone. I have to save her.”

“Why?”

“So the monster will have hope and save us all.”

“Won’t he just keep killing us?”

“Yes he will,” said Mike. “But then he becomes a story. He’s not in front of us, he’s not a reality. He’s just another boogeyman in the dark. We step into the light, and we can forget. We can live and hope and be human again. We can dream again.”

“They’re not going to simply kill you if they catch you, Mike. You know that.”

“I know,” he said, with a grim smile.

He abruptly turned and opened the door and Viv did the same. Mike stood at the trunk, looking out across the road.

“That’s odd,” he said, turning the key in the trunk. Viv looked down at the lumpy, body-sized package wrapped up in the trunk. The streetlight reflected off the garbage bags, making it shine.

“What’s odd?” said Viv. “That I killed a horrible man and you’re helping me dispose of the body?”

“No,” said Mike. “There was a van here. A Mover van. Someone must have taken it.”

Viv paused. “Why was there a Mover van here?”

Mike didn’t look at her, but bent over and lifted the body half out of the trunk.

“Because there’s a couple of dead Movers down there,” he said. “And a mobster named Matthew. I didn’t kill them. Matthew killed the Movers and Joshua Flynn killed Matthew.”

“And one more body won’t raise an eyebrow,” said Viv.

“It’s not like they’re going to investigate,” said Mike.

“You really need to get some safer hobbies, Mike.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

“You think we’ll be alive come tomorrow?”

Mike shook his head. “If we are, we should go for a drink.”

“If I make it out of this alive,” said Viv, “I’m never drinking again.”

“A cup of coffee then,” he said.

“It’s a date,” said Viv.

She lifted the dead man by his feet while Mike took his head and they hauled him into the basement. And there they left him, tossing the black plastic garbage bags into a nearby dumpster three blocks away. Viv marveled on the ride home how easy it was, to dispose of a dead man. And she thought about how, in the end, spitting on Tom’s corpse felt far too good for comfort.

“You shouldn’t have had that last drink, Tom,” she murmured. And then she put him out of her head forever.

It was that easy.

Twenty-Two

Sia sipped coffee by the open window. She felt the frigid wind blow in, making her face numb and her coffee cool. It helped to make her alert. She had always liked the cold, ever since she could remember.

She hadn’t slept at all. Thoughts and memories of Joshua Flynn washed over her all night long. The dark eyes that haunted her dreams were real, he was real, and he wasn’t someone who she wanted to kill. Just the opposite. She was here for a reason, and now she remembered what it was.

Ana, her sweet girl, as perfect as a song, was here. And she was going to find her and take her away.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Sia called, not turning from the window. Big, wet, black clouds were rolling sluggishly in from the distance. It would snow tonight, Sia could smell it in the air. A blizzard perhaps.

“Ma’am?” said a high voice from behind her. “Madame Briar sent these for you. Where would you like them?”

Sia glanced at the girl carrying a cream-colored garment and something that looked like a hat box. The girl made Sia think of Evelyn Hauser as a young woman. Eager to please those in charge, though this one had not yet found her steel backbone. At least that was how Sia had seen Evelyn Hauser in the beginning. Ever since Sia had played for her, the old woman had seemingly aged twenty years and walked around with a pained expression. Sia avoided her in the halls because the old nurse would just look at Sia with a simpering, pathetic expression, a quiver on her lip. Sia felt no sympathy. Evelyn had tortured her, made her feel like nothing. Before she remembered who she was, Evelyn had showed nothing but contempt for Sia.

Sia motioned to the bed. “Just leave it,” she said. She turned back to the window and sipped her cold coffee.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” said the girl. Sia turned to see the girl fussing with the still-made bed.

“I don’t sleep at night,” said Sia.

“You’re not sleeping now either,” said the girl, “and it’s daytime.”

“I don’t sleep much at all any more,” said Sia.

“I can bring you something to help you,” said the girl. “A sleeping pill to help you relax. It’s a big night tonight. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Big for whom?” said Sia, raising a critical eyebrow. The girl quailed under her cold eyes. It didn’t please Sia to frighten the girl, but she didn’t plan to go to any Revenant party.

“Mathilde said to give you a message,” the girl said nervously.

“I’m listening,” said Sia, turning back to the window. She watched the trees that now filled up the courtyard. A forest of twisted trunks and black flowers, forever green, even in the snow. She looked for movement, but she saw none. Good. Joshua must let her do this. She was strong enough now. She had to do this by herself. She would not be the weak woman with the powerful lover. She wanted to be powerful too. She would take her daughter and bring everyone to their knees. Joshua and Ana and Sia.

“She said to tell you that the party wasn’t optional. That if you don’t attend the party, then your deal is off. She said you would know what she meant.”

Sia set her cup down with a clink. She felt the girl jump behind her.

“You can go now,” said Sia.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. She opened the door.

“Wait,” said Sia, turning. “Are you on the nursing staff?”

“Of course,” she said. Sia looked at the name tag on her chest. C. Avery.

“What’s your name?”

“Christine,” said the girl, blushing a bit in her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Her hair was red and pulled back in a tight ponytail.

“Christine,” said Sia. The name felt so plain on her lips. “You should stay away from this place, Christine. It’s not going to be very safe here.”

“Because of the Revs?” she said with wide eyes. “Don’t be silly. They’re our protectors now.”

“As you wish,” said Sia. “But it won’t be said that I didn’t try. I’m not cruel.”

Christine left, closing the door silently. Sia went back to the window and closed it. She looked up at the storm clouds in the distance. It may as well have been evening, rather than mid-morning. Sia put her forehead to the cold glass.

“I’m not cruel,” she said again. “I am not a monster.” The silent room didn’t argue with her as she closed her eyes against the glass and tried to cry. The tears wouldn’t come and she felt colder than the frozen windowpane.

Sia pulled herself together and washed her face. She rang the bell and asked the bearded attendant to bring her tea, piping hot. Then she held up the cream silk dress Christine had brought. It was beautiful. Simple and elegant, it had no frills or beads or sequins. Just a soft, gathered neckline, and a hem that would come just above the toes of her shoes, which were set neatly beside the dress. Simple cream satin pumps to match the color of the dress perfectly. Sia would have gladly worn such an ensemble for one of her concerts, back when such things were possible. She opened the large hat box, and instantly dropped it in surprise. Recovering, she reached into the box and brought out the odd object. A mask, covered in silk, with pure white feathers adorning the holes where her eyes would go. It looked like the mask of a plague doctor, with a long, pointed nose like a beak, only dressed up like royalty.

Sia remembered Mathilde’s words then: It is to be a masquerade. Sia had forgotten.

“A masquerade,” Sia said to herself, holding up the mask. The princess in a plague mask. She set it back in the box, gently so as not to damage the feathers, then sat on the bed.

She could call for Joshua. He was always nearby. She could sense him now, ever in the shadows, should she need him. She could call him and he would come and help her, take them away from all this, kill everyone who had harmed her here, anyone who even crossed her path. He would kill them all for her.

What sort of a woman would that make her? She’d spent her whole life struggling to be known by her own merit. She’d never used her looks or her body to get ahead. She’d made it clear to everyone she ever met that she was not just her face, not just her body. She had a magnificent gift and she knew it, spending every waking moment from childhood honing her talents. Until she was better than everyone else. Until she was the best. The moment she began to play, it was evident that she was not to be dismissed, she was cold fire within a pleasing package. The only person she could never impress was her own mother.

Sia remembered now. She’d gone to Philadelphia on the night train, Joshua at her side. He had come to her every night since the night she played for him. For a time, she would awaken confused, her fingers bloody from playing, unaware of the events of the night before. But in time, she kept the memories, she recalled the passionate nights of making the most beautiful music she had ever made, with Joshua watching her quietly, his dark eyes piercing into her. And then, the passionate nights were not all about music, but the two of them. No beginning and no ending to them, Joshua much warmer than she’d fantasized he would be, his mouth much hotter and sweeter that she thought was possible in a man.

But Joshua was no man. He was so much more. Sia shivered with pleasure to think of him. She could call him and he would come. No matter where he was, he would always come. Sia closed her eyes and willed the inclination away. She would do this alone. If only to prove to herself that she could.

When they set out for Philadelphia, Joshua whispered into Sia’s ear for the entire midnight train ride. He whispered who he was, and who she could be, if that was what she desired. Even after they arrived, as they looked for a taxi, Sia could still feel his breath on her neck. That was when the lights went out. Even the stars seemed to go dark. And the screaming began.

Joshua led Sia through the city, pulling her through dark alleys, his dark eyes always watchful, always sharp. As they passed a group of people cowering outside a bar, Sia saw Joshua fighting the urge to stop. His face changed only for a moment, a flash of the beast within, and they were on their way.

Sia’s mother didn’t come to the door when she rang the bell and she felt her heart stop in her chest when Joshua pushed the door open with a finger. It was ajar. Sia felt the splintered wood where someone had forced the door open. She looked at Joshua, who was in turn watching her, his eyes asking what she wanted to do.

“I don’t know if I can see,” said Sia, her voice like a breath. Joshua reached out and stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“You can,” he said softly. “You’re strong. It’s important to see.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. “It’s important to know.”

“To know what?” said Sia.

“To know who is to blame. To know who to kill.”

“I’m no killer, Joshua,” she said, but even the hardness in her voice gave her away. She had killed. And she hadn’t regretted it. Looking around at the city, Sia knew she would kill again. Perhaps many times. It was not as troubling as she knew it should be, the idea of killing. But it seemed natural for her. The chill in her chest wasn’t from grief, but anger. She wasn’t afraid, even though she should have been cowering like the others. She peered at Joshua in the dark and she knew she would one day have his strength. She would one day have his hunger. But first she had to see.

Sia walked into the house. When Joshua moved to follow she shook her head. Alone. This is how it had to be. She needed to be strong, she needed to see on her own. Joshua stepped back to wait motionless on the porch and Sia stepped into the dark house.

There were familiar smells here, smells from childhood she associated with home: cinnamon, her mother’s perfume, a sharp piney smell from the cleaner her mother used daily on the floors. But there were other smells mingling with the good; earthy, dark smells. The smell of graves. The coppery, meaty smell of blood.

Sia went by feel through the entryway, across the carpeted living room, into the kitchen. She slipped on something slick on the tiles. Sia grabbed onto the counter to keep her balance, her hand immediately going to a drawer nearby. She pulled out the matches and lit a scented candle that she knew would be on top of the refrigerator. By the smell of too-sweet vanilla Sia lowered the candle to the floor. She saw the heap of what at first looked like rumpled clothing. But the dark puddle around it gave it away. Sia set the candle next to her mother’s face and stared at her unseeing eyes. There was a chunk of flesh missing where it had been ripped out of her neck.

Sia sat down on the floor and tried to feel something. The absence of feeling was more alarming to her than finding her mother dead on the floor. She looked impossibly old lying there, impossibly small and fat at the same time. This woman who had kept an iron fist over her life for so long, this woman who had kept Ana like a sword hanging over Sia’s head, who had never been satisfied with anything Sia had ever done, was incomprehensibly unimportant now. In the end, she was nothing but food for monsters.

Sia got up onto her knees, hovering over her mother’s face. She was transfixed on how powerless this woman had been in the end. She could feel the blood, growing cold and soaking into her clothes where she knelt. Sia ignored it. Without realizing she was doing it, she reached out two fingers and dipped them into the wound on her mother’s neck. She stared at the fingers, dripping blood that was surprisingly warm. They’d only been minutes late.Ten minutes earlier, Sia could have killed the old woman herself.

Sia blew out the candle and breathed in the smoke as she put the fingers in her mouth, swallowing her mother’s blood like the finest wine.

She was standing before she saw her mother’s fist clenched around something shining in the moonlight. She pulled it away and looked at it in the watery light. A tiny bracelet. A trinket she’d given to her daughter. It was engraved and she read the words over and over, remembering having it made, the sweet smile on the girl’s mouth as Sia had draped it over her small wrist and fastened it.

Strength, dear Ana. Always strength.

Sia clutched the bracelet in her hand, the metal cutting into her skin. She could feel the cold blood dripping down her shins where she’d knelt. Ana was not in the house, she knew. But she searched anyway. Nothing was touched, but for her mother.

The monsters had taken her daughter.

Sia left the house reeking of blood. And she didn’t protest when Joshua disappeared into a seedy bodega, coming back more calm and at ease than Sia had seen him in days. He wiped his mouth.

“They have a secret sex club in the back. Disgusting men.”

Sia shrugged without a hint of concern.

“You do what you must to survive.”

“And what do you need?” said Joshua, his breath smelling like the taste still lingering in Sia’s mouth. The taste of blood. She rose up to her tiptoes to kiss his lips, to taste what he tasted.

“Strength,” said Sia. “Always strength.”

Sia looked down at the costume Mathilde had sent to her. She pushed the dress away and crossed the room for her boots and pulled them on. Not bothering with a coat, she strode out of the room, heels clicking as she went down the hall. Nurses and orderlies watched her as she went, eyes straight ahead. She had no interest in talking with any of them. She found the door to the courtyard and was slightly surprised to find it unlocked. She had gone outside with Mathilde, but the woman had always used the key hanging round her neck to open it.

Sia felt the cold wind blow her hair as she stepped outside. Her teeth chattered for only a moment, but she was aware of a chill soaking into her boots, numbing her toes. Ignoring it, she walked across the courtyard, past benches and shrubbery, and into the trees.

Twenty-Three

Mike crouched outside the hospital, waiting.

The last time, the only security was a single guard in a booth at the front entrance road. He watched until he was sure the guard was asleep and walked past in the darkness, like he belonged there. But now there were three guards on foot patrolling the road. Mike looked up at the ornate front of the old mental institution. It brought to mind old black and white movies and gaslights and gothic stories about mad doctors abusing patients and houses that looked like castles. He shivered and put his hands in his pants pockets. The wind was blowing fiercely and even his borrowed coat was no match for it. Tiny bits of snowy ice hit his face like shards of glass.

Finally, when he was half frozen, he spotted Viv’s car coming up the road. She seemed to search for him as she passed, but he was hidden well behind the plowed pile of snow from the parking lot. Mike watched her as she stopped the car in front of the guards and got out, her hands flailing and her voice rising as she shouted at them. The guards seemed to quail under her ire and she pointed them inside the hall, and, exchanging glances with each other behind Viv’s back, they followed her inside.

Mike walked right into the driveway, then the sizable parking lot only a quarter full of cars, and into a transparent shed littered with cigarette butts. There was a magazine with Ambrose Conrad on the cover lying on one of the benches lining the smoking shed, and the walls dripped with sticky brown nicotine. Mike held his breath at the acrid, stifling smell of old cigarette smoke. Smoothing the scrubs Viv had given him, and pulling out the fake badge they had made, Mike made his way to the door marked Employees Only. As Viv had told him, the latch was covered with duct tape by a nursing staff that had tired of being interrogated every time they forgot their keys. He opened the door, closing his eyes at the warm air that seemed to greet him.

He stepped inside, only barely registering the Mover van he passed, idling on the curb.

He had to find the girl. Mike thought of Deacon’s screams from a lifetime ago in an abandoned puppet theater and bile rose up in his throat. What would Flynn do if he failed?

“I must be crazy,” Mike muttered as the door to the Rev hospital closed quietly behind him. The smell of iodine was in the air and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. After this, Joshua Flynn assured him, he would never have to worry about the Revenants ever again.

“Just one last job, Novak,” he said. Mike looked around. There was the empty nursing station where the old crone had held her ground like a warhorse in a frothy pink sweater. Mike blinked his eyes as they recovered from the frigid cold. His eyeballs defrosted and he saw the gurneys against the walls. They all had handcuffs attached. He looked around at the doors, all with deadbolt locks on the outside of the doors. Each also had a slide lock set high on the outside of the door.

A radio was on somewhere and he could hear a tinny voice. Not Ambrose Conrad, as usual, but it was similarly raspy and authoritative.

“Stay in your homes. Do not incite violence and you need not be afraid. We are here to protect…” Static garbled the voice then, and the radio went silent.

“Okay, Sia,” Mike said. “Where are you?”

Mike opened the first door, unlocking it as quietly as he could. The room was empty. The next one was empty too. As was the next. Mike stood in the last doorway and looked over the empty room. A hospital with no patients.

“What in the holy hell is going on?”

Mike walked to a set of double doors, but this time they were locked. As he started for another door on the other side of hall, Mike stopped at the last door, which had been left open. And, unlike the other rooms, this one had a large picture window. The curtain was only open a gap, but the light had caught Mike’s eye. He walked in and threw the curtains open and looked down over the courtyard. He saw a very thin woman in an old fashioned black dress walking through the snow toward a copse of trees. Her hair was loose and the wind blew it around her wildly, the black of it standing out in the snow.

“Are you here to save her?” said a voice behind Mike.

He jumped and turned, prepared to fight. The old nurse was standing in front of him, but she looked different. Her skin hung from her face and neck like cloth, her eyes were red and lined with dark circles and her skin was sallow. She hadn’t bothered with makeup and her movements were jumpy, nervous. Her eyes twitched from the window to Mike and back again. If she hadn’t been wearing the same pink sweater, he would have thought she was a different person.

“I know you,” she said, her voice impossibly tired. “You’re the man who spoke to her, the night she arrived. You are very well-known now, Mr. Novak. What did you say to her?”

Mike studied her. She didn’t seem at all upset that he was here. She barely seemed to care. The old nurse came to stand by him at the window where they watched the black-clad figure make her way across the snow.

“I told her I was going to help her,” Mike said.

“And did you?” said the old woman. “Did you help her?” She put a thin, frail hand to the glass as the woman disappeared into the trees.

“No,” Mike admitted. “I couldn’t.”

“I’m not sure any of us can,” she said. “And even if we could, she wouldn’t take it. I thought she was small when she came. I thought she was just like rest of them. Weak in character. Weak in substance. But she wasn’t, was she? I didn’t believe her when she said she could play…” She trailed off, not watching the scene outside any longer, but watching some play acted out that only she could see. A tableau of events that Mike wasn’t privy to.

“You didn’t know,” Mike said, unsure what she was talking about but eager to be away. He had to find her. He was sure it was Sia walking across the grounds. He had to find Sia and take her away.

“It was ethereal,” said the woman. Hauser was printed on her badge. “It was as if she were playing the songs in my soul.”

“She played music?” he said. “I’m surprised they allowed it.”

“So beautifully,” said Hauser. Tears sprang up in her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about the song she played. I can’t stop hearing it. I feel it’s embedded here.” She raised a shaky hand to her temple. “It plays over and over again and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it.” She turned to look up at him. “It will be playing until the moment I die, Mr. Novak. And she will be the one to kill me.”

“Sia?” said Mike. “Why do you think Sia will kill you?”

“Because,” Hauser said. “She told me she would. And I felt it when she played. The sins I’ve committed, the horrors I have inflicted. I want her to. She can take it all away.”

“I’m supposed to save her,” said Mike.

“Someone must,” said Hauser. “Even if she kills you?” said Mike.

“I’m not strong enough for this world,” she whispered. “I never knew how weak I was until she showed me what strength was.”

Mike frowned. The woman had clearly gone off the deep end. There was no sanity left in her eyes. She turned back to the window and watched the trees where Sia had gone.

“Will you give me your key?” said Mike, seeing the cord on the back of her neck. “So I can get to her?”

Without even looking at him Hauser lifted a large key from around her neck, and handed it to him.

“They’re going to stop you,” she said. “But you have to try. Just like that other one.”

Mike stopped at the door when he heard the words. He turned and closed his eyes.

“What other one?” he said.

“The other man who was here. Tall. Funny accent.”

Mike looked at the back of her.

“Where is he?”

She raised a hand to the window again, this time to point.

“Right there, Mr. Novak.”

Mike went to the glass and looked out. A man in a Mover jumpsuit and a familiar leather jacket with a wide, loping gait. Dez Paine, heading after Sia into the trees.

“How did he get out there?” said Mike.

“I opened the door,” said Hauser.

“Are there Revs out there?” said Mike.

“Maybe there are no Revenants,” said Hauser, watching Dez’s progress through the snow.

“What are you talking about?” said Mike.

“Maybe we’ve all been dead since the Blackout,” said Hauser, her eyes far away again. “Maybe this is Hell.”

“What does that make Sia Aoki?”

Hauser seemed to mull it over for a moment.

“The angel of death.”

Hauser began to laugh.

Mike hurried through the corridor, unlocking the double doors and stepping into a wing that seemed less like a hospital than a swanky hotel. There were fresh-cut flowers on small tables every few feet and the floor was sparkling clean tile arranged in elegant patterns. Mike walked as quickly as he could, lowering his face whenever he passed someone in the hall.

He kept looking to his left, searching for a door that led to the courtyard. The hall forked off and he took the hall closest to the courtyard. The air grew colder the further he went and when he reached an alcove he understood why. A door was standing wide open, the wind rushing in, carrying with it pure white flakes of snow. Mike took a deep breath and looked out over the courtyard, blowing air out in a swirling cloud of fog. He looked towards the trees. He could see two sets of footprints in the snow.

“Here goes nothing,” he said. And stepped outside, closing the door behind him. No going back.

The trees looked odd as he approached and he could see something dark littering the ground. As he reached the edge of the wood, he reached down and picked up what looked like a petal. It was such a dark and deep red that it looked black. It was soft as velvet and browning around the edges. Mike looked around at the trees, at the twisted, gnarled trunks, and he could see misshapen faces within the wood in various stages of anguish. He caught his breath in his throat and removed his hand from the nearest trunk as though he’d been burned.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, touching the root that was still stuck in his belt. “Jesus, oh Jesus.”

He looked around him, backing into the copse of trees, turning in a circle to take in the hundreds of trees now trapping those who had once been monsters, Revs, vampires. He couldn’t breathe as he looked at them all. There had to be hundreds here.

“Flynn,” he said. “Jesus Christ, Flynn, how can there be so many?”

They must have noticed that someone was turning them all into living statements of their own demise, right under their noses. They had to have looked out, just once, to see their brethren being murdered. How could they just let this happen? How could they not catch him?

But Mike understood. They’re weak, they’re so weak, he thought. All of them, they’re sick and helpless. Like insects without an exoskeleton.

That gave him strength and he walked into the horrifying forest, trying to ignore the petals raining down to land in his hair and on his shoulders. He could see the back of Dez Paine now, crouched behind a tree, watching. Mike crept up behind him and put a hand over the man’s mouth to keep him from shouting. Dez flailed, before calming when he realized who it was. Mike put a finger to his lips and crouched down with Dez.

Sia was standing in the snow, completely still, the snow starting to come down through a gap in the foliage, and she raised her face to the sky to let it melt on her cheeks and lips. This was a private moment and Mike felt as if he was violating it by watching. She closed her eyes and Mike saw that she wasn’t even wearing a sweater or jacket. Her gown was low cut and the woman must have been freezing, though she didn’t show any sign of feeling the cold. Her arms didn’t even have goosebumps. Mike could feel his own lips growing numb.

“Joshua, if you can hear me,” Sia said, opening her eyes and lowering her face. “Joshua, I’m so close. Please, trust me.”

Mike frowned as Sia walked to a nearby tree and stroked the thing’s face with an index finger.

“I know you’re watching out for me, Joshua. But I have to find her.”

She turned then, peering deeper into the wood. She brushed snow off a nearby pile and Mike saw that it was a park bench, layered with snow. Sia laughed, as though she had just heard a great joke, then kept walking with a swish of skirts. Mike could hear her humming as she walked. Dez looked at him, seeming as flummoxed as he was.

“She’ll scream if she sees us,” said Dez. “Then they’ll have us.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, watching Sia’s silhouette move behind a tree.

“My friend,” said Mike, “I really don’t think that woman will ever be the one screaming.”

“What?” said Dez. “You could have fooled me the last time I was here. I nearly got caught.”

“I think Miss Sia is far more than she appears to be,” said Mike. “Flynn said she was just like him. Anyone who would willingly live in this place and laugh in the midst of all this.” Mike motioned to the trees surrounding them. Dez looked up and seemed to notice the trunks for the first time. He opened his mouth to shout in alarm, but Mike put a hand over his mouth for the second time.

“Quiet,” said Mike. “All we have to do is get Sia out. Flynn said to help her, whatever that means. You go over there, Dez.” Mike pointed to a spot in the shadows deeper into the trees. “Now. Go.”

Dez went, crouching low, and disappeared in the thickness of the horrific trunks.

“Well,” said a cool voice behind him, “I suppose this means that Joshua doesn’t know how to leave me alone.”

He turned to see Sia, who had circled around to end up behind him. She smiled and her small square teeth seemed somehow sharp to Mike. Her eyes watched him, untouched by the smile.

“And yet,” she said, “this is what he sends me. My savior.” She sighed then and shook her head.

“He is no savior,” said a second female voice nearby. Mike looked and saw a ghost. Black lace covered every part of the woman, making her stand out glaringly in the snow. Sia shrugged.

“I was taking a walk and came upon this man,” she said, her eyes suddenly innocent. She looked almost girl-like, a far cry from the coldness Mike had seen a moment ago. Mike remembered how raw and sweet she had seemed when he first met her. He had been so wrong. This wasn’t someone to be saved. This was someone who ended you. The old nurse had been right to feel fear, and Mike knew at last that she was perfectly capable of saving herself.

The veiled woman made a waving motion with her hand and Mike heard footsteps.

“There’s no point in running,” she said, an accent heavy in her voice. French.

Mike looked across at the shadows. He couldn’t see Dez. Mike hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. Stay hidden, Dez, he thought. Ignore a stupid old man and survive. At least ten guards were headed his way, guns drawn. Mike sighed a weary sigh.

“I surrender.” Mike raised his hands into the air.

“Some help you were,” said Sia in Mike’s ear. “You barely found me before you got caught.”

“Sia! Come away from him!” yelled the veiled woman.

“The blood,” Mike said in a low voice. “At the party. It’s going to be tainted. They’re all going to get sick.”

Sia laughed, delighted. “Well done, Mike Novak.”

“You remember me?”

“I remember everything,” she said. And then she joined the veiled woman as the guards shoved Mike down into the snow. Mike raised his face from the ground to look at them.

“What were you thinking?” mocked the veiled woman. “Did you think you’d do the right thing and save the innocent girl?” She made a scoffing noise behind the lace. “Did you really think it would make a difference?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Mike. “There is no right thing, not anymore.” He looked at Sia who was watching him with interest, her tongue playing on her small white teeth. “Every which way is horror.”

And in the end, Mike knew he was right. In the end, they were all monsters of their own making. In the end, they all created their own horrors.

Twenty-Four

Viv walked through the door that led to her wing and her hopes fell. Instantly she knew that she wouldn’t be alone today. She could hear the voices from the hallway, dozens of them. Here to report to work on their first day, no doubt. They sounded happy and she wondered what that must be like. She walked into the plant, remembering to put on a smile as she entered and every face turned toward her.

“Well, hello,” she said cheerfully, pushing down her disappointment, her desperation, and smiling wider than ever. “My name is Viv White. Let me put my things away and we’ll get started.”

They even clapped. Applause to start purifying human blood for Revs. Viv closed her eyes as she shut herself in her office.

“Something wrong?” said a tremulous voice.

Viv’s eyes popped open and she almost dropped her purse.

“You,” she said.

The old nurse from her first day was sitting at her desk. The woman who had caught her talking to Sia.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” said Viv.

“I said the same to you once,” she said, her voice tired. She leaned forward and Viv saw that she looked a little like a malnourished skeleton. Deep circles made her eyes look zombielike, and her skin looked jaundiced. She scratched thoughtfully at a livid rash on her arm.

“Evelyn, right?” said Viv. “I’m sorry, Evelyn, this is a very busy day for me.”

“You don’t look like you’re sleeping, Dr. White.”

“Evelyn, really, I—“

“I heard them talking about you, back when you started, you know,” said Evelyn Hauser. She slumped in the chair, as though she were too weak to move. “They said you lost your family in the Blackout.”

“We’re supposed to call them the Dark Days,” said Viv.

“Darker than now?” said Evelyn. “There was a child, wasn’t there?”

“I’m not going to talk about him with you,” said Viv, growing angry. This woman was clearly having some sort of breakdown.

“I knew him,” she said.

“You knew my child?” said Viv, fighting the urge to reach out and slap this woman. This poor wretch. Viv felt ashamed. She looked back at the new employees through the blinds. They were chatting happily with each other, at least a dozen people truly overjoyed to be here.

“Not your child,” said Evelyn. “I knew Dr. White. The other Dr. White. He was handsome, even way back then. Are you planning something?”

“Are you sure you knew the right one?” said Viv. “White is a very common name.”

“I was his assistant,” said Evelyn, straightening. “Before all this happened. He was good. Very good. When he found out you were pregnant, he passed out cigars. I still have mine.”

Viv was across the desk, holding the woman by her scrawny turkey neck before she knew what she was doing. But Evelyn Hauser only looked at her sadly.

“Tragedy makes us so desperate, don’t you think, Dr. White? It shapes us, whether we allow it to or not.”

“What do you want?” said Viv.

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” said Evelyn, pulling Viv’s hand from her throat. “It took me a long time before I realized who you were. I had to break into the records office to be sure. And then I found where you live.”

Viv froze.

“It’s really very shabby compared to your old house,” said Evelyn. “How do you cope? Lots of booze, I suppose.”

“What do you want?” Viv repeated.

“He saw it coming, you know. He knew something was about to happen. He wanted to poison them all with disease. He did test after test, but back then, they didn’t get sick, did they? Only us. He should have saved all those diseases. I bet they’d work wonders now. But it’s too late for him. Too late for dear Griff.”

“Stop it,” Viv said, her voice tight.

“He always did follow the rules, didn’t he? And that’s what I did, too. I made myself forget. Everything. I followed the rules, I did what they said. Everything they told me to do, I did it. I even believed it for a time.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wish she would kill me now. I can’t take the anticipation.”

“Who?” said Viv.

“Never mind,” said the old woman. “He’s going to be here, you know. Conrad. For the grand soiree.”

“The president?” said Viv, her voice slow.

“Dr. White was just so proud of that boy. Of you too, but that baby. My God, he talked about him nonstop.”

“Evelyn…”

“I wonder if he was around, if Griff hadn’t disappeared, would he have found him?”

“What are you talking about?” said Viv, narrowing her eyes. “Found who?”

“Your child, of course,” said Evelyn. “Haven’t you been listening?”

Viv stared. She swallowed hard, steadying herself. She felt dizzy.

“Hunter’s alive?” she said, her knees almost giving out. “My boy, is he alive? Evelyn, is he?”

The woman sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me what you know,” Viv said, her voice a whisper.

“I know that you’re not going to be able to slice your vein open in front of so many people. They’ll turn on you on the spot. Those people are grateful to be here. They’ll do anything to keep this. And then they’ll throw all that blood away. All that beautifully tainted blood.”

“What do you know, Evelyn?” Viv said, sounding like a broken record.

“I know that you have to do it tonight,” she said. “I know that they’re all going to be here. All of the leaders. They wouldn’t miss such a thing for the world.”

“Miss what? The party?”

“The party,” she said, and Viv could detect a vestige of her old steely self in the old woman. “You know what this is, don’t you? It’s not really a party.”

“What?”

“It’s all up to you, Dr. White. You are a self-sustaining factory of Rev poison, but you have to do it right. Don’t let anyone see, don’t pass out for God’s sake,” said Evelyn. “You are the answer to save her from her fate.”

“Who?” said Viv. “Who are you talking about?”

Evelyn stood wearily.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said. She started to walk to the door, but Viv held her arm to stop her. The arm was tiny. Viv could wrap her fingers around it and then some, like chicken bones. Evelyn looked at her and Viv thought she looked dead already.

“My son…” said Viv.

“There’s a hidden wing,” Evelyn murmured. “Through the trees with the blackened petals. In the courtyard. Go all the way through, even when the trees get so close together you have to climb around them. You’ll see it at the end, under the vines. The door is marked with a red Z. It looks like it’s marked for the plague. And maybe that’s closer to the truth.”

“My son is here?” said Viv. “Are you sure?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No. But I’ve been out there. I worked there. I administered the…I worked there.”

“What’s out there?”

“Children. So many children. And Revs. But I saw it. It was real, I’m sure it was.”

“I need to go there now,” said Viv. “I need to know.”

“No,” said Evelyn, and Viv was surprised by the sureness in her voice. “After the party. You taint the blood, and then you go. It’s the only way.”

“Why? Why wait?”

“Because two men are being arrested out there right now,” Evelyn said, “and they would never let you get in. But you taint the blood, you poison the Revs, you poison the president, that is your chance. You have to kill the president to get your son back, Dr. White. Either that, or you’ll be just the same as the rest of them.” Evelyn pointed towards the door, toward the employees. Someone was laughing.

“And what would that be?” said Viv.

“Helpless.”

“What do you get out of this?” said Viv. “Why are you telling me this?”

Evelyn met her eyes. “I’ve committed such sins that I’m going to burn until the end of time.” She fingered a tiny gold cross at her neck. “If I’m going to die soon, I’m going to die doing something good. It’s time to kill those devils. They don’t belong in the light. The light is ours.”

“What if I fail?”

Evelyn opened the door and the chatter grew exponentially louder. But Viv heard the old woman when she said, “You won’t.”

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Viv sat down at her desk, stunned. Then she opened a desk drawer, passing over a half-empty bottle, and took out a box cutter, pushing the blade up to test it. She touched the razor blade with her finger and saw the blood well up there. She put the finger in her mouth and slid the blade back down.

She put the box cutter in her pocket, and, still sucking on her finger, walked out of the office to greet her new employees. She only cared about one thing now. Not retribution, not revenge, not even her poor husband who she had hated so hard all this time.

Hunter. Only Hunter.

Twenty-Five

Sia looked out the window as her hair was twisted and pulled into shape. She had known the trees weren’t normal, but she needed a closer look to be sure: They had all been Revenants once. But where they had all come from, how had Joshua tracked them and brought them here? If those two men hadn’t shown up, perhaps she could have found out. Or perhaps Mathilde would just find her where she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Do you remember our deal, Sia?”

Sia turned to look at Mathilde, sitting in a chair opposite her, causing the woman styling her hair to curse. Mathilde had gone back to wearing her veil again.

“I can’t talk to you when you look like that,” said Sia. “Take that ridiculous thing off.”

“I have been instructed to wear it at all times,” said Mathilde with a sniff.

“By whom?” said Sia. “Maybe you should rethink your loyalties.”

“Watch your tongue, girl,” said Mathilde. “Someone will hear.” Though even Mathilde didn’t look very concerned. She lifted her teacup under her veil and drank. “You have a very special guest tonight at your party. You are quite fortunate. Not very many people have met him in person.”

“Who?” said Sia, watching the trees. She thought she saw movement. She remembered the two men from earlier and felt a pang of guilt for not helping them. But finding Ana was not going to happen by protecting a couple of idiots crunching around in the snow. She’d heard them from a mile away.

“My brother,” said Mathilde. “A very important man.”

“Man?” said Sia, looking at Mathilde. The hairdresser cursed again.

Mathilde just continued to sip her tea under her veil.

“Don’t you have to get ready?” said Sia.

“Not at all, my dear,” said Mathilde, too sweetly. “I’ll be fine in what I’m wearing. All that I need to do today is sit with you so you don’t get lonesome.”

“Lonesome?” said Sia. “No one can seem to leave me alone for five minutes.”

“Because you continually try to get yourself killed,” said Mathilde.

Sia could feel the items she had shoved into her boots in the trees. She could feel one of the sticks starting to rub the skin on her ankle away. She was sure she’d be riddled with splinters by the time someone left her alone long enough to sharpen them. How could the Revs overlook their courtyard being full of the only weapon that could kill a Rev? Sia looked at Mathilde, sipping her tea, covering her face demurely, like a subservient Victorian woman.

They’d grown so human, they didn’t even see any longer, Sia realized. Becoming too human was going to be their downfall. When monsters lost their bite, what was there to be afraid of? She yearned for her own monster, her Joshua, to come bursting through the door. He would rip apart everyone who got in his way, then take her away from this place forever. But Sia knew that if he didn't let her do this on her own, she would never forgive him. If they even realized that Joshua Flynn was nearby, what would they do to the children?

Conrad was to blame for all this, Joshua reminded her again and again. Conrad decided and Conrad was popular, so the Revs listened. Though the Blackout hadn’t been his, he had made it so. He’d killed the Revs responsible, Joshua told her. Killed them without hesitation, in true Revenant fashion. And then Conrad had proceeded to defang those that remained. So to speak. Science, technology, all for the so-called health of the race. They made Slack and gave it to the humans, curing every disease that had ever given a Rev as much as a stomachache. It was all over after that. Joshua had been unable to convince them to stay underground. He pleaded to stay to the shadows where they belonged, where they were strong. But Joshua was an outcast, especially after Sia. His love of music and beauty and art made him an oddity. He was a relic from a time long ago, when even the Revenants were beautiful.

And now he was the only strong one left. He was the one who stayed in the shadows. He was the only beast left standing, and he was hers. Sia shook her head, realizing Mathilde was saying something.

“I said, did you try on your dress? I had it custom made just for you.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Sia. “Why are you having this party again? Why do I have to go? I don’t like being around them.”

“The Revenants?” said Mathilde, trying her best to sound shocked. “They insisted upon it. And you must go, it’s in your honor.”

“Why me?”

“You are to kill Joshua Flynn,” said Mathilde, setting her teacup down with a clink. “Or have you forgotten our deal?”

Sia sighed. “I want to play again.”

“Ah, that is another surprise,” said Mathilde. “You will be playing at the party. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Revs hate music,” said Sia.

“Not any longer,” said Mathilde. “They have struggled to understand humanity. And during that time, they have come to appreciate some of the finer points in human culture. Music, dancing, art, literature. It’s very en vogue.”

“Then why is it still illegal?”

“Well something so beautiful mustn’t be available to just anyone. What would be the fun if everyone could have it?”

“What a horrible concept,” said Sia.

“Ah, Sia, you will learn. All will be revealed very soon. Very soon indeed.”

“You can’t even reveal your face,” said Sia. “Forgive my lack of enthusiasm.”

Mathilde rose, irritated. “You must work on your manners, girl,” she said. “If you speak that way tonight, you will find yourself a donor by morning.”

Sia looked out the window. Softly she said, “I’ll behave.”

“See that you do,” said Mathilde. “I’ll be just a moment. Let the girl finish your hair and then get dressed. Understood?”

“Fine.”

Mathilde left, slamming the door behind her.

“She’s a real piece of work,” said the hairstylist.

“Mind your tongue,” said Sia.

The girl finished her hair in silence as Sia stared out across the courtyard. There was something strange about this party.

When the girl finished, she left without another word and Sia was finally alone. She closed her eyes and looked out the window again, picking up the wine glass that had been wheeled in when Mathilde arrived. Sia picked up the full glass and drained it. She took the cap off the crystal decanter and refilled the glass, drinking half of it before the alcohol hit her. She sat down, dizzy. The snow was starting to come down hard, the light growing dim and surreal in the gloaming. Sia saw movement outside and stood up, clutching the windowsill for balance.

Mathilde was setting out across the courtyard. Sia watched her disappear into the trees, looking surreptitiously over her shoulder. Sia stared. She had seen Mathilde going into the copse of trees several other times, but she had always just assumed she was out for a walk. Sia remembered to breathe and watched the trees until the snow was too heavy and the night was too dark to see.

Sia drank the rest of the wine and then closed the drapes. She slipped into the white dress, liking the way the silk clung to her body. She stepped into the shoes and looked at the mask for a long time. She applied blood red stain to her lips and finally put the odd mask on. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning to get the full affect.

Mathilde entered without knocking, out of breath, snow melting on her veil.

“Where were you?” said Sia. “Where did you go?”

“Just for a walk,” said Mathilde.

Sia frowned, surprised at the hurt she felt at being lied to.

“You are a vision, Sia,” she said.

“Do I have to wear the mask?” said Sia. “It feels funny on my face.”

“It is a masquerade, ma belle,” said Mathilde. “You must wear the mask.” Mathilde was just standing in the doorway, frozen. Sia turned to study her.

“Take off your veil so I can see you,” said Sia.

“No,” Mathilde breathed. “I shall not.”

“I don’t know what to think when you stare at me.”

“Think only that I love you, Sia,” said Mathilde. “Think only that I have treasured my time with you.”

Sia frowned. “Are you leaving me, Mathilde?”

“No, ma belle,” said Mathilde, sounding impossibly sad. “I would never leave you.”

“I’ve grown very fond of you,” said Sia. “It would be a shame if we were separated.”

“I would not leave you, Sia,” said Mathilde. “But I must take you to the party. It has begun already. Do you hear it?”

Sia turned her head to listen. She could hear voices, low and laughing. And something else.

“Music,” she said, feeling a smile spread across her face. “They’re playing music.”

“Yes, Sia,” said Mathilde. But she didn’t sound happy. “Music just for you. Music for the guest of honor.”

“I don’t have to give a speech, I hope,” said Sia, smiling. She was suddenly eager to go. She could feel the vibration of strings in her belly. She could hear violins and…was that a cello? She patted her hair and then walked over to Mathilde and slipped her hand into Mathilde’s cool gloved one. Mathilde clutched Sia’s hand tightly.

“Is everything all right?” said Sia. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“No, my dear. I’ve only just received some tragic news.”

“Oh that’s awful. Did someone die?”

“Not yet,” said Mathilde.

“Well, shall we go and dance to forget our sorrows?” said Sia.

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “Yes, I suppose we must.”

Sia adjusted her corset, trying not to wince as the stakes she’d sharpened and slipped under the stays cut into her skin. But she smiled at Mathilde.

“Will I be able to play?” said Sia. “I would so love to show you what I’m capable of.”

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “I’m sure you will be magnificent.”

Twenty-Six

Mike groaned as he tried to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. His head throbbed and his eyeballs ached. One of his hands hurt, and when he tried to make a fist electric shocks of pain shot up his arm. He could feel bandages around it. Mike strained to remember. It felt as though he’d gone on a bender.

Sia. The woods that were once people. A woman in a black veil. An altercation.

Oh God. What had he done?

Mike forced his eyes open, wiped away the crust with the back of his good hand. Something creaked under him as he moved and he realized he was on a bed. He fought the pain in his head and hand as he slowly, gingerly sat up, kicking away the thin blanket. It was dark, but it felt musty. It occurred to him that this is what a dungeon must feel like, but he discarded it. A dungeon might be Joshua Flynn’s style, but not these new Revenants. They liked order, cleanliness, predictability. But, Mike, surmised, their experimental hospital was built in the early 1800s, and very little had been done to improve it. Mike remembered researching the hospital for a story, years ago. Some wings of the building still had gas lighting. A few wings were new, but the Revs liked old fashioned clothing, old fashioned architecture. They weren’t really so modern as they liked to think.

You will answer my questions, Mr. Novak.

Mike felt dizzy as the memory of what had happened came back. The guards carrying him across the courtyard, the woman in black guiding Sia behind them. And then a Revenant, striding out to meet them, a pair of ridiculous sunglasses on his ugly face. The Rev smiled when he saw Mike. Smiled. Mike didn’t know how he’d done it, but suddenly he was free of the guards and he had that tree root in his hand and he was plunging it into the smarmy bastard’s chest.

And all Mike could say afterwards was, “I was right.” The vines sprang from the Revs chest and the bastard screamed right up until the branches grew around his face.

“I was right,” Mike repeated. “I was right, I was right.” He couldn’t goddamn stop saying those words, as if they meant anything.

“Do you know what you’ve done to yourself?” said the woman in the black veil, a bored tone in her voice. As if she didn’t care in the slightest what happened to him. Sia’s eyes danced with excitement.

“I was right.”

Mike shook his head, then instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea swept over him. He held the bandaged hand in front of his face. It was all bundled up like a mitten, all the way to his wrist. Mike swallowed down bile. None of it mattered. He’d gotten himself locked up. He flexed his right arm and felt how sore and bruised it felt around his inner elbow. Was he a permanent donor? If so, wouldn’t he be attached to the tubes right now? Mike swung his feet around and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking horribly. He was in a thin hospital gown. Hugging himself, he realized that the room was dimly lit, and he squinted at it.

A small, strange window was set into the wall and a warm glow came from it. The floor was cold like stone, making Mike shiver. He thought about getting back under the blanket and waiting out the drug hangover, but he immediately dismissed the notion. He stood shakily, holding onto the cold, rough wall for support. He made his way to the window. It was set into a metal door, with bars that ran vertically. Mike peered through them to see an empty hallway, with puddles littering the floor. Mike tried to look down the hall, but the window was too small. He tried to get closer and bumped his foot.

Crouching, Mike found a small tray with a tall glass of water and meat that had grown cold and hard. Mike drank the water and the throbbing in his head began to subside.

There had been two Revs. Four guards waited outside the room, an office with a plush carpet and a sign on the desk that said Mathilde Briar. Mike was handcuffed, his hands painfully stretched behind him. These Revs were dressed well, in suits and soft, high necked coats that went down to their knees. They were hairless and dabbed at their chins with handkerchiefs when the saliva dripped down their teeth. But their eyes showed that, weak though they might be, they were cruel. They glared at Mike through narrow red slits.

The tallest one uncuffed Mike wordlessly. When the other one spoke, Mike knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Tell us what you know about Joshua Flynn,” he rasped.

In the end, Mike told them everything he knew. But only after they took all of the fingers from his right hand with a pair of pruning shears. He told them what Joshua had asked him to do with the underground newspaper, and how he asked him to save Sia.

He didn't say a word about Viv or Dez. They didn’t ask. They didn’t even mention the Rev killed in the courtyard. It was as if they had no concern beyond their immediate orders: Find Joshua Flynn. Mike grew hot with shame as he remembered what he had finally told them, and he bent over and retched on the floor, warm liquid splashing onto his feet. He looked at his bandaged hand again.

You’ll never type another word, the tall Rev had said. But we’ll leave your other hand alone. It’ll get lonely where you’re going and you need someone to keep you company.

Mike spat at him for that but the Revs only laughed. They pushed a button and a nurse came in with a syringe.

Goodbye forever, Mr. Novak, said the smaller Rev. No one will ever hear from you again. And no one will remember you.

The nurse looked about to cry as she put the needle in his arm and pressed the plunger.

Mike walked across the room toward a more subtle glow. Now that his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Mike could see it. He looked out a window riddled with wires inside the glass, overlooking the grounds. A blizzard was raging outside, the fat, wet flakes coming fast and heavy. Snow piled along the panes and frosted the glass. He was still in the hospital. He had never left.

“Mr. Novak,” said an exasperated male voice. “Have you made a mess in there?”

“Hello?” said Mike, walking toward the door. A face was blocking the light.

“You’re just going to have to smell that all night, Novak,” said the man. “I’m not cleaning it up.”

“Please,” said Mike, holding his bad hand by the wrist so he didn’t jostle it. “Please, what is this? Why am I in here?”

“I think you know that,” said the man. Mike saw he was middle aged, maybe 45, with a few days beard growth on his face. He had bloodshot eyes and dirty teeth. And when he spoke again, Mike could smell booze on his breath. “You’re here for the long haul, Novak, so you might as well settle down.”

“My hand,” said Mike. “It hurts. Please…”

“Sorry, man,” he said. “You shouldn’t have made them so mad. You shouldn’t have tried to steal their beta. There’s nothing I’m allowed to give you. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning. Someone will come and dose you up. You’re considered mentally unstable.”

“Beta?” said Mike. “What’s a beta?”

“You know, the scary Asian chick. The one who walks around like she owns the place. She won’t be walking anywhere for a while though. She’s scheduled tonight, I heard some of them talking.” He lifted a small bottle out of his pocket and took a swig, looking apologetic. “They’ll know if I give you some. They always know.”

Mike realized the man was drunk. He wouldn’t tell him any of this otherwise.

“Scheduled what?” said Mike.

“They think she knows…you know. The guy. The one they’re afraid of.”

“Joshua Flynn,” said Mike.

He pointed at Mike. “That’s the one. They want her to kill him.”

“She’ll never kill him,” said Mike.

“She might,” said the man. “She’s going to forget anything she likes. She’s not going to be so pretty for long. She’s going to look just like them.”

“They’re going to make her a Rev?” said Mike. “How?”

The man shrugged and took another swig. “Some sciencey shit.”

“They’re going to kill her,” said Mike, remembering Sia’s perfect face, her dark eyes, her red lips. “This is going to end so badly for them.”

If Sia was killed, Flynn was going to kill them all. He seemed to be toying with them before. There was derision and disgust there, but they only mattered to him because of what they used to be. They had destroyed his race, but as long as he had Sia, he seemed to care little for them, one way or another. He seemed to be killing them for sport, the fun of it. A man like that, a monster like that, what would he do when he was truly enraged?

“She might not die,” said the man. He was wearing scrubs, stained down the front. He shook the empty bottle. “She might just be like them.”

“I don’t think you understand,” said Mike. “If she dies, it’s going to get a whole lot worse.”

“What can we do?” he said, rubbing his eyes and stumbling a little. “You’re stuck in there with five fingers left. I’m out here, drunk off my ass. We’re not saving anyone tonight, buddy.”

“You could let me out,” said Mike.

He heard the guard laughing all the way down the hall.

Twenty-Seven

Viv spent the day overseeing the final test runs of the central purification pump. The blood came in on refrigerated trucks around noon and everyone watched it traveling through glass tubes the size of tree trunks. The first batch was taken away to be put into a second machine in the next room. A new employee named Nancy was in charge of making sure there were empty bags to divvy the blood into and the machine did the rest. A screech of hydraulics, a liquidy splutter, and Nancy packed the bags away onto trays, dozens at a time. They didn’t bother with blood typing, because it wasn’t for transfusions. For that matter, it wasn't even for humans.

The blood was strictly for the Revs.

Mr. Freen came in around three o’clock, sending a shiver of gasps through Viv’s employees. He smiled unpleasantly at them and went directly to Viv. A female Rev followed him in a minute later. She looked sickly even for a Rev. She was small and thin, and the tips of her fingers were blue.

“Ms. White, this is Miss Krale. She will be testing the blood batches.”

Miss Krale blinked at Viv like some sort of alien.

“Every batch?” said Viv. “This is going to hold up production.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Freen. “We must ascertain that it is safe.”

“I assure you that we use rigorous testing procedures,” said Viv. “I don’t know what sort of ship you think I run here, but if you think I’m not capable…”

“It’s out of my hands,” he said, almost apologetically. He leaned close to her and she fought the urge to back away. “The president is coming tonight, my dear. He requires the strictest safety measures. I would never think to question your expertise.”

“I see,” said Viv, forming her face into a smile. “Of course. We’ll all do the best we can to ensure the utmost purity of the batches.” She fingered the blade in her pocket and set her face into a fixed smile.

Mr. Freen followed Viv into the bagging room, Miss Krale following behind wordlessly, a plastic tube dangling out of her long sleeves. As they stood in front of the machine, she moved as if robotically. She picked up a bag of blood and held it up to the light. Then, with slick, fast movements she attached her IV tube to the bag and tilted the bag upside down. Blood traveled down the length of the tube and disappeared under her shirt. Krale kinked the tube, and unscrewing her IV, she replaced the cap on the bag of blood. She turned and looked at Viv with her big, pale eyes.

“This batch is acceptable,” she said. “No ill effects.”

Mr. Freen smiled and watched Miss Krale replace the blood bag on the tray, which Linda picked up and carried to the cooler down the hall. Viv closed her eyes momentarily. How the hell was she going to do this with Miss Krale and Linda standing by?

Viv looked up at the small circular door which opened to allow for disinfecting and removing obstructions. All she had to do was open that door and bleed into it. The thought made her shudder for some reason.

“Is everything all right, Ms. White?” said Mr. Freen. “Are you feeling unwell?” He cringed away from her as he said the words.

Viv smiled. “I’m fine, sir. Just tired.”

“Please see that you keep your wits about you. You are expected in the V-wing at precisely six o’clock.”

“Me?” said Viv. “Why?”

“To bring the blood personally,” said Mr. Freen. “It was requested by President Conrad himself. I understand he appointed you to this job.”

“Yes, the President has granted me a great honor,” said Viv.

“You will bring the last batch of blood of the day, so it’s as fresh as possible,” said Mr. Freen. “We will provide a cart for you.”

“V-wing, as in Vampire Wing?” said Viv. “That’s clever.”

“Isn’t it?” said Mr. Freen. “I got a good chuckle out of it.”

He turned then and walked out. Viv looked at Miss Krale and smiled. Krale remained expressionless. Viv shrugged at Linda, who watched, worried, as Viv left the room. She was leaving Linda alone with Krale, but she had no choice. She had a plant to run. And she had to figure out how to get rid of them both.

Viv watched as the members of her team performed their allotted tasks flawlessly. Everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to do. She had to do this, she had no more options. She would not live like this any longer. And she made a promise to Mike.

When she thought of Mike, her feelings were confused and muddled. He was there to comfort her when she needed someone most, after she was forced from her home. She lost her entire family. She was a mess and Mike helped her put herself together. Their relationship deepened the night he told her about his wife's death. They had both lost so much, and yet they had fit together as if it was meant to be. When Mike disappeared, Viv thought he was dead. And then he showed up again exactly when she most needed his help. He helped her dump Tom’s body without even a second thought. And she felt strange whenever he looked at her. His eyes seemed to linger on her face. Mike had been her knight once. But what about now?

Viv blinked back tears. She wasn’t going to live very much longer. She was going to attempt to kill Conrad, the political leader of the entire world. The monster who owned everyone. The other Revs wouldn’t let her live after that. And Mike? He was neck deep in his own shit. If they both survived to the next morning, it would be a miracle. It did no good to pine about him when it would never come to anything.

Viv paced for a moment, pretending to be monitoring the men and women running the plant. There was only one person she could count on in this place, and that person was completely batshit crazy. She looked at her watch. Nearly 3:30. She didn’t have time to think. Viv walked out the door and when she got out of sight of the plant workers, she began to run.

She knew she would find Evelyn in K-block.

When she arrived at the door, the first door she had entered on her first day, she found it wide open. Stepping through, her heels clicking, Viv was struck by the silence of the ward. There was no beeping of machines, no whir or hiss of blood pressure machines, no murmuring of doctors and nurses, no squeak of sneakers on the tile floor. Viv looked around. There was no one here. No patients, no one.

Viv found Evelyn in the room where Viv had spoken to Sia. She remembered the poor girl's crying, the sound that had lured Viv in. She had never seen anyone so sad as Sia. As Viv approached Evelyn, with her back to the door, she stopped, the memory of Sia suddenly like a kick in the guts. Viv promised herself she would save Sia. But she had to find out if Hunter was here. And if he was alive.

Evelyn sat on the bed, hugging the pillow to her stomach.

“Are you quite all right, Dr. White?” said Evelyn without turning.

“I was just…remembering,” said Viv.

“That’s all I do,” said Evelyn. “I did terrible things to her. By the book. Things that we outlawed for a reason. But that was before.”

“Before the Annex,” said Viv.

“Yes,” Evelyn said bitterly.

“I need your help.”

Evelyn set the pillow down gently, patting it as she stood. She turned and looked at Viv.

“There’s a Rev,” said Viv. “A blood tester, who runs the blood through her own body. I don’t know how to get rid of her long enough to access the blood.”

“You’re the administrator,” said Evelyn. “You can do as you please.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” said Viv. “No one is free.”

“Tell me what you need me to do,” said Evelyn, suddenly sounding impossibly tired. The old woman closed her eyes.

“I’m expected to take blood to the party at six o’clock,” said Viv. “The last batch of the day. Everyone will go home after that. If you can get everyone out around a quarter till, that should be enough time…”

“Enough time to bleed?” said Evelyn.

“Yes, I suppose,” said Viv, feeling weak at the prospect.

“Have you given any thought as to how you are going to bleed a copious amount and then pretend that nothing has happened?”

“Well no,” said Viv. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Evelyn eyed the pocket where Viv had slipped the boxcutter.

“So you were just going to slice yourself open, were you?” said Evelyn. “Maybe pass out on the floor and then they’d find your lifeless body in the morning?”

“I don’t have any experience at espionage,” Viv snapped. “I suppose you have a better idea.”

“I do,” said Evelyn. “It's time for your blood day, Dr. White. The most important blood day you’ve ever had.”

“What?” said Viv. “No, I don’t go in until…” Viv saw the old woman raise an eyebrow. Evelyn walked out of the room and came back wheeling a cart.

“How big are your pockets, Dr. White?” said Evelyn. She held up the tray of vials from her cart. “Big enough, I suppose,” said Viv, pulling the boxcutter out of her pocket and stuffing her hands in. “So long as I don’t try any gymnastics.”

“A pint will do, I think,” said Evelyn. “Just a taste will corrupt them.”

“Are you sure about that?” said Viv. “About any of this, I mean. The blood, it seems too easy.”

“Occam’s Razor, doctor.”

“Yes, but, blood can’t be the answer to killing them,” said Viv. “It’s too easy. Can they really be so weak?”

Evelyn guided Viv back until she sat down on the bed, then proceeded to wipe her arm with an alcohol swab. Viv winced. She’d given blood so many times she was constantly sore and flinched when she bent her arms. The thought of a needle going in sent shivers down her spine every week. But this was important.

“I’ve seen the survivors,” said Evelyn. “And surviving is worse, believe me.”

“Okay,” said Viv, turning her head away. “Go ahead. Do it.”

“Try not to faint,” said Evelyn, wrapping the standard blue tourniquet around her upper arm with a sound like a rubber glove. “You already look half a ghost.”

Viv thought she had never heard anything more true. She watched Evelyn slide the needle into her vein, then pop a vial into the vacutainer. Blood immediately filled the vial and Evelyn replaced it with an empty one, passing the full vial to Viv. She held it up, looking at the dark fluid inside. So much fuss for such a small thing. Blood. And to think that even a tiny vial like this could poison them. Viv shook her head as she slipped it into her pocket.

As she returned to the plant, the vials clinked softly in her pockets. Viv was all too aware of the bulge in her pants, though no one else seemed to notice. If the glass broke or a lid popped off, though, she was sunk. She walked gingerly back and forth, being careful to slip off to her office to drink water so she didn’t pass out. She found a packet of crackers in her desk drawer, fingering the bottle of booze before rejecting it, walking carefully back into the plant. She felt lightheaded, with shadows around her vision, as if she were treading at the cusp of unconsciousness. Once she had to go into her office and slap herself to stay awake. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t screw this up by passing out. She had to be Dr. White the successful doctor tonight. Not Viv White, the broken drunk. Tonight, she wasn’t broken. She was an instrument. She was the scalpel that would carve the cancer out of this city. It would be up to others for the rest. But for tonight, it was all up to Viv.

Straightening, she looked at her watch. 5:37. She walked out into the plant with her head in the air. People in the plant itself were starting to pack up their things. They were finished for the day. The blood was being filtered seven times over, Viv could watch its progress through the glass tubes. A team would come in tonight to clean the machines, so people were free to go, but they milled about, waiting.

“If you are not needed right now,” Viv called, “you are dismissed. Great job, everyone. See you tomorrow.”

Among cheerful chatter, several of the workers found their coats and walked out, nodding and waving to her. She made her mouth smile. When the blood was filtered, it was sucked through a transparent tube half the size of a telephone pole to the bagging room. Viv looked at her watch. 5:44. Come on, Evelyn. If Linda started bagging the blood, it would be too late. The blood would be inaccessible at that point. The machine would lock her out and she wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.

“Excuse me, all human workers,” boomed a woman’s voice. Everyone who hadn’t left already turned. Linda poked her head out of the room. Evelyn stood on the plant floor with a surgical mask on her face. Even Frake turned to listen.

“Due to an administrative error,” boomed Evelyn, “we have misplaced the timecards for the week. To ensure that we can issue your paychecks, please follow me to Human Resources to manually sign your replacement forms. It will only take a few moments.”

“Ms. White,” said Linda, looking back at the machine she was in charge of. Viv could see the panic in her eyes behind her safety glasses and surgical mask. “What should I do? I’m not supposed to leave the machine unattended. My husband, he’s…” she glanced at Frake behind her. “He’s not well, we need the money.”

Viv smiled. “It’s all right, Linda. I’ll take over. There’s only the bagging left anyway. Fill out your papers and then go home to your family. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Linda looked like she wanted to hug Viv. “Thank you, ma’am. This is the best job I’ve ever had. I’m grateful.”

Viv watched them all file out, following Evelyn. She walked into the bagging room and looked at Frake, watching her with alien eyes. Viv smiled, her heart pounding. If she were able to kill the Rev, would they know before she could get the blood to V-wing? Viv felt the blood in her pocket. The Rev narrowed her eyes, as if suspecting something. Viv was starting to panic. What was she going to do? She thought Evelyn would help her take care of Frake as well, but now she didn’t know what to do. They said the Revs couldn’t be killed in the usual ways. They regenerated too quickly. If she could get her blood in the Rev’s veins…

“Hello, excuse me?” said a loud voice suddenly, making Viv jump. She turned and her eyes widened.

“Dr. White,” said Margaret Watts. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Miss Watts,” said Viv.

“I hope your position is treating you well.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” said Viv. “It has been everything I ever hoped for.”

“All we can ask for in this world,” said Watts, “is satisfaction.” She eyed Frake distastefully. “You’d better wipe that superior look off your face, my dear,” she said to the Rev. “The president is here.”

“Here?” said Viv.

“Yes,” said Margaret. “He is very curious about this place. Centralized purification was his idea, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” said Viv.

“You,” she said, pointing to Frake. “Go meet your master.”

Frake stared at her for a moment, then stalked past the president’s personal secretary.

“Where is everyone?” said Watts.

“We're all done here, so I’ve dismissed the workers and thanked them for their excellent efforts today,” said Viv.

“I see,” she said. “And you?”

“Just bagging the last batch for the party,” said Viv. “Then I’ll be out to give the president the tour.”

“Just like old times.”

“Yes,” said Viv. “How wonderful.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” said Watts, looking behind her. “I’m not sure the Rev can hold her end of the conversation with our Conrad.”

“Of course,” said Viv, busying herself with a pair of rubber gloves until she heard the door swing shut.

Viv wasted no time. She jumped up onto a plastic crate until she could hook her foot into the metal ladder on the side of the machine. The door was tightly shut and it took all her remaining strength to open it. Finally, it came open with a loud squeal. Pulling the vials out of one pocket, she pulled off the rubber caps and threw them in, glass and rubber and all, watching them sink in the tank of purified blood. She did the same with the vials from her other pocket. Her own blood was darker and thicker than the watery, bright red of the tank. She hefted the round lid back to the machine and screwed it into place, her vision going dark for a heartbeat, before the world came swimming back into focus. She could hear a murmur of voices coming closer, just outside the door. She had just gotten the lid back on when the door swung open and there she was, standing there with an empty bag in her gloved hand, still perched on the ladder.

“Well what’s all this, then?” said the president, his teeth sharp and digging into his chin.

Frake, standing behind him, hissed.

Viv stepped down from the ladder and made her face calm.

“A bag became jammed in the machine,” she said, tossing the dripping plastic into the biohazard bag. “Fine now. I’m about to fill the bags for the party. I apologize for the delay.”

Conrad stared at her for a long moment. Viv forced her heart to slow, afraid he would see her pulse jumping. He eyed the latex gloves that covered her arms past the elbows.

“Continue, Ms. White,” he said, something like a smile in his eyes. “By all means, the blood is the thing, is it not? I matter very little.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” said Viv.

“I’m being completely serious, my dear,” said Conrad. “Please, continue.” He looked back at Frake, then at Watts.

“Margaret, please,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” said Watts. “Frake, you are dismissed. The president does not require you to be here.”

“But, sir,” said Frake, the first words Viv heard her speak.

“Do you intend to argue?” said Watts, with an expression as if she were daring her to. “The president himself hired this woman to run this plant. She doesn’t need your fetid breath over her shoulder.”

Frake bowed. “Thank you, I’ll be going.”

“You are permitted to attend the party,” said Watts, “but stay in the back, won’t you? The president abhors sycophants.”

When Frake was gone, Margaret smiled at Viv. “That must have been unpleasant,” she said. “All this extra security makes the president look weak.”

“Indeed,” said Conrad. He fixed Watts with an odd look of affection that made Viv wonder just how long Margaret had been with Conrad. She must have been a beauty once.

“Ms. White, I will leave you to finish your job,” said Conrad, his voice quiet and polite. “This is all very impressive. I will have to return for a formal tour before I leave.”

“I am looking forward to that, sir,” said Viv. She started to load up the empty bags as the machine chimed that it was ready.

“See you at the party, doctor,” said Margaret Watts. She took the president’s arm as they left.

“Secretary my ass,” said Viv.

She bagged up the tainted blood and piled the plump bags on a silver cart until it was almost overflowing. She smiled as she looked at the tainted blood, rubbing her arm where Evelyn had taken the blood. She looked at her watch.

Six o’clock. Time to go.

Twenty-Eight

Sia had no idea what to expect as she walked into V-block. She’d never been to this part of the hospital before, even in her lessons with Mathilde. Sia took in the flickering gas lights, the sconces on the wall sputtering and occasionally dimming, making the scene before her even more surreal.

The walls were draped in a shimmering fabric of deep red, draped to suggest blood. A sparkling chandelier in the center of the room was filled with candles, their lights twinkling through the crystals. And the music. Sia felt the strings and winds vibrating through her bones, as if her very body were transmitting the sounds. There was small groups of guests in costumes around the edges of the room, laughing and chatting. In the middle of the room on an exquisite wooden dance floor, dozens of couples in fine clothes and elaborate masks, twirled elegantly in a waltz.

Mathilde squeezed her hand.

“Ma belle,” she said into Sia’s ear. “This is all for you, my sweet.”

Sia could feel the blood coursing through Mathilde, felt her pulse through their joined hands.

“You’re afraid,” said Sia.

“What?” said Mathilde, for a moment taken aback. Then she laughed. “Of course not, why on earth would I be afraid?”

A figure was moving from couple to couple on the outside of the dance floor, shaking hands with long, clawed fingers, acting every bit the politician. Sia recognized him even under his sleek black mask, which resembled a fierce wild cat. A jaguar or a panther, Sia thought.

“What is the President of the Revs doing here, at my party?” said Sia.

“My dear,” said Mathilde. “Ambrose Conrad is more than the Revenant president. He’s your president. He’s also my brother. We were raised in different homes, different parts of the world, but we are blood. Always blood.”

Sia looked at her, but Mathilde was watching Conrad work the room, a tall, silver-haired woman following him taking notes when he whispered to her. Sia could feel the stakes tucked painfully into her corset. With one wrong move they might snap her ribs. But she felt they might be necessary on this night. A monstrous window, round and as tall and wide as the room itself, opened up to the courtyard and she could see the snow coming down so hard that it was like being behind a waterfall of snow. She could see no more than a few inches outside.

Mathilde led her into the ballroom just as the waltz ended and for a moment the silence was so thick that Sia couldn’t breathe. The dancers parted to make a path for Sia and Mathilde. Sia could see that they were all Revs. She was alone in a room full of vampires. All eyes were on her.

After a long moment that seemed to last a lifetime, the silence was broken. Conrad stepped forward, and began to clap. Everyone in the room soon followed until Sia was surrounded by thunderous applause. Mathilde clapped too, and Sia could feel her eyes behind the veil watching her closely.

Sia made herself smile, looking around her at all the masked faces. All the Revs in their elegant clothes, trying so hard to human. Trying so hard to be just like them. A waiter put a glass of champagne in her hand and she drained the glass. It was replaced with another as cold, clammy hands reached out to touch her or pat her bare back. She drained the second glass.

“Slow down, Sia,” whispered Mathilde. “You must have your wits about you.”

“Why?” said Sia. “I thought this was a party.”

“Remember where you are,” said Mathilde. “You should not ever forget.”

“You think I would forget?” said Sia, smiling graciously as long fingers caressed her. She fought the urge to vomit.

“You act the lamb very well,” whispered Mathilde. “But we both know that you are the wolf. And my brother, ma belle?” Sia looked over at Conrad staring at her across the ocean of hands reaching out to touch her. “My brother is the tiger, my love. He could rip us all apart.”

“He doesn’t seem so fierce,” said Sia.

Mathilde was quiet for a long time before she spoke again. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, my sweet.”

“My friends, enough!” said Conrad in a jovial voice. “Let the poor woman breathe, all of you. I know you want to show your affection. Perhaps you should show it by dancing with her.” He raised a glass to Sia, but did not drink. He smiled with his gash of a mouth, his teeth seeming whiter and sharper than the other Revs. Sia bowed her head deeply to him, watching him through her cream silk plague doctor mask.

And then a pair of fish-belly hands took hers and the music started and she was spinning. Twirling with a pair of gaunt, hungry eyes watching her closely. Sia tried not to look at the teeth, the dribble of saliva running down the Rev’s chin. He panted and his breath was sickly when he told Sia how lovely she looked.

Another pair of hands, another dance. She danced until her feet were sore and her heels had matching blisters. The gas lamps flickered as she wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead with a silk gloved hand and tried to back away from the dance floor, toward the refreshments. The Revs kept dancing and Sia drank another glass of champagne. Mathilde joined her, and Sia saw that she had exchanged her usual black lace veil for violet. Mathilde was acting even more oddly than usual. Sia looked around the room.

“Why are you being so twitchy? What’s about to happen?” said Sia.

“Nothing,” Mathilde said too quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re lying.”

“You would know all about that,” said Mathilde.

Sia watched as several Rev males filed through a door Sia hadn’t noticed before. It was covered in red fabric like the rest of the room, but Sia saw a latch on the wall, near the corner. She looked up to see another.

“That’s not a wall,” said Sia. “It’s a partition.”

“Sia…” Mathilde said, her voice cracking.

“What’s back there?” said Sia. “Why is there a false wall?”

“Sia, they know about you,” Mathilde said, urgency in her voice.

“What?”

“They know about you and Joshua Flynn,” said Mathilde, her fingers around Sia’s arm like a vice. “You have to go,” said Mathilde. “You have to run. This isn’t a party.”

“Then what is it?” said Sia. She looked around at the eyes staring at her.

“It’s a birth,” said Mathilde. “And a death.” Sia could hear the emotion in her voice. Something she’d never heard before. Grief? Guilt?

“What are you talking about?” said Sia. She saw more Revs go through the door set in the partition. They glanced at her before closing the door.

“You are being reborn on this night, Sia,” said Mathilde. “I am forbidden to tell you. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know I would fall in love with you. If you can call him to you, Sia, do it now. Do it before it happens. There’s no time. I thought I could follow orders, but you…” Mathilde shook her head. “I cannot hurt you, Sia.”

Sia stared at her. Her stomach was turning over and she had to close her eyes so as not to gag on her own bile.

“If I’m being reborn,” said Sia slowly, “then who is dying?”

Mathilde squeezed her hand, letting go of her arm.

“I told you I would never leave you, my love,” she whispered. “I meant it.”

Sia shook her head, confused. The dancers were a blur, the music suddenly like raw noise to her. Her head pounded with the beating of her heart, her stomach churning as her pulse climbed. Sia backed away from Mathilde, who let her fingers fall away from Sia’s.

“Joshua,” Sia murmured. Remembering her words. Remembering what she told him.

If you come after me, Joshua, I’m going to take a stake and plunge it into your heart.

And his in return:

For you, I would die a thousand times, Sia. If they hurt you, I will tear them all apart.

If they hurt me, she’d said, I’ll do it myself.

Why did she agree to attend the party? She thought she knew where to find Ana. She had forbidden Joshua to help her, and yet, he had tried to tell her. He had stood by the trees, the monuments of dead Revs in the courtyard. A forest that grew thicker and thicker as time ran out. Sia put a hand over her mouth. Why had there been so many Revs? Why had he been able to kill so many?

“My dear, you’re positively shaking,” said a friendly voice behind her. She turned to see Ambrose Conrad, his sleek mask wide against his gaunt face. Sia could see up close that it was made up of hundreds of shining black feathers. The old woman who followed him watched her closely. Conrad took Sia’s hand.

“May I have this dance, Ms. Aoki?” he said.

Sia nodded dumbly, looking around to find Mathilde, but she wasn’t there.

Conrad took her hands and they began to spin. While the other dancers had an odd clumsiness to their steps, like dogs standing on their hind legs, Conrad moved smoothly and easily through the dance, his movements liquid and perfect.

“You dance well, Sia,” he said into her ear. Up close she could see that he wasn’t as pale as he appeared. She could see something on his skin, a telltale line of makeup along his jaw. He had painted his skin to look pale, but Sia could see that the skin on his neck was flushed and pink.

“You’re not like them,” Sia said.

He laughed, deep in his throat. “You are a very perceptive young woman,” said Conrad. “In fact, I think you will find that your Joshua and I are quite alike.”

“Then why?” she demanded. “Why do you not keep the old ways, like Joshua?”

“Because, Sia,” he said, “if I were to live in the shadows, I would be just one vampire among many. But look how weak they are. All of them. I am the most powerful being in the world. Can you see it? I know you of all people should understand that. You of all people know what it is to be strong among the weak. Even if only among humans.”

“I’m not strong,” said Sia.

“Ah, but you are. You would not let my sister see into your head. You came here, alone, vulnerable. You convinced everyone around you that you were pitiful and weak. ”

“But not you,” said Sia.

“No,” said Conrad. “And not my sister either. She loved you for it, you know. Her proclivities always did tend toward the unnatural. Do you know what she was doing, all those times you saw her in the forest?”

“Visiting the children, I assume,” said Sia, watching him. Conrad smiled.

“So you’ve figured it out. Bravo. But if you knew what she really wanted to do to those children... Even I do not feed on children. It is forbidden. She is not who you think she is.”

Sia’s heart beat in her throat.

“You didn’t know?” he said. “Such a mysterious woman, my sister. Do you know what happened to her face?”

“She said it was Joshua.”

“Oh yes, it was,” he said. “It was indeed. You see, it is very sternly frowned upon to take children, even for my kind. Even back when we lived in the shadows. A Revenant could stake another Revenant for the act. And he caught her.”

“With a child,” said Sia.

“Ripped the poor thing’s throat out,” said Conrad, clucking his tongue. “Such a sad state she was in. When I found her, he had ripped out her fangs before driving a stake through her chest. But he was just a little bit off. A mistake I’m sure he regrets. I was able to save my sister, but I had to cut away the Hawthorne that was growing inside her. It was a very ugly affair. She never forgave him.”

Sia felt that she was about to be genuinely sick.

“Why am I here?” said Sia. “What do you really want from me?”

“Why, to kill Joshua Flynn,” he said. “We have always been truthful about that.”

“Why do you think I would do that?” she said. “Now that you know who I am, now that you know that I love him, what would make me want to kill him?”

“Because, Sia,” whispered Conrad, his breath hot in her ear. “We have your daughter.”

He released her then and for a moment, she felt lost. She was dizzy and the room blurred, her body felt light without Conrad gripping it tight, twirling in a dance.

“Who would like to hear Sia play?” Conrad shouted in a loud, good-natured voice. The crowd cheered and she was ushered to the stage, a violin and bow thrust into her hands. She stared at the objects, feeling so much like the girl who had come into the hospital. The recovering addict Sia. The lost Sia. The eager to please Sia. What had happened to the woman of strength and substance? The one who had tasted her dead mother’s blood, who had taken a vampire to her bed, who had reduced Evelyn Hauser to a shell of a woman?

Conrad had Ana. Sia stared at all the expectant Rev faces. Mathilde wasn’t among them. Her eyes fell on Conrad’s face, his smiling eyes. He nodded at her and she knew she would have to obey. She picked up the violin and began to play.

Twenty-Nine

Mike sat on the bed and watched the snow. It swirled outside the window as though the very storm had a life of its own. He hadn’t heard from the guard in a long while, except the occasional snore. Mike was wide awake, though, the pain making him alert, hyper-aware. He heard the squeal of hinges, loud as a scream in the dead of night. The sloppy sound of very wet shoes walking down the hall.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

Mike rose from the bed, flinching from the pain any movement sent up his arm. His hand throbbed and he wondered if it was infected. It felt heavy, as though he had gained appendages rather than lost them.

The wet shoes grew louder and stopped nearby.

“Mikey?” came a whispered voice.

“Dez?” said Mike. “Is that you?”

Dez Paine’s face in the window at his door sent a wave of dread crashing over him. Dez grinned.

“Why are you still here?” said Mike. “You were supposed to run. You were supposed to survive.”

“We’re both going to survive,” said Dez.

“Get out of here, Dez,” said Mike. “Don’t do this. I can’t run, not like this.” He held up his hand and the smile slid off Dez’s face.

“What did they do to you, Mikey?” he said.

“Cut off my fingers off. And they’ll do worse to you. Now get the hell out of here and save yourself. I’m old, a bitter old man. Just forget about me, kid.”

“Shut up,” said Dez. “I’m going to get you out.”

“And then what?” said Mike. “Joshua Flynn isn’t going to save us, Dez. We can’t outrun the Revs, not for more than a few days. There’s nowhere to run.”

“You haven’t seen what the city’s like,” said Dez. “There’s a revolution, Mike. Because of you. Because of us. We started something, mate. Something that’s going to fix everything.”

“Dez,” said Mike. “I’m not going with you.”

Dez stared at him, a look of confusion on his face.

“I found you, Mike. You can’t just decide to lay down and die. You don’t get to choose. Remember? Survival isn’t all there is.”

“I’m not looking to survive, kid,” said Mike. He held up his bandaged hand. “I’m done. I’ll never type again. I’ll never hold a pen. I'm just a broken old man.

“You’re my friend and I’m going to help you.” said Dez.

“I’m no friend to you, Dez,” said Mike, fighting back the thickness in his throat. “Get out of here, Dez. Please.”

“Bollocks, Mikey.”

Mike closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the bars as he heard Dez slop down to the end of the hall. The longer the kid was here, the more likely he would get caught. Mike had to make him go. It was all over for him, he was old, he might even die from sepsis by morning. But Dez was young, maybe young enough to watch all this blow over. Maybe by the time Dez’s kids were grown, the world would be back to normal. A real life.

“Mikey, what the hell is this place? It smells like rotten meat.”

“I’m pretty sure people they put in these cells aren’t meant to live long, happy lives,” Mike said. He stood up and watched Dez jingle some keys on a large chain. “Where’s the guard?”

“Passed out over there,” said Dez. “Guess they didn’t think you’d escape, huh, Mikey?”

“I guess they didn’t,” said Mike.

Dez tried key after key, cursing when they didn’t turn. Finally, the lock clicked and the door opened slowly, rusty iron squealing against the hinges. Mike stood in the middle of the room and looked at Dez.

“Come on, man, what are you waiting for?” said Dez.

“You have to save her,” said Mike. “There’s no other way.”

“What? Save who?”

“Sia,” said Mike. “He won’t let you live if something happens to her.”

“Who?”

“Flynn, you idiot. Save the girl, Dez. Forget about me. I’m already dead. Save Sia Aoki so you can survive.”

“We’re going to run, Mikey. We’re going to survive together.”

“No,” said Mike. “You have to save her. You know Flynn. That bastard isn’t going to die anytime soon, Dez. He’s like a cockroach, he’d live through anything. You’ll run for the rest of your life, but he’ll always know where you are. He’ll never let you go. Unless you save her.”

“You come with me, then,” said Dez. “You come and help me save her.”

Mike held up his hand. “I think in a building full of Revs, they might just recognize the most wanted man in Philadelphia.”

“In the world, actually,” said Dez. “There was a whole article in the Post about you.”

“Oh?” said Mike. “What’d it say?”

“You don’t want to know, man,” said Dez, smiling.

Mike nodded. “Fair enough.” His hand felt like it weighed twenty pounds. His bare feet were standing on cold cement, but he was sweating. He was sick and he knew it. Another wave of nausea rolled over him and he had to grab his knees to stay upright.

“Jesus, Mikey,” said Dez. “You okay?”

“I’m dying, Dez,” said Mike. Dez helped him over to the bed and Mike laid back onto the thin pillow.

“Shit, you’re burning up. I can get medicine, I saw some…” Mike grabbed Dez’s arm with his good hand and the younger man looked at him. Mike shook his head.

“Just leave it,” said Mike. “If you want to do something good, Desmond, do this one thing. If you save the girl, you can find that girl, Delilah, raise that child with her. Outlive this and come out clean. But you have to save Sia, even if she doesn’t want to be saved.”

Dez put his larger hand over Mike’s. “Mikey, I wanted to save you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to prove that I was a good man, Mike. I wanted to prove that I could be good like you.”

Mike almost laughed. “I’m not a good man, Dez.”

“You’re the best I ever met.”

“You haven’t known very many then.”

Dez smiled a little, but it only lasted a moment. He stood, staring down at Mike for a long time. Mike concentrated on breathing. It was getting harder and harder. Dez pulled the blanket up over Mike and tucked it under his chin.

“I’m sorry, Mikey.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Mike. “Go find her, Dez. Live. Don’t end up a broken old man like me.”

Mike closed his eyes and pretended not to see Desmond Paine crying. And when he was gone, Mike finally let go, the sobs racking his frail, sickly body, the tears growing cold on his face.

The snow kept falling.

Thirty

Viv slid the silver cart down the hall. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She didn’t know what she would do if the tainted blood didn’t work. It would mean she wouldn’t be able to find Hunter or the other children. She wouldn’t be able to help Sia. She wouldn’t be able to save herself.

Viv listened to the sound of music, growing louder as she went along, accompanied by the echo of her own heels clicking on the tile. She held her breath as she passed a Rev, standing like a statue in the hall, watching her pass with his eyes. He was larger than the other Revs, and wore a long black coat. Security maybe. Viv smiled at him and handed him a bag of blood. Around another corner, and another Rev. Viv’s heart beat hard in her chest as she slid another bag into his clawed hand. She ducked down a darkened hall to her left to catch her breath. There were Revs everywhere. As protection for Conrad, she was sure, but she could breathe less and less with each one. Viv leaned against the wall and forced air into her lungs. She was still lightheaded and she closed her eyes, focusing on Hunter and listening to her heart begin to slow.

After a few moments, though, she realized there was another sound. A muffled squeaking, wet shoes on a tile floor coming from the dark hall. She straightened, pushing away from the wall. Revs didn’t like it when you were nervous, she knew that well enough. She pulled the cart around and started back for the main hall. The squeaking sped up. Viv looked behind her to see a man rounding the corner, looking straight at her. He was big, his tousled hair wet and dripping, his face unshaven. He was wearing a black leather jacket that had seen better days and a Mover jumpsuit, his eyes red-rimmed.

Viv started to run, and then she couldn’t hear anything but her own breath, wheezing in panic, her heart blasting in her chest, the wheels of the cart spinning as she pushed it faster and faster, until someone grabbed her from behind and put a freezing white hand to her mouth just before she reached the main hall, the other holding her arms at her sides. She opened her mouth wide and bit the hand as hard as she could. As the man cursed in a hoarse whisper and pulled away, Viv pulled the box cutter out of her pocket and put it to his neck, waiting for the sound of the Revs in the hall to find them, waiting for them to take her away. The man towered over her. He was young, and was probably handsome before all this. But he just looked tired to her. She realized his teeth were chattering.

“Who the hell are you?” she whispered.

He held up his hands in surrender. She’d broken the skin, the imprint of her teeth oozing bright red on the palm of his hand.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He had an accent. British. Viv narrowed her eyes. She motioned for him to walk back into the dark hall, away from the Revs. He nodded and she followed him until they were out of earshot.

“You chased me down a deserted hall and put a hand over my mouth,” she said. “What did you think would happen?” She still had the boxcutter, but the man didn’t seem afraid of her.

“I didn’t exactly think it through,” he said, shrugging. “You’re Mikey’s friend, aren’t you?”

“Mike Novak?” Viv said, lowering her voice. She lowered the blade.

The man smiled and rubbed his neck, even though she hadn’t actually touched it. He was so young.

“Yeah,” he said. The smile faded and he looked sad for a moment. “I’m a friend of his.”

“You’re the man from the apartment,” she said. “You were arguing.”

“I was trying to get him to run,” said the man.

“Didn’t turn out so well, did it?” she said.

“Nah,” he said. “It didn’t. I’m Dez.”

“I'm Viv,” she said. “Where is he now?”

He shook his head and looked away. “I couldn’t help him. I tried. They caught him.” He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her. “I think he might be dead,” he whispered.

“Oh,” said Viv, something hurting in her chest. “I…Oh.”

“He was still alive when I left him,” he said, sounding far away. “But only just.”

“You just left him there?” she said.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said. “He wouldn’t come with me. He just kept saying I had to save the girl.”

“Sia,” said Viv.

“Yeah,” said Dez. “He said Joshua Flynn wouldn’t stop if I didn’t save her. I think…” He frowned, looking down at his bleeding hand, rubbing it with his thumb. “I think he was saving me. It was supposed to be the other way round.”

“He’s stubborn like that,” said Viv. “What did they do to him?”

“They…they cut off his fingers. He was so sick, I’ve never seen him so weak.”

“His fingers,” said Viv. “So his wounds became infected. How bad?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes suddenly wet. “He had these bandages on his hand. He couldn’t stand up straight, and he was throwing up. I could smell it in his room. He was in this cell. Past where Sia used to be.”

Viv raised an eyebrow. “So you’re one of the visitors she was talking about.”

“Yeah,” said Dez. He looked at her and she could see the hurt in his eyes. Mike had meant something to him. It hadn’t been easy to leave him. “I put him to bed,” he said. “Mike, I mean. I put the blanket over him. I don’t know if he was asleep or dead. I should have checked.” He rubbed his face with his hands, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. “I should have goddamn checked.” Viv studied him. She slid the blade back down on the box cutter and put it in her pocket and put a hand on his arm.

“You did the best you could,” she said. He nodded and wiped his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“They’ll kill you if you go in there,” she said. “Actually, they’ll just arrest you.”

“That’s worse,” he said. “Shit, this was a mistake.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “If I get her out of there, can you get her to safety?”

“How are you—”

“Don’t worry about how,” she said. “Can you get her to safety?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I have a van.”

“Good,” said Viv. “Wait out here and I’ll bring her to you. One hour. Understood?”

“In the hall? What if someone sees me?”

“I suggest you hide,” said Viv. “You get Sia out, and I’ll go try to help Mike.” She sighed at Dez’s expression. “I used to be a doctor. Before.”

“You can save him?” he said.

“I can try,” she said. “If he’s still alive.”

“And if they find me before you get Sia out?” he said. “I don’t even have a weapon.”

Viv handed him the boxcutter, shrugging.

“What good is this going to do against the Revs?” he said.

“Not much,” said Viv. “But it’s all I have. And I’m walking into their wasp nest.”

“Why are you doing this?” he said. “Why are you trying to help her? Did Joshua Flynn get his claws in you too?”

“No,” said Viv. “Never met him.”

“Then why?”

Viv frowned and thought of her dreams, Sia’s eyes watching her, Sia’s hands touching her face. She thought of Hunter and Griff and the blankness in her mind when she thought of the Blackout. And she thought of Mike, her only true friend through all of this. She had to save Hunter, if he was here. If he was alive. But Sia? “If I can save anyone, I have to do it.” said Viv.

“Good reason. Is that some kind of doctor thing?”

“There are no doctors,” said Viv. “Not anymore. We’re all just trying to save ourselves. What’s left of us.”

He looked at the bags of blood piled onto the cart. “What’s in those?”

“Enough tainted blood to kill every last one of those bottom feeding leeches.”

Dez was looking at her with a strange admiration.

“I know why Mikey fancies you so much. You’re some kind of fierce bitch.”

Viv frowned.

“It’s a compliment,” said Dez.

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Viv. “One hour.” She turned and pushed the cart into the main hall, making her mouth smile. She nodded at another Rev as she passed him. They were everywhere now and she was passing out the tainted blood like candy. She walked into the middle of a knot of monsters clogging the hall outside V-block. She gave them all blood.

They even held the door open for her.

It was like walking into the past. Men and women in fancy dress clothes under warm lights that were sputtering, dimming and then growing brighter again. Gas lamps, Viv realized. She felt out of place, underdressed for a moment, until she looked at the dancers. Revenants in elaborate masks covering their eyes and flattened noses. Some even wore wigs or headdresses to cover their hairless heads. They might have looked human, if not for the teeth, every lower jaw either slack or nonexistent, the six-inch teeth protruding in an oddly helpless way. Viv had a sudden pang of pity for them. They wanted what they could never have. To be human.

The Revs found themselves drawn unconsciously closer to the stage as the music rose in intensity. It was something gorgeous that pulled at Viv in ways that she’d forgotten music could do. She hadn’t heard so much as a whistle in so long, that she’d almost forgotten how much she loved music. The Revs seemed to be in a stupor as they gravitated slowly toward the stage, toward the music.

She looked to the stage and saw a single player, violin tucked under her chin, a tiny, beautiful little thing in a white silk shift dress. Her fingers moved like someone possessed, the bow moving smoothly and quickly over the strings in a way that made it seem as though it had a life of its own. Viv stared for a moment, shocked that such sounds could come from such a small instrument. The player was wearing a white beaked mask, her black hair coiffed elegantly around her head, tendrils shaking free as she played. Her exposed neck and collarbone and shoulders were covered in a sheen of sweat. Viv squinted.

“Sia?” she said softly. She was so changed that Viv wouldn’t have recognized her. There were no lesion scars on her, she looked more than healthy. Her lips had been tinted a dark red color and, even from across the room, Viv felt that Sia’s eyes were on her, probing her, making her feel as though only the two of them were in the room, instead of the dozens of Revs.

All were raptly staring at the slip of a woman making ethereally elegant music. Their eyes were wide with wonder, with the surprise of someone very old who had just discovered something about the world that they didn’t know a moment before. When the song was over, Sia drove out the last few haunting notes on the violin, and they hung in the silent room for a very long time before anyone dared to breathe. She stood on the stage still as a stone and watched their reaction, a small victorious smile playing on her red lips. She lowered her face to a nearby microphone, looking out over the crowd.

“You shouldn’t have taken the music from us,” Sia said, her voice low.

Viv held her breath, waiting for them to take her away, waiting for the Movers to come in and carry her out, kicking and screaming. But the Revs raised their hands and began to clap. The room filled with applause and the Revs smiled knowingly at each other, as though Sia were an adorable child who could do no wrong.

“Dr. White,” said a voice next to Viv, as the clapping died down. Sia took off her mask and met her eyes, face flushed and pink. Viv tore her eyes away to look at the speaker.

Margaret Watts stood smiling at her.

“Ms. Watts,” said Viv.

“Are you enjoying the show, Dr. White?” said Watts.

“I just…” Viv looked up at the stage. Sia was being ushered down by a Rev on either side. One of them took the violin away from her. “I’ve never heard music like that before.”

“She is very special, isn’t she?” said Watts. “She’s going to change everything.”

“How do you mean?” said Viv.

Watts looked at her and smiled a tight smile. “You are here for a reason, Dr. White. I suggest you do your duty. Just roll the cart over to the refreshment table. You will be required to help attach the bags to some of our guests. They’re used to someone doing it for them.”

“You want me to wait on these old-timey white people?” said Viv with a raised eyebrow.

“Not all Revs are white, doctor.” Watts pointed out three dancers and a woman leaning against the wall fanning herself. “May I remind you that this is your job, Dr. White.”

Viv smiled. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll just go do my duty then.”

“Fine,” said Watts. Viv watched her cross the room and take one of the Revs by the arm and point to her. Ambrose Conrad. Viv could feel their eyes on her as she pushed the cart to the place Margaret had specified.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said a Rev on the stage. Viv saw that they had replaced Sia with a group of Revs with instruments. “Please make your way to the refreshment table for something new. Genevieve White, our new administrator, will be dispersing blood fresh from our new purification system, right here in the hospital!”

Polite clapping followed and Viv saw them all start to gravitate toward her.

“What am I doing?” she said under her breath, watching a crowd of smiling monsters descend on her.

“Remember to smile,” said Conrad, as he stepped in front of her. “Let's make our guests feel very welcome. ”

Viv smiled at the president. “Can I help you with your blood, sir?”

“If you would be so kind,” he said.

Viv felt her smile growing genuine.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said.

Viv’s hands started shaking halfway through the blood supply. When she attached the very last blood bag, she found it hard to breathe. She looked around for Sia, but didn’t see the girl anywhere. There was a chatter of activity against one red silk-covered wall, but Viv couldn’t see Sia’s white dress. She looked to the massive round window that looked out at the courtyard. The snow was so deep, the drifts had risen up and blanketed a good quarter of the window. She had to get Sia out before the snow made it impossible. The snow was still coming down hard, making the night sparkling and magical. But Viv didn’t believe in magic.

She left the cart, watching the Revs for signs of illness. She was still woozy from the blood loss, but the Revs kept up their laughing, whispering to each other, dancing to the music that, after Sia, seemed empty and without purpose.

“Looking for someone?” said Conrad, suddenly at her elbow. How did he always manage to sneak up on her? She looked at his bright white teeth, hanging down over his jaw, and suppressed a shudder.

“I just wanted to thank the girl who played the violin,” she said. “It was beautiful, what she played. Have you seen her?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I most certainly have.” He took Viv’s arm in his long fingers, his grip so tight that Viv flinched. It felt as though her heart was in her stomach. She had failed. The Revs weren’t sick, they weren’t even wavering. She had failed and now she was going to die.

“Now you’ll see her, too,” said Conrad, steering her around by the arm and leading her towards the wall where the others had converged. A half dozen Revs, four men and two women, were talking excitedly. One man was standing in the corner, his hand on the wall. He nodded at Conrad. The president turned toward the rest of the room.

“May I have your attention!” he called. The music died, the dancers turned, along with everyone else. They all still had blood bags in their hands, attached to their arms by an IV tube. Viv bit her lip hard so she wouldn’t scream. She had to get Sia out. Even if the blood hadn’t worked, they might find out what she had done. And there was the matter of the man in the hall. Dez, Mike’s friend. If she didn’t go out in the next forty minutes, he might die trying to come in. Conrad let go of her arm to address the others and Viv took a step back, but another put an arm around her waist. Viv felt bile rise in her throat as she looked at the profile of Margaret Watts, her stringy arm firmly holding her close. She was looking at Conrad with something like rapture.

“Relax, Doctor, ” said Watts. “No one is going to hurt you. And you’re about to witness a momentous occasion. The science of your people in the hands of the Revs will blossom into something beautiful tonight. Something that has never been seen before.”

“What’s happening?” said Viv.

“Watch,” said Watts. “And learn.”

Conrad was motioning the crowd closer. With a booming voice, he addressed them.

“For centuries, we dwelt in the shadows, my friends. In the dark places, the underground places, the cold places. And then we rose to the surface and stepped into the light.”

A murmur of agreement shivered through the crowd.

“And now, on this night,” Conrad continued, “we not only stand in the sun, my brethren. We touch the very heavens themselves. We have become as gods, forming the world as we wish it to be, making ourselves into not the monsters who we always thought we were, but angels so gentle that we fight our very natures to spread our generosity. The humans were shattering the world. Breaking it slowly, small cracks at first, and the cracks became larger and larger until it seemed that it was impossible to put it back together again. And yet,” Conrad raised his hand containing the blood bag, “we no longer take their lives, even though we have that power. We have healed them, first with our medicine — the Slack as they most charmingly call it — and later by taking their ability to hurt themselves. To hurt the world. Our world. For this is, indeed, our world now. We no longer stand in the sun, my friends. We are the sun and the stars and moon in the sky. We are gods and we are victorious.”

Applause shook the room. Margaret Watts held Viv tighter. She watched as the president’s secretary began to cry, nodding in agreement with Conrad. Viv still couldn’t see Sia. Had she run on her own? Would Dez find her if she did? The Revs still weren’t sick, the blood bags halfway gone now. Panic had long ago seized Viv, and she was trying to force herself to breathe without anyone noticing. Her chest felt as though it was growing smaller, her eyes wider.

“Tonight in this room, you will witness history being made,” Conrad said, when the applause finally quieted. “In times of old, we were able to breed in a way. To make more of our own kind, more of the beautiful beast who was the Revenant. Do you remember?”

There were sighs and nods of agreement. Conrad nodded, too.

“Yes, indeed it was almost a religious experience. Brothers and sisters made from the heart’s blood of our clans. The ceremony often lasted for days; My own ceremony lasted for nearly a week. But with our ascension, with our new role as protectors, we have lost the ability to replicate. And we have suffered, have we not? We have tried time and again to make more of our kind. And the rebel Joshua Flynn has made it his mission to keep us from this goal.”

More murmuring, this time derisively. Viv forced herself to breathe, followed all the advice she would give to a patient. She had to find Sia, and if she was panicking, she couldn’t help anyone. She fought the urge to collapse and stood straighter.

“Joshua Flynn has been killing us, one by one, leaving our remains out in the cold. He is our enemy, make no mistake. He is against progress, against becoming something new, something more. He, my friends, will never join us as gods in this fantastic new world. A world that dwells in the light. He will always stay in the dark, dank places of the world. He will never know what it is to be anything more than a monster.

“But here, we defy the outlaw, the lover of death. Tonight, we will succeed in our quest. We will replicate our heavenly host. We will make a star tonight. We will use science to be more than gods, my friends. We will be the very galaxy holding the stars.”

He raised his hand with a flourish and the Rev holding the wall, pushed and the wall opened up. He ran along it, and it folded like an accordion, attaching to the other side with the flip of a latch. On the other side of the wall was a room that looked very much like an operating room. And on top of the table was Sia.

“Oh, isn’t it exciting?” said Margaret Watts, squeezing Viv's arm tightly.

Thirty-One

As Sia played, her mind screamed for Joshua. She fed every fear, every desire into each note. She poured into her music her hunger to find her daughter, her love for a man who was something more than human, her desire to plunge a stake into each and every one of the creatures dancing. And when they ushered her away, she looked around the room hopefully. Looking for a figure dressed in black, a man who moved so fast that you weren’t sure you’d seen him until he was right in front of you.

But Joshua wasn’t there.

Sia pushed down the fear. Mathilde said they needed her. They weren’t going to hurt her, not really. The Revs wanted her to kill Joshua. But then Conrad said they had Ana. The world had gone askew and nothing seemed right. Sia tried to reach into her sleeve, to touch the stake lodged into her corset, but the Revs leading her down the stairs were holding her arms. She told herself it was so she didn’t lose her balance in the heels they gave her, but when they got to the floor, the Revs didn’t let go.

The needle came as a surprise. It shouldn’t have, but it did. As Sia lost the feeling in her legs, as she slumped forward, the Revs dragging her feet along the floor, she couldn’t help but cry out.

“Joshua, please.”

Sia didn’t want to open her eyes. She could hear the applause outside of her, and the darkness was so good. Sleep. She hadn’t slept like this since before the whole world went upside-down. She hadn’t slept like this since the nights with Joshua and music and lovemaking and wine mixed with blood. Sia smiled to think of it. She reached out to touch him, but there was something cold holding her wrist. Both of her wrists. She couldn’t move her head or her legs or her torso.

Sia forced her eyes open and gasped at the brightness. A spotlight shining down on her, gleamed on the metal cuffs that bolted her wrists to a metal table. From the feel of it there were others at her waist and ankles, and around her forehead.

“What are you doing?” Sia said, meaning to scream the words, but only managing to slur the words in the quietest of voices. She struggled against the metal bands, but she was held tight. Figures busied themselves around her beyond the light. One of them reached up and moved the light away from her face, and she thought she was hallucinating.

The Revs wore surgical masks and gloves, their white coats gleaming almost as brightly as the metal. The one closest to her held a scalpel. Beyond them, she could see the party, the dancers and revelers standing in a crowd, watching. Some of them were clapping and smiling. Two in the front row were humans, Sia saw, narrowing her eyes. The president’s secretary was standing with the woman who had visited her in the hospital. The sad-eyed woman who used to be a doctor. She had brought the blood in on a little silver cart. Then she remembered: The blood was supposed to be tainted. That’s what Mike Novak said in the courtyard.

The Revs in her lessons, the ones who drank tainted blood, were the worst. They went crazy and sick and wrong all at once. Their bodies transformed into something gnarled and twisted, and their eyes went all empty and mad and angry. Sia hated looking at them because she felt sorry for them. But at this moment, she hoped every last one of them turned into a slobbering mad thing that flailed at its own body until it broke its own teeth away. She would look at them and laugh before she killed them.

“Stop it,” Sia said, her voice growing louder, her fear filling her up. “Don’t!” She looked at the woman. What was her name? Sia couldn’t remember. “Make them stop!” she shouted at her. But the woman only shook her head. Tears rolled down her face and Sia saw that the secretary had one arm firmly around the woman’s waist, the other around her wrist. She was as much a prisoner as Sia.

The Rev with the scalpel was looking down at her, tilting his head this way and that. The other Revs in surgical masks circled the table, looking down at her. Sia glared up at them. She wasn’t going to scream. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

The scalpel came down toward her and she jumped. The Rev sliced down and she felt cold air against her skin, the slippery silk of her dress falling away. Sia gritted her teeth as he slipped the scalpel between the laces in the front of the corset and, one by one, sliced them away. The tightness of the corset fell away then, too, and she heard the sound of the stakes falling to the floor. One, two, three. But not the fourth. She could feel the fourth underneath her. The Revs didn’t notice, just kicked whatever had fallen out from under their feet. Sia could hear them hit the metal table underneath her.

Sia locked eyes with the Rev holding the scalpel.

“You’re going to regret this,” she said.

“Try to relax,” the Rev said. Then over his shoulder he said, “Prepare the donor.”

Sia watched as a figure emerged from behind a curtain, a figure scarred with pieces of herself cut away. She didn’t have her veil, but that face was burned into Sia's memory. A set of red lips trembled and a pair of dark eyes watched her, full of grief.

“We have to stop,” said Mathilde. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“It’s too late to stop,” said the Rev with the scalpel. “We are prepared now.”

“Prepared for what?” said Sia. “What’s happening?”

“I’m so sorry,” Mathilde whispered, before looking at the Rev. “She can’t. You shouldn’t make her like us. She’s too good.”

“She’s a human,” he said.

“You’re going to break her.”

“You should say the prayer,” said the Rev. Matilde began to shiver. Sia wanted to cover her, cover them both and hide their nakedness. The eyes of monsters weren’t fit to look at them. They had no right to see Mathilde, to see her so vulnerable.

“I don’t pray,” said Mathilde.

“Then say your last words,” said the Rev.

“Last words?” said Sia.

“Sia,” said Mathilde. “I told you I would never leave you. I will stay with you always. I love you, ma belle, since the day I met you. I heard you play the first time, you know. I stood in the hall and listened. For the first time in a century, I cried. You made me feel, Sia, and I love you for it.”

“That’s enough,” said a loud voice from the crowd. Someone stepped forward. Ambrose Conrad. “End this now, sister.”

“Sia,” Mathilde said, as the Revs pulled her toward a second table. She gasped as she was lifted up and set down on the cold metal. “Sia, don’t let them…”

“Mathilde,” Sia said, the tears coming now, hot down her cheeks.

“Don’t let them stop you,” said Mathilde. “I know what you must do, Sia. And you have the fires of Hell inside you.”

Sia opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“Use your strength, Sia. Open the gates of Hell and swallow them all.”

And then Mathilde was screaming. The Rev with the blade was cutting her gnarled flesh and Mathilde’s pain filled the room. Sia sobbed as she watched them cut Mathilde’s chest open, as she watched her friend being opened up alive. And she watched Mathilde’s face change from something gnarled and human, to something twisted and very much a Revenant. Her lips receded, jagged teeth descending and trailing down towards her neck, her eyes becoming slits. Sia didn’t feel disgust. She had long suspected that Mathilde was something else. She felt anger that they had exposed her in this way. That they had made her change in front of everyone, that they had hurt her and humiliated her at the same time.

After what seemed a lifetime, Mathilde stopped screaming and the surgeons placed the metal instrument into her chest to pry it open with a snap. They all had scalpels now, and one of them reached into Mathilde, slicing at something. And when they came away from Mathilde’s lifeless body, one of the Revs was holding the most beautiful thing that Sia had ever seen. It was a heart, still beating, still full of life, and glowing with a red light that poured over the surgeons’ faces. Sia’s mouth went dry as she looked upon it. It was like a jewel shaped like a heart, beating like a heart. It was Mathilde. All that was left of her.

The Revs placed the heart, slowly and carefully, into a glass box full of clear liquid. The heart continued to glow, casting a gloriously warm red light on Sia’s face. She looked out at the crowd watching her. She looked at the woman she knew, and she suddenly remembered her name.

“Viv,” she said.

Then the scalpel plunged into her chest.

Sia screamed at the pain as she woke. White light blazed behind her eyelids and the pain in her chest shot out to the rest of her body. She couldn’t stop screaming. Someone was doing something to her, something inside of her. She gasped for breath as she felt something warm flowing out over her ribs and neck.

“Something’s wrong,” a muffled voice was saying. “She’s alive. She shouldn’t be alive. I haven’t attached the heart yet. She doesn’t have a heart, how is she alive?”

“What are you saying?” said another voice. “I haven’t even injected the Revenant blood.”

“It’s as if she’s already got it. Someone’s given her our blood before. Or something more powerful.”

“Not ours,” said a deep, clear voice. Sia’s eyes shot open and she strained to listen. She knew that voice. Who was it? She struggled to focus. Someone bad. Someone she wanted to kill.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“It’s not our blood, it’s not clean,” said the voice. “It’s his. Joshua Flynn’s.”

“Joshua,” said Sia, immediately. She tried to sit up, but something was holding her down. She could feel the pain so completely that it was a part of her. She inhaled the smell of her own blood, she felt a heat like a furnace in her chest. And then she saw the glow coming from where they had cut her open. Her eyes slowly, painfully moved to the table holding the glass box. Where Mathilde’s heart had been. There was blood everywhere, sprayed on the doctors’ coats, the table, the floor. And the glass box was now filled with a murky, watery red liquid, something solid resting in the middle. Something solid and red and made of meat.

“You’ve taken my heart,” Sia said, her voice soft.

“What should I do?” the surgeon was asking. “This is all very irregular.” Sia moved her eyes to the man who was talking now. the familiar voice.

“Is it going to be successful?” said a voice. Conrad, Sia remembered. The monster president.

“Ambrose,” Sia said softly. “I’m going to turn you into a tree.”

“Yes, sir. But I don’t know what the effect—”

“Do it,” said Conrad.

“But, sir, the rebel isn’t like us.”

“He’s close enough,” said Conrad. “Do as I tell you.”

The heat in Sia’s chest was getting hotter. She looked around her and had an odd, familiar sensation. She could see a dust mote across the room, floating slowly down in front of the big, snow-covered window. She could see Viv, the human woman, the pulse jumping in her neck, sweat oozing from her skin. She could smell the tainted blood being pumped through every Rev’s body, the bags in their hands now empty. Even the surgeons had empty bags hanging from their sleeves.

“Say your last words,” Sia said to the surgeon who had his hands inside her. He started and looked at her face. He blinked hard.

“She’s healing on her own,” he said, looking at Sia’s face. “I’m not doing anything, the heart is just doing it on its own. What is this?” He frowned, and shook his head, as though trying to clear his head. The empty blood bag dangled from his sleeve.

“Try to relax,” Sia said, repeating his words back to him.

The Rev took his hand out of Sia’s chest, his hand going to his head, covering his head with Sia’s blood. His face twitched violently under the surgical mask and he took a step back.

“What are you doing?” said Conrad. “Finish her. It has to be clean, get back in there.”

Sia felt the heat in her chest spreading through her belly and arms and legs, finger and toes. The blood stopped pouring out of her, though her chest was still gaping open, making her bones feel cold. She could hear it all starting: the shouting, groaning, thumping. The first shrieks of realization. The surgeons stopped trying to cut into her as they stumbled backwards away from the operating theater. Sia was left alone with the pain that made it impossible to breathe, impossible to fathom. It was just in her, on her, all over her. It was so hot that she felt she would explode into flames. It rose up into her neck and face, and Sia could feel a strange transformation in her mouth.

She opened her jaw wide as the pain bloomed inside her lips. She screamed as she tasted blood and knives slid out from her gums. Her face was changing, shifting. She felt her bones grind together as her spine lengthened, her fingers stretched. She arched her back and the metal band around her waist snapped off and flew across the room. Sia couldn’t see for the pain, she couldn’t hear for the sound of her bones moving around inside her. Then they moved back, her spine shortened, her fingers shrank, her teeth and face returned to normal. Sia panted, sucking breath into her lungs.

She felt it happening again, her fingers becoming claws, her teeth shoving their way through the wounds they had just made in her gums, the bones in her face grinding, bone against bone. And still her heart burned in her chest, beating a tattoo inside her open rib cage. Sia screamed again and pulled one wrist free, the band hanging by a single screw, then the other. She looked at her clawed hands, holding them in front of her face. She was shifting back again, and Sia couldn’t do anything but sigh.

“Please,” she sobbed, “make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop.”

But as she began to turn again, she realized that no one could hear her. Through pain-addled eyes, as the teeth descended again from her gums, as her bones and face shifted to what she knew to be a Revenant, she saw that every other Rev in the room was on the floor, either unmoving or writhing in pain. When her face shifted again, she pulled her head free, with a raw grunt pulling the bands with her strong, long fingers off her ankles. She touched the wound in her chest, the metal contraption holding her ribs open. She pulled it out with a shriek that she felt shook the rafters.

She sat up, shivering over herself as she she shifted back to human.

“Somebody help me,” she said.

No one came. No one could. Many were dead now, and others were convulsing or screaming and clawing at their own heads. She stood on shaky legs, holding onto the metal table slick with blood. She began to change again and she braced herself this time, the pain starting to meld into one living thing inside of her, the pain in her bones and her mouth and her chest and her organs all melting into one long agony.

Sia pulled her dress back onto her shoulders, the front cut beyond repair, the blood soaking it so thoroughly that it was red instead of white. She was no longer wearing shoes and she could feel her own blood squishing between her toes. She screamed every time she shifted, and gasped every time she returned to human again. Sia felt something under her hand on the table and grasped it, bringing it to her face. Long and wood and sharp, she remembered making the stake in her room.

She carried it with her as she made her way slowly across the floor. She stepped around fallen Revs, stopping when the pain got worse, screaming when her body changed. Halfway across, someone grabbed her ankle. Sia looked down as her teeth came down again for what felt like the hundredth time. A Rev in a white coat. His surgical mask was hanging around his neck and Sia knew him. He was the Rev who had opened Mathilde.

“Tell me,” she said. “Did you pray? Did you pray like you told her to pray?”

“Please,” he gasped, clutching at his head.

Sia felt the stake in her hand and looked at it. Then she looked at the Rev on the floor, still clutching her leg.

“I told you to stop,” she said.

She kicked his hand away and hugged herself as she turned back to human. She closed her eyes. The pain in her chest was lessening, though she still felt consumed by fire. Her insides felt like charred meat. She looked down at the pitiful creature who had done this to her.

“No one can help you,” she said. “No one can help any of us.”

She drove the stake into his heart and moved back as branches slithered around him, swallowing him up, roots driving down into the floor, leaves touching the ceiling. He hadn’t even screamed.

Sia made her way to the door, watching it as she forced her legs to move, as she lumbered toward it by sheer will. She had to stop time and again as the pain became too much. She had no strength left and was only halfway across the ballroom floor when the doors opened. A woman stood there, silhouetted in the bright hall light. The gas lamps guttered.

“Mathilde?” Sia said, as her teeth slid out and she braced herself for the pain before her spine lengthened.

Someone was helping her up, pulling her to her feet. Sia looked to see the woman. The doctor.

“Your name is Viv,” she said.

“Good memory,” said the woman.

“You tainted their blood,” said Sia. “Why?”

“Do I really need a reason?” said Viv, half dragging, half helping Sia walk. “Wouldn’t anyone kill them if given half a chance?”

“You are very brave,” Sia gasped, her face shoving itself back to human. “No one else would have dared.”

Viv was quiet for a moment. “They took my son,” she said finally.

Sia felt herself draining away, but she remembered something.

“Did Conrad die?” she said.

“No,” Viv said, her voice hard.

“Then it was all for nothing,” said Sia. “They’re going to kill you.”

“Let’s just get you out,” said Viv as they reached the doors. Sia saw her staring at the hole in her chest.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sia said, her eyes fluttering. “The heart. Mathilde will never leave me now.”

“How are you still alive?” said Viv.

“I have Hell inside of me,” she said.

Sia was barely awake as they emerged into the brightly-lit hall. The fluorescents buzzed overhead onto shining white floors covered with Revs, twitching and bent at unnatural angles. Sia forced her head up as she felt her teeth coming down again. Someone was standing in front of them and he walked toward them. A man. A human.

“Jesus Christ,” he said.

“Take her,” said Viv. “Please, Dez. Take her quickly. Get her safe. Don’t stop for anything.”

“Are you really going to save him?” he said.

“I’m going to try,” she said.

The man held her gently around her back. He was staring at her chest.

“Can you walk?” he said uncertainly.

Sia leaned into him, inhaling deeply. Something was coming awake in her. She stood and felt herself change. It wasn’t as painful this time. It was almost comforting. She reached out and took his shoulders in her hands.

“You smell so good,” said Sia. “I can see every vein in your body. You’re like a work of art.”

He stared at her and she stared back, and she felt so close that she could just slip inside his mind. Just touch every memory he ever had and bathe in his thoughts and feelings. She smiled around her sharp, sharp teeth.

“Desmond Paine,” she said. “I remember you.”

“What should I do?” he said. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” His eyes were strange, glassy, and Sia remembered Mathilde trying to touch Sia’s mind. This man was hers now. And she knew how to make the pain go away.

“Please tell me what to do. Mike told me to save you. You have to tell me how. I’ve forgotten. I’ve forgotten everything.”

Sia touched inside him and saw his mother’s face. She saw a lover, embracing him. She saw the old man, the journalist, who tried so hard to rescue her. She put a hand behind Desmond Paine’s neck.

“Come closer,” she said. “And let me save you.”

Thirty-Two

Mike felt cool hands on his face, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He was cold, so cold, but the hands on him felt soothing. There was a voice, saying his name and he tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Mike, goddammit, open your eyes, you son of a bitch!”

“Viv,” he slurred. He managed to flutter his eyes open, but for only a moment. The slap came like a gunshot waking him from a dead sleep.

“What the hell?” he said, looking around in a panic. It was dark, but he could make out a silhouette sitting next to him on the cot. Where was he? “Oh, Christ,” he moaned as the pain hit him.

“Relax,” said the silhouette. A gentle hand pushing him back down on the bed.

“Viv,” he said. “Is that you?”

“I gave you an antibiotic,” she said. “It wasn’t easy to find, you know. It’s expired, but not by much, so you probably won’t die from it.”

“That’s reassuring,” said Mike through gritted teeth.

“This is morphine,” she said, and he saw her holding up a shape that looked like a syringe. “It’ll help with the pain.”

“You have to get out of here,” he said.

“Shut up,” she said. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“They’re going to find you,” he said. “Viv, please.”

“No one’s going to find me,” she said in a strange voice. Mike’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. Viv leaned over and he felt the needle and gasped. Then it was over and he felt a warmth run through his veins. It was funny, to imagine someone putting something into his veins rather than taking something from his veins.

“Why isn’t anyone going to find you?” he said slowly, his head going funny.

“Because I killed them all,” she said, giggling. “With blood. Imagine that, Mike. All it took was a little blood. And BOOM!” Mike jumped as her voice echoed in the cell. “They all fell down like the London Bridge. Did you play that game, Mike? When you were a child?”

“It doesn’t seem like I was ever a child,” said Mike, trying to make his mind work. The pain was ebbing away, replaced by a warm euphoria. He shook his head. He had to stay awake.

“They’re all dead,” said Viv. “They’re dead, Mike. It’s not over, but they’re dead.”

“Jesus,” said Mike. “All of them?”

“Everyone in that room. Except the one I wanted.”

“Who?”

“Conrad,” she said. Her voice had gone from giggling to sullen as she said his name. “I had to save you, Mike. I need to find Hunter, but I had to save you first.”

“Conrad,” said Mike, processing. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He had the blood just like the rest of them, but it didn’t affect him. I don’t know why.”

“It killed the others?” said Mike. “The Revs?”

“Dead or convulsing on the floor. I saved Sia, Mike. I sent her off with Dez. Is that what you wanted?”

“Who the hell cares what I want?” he said. “I made my bed, Viv. Go. Save your son, if he’s alive.”

“I think he might be dead,” she said, and there was no emotion in her voice. “Or worse than dead.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t see what they did to her,” she said. “To Sia. I can’t…” Viv started to cry, deep, racking sobs. “I don’t think she’s okay.”

“Conrad walked away,” said Mike.

“He did. I already said that,” she said. “I cleaned your wounds while you were out. You’ll live, I think.”

“Viv,” he said.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to live.”

“You don’t get to choose,” she said. “You don’t get to die, Mike. You can’t leave me here like this. You can’t leave Dez and Sia, or any of us.”

“I don’t even know Sia,” he said.

“Neither do I,” she said and laughed. “And yet I risked everything to save her.”

“She’s special,” he said.

“I heard her play,” she said. “I heard her play and I wasn’t sorry for them any longer. I felt no guilt. Do no harm, Mike. I don’t know who I am any more.” She was talking fast, the words spilling out of her mouth in a panicky voice. She was breathing fast.

“Calm down,” Mike said. “Viv, you need to stop. Remember where you are, what you need to do. Your night isn’t over, honey.”

“Mike, do you remember us? Do you think about me?”

Mike closed his eyes and felt them burning. A wave threatened to drag him to unconsciousness. He was having a hard time forming the words and felt himself laughing. He couldn’t lie to her if he wanted to, even if he’d been lying to himself. The laugh died in his chest and he felt tears coming on. Goddamn morphine, he thought.

“Viv, I never stopped thinking about you.”

He felt her cool hand slip into his hot good hand and he grasped it weakly.

“Mike, I think maybe I fell a little in love with you. I lost everything, but you just…you just did everything goddamn right. Why did you go and do that?”

“You’re mad at me because you love me?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t want a friend, Mike. I wanted to lay down and die. But who can do that with someone like you watching. I couldn’t crash and burn like I’d planned. You made me want to fight.”

Mike forced his eyes to open. He was deeply stoned and had to work to stay awake.

“Genevieve,” he said. “I’m not worth it. I’m an old man.”

“You’re only five years older than me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But not on the inside.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You said yourself,” he said. “The Revs are dead.”

“There will be more,” she said. “It was only such a small number.”

“The people, they’re going to rise up,” said Mike.

“It’s not enough, Mike,” said Viv. “It’ll never be enough.”

“You’re right about that,” said a voice. Mike was too far gone to look. But he recognized it. He’d heard it enough times on the television, the radio, recordings the Revs liked to play over loudspeakers everywhere.

Mike let go of Viv’s hand as she stood. He heard her screaming as a heavy metallic click echoed in the room. And as he drifted off into a drug-induced sleep, he heard another sound.

Conrad was laughing.

Thirty-Three

“Let me out, you son of a bitch!” Viv screamed at the window set in the iron door.

Conrad’s deformed face was grinning at her through the bars.

“You still don’t understand, Dr. White,” he said. “I’m not like the others.”

“You’re exactly like them,” she spat.

“Your friend there. Mr. Novak. He long vexed me. It took us a very long time to find him. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because he had help. An adversary of mine, you see. He’s a bit angry at me. But what Joshua Flynn most hates about me is how alike we are. Tell me, have you met Mr. Novak’s friend, Joshua Flynn?”

“He’s not his friend,” said Viv.

“That is why Mr. Novak is alive,” said Conrad. “Because he realizes that.”

“He’s barely alive because of you people.”

“And yet, you still risked your neck to save him. You humans are so...plucky. You know, I always suspected Mr. Novak. He came on our radar long before he went on the run. But you, Dr. White. Your treachery impresses me. You are so small, so afraid. When we met for the first time, I was reminded of a mouse, just shivering your way through life, avoiding the scary bits. When did you stop being terrified, Genevieve?”

“I never stopped,” she said, her honesty surprising even herself. “But some things are more important than fear.”

“Interesting,” said Conrad.

“Why didn’t you die?” she said.

He seemed to think about the question.

“I told you that Joshua Flynn and I were much alike,” he said. “And I meant it.” He opened his jaw wide and groaned and he began to change. His features changed, his teeth shrank into his mouth, his spine shortened and became more compact. Viv put her hand over her mouth as she watched. It was just like the girl, Sia, features turning and shifting into something all too human. Until the creature in front of her resembled a man. Someone you might nod to politely on the street. The man was handsome in an old-fashioned way, and Viv stared at him, appalled at his humanity. He had warm eyes and smiled a sweet smile with straight teeth.

“What is this?” she breathed. “What are you?”

“You didn’t see us when we first came,” he said, giving her a pitying look. “At least, that you can remember. It was so easy, Dr. White. We all looked just like you. Just some other frightened humans. Until the moment when we were not. We pulled down our masks and there were monsters underneath. You should have seen your faces! It was an easy thing, really, to manipulate you all. Take away the lights, the phones, the internet. And when it comes back, you just accept whatever was to come. The Slack helped. You were all so hooked on it. We hardly had to bend your minds at all. But I remember you, Dr. White. I remember how you fought. You were never on the Slack, were you? Not even once.”

Viv felt herself go very still.

“You remember me from where?” said Viv.

“I had to take those memories, so sadly, you didn’t remember. Though if I’d left them it would have broken you. As it is, you’re only cracked.”

“What are you talking about?” said Viv. “Where do you know me from?”

“Do you want to remember?” he said. “I was only going to feed on you, but you are far too much fun.”

“Remember what?” said Viv. Her heart was pounding as she looked at this human man. He looked just like everyone else.

“I think you know,” he said. “Do you really want to know what happened to your son? Would it give you pleasure to know the horrors that you’ve really endured?”

“How do you know?” she said, something hot and white behind her eyes. It was something new for her. Not grief or panic or despair. It was a sharp, hot anger, so intense it felt painful. She felt as though it was filling her up. This anger felt different than when she tainted the blood. That felt more like duty than anger. No, what she was feeling now was far stronger. It was rage.

“There it is,” said Conrad, smiling with his perfect teeth. “There’s the woman I remember. So human, that rage.”

“You were there,” said Viv. “You were in my house. Why were you there? You told them all to stop killing people. You made them weak.”

“Yes, so hypocritical of me,” said Conrad. “I always liked Philadelphia. I was a young man here, you know. I consider it my home. So it seemed only right to come here during the Blackout. Do you want to know? I can make you remember. It’s only a veil, really. All I have to do is lift it. Your memories are all still there. That’s why you could never forget. Your mind knew what happened, you just couldn’t access it.”

“You were there,” Viv said again, going over that night in her head. “You were there when he disappeared. You were there when my life ended.”

“And I was the one who ended it. Come. Remember.”

“Is he dead?” she said.

“You’ll never know until you see.”

Viv took a step toward him. Conrad smiled. He motioned her forward. She could already feel him in her head, a pressure and a willingness to comply that was unfamiliar to her. And then she had her face against the bars and Conrad put his hand on her forehead. A sharp pain made her open her mouth in a silent scream, a scream that would never come. Her vision went white, and then she broke right down the middle. From one memory and then all the way through.

Viv could see it. She’d been holding a knife that night, a long sharp knife that could slice through anything. They had come in the dark, where she held Hunter tight against her body. So tight he started to cry. And then the monsters came.

It wasn’t like she thought it would be. It wasn’t loud, there was no maniacal laughter and no screaming. Only her own. Hunter hadn’t screamed. Not even a whimper. It had been too fast and when Viv realized her baby wasn’t in her arms, she flailed. She came at the dark figures in the night, in the night that was too dark. She came at them with the knife and something dropped from their arms.

Something came into view, a face. But a horrible face, with a mouth like a wound and teeth like knives. Like the knife she held. It was wet now, dripping with something. And on the floor…Oh, God, on the floor…

Viv fell to her knees, the rage gone. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She could only hear Conrad’s voice, crooning to her.

“I felt pity for you. You were the first human I had ever felt such a thing for. I’ve always been a killer. I don’t drag it out, and I don’t make them suffer. But you were special, Genevieve. So fierce and full of rage in that moment. And I saw you break. We weren’t going to kill him, you know. We were only going to keep him safe. With the others.”

“I killed him,” she whispered. “I killed my baby. I killed him, I killed him.”

“I told you it would hurt,” said Conrad. There was a click as he turned the key and the door swung ajar, bumping gently against Viv’s knees.

She looked up at him.

“I killed him,” she said, trying to breathe. “All this time. It was me.”

“Yes,” said Conrad, not without sympathy.

“Will you kill me?” she said. “Please?”

Conrad smiled sadly.

“I’ll do better,” he said. “I can make it all go away. All that emotion, all tangled up like a ball of twine, filling up your guts and your mind and your heart. Would you like me to stop it? Would you like it to go away?”

Viv felt as though she was filling up, expanding with the horror of what she knew. Of what she had done. All this time. All this time. It was her. Her own child, and the knife…

She put her hands over her chest to try to stop the pain.

“I’m breaking apart,” she gasped.

Conrad was next to her now, crouching down, gathering her up. She pressed her face into his soft jacket and the grief took over. She couldn’t move as he lifted her up.

“Take it away,” she whimpered. “Make it stop.”

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Please,” she said, the word soundless but on her lips. “Please.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Conrad. And they were moving down the hall now, the lights overhead a blur of brightness. Viv closed her eyes against them.

“You see,” said Conrad, as they turned a corner. “You may have stopped my experiment before, but now you will be the experiment, my esteemed doctor. You shouldn’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson. The pain isn’t the important thing, the result is. You’ll be sedated and when you wake up, you won’t feel a thing. Won’t that be lovely? I know what went wrong last time. It was the blood. All in the blood. We used the wrong kind of blood, because it was the new Revenant blood. I can fix it. I can fix it with my own blood. Ancient blood. It’s strong, and you’ll be strong too.”

“I killed him,” Viv said.

“Yes you did,” said Conrad. “And you’ll be killing many more.”

“I don’t want to feel,” said Viv.

“You won’t feel a thing, my dear,” said Conrad. He held her tighter. “And it’s only the beginning.”

Thirty-Four

Sia rose from the dead man, the taste of him on her lips. Her face shifted again and she screamed anew, the pain fresh. She had strength now, but she couldn’t stop her own body. She began walking, holding the wall for support, so she didn’t topple over from the pain. She knew where to go. She could feel him now, just outside the gates.

She stopped and looked down at herself. Her ribcage was still open, her beautiful heart beating in an empty wound. How was she alive? She could see blood still dripping down the front of her, her once-white dress soaked in red. Not all of it was hers. She could feel Mathilde inside of her, guiding her, making her strong. Sia felt her teeth sliding out again and she touched them this time. So long and smooth and sharp. She could feel the strength in those teeth, in the horrible things they were capable of. If she could just control them.

Each step was agony, but she pushed herself on. She’d almost lost her voice from screaming. She came to her room, but she kept walking. And when she came to the locked double doors, she shoved them open and felt the lock splintering metal. Her features shrunk down to human again as she walked through the hospital where she had been a prisoner. Her warden, Evelyn Hauser, was nowhere to be seen.

Sia made her way to a door opposite the nursing station. This was the door the Movers used to enter, and the nurses used to leave. She pushed, but the door was unlocked and swung open easily. Sia went down the stairs, leaning against the wall occasionally, leaving a trail of blood on the white tile. She followed the lights down the hall until she came to a large door marked “EXIT.”

Sia felt her teeth come out as she pushed the door, and it toppled off its hinges and fell sideways into the snow. Sia stepped outside and closed her eyes at the cold. The heat that had been setting her on fire seemed manageable now. She stood, the snow melting around her thighs, and let the cold seep into her. Felt the snow melt on her face and in her hair. She felt the wind blowing on her bare heart and she smiled around her sharp teeth as she began to walk barefoot through the snow. She changed again and the pain brought her to her knees. So much power and she was wasting it. Sia ground her human teeth together in frustration, but then her Rev teeth forced her mouth open and she pushed herself forward in the snow.

When she saw him, walking through the gate, Sia paused. She stood still as a stone and watched him stop, too.

“Are you real?” Sia said, her voice husky from screaming.

“I’m real,” said Joshua Flynn, his voice cracking. “I heard you call.”

He was at her side then and Sia felt everything melt away. His hands, so warm once, felt cold now on her hot flesh.

“Sia…” He picked her up as she fell, cradling her in his arms, an odd sound coming from his chest. “Sia, what did they do to you?”

“I’ve never seen you cry,” she said.

“Sia…”

She smiled then and touched his face. She shook her head sadly.

“You were too late, Joshua. You were supposed to come. I called and called.”

“I was coming for you,” he said, something desperate in his voice, a grief so deep that it made him seem small. “I was coming to take you away, whether you hated me for it or not.”

“Can you see my heart? Isn’t it pretty?”

“Sia…”

“Joshua, it hurts. My face, my bones. You have to end it. You have to kill me.”

“No,” he said. Sia felt his tears falling on her face. “I’m going to fix you.”

“Not like this, Joshua. Kill me, please. If you love me, you must end it. I have their sickness inside of me. Please.”

“Sia, I can’t. I won’t. I can fix this.”

“No…”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

“Then let me fix you. This is what we always planned, remember? It’s what you were always going to be.”

“My daughter…”

“First, you must survive, Sia. It’s the only way. I’ll never kill you, do you understand? I won’t hurt you.” He put a finger to her lips and it tasted of blood. Sia felt tears freezing to her cheeks.

“You’re too late,” she said. “It hurts already.”

“Not for long.”

Sia watched his face. His dark eyes, capable of so much death, pleaded with her. His expression was one that Sia had never seen before. He looked vulnerable. How could he be a monster and look so lost and pained? How could she be a monster with him at her side?

“I will consent,” she said at last. “Fix me, my love.”

“Yes.”

“And then we’ll kill them all,” she said, gasping as her bones began to shift.

“Yes,” he said.

He began to lead her back toward the hospital.

“No,” Sia whispered. “I’m on fire.”

“I’m not going to speak false to you,” he said. “I am going to have to hurt you.”

“Yes,” she said. “In the snow. Please. I’m burning up.”

Joshua set her down gently in a snowbank like a bride he was taking to bed. She felt herself melt into the drift, her body cooling as steam rose up around her. Her new heart was beating fiercely.

“Something went wrong, they said. Something with the surgery.”

“Surgery,” he said scornfully. “How very scientific.”

“They love their needles and their scalpels.”

“It is empty,” he said. “Cold and without beauty. There is beauty in the blood, in the pain. There is such infinite beauty in the darkness. Conrad has taken that from them. He has turned them into husks.”

“They want to live in the light,” said Sia.

“It is not our nature to live in the light.”

“The darkness suits you,” she said.

“Why didn’t you run, Sia?” he said. He was taking off his shirt, his skin pale in the snow-light. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called you,” she said. “But it was too late. There was a party, Joshua.”

“It was a festival,” he said. “It’s our way. Before someone changes.”

“It was a surprise,” she said.

He was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“Are you ready?”

Sia watched him change, watched his face flatten and his spine lengthen. She touched his teeth, his face. He closed his eyes. He was a gorgeous, dark thing. All sharp teeth and claws and eyes so deep they cut you. Sia gave a breathy gasp despite herself. This was no weak creature with soft skin and fancy clothes. Her Joshua was power. He was danger. He was hers. And soon she would be his forever.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“They’ve put their blood into you,” he said. “Into this heart. I have to get it out. It’s poisoning you.”

“I killed a man in the hall,” she said. “I think I killed him. He wasn’t moving.”

“Oh?”

“I liked it.” She looked at him. “Will you still love me when I’m a monster, Joshua?”

“Until the end of time.”

“Do it.”

She screamed again as she felt his teeth sink into her heart, and felt the fire being pulled out. The shifting stopped and her bones settled. Joshua gasped and Sia heard a ripping sound. The very wind seemed to stop as she felt something warm being poured into her chest, her heart. She felt the light inside her grow brighter. Sia cried out one last time as Joshua pushed her ribcage back together. The snow dwindled and then stopped falling altogether as he brought the open vein in his arm to her lips. She drank, feeling herself growing strong, the wounds of the past hours closing up and her skin growing fresh and new, as though she had never been hurt. All that remained was her memory, the sound of Mathilde’s screams still in her ears. And an aching hunger. The clouds parted and a full moon shone upon her, born anew.

Sia reached up to run her fingers through the particles in the frigid night air. The moonlight reflected off her skin as though she glowed. She felt each snowflake when she touched the snow around her. She could see the light in Joshua’s chest as he stood looking at her, his own heart throbbing with such ferocity that she was sure it would pound through his skin. It matched her own and Sia stood, the dress sticking to her with blood. Slipping it off, she smiled at Joshua and kissed his lips, letting her naked skin soak up the moonlight.

“I’m going to play music as I kill them,” Sia said.

“I would expect no less,” said Joshua. And when he kissed her back, Sia could taste everyone he’d ever drunk from. Everyone he’d killed, everyone he’d had mercy on. Sia licked his lips. There would be no mercy tonight, she could see that in Joshua’s eyes.

“They have my daughter,” said Sia. “She will be the only survivor.”

“Everyone that touched you is mine,” Joshua said, his voice husky.

“Not yours,” said Sia. “Ours. My Joshua. It’s so very good to see you.”

Thirty-Five

Dez woke up in a hospital bed, his neck an explosion of pain. He sat up and fought back the nausea. He had tubes in his arm, clear liquid going in through an IV. He could feel the coolness entering his vein. Dez frowned. Tubes going in instead of out. That was different.

“What the hell?” he said, staring at the needle taped to his arm. He looked around the room. Dim lights, a machine beeping, the smell of iodine.

“Don’t move,” said a voice. A scrawny old woman bustled in, pushing a cart with a pitcher atop it. She pulled a table across the bed and poured Dez a glass of ice water and set it in front of him, nodding at it brusquely.

“Who are you supposed to be? Bloody Nurse Ratched?”

“You ought to watch your tone,” she said. Her hair was in a bun, but much of it had come out and hung around her face. Her pink sweater had brown streaks all over it. Dez realized it was blood. He reached up and gently touched his neck. It had been bandaged.

“The girl,” he said. “She Goddamn bit me.”

“You know her?” said the woman. She suddenly looked shaky, her eyes twitchy.

“What do you know about her?” said Dez.

“I know quite a lot,” she said softly, her eyes going soft and unfocused. “I think I made her who she is.”

“Who are you?”

“Evelyn,” she said. “Just Evelyn.”

“Well, Evelyn,” said Dez, picking up the glass of water. “Why do you think you made Sia the way she is?”

“Because I tortured her,” said Evelyn, her rigid body slouching. She focused on Dez. “It was all very firmly according to regulations.”

“I know all about those,” said Dez. “I’m the one who brought her here.”

“Oh,” she said weakly.

“She’s with him, you know,” said Dez. “That vampire?”

Evelyn snorted. “Which one?”

“Joshua Flynn,” said Dez. “The one who wants to kill all the other ones.”

“Does he?” said Evelyn.

“We need to get out of here,” said Dez. “If he’s not already here, he’s coming. He loves that girl. I think. If it is possible for them to love.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Evelyn. “I owe her.”

“Who, Sia?”

“Have you heard her play?” said Evelyn. “You really should. She’s an angel.”

“You’re crazy, lady,” said Dez, yanking the needle out of his arm, and holding the sheet over it to stop the bleeding. “Bitch tried to kill me.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Why not?” said Dez. “She’s just like them now. You didn’t see her. We have to go. You saved me, so I’m grateful enough to get your ass out of this place.”

“No,” said Evelyn. “I’m staying.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Evelyn, smiling ruefully. “I think I’m supposed to help her.With the children,” said Evelyn. “I know what to do. They need to be free.”

“What, ” said Dez. “The kids who came up missing? You know where they are?”

“If I give Sia the children, it will all be worth it. I can die knowing that she’s forgiven me.”

“Even if she kills you?”

“Oh, she’s going to kill me,” said Evelyn, with her eyes still closed. She looked peaceful. Dez pulled his shirt away from his body. It was stiff with dried blood. His own, he realized. If the van was still outside, he could make it out. They were far enough out of the city that he’d encounter very few obstacles.

“I’m going to save the children,” said Evelyn.

Dez stopped and looked at her.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he said. “Okay, fine.What’s your plan, then?”

Evelyn smiled.

“Goddamn kids,” said Dez. “I better not die.”

Thirty-Six

Viv felt heavy, as though filled with stones. She tried to open her eyes, to see where the voices were coming from, but she also wanted to sink down in nothingness and stay there forever. Something had happened, but she couldn’t remember exactly what. Viv could hear a man talking, muffled, as if from another room.

“If we want to survive, we’re going to need an army.”

“They’ll have to be strong like her,” said a woman. “Not like these insects that buzz around you.”

“I know that now,” he said, his voice bitter. “I had no idea that he had the will.”

“It’s not him, exactly,” said the woman. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course it’s him.”

“It’s not him alone, my love. It’s all of them. Together.”

“You think it’s the humans who are going to be the end of me.”

“Of us,” she said. “Not just you. It won’t be the end if we work quickly. If this works, we can focus on the children. We know how to fix them.”

“It will work,” said the man. “Trust me, Margaret.”

“When it’s all done, you’ll do the same to me.”

The man sighed. “I owe you that much, I suppose.”

Viv could feel something cold on her chest. No, not on her chest. Inside her chest. She tried to scream at the ice she felt there, where no ice should be. She managed to open her mouth, but all that would come was a whisper of a scream, something hollow and quiet and infinitely more horrible. Viv’s eyes sprung open and the first thing she saw was a metal ceiling. A bright light shining on her abdomen. Two people in white coats and surgical masks.

“No,” Viv said, her voice only a whisper.

“Hold her still,” said the man. Viv looked at him, the voice familiar. The face was human. But then she remembered Conrad changing right in front of her. Conrad touching her. Conrad showing her…

Viv screamed then, the sound ear-piercingly shrill and the woman next to Conrad put her hands over her ears. He shouted and she came close to Viv’s face, holding her shoulders gently. Viv couldn’t move, and the hands touching her were warm, so much warmer than Viv. Oh god, she was so cold. Viv’s teeth started to chatter.

“What’s happening?” Viv managed, as the woman stroked her hair.

“It’s fine,” she said, and Viv recognized the voice of Margaret Watts. “Just be still and it will be over soon.”

“Please stop,” said Viv. “I don’t want this.”

“It’s okay, Dr. White. Everything’s going to change for you now,” said Watts, a smile in her voice. “You’re going to be strong. You’re not going to feel any more. That’s what you wanted.”

“Yes,” said Viv, “but not like this.”

“It has to be this way,” she said. “Just relax.”

Viv looked around the room. The metal ceiling matched the metal walls and metal floor. She couldn’t move her head and she remembered Sia, strapped to a table with metal bands. On the wall, beyond the bright light placed directly above her, Viv squinted to make out a shape. Long in the middle, bulbously crucifix-shaped at the top. The details came into view as Margaret Watts prepared a syringe filled with a dark red fluid. The elongated spine, feet held to the wall with metal, and hands spread out like Christ on the cross. A dark, fathomless hole in the chest where a heart used to be, topped by a slumped, lifeless head.

Viv’s eyes moved to the subtle glow from a shining box.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“It’s not as bright as Mathilde’s,” said Margaret, “but she wasn’t using it. And it will serve you well with the right blood.” She held up the large syringe and gazed lovingly at it.

“I don’t want to be a monster,” Viv said.

“You won’t be a monster, my dear. “You’ll be beautifully deadly. Such a pretty face. We’re not going to bottle feed you like all the others. She deserves something fresh, don’t you think, Ambrose? We could give her the reporter. ”

Conrad glanced up from his work and grunted. “Quite. Two birds with one stone.”

“You’re sure you don’t want him?” said Watts. “He might be like her.”

“No, he’s been damaged,” said Conrad, and Viv saw that he held a scalpel covered in blood. Her whole chest was numb, but she could feel him doing something to her.

“An unfortunate happenstance,” said Margaret. “The Revenants responsible?”

“They thought they were getting information about the rebel. As if he would tell a human his plans.”

“Well,” she said, “he did tell one human.”

He snorted. “She’s not human. She hasn’t been just human in a very long time, I’d wager. Since he claimed her.”

Margaret looked back at Viv, who was trying to speak, but found her voice was gone. Something was wrong. She felt strange and cold and the edges of her vision were going dark.

“Oh, my dear. Don’t be afraid. You’re just going to die for a moment. You’ll be back and you’ll be so much changed you won’t recognize yourself. Just relax and close your eyes. When you awaken nothing will hurt and you will have yourself again, no pain or worries.”

Viv tried to speak, but all that came was a whisper. Margaret leaned her head down to hear. Viv whispered again.

“He’ll never give you what you want,” she breathed into Margaret’s ear.

Margaret’s eyes widened as Viv’s vision grew darker. She looked at the dead Revenant on the wall. Naked, with her breasts hanging on either side of the hole carved in her chest. Viv began to laugh.

“Why is she laughing?” said Conrad from very far away.

“Because she’s about to be magnificent,” said Margaret.

Everything was dark. Viv floated down and she was sure that she would never tire of the silence. No talking, no worries. No people or Revs or blood or death. Just...nothing. Viv let herself fall and felt the dark softness surround her. A memory of her mother floated into her head. Viv as a child, afraid of the dark. Her mother had been alive and soft and warm and made Viv feel safe whenever she was near.

“Genevieve, don’t be afraid of the night.”

Viv hugged her tight, tears on her cheeks.

“I’m not afraid of the night, Mom. I’m afraid of the dark.”

Her mother had laughed. “There’s magic in the dark. Are you afraid of magic?”

“No,” she said. “But it doesn’t feel like magic.”

“Are you sure?” her mother said. And then Viv felt it. A sparkle in the air, in the still darkness, in the night.

“But there are bad things in the night,” said Viv.

“There are bad things, yes,” said her mother. “But only because they want to steal our magic.”

Viv floated and remembered her mother. She remembered how she looked forward to the darkness after that. The way she would touch everything in her path, every shadow, every piece of furniture, every bit of wall, just to make sure she wasn't missing any of the magic. As she felt the darkness envelop her, she could feel magic in the silence. Magic in herself. The dark answered by cradling her, comforting her, by wrapping itself around her until she felt safe again. Viv cried because it was the first time she felt safe since her mother died.

You’re not going to feel ever again, came Margaret’s words in her head. But then another voice vibrated inside her and all around her.

“They want to take your magic, Genevieve.”

“Mom?” Viv said, her head throbbing. Her whole body throbbing.

“Don’t let them take you, Genevieve. You take them right back.”

And then the darkness crashed away from her and the light bashed into her senses like a wrecking ball. Viv gasped as she felt the furnace of heat explode inside. She was being lifted like a rag doll by the arms. She felt her head flopping back and she tensed her neck to hold it rigid. She forced her head up and blinked her eyes. She could smell the blood, her own and that of three others. She looked at the dead Rev on the wall and saw every pore on her skin and felt the relief when she died. She turned her head to the two living faces in front of her. Conrad had taken his mask off and she saw him growing brown like a tree as he screamed. The other face was once so beautiful but was now growing old. She could see that Conrad was infatuated with that face once, but Viv knew why she was still here. She was too old to change. She felt her face shift and change, and the pain was exquisite.

“It was indeed the blood,” said Conrad. “We needed strong blood.”

“Your blood,” said Margaret Watts. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” said Conrad. “She certainly is.”

Viv swung her body to sit with her legs dangling from the table. Everything was warm and wet with blood.

“Your blood,” said Viv, her voice low like a growl, her words strange around her long teeth. She reached up and touched her face and it was smooth, flat. “It was your blood.”

“Yes,” said Conrad, and he smiled warmly. Viv saw a tree around him for a moment before it was gone again and she tried not to laugh. She looked at Margaret Watts. Conrad was looking at her too, and the woman seemed to realize all eyes were on her. Viv licked her sharp teeth, letting the point cut her tongue just a little so she could taste her own blood. It was heavier, darker. And the night was full of magic. She could see every vein in Margaret’s body, she could see the goosebumps rise on her skin, she could feel her fear.

“I know how you die,” said Viv.

“What?” said Margaret. “How?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Viv. She looked at Conrad. “You know it’s coming.”

Conrad didn’t look surprised.

“I can stop it,” he said. “I can make an army.”

“You made an army of weaklings,” said Viv. “You made an army of fools. You took away their exoskeletons and replaced them with fine clothes and money.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Where are the children?” said Viv.

“They’re safe,” said Conrad.

“Nothing’s safe,” said Viv. “And her?”

Conrad shook his head. “She’s too old. I can’t change her. It will kill her.”

“Better that she die now, ” said Viv. She looked at Margaret, who flattened herself against the wall. “Who else?” said Viv. “Who else can you change?”

“Only the children,” said Conrad.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” said Viv. She smiled. “After I eat.”

“No!” said Margaret. “Ambrose, stop her! You promised me. I loved you, ever since I was a girl. You promised you’d make me the same as you.”

“I lied,” said Conrad, looking away.

“You love her still, even as she ages,” said Viv.

“Take her,” said Conrad. “Take her now.”

“You said I wouldn’t feel,” said Viv.

“Do you?”

“Not yet,” said Viv. “But you do. Will I? Will I feel it when I’m not so young?”

“Time will tell,” said Conrad. But Viv knew he was lying. She could see it in herself. Once she was broken, even magic couldn’t fix it. Even magic wasn’t enough to fill up the cracks. She pulled Margaret away from the locked door she was frantically trying to open. Viv was indeed beautifully terrifying, and Margaret now knew what that meant. Viv saw it in her eyes, and behind her eyes, in her mind.

“I told you not to turn me into a monster,” said Viv.

The blood tasted like honey.

Thirty-Seven

Sia walked into the hospital with Joshua Flynn at her side. She turned the handle of a door marked “A.” It opened easily, unlocked.

“They’re coming,” said Joshua, looking behind him. “From everywhere.”

“Who?” said Sia.

“Conrad’s followers. And…others.”

“What others?”

“Humans,” he said. “From the city. Can you hear them? So much blood, so much hate.”

“How did they know?”

“The journalist,” he said. “They’re looking for him. They have been searching for him for days. They know how to kill the Revs now—”

“Kill us,” said Sia.

“Yes. But they won’t touch us.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because we are fast,” he said. He trailed a finger down Sia’s cheek. “And we are beautiful. They will only be looking for ugliness.”

“Mike Novak tried to save me,” she said. “But they took him.”

“I owe him much,” said Joshua.

“Then perhaps we won’t kill him,” said Sia.

“Perhaps,” said Joshua. “If that’s what he wants.”

“My daughter is here, Joshua. Conrad told me.”

“He’s a liar.”

“Not about this.”

“Am I going to lose you, Sia?” he said, and there was such grief in his voice that Sia reached for him. “We should go now, before you get hurt again.”

“I am already hurt,” she said.

“There are things that hurt more than pain, Sia.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know, my love.”

His face was suddenly very close to hers. She breathed him in, the heat of him.

“You cannot be a mother and a monster, Sia,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to be a mother,” said Sia. “I just need to save her. She is a part of me, and they will pay for ever daring to touch her.”

“So it’s revenge.”

“I’ll save her, Joshua,” said Sia. “I will make her safe. I’ll kill as many of them as I have to. As many as it takes until she’s safe. I’ll do for her what I could never do before.”

“What’s that?”

“Protect her,” said Sia.

“You protected her as much as you could,” he said.

“I’m not weak anymore,” she said.

“You never have been weak,” he said. “You don’t have to prove your strength. We could go away now. We could leave this place. I could keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” said Sia. “I want to kill everyone who ever touched me, Joshua. Everyone who ever touched her. I want to make them pay for what they’ve done. I want them to fear me.”

He smiled. “I understand. By the time the sun comes up they will scream your name. My Sia.”

“And they will die begging for mercy,” she said. “Stay with me, Joshua. Until the end.”

He nodded, closing his eyes.

“Of course.”

“Do you hear that?” said Sia, walking through the entryway of A-ward. “Do you smell it? I can taste it, Joshua. Despair. Hearts barely beating. Souls dying.”

“And blood,” he said. “Barely alive.”

Sia opened a door marked Private and walked through. There was no light, no windows, but they could see a large room before them, and beyond that room after room after room. Within the rooms were beds, stacked upon each other and lined up so tightly there was barely room to walk around them. Upon each bed was a person, unwashed and unconscious, with tubes connected to their arms and legs. One tube pumped a clear liquid in, the other tube pulled pale, watery blood out. Sia felt the clear bag and wrinkled her nose.

“Slack,” she said. “They’re drugged. This isn’t blood. It’s practically clear.”

“They’re deviants. Arrested by Movers. This would have been your fate, had you been one of them.”

“You are arrested for using the drug, and then pumped full of the same drug to sedate you,” said Sia.

“It’s not about the drug,” said Joshua. “They only want the blood. It’s a commodity.”

Sia pulled the needles out of a bearded and stinking man’s arm. He stirred, his eyelid flickering.

“You don’t want to kill them?” said Joshua, raising an eyebrow.

“I would never drink such filth,” said Sia.

“You don’t have to drink them to offer them death.”

The man made a gurgling noise. He lurched in the cot, his eyes opening, rolling up into his head. He arched his back, a trail of drool running into his beard.

“His mind is gone,” said Sia. “His body is alive, but he is dead.”

“They’re all gone,” said Joshua.

Sia looked over the ward, beds barely far enough apart to allow the staff to change the bags of drugs and blood.

“They’re not alive,” said Sia.

“They’re hollow,” said Joshua, pulling the needles out of filthy young woman’s arm. Her back arched in a seizure, just like the first. Sia looked down at the bearded man.

“He’s dead,” she said.

“This is disgusting,” said Joshua, curling his lip in derision as he looked at what was left of the so-called convicts. Arrested and taken here without a trial, without any sort of judgment. Young and old filled the beds, and every walk of life.

Sia walked down the rows, pulling out the needles, throwing bags of clear fluid against the wall where they burst, peeling away the paint.

“What are you doing?” said Joshua, curious.

“Ending their misery,” said Sia.

“Why?”

“Because it is unnecessary. They have suffered enough.”

Joshua nodded, understanding. Watching her as though she were the most curious creature he had ever seen. Sia continued her progress.

“We must go, Sia,” he said after a time.

“I am so hungry,” she said, pausing and looking at him.

“Yes,” said Joshua. He smiled as a nurse opened the door. A man in scrubs with a cart of IV bags piled high. A female followed, bumping into her coworker as he froze, staring at Sia, naked and covered in blood. Sia recognized her. The younger version of Evelyn Hauser with her sweater just so, and her hair neat and tidy.

“Nothing wrong with her blood,” Joshua said.

“Wait,” said Sia.

She stepped toward the woman, remembering her name.

“Christine,” she said. “Christine Avery. You were in my room.”

The woman caught her breath, her eyes darting from Sia to Joshua and back again.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come to work tonight?” said Sia.

“Yes,” the girl breathed. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird. Sia could feel it.

“You should have listened,” said Sia, stepping toward the three. They were shaking, all of them, so full of fear. Sia smiled.

As one, Joshua and Sia changed, their faces smoothing, their teeth growing. In the end, Christine was the one who screamed what Joshua wanted to know.

“Ambrose Conrad is still here,” said Joshua, wiping blood from his lips. “You are not the only one who will be avenged this night, Sia.”

“He took your life from you,” said Sia. “What about the children? Will they be safe?”

“They will be our children by the time the sun rises,” he said. He kissed her and the blood on both of their tongues mingled. Sia sucked the blood from his lips. “We’ll keep them safe together,” Joshua crooned.

“And Ambrose Conrad will die,” said Sia. “I can see it. And I know it to be true.”

“Then so it shall be,” he said. “Before dawn.”

“Before dawn,” she repeated.

She could not tell Joshua that she also saw his face, obscured by branches, suffocated by vines. She looked at Joshua. He was so strong, stronger than her. But as she blinked back the vision, she gasped at the face driving the stake into Joshua’s heart. It wasn’t Ambrose Conrad, or the journalist or the woman doctor who had poisoned the Revs.

The face in her vision killing Joshua Flynn was her own.

Thirty-Eight

Mike woke slowly, his head aching. He rolled onto his hand and screamed, the remembering more horrible than the physical pain. He’d lost his fingers, but that wasn’t enough. He had to find Viv before something horrible happened. He recalled watching her in a morphine haze. She’d been talking to someone through the door. And then the goddamn president had sauntered in and taken her away. She’d been sobbing. And Conrad had looked human.

He couldn’t let anything happen to Viv. Not her.

Mike sat up and carefully got up off the cot. He avoided the sick on the floor and made his way to the door. His hand hurt like a bitch, but it didn’t seem to be infected any longer. The pain was borderline unbearable, but at least his head was clear. He was weak. He needed food and water. Mike got to the door and blinked at it. It had been left ajar.

“Must be a trick,” Mike muttered. They wouldn’t just let him escape, unless they figured he would die. Or they didn’t care what happened to him. Mike closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. He had to help Viv. She was the only one that mattered right now. He pulled open the door and walked out into the hall.

The air was frigid as the lamps on the wall guttered. Revs and their penchant for old-timey shit, he thought: Even their dungeon was gas powered. Mike tried the double doors, but they were locked solid. He turned and headed the other way, towards a glow at the other end of the hall. He walked by other cells, the smells unbearable. He was sure one of them contained a decomposing corpse, but it was too dark to see. Weak moans came from another. Mike ignored his toes going numb on the cold concrete and stayed on his path. He walked purposefully toward the glow, which as he approached recognized as the light streaming from a desk lamp. He heard static as he approached, coming from a radio fastened to the wall above the desk. It was just like every other radio in every public workstation, but this time, it wasn’t broadcasting. No droning voices, no recut versions of Ambrose Conrad’s speeches. Nothing.

Mike reached out with his good hand and fiddled with the dial. There was nothing but static. He was about to give up when he found a voice that came in loud and clear. And it wasn’t a monster speaking in a gentleman’s voice, urging the listeners to remain calm. It wasn’t Ambrose Conrad trying to sound human.

“Mike Novak,” the voice said.

Mike froze, watching the green light on the radio. He shook his head. He was hearing things. Auditory hallucinations. He was probably still lying in that cot in a cell. Maybe Viv had never come. Maybe none of this was real. Joshua Flynn, Sia, Dez. Maybe he’d dreamed all of it.

But the stones under his feet were cold. And he could smell decay coming from the cells behind him. He couldn’t recall ever dreaming something that vivid. He frowned at the radio.

There was static again, and then a droning, monotonous tone that seemed to go on forever. Mike was sure he had imagined the voice. He looked down at the guard. He kept expecting him to wake up and force Mike back into the cell, but he was unnaturally still. Then the smell of blood wafted up and Mike knew. The guard wouldn't ever be waking up again. He raised the man’s head and saw the wound on his throat, his unseeing eyes. Ambrose Conrad had gotten hungry before he took Viv. He set the dead man’s head down gently on the desk

A shrill voice came across the radio, but was gone again in an instant, as it returned to static. Mike opened the drawers in the desk, looking for clothes, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He found a first aid kit and opened it up to find a bottle of codeine. He swallowed three without water, feeling them scrape their way down his throat. In another drawer he found a fresh ham sandwich, which he practically inhaled. He stared at the guard, his beard stubble standing out even more prominently on his gray face. Something was wrapped around the bottom of the chair the dead man sat on and Mike slid a duffel bag out from under the desk. He opened it and tossed out several empty liquor bottles. Mike pulled out a pair of dirty jeans and a sweatshirt that had seen better days. He put them on, being careful with his bad hand. The jeans were loose, but seemed to stay put.

Mike looked at the guard’s feet and sighed.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he said. He crouched and untied the boots, loosening the laces and slipping them off the dead man’s feet before putting them on his own. He couldn’t tie them one-handed, so he tucked the laces and stood to stare at the gun again. The codeine was starting to kick in, taking the edge off the pain. It was a relief and Mike felt himself able to think.

“Okay, Viv,” said Mike. “I’m coming.” He picked up a large ring of keys and was about to leave when he heard the static end abruptly on the radio.

He turned slowly as he heard the voice again. It was male.

“Mike Novak. Mike Novak. Mike Novak. Mike Novak.” A robotic drone, over and over. Something recorded and repeated again and again and again. Mike stared at the radio. The voice came again.

“Mike Novak. Mike Novak. Mike Novak. Mike Novak.” There was a series of beeps and then another voice came on. This time a woman’s. She spoke slowly and articulated each word, so as to be understood.

“Mike Novak, if you are listening, pay attention. We are the Fallen and we have succeeded. We have retaken Philadelphia. It’s only one city, but we have connections in New York, Miami, Los Angeles, and our numbers are growing. Worldwide. We received word that the world leaders, the Rev leaders would attend an event earlier tonight. We decided to take action.”

Mike looked around him, having the odd sense that someone was screwing with his head. Was he hallucinating?

“You started this movement with your underground newspaper's call to action, Mr. Novak. Some of us worked with you before the outpost was raided, and we helped you start the rebellion. When you disappeared, many of us searched tirelessly for you, using the same contacts to try to find you as we used to get our stories for the paper. We have word that you are being held at Munson. If you can hear us, Mr. Novak, stay where you are.”

Mike shook his head. None of this made sense.

“He said to tell you, Mr. Novak, Joshua Flynn sent us. I’m told that means something to you. We are coming, Mr. Novak. Stay where you are, stay safe, we’re coming to find you. You are important and we are coming.”

“What the hell is going on?” said Mike.

“You saved us, Mr. Novak,” said the voice. “You saved us from hopelessness, from fear, from an inability to act. You saved us, Mr. Novak. Now let us save you. We are coming. We are the Fallen, and we are coming for you.”

Static came on again and Mike closed his mouth, which was hanging open.

The message played on a loop and he stood there listening three times. It was the newspaper. The newspaper had given them hope, just like that bastard Flynn said it would. Mike felt tears come to his eyes. They were fighting now. The world was fighting. Philadelphia, and maybe a lot more places, if the voice was telling the truth.

Mike smiled as the radio went to static again. He turned and unlocked all the cells. The moaning stopped and Mike looked to see that the man inside had died. Someone cut his foot off and his leg had rotted. Mike turned quickly so he wouldn’t throw up. The other occupied cell was indeed a dead man, the smell so bad that Mike closed the cell door again quickly. This is where they brought them to die. The sick, or tortured, all those not deemed worthy to bleed. They brought him here too. This is where he was supposed to die.

But he wasn't dead, yet. And now he knew that his newspaper had helped launch a resistance.

He walked through the doors at the end of the hall in boots too tight. He breathed in the air, and felt the pain in his hand subside as the codeine kicked in. He had not been able to save Kyra, but now he had saved the world, and next he would save Viv. In the process, he would get another piece of himself back.

“Hold on, Viv, I’m coming.”

But as Mike found the double doors that had been left open, it wasn’t Viv he found.

Thirty-Nine

Viv couldn’t think straight. Something was wrong with her head. She followed Ambrose Conrad as he made his way through the snow. She touched the trees with her fingers as they walked through the strange forest in the courtyard. She could feel some of the trees screaming, but that couldn't be right either. She must have lost her mind, because she remembered killing Margaret Watts. Why would she do that? And why would she enjoy it?

Viv looked down at her elongated hands and saw her fingernails pointed and rigid on the ends, like talons. She reached up with her nightmare hands and felt her nightmare teeth, her face that wasn’t hers any longer. She stopped, looking at the blood on her fingers, blood that had been dripping from her teeth.

She had killed Margaret Watts and had sucked every ounce of blood out of the woman’s body.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said, her words sounding strange around the teeth.

“He’s not here,” said Conrad, suddenly holding her from behind, gripping her upper arms tightly. He bent his head and whispered in her ear. “There’s only me, Genevieve.”

Viv shuddered and tried to pull away, but Conrad held her tight. He smelled of sandalwood and worms.

“Learn to accept it, sweet doctor,” said Conrad. “You’re mine now. I made you. I can unmake you.”

“Please, do it,” said Viv. “Kill me. I can’t be…this.”

Conrad laughed. “You can because I say you will. Now stand up and walk.”

Viv did as he commanded, but she could feel her body changing. Her face was shifting, her torso grinding into herself, her hands shot through with pain.

“Don’t panic,” said Conrad, now in front of her, gripping her face tenderly. “It’s only your body moving into its human state. There, see? Do you feel better?”

Viv nodded, stepping away from him.

“Are you afraid of me, Genevieve?” said Conrad.

“Yes.”

Conrad smiled. “Good. Let’s go. We have work to do.”

Viv followed him through the forest. It was pitch black, but she could see every detail, every molecule. She could feel them moving through the forest, the Revs who she now knew were not Revs. They were an abomination to the race. Her race. Viv gasped at the thought. She was now a Revenant. She searched for the panic that should have been there, the panic that had kept her company since the lights had gone out so long ago. It was gone. Even when she thought of that night, the night her son was killed, she felt nothing. And just for a moment, she was glad Conrad had turned her into this thing that could not feel.

The woods were crawling with pale, weak Revs and her eyes flicked to each of them as she saw them surround them.

“Don’t worry, they are here to protect me,” said Conrad.

“They can’t even protect themselves,” said Viv. She stopped and turned to peer into the darkness.

“What is it?” asked Conrad.

“Someone is here,” she said. “Someone strong. More than one.”

“Who is it?” said Conrad, his voice suddenly tight. “Is it him?”

Viv closed her eyes. “Can you not see them?” she said.

“Of course I can,” he said. “I’m asking you.”

He was lying, Viv knew.

“The woman you tortured,” she said.

“I didn’t torture her,” said Conrad.

“Of course,” said Viv. “You had her tortured. She is with someone very big. He towers over her. He is strong, but I think that maybe she is stronger.”

“Stronger than Joshua Flynn?” he said.

“You are afraid,” she said.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Quickly. These creatures can fight Joshua Flynn and his concubine.”

“You made her,” said Viv. “Why doesn’t she abide by you?”

“She was never mine,” said Conrad. “She was always his. Everything I want is his.”

“You knew her before?” said Viv.

“Enough of your questions,” said Conrad. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t poisoned them, Sia would be mine now. Sia would be mine and it would break him.”

“This has always been about him,” said Viv.

“Get out of my head, or I will send you where you sent all my friends. You’re worse than my sister.”

Viv remembered the party. The woman he called sister before ordering the Revs to cut her heart out. It hurt to think of Sia on the slab, screaming as they sliced her apart. Refusing to die. Something had gone wrong. With all that blood, she should have been dead.

“Why didn’t she die?” said Viv.

“Enough!”

“Please, just one question,” said Viv. “She should have died. A human can only take so much trauma, so much pain. And there was so much blood.”

“She was supposed to die,” said Conrad, pushing his way through the snow. “Joshua must have given her his blood. It’s against our law. There was supposed to be a vote,” he said. “We’re all supposed to agree on the candidate.”

“But isn't it just the two of you?”

“What?”

“Weren't there just two Revenants left?” said Viv. “The only real Revenants. After you turned the others into weaklings.”

The slap came fast and hard and Viv felt her teeth vibrate. She could taste her own blood in her mouth. She looked at him, panting and breathing hard. She smiled and he turned and started walking again.

“This is the way the world ends,” Viv said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Not with a bang but a whimper.”

“What?” said Conrad, turning.

“It’s a poem,” said Viv.

Conrad shook his head, as if she’d just said something insufferably stupid. “It’s not necessary for you to understand our ways. Just do as I say and maybe you’ll live.”

Viv followed, though she realized there was someone in her head now. Someone she knew. And it wasn’t Conrad.

Hello, Doctor White.

Viv smiled behind Conrad’s back.

Hello, Sia, she said silently. I’ve been waiting for you a very long time.

Forty

Mike opened the double doors just as Sia addressed Dez.

“I was sure I killed you,” Sia said. She watched Dez back away from her and she laughed. The reporter quickly moved in front of the young man, defensive. One of his hands was bandaged and Sia reached for it.

“Mike Novak,” she said. “They cut you because of me.”

Mike pulled his hand away before she could touch it.

“It’s nothing,” he said, but Sia saw the lie. She looked at Joshua.

“He wants to die,” she said. “Because of what they did to him.”

“There’s no time, Sia,” said Joshua. “We have work elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sia, looking into Mike’s eyes. “You tried so hard to save me. But I keep telling everyone, I never needed to be saved.”

“You say that,” said Joshua, “and yet when I found you, you were not in control.”

“I’m never in control,” said Sia. She lifted Mike’s hand gently by the wrist and he let her. “This is a brave thing you did, Mike Novak. I won’t kill you. You’re going to be the lucky one.”

“The lucky one?” he said. He looked at Joshua then back at Sia. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sia smiled and kissed his injured hand.

“Everyone you meet falls just a little bit in love with you, don’t they?” said Mike.

Sia turned to Evelyn Hauser.

“I wonder,” Sia said, “if I could ever give you a Hell better than the one you’ve constructed all on your own.”

“Please,” whispered Evelyn. “I relive what I’ve done every day. Sia, please. I don’t sleep.”

“You would tell me to take the pills,” said Sia. She touched Evelyn’s cheek with her finger and the old woman closed her eyes.

“Can you see them?” said Evelyn, opening her eyes as the tears fell down her cheeks. “Will you help the children?”

Sia pulled her hand back, her smile gone. She felt her lip tremble and she put her finger to her mouth, just as she had that first night, under the tree. How had she strayed so far from her path? She looked at Joshua, who stood watching, still as stone.

“Are you going to kill her?” he said.

Sia watched the three human faces, looking at her, concerned. She took a step back. The eyes of the drug dealer, terrified and confused, floated into her mind. She saw herself as though from another’s eyes. She had spent months befriending him, buying his Slack, making him think he had her. Until it was time. Until the night she’d come to the door with a knife. Poor Trey had never had a chance. She saw her husband, Collin, falling to the ground on that cold night, his fingermarks still on her neck. Her mother’s blood was still in her mouth. But it had all had a purpose. She had to be strong. She had seen Ana in Evelyn’s mind. Ana, among an ocean of other children.

She felt her then. Genevieve was her name now. She was broken, hurt, but she had a purpose too, just as Sia had. The forgotten purpose, drowned in the need to kill, to hurt them just as they had been hurt. To make them pay.

But first the children. Sia looked at Evelyn, who nodded. She knew Sia had seen them.

“My violin,” Sia said.

Evelyn nodded and walked across the hall and unlocked the nursing station with the key on her wrist. Sia watched her retrieve the case from under the counter and hand it to her reverently, as though it contained a sacred relic. Sia exhaled as she set it on the counter and the latches sprang open. She opened the case and inhaled the smell of varnish and rosin. She lifted the violin, closing her eyes as she rested it under her chin.

“I know what you want,” said Sia.

“You do?” said Evelyn. Sia didn’t need to open her eyes to know that she was crying.

“You want a funeral march,” said Sia. “You’ve been dreaming awake and it’s always the same song. The one I played for you.”

“Yes,” said Evelyn breathlessly.

“I will play you something beautiful,” said Sia. “It’s your redemption.”

“And then?” said Evelyn.

“And then I will give you what you want most of all,” said Sia.

“Please,” said Evelyn. “Don’t toy with me. I’m not strong like you. I can’t go on like this.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Evelyn,” said Sia. “Can you say the same?”

“I-I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t recall.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you in another life, Evelyn,” said Sia. “But this is the last you’ll see of me in this one.”

“I love you, Sia,” said Evelyn.

Sia played for her, the sound resonating over the woman’s sobs of relief. Sia could feel the music washing over Evelyn, and she watched her fall to her knees, her face upturned, as if in prayer. Sia gave her everything she wanted, and when it was time, Evelyn smiled.

Her blood was bitter.

Sia felt Joshua watching. She knew there was a fervor even in his eyes. She felt the two human men repulsed by her, held in place by Joshua’s will. And, further away, she felt her savior. Genevieve. Viv. The good doctor who risked everything and succeeded, but at great cost to herself. Sia could feel her. They were linked, the two of them. Sia could see death all around her, but not her own. and not the doctor.

Hello, Doctor White, she said, reaching into the woman’s mind. It was a gloriously broken place. Sia felt her pain and her strength and her fear and felt she could live in the woman’s head. It was a fabulous chaos. Sia sighed as the woman spoke to her.

Sia…

Sia walked out of the nursing station holding her violin in one hand, her bow in the other. She looked at Joshua.

“I know where Conrad is,” she said.

“You just killed her,” Dez said. His heart was beating fast and hard. You’re a damn murderer,” he said. Mike put a hand on his arm, but Dez shook him off. “You tried to kill me, you killed the nurse, who else are you going to kill?”

“Do you know what they did to the Bleeders?” asked Sia.

The two men froze as they watched her. She let them see her then, just for a moment. She let them see her Revenance.

“They took them all,” said Sia, her voice low. “They turned them into husks. They took so much from them that their bodies can’t survive without the medicine keeping them alive. But they’re not alive, not really. They took these people, people who may have been good or bad, and turned them into something ugly. Conrad took us, and fed us this ugly thing and made us weak. And now that he knows this ugly thing has failed, he’s going to kill all the ugly things he created and turn children into monsters. He’s going to take everything from them and make them his own. I didn’t know what I would become, but I made each and every choice on the journey that led me here. These children won't get to choose. Do you understand?”

“And Evelyn?” said Dez. “What about her?”

“Evelyn got to choose,” said Sia, meeting his eyes. He flinched. “Her journey led her to die at the very moment she wanted to go. And she was grateful.”

“I wanted to save you,” said Dez. Sia realized he wasn’t angry, he was grieving. For himself, for a life badly led. Sia reached into his mind to soothe him.

“No,” he said, but he couldn't stop her from reaching inside and taking his pain away.

“What are you doing?” said Mike, as Dez went still.

“Sia,” said Joshua. “They know I’m here.”

“So let’s go introduce ourselves,” said Sia. “Are you boys ready to take back your world?”

Mike frowned at her.

“I only have one hand,” he said. “I’m not in good shape.”

“And now?” said Sia. “Do you feel pain now?”

Mike flexed the wrist of his bandaged hand and looked at her in amazement.

“How did you do that?”

“I can’t give you your fingers back,” said Sia, “but I can make you forget your pain.”

“And the children?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” said Sia. “Kill Conrad and the children might be saved.”

“Give them stakes,” said Sia. “Give them all you have.”

“And what will we use?” said Joshua.

“Did you not plant an orchard of death outside?” she smiled. Joshua tossed a bundle of stakes onto the floor and the two men knelt to begin gathering them up.

“You are changed,” said Joshua, taking Sia’s arm in his hand. “What has happened?”

“Just flashes of a dream,” said Sia.

“You’ve seen something?”

“I see everything,” she said. “You gave that to me.”

“Are we going to survive?”

“You don’t care about surviving,” said Sia. “You care about your kind surviving. You care about killing Conrad. And you care about me.”

“None of that is false,” said Joshua.

“Conrad will die on this night,” said Sia. “And all that happens will be to save the Revenants. We will outlive this night, Joshua. Do you want me still?”

“I will always want you,” he said, his eyes burning into her own.

“You could take me now,” she said. “Forget all this, forget about Conrad. We could leave and you could have me forever.”

He touched her naked breast, heat in his eyes.

“But you will not,” Sia said for him.

“No,” he said. He didn’t take his hand away and Sia reached up and licked his lips.

“And neither will I,” she said. “More lives are at stake than ours tonight.”

He pressed up against her, quivering in his desire. He seemed to gather up every bit of considerable self-control he had to pull himself away. His heart was beating so fast that Sia could see the glow in the pulse at the base of his throat.

They followed the human men down the hall and Sia stopped them at the door that led outside. The four of them looked out onto the snow drifts sparkling under the now-cloudless sky. Sia could feel Revs coming from either side of the hospital, could feel them crouching in the forest, waiting. She smiled and stepped into the snow, coloring it red with blood. She raised the violin as she reached the middle of the courtyard. She looked into the edge of the trees and saw the blur of Joshua cutting stakes. The Revs didn’t stir. They were watching her. Too slow to see him, too stupid to know what was about to happen.

Sia, came Viv’s voice in her head. Sia, there’s something wrong.

I’ll come to you, Sia replied silently. But first, I must reap what I’ve sown.

She began to play. For the first time since the world went dark, the air was full of music. The woods began to stir.

Forty-One

Mike could not honestly say what happened in the halls of the hospital. He knew that Joshua Flynn had shown up with a naked Sia, and that Sia had killed the old nurse. And the next thing he knew, he was standing in a snowy courtyard with a goddamn stake in his good hand, surrounded by a music that seemed to reach into his soul. He turned to see Sia, crusted in blood like she’d showered in it, and her hair was as wild as her eyes as she spun barefoot in the snow as she played. Her fingers moved so quickly that they were a blur, and Mike swore he saw a tendril of smoke rise from the strings of the violin.

The woods were moving, and Dez moved closer to him.

“Mikey, what are we doing?” said Dez, his face pale and sickly.

“You should go, Dez,” said Mike. “I don’t know what she did to your head back there, but you don’t belong here.”

“Why? Because I’m a coward?” he said angrily, gripping a stake in each hand as he watched the woods. Mike saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked toward the hospital. They were being watched. There were Revs crowding in every window, watching them. Some were laughing, others watching Sia, just as transfixed as Mike when he’d first seen her. She was like a nightmare that you didn’t want to end. He didn’t understand her hold over everyone she met, but all of them seemed intent on killing themselves to protect her.

“I don’t think you’re a coward, son,” said Mike. “I just want you to survive.”

“My life isn’t any more important than yours,” said Dez. “And I’ll risk it however the bloody hell I want to.”

“I don’t think we get out of this alive, Dez,” said Mike.

“Those kids, Mikey,” said Dez. “I’ve never done anything good in my life. Maybe the reason I was stuck in the middle of all this is to save those kids. Maybe this is my shot.”

“You’re a good man, Dez.”

“Nah,” he said, and Mike could see in his eyes that he’d made up his mind. “I’ll go down swinging, mate. I’ll go down fighting. And then you can say I was a good man who died. I’m not afraid anymore. I want to do what’s right. I’m done being a coward.”

Mike nodded.

“Okay, Dez.”

And as Dez turned to face the Rev walking toward him, Mike could see a strength in the young man that wasn’t there before. Dez walked out in front of a Rev who pointed a pistol at him. Without even blinking, Dez had the stake in the Rev’s chest, backing away as the wood took hold and the vines spread out around the Rev’s chest, turning from green to brown, roots plunging down as branches reached for a sky as clear as Mike could ever remember. Black petals rained down on Dez’s head as he looked up at the tree that had a moment ago been a Rev.

“Why didn’t he shoot me?” said Dez.

Mike looked at Sia, who played on, her eyes closed, the flurry of sounds vibrating like passion in Mike’s chest. Sia opened her eyes and smiled at him. He tore his eyes from her and looked back to the forest. The Revs were, one by one, stumbling out of the wood, guns in hand but not shooting.

“It’s the music,” Mike said. “They’re drawn to it like flies.”

“It’s the Revenant in them,” said Joshua Flynn, suddenly at Mike’s side. “They will forever be drawn to beauty. Conrad turned it into their weakness. And they will defend Conrad to the death.” He dropped a pile of sharpened sticks between Mike and Dez. Mike looked past Joshua at the trees where the Revs were hiding.

“Do they even know?” he said. “That they’re standing in a graveyard?”

“They’ll get the idea eventually,” said Joshua.

The faces from the windows were starting to disappear and Revs were filing out to watch Sia play. Mike stood, transfixed, as Joshua Flynn moved, so fast he barely saw him, leaving trees where monsters once stood. Dez yelled out as he drove stake after stake into the bodies of the helpless creatures. Mike watched one of the Revs come out of the hospital, tall and pale. He dropped the gun he carried in the snow and made his way toward Sia, moving like a sleepwalker. Tears fell from his face as he watched her dance, as he listened to the music. He fell to his spindly knees and all Mike could do was stare at him. His teeth were sharp and yellow, his eyes were red slits, and he was the most piteous creature Mike had ever seen. The Rev put his hand out, as though to touch the music, and Dez pushed Mike aside and drove a stake through the Rev’s heart.

“Stop this,” Mike said.

Sia played on, and Mike was now standing in a forest growing thicker by the second.

“Stop this,” he said again.

He watched a female Rev, swaying awkwardly to the music. Joshua took her in a blur of movement and was gone again.

“They just want to listen to the music,” Mike said, but his voice had gone quiet and hoarse. He realized he was crying, too. He held the stake that Joshua had given him in his good hand and he looked at it now.

He heard her voice in his head, and he knew it was Sia.

If I stop playing, they will kill you.

“I know,” Mike said aloud. “I know that. But goddammit. I can’t just kill them standing there like that.”

And what about Kyra? What about your wife?

“What about her?”

It wasn’t your fault, Michael. It was them. It was us. You did the kindest thing you knew to do. You let her go. If you let these creatures live, they’ll do to those children what they did to Kyra. Only they won’t use their teeth. They’ll use scalpels and syringes and antiseptic.

“Don’t ask me to do this,” Mike whispered. “I’m not a killer.”

Mike couldn’t see the sky any longer. When he looked up, cool petals fell on his face. There was no movement around him any more, no fluid movements or dancing or people turning into trees. The silence seemed to hit Mike like a knife. Sia stopped playing. Mike walked through the trees, afraid of what he would find, afraid of what he wouldn’t.

He came around a group of twisted trunks, avoiding the face he could clearly see in the wood. Dez stood there, smiling at him.

“Mikey, did you see me?”

He nodded. “I saw you, Dez.”

Dez smiled, looking like his old cocky self again for a moment. Then there was movement behind him. Mike barely registered the pale face, the black coat, the eyes like slits when the shot rang out. And Dez stared at Mike, his eyes wide.

“Dez,” Mike said. He felt frozen. All he could do was watch as Dez put a hand to his chest and looked at the blood flowing over his fingers.

“Mikey,” Dez said, his voice like a child as he fell into the snow. Mike saw the Rev step toward the man, the gun still raised, aimed straight at Dez.

Mike felt his feet move, and he was headed fast for the Rev. He felt himself screaming and it seemed the Rev was moving so slowly as he looked up and saw Mike coming at him. Mike had the stake in his chest before the Rev could squeeze the trigger again. And Mike was still screaming as the Rev disappeared, gun and all, into the trunk of a tree, its branches stretched out as if in surrender. Mike stepped away, the scream dying, but still echoing. Black petals rained down around him as he turned to see Dez on the ground, the snow stained dark.

Mike sank down next to him, the boy who had once been nothing to him, a greasy liar, a rogue. Mike looked at his face, and his dying eyes, and he didn’t see a punk. He saw a man.

“Dez,” Mike said, trying to lift him up. He was limp, but Mike managed to lift his head out of the snow, cradling him with his good hand.

“Was I brave, Mikey?” Dez said, blood in his teeth. “Did I save the kids?”

“You were brave,” Mike said. “You were the bravest man I’ve ever seen. You saved them all.”

“I wanted you to be proud, Mikey,” he said. “I wanted to be something to you.”

“Dez,” Mike said, shaking him as his eyes unfocused. “Dez, don’t do this. Don’t leave me here.” He began to cry as the life went out of Desmond Paine’s eyes, letting go of the sob that had been in his chest since the Rev’s gun went off.

“It’s time to go,” said a deep voice behind Mike. Flynn’s voice.

“He wanted to save the children,” said Sia. “Come, Michael. Let’s obey his wishes.”

“He was just a kid,” Mike said, his voice weak and pitiful.

“He got his wish,” said Sia. “It was all he wanted, in the end.”

“We all do what is necessary to get the things that we want,” said Flynn. “Stand with us, Mr. Novak. Avenge your friend.”

“There’s no one left,” said Mike. “Everyone’s dead.”

“Ambrose Conrad is just through those trees,” said Sia, her eyes bright, even in the dark.

“What good am I to you?” he said, looking at the two of them.

Sia crouched next to him. “You mean something to her,” she said.

“Her?”

“Genevieve.”

Mike blinked. “Viv’s alive?”

“She’s with the children,” said Sia. “And your friends are coming. They’re at the gates. They’ve searched long and hard for you. It is time for you to choose.”

“The Fallen are here?” said Mike.

“Coming to save you,” said Sia. “Do you want to be saved? Or do you want Genevieve?”

“Sia, let us go. Leave him.”

“No, he’s important,” she said, smiling at Mike. She bent and whispered in Mike's ear. “I told you that you would be the lucky one.”

Forty-Two

Viv watched Conrad grow weak, a tube in his chest, a glass cylinder catching the dark blood coming from him. She looked down the line of tiny hospital cots, trying not to feel. Trying not to remember. Trying to stay cold and angry and hungry.

They had finally crossed through the thickness of the trees and opened a thick metal door with the letter “Z” stenciled on it with chipping white paint. Conrad led her down a slippery concrete staircase.

“None of them were allowed down here,” he said. “Only Mathilde and a dedicated staff.”

“I suppose now it’s only the dedicated staff,” said Viv. The memory of Mathilde, Conrad’s sister, screaming on a slab, sat like a sour taste behind her eyes. She could see down into the darkness, but all she saw were stairs and mold and tiny crawling things. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell of feces and something rotten.

“No, I killed all of the staff,” said Conrad.

Conrad closed the thick metal door and drowned out the glorious sound of music coming from the courtyard. A song so heated and varied and multifaceted that Viv couldn’t believe the sounds could come from one person. But the music was still playing in Viv’s head. She had to close her eyes from time to time when a note touched down deep inside of her, resonating within her bones.

As Viv had descended the last few steps, she saw the first of them. Small faces, tucked away into tiny beds, so thin they looked like ghosts.

Children. So many children. The beds went on forever, it seemed. Every child who had been taken in Philadelphia, maybe every child in the state. Every child who had survived. All brought here and pumped with sedatives, an IV in each arm delivering a heady brew of vitamins and pentobarbital. Viv was overcome and couldn’t move for a moment. She froze in her tracks as she looked out over the ocean of tiny faces of every shade, every race, every sweet innocent eyelash. Viv felt her mouth open and close as the shock washed over her. She knew children could be on the grounds, but she was not prepared for what met her eyes. Conrad walked to a table set against the wall and pulled a white sheet from a large machine. Viv noted a nearby door that looked like a restaurant walk-in refrigerator. She moved to a small child who appeared starved, her cheekbones sharp and her skin sallow. Viv discovered she wasn’t hungry around the children, which surprised and confused her at the same time. She’d been unstoppably hungry in front of Margaret Watts, and when Conrad took an orderly in the halls Viv felt her teeth descend. But the children gave her nothing but a sorrow, deep in her chest. Perhaps it was the weak blood, or the starvation. Viv touched the girl’s face and jumped as the tiny beauty opened her eyes just a little. Viv smiled at her as the child gazed up at her. The girl opened her mouth and her face flattened as her teeth descended.

Viv backed away, but the girl was already asleep again, her eyes rolling up and her face returning to innocence. She looked at Conrad, who had a tube stuck into his chest, his face a mask of pain as he turned on a switch on the machine. It began pumping out thick, dark red blood and dripping it slowly into a dozen glass vials.

“Heart’s blood,” said Viv. “It’s no different than blood from any other part of your body, you know.” She tried to keep the anger from her voice.

Conrad closed his eyes. “You know very little about us, Genevieve. You’re still so young.” He slumped back in his chair, letting the pump take blood straight from his heart.

Viv approached a sleeping boy, his chest rising and falling shallowly as he struggled for breath in his tiny chest. Viv pulled down the blanket off his chest and saw the thick, jagged scar where they had cut him open. She stepped away, looking at Conrad. Another boy, this one older, ten years old, maybe. She pulled away the blanket and saw the same scar. She looked down at her own chest, pulling the clean scrubs Conrad had given her out away from herself. She reached down and traced the white scar all the way up to her collarbone and covered her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out.

There were thousands of children. And all of them had been torn apart, their hearts replaced.

“They’re asleep because you can’t turn them on yet,” she said. “You didn’t know how to fix them. Like Sia.”

“My sister knew how,” said Conrad. “If only I’d listened. But I wasn’t ready to abandon my experiment yet. I wasn’t ready for an army as strong as I am. I wanted to keep them weak. You see what Joshua has done to me?”

“Your experiment,” said Viv. “You decimated your own race.”

Conrad looked at her, his eyes bloodshot. “You don’t understand anything, doctor.”

“I understand everything,” she said. “Your hubris destroyed your own kind. And now you’re scrambling to correct your mistake. With children.”

“I did not replace their hearts,” said Conrad.

“But you ordered it done,” said Viv. “Like everything else, you made others do your work.”

“Mathilde owed me her life,” Conrad said, his lip raising in a sneer. “She sided with that bastard Flynn. I told her that he never wanted her, but she refused to listen and was surprised when he shoved a stake through her chest. One millimeter more and she would have been dead. One millimeter, and I couldn’t have saved her. We cut out the sickness and she was able to continue as an ugly, ruined thing.”

“And yet, she gave her life for Sia Aoki.”

“Do not speak of Sia to me,” Conrad said, his voice suddenly a hiss. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back against the wall. “Mathilde took everything from me. Joshua was like a brother to me. And when I turned on him, Mathilde told him everything.”

“So you killed her,” said Viv.

“I allowed her to die,” said Conrad. “For Sia. Only for Sia, that’s what she said. How she could love the woman who replaced her, I will never know. How she could love a woman in that way is a despicable abomination.” The pump was slowing, his skin growing gray.

“You’re killing yourself,” said Viv. “Take that tube out of your chest.”

“I will take as much as I can. You know, Mathilde was barely healed when Joshua forced his way into Sia’s life. Her music was like a drug to him. She had the face of an angel. I warned him to leave her, to kill her in the traditional way. Revenants should not fall in love with humans. He was a fool. He chose her over his own kind. He could have been a king.”

“So you punished her. When you found out she was the one. The Beta. You turned her pain into a spectacle.”

“Yes. Now stop asking me questions, Genevieve. I cannot talk. I am feeling so very weak.”

“You’re dying.”

“I don’t have enough. And you are too young. You still have human blood mingling with the ancient.”

“What’s in the cooler?”

“Look for yourself,” he said, gesturing limply. “You and I are going to make them ours. Mathilde has been coming down here every day and pumping her own heart’s blood. We are the same, she and I. Our blood. She is dead, and can no longer interfere. She cannot command them to turn on me. I am the only one left now. They will obey me.”

“But Sia carries your sister’s heart.”

“Just as Mathilde always wanted,” said Conrad. “Since the first day she saw her, she wanted her. She would have set her free, had she known I would not find her again. She thought Sia would be safe here, where she could look over her. But she was wrong.”

“You tore Sia apart anyway,” said Viv, reaching for the handle of the walk-in. “You did it without putting her to sleep. You did it in front of a crowd, like she was an animal.”

“She was just a human,” he said.

“Not any more,” said Viv.

“How do you know that? Did she survive the experiment?”

Viv looked over to see Conrad studying her. Viv smiled.

“You are weak,” she said. “And Sia has Mathilde’s heart.”

“You said that already,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You are mine, Genevieve, what are you keeping from me?”

“You underestimate us,” said Viv. She opened the cooler and walked in, running her finger over the hundreds of vials of dark red blood. Heart’s blood. From Mathilde’s heart. A vial for each child. She felt Conrad rise shakily and stand at the door of the cooler.

“How much do they need?” she said.

“Naught but a drop,” said Conrad. “Injected deep into their hearts.”

“They had lives before you came,” she said, her back to him. “They were happy, safe. They were loved.”

“Love doesn’t last,” he said. “They’ll be safer now that they’re mine.”

“And you’ll do what to them? Make them do your bidding?”

“They will not keep to the shadows,” said Conrad. “I’m finished with trying to make humanity feel comfortable. What was your word? Safe. There is no safe. I will show the people what fear is. I will set their children loose upon the world and they will know what it is to fear.”

“And what of the old ways?” said Viv. “The laws that you are so interested in. What of beauty and darkness and shadows?”

“We are terrifying enough in the light,” he said. “What use have I for darkness?”

“They are all dying up here in the light,” she said. “Can you hear the music?”

“What music?” he said.

“You can’t hear her?” said Viv. “It’s her, you know. Sia. She’ll be the end of you.”

“I’ll make her see,” he said. “She can still be mine.”

“She has Joshua Flynn’s blood in her veins.”

“And you have mine,” said Conrad. “And yet, you are no friend, are you, Genevieve? Why do you disobey? How can you? You are meant to be mine.”

“I only speak the truth,” said Viv. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

“When did I lie?” His mouth twitched as though he were fighting a smile.

“You said I wouldn’t feel it,” she said. “You said I wouldn’t ever think of it again.”

“I also said you’d killed him.”

Viv turned then and stared at Conrad. He pulled the tube out of his chest with a sucking sound. He gritted his teeth and tossed it on the floor. And then he smiled.

“Humans are always so eager to believe,” he said. “You may have cut him, yes. But I healed him. He’s here, now. Do you want me to pull out his IV? Do you want me to wake him and show him what his mother has become?”

“No,” Viv said, her voice a whisper. “And yes.”

“Do not cross me ever again,” said Conrad, pulling his shirt back on. “Unless poor little Hunter deserves to die a second time.”

“You have no right,” said Viv, her voice coming from somewhere deep inside of her. Somewhere raw and dark. Somewhere full of shadows. Her teeth came down.

“I have every right,” said Conrad. “And soon, I’ll have an army of sweet children. When they get older, we’ll have enough heart’s blood to make my real army. And when that time comes, we’ll cut out their borrowed hearts and put them into beings more powerful. They’re really just incubators, until they get stronger. Then little Hunter really will die, though his heart will beat on. Now, Dr. White. Come prepare the blood to inject into the children’s hearts.”

“I would like to see him.”

He gestured weakly. “Be my guest. Find him if you can.”

Viv turned to the sea of tiny faces, swallowing thickly. She walked down the aisles, up one row and down another. So many children that her brand new heart hurt at the sight of them. She felt something expanding in her chest as she walked down the perfect lines of beds. Faces of every color, every shape, every size. Babies, toddlers, pre-adolescents, all turned to monsters and forced into servitude. She could help them. She could end this.

And then Viv stopped, unable to move, unable to breathe.

“Hunter,” she moaned. She fell to the ground at the side of his bed. He was small, so small. Impossibly small in his little bed. His face was streaked with dirt and his eyes were crusted with sleep, but he was otherwise perfect. Viv pulled the sheet down to see the scar on his tiny chest.

“Perfect,” she said. She watched as something dripped onto Hunter’s face, and realized she was crying. She smiled through her tears, stroking his tiny face. He was so cold. She was going to warm him. She was going to warm all of them.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to Hunter, and she kissed his face, she kissed his fingers, she kissed his cool little head. She bundled him back up under his blanket and took a step away, unable to tear herself away.

He’s here, she thought.

Stay strong, said Sia.

I don’t know if I can, I’m so weak.

Strength, dear Genevieve, said Sia. For them. All for them.

Viv forced herself to walk away from her boy. Each step felt like plunging into cold water, growing colder with each step away from Hunter.

“Please,” she said, when she stood in front of Conrad.

Conrad stood, gray as a corpse. He took her hand in his. Viv felt the pain filling her up. But something else, too. Strength.

“I’m stronger than you know,” said Viv. Someone said that to her long ago. Otherwise how did she know to say it?

“That’s more like it,” said Conrad. “You know, you talk about the old ways like you know them. In the old days you wouldn’t even be here. Think of it. A black woman. How odd would that have been?” He laughed. And that’s when Viv saw the small girl. She would know her anywhere. And she knew why Sia had come, and why she hadn’t left.

She was looking at Sia’s daughter.

Viv turned to look at Conrad and she smiled.

“You are not going to survive this,” she said.

“Who’s going to kill me?” he said. “You? Joshua?” He laughed.

Viv stared at him. “She’s not like anyone else. She won’t forgive you. And neither will I.”

“She’ll have to,” he said, anger in his voice. “She’ll have no choice. And I do not seek your forgiveness, Genevieve. You are mine.”

“You’ve torn our children apart and put them together again,” said Viv. Conrad looked at her quickly and Viv smiled.

“What do you mean our children?”

“You didn’t know,” she said. Viv looked to the child again, the spitting image of Sia.

Her name is Ana, Sia told her.

“Ana,” Viv said aloud. “Her name is Ana.”

“How do you know that?” said Conrad. He stumbled weakly toward the child, and Viv saw fear cross his face. The child of his enemy’s lover, the lover who had grown as strong as his enemy. Stronger, perhaps. Viv laughed.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said.

“Tell her. Tell her I didn’t know. Tell her I’m sorry.”

“How weak you are,” said Viv.

“You’re just a woman,” he said. “What do you know?”

“I know much,” said Viv. “I know Sia, a creature who barely lives in the world. She’s a beautiful spider who draws you to her. And you’ve dismembered her offspring. And mine. Do you fear her, I wonder?”

“I’ll kill her if I have to.”

Viv cocked her head. “Can you hear it now? Can you hear the music?”

Conrad turned at the sound. It filled the basement and his eyes filled with tears.

“I have work to do,” said Conrad. “I’ll make her see. I’ll make her see the beauty of it all.”

“The beauty,” said Viv.

He grabbed Viv by the throat.

“You will do as I say or your son will suffer, Genevieve.”

“My son has suffered already,” she said, breaking his hold easily. Conrad stumbled back, his eyes watching her, narrow and suspicious. “But I have suffered more.”

“What are you doing?” he said. “You cannot.”

“I cannot what?” said Viv. “You may have made me, Conrad, but you do not own me.”

“Stupid woman,” he hissed.

Viv could feel the Revs dying in the grounds above them. She felt the roots pushing down on the ceiling, forcing spiderweb cracks in the concrete. She could hear Sia playing her violin like a mad demon straight from Hell. She could feel it all and she closed her eyes at the ecstasy. Dust rained down from above, and rubble rolled down the stairs like marbles, scattering around their feet. The roof above rumbled and something stabbed through the cracks, shoving itself through the concrete, stopping just above Viv’s head.

Conrad fell back onto the floor, and Viv stepped toward him, reaching up to grasp the hawthorn root in her hand.

“Enough,” said Conrad. “Enough of this. I command you to stop, girl.”

“I’m no girl,” said Viv. “My name is Genevieve.” She snapped the root easily. She was so strong now. Stronger than she had ever been. Gloriously powerful. She could feel it now in her hands and arms and back. She didn’t have to wait for Sia.

Conrad pushed himself away with his feet. He had given too much of his blood, she could feel it. Barely a trickle left in his veins.

Stop, Genevieve, said Sia. Leave him for Joshua.

“No,” said Viv. “Tell me again what you’re going to do to the children.”

“I won’t,” said Conrad, shrinking away from her, a puddle of shame on the dirty floor. “I’ll spare him. I’ll spare your boy.”

“And what of Ana?” said Viv, examining the root she’d snapped off. She traced it to the point with a finger, licking her lips.

“Yes! And Ana! Anything for you, Genevieve. You are mine, I will do anything you ask.”

“I’m not yours,” said Viv, turning her eyes to him. She saw him shudder. “What of the other children?” she said, taking another step toward him.

“They will be ours,” said Conrad. He attempted to smile, but quailed under Viv’s stare. “We can do as we wish with them. They will be our army.”

“They will be no such thing,” said Viv. “They’re children.”

“They will not be children if we bring them to life,” said Conrad. “They will be monsters like us. Devils. They will be terrifying.”

“And I will be their mother,” said Viv.

“What?”

“We will be a family,” said Viv, smiling again.

Conrad shook his head. “You cannot be a mother to such as these, Genevieve.”

“I can,” said Viv. “I will.” She crouched down next to Conrad. “I’m afraid you will not live to see it, though.”

“Please,” he said.

“Can you hear the music now?”

“Yes.”

“She’s here.”

“Why her?” Conrad said, seeming to forget his fear. “Why do you have this connection to her? You are just women.”

“We are mothers,” said Viv.

“Mothers are supposed to be weak,” said Conrad.

Viv let her teeth slide down. “And you’re supposed to be dead. We all are.”

“Please, spare me.”

Viv raised the root above her head as the music stopped. She heard someone screaming far, far above. “You have caused me so much pain. You took my son. You took my job and my husband. You took my life. And then you took my soul. What makes you think I have it in me to forgive?”

“You’re a mother.”

“Yes,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “And this is for my children. All of them.”

Viv drove the root deep into Conrad’s abdomen.

“You are a hollow man,” she said, backing away.

He barely whimpered as the roots grew around him.

Forty-Three

Sia stepped into the dank cold of the cellar and scanned the immense room. She saw thousands of dirty children, barely alive. And she saw them for what they were. Had they been awake, their faces would shift and turn, back and forth. Monster to human and back again, with no control, just as she had done before Joshua fixed her.

“What the hell is this?” said Mike.

“Hush,” said Sia. “You are only here because of her. She worries about you. She wants you safe.”

“Who?” said Mike.

“Mike,” said a woman standing in the shadows. She stepped forward and Sia heard Mike suck in air.

“Viv?” he breathed.

“I won’t get too close to you, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Why won’t you get close?” said Mike.

“Because she doesn’t want to kill you,” said Joshua, coming down the stairs.

“She’s here,” said Sia. “My daughter. My Ana.” She looked at Viv. “Show me.”

Sia took several steps before she noticed the shadow. In the corner, cloaked in darkness, a great, gnarled tree, a tormented face visible among the branches. Sia touched it, feeling the heat of it. The weak pulsing coming off of it.

“Conrad,” Sia said. She looked around at Joshua, who ground his teeth as he looked at Viv.

“It was for the children,” said Viv. “My boy, I saw him, I touched him. Your daughter. All of them.”

“We cannot bring them back,” Joshua said, his voice low. Sia could see the disgust on his face as he looked out at them. All the tiny faces. “How could they do such things? It is not our way.”

“We cannot just leave them,” said Viv. Sia could see into her mind, a tangle of rage.

“No, we shall not leave them,” said Joshua. He looked at Sia, and his eyes filled with regret. He shook his head. “I'm sorry. We must kill them.”

“I’ll kill you first,” said Viv, her hand on the tree that used to be Conrad. “They’re mine.”

“The children are yours?” said Joshua. “All of them?”

“Yes,” said Viv. “I will be their mother.”

“Mother of monsters,” said Sia, smiling. “You will be glorious.”

Joshua stared at the two of them for a moment, for once at a loss for words. Finally he spoke. “No,” he said. “We cannot force children to live this life.”

“We didn’t force them, he did,” said Viv pointing at the tree. “Ambrose Conrad did this to them. And I will save them. I will save them all.”

“This isn’t saving them,” said Joshua.

Sia took a step toward Viv, feeling the woman’s grief radiating from her. Conrad's world had made her into this. Sia took her hand and caressed her face.

“Such infinite sadness,” said Sia. “But no death. I can’t see your death, Genevieve.”

“I won't die,” said Viv. “I will live on with my children.”

“Sia,” said Joshua. “Please understand…”

“I understand that there were once laws,” said Sia. She stood with Viv next to the tree, which was still throbbing and pulsing with life. “But we must change those laws, Joshua. We must help her. We must help all of them.” Sia leaned back and touched the trunk of the tree that was Conrad.

A vision flashed in her mind and Sia staggered, her eyes wide, a silent scream on her lips as the tree shuddered.

“NO!” Sia said, “OH GOD NO, PLEASE!”

There was a crack, a wooden hand grasping for her, wickedly sharp and wrapped with vines. The hand thrust forward, plunging toward Sia like a knife, and suddenly Joshua was next to her, throwing her out of the way, ripping into Conrad's trunk, foul-smelling black sap exploding out, and reaching inside. Joshua came away, gasping, screaming, with a knot of wood in his left hand, a thick, black ooze dripping down his arm. Sia stared at it and realized the knot was a heart, a wooden heart, still beating weakly.

“Sia,” Joshua groaned. “I’m sorry.”

As he turned, Sia saw that Joshua's right forearm was impaled by the wooden fingers that had reached out for her. Joshua's blood now mixed with the black sap pulsing from Conrad's hand, snapped off at the wrist. The wood was moving, living, growing and stretching around Joshua's arm, his shoulder, his chest.

“Please, Sia. Kill me. Kill me now.” His voice was soft, weak. “Don’t trap me there. End it. Please. You are strong enough.”

“Joshua,” Sia said, touching his face. “No, no, no, no.”

“Please,” he said, a tear running down his cheek. A green vine slithered around his neck and he shuddered. “Sia…Please? My love, please.”

Sia forced herself to move. She broke a branch with a snap and held it in her hand, frozen, staring at Joshua, overcome with branches, with death. She screamed, tears running into her mouth.

“I love you, Sia,” Joshua said. “It is more. More than love. It was always you, always you. I didn’t want them, the Revenants never mattered. There was only ever you.”

“Joshua…”

“Do it,” he whispered, his face a mask of grief. “Please. Do not trap me. I do not wish Mathilde’s fate on anyone.”

“Mathilde,” Sia said. Vines wrapped around the abdomen of her beautiful Joshua. He screamed as a branch tore its way out of his abdomen.

Sia sucked in air, and lifted above her head the branch she’d snapped off.

“I love you, Joshua,” she said. She kissed his lips as she plunged the wood straight into his chest. Joshua closed his eyes as she backed away, sobs racking her body, screaming as Joshua was consumed, as a great tree grew around him and shook the ground. And as she keened, the children awoke. Their screams matched hers.

Viv watched, uncomprehending. Sia looked at her through blurry eyes, through a body weak with sobbing. Her ears hurt from the screams of thousands of children, matching her anguish, her despair, her loss. She felt rage wash over her, but as Viv stared, frightened and confused, Sia realized she couldn't blame her.

You didn’t aim for the heart, she said into her mind. And Viv looked down at the tree that used to be Ambrose Conrad. Genevieve, it’s the heart that matters. You have to aim for the heart.

And then Viv screamed, too, feeling Sia’s pain as if it were her own.

Black petals rained down, welcoming the children to the world.

“Sia,” Viv said.

“We have work to do,” said Sia, her voice barely a whisper. She could feel the humans overhead, swarming the hospital, discovering its horrors. “Can you feel all of them? So much humanity.”

“They’ve come for Mike,” said Viv, blinking. She looked around, but Mike Novak was gone. Viv looked back to Sia.

“He will be safe,” said Sia.

“And the children?” said Viv.

Sia looked out at the small faces, their teeth shoving in and out of their mouths, their spines lengthening as the drugs ran out in their IVs.

“They will be hungry,” said Sia.

“They will?” said Viv, smiling. Sia took her shaking hand.

“As will we all. Are you ready to be a mother again? Are you prepared to lead your children upstairs to feed?”

“Yes,” said Viv. “Oh yes.”

Sia smiled at her as Genevieve gathered the vials of heart's blood from the cooler, as she went from child to child, waking them to a new life. Sia turned and touched Joshua's tree, still raining black petals on her head. Mathilde’s heart glowed in her chest as she touched the wooden face nestled in the trunk, the only face she would ever love.

“My Joshua,” she said. A sigh shuddered its way to her lips. “Oh, Joshua. I'm so sorry.” Sia rested her face against his wooden one and closed her eyes. He was still warm. Like the tree she had rested against the night Dez Paine loaded her into a van. “My love,“ she crooned. “I swear we will keep the darkness. We will be the monsters of nightmares. Your wish will come true.”

She kissed him and felt something breaking inside of her. She picked up the violin and bow, splattered with blood and forgotten on the floor.

“I will be most terrifying monster of all,” she said. “For you, my love. They will die screaming. All for you.”

She began to play and marveled at the darkness. She played and reveled in her grief. She played and felt the shadows calling to her.

And as the children woke, they began to dance.

Forty-Four

Mike rose from his desk, stretching. He always felt startled when he looked up from his work, and stared out the window of the rebuilt Post Building. They’d put him in a swanky office on the top floor, with an impressive title on the door. He had been kicked upstairs, and knew he didn't need to write another word ever again. He was the legendary Mike Novak, whose newspaper had brought hope to the human race.

Still, he wanted to get it all down on paper, the whole sordid truth. He needed to tell the stories: Matthew Blake being murdered in front of him. The monster Joshua Flynn, dying to save Sia. The death of Dez by the one remaining Rev. Mike closed his eyes. Dez died a man after killing countless monsters, drawn to the music.

Mike stepped away from the computer, wiping his eyes. Nothing seemed particularly real now after everything that had happened. Nothing seemed solid, and he found himself often testing the ground before he stepped to make sure it was real.

He had worked straight into the night. Again.

“Good thing I don’t have anyone waiting up for me,” he muttered, pulling a blanket from the closet and tossing it onto his lush leather couch. He saved the day's writing and powered down the computer, unbuckling the clasp that fastened his prosthetic fingers to his wrist. He tossed the artificial hand into a drawer and slammed it closed, scratching where it left marks from being buckled too tightly. He turned when he noticed a change out of the corner of his eye and frowned. The lights in the hall usually stayed on. But now they were off. Hadn't they been on a moment before?

He was frowning at the frosted glass door when his lamp sputtered out. Mike felt his heart in his throat, and cried out when the bulb of the overhead light burst apart, raining tiny bits of glass into the plush carpet.

Mike was breathing hard as the door slowly opened. A dark figure slipped inside, creeping through the shadows.

“Hello, Mike Novak.”

“Sia,” he said, his heart beating fast. She slid from the darkness like an eel.

“Calm yourself,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I’m not going to kill you.”

She smiled at him as if he were an old friend. Her dress was black and old-fashioned. Like she belonged to a different time, a different place. A different world. Not this modern executive office with its electronic equipment. Mike opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon.

“None for me,” said Sia. Mike nodded and took a deep drink right from the bottle.

“I know what it is you write,” said Sia, watching him. Her eyes seemed to burn right into him. “I have a favor I would ask of you.”

“A favor?” he said. He put the bottle back and closed the cabinet with a snap. “In exchange for what?”

“We won’t kill you, of course,” she said. She smiled prettily.

Sia walked around the room, her silk high heeled boots sinking into the white carpet. She ran a hand over the leather sofa, nodding in approval.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“What’s the favor, Sia?”

She tilted her head coquettishly, and Mike remembered when he'd first laid eyes on her, strapped to a gurney, looking every bit the frightened junkie. How foolish to think that this being, slithering through the shadows, shattering lights with a thought, had ever needed help from someone like him. Or from anyone, for that matter. Sia stepped gracefully across the office and looked out the window, her back to him.

She touched the glass as she spoke, with one gloved hand. “Don’t write about the children,” she said, watching the street below. She lowered her voice. “And don’t write about Genevieve. Please.”

“Viv?”

“As far as anyone knows,” she said, lowering her hand from the glass and turning to look at him, “I died killing Joshua Flynn.”

Mike thought he saw a haunted sadness pass across her face. But it was soon gone and Sia smiled, walking around the desk with dainty steps. She touched his cheek with a finger and closed her eyes.

“There were no children, Mike Novak. They killed the children in the Blackout. It was Conrad, all Conrad. Can you do that for me?” She opened her eyes again, her forehead coming to rest against his. He knew what she was, he knew what she could do, but when Sia was this close, he had a hard time breathing, let alone thinking straight. He backed away from her.

“So you want me to lie,” he said, his heart beating fast.

“No,” she said. “I would like you to be...creative. For her, if for nothing else.”

“For Viv,” Mike said. He shook his head, and Sia shrugged.

“I could just kill you,” she said.

Mike watched her for a long moment. “But you won't, will you? You won't kill me because you want her to love you. You need her to love you. You need Viv, don't you, Sia?”

“Her name is Genevieve now. And it's not about me.”

“It's about the children,” said Mike. “The monsters.”

“Call them what you will,” said Sia. “As long as you don't write about them.” She looked at the couch, the blanket and pillow. “You’re wise to stay in on a night like this. You’re wise to stay out of the shadows.”

“Well, I guess I learned my lesson,” he said. “There was this girl I tried to save once.”

She smiled and Mike saw her again as he had that first night, naked and covered in blood. He saw her playing the most exquisite music. He caught his breath as the past punched him in the gut. He blinked and Sia was watching him curiously, the lace of her black dress covering nearly every inch of skin. She reminded him of someone, then. The woman in the courtyard when they arrested him, just before they took his fingers. She had worn a veil of black lace that brushed the snow when she walked. Sia moved a gloved hand to her chest, just over her heart. She smiled again.

“Be well, Mike Novak,” she said, her movements becoming fluid again. She was an eel again, easing across the floor toward the shadows as though her feet didn't touch the floor.

“Is she all right?” said Mike.

Sia stopped and looked around at him.

“Genevieve?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “She’s fine. She wanted to come, but thought it wasn’t a good idea. She’s still not as strong as I am.” She looked at his neck and licked her lips. “She didn’t think she could resist you.”

“Was it all worth it, Sia? Was all the pain and death really worth it?”

Sia stared at him for a moment, her eyes cold as razor blades.

“Be careful of the truths you seek, Mr. Novak. You just might bite off more than you can chew.”

“You loved him. I could see it. Everyone could see it.”

Sia met his eyes.

“We cannot always have what we desire,” she said. “There are more important things than love.”

“Like what?”

“Children,” said Sia. With a blur of motion, the door opened and she was gone. Mike held onto the desk for support as his knees went weak. He made his way to the window and looked out into the night.

All the streetlights had gone out. He squinted into the darkness, into the shadows, peering as Sia had done, into the night. And for a moment, he could have sworn he saw a dozen tiny faces, full of sharp teeth, eyes glinting red. But when he blinked again, the street lamps came on and he saw only one figure standing in the light.

Viv looked up at him, cloaked in a red dress from another era. She raised her hand in a small wave, her face gentle and serene. He watched as she smiled up at him, and he had never seen her more at peace. Then the light sputtered out again and she was gone.

He was weak when he stepped away from the window, and he closed the shades against the night. He stared at the closed blinds for a long time before he turned and made his way toward the stocked liquor cabinet. Grabbing a bottle, he collapsed onto the couch. He felt empty and impossibly alone. He thought, for a moment, that he missed Kyra. But that was wrong. It was Viv he missed. It was Viv he would never be able to touch or kiss again. Mike leaned back on his expensive couch, drinking his expensive whiskey, looking around his dark, expensive office.

“This is no way to live,” he said to the empty room. He tipped the bottle back and drank himself to sleep.

And in his dreams, he heard the most beautiful music.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Title Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four