Cerise looked into the ocular. Long twisted ribbons glistening with faint blue flailed among the familiar globules of blood cells. "What is that?"
"Worms."
"I gathered that."
"Hold the sass, missy. I don't know what they are, but they must've hatched when the body began to cool and they're devouring our cadaver. That's high-grade magic right there. Someone probably was set for life after making these little monstrosities. There is more. Come look at this."
She clamped the hunter's upper lip with metal forceps and curled it up, revealing fangs. "Look at those choppers. And these two have poison glands."
Aunt Petunia moved on to the arm. "And here we have claws between the knuckles. The claw goes back like so, the small sack behind it contracts, and we get a nice stream of sticky goo."
The small black claw slid back under the pressure of her forceps, and a drop of opaque goo swelled around it.
"It doesn't shoot out now, because our boy is dead and the sack is empty, but I'm guessing a jet of about four to five feet."
"More like nine," Cerise said.
Aunt Petunia's eyebrows rose. "Nine. Really?"
Cerise nodded.
"He's one sick puppy." Aunt Petunia leaned back. "Your grandfather would've loved this. He would be appalled, of course, but he would be able to appreciate the workmanship. When you change someone with magic this much, well, they aren't human anymore."
No, they weren't human. Cerise hugged herself. This thing, this was something monstrous and uncontrollable. People she could deal with. People had weaknesses - they didn't like being hurt, they cared for their family, they could be intimidated, outwitted, bribed . . . The way the hunter had looked at her had made her hair stand on end. As if she were an object, a thing, something you could break or eat, but not a person. How did you fight something like that? She couldn't think of anything that would stop it, short of completely destroying it.
They would need her flash or a really big gun. Or William. William seemed to work very well.
"So when do I get to examine the other one?" Aunt Petunia peered at her from above her glasses.
"What other one?"
"The gorgeous one you supposedly found in the swamp."
Cerise raised her arms in the air. "Does nothing stay put in this house?"
"Of course not." Aunt Petunia snorted. "I was told he's so handsome that Murid actually spoke to him."
"He isn't that handsome." Cerise hesitated. "Okay, yes, he is."
"Hrmph," Mikita said.
"You like him!" The older woman grinned.
"Maybe a little." Understatement of the year. "He's an ass."
"Hrmph!" Mikita said.
"I believe my son is trying to tell us that we're offending his delicate sensibilities with our girl talk." Aunt Petunia grimaced. "You look tired, dear. And you smell like humus."
Thank you, Auntie. "It's been a long week."
"Go. Bathe, eat, sleep, flirt with your blueblood. It's good for the soul."
Mikita lumbered off to unlock the door.
"He isn't so much on flirting," Cerise murmured. "Either he doesn't like me or he doesn't know how."
"Of course he likes you. You're lovely. He probably just doesn't get it. Some men have to be hit over the head with it." Her aunt rolled her eyes. "I thought I'd have to draw your uncle Jean a giant sign. That or kidnap him and have my evil way with him, until he got the message."
"Hrrrmph!!"
"Go," Aunt Petunia waved her on. "Go, go, go."
"All right, all right, I'm going." Cerise climbed up and stepped out.
Mikita carefully closed the door behind her and locked it.
Flirt with your blueblood, yes, yes. Cerise started up the stairs. How do you flirt with a man who doesn't know the meaning of the word?
"THREE," Ruh whispered. "Two ..."
"One," Spider said.
006
AN explosion shook the staircase.
Oh, Gods.
Cerise whirled, covering the ten steps in two jumps.
Heavy thuds hammered against the door. A hoarse scream ripped through the cacophony of shattering glass.
"Mikita!" She pounded the door. "Mikita, open the door!"
Something thumped inside. Boards splintered with a dry snap. Metal screeched against the stone.
"Aunt Petunia?"
A dull thud answered her and dissolved into the drum of drops on metal. The decontamination shower. Someone was alive in there.
"Mikita!"
Above her a door banged and people rushed down the staircase. Erian landed next to her, light on his feet. Above him William popped into her view and jumped, clearing the stairs in the single leap.
"The door won't open!" she told him.
He glanced at the door and ran back up the stairs, almost knocking Ignata, her cousin, out of the way. A moment later Ignata ran down, her worried face a pale oval in the tangle of curly reddish hair. "Mom? What's going on?"
"Something exploded in the lab. Your brother and your mother are both in there, and I can't get through. The decontamination shower is on."
"Mikita! Mom! Mother!" Ignata waited for a breath. "We must open the door."
"We can't," Erian said quietly. "They've triggered the shower."
"They're hurt," Ignata said.
William had taken off. She had no time to wonder where he was going.
"Erian is right." It hurt her to say it, but it had to be said. "If we open it, we risk spreading whatever it is they're trying to contain all over the house."
"You two are out of your minds."
"There are children upstairs," Cerise said.
Ignata stared at her. "They could die in there!"
"If they do, you can blame me for it later." Cerise clenched her teeth.
Richard appeared in the doorway above. "What's going on?"
Erian held up his hand. "Noise. Water running."
Ignata leaned against the wall and hugged herself, her hands white-knuckled on her forearms.
A faint scratch cut through the sounds of water. Cerise put her ear to the door. "Mikita?"
"Here." His voice came in a hoarse whisper.
She closed her eyes for a second, overwhelmed by relief. Alive. He was alive.
"Aunt Pete?"
"Hurt."
Oh no.
"Can you open the door?"
"Stuck . . . tight."
"Hang on, Mikita," she breathed. "Hang on. We'll get you out."