The Executioner.pdf - Ana Calin

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

Copyright 2017 – Ana Calin

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The Executioner Ana Calin

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Dedication: Dedicated to my husband – the man who inspired Damian’s character – and my son, Jonas.

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Prologue

Hawk extended his hand and brushed away a hanging leaf. His other hand shot up, balled tightly into a fist, signaling the team behind him to freeze. One of the men bumped into his shoulder. “S-sorry, boss,” Crin Păduchi muttered. Hawk cursed under his breath. Sloppy newbie. He turned his attention back to the venue just ahead of him, the old Romanian castle with its haunting beauty in the dusk. A shame it was now the headquarters of the science mafia. He narrowed his eyes to take better focus, the mud-encrusted facemask chaffing the skin on his cheekbones. Mercenaries in bulletproof vests strolled along the ramparts, Kalashnikovs in their hands. Hawk brought his own rifle to his eye and took aim on each of their faces – they looked tired, hungry, mean and fully human. Relief washed over Hawk. He screwed the silencer onto the end of the barrel, pulled the trigger, and the first bullet hissed out of the tube. It hit its target right in the forehead, knocking the man backwards. He fell, his body hidden behind the crumbling crenels. Hawk took aim again, and another mercenary tumbled off the wall. He hit the ground with a meaty thud. “That’s it, we need to hurry,” Hawk said. His team shot down the remaining guards as they advanced on the manor, marching through the shrubbery with their weapons close to their faces. Keeping their presence a secret was no longer a priority – the guards were mere flesh and blood. Hawk approached the castle’s main arched doorway. The place seemed deserted, but he knew better than to believe it so. He advanced slowly, the rifle practically glued to his eye, pointed into the blackness

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between the half-open doors. So far so good. He signaled his men to take the sides of the building, searching for other entrances. Only a few stayed behind him. He gave one of the doors a light push. It rasped a little wider, only enough for Hawk to slip in, rifle tube piercing the darkness ahead of him. He could hear the newbie’s breathing close behind, and imagined the guy peeping over his shoulder like a curious child playing hideand-seek. Hawk gritted his teeth and restrained the urge to swing around and ram a dagger right into the guy’s throat. Nerves had no place in a situation like this. Instead, Hawk focused on the darkness ahead. Here and there dust spread like mist through beams of light from the overhead windows. Hawk listened hard for sounds from the hall, but all he picked up was his own men’s hushed voices as they emerged from different directions. All had their weapons hanging at their sides. “There’s no one here,” one of them said confidently as he walked over to Hawk. “They must’ve gotten wind of the operation and left.” “That explains the light protection outside,” Hawk muttered to himself. He lowered his rifle and raised his head, his eyes sweeping over the sagging gallery above. The stairs were mere ruins. “What the fff –” the newbie whispered somewhere close. Hawk’s eyes leveled to the man’s masked face, then followed his gaze. A black-clad figure stood in the middle of the hall, dust swirling around him in a beam of light that fell on him from a window in the sidewall. Hawk didn’t pause to think. Orders were clear. The science mafia’s killer-boy was to be shot on sight. Don’t give him a chance to fight – he’ll win, they’d said. Hawk yanked his rifle up, calling out, “shoot, shoot, shoot!” His men cussed, guns clicking and firing wildly through the air. Too late. The black cloak flapped upwards, like a raven taking flight, but the clang that bounced off the

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walls made Hawk realize the boy must’ve kicked open a hatch under his feet. The shooting stilled. Hawk slowly approached the spot where the shadow had disappeared. Indeed, a black hole yawned in the ground. Hawk swiped up his flashlight from the holster at his hip, and stuck it in the darkness below. “Was that him?” one of the men whispered. There was reverence in his voice. “He’s the only one they left behind to cover their tracks,” Hawk whispered back, frowning at the underground tunnel. “It can only be him—the killer-boy. They say that little monster can take down a whole squad by himself.” He grinned provokingly. “Let’s see if there’s any truth to that legend.” The guy who’d asked swallowed hard behind Hawk. Surely he’d heard a shitload of stories about the young assassin. Hawk prepared to jump into the tunnel. The newbie put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me go, boss.” Zeal filled his voice. Hawk gritted his teeth, barely masking his disgust. “It’s Sir. And no.” He threw the man a glance full of contempt. “He’d slice you into ribbons in a matter of seconds.” He flexed and leaped. His feet hit sludge. He skidded, and stopped a fall by slapping his gloved hands on the narrow walls. Shit, this place was tight. Hawk hated tight, unless it was that sweet warmth between a woman’s thighs. He advanced like a stalking lizard, but still he was sure the faint sloshing gave him away. He couldn’t hear anything at his turn though, so the killer boy must’ve left the tunnel already – couldn’t blame him, it stunk like hell. As he reached a cobwebbed spiraling stairwell in an alcove, his heart rate sped up. For a moment he felt

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enthusiastic, wasn’t careful, and stepped on something. Pressure coiled around his foot. Hawk looked down at a snake looped around his boot. He cursed, got a grip, and kicked it off. His heart rate now in check again, Hawk emerged slowly back in the main hall, this time looking at it from a dark alcove at the far end. He could see the half-open doors. This is where the killer must’ve have observed them from, and he’d had a damn good view. It made Hawk feel stupid. He spat angrily, got a grip again, and climbed further up to the first floor, silently. The gallery looked unstable to say the least. Hawk slalomed with the gracefulness of all his training among chunks of stone with exposed pieces of iron running through them like rusty veins. The mafia bastards must’ve blown the place up before they left, or never really used it. Only baited the Forces with it. His gear was too heavy, so he let go of some of it to feel lighter and move with more ease. He kept only his daggers and the automatic gun just to be sure. The young assassin was notorious for preferring blades anyway, so Hawk shouldn’t have any bullets to worry about. Moans to the side made Hawk’s well-trained eyes dart to seek the source. He followed them to a door he pushed open, and stared at the scene before him. One of his men dangled from a rope tied to the dusty chandelier. His tongue stuck out, and his face was swollen under the army paint. Hawk helped him down. Once on the floor, the man coughed wildly. The skin around his eyes went from purple to crimson, and as the danger of strangulation passed, he started yelling as if someone stabbed him. He howled every time Hawk touched him to look for wounds. Soon Hawk realized the guy had a lot of broken bones. Surely, it would it be more humane to put the man out of his misery? He touched the blade at his thigh, but then he

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thought again. The guy’s moans-turned-screams would let Hawk know if the killer-boy was back in this room. He bent down and whispered in his ear, hand still on the blade. “I’ll be back for you, brother.” One experienced step in front of the other, Hawk slunk along the walls to a room that looked like the study of Sigmund Freaking Freud. There was even a dusty picture of him on the far wall, right behind the desk and between two impressive bookcases made of carved wood. There was a skull on one side of the desk, and a couch by the window just like in shrinks’ offices. Yet the only things that seemed regularly used were the books – they didn’t appear to have any dust on them. Hawk approached a bookcase, and discovered the newbie on the floor between it and the desk, no facemask, his mouth agape and his eyes like eggs. He looked scared and seemed to be choking. Hawk squatted down to him, but something rustled behind. He turned and . . . . . . threw himself backwards as a blade lashed at his face, landing on top of the newbie and making the guy squeal in pain. The shadow stood over him, much taller than Hawk would’ve thought. This couldn’t be a child. He raised his gun, but the cloaked shadow kicked it from his hand. Hawk swiped up the dagger from his hip. He was fast and skilled with it, but the shadow was quicker to grab Hawk’s wrist, twist it, and force his torso to roll to the side, teeth gritted, eyes scrunched. Hawk dropped his weapon – the shadow was strong, he couldn’t move at all in its grip. The hand on his wrist felt like a statue’s, the fingers drilling into his palm like rocks. The rumors had been true—this thing wasn’t human. The shadow placed a knee on Hawk’s back to keep him down, and lowered its mysterious face close to his ear. Hawk tried to squirm, but his body felt bolted to the ground.

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“You picked the wrong side,” the shadow said. The words lacked the slightest hue of emotion, as if they’d been learned by heart. “I haven’t picked any sides yet.” Hawk strained, flexed his entire body, and made a superhuman effort to overthrow the shadow. But Hawk’s success wasn’t his merit – the shadow let him go and took a few steps back, allowing Hawk to come to his feet. As the Special Forces man rose, his eyes found his attacker’s face. Hell! Hawk couldn’t decide if the boy was a monster, or simply too perfect. Either way, he was frightening. Hawk felt the eyes of death watching him. “Join us,” the boy said evenly. Hawk waited for more. A more courteous invitation or maybe he wanted a freaking elevator pitch. But all the boy did was turn the slim dagger rhythmically in his hand. One, twice, three times as if he was winding a watch while he waited for Hawk’s response. Hawk felt grateful for his facemask. At least the boy couldn’t read the distress in his features. He narrowed his eyes, and measured his opponent from head to toes. Indeed, he was tall for a mere boy, maybe taller than Hawk. Not broader, though. Not yet. “Will they make me like you?” Hawk said. “Eventually.” Just as even. Cold. Detached. “Why do they want me?” “They don’t. They need you.” “I suppose I should be flattered, right?” “Flattered. Right.” What was this guy, the Terminator? Hawk snorted, laughed a raspy laugh, and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I don’t know, young man. This is all, so . . . so sudden.” He laughed again. The next thing he knew, the shadow’s blade struck at him, crisscrossing and whipping the air in front of his face, forcing him back. He stumbled over the screaming

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newbie, but managed to duck to the side, bypass the shadow, and send a punch to its shoulder. Hot pain shot through Hawk’s knuckles, running all the way to his elbow. He could hear his own bones crack, and instants later the pain was unbearable. That thing was most definitely not made of flesh. Hawk fell to his knees, bracing himself with his one good arm. He screamed and cursed, while the shadow watched him. “Then take some time,” it said. “Think. And choose wisely.” The shadow kicked him in the face. Its boot cracked Hawk’s jaw, making his brain swim with pain. He fell to the ground, sight warping and shimmering. The killer-boy lowered himself to one knee before the now collapsed Hawk. He wore kneepads made of studded leather, which Hawk realized was what had dented his back. “You’re a good fighter,” the boy said. “The best they have, I hear. Don’t waste yourself.” He rose to his feet, and Hawk watched him through bleary eyes swipe the books off their shelves and into blue sacks. It was in the books. Everything his superiors wanted, it was in those books, and Hawk wouldn’t have thought about it. Even without this attack, he would’ve returned to base empty-handed. Hawk passed out. In the blackness his arm throbbed and hurt terribly, and the rhythmic moans of the newbie frayed his nerves. His lids opened heavily. He was lying on one side, right next to the heaving, weeping and moaning newbie. The young man looked scared, staring upwards. Hawk was relieved to discover his own facemask hadn’t been removed. He needed to lose the pain, he needed to black out, and the guy’s crying wouldn’t let him. He crawled on his good arm closer to him, and found his own dagger on the ground. Next to it glinted the

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killer-boy’s slim blade. Hawk picked it up in his gloved hand, rolled over, and slashed the newbie’s throat.

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Chapter One

“Poor little rich girl.” “Tell me about it. Did you hear about that gold digging ex-boyfriend of hers?” I sighed and stepped further inside the Ovidius University café. Would I ever live this down? It had been a year already, and the tongues were still wagging. Clutching my books to my chest, I hurried to the table where Leona Ignat waited. She looked up, arching one eyebrow. High cheekbones, silky black hair and a great body, Leona was everything I wasn’t – a real beauty queen. And yet she was the closest thing I had to a sister. “Lose the face, Alice,” she said, closing her psychology textbook. “Sorry, I don’t have a spare.” “Better get one. You won’t lure the lads wearing that scared mouse look.” I dropped my books onto the table with a thump. “All of a sudden I need to lure guys?” “You’ve been without a man for months now? Time to dust yourself off.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why are you bringing this up right now?” She gave me a mischievous grin, and leaned in on her elbows. The plastic table tilted a bit under her weight. “Turns out the medical students have moved to campus for a semester. The Old University is being refurbished. There are quite a few fine specimens among those future doctors, if you know what I mean.” “Okay, I’ll see what I can do to get my shine on,” I said with a smile, although truthfully I didn’t possess a so-

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called shine. I didn’t have much to offer aside from my father’s name, as famous as he was in Romania, and a set of freckles that made people go, “Aw, sweet,” rather than, “Wow, hot!” Foundation looked like unevenly distributed flour against my skin, or maybe that was just in contrast to my hair—galvanized wire as I saw it. Leona did her best with me but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to fight for attention. Or was I? I turned my gaze on him, much like everyone else as he entered the cafeteria. Tall, with waves of dark hair brushing his broad shoulders, and a remarkably wellmuscled body under a white knit sweater. He was surrounded by a group of loud, boisterous boys with iron pumped chests, and he had all of the Barbies around him drooling. “Damian Novac, medical student,” Leona whispered in my ear. She tossed a strand of ebony hair off of her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “They call him Bane ‘cause of the looks. Women’s bane.” Large grin. She smiled in his direction. I didn’t dare do the same. Instead I looked around like a fox wary of a hunter, thinking of strategies before dodging from the bushes. The last thing I needed was another bullet in the head or rather the heart. Damian didn’t notice me that day, or the day after. Being petite had its advantages when it came to matters of stealth, so instead I observed him from afar…for weeks. He was aloof, and yet his eyes were always intent, as if his thoughts were fixed on something far beyond those walls, and his cares far more serious than the infatuations of wannabe divas. His group of friends, nevertheless, always surrounded him, as if they were searching for his approval in everything they did. Even throaty laughs and slaps to the shoulder were accompanied by furtive was-that-all-right

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glances. So an alpha, I concluded. “No wonder we’re all leaving wet traces like snails when he’s around,” I whispered to Leona. She laughed her bold laugh. “I love it when you talk dirty, Alice.” We left the university giggling and headed home to get ready for a party at the dorms where there was a good chance Damian would show up. Leona took her role as an image consultant seriously, and right now she was working out her best scheme yet. Tonight, she said I would meet my destiny. *** I dropped onto the closed toilet seat and put my hands on the sides of my face. There was no hope. The rip in my pantyhose now crept up over my knee. I stood up and thrust my leg out. “Just look at this,” I said, and shook my head. Leona took one look into my teary eyes and smiled. “Just take them off!” She laughed. “Do you honestly think a man is going to care about that?” The door to the bathroom swung open and one of our friends walked in. “You said red wine, right?” Leona spun around. “Perfect timing,” she said. There was excitement behind her voice. “Showtime.” “I can’t. This is stupid. I’m not you, Leona. These pantyhose are a sign.” I hated the sound of the whine in my voice, but it was true. Leona shifted her gaze from my leg to my eyes. “In my experience, less is more. Now take them off. Honestly, all you need is this glass. This plan is fool proof.” With that, she kicked me into the party room. Cradling the glass in one hand and coughing from all the cigarette smoke in the other, I glanced around for Damian. My ears thumping with anxiety, I prayed he just wouldn’t show up. I took another nervous sip of the wine.

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Damn it! I’d meant to keep myself to a limit, but I'd let things slide in an attempt to get through the evening. Now I had no idea how much booze I’d consumed over the course of this hare-brained scheme. There he was with his crew by the entrance. I swallowed hard. Get your act together. Loud-laughing, beer guzzling guys and painted up girls with long red fingernails dotted the room. I managed to keep him in sight, handsome and hulking as he was in his fitted white shirt, even though the smoke stung my eyes. I stalked closer. A girl in a black low cut jumpsuit openly tried to flirt with him, blowing smoke rings into the air. The group Damian stood with seemed to be a little tanked. Several of the guys in particular couldn’t seem to take their eyes off the ginger haired floozy as she giggled and jiggled. She leaned in a little too close to Damian at one point and whispered in his ear, her clingy top cut so low that Damian was practically forced to peer down into her cleavage. I reminded myself that this girl flirted with everyone. She couldn’t seem to help herself. But the longer I watched, the more I wondered if there was actually something going on between them. Or perhaps the alcohol playing tricks on me—making me lose my nerve. Eventually he walked away from his group in direction of the makeshift bar where Leona’s skinny boyfriend juggled bottles. My fingers went rigid around the stem of my glass. I closed my eyes and one, two, three. I dashed from my hideout and pretended to stumble on bottles in my way, faking a fall against Damian’s chest. It was hard, and the hands steadying me seemed large like shovels. My pulse drummed in my ears or was that the base that oozed from the loudspeakers? “S … sorry,” I mumbled.

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He looked down at his ruined shirt. “It’s all right.” His voice was deep, soft, giving me goose bumps. I dared to bat my lashes as I looked up at his face. Up close he looked even more handsome with his pale green eyes, chiseled features and strong jaw. Too handsome. Despite the three inch gold stilettos that Leona said showcased my calves, my nose still just reached the level of his chest. He smelled of freshly cut wood, and that worked on my senses like a drug. With a slightly pissed frown but gentle hands he made sure I could stand on my own feet and turned to walk away. No, no, no! “Let me take out the stain,” I shrieked over the pounding music and clasped his arm. It felt literally stone hard. “There’s some stain remover in the bathroom.” He turned to me, the frown lingering on his brow, his deep voice polite but detached. “I’ll do that myself, thank you.” I panicked, thinking that he saw through our plot, so I searched for a way to keep contact, and gave him an awkward smile. Reciting the words Leona had forced me to memorize seemed like my only option. “You need to wash out the wine within a few minutes if you want to save your shirt. I have some dexterity with that, that’s all.” He glanced around as if assessing who paid us attention. Dancing and drinking people – Leona and George included – stared at us. Then a possibility hit me – maybe he scouted the area for his girlfriend or something. “A few minutes,” I reminded him of the time ticking until the stain would be forever imprinted in his white shirt. “Let me save your shirt, it’s the least I can do.” He gave a reserved smile and motioned me to lead the way. We waited in front of the bathroom until a

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drunken blonde reeled out. Luckily, it didn’t take longer than a few minutes, or I would’ve risked him changing his mind. Girls around us fidgeted and swayed, eyeing Damian. Boys already mistook the hallway and some corners for toilets as they staggered and cursed. Damian and I didn’t speak to each other, but I was sharply aware of his presence behind me, of his breath above my head. He stood by me, my backside crushed against his thigh as people squeezed us together. I’d never felt anything as hard as his body. My imagination raced with sexual fantasies as we closed the door behind us. Jeez, I’m alone with him! Alone with him in a messy bathroom . . . Damian began unbuttoning his white fitted shirt. I swallowed hard. Still, to make my indifference to him credible, I refused the sight. “It’s okay, I can work with it on you, that is unless you have a change of clothes within reach.” “I don’t.” Again that deep voice that I couldn’t believe I was finally hearing, spoken only for my ears. I snatched the stain remover from a pile of tubes and boxes on the washer, and rinsed the stain – half his shirt, that is. After spraying some water on it from the tips of my fingers, I began rubbing the wine into instead of out of the fabric with one hand, keeping it stretched and away from his body with the other. The large spot soon turned transparent, I could see a blur of his abdomen and his happy tail through it. “I’m Damian, by the way,” he said. “Alice.” I could barely keep my voice from shaking. “I must say, you’re quite observant, Alice.” Clumsy grin. “Am I?” “I’m impressed you noticed the stain remover and remembered it when you spilled on me.” Shoot, he knows what I’m doing . . . “I brought it, actually. Today. George is a little

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messy and, well, you know how parties can get.” George would support my allegation, he was “my people” and deep enough in this with me as not to complain I’d accused him of sloppiness to save face. He’d organized the party, and we were in his dorm. “I see.” Damian’s eyes glittered with some kind of cunning. “Have I seen you before, Alice?” I shrugged, sinking into my cool new aloof persona. “Maybe. In the cafeteria, or at the Marquette. That’s where I seek refuge from my persecutors.” “Persecutors?” “The Inquisition, isn’t it obvious?” I pointed at the haycock on my head, which earned me a weird, animalistic grin that probably wanted to be a smile. It was the strangest expression I’d ever seen, and it took me aback. I dropped my eyes to the stain again to avoid the awkwardness, which seemed to help Damian grow even more comfortable. “You claim yourself a witch?” “I claim nothing without my lawyer.” “Fair enough. And our host, George? Is he one of your allies?” “You could say that. He’s dating my best friend, Leona.” As for me, I’m available and all for you, mister. “Now I remember,” he said as if he truly just realized, “I saw you at the Marquette with him and some others. You never miss the chance to have fun.” He saw me? “I’m forever in search of it. As are you, I noticed.” That’s right, I saw you, too. My heart pounded faster as I risked the hint at my interest in him. “Hardly. I supply the beverages.” “What do you mean?” My head snapped up. “It’s just an activity that pays bills. And what brings me to the Marquette and to parties.” “So you’re no real friend of Bacchus’?” I realized I’d never seen him with a beer in his hand, or any kind of

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alcohol for that matter. He laughed a rusty laugh. His features transformed into that animalistic grimace once more, as if he weren’t used to expressing amusement at all. That moment I think I knew – this man would be dangerous to love. ***

“There are easier ways to kill yourself,” Damian hissed. George picked his brochure of Carpathia’s Northern Adventures back up off the cafeteria table. “What? You don’t like the idea?” he asked meekly. “B-but this is the ultimate challenge . . .” Damian frowned, his arms folding across his chest. He didn’t say anything. George hunched under the pressure of the alpha’s obvious disapproval. Leona nudged George in support. That seemed to reignite his passion. “What’s not to love about hiking in the Northern Mountains. No safety nets, no cell phones, no excuses.” “Well, I doubt the girls see the fun in that.” Damian said as he looked at me. Blood rushed to my cheeks. Time to make an impression. “I’d love to go,” I heard myself say. Leona’s jaw dropped, George’s head practically spun around on an axis, while Damian simply raised his eyebrows. All eyes were on me now. My heart raced as if I were part rabbit. “What? I’m all for adventure,” I lied blatantly. My eyes settled on Leona. “You tell’em.” We left on a cold day. The snow fell outside the train’s window in sheets, like powdered icing. I hugged my knees to my chest, mindlessly rubbing the fur that lined the top of my black Sorel boots, glancing every now and then over at Damian.

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He sat flanked by a bearded dude with a guitar, and Svetlana Slavic, a platinum blonde beauty queen to whom I could never compare. Her grin was white and large, taunting me with it. I tried to take comfort in the fact that she was not his girlfriend either. Everyone knew she danced in a private booth at the Marquette for a bald, rich, fat guy – a mobster, or so some people speculated. Unfortunately, he wasn’t here now, so the farther we moved from Constanța, the closer she got to Damian. I ducked into my quilted grey parka and pulled my wool scarf up to my nose, watching in frustration as she leeched onto him. “Come on, Novac,” she said, her pitch too high, “I won’t bite, I’m just cold.” He rested one arm loosely around her shoulder and turned his eyes to the window. She attempted to curl closer but he maintained his distance, which made me feel that not all was lost. I wanted to slap myself for the way I ogled him, but I couldn’t help it. Damian was almost too goodlooking with his tousled dark hair, luminescent eyes, and stubble that gave his chiseled face the look of a young barbarian. It was easy to see why he attracted such attention. They would have made a striking couple, Svetlana and Damian. I told myself to stop it as Svetlana caught me staring. Even at my best, I would never compete with the likes of Svetlana with her long shapely legs, nipped-in waist, porcelain skin and tumbling white-blond hair. And she always dressed to kill, even now. She wore a bomber jacket, heeled boots and yoga pants – even in the freezing cold. As if on cue, Svetlana pulled her knees up and cuddled to his chest. I doubted she did it because she saw any kind of competition in me – that was out of the question – but because she felt powerful and probably

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enjoyed my suffering, knowing I would’ve done anything to be in her place. She closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep with a triumphant smile on her face. Cottages slid by as the train—barely more than an old cart from communist times—moved lazily down the track. Its low whistles lost in the night as it took us to the middle of nowhere. Not even an hour later the train got stuck in what appeared to be Siberian snow, a floral pattern of ice spreading like a rapid disease over the pane. Everyone shook violently and breathed out steam as if we were frozen dragons, and that’s when I realized I could no longer feel my feet. Damian must have sensed my pain, for he gazed at me with a frown. “George,” he said, lifting his arm and waking Svetlana, “where’s the Vodka I gave you?” George’s sleepy eyelids fluttered open. He brushed sandy brown tendrils of hair off his forehead and removed his own arm from around Leona, who shivered at his chest. Her eyes were hooded, and her lips shrunken. He reached to the overhead rack and dropped a bag on her lap by mistake. “Sorry, Leo,” he mumbled, and took down a ragged backpack. Something clanked inside. He staggered, and I almost laughed in delirium. He’d always been a thin guy, but his legs in this moment suddenly reminded me of a spider’s legs, especially in comparison to Damian, who stood to support him. “Jesus, you look like you might break into ice shards,” Damian said. “I’m afraid my brain’s already splintered. I should’ve been the first to think of the liquor,” George replied with a stiff grin that meant to be friendly but rather gave the impression of a frozen fossil. Damian opened the backpack and took out three small bottles like the ones Russians keep in the inside pockets of their sheepskin coats. He handed one to Svetlana

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and one to George. “Pass that around,” he told them, then took a seat by my side with the third bottle. I blinked and barely refrained from rubbing my eyes. I couldn’t believe he was so close to me, by his own choosing this time. “Drink this,” he said softly, holding the open bottle to my mouth. A sharp smell made me crease my nose and push his hand away. “Vodka. It’ll help warm you up,” he insisted. I sniffed at it a couple of times and finally took a sip that went like a flash of fire to the pit of my stomach. I grimaced, but Damian only chuckled and looked at me as if I were a playing puppy. Again, he had that strange expression on his face, like a predator cornering its prey. I tried a shaky smile back, my heart drumming. Then my eyes fell on the open mouthed Svetlana, and I realized why he must’ve switched to my side, I was the only one without a pair of arms around me. Damian was just looking after the less fortunate. “Thanks, I’m good now,” I grumbled and drew away, pulling my knees up. Suddenly, the train began to wobble like a ship on a stormy sea. Girls shrieked, guys glanced around with wide eyes and, as the lights flickered and finally went out, I burst into a fit of screaming too. A hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me to a broad chest, my nose sinking in a fluffy pullover. “Earthquake,” Damian’s voice sounded above my head. At the next jerk, he dropped back in the seat with me on his lap. “Maybe someone is just…just digging us out of the snow,” Svetlana babbled. “That’s not a shovel moving the train,” the guy with the guitar croaked.

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The train came to a brusque halt in its swaying, and Damian jumped to his feet, sheltering me with the sides of his open coat. I pushed my face deeper into his pullover as he slid the compartment door open with his elbow. “What are you doing?” George squealed. “We need to get out of here,” Damian replied. His tone was even, but not devoid of stress. “What if it starts again?” His bearded guitarist friend said. “We’re deep in the mountains. We could get killed in an avalanche or something!” “And you think we stand a better chance if an avalanche traps us in this rust box, Hector?” Damian retorted, and rushed with me down the aisle. He only put me down as we reached a fast-growing clutch of shrieking people by the exit. Fear gripped me, and my heart punched hard against my ribcage as I stretched my arm to keep him close. To no avail, I lost him as he made his way through. In the chaos of screams and bodies squashing me between them I freaked out, but I was unable to make a sound. The door snapped open and a winter gush wheezed through, lashing my face numb as people poured out of the train and drifted me forward with them. I sank to my knees in the glistening snow and waved my arms to keep from falling into the forested abyss that loomed before my eyes. A huge, warm hand clasped mine, steadying me, and the instant I looked into Damian’s focused face I understood he’d only left my side to break down the door. I forgave him on the spot. He turned to help the others out of the train but missed one, who bumped hard against me and sent me like a ball down the slope. I rolled and rolled, my mind and skin frozen as snow infiltrated under my scarf and sleeves. A front clash with a tree trunk knocked the air from my lungs, and the last thing I saw was a shower of white that filled my mouth and nostrils. I choked under the mountain of cold that gagged me, desperate to breathe in.

25 • The Executioner Part One

My head began to cloud with lack of air, and I felt my pulse give up. That moment I knew the sense of safety was a mirage, as if some tiny fairy at the back of my mind urged me to keep fighting. I saw a bright sphere, but I knew it wasn’t the moon. It was the light at the end of a black tunnel—a light that sucked me toward it like a vacuum cleaner would a fly. I fought against the pull, and by some miracle it actually stopped. I came close to the bright sphere. Weight started to press rhythmically on what I now identified as my chest, and I started to spin backwards, as if something drew me with the same force farther and farther from it. As it became smaller, it warped into the shape of a child-like face with eyes bright like lasers, piercing me through the darkness. A crystalline voice like tinkling icicles filled my head. “You need me . . .”

Ana Calin • 26

Chapter Two

Every breath hurt as if my sternum had been smashed with a rock. The blur cleared to Leona’s face, her chocolate eyes wide and worried above mine. “She’s awake!” she called. More faces popped into the picture, looming above her head. I tried to get up on my elbows, but the pain punched full force into my chest. With a groan that hurt too, I fell back on something soft that smelled of piss. “Don’t strain yourself.” “It hurts,” I whispered. “It’s the CPR. Damian might’ve pressed too hard on your chest.” “Damian?” Leona smiled. “He launched after you when you fell. He carried you here, too.” I looked down at myself, and saw I was wrapped in two coats – my own and a new fat one, my scalp itching under what could’ve been a busby, yet none of it helped much. I still shivered as she tucked me under a blanket, leaving my arms out. Muttered voices and flitting shadows twirled about the room, only Leona’s olive-skinned face constant in the picture. I registered a friendly, “Water by the bed,” and George’s, “Bug off, here’s the vodka.” Someone placed a candle on a nightstand by my head, as if I were dying. Still, candles were the only source of light in the room as far as I could tell – causing the eerie shadow play. Now that I was out of danger and required no more of their attention, one by one the voices cleared the room and left me to my best friend’s care. It was then that I tried to speak.

27 • The Executioner Part One

“Damian … CPR?” Leona threw me a glance, her hands rubbing mine. “Med school, remember?” “Playing hero,” I whispered. Her head turned in the opposite direction – maybe the door. My socks got hitched off, and something hot pressed to the naked soles of my feet. The feeling was beyond unpleasant, like needles stinging my flesh. “Leona, wha – ?” I managed to lift my head. Damian held a bottle of warm water at my feet, his hand covering both of them. He didn’t wear his coat, only the gray pullover that complimented his athletic body and those dark jeans that hinted at his strong legs. While I look a mess. I scrunched my eyes shut as he began kneading my toes. I’m not seeing this! I’m not seeing this! “A train off track and frozen mountains are no playground,” he scolded in that deep voice of his. I wanted to crawl back into my snow grave. “Will you take over from here?” Leona addressed him – agile on the first opportunity to give us some time alone, I figured. “I’m afraid George will drown in all that vodka he saved, if I leave him for too long.” I kept my eyes shut as they probably exchanged nods or rather headshakes. I didn’t want to see Damian’s face as he refused. It was only when I heard the door creak shut that I opened one eye, as if peeking at an incoming blow. Damian flipped the blanket aside and sat on the bed, diving into the mattress. “May I lay with you? You’ll warm up faster,” he said softly. Lay with me? Speechless, I nodded. He stretched along my side, lifting my head with a huge hand and slipping an arm under the nape of my neck. Our gazes locked, and my mind focused on the rare color of

Ana Calin • 28

his eyes. It was special, weirdly so. Every morning I saw a dull, washed-out nuance of my own blue eyes in the mirror, I saw brown, green and every combination thereof often around, but I’d never seen that crystal green, creating an irresistible contrast to . . . I couldn’t quite identify what. I imagined his eyes flashing with some kind of madness, like a demon’s. Maybe they did so when he was angry. And I could make him angry right now. I could jolt up and press my lips on his, taking him by surprise. But I made it only as far as resting my head on his arm that felt like concrete under his pullover, and putting a hand on his chest – broad and a bit too bulky. My neck soon hurt. He had the physique of a bodybuilder, but I doubted as a med student who worked for a living that he had the time to hit the gym, so perhaps he boxed or played hardcore sports. I shook away the thought. It didn’t matter, all that really mattered was that he was here next to me and he smelled of wood and warmth and Christmas fairy tales coming true. “Where are we?” My sternum hurt with every word. “A cottage in restoration. The train fell off track too far from Predeal, and this is the first lodging we found. There’s no phone signal this deep in the mountains to call for help, so we’re making do.” “No earthquake?” “That was my first thought, but I was wrong. Earthquakes aren’t common in these parts of the Carpathians. They tried to pull the train forward through the snow and it slipped off.” There was a pensive touch in his words. It suited that deep, velvety voice of his. I looked down at the shape of our legs under the blanket, thinking of what to say next to keep the conversation going. Damian began stroking the side of my torso over the coat, his hand close to my breast. It made the blood race through my veins. “So, did you only punch me or . . . did you give me

29 • The Executioner Part One

mouth to mouth, too?” I couldn’t believe the pain in my ribcage. “Didn’t come to that, don’t worry. You spat out the snow and water during the chest compressions.” “Oh . . . Sorry.” “For what?” “Spitting.” He laughed. “Try to get some rest,” he said. “Talking might be difficult for some hours, maybe even days.” Now that was bad news. Leona would surely hunger for every detail of what happened in this room, and I wouldn’t be able to deliver, which counted as high treason regardless of excuse. Guitar tones filled the silence. They were just as out of tune as the hoarse male voice that accompanied them, but it made the silence bearable, and I thought it relaxed Damian, too. I closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep, but his body so close to mine made it impossible. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and I wondered relentlessly what he felt, what he thought. What he thought of me. He still stroked me, so maybe he’d give in to easy sex. In the end, he’d saved my life, and maybe he even expected such as a sign of gratitude. Maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move. Faking sporadic sighs from the world of dreams, I let my body snake on Damian’s. Since I was supposed to be asleep, I couldn’t be held accountable for it, but the feel of his muscles under the pullover made my breath intensify, which may have exposed me. His rhythm quickened a little too, but, as I risked a glance through my lashes, his jaw rippled. He looked angry. I stopped moving, but it seemed he’d already made a decision. Though he withdrew his arm carefully from under my head, as soon as that was done he jumped off the

Ana Calin • 30

bed like a gazelle and closed the door behind him. I opened my eyes, tears of shame dripping on the pillow. With only the drunken version of “Dust in the Wind” to keep me company, more dark thoughts crept into my head. What if he was into Svetlana after all? Or maybe into another? He surely had options. And what if he only wanted to be friends with me? Greedy for the shaft in his pants I’d probably lost that now too. I have to make this right. I threw the blanket aside, groped for my socks and boots and followed the music down a narrow corridor. It led to what looked like the main chamber of an old rustic lodge with wooden furniture, carpets on the walls and a terracotta stove. With the power out, candles were the only sources of light, making the snow that clung to the windows glitter, the way it did in fairy tales. More drunken voices now joined the bearded singer’s, and people chained together with hands on each other’s shoulders swayed left and right. I spotted Damian across the room. He sat on a windowsill, his booted feet on the back of a wooden bench. With elbows on his knees, he scowled from under knitted eyebrows. I stopped in my tracks. My severely bruised ego screamed, “Hide!” and I hurried to mingle in, trying to find Leona. She danced in a lush embrace with George, who hurried to get rid of me by properly introducing me to Svetlana the “Beauty-Queen”. My lips sucked lemon as I saw Damian’s coat hanging on her bony shoulders – so I wasn’t the only lady whom he aided in distress. I gave in under the weight of George’s hand pushing down my shoulder, and dropped onto a chipped wooden stool right by Svetlana’s side. She returned to a conversation with her friends, and made a show of how she ignored me. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, she’d go ahead and ask one of the others about

31 • The Executioner Part One

the parties at the dorms that she’d missed – probably ‘cause of her sugar daddy. Sometimes she’d introduce some cheap gossip with, “Oh yeah, did you hear that . . .” I tried talking to an older guy with wiry curls and a dirty coat, but he soon switched to the other side of the human circle. After about an hour everybody else sprang to their feet and cheered at the first tantalizing tunes of a bouncing round dance. Only Svetlana and I stayed put, eying each other awkwardly. “How come you don’t join?” I said to fill in the uncomfortable silence. “I hate this peasant dance,” she sneered, looking me up and down as if I were a worm. “Maybe you should give it a try. I bet you’d look good doing it.” I bit the inside of my cheek to repress the urge to slap her. “I’m afraid I’m not as talented as you,” I grunted. “There isn’t a guy on campus who’s been to the Marquette and doesn’t know of your skill.” She puffed and looked away. There was a pang of guilt in my gut. “So, are you originally from Constanța or only studying there?” I said in a pacifying tone. “My dad’s from Croatia. I was born in Biograd, but I grew up here,” she replied with her nose turned up. “I’m a half-breed, too. My mom’s American.” “You’re American?” The older guy with wiry curls bounced in, his voice too loud. His drunken eyes sparked at me as if I’d suddenly turned into an exotic dancer – a remarkable shift. Heads turned, Hector’s fingers tangled in the guitar chords, and I immediately regretted having touched on the subject. “That would be an overstatement,” I muttered. “How can you overstate origin?” Svetlana sneered. She looked daggers at me, so it wasn’t hard to tell she hated

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my stealing the spotlight, especially for one of her own reasons to be special. “My dad studied in the States. Met my mom. She followed him back to Romania.” I glared at her and then at Mr. Nosy. “So your mom’s the American maiden and your dad the knight from Draculean lands?” He gave me a deeplined, unshaven grin that failed to be charming. I nodded. “The States, huh? In those times?” Svetlana tried harder to splash me with mud. “How did he pass Ceaușescu’s dogs?” Shoot. But forging lies would’ve eventually put me in even worse light – it had before. “It was Ceaușescu’s dogs who sent him there,” I muttered. Complete silence. My eyes flew over to Damian. He watched with arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrow. For a moment there I hoped he’d jump to my rescue again, but he remained quiet. “Tiberius Preda? He is your father?” the older guy whispered. Crap. I nodded, and the guy’s mouth popped open. My dad’s name was notorious enough to mean heavy moneybags to everyone there. “So, you’re a rich bitch daddy’s girl, huh?” Svetlana sniped. Her laugh reminded me of the villain in a children’s film. This time my palm actually itched to slap her, but she was taller and stronger. “Listen, little miss hot to trot.” Leona placed herself before Svetlana, her tone cutting, all signs of fun and liquor-conditioned euphoria gone from her face. “Alice is not some social mutant you can dump on. She’s made more sacrifices in her life then you’ll ever know.” Svetlana glowered back at Leona, more pissed off

33 • The Executioner Part One

by the intervention than taken aback. Seeing them face each other was quite something – they couldn’t be more different and yet more alike. Both what society would doubtlessly label Hollywood-worthy. I didn’t wait for the outcome of their confrontation. I dragged myself out the door with my face in my palms, fighting to keep back tears, and unable to fathom how I could’ve been so stupid to mention my roots so easily, especially to someone who so obviously resented me. The cool air on the porch dried my eyes. It numbed my feelings a bit, too. The lodge stood somewhere high and close to the woods, countless fir branches warped with snow marking the contours of endless hills, a full moon hanging low in the sky. It reminded me of the tale of Beauty and the Beast that Mom used to read to me before she put me to bed. I’d fall asleep in my pink pajamas, clutching Judy the Monkey to my chest and dreaming of a prince in a fairy tale of my own. My story had turned out to be a little different, though. I sank my hands in the snow on the porch and splashed it like water on my face, hoping the sting would cast both Damian’s rejection and Svetlana’s laughter to the back of my mind. It did for but a second. “So, daddy issues?” Damian’s voice made me jump to my feet. He’d popped out of nowhere, and now stood really close by my side. “A whole bunch of them.” “I’m sorry I startled you.” “Do I appear startled?” I hoped the line would cover my embarrassment, especially after what had happened in bed earlier. He looked down at me with eyes so striking that a shiver coursed down my spine. “More like a kid playing ostrich in the snow.”

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A kid. That’s what I am to you, too, then. I clenched my teeth and didn’t reply. “Leona said something about sacrifices,” he mused after a short pause. He sounded as interested as anyone ever got. “Leona spoke without thinking.” “And without your consent. Still, I think she acted out of admiration.” “And that puzzles you, I gather?” “It intrigues me.” “Of course it does.” I snorted, bitterness searing the tip of my tongue. “I didn’t discover insulin or appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated, so you don’t think I deserve admiration.” “Is that a statement or a question?” His eyes glinted like pale emerald. I turned away, gazing in the distance and faking cold indifference to his looks. “All right then, here it is,” I said. The mountainous landscape with its winter charm made for a confessional state of mind, and I’d already made a fool of myself, so it couldn’t get any worse than that. “My dad is a man of wealth and influence, but I guess his name already told you that. But a parent’s success can weigh heavy on the kid’s shoulders, you know? Everybody expects so much of you. I could live with it up to a certain point but then, one night, my ex got drunk and told his friends that he intended to marry me for my money. I heard about it, so I decided to have myself removed from my father’s will as well as from his list of heirs, to prove to everybody that Tony wasn’t a jackass. The only thing I kept was my last name, certain it would soon change anyway. But Tony left me after all.” I coughed out the last words and grimaced at the pain in my chest. “So you gave up your inheritance to clear his honor, and he betrayed you?” “You make it sound like I’m the hero.”

35 • The Executioner Part One

“That’s clearly Leona’s point of view.” “Leona and I have known each other for some years now, since before I flashed my heroic qualities at the world.” “So she didn’t need reasons to like you.” “No. She didn’t.” I turned and stared at him, surprised at his finesse, and drawn ever deeper into his scrutinizing gaze. Just yesterday I would’ve done anything for such an opportunity to spend time alone with him, but I didn’t like talking about this—feeling so exposed. Not to mention, I must’ve looked a complete mess huddled in two dirty coats, with crazy hair, knotting my skeletal fingers like some kooky witch. “How about you?” “What about me?” “What’s your story? I mean . . . truth be told, you’re quite popular, yet few people know anything about you.” He smiled that weird, animal smile of his. “Have you inquired and been left wanting?” “Oh, you have a way of putting things . . .” He took a step closer, his eyes steady on my face. “This Tony guy, you must’ve really loved him to sacrifice everything you did.” “Is that a statement or a question?” I muttered. “And if it were a question?” he continued softly, as if he wanted to seduce the answer out of me. “I’d withhold the answer.” “You don’t want to go there?” he whispered. “Is this an interrogation?” “Does it feel like such?” “It feels shrinky.” “Oh, that’s by no means what I intended.” “Do you have a problem with shrinky?” “Are we changing parts, with you as the inquisitor?” “We are.” Boy, am I tough. I felt suddenly proud of

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myself. But something told me Damian Novac would by no means put up with my inversing poles, therefore I waited for him to crush my will. The prospect was thrilling, but the blow never came. He indulged me. “As long as it satisfies you.” Satisfies . . . “So? Is it contempt for doctors that I sensed in your words?” “I’m a step away from the Hippocratic Oath, Alice, so no, I hold no contempt for doctors. It just wasn’t my intention to analyze on you. You probably don’t need that.” “What do you think I need?” “I don’t presume to know. That’s why I’m asking questions.” My heart skipped a beat. The handsome barbarian who’d followed me to the porch turned out to be a shrewd scholar who messed with my head – an irresistible combination that shouldn’t exist. “Asking questions is a shrink’s job,” I whispered. His towering closeness heated up my blood so much that the cold winter’s night seemed to have lost its effect. I felt cornered by this wild beast. But the mood broke when the front door swung open, and Svetlana appeared in the frame, wrapped in a shabby quilt that did nothing to reduce her attractiveness. Her hair flowed platinum down the front of her shoulders, her catlike eyes glimmering under thick lashes. She extended her arm to offer Damian the clothing that was slung over it. “I thought I’d bring you your coat,” she addressed him without even throwing me a glance. “You’ll need it, if you plan on staying out here long.” There was a drop of scorn in her voice. Maybe she did have a claim on Damian after all. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat at the idea. “Thank you,” Damian said, retrieving the coat. “You shouldn’t have, though. I was just bringing the girl

37 • The Executioner Part One

back in.” The girl. “You go ahead,” I said. Damian had already turned his tall, V-shaped back around and taken a few steps to the door. Anger and defiance fired up in the pit of my stomach. If he thought I was going to follow like some insignificant, nameless slave, he had another thing coming. “I’ll stay here a while, enjoy the quiet.” Damian made a half-spin and looked down at me, a glint of surprise in his eyes. “The wind’s taking up. There’s a blizzard coming,” he insisted. A defiant grin curled my mouth. “The door’s not that far away. I’ll make it through before anything sweeps me off my feet.” Damian seemed to get the hint. He frowned and shook his head, just slightly like at an errant child as he held the door for Svetlana and followed her in. I stood once again alone on the porch. The wind blew sharply through my hair indeed, the cold penetrating my bones. Maybe it had moments before too, but Damian’s presence kept me from noticing. I looked out in the distance, shivering at the void that had built up inside me as strings of white fell from the sky faster and faster, hatching across the dark horizon. As the wheezing intensified I had this sudden feeling that something was terribly wrong. I braced myself and hurried inside. Damian stood in the candlelit, lukewarm main room with his group of boisterous friends, keeping a reserved smile in place as they laughed and tempted him with liquor. He looked at me just once, which was hardly a surprise, given my competition, namely Svetlana. She danced like a sexy snake circling the bearded singer as he played and in and out of Damian’s field of vision, probably spurred by vodka and scotch.

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Her grin stretched wide and defiant as she saw me. The sight punched me in the stomach, and I had to look away. I spotted Leona and George on a sheepskin, and sat by them. “Here, sista,” George stammered. “Wash down the jealousy before it combusts.” He offered me a plastic cup of white wine thinned with snow – maybe Cotnari, but the label had been peeled off, so I couldn’t tell for sure. I gulped it down, grimaced at the taste of vinegar it left on my tongue, and handed it over for a refill. “Keep it coming,” I encouraged a grinning and complying George. I hope it numbs me fast. “So, who you planning to bed tonight if Damian Novac’s not available?” George inquired. I choked on the liquor, and coughed so hard I thought I’d spit out bits of my lungs. “You’re being a jerk!” Leona slapped the back of George’s head. Any other guy would’ve probably snapped at her, but not George. He grabbed the nape of her neck and planted a drunken smooch on her lips. I redirected my gaze, my eyes darting from Damian to Svetlana. Freaking wine gave me a headache that intensified as Svetlana’s dance took ever more sensual turns. Other girls accompanied her, their lids heavy from drinking, and their moves erratic and ridiculous. But Svetlana . . . she danced like a professional ballerina in elastic jeans and tight wool top, throwing her platinum hair back with lascivious moves, spinning and stretching to the bearded singer’s guitar and voice. You can leave your hat on, Joe Cocker. Couldn’t be better. All that training with the mobster sure gave results. Probably too controlled to watch with a hanging tongue like the others, Damian resorted to throwing her glances once in a while, sipping from his own plastic cup.

39 • The Executioner Part One

She kept looking at him, smiling and winking every time she caught his eye, but he knitted his brows, as if something grew heavier on his mind with every minute. The blizzard began raging, and he made his way to the window, apparently focused on something outside. His jaw hardened. Good God, was he handsome . . . I drank cup after cup of sour wine, switching my attention to the bets George and Leona placed on who was going to crack and touch Svetlana first. I flinched as George slapped a banknote on a loose wooden floorboard, right by the bottle. It unbalanced dangerously. “Here, all in,” he stammered. “It’s gonna be the biker, that’s who it’s gonna be. He can’t keep his hands to himself for long, he’ll grope her.” It took only a glance in the direction of his not too discretely pointed finger to realize he talked about the older guy with wiry curls who’d brought up my dad’s name earlier, and who now sat drinking and grinning a lecherous grin too close to Svetlana’s dancing legs. “I don’t have any money, but I’ll bet ya a whole bottle it’ll be Hector,” Leona said, gesturing to the bearded singer with her plastic cup. “And what would you do with a bottle, my love?” George mocked, slipping a skinny arm around her shoulders. I couldn’t help a smile. They looked like a freckled frog and a fiery princess in love. Leona was toned and sinewy, her olive skin healthy and smooth. The firm buns and boobs, the high cheekbones and bad girl eyebrows made her crazy sexy, while her long-lashed, chocolate eyes exuded mysterious wit. I often compared her to the fiery gypsy Carmen, enhanced with the brains of Virginia Wolf. “You’re underestimating me, Georgey,” she retorted in a seductive mock-tone. “I’m afraid it’ll be you singing naked in the snow if you take just another sip.”

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Truth be told, George did already have some difficulty rounding his words, and his gaze was foggy, his eyes deep-set in his long, narrow face. The sandy hair looked like a mop on top of his head, disheveled as if he hadn’t combed it in weeks. Welcome to the club. “We’re both too impaired for activities as extreme as betting,” he said with a peace-making wave of his hand. “Let’s stick to black runs.” Joke aside he kissed her, taking her lips between his thirstily. I tried to look away, but it’d been almost a year since my own lips had been touched, and longing kept me staring and feeling like a pervert. I cleared my voice, and George drew away with a crooked grin and an apologetic shrug. “Besides,” he said, “Svetlana only has eyes for Novac.” No shit. I decided to call it a night and headed to the small chamber we called the bedroom, straining not to glance at Damian. The leftovers of some candles lay around in pooled wax. Only now did I notice the beds – four of them – were mere bunks, probably with straw under the grey, dirty sheets. Maybe they’d served for construction workers until late autumn. But since the place had been abandoned over the winter, humidity had infested it with the smell of mold. The cinder was weak in the terracotta stove. I dropped onto the same bunk where I’d curled up next to Damian before, sniffing for his scent and wishing for the old Russian novel that I’d lost on the train. It had the power to make me forget my situation. I closed my eyes, and sleep came in spurts and then fled completely as people trickled into the room. I counted eight from under half-closed eyelids – still better than counting sheep. Then more followed. A woman cuddled behind me, stepping on my legs

41 • The Executioner Part One

when I resisted her siege and stiffly held on to my position by the edge. She stank of alcohol, and I eventually recognized her as one of the “outsiders” – people from the train who’d come to the same shelter, but weren’t part of our group, like the biker who’d exposed my connection to Tiberius Preda. The other bunks were quickly taken, and the rest huddled on jackets and sheepskins on the floor. None of them thought of feeding the fire, relying on the body heat of their partners or friends to keep warm, as I relied on the lady’s who now snored charmingly by my side. The blizzard intensified, whipping against the window. It was a steady roar that mingled with drunken moaning – mostly from the couple who were doing it on the floor. “Stop!” the girl said, loud enough for me and everyone else in the room to hear if they were awake. She sounded familiar, but not familiar enough for me to identify her. “Aw, you like it rough, then?” The man’s voice was not only too thick, but also feverish, matching his snogging on her skin. “Get off me, you fuckin’ dog!” My eyes snapped wide open, searching for the scene. All I could see were the girl’s white arms and long denim legs moving, my brain editing the meaning of it – she was trying to protect herself. A few others sprang from their sleeping places, while some mumbled groggy-headed. A guy managed to light a candle after repeated attempts – I could tell by the lighter sparks and cusses – and, as he brought it close to the screaming girl, I gaped in smitten disbelief. Svetlana’s face was drawn with fear. The rings around her now bulb-like eyes were deep trenches and her top was torn, revealing small, white breasts with pointy nipples.

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Others from the main room burst in. I took a few shy steps toward the scene when a man ripped from the bundle, using the confusion to walk casually to the door. His contour was big – maybe a fleshy person, yet not exactly fat – and I knew on the spot it was the biker who’d watched Svetlana dance. The same man who’d spoken up my father’s name. As I knew he was her aggressor. With a cry I drew attention and pointed at him, but what followed left me stunned and sweating.

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Chapter Three

Two guys rushed to him, head first like angry bulls, but the man spun round and slammed his fists into their faces – right first, left second. One of the boys stopped, but the thinner one attacked again. Another punch sent him flat on his back. Before the others could react, the biker sprinted for the door, bumping hard into a tall frame like a ball against a mound. Damian. In the light of an oil lamp the bearded singer held beside him, he glared icy daggers at the biker, blocking his way out. After only a few seconds of hesitation, the biker bent from his waist and thrust himself at Damian, who moved out of the way and caught him by the jacket, pulling him up straight. He slammed the bastard’s face into the doorframe, and I heard wood cracking – or maybe it was the man’s bones. The biker groaned, and his body turned to jelly. Damian turned him around and faced him, keeping a grip on his jaw. “In a hurry?” A streak of blood trickled from the biker’s temple down his cheek, and he struggled to stand on his feet. Damian’s muscles snaked under the pullover as he slammed the biker’s back into the doorframe again. “I see you’re big on brawling,” he hissed, glancing at the two boys who were now supported by their friends on each arm. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” The biker’s mouth curled—the grin of a nutcase who enjoyed pain. “I might ask you the same thing.”

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“Why do you pick fights, Rocky?” The man didn’t reply, yet voices rose in chaotic explanations that said everything and yet nothing. “Attempted rape” and “Svetlana” made it to my ears though, and certainly also to Damian’s. But, to my surprise, it didn’t seem to anger him. On the contrary, his arms fell off the biker, and his glare softened a little. “You’ve had too much to drink. We’ll deal with this when you’re sober.” “That’s no justification.” I stepped in out of sheer instinct. “This guy’s a potential rapist. I’m sure this wasn’t his first time and it won’t be the last, especially if we let him off the hook.” Damian’s eyes fell on me with a flash. “You’re quick to judge, Alice.” I shook my head in disbelief. He couldn’t be that thick. “Quick to judge? Look at her, Damian.” I pointed at the group behind me, assuming from the calming whispers that Svetlana was still among them. “She’ll be traumatized, whether this asshole went the whole way or not. What he did leaves scars, ugly scars.” He didn’t follow the direction I pointed in, but kept staring at me. “I wasn’t talking about Rocky here,” he said. “I was talking about me. You’re quick to judge me.” I stopped breathing. “I wouldn’t let this asshole off the hook in a million years,” Damian went on. “But I won’t smash his face while he’s drunk either. That would be unfair, don’t you think?” He took a few steps closer, and blood flooded my cheeks. “If you’d given me the chance,” he continued, “I would’ve said Hector and I would take our friend to the attic and tie him up until his mind clears. And when we get out of here, we’ll turn him in.” The nasty biker laughed, but there was no

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amusement in it. Rather madness. “Turn me in . . . And to whom, Executioner? To the cops, or your friends at BioDhrome, along with the rest of these rats?” Who? What? Damian blinked, as if recovering from a blow he hadn’t seen coming. He turned to the man and stared at him, while the others behind me shuffled and whispered. My eyes darted from him to the man in leather. “What is this?” Damian hissed. “How long, Executioner? How long until we start drawing blood this time?” Before he could speak again, Damian grabbed one of the biker’s arms, and Hector another. I instinctively looked at Hector, hoping something in his face, his reaction, would give meaning to all this. The bearded singer’s features shimmered in the light of the oil lamp he carried. He looked robust, his small eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows, and he had the nose of an eagle. His skin had the color of ripe olives, which made me think of a gypsy, the rich beard adding to the grim air. But his face betrayed nothing besides sternness, there wasn't anything I could read or interpret. The biker tried to jerk from their grasp, but he didn’t stand a chance. I heard muffled bumps and cusses as they took him up the creaky stairs to the attic. As soon as they were out of hearing range, voices surged in the room. People bundled around Svetlana, while the woman who’d slept by my side just stared at me, propped on an elbow. She had puffy eyes, and her expression fit her overall hippie appearance. “Are you all right?” she inquired. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who almost got raped.” “No. But the Executioner guy seems to have special

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interest in you. I’d be worried, I guess.” A faint grin took shape on her face. “Or maybe I’d just be horny, you know, from the looks of him.” Don’t go there. “Do you know anything about this Executioner business?” She shrugged. “Rapist or not, I tend to believe that Marius bastard, given his career. If he called pretty boy Executioner, he must’ve had a reason.” Marius. The biker’s name. “His career?” “Reason my ass,” a young guy with braids cut in, dropping down onto the bed next to the woman and offering her a beer can. “Marius is completely drunk, he talks gibberish.” The can hissed as he popped the tab. “Here, this’ll get you functioning better than coffee.” It’s already coffee time? I turned to the window. Dawn slowly drew a bloody horizon across the mountainous contour, and I was beat. I cuddled behind the woman – by the wall this time, so that she could keep conversing with her braids guy. The sleep I got was tormented by daylight, snoring and bad smells. I finally got up about noon, with a headache and a sensation of weakness all through my body. I barely carried myself to the kitchen, mind numb and lids swollen. The voices around me sounded painfully cheerful. They stabbed my brain, tempting me to skirt around the overpopulated room, but it contained the only sink where I could wash my face and teeth. Toothbrushes and as good as all items for personal hygiene had been abandoned on the train – unlike the booze – so I rubbed my teeth with my finger, bent over the rusty, enamel-peeled sink. The freezing water smacked me full awake. “Svetlana kicked the bastard in the balls,” a boyish voice said. My eyes followed it to discover a small guy with frizzy locks leaning on the counter by the fridge. “How would you know, you weren’t even there,” a

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round young man with face piercings intervened. He turned to the mug-holding, open-mouthed girl the locks guy had been talking to. “It was Damian Novac who punched the guy senseless. He would’ve barged in to save Svetlana sooner, but he and Hector had been in the attic, looking for lamps and other useful stuff that might help us survive several days of isolation or the road to the nearest village or town.” I didn’t know if that last part was any truer than the kick in the balls, but it was plausible. I eventually found Leona putting together something to eat on a clay plate – a rarity. “Wow, I didn’t know people still used these things.” I looked over her shoulder and reached for a bite. She slapped my hand away. “This ain’t for you, sweetheart. Make your own.” She was stiff and frowning – so either preoccupied or nervous. “Breakfast or clay plate?” She glanced around, making sure no one listened. “I’m taking this to the attic,” she whispered, and I instantly felt like a guilty accomplice. “You’re most certainly not! If anyone feeds that animal, it should be someone who can tame him.” “You mean Novac or Hector? Neither are here, and this is my chance.” What do you mean they’re not here? Where are they and what do you need a chance at?” “Because they won’t allow anyone up to the attic. I need to talk to him, and I don’t know how much time I have until they’ll be back.” “So, where are they?” “Novac went with two others to look for the nearest village or town, if they find one within a mile or two. They’ll bring back help and food. Hector stayed back as the

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watchdog, but right now he’s cutting wood in the barn.” “I’m coming with you.” Leona shook her head. “No you’re not. Stay here, and make sure no one comes up.” “Why are you doing this? What can you possibly want with the guy?” She looked aside through the window. It was the first time Leona formulated sentences in her head before she spoke them to me, which drew serious alarm. “Don’t think, Leona, talk! Do you know him?” “I don’t, but Svetlana surely does.” “Okay . . .” It did come as a surprise, but stayed so for only a moment. It actually made sense. I’d heard most rapists turned out to be from the victim’s close circle. “But what’s your business with him?” “He has information I need. If I’m right, his name is Marius Iordache, and he’s an investigative reporter with Gardianul.” I tilted my head back, inspecting her. “And that is important because . . .” “Because he wrote an article about a certain Executioner.” “And why is that important?” “You still ask? You heard him call Novac that yesterday.” “So Damian’s the main character of the guy’s fantasy.” “Don’t mock. The Executioner is the name of a file classified by the Romanian Intelligence Service, the R.I.S.” The news came like a blast on the back of my head. “What?” She looked aside and bit her lip, but didn’t answer. I opened my mouth several times before I could speak again. “And you drop this on me as if nothing?” “I thought it was nothing until now.” “Elaborate,” I said, frowning to focus.

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Leona crossed her arms, searching for the way to put it. She spoke fast, under her breath, her eyes darting left and right to ensure privacy. “A few weeks ago, George and I went out to the Bourbon Pub on what was supposed to be a romantic evening. Imagine my surprise to see Novac and Svetlana there, talking closely over drinks – she had sparkling wine, he had water. I was worried they might be out on a date themselves, so I dragged George into it.” “I bet he loved that.” Leona smirked. “You know him well. George felt awkward and pretended to need the men’s room, while I drew a chair and sat at their table without asking for permission. I did ask, however, if they were enjoying their night—my very presence ensuring they weren’t.” Leona nodded her head at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Anyway, Svetlana didn’t actually look all that bothered. With a foxy grin she told me she needed Novac’s help with research on an article written ten years before by the once famous journalist Marius Iordache. What made this article interesting to her was that the R.I.S. had a classified file on its subject, a file titled The Executioner. She had the article in her purse, she said, that was her number one source.” “Why would she volunteer all of this information to you?” “I don’t know, but I asked why she needed Novac’s help of all people. I mean, she’s in Journalism, he’s in Med School, but she argued that he knew people with information, since he delivered booze to the clubs that the underground thugs got wasted in. She implied he even had connections to corrupt officials. Anyway, it was obvious to me that she only used all this as a pretext to get close to him. Novac looked uncomfortable, but in control.” Leona got an intense look in her eye and leaned forward. “Now it

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occurs to me, Svetlana might’ve been past the pretexts and into the blackmailing stage, since she only stopped talking, and her hand froze mid-way inside her purse to take out the article when Novac interrupted her, bluntly, coldly, and promised he’d meet her again the next evening. Her mouth sealed in a second, and she grinned like a satisfied cat.” Blood pumped hard in my temples. “What would Svetlana blackmail him for?” Leona shrugged and replied plainly, “Sex.” “Oh, come on.” I laughed. “Why would someone like her need to blackmail a guy?” “Because she’s fuckin’ obsessed with him, Alice, that’s why. And he does not want her.” I bit hard into my lip. “And then? What happened?” “Then Novac stood up, and left. No kisses, no goodbyes, not even a handshake. When I asked Svetlana if they were a couple, she grinned and said not yet. That exact second George came back, and Svetlana stood, slung her purse on her shoulder, gave us a self-satisfied good-bye and pranced away on her high heels. But by then it was all clear to me.” Here Leona began stressing her words. “Clear that Novac wasn’t interested in her. He was cold as ice.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because I knew you’d back off if you learned how aggressively Svetlana was chasing him. And you shouldn’t back off, not because of her. But a classified file with the R.I.S, now that’s another matter altogether. I don’t want you involved with him if he turns out to be a villain.” I stared at her, not sure how to take this. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. My dad suspects they have a file on him, too, and he’s not a criminal or something.” “Do you hear yourself, Alice? We’re talking about the freaking R.I.S.! Your dad is famous, powerful, and he was once an agent abroad, he’s someone worth keeping a file on. What’s Novac’s excuse? He’s a college student.” She shuffled from one leg to the other, eager to go,

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while all I could do was stare at her. The others were still busy eating and gossiping, but they would soon burn off their material and eavesdrop for ours. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “We need to know what that article says exactly. There’s no way we’ll hear another word on it ever again unless we use this chance. Since Novac tries so hard to bury this thing, I’m sure it’s worth the dig.” Her eyes darted around. “It’ll be a while until he walks through that door, but Hector will be back any minute now. Just call ‘I need a quilt’ at the base of the stairs if he wants to come up.” Before I could reply, she rushed up to the hallway and up the attic steps. I was about to ignore her request and follow her, when George appeared. “Where’s Leona?” Telling him the truth would put me on our “treason” list. “She’s gone out for some air,” I muttered. Soon Svetlana emerged from the bedroom into the hallway, too. She looked tired and sick, her face still white from shock. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Mind your own damn business,” she sneered, and waved me away. I took several steps back, embarrassed. Svetlana’s friends moved on with her, staring back at me with the same contempt they’d seen on her face. She forced herself to laugh, mingling jovially with the others. By the time Leona came back, Svetlana was back to being the center of attention again. “What did Marius say?” I whispered. “Not much. He’s sober now, and won’t talk easily. You have to buy me more time.” “Forget it. You’re done exposing yourself to a potential rapist.” “He’s wound in rope, Alice, from neck to toe. He’s lying on muddy hay and needs to be baby-fed. He’s

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harmless.” The door creaked open and Hector walked in, carrying firewood on a shoulder, and for a moment Leona’s eyes glinted. Yes, he was much rougher than George, looking strong and grounded. “May I remind you that you have a boyfriend,” I whispered in her ear, eyes still on Hector. She just stared at him, motionless, as if she hadn’t heard me. I waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Hey, Moon, this is Houston, come in.” This woke her from a moment’s reverie, and switched her Sherlock ambitions back on. “Just keep him off my trail. If he goes out again, watch him. If he comes back in, keep him talking,” she said, and turned on her heels. In the afternoon the others went back to drinking and playing cards. Leona mingled with them, fixed on gathering info, while I got close to the hippie lady I’d shared a bunk with last night. “So, do you know that Marius guy well?” I asked once we got comfortable enough with each other, sipping our drinks with blankets around us on the floor. “Not really. My boyfriend and I only met him yesterday on the train.” “Still, a long train ride is a good place for conversations,” I pushed with a smile. “Keeps boredom at bay. And you said something about a career last night, so he must’ve told you stuff.” The woman shrugged. “He gave us a short version of his life. Said he was an investigative journalist, and that he worked for some big names.” She frowned like an idea just hit her. She held up her index finger, and scrambled up. “Wait here.” Soon she returned from the bunkroom with a worn book, and reclaimed her spot by me on the floor. “He’d been reading this on the train, and kept

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nagging my boyfriend with it. Danny is a science freak, too, you know.” She smiled, clearly proud of her smart cookie of a man – the younger braids guy –, who now lay wasted on the floor, his mouth open and his fingers loose on the neck of a beer bottle. I took the book and leafed through it. It was a battered-looking piece by a Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair on genetics, even though the vocab didn’t quite fit. It seemed archaic. I managed the first five pages, but it sounded nothing like what I’d learned from my father. Evening grayed the windows, and the moment came. Hector walked out the door, and Leona fired a glance at me. I decided to let her have her way – I didn’t stand a chance of persuading her otherwise anyway – and darted after him, right into the sharp wind outside that nailed me on the porch, while Hector hurried to a barn blurred by snowfall. Night descended fast over the mountains. Our shelter stood so lonely in the wilderness, so cut off from the world, that only the thought of war felt more threatening than this isolation. There was no sign of Damian, and fear punched into my chest. Anything could’ve happened to him. No, something must’ve happened to him. He was gone at least eight hours. As I made out Hector’s frame walking back toward me, carrying more wood on his shoulder, I held out the door. “What are you doing here, babe?” he said hoarsely. Babe? As in sexy? “I . . . I was thinking about Damian and the others. Weren’t they supposed to be back by now?” He dropped the pile of wood in the hallway and put his hands on his waist, moving it in circles as if to relieve pain. He grimaced as he spoke, looking down at the pile.

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“They shouldn’t have left in the first place. Damian knew the blizzard had only taken a short break.” My heart jumped. “Should we go out and search for them or something?” Hector stretched and looked up, to the ceiling. “I admire your courage, but you wouldn’t last an hour out there.” “I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with you,” I pushed. Hector snorted and started toward the main room. “If it’s Damian you’re worried about, don’t be,” he threw over his shoulder. Shit, he knows I’m into him. Everyone does. I felt exposed. I wanted to hide, but instead I grabbed Hector’s elbow. “I’m worried about all of them. Why do you think I’m worried about Damian?” “Well, maybe because he saved your life?” Yes, of course. Anyone would inquire about their rescuer and feel obliged to return the favor. My secret was still safe, and my lips glued together to avoid further stupid remarks. Hector’s tone softened as he continued. “For your peace of mind, Damian can take care of himself, and he’s good with winters. As for the other two, they couldn’t hope for better company, they’re safe.” Good with winters – so my Russian spy theory might just hold, my inner self mocked. But Hector didn’t lose another word on the subject of Damian. I didn’t dig any deeper either, afraid that I’d expose my infatuation. Instead, we moved on to discussing survival strategies based on Discovery Channel documentaries. In order to keep informed of his actions and intentions, I helped him feed the stoves and got a number of splinters in my bookworm hands in the process. Then, right after we’d rekindled the fire in the bunkroom, his moving toward the stairs hit my alarm button. He intended to check

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on Marius, the biker. “I’m cold! I need a quilt!” I yelped. Hector stared at me as if I were a mad cow. “And you expect me to bring you one?” I blinked and chuckled like a schoolgirl, adrenaline rushing to my fingertips, but his attention left me in just a second. Sudden turbulence and screaming in the main room made his head snap in its direction. We rushed into the dim chamber, and pushed our way through a mass of gathered people. “She’s acting all epileptic, man,” George shrieked, his eyes wide and clueless. Hector shoved him out of the way and fell to his knees by Svetlana’s side. The sight of her was a hard blow – eyes rolling, body convulsing, her hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. “Shit, man, the woman’s possessed!” a guy called, jerking away from Svetlana as Hector snatched something from his shaking hand. I couldn’t identify the object until he fit it in Svetlana’s mouth – a wooden spoon, maybe to ensure she didn’t swallow her tongue. My skin creased and my mind locked on this isn’t happening like a scratched disk, while the sight of her limbs slowly gumming in twisted positions burned into my memory. It never really left me. Things Dad had taught me about breakdowns stormed to the front of my mind as Svetlana began moving her head from side to side, giving out feeble sighs. “Let’s take her to bed, I know how to help her,” I told Hector. Without further questions, he scooped her up and followed me to the bunkroom. The others trailed like a flock of curious chickens, but Leona’s confident voice stopped them at the door. “This ain’t the Big Brother house, the woman needs to rest.”

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Hector laid Svetlana on the bed and shuffled the blanket over her. “See if anyone has brought vitamins. Or any kind of medication, we’ll see if there’s anything we can use.” My tone was more assertive and matter-of-fact than I’d ever thought myself capable of, which made Hector stare at me puzzled. “What exactly are we looking for?” “I’ll decide what we can use when I see what you get, but basically calcium and magnesium,” I offered a brief explanation, taking a seat by Svetlana’s side. “Better yet, talk to Leona. She’ll know what to pick.” “How will that bimbo know what to pick?” Svetlana said in a faint voice after Hector left the room. “She’s a smart-ass bimbo.” Few people knew, but Leona had been labeled a genius four years ago, when she’d applied for university. People of her heritage required previous examining and testing before they went to the “higher” circles such as universities, which were reserved for those of nobler – “fairer” – descent. She should’ve been admitted to anything from law to med school, but her origin was nothing short of a scarlet letter even after she’d passed all tests. She only made it in Psychology, where Mom managed to pull some strings. “All I need is to get out of here,” Svetlana whispered as I lit the leftovers of two candles. She looked aside, the small flames casting eerie light on her face and sending a strange sensation up my throat. Black and deep circles around her eyes made them look sunken in her skull, but what really drew my attention were her cheeks. They were sucked in, as if the person who’d laughed at me just yesterday had fallen heavily ill. I stroked the sweaty tendrils off her face with an automatic impulse. They felt like mine when I had nightmares. “We all do. Just hang in there, the others will find

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help. We’ll sure be out of here in the morning.” “In the morning . . .” A tired smile curled her mouth. “None of us will make it till morning.” She trembled, her lips white and her eyes foggy. She looked delirious. “Try to get some rest. Fatigue and paranoia go hand in hand,” I insisted and stood up, intent to open the window and get snow from the sill so I could lower her fever. Otherwise I feared she’d be beyond repair before help came. But, before I could turn, she clasped my hand. “Don’t take me for a lunatic, Alice. We won’t survive this, not unless we break them, all of us.” “Break what?” I smiled to keep her calm. It failed. She took her hands to her face, her polished fingernails scratching down the skin of her throat, blood trickling in their wake. “The confinements of our flesh . . .” She’s mad! I jolted to her, pushing her hands down in panic. “Svetlana, for Christ’s sake!” Her grin stretched to her ears like the sneer of a skull. The blizzard now whistled beyond the walls as if aligning to her growing intensity, making the window chatter from its hinges. Chills coursed down my spine. Her voice caught guttural, low stress. “What miracle do you expect by invoking him, that usurper? This isn’t the work of god or devil.” “What are you, a philosophy major?” I tried for a joke to ease the ill temper that seemed to build up in her. But, before I could blink, her hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing so tightly that I panicked, sure I’d swallow my throat bones. My tongue pushed out of my mouth, I choked on every attempt to pull in air, and this isn’t happening turned on fast forward.

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Chapter Four

After

a severe fit of coughing that abused my still sensitive ribcage, anger slowly replaced shock. Sprawled on the floor, I raised my eyes to Svetlana. Leona – probably my savior this time – restrained the Barbie, whose sweat-damp hair whipped around her head as she struggled. “You’re lab mice!” She cried over and over again. “Lab mice” was especially frequent and accompanied by spittle as Leona and George tied her to the bed with wound sheets and some rope Hector brought in. I scrambled up and dragged myself to the main room, stumbling over drunkard sleepers – people too wasted to realize anything of what happened around them – and boiling in my own juice. Tripping over bottles on the floor I fell by the terracotta stove, feeling miserable and breaking out in tears. My brain refused to think until a cluster of people walked in, led by Hector. With weak hands, I wiped the tears and blew my nose in a dirty glove I’d found around. “I’ve seen this before,” one of them said, his voice too loud. “A cousin of mine, last year. They took her to a hospice, branded her nuts.” “Did your cousin mention lab mice?” George laughed, and slapped the guy’s back. “I wonder whether you’d still talk shit, if it were your mamma in her place,” the first one countered. “My mamma doesn’t strip for mobsters who fuck her into madness,” George reacted. “Hey, I hear neither did Svetlana,” another one chimed in, although he also sounded amused. “She used to go to the club as a client, and her dances were meant for the

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delivery boy, namely Novac.” “I guess it caught the wrong guy’s attention.” That was George again. “By the way, Hector, is it true that Barbie and Novac are having an affair behind the mobster’s back?” Now that’s direct. I perked up my ears. “You ask dangerous questions, George,” Hector replied darkly. Great. Just what I needed to glaze over my wrecked self-esteem – Damian and Svetlana as protagonists in a forbidden love story. My heart ached. I’d go for someone bald and fat like Svetlana’s sugar daddy next time, but broke. Hector’s thick fingers slid over the chords in a lilt melody, as if to block further inquiries. But his tactics had its downside. The group changed the subject but kept on opening one too many bottles – impressive how much they’d saved from the train and carried through the snowstorm like veritable addicts. Soon the talking turned loud and chaotic. I could only make out isolated words but no sentences, while the sharp smell of alcohol gave me a headache. Just as the party went wild again, Leona dropped by my side with a groan. Judging by the tucked up sleeves, she must’ve gone hard on Svetlana. I didn’t pity the girl, honestly. “No amount of calcium or magnesium could’ve stilled her,” she said, “and we don’t have any anyway, so I put a bag over her head. Let her inhale her own CO2 until she turned into a vegetable. I know, it sounds horrible, but it was for a noble cause. Now she’s asleep.” Genius. “How’re you feeling?” “Fine,” I lied. “Thanks for getting her off me. She’s freaking crazy. Maybe she does belong in a hospice.” I whispered that last sentence.

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“Or she hates your guts, is capable of killing you, and she belongs in jail,” Leona said. “You were wrong about Damian not being interested in her,” I interrupted, unable to contain myself. “Apparently, Damian and her do have something going.” “Alice, we have more pressing matters to discuss now,” Leona insisted, growing exasperated. “What’s pressing is that you weren’t straight forward.” “Now hold on.” She put up her palm. “I honestly don’t believe he’s interested in her. What I really think is that he’s faking nice to keep her from spreading what she knows. Or . . . at the most . . . he’s sleeping with her to ensure she keeps her mouth shut.” Those words shot a stinging image into my head, an image of Damian’s muscled, honey-skinned body undulating between Svetlana’s long legs. “Either way, you shouldn’t have let me get my hopes high.” “I honestly thought you had a chance there.” “Oh, stop it, Leona. Do you think me so dumb as to really compare myself to Svetlana, or you, or others of your league? Are you dumb enough to do that?” Leona pulled me to my feet, keeping a tight grip on my shoulders. “It’s that bastard Tony you have to thank for this arsenal of complexes,” she grunted through her teeth. “I can’t wait to get back home so I can seek him out and make him suffer.” “I’m just being honest with myself.” “You’re a very, very pretty girl, Alice.” “That’s right, girl. Not woman. That’s probably why Damian rejected me when I tried to turn him on in the bunkroom. I must’ve made him feel like a pedophile.” My face caught fire as I confessed. “Or maybe he respects you too much to do you in a

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filthy bunk. That’s what my gut tells me.” “Whatever. He doesn’t want me. I might as well strive to plant a flag on the moon.” “Alice, your shattered self-esteem really has to wait,” she pressed. A huge frame passing the threshold drew my attention. Damian stopped in place, his tresses and eyebrows topped with snow, a heavy sheepskin coat across his broad shoulders. Another guy limped and hung off him like a cloth on a huge tree, seemingly ravaged not only by the blizzard but also shock. Before anybody could utter a word, the guy hanging on Damian crouched to the floor and began throwing up. Hector dropped the guitar and jumped to his feet, hollow wood and chords resounding against the floor. “What happened?” “Dragged, man!” the guy rattled between spasms. “Those shits, they friggin’ dragged me!” He convulsed again, the foul smell of his vomit reaching my nose. It didn’t seem to bother Hector though, who grabbed his shoulders, straightening him up. “Who? Talk!” Damian intervened, his arm mowing Hector’s hands off the Wretch. “Just gather all sharp objects you can find in this place.” “Why?” Hector urged. “There’s no time for this,” Damian said with a serious frown. He looked tense, terribly tense. “Those friggin’ animals,” the poor wretched soul who’d been throwing up babbled. Then another spasm and another violent throw-up – the only sound in the room. I forgot to breathe. For quite a few moments I was convinced this was some sick joke, not feeling anything, not reacting, not moving, but seeing every line on the guy’s bent profile,

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every fold on his leather-patched coat, as if my senses had sharpened in a split second. The Wretch didn’t reply to the low, puzzled “Who?” and “What?” coming from a few people with some presence of spirit, and it wasn’t until Hector asked Damian a direct, “What the hell is he talking about?” that an intelligible, however reluctant answer came. “We found a village in the valley, not far from here. There were people, but they didn’t answer our knocks. They watched us from behind curtains.” “Fucking animals!” the Wretch shrieked, while Damian settled him on a rickety chair in the corner, assisted by Leona. “The police station, the church, everything looked deserted,” Damian continued. “We found a house with the front door ajar and we went in. For food. There were old provisions in the basement, and old food is better than no food, so we took what looked safe. We started back.” “We were almost here when something lashed around my leg, man!” the Wretch said, neurotic. “They would’ve dragged me off the cliff!” “We had to leave behind everything we’d gathered so we could move faster,” Damian said. “We brought back very little.” “We’re friggin’ dead.” The Wretch breathed slower now, his lids falling heavy. It was painful to look at him. I couldn’t keep this isn’t happening from starting another solo in my head as it slowly dawned on me – someone had tried to kill them. It took a while until everybody processed what was said, and reality kicked in. Some came to their senses with headshakes, some with rapid blinking, and a few with hysteria. As for me, I felt rooted in the ground. An avalanche of questions started, ranging from, “What’s this all about?” to painfully insensitive, “What’s that got to do with the booze?” since Damian had everybody gather all

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bottles in a pile. “Broken bottles can be used as weapons,” Damian replied. “Like screwdrivers, cutlery and pens.” “Why this mobilization?” That was George. “They followed us back here, man,” the Wretch grumbled. “They wheezed and growled in the dark, always hidden but always close. Those shits, they’re lurking out there.” “Maybe they were wolves!” George retorted, his pitch high with panic. “Those were no wolves,” Damian said with a grave certainty that made my skin crease. I slowly walked backwards, out of everybody’s way, until I bumped into the windowsill. I pressed against it, keeping my arms across my chest. Was this all happening because of Damian’s affair with a mobster’s woman? Maybe the mobster sent his thugs to settle accounts with Damian, while the rest of us were just collateral damage – and Svetlana had known this. She’d expected it. “None of us will make it ‘till morning.” But then again, would a mobster go to such lengths for an unfaithful lover? To derail a train full of innocent people in snowy mountains, forcing them to take refuge at a remote cabin, emptying a whole village and populating it with his thugs only to get back at a rival? Why, when he could’ve staged anything in Constanța? This theory hung by a thread. But the other one . . . Whatever villains the R.I.S. hunted might just have that kind of power. My eyes rested on the Wretch, who still sat in the corner chair and in my field of vision. Leona bent over his chest and rubbed it with a wet cloth to clean the vomit, but he didn’t seem aware of her. He had the sickening pallor and lost stare of a dead man. He seemed to be staring at me. I followed it and turned to look behind me. Two glowing circles like the eyes of an animal flashed before

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me. I screamed and backed up, waving my hands in a desperate attempt to cling to something, anything, and soon a wall of bodies replaced the gleam that had sent me frantic. My brain banged against my skull for moments until I realized someone shook me. The physical sensation brought me back to awareness. George’s long, thin face appeared an intermittent vision as I blinked fast, trying to gather myself. His words sounded muffled and the first thing that came through clearly was, “Are you going mad too, Alice?” “The window! I saw someone!” I squealed. The Wretch moaned in his corner. My head snapped to him. His eyes were wide with fear, fixed on the pane, while his body struggled with invisible enemies, the chair screaming under him. A commotion started, and before long people called, “There’s nothing here.” I pushed George aside but still hung on him for support as I craned my neck to see the panes. My jelly-soft legs barely kept me standing. Indeed, darkness spread over the window, only the snow in its corners glistening like the veil of a ghost. “I saw someone,” I whispered. Someone, I was sure of it. And indeed no wolf. The eyes had been at the same level as mine, which meant whoever had stood out there was a tall person. Outside the ground leveled much lower than inside the lodge, I’d realized that when I’d been out on the porch. No animal standing on its back legs could have as much as reached the sill, unless that animal was a bear. “Are you sure?” George asked. I already had second thoughts – not as to the glowing eyes, but to whether or not I should insist on it. The situation was dire, but panic wouldn’t make it any better. “No. Never mind. I bumped my head against the window, the rest could’ve been just in my imagination.”

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“For Christ’s sake, Alice, you almost gave me a heart attack,” George scorned. “We’re scared enough already,” another one called, his face hidden in the group. I shut out all reproaches and welcomed Leona’s comforting presence by my side. “This whole thing is getting to us all,” she said. “What did you get out of Marius?” I asked as soon as I could master my voice. Now, I too had a great urge to find out what the hell had put us in this situation. Leona searched my eyes, and made sure I could stand on my feet. “Follow me.” She started toward the door, snaking her way to the kitchen. I hurried to catch up with her down the narrow hallway, bumping into people who talked about what was to be done. We found Damian and Hector forging the same kind of plans with a few others – including George, to my surprise, who listened with a serious look on his face, nodding. He seemed proud to have become a part of their closest gang. Damian stood with his back at the counter, knives and other metallic, rusty objects lined on it, the sheepskin coat folded on a chair by his side. “. . . not before Hector and I have scouted the area,” he concluded as we came in. I wanted to punch myself for how my heart fluttered as I set eyes on him. I’d already waved a finger at my inner self and decided that Damian Novac was a no-no. I reminded myself that, if we survived this mess, he’d only have me toss and turn at night, obsessing about the smallest gestures he made and the most meaningless of glances – like I had until now. Not to mention that we most probably owed him this shitty situation. The man was serious trouble, no matter from what angle I looked at him.

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I kept a low profile by the door, but Leona went straight to the men. “Have you seen this before?” she interrupted Damian bluntly, her tone accusatory. “Seen what?” Damian’s deep, forbidding tone shattered Leona’s determination, but she picked herself up quickly enough. “Damian, you’re keeping things from us and– ” “I thought you wanted to ask, not impute something,” he interrupted. Leona brought a fist to her mouth and cleared her voice, probably buying time to rephrase once more. As she spoke, she sounded defiant. “Why did you have us gather all objects that can be used as weapons?” “So we know exactly where to reach in case of need,” he replied as if he were prepared for the question. “Why not simply arm everybody?” “Because I don’t want you panicking at the slightest sound and hurting each other.” “I’m sorry, Damian, but that sounds more like an excuse than a reason.” “Do you want panicky drunks waving broken bottles around your pretty face before somebody actually bursts in?” “You expect people to barge in on us?” Damian’s eyes flashed as he spoke the next words. “People,” he stressed, as if saying a name, “chased the three of us from the village back here. They tried to kill one of us. A lash whipped out from the darkness and wound around his ankle. They dragged him, his body smashed into trees and rocks until he came to a precipice, where he almost saw his end. Yes, I think People will eventually barge in on us, and they’ll bring some hellish killing techniques with them.” His voice was steady, but anger lurked deep in it. “You make it sound like People are pretty good at

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what they do. And yet here you are, Damian, all three of you. Why do you think you made it back?” “What are you implying, Leona?” “I’m implying People want us all in one place,” she said, raising her chin and taking a step closer to him. “I’m implying they were after us from the beginning. They were after the whole group, whom they want to take down in one blow. I’m implying they can take us down in one blow. I don’t think they need guerilla tactics, but just wanted to scare you, so you wouldn’t leave this place again. You made it back because People let you. They chased you back to your cage, and now they’re waiting for the right moment to attack, which is why they haven’t stormed in after you. You didn’t bother to block the door, so I think you know this damned well. You know what to expect.” Damian’s jaw tightened. “And your question is?” “Am I right?” “It doesn’t sound like you still have a doubt.” “To make the question clearer still: Have you met People before, Damian?” His features hardened. “I have.” My jaw dropped. Leona straightened up, even more accusatory. “Then why don’t you tell us what to expect now?” Damian’s face sealed off all expression, turning into a beautiful, sculpted mask. “Because it won’t do you any good.” His eyes swept over the rest of us who stood cluttered in the doorstep. I thought his gaze rested on me a second longer than on any other face. He grabbed the sheepskin and started to the door. Toward me. I melted on my feet, cursing myself silently. How could I be so taken with him, even now? Hector followed, and George scurried after them like a pet. Those of us who clustered in their way drew

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aside. My heart smote me as Damian passed by, leaving a trace of cool air and fir scent behind. The others trailed after them like tide, screaming out questions at Damian, and leaving Leona and me alone, gawking at each other. “What was that?” I mumbled, walking slowly to her. She shook her head and dropped on her buttocks by the fridge, drained of strength. She’d put all of it in her confrontation with Damian, it seemed. “We’re in serious trouble, real trouble, Alice.” I sat by her side, my brain buzzing with increasing alarm, now that Damian wasn’t close enough to keep my reason numb. Still, I refrained from pressuring Leona and resorted to watching her intently. She looked stricken and took a while of eye darting and head scratching before she spoke, measuring her words. “Getting Marius Iordache talking wasn’t easy, you know? He was suspicious even about the food, paranoid even. It was hard work persuading him it wasn’t poisoned. Now part of me wishes I hadn’t succeeded.” She shuddered. “Is his story that ugly?” “You don’t begin to imagine.” “You know who People are, Leona?” She took a deep breath, trying to act calm, but she knotted her fingers nervously. “Ten years ago, Marius Iordache covered a hot story that should’ve made headlines – a story that involved Damian Novac. While the ink was still fresh on paper though, the R.I.S. classified the file, then shot down Marius’s story, stating it was all sensationalism. Marius lost all credibility. “He archived the article at Gardianul and started his own investigation, determined to prove the story real and restore his name, but always ran into a dead end. The audience labeled him paranoid and obsessed with conspirators when he came out on TV, alleging the

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Romanian Intelligence Service had switched off all sources and covered the truth. He became the fool of the year, which is why he eventually dropped the matter, but never forgot it. “Now here’s the first interesting turn: A month ago, Svetlana contacted him. They met in Bucharest, where she told him she knew all about his story, and that she’d even seen the file the R.I.S. had on its subject. That she could help him prove it. Marius, still obsessed with the matter, agreed to give her the archived original article from 1995 in exchange for a look at the file, which she was supposed to enable. She didn’t keep her word and went off radar. He got a hold of her in Constanța, told her he’d be a thorn in her rib until she fulfilled her promise. “The attempted rape was the first subject we began to bond on up in the attic. Marius alleges that Svetlana, cornered by his presence in Constanța, led him on. She even invited him on this trip, facilitating access to Damian Novac himself. Marius was thrilled, and agreed to keep his identity secret ‘til the ‘right moment’ – if Novac discovered who he was, he might’ve not come along or disappeared. Once here, Svetlana subtly came on to Marius, and later staged the attempted rape to make him look the villain, so nobody would trust anything he might say about her. She punched him in his weak spot – credibility.” Makes sense. Last night she’d come with him to the room and lay by his side without objection. I hadn’t even noticed them. “Get to the point, what was the story?” I urged her. “In 1994, fifteen-year-old Damian Novac got on a train. His purpose: illegal work abroad, since he was underage. He never came to destination, though. The train broke down in a village close to the border – somewhere around Oradea, but still in the middle of nowhere – and he checked at an old inn, which offered free lodging for him

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and all other travellers. What they had in common? They’d all transferred to that train in Bucharest, and had almost no contact to their families. A few days after that, a farmer found the place empty and messed up. There were stains of blood everywhere, and the windows broken. It looked as if a massacre had taken place, save for the main element – bodies.” A chill went through me. “How did Iordache come upon all this?” “Wait. One year later, Novac burst into a hunting lodge in the Apuseni Mountains, surprising a ranger, who fortunately stopped to think before he reached for his rifle. The ranger managed to reason with him and contacted the authorities. He was the only person Novac talked to, the boy had gone completely wild. He didn’t say a word to the cops, doctors or shrinks. The police got their info from the ranger, and Marius from his well-established sources within the police force. But, as I said, the Intelligence Service closed the cops’ snouts overnight, and Marius was left with nothing.” “But what had happened at the inn? Did Damian ever tell the ranger?” “He told him that and more. Apparently there was an ambush the night Novac spent there. None of the others were ever found, dead or alive. But the most shocking part was actually in the headline, which I saved until now, because it only makes sense in the context: Damian Novac escapes the hands of organ dealers.”

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Chapter Five

I froze. “What?” “Yes. The police ascribed the massacre at the inn to a criminal corporation, BioDhrome. They allegedly dissolved soon after the R.I.S. started on their trail, but Marius is convinced that’s bullshit. They were a corp, much too big to evaporate in thin air just like that. He’s convinced they used their power and money to . . . transform. Based on his later investigations he’s also sure there was more than organ trafficking involved.” “More?” “Experiments on humans. It was these experiments that became a matter beyond police competence, even a matter of national security. A matter for the R.I.S., the Military and Defense. Marius tried to go deeper on this, but, as I said, he eventually hit a dead end. The R.I.S. silenced all his leads, and created a file titled The Executioner on it – a name given to Damian Novac, who had returned to civilization with certain . . . powers.” “And you believe him? Marius?” I grinned like an idiot. This isn’t happening was on replay. “And why not, Alice? His account fits so well with what Svetlana said that night at the Bourbon. Now she acts crazy, people try to kill us with no obvious reason, and Damian’s acting all mysterious. What else could explain all this, if not that they’re after unfinished business with the Executioner, as well as our kidneys and livers? Hell, maybe it was Novac himself who drew us in this trap.” I stared blankly at her. “It can’t be.” I shook my head. “It can’t be happening.” “You’re in denial,” she sneered.

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My mind began to wrap around the hideous reality bit by bit. A paralyzing fear gripped me. “This is some mind-blowing shit, Leona . . . Some serious shit.” “Now’s not the time to be a wimp, Alice,” she admonished, putting her hard face on. It reminded me of the scowling gypsy girl I’d discovered in our back yard years ago, barefoot and muddy, stealing apples. “Easy for you to say. You’ve seen it all. Your dad was a shylock, for Christ’s sakes, and the entire city trembled only when they heard his name. But I was raised in a cocoon, Leona, I only know nasty shit from books.” A shudder went through me at the flash of memory involving her father darkening our doorstep, deep frown on oliveskinned face, heavy golden chain around his neck. Leona grumbled. “Well, even for me, organ trafficking and illegal medical experimentation are a whole new level. Derailing trains and making people disappear without a trace means power, Alice. A whole lot of power. A hydra, its claws drilling deep in the Romanian underground.” “If they want our kidneys and livers they’ll get them!” I squeaked. “We don’t stand a chance!” “Pull yourself together.” She slapped my back, then jumped up and grabbed one of the metal objects from the counter. Only when she pressed it in my palm did I realize it was a short, rust-adorned screwdriver. “What are you doing?” “Keep it under your sleeve,” she said, tucking a knife under her own. “But Damian said – ” “I don’t care what he said. Right now, I don’t trust anyone in this place any more than I do People out there.” “Leona, you’re losing it.” The words were careful to leave my mouth. She looked as manic as Svetlana had just a few hours earlier, save for the dark circles around the

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eyes and the sucked-in cheeks. “Oh, you think?” she snapped, her face red and her brows scrunched. “There are three people here who knew about BioDhrome – Damian, Marius and Svetlana. Now you mark my words: one of them has drawn us in this trap. One of them works with those butchers hand in hand. So I’m not following a suspect’s orders. And neither are you.” As soon as she finished her sentence she grabbed my wrist roughly and dragged me out. The main room was loud and crowded, but she elbowed our way close to the center, where Damian and Hector answered questions worse than in a press conference with the President. George tried for the anchor role, appointing the next questions, but no one minded him. He looked overwhelmed and utterly useless. Leona shot a few of her own arrows in the mix, but they didn’t hit anyone’s ears, not until she managed to clasp Hector’s arm. “This is crazy,” she yelled. “What’s the plan?” “There is no plan,” Hector yelled back. “We just get out of here as soon as Damian and I have checked the area.” “Out? Freaking out? Into what, chains, knives or bullets?” Angered, Hector pushed her into a mass of bodies. I was in the front line, her shoulder squashing my face. “Stay here, if you prefer gas.” “What do you mean, you troll?” she shouted after him, but he was already too far. He talked to George and pointed in our direction, making the latter nod. Proud to have gotten a direct assignment, George hurried over and led us to the putrid sofa by the stove. “Gas, yeah,” he said as if he’d lived through this before himself. I couldn’t decide if his composure was admirable or just plain ridiculous. “Gas that doesn’t smell or burn, but that’ll blast our adrenaline levels so high, that

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we’ll jump at each other’s throats.” “We’ll fucking kill each other?” Leona shrieked. “Some would end up dead, others severely wounded.” The words dropped on us like bedrock. “In any case, it would go fast. When no one, or just too few still stand, they’ll barge in. They’ll shut down the survivors and take the bodies.” Hellish killing techniques. “Novac told you that? Why didn’t he fucking do it from the start?” “You use that word a lot,” George admonished. Both he and Leona seemed to be growing furious for no real reason, as if they barely waited for a pretext to catch fire. “Oh, don’t you try to educate me, George, I’m too old for that shit!” “Mind your fucking tone!” Before I knew it, he slapped her hard with the back of his hand. Leona’s head snapped sideward. I jumped between them and shielded her with my palms up, stricken by George’s violence that showed in his face as if his arms had never been around her and his lips never on hers. “For Christ’s sake, what’s gotten into you, George?” He skirted around me, grabbed Leona’s shoulders and pushed her against the wall. “You started this, bitch! You talked too much in front of too many, now look at the panic around you. They assaulted him with questions, he gave them answers, and all hell broke loose.” “At least you know the shit you’re in, you slobbering moron.” Her knee found a quick way between his legs. George crouched in pain, with both hands on his jewels. His face was a swollen red, his eyelids wrinkled as he pressed them shut. Leona clutched his nape and the same knee kicked his mouth, while I watched

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dumbfounded. The next instant George got hauled into the wall. The attacker immediately flung himself into the picture too, hands stiff like claws, hair messed up, his nostrils almost fuming – the Wretch. No longer a zombie, but a crazed animal, holding its prey in place and looking eagerly around for something to grab, something to hurt with. Leona had taken care of him when he’d come back from the horror blizzard, so he must’ve felt protective of her and furious of George. Out of reflex, I followed his scowl. Nothing, there was nothing around us except a lonely beer can that I kicked out of his reach. Leona grabbed me above my elbow and wrenched me aside. “Don’t freaking come between them, you’ll get hurt.” “They lost their minds! They could stab each other!” I jerked to free myself from her clasp, but she held on. “No, they can’t. Novac had everything that might be used as weapon gathered in piles, and the piles are nowhere around here. Just let them cool down.” It hit me. “My God. Damian never intended to arm us, but to make sure we don’t . . .” My body fell mellow as I realized what was truly going on, and Leona let go of me. “The gas. It’s already inside, and it’s turning us into crazed animals,” I concluded. One glance around the room was enough to see a number of heated arguments and fights had started everywhere. Leona looked more and more like a cornered animal herself as her eyes darted around, her hands clenching like claws. “You’re right,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room. “The poison has probably been in the entire time, maybe in small check-doses. It was in yesterday, when Marius provoked Damian. Tonight, when Svetlana attacked

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you. Now it’s pouring in full force.” “But where is it coming from?” I spun in place, getting dizzy as I searched for the source. The windows were closed. The door to the corridor was open, most certainly the ones to the bunkroom and kitchen too, but the entrance door was shut. No draught. Gas that doesn’t smell or burn. The answer fell into place like dollar signs on a slot machine. “It’s the freaking stoves,” I cried out. “We need to get out, Leona! We need to get everybody out, it’s the only way to stop a massacre!” She looked at me with knitted eyebrows, flashfiltered my words, then nodded, and grabbed my hand. She dragged me in her wake, plowing our way towards the exit until a thought of Damian stabbed my brain. I drilled my heels into the ground, technically pulling the brakes. Leona turned to me with desperate, bloodshot eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” she bellowed. “We need to warn the others, we can’t just save our own ass.” A second later someone shoved Danny between us, the hippie woman’s younger boyfriend. He knocked our hands from each other’s clasp as he stumbled backwards, and we came apart. “Leona!” I called out, my arm outstretched, reaching for her. No use, I lost her in the rapidly growing hustle, bodies squashing me between them. I managed to wriggle out of the congestion, but I couldn’t find Leona. Damian, he can stop this. I spotted him with two of his iron-pumped friends, their fists balled by their thighs, ready to attack him. Damian watched them with the sharp gaze of a hawk, ready to fight. I started toward the scene on an impulse to help him, but before I took a few steps a mass of hysteria poured my way. The noise turned deafening. I lost Damian from sight and hurried to move out of the congestion before people’s eyes fell on me along with their

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wrath. My heart pounded with fear, my eyes wide and my mind alert. There wasn’t a friendly face left, every single person everywhere I looked had turned into an animal. As I found refuge by the wall, I realized my hand was cramped, clutching hard to a thick handle – the screwdriver. Air, I had to let air in. I reached the window, the one closest to the stove, gripping to the handles and trying to jerk the frame open when my eyes struck against the black pane. I let out a startled cry. There they were again, those eyes, now clear and perfectly defined. Like the glare of an animal caught by camera flash, they glowed bright, only that the color was clear – blue. The pane broke instantly with a splintering sound, followed by a sharp pain in my knuckles. Without realizing, I’d punched the window. The fog of shock dissipated, stripping the truth. Mine. Those were my own eyes. I squeezed my hand above the cuts to numb the pain, while automatic connections built in my head. Luminous eyes – was it an effect of the gas? The next thing I knew, a groan cracked in my ears. George gripped the pointy shard that hung from the frame like a lonely fang, and stabbed his opponent in the throat with it. I screamed as thick, dark red blood poured from under the hand the Wretch took to his wound, between his fingers and down his wrist. He opened his mouth in distorted awareness that life drained out of him, the nerves in his eyeballs exploding like red lightning while blood gurgled in his mouth. He was dying. Maybe there was still time. I flung the coat off and jolted to him, intent to press it on his wound and stop the bleeding, but bumped into George’s arm that punched into my stomach like a barrier of bone. Struggling for breath, I managed to pull myself up. It was too late. The Wretch

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crouched on the floor like a squirming pretzel, coughing out blood. The sound drilled into my brain. Time lost meaning. I stood there, watching transfixed how this young man died. Every second of his suffering imprinted in my adrenaline-fueled heart as everywhere around fists punched, windows broke, men and women growled like beasts. Exposure. It was a long shot. But it was the only shot. Enough planning. I turned on my heels and sprinted to the main door, grabbing coats, jackets and arms in my way, pulling hair, bumping into brawling bodies, as many of them as I could in order to draw attention. I don’t know by what miracle fists hit only the air behind me, by what newly surfaced instinct I ducked down before anybody could grab me. Maybe fear had really kicked my adrenaline level so high that my feet moved like propellers and my reflexes sharpened of their own accord. I threw the main door open and cast myself into the raging blizzard that felt like needles on my skin. Sight instantly blurred, visibility reduced to inches, but my legs kept running as if a whole murderous army chased me. I hoped it did. I hoped they’d gotten out of that slaughterhouse disguised as a lonely cottage, a wooden ghost in the Carpathians. I hoped I’d angered them enough to have them rush after me, screeching their teeth, thirsty to see blood drain from my body like it had from the poor Wretch. Thirsty to see me squirm in dying pain. But I also hoped that, by the time they caught me, they’d be themselves again. This wasn’t supposed to be a suicide mission, but a wake-up action. The snow was quicksand to my legs, sucking me down, but despair fueled my muscles and propelled me forward. Every glance I threw behind revealed nothing, the storm a wall both in front as well as behind me. It roared, swallowing all other sound. There might have been wolves

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just meters away, I wouldn’t have known, I wouldn’t have heard them howl or growl. Suddenly, something heavy and metallic closed around my ankle like an iron fist, and jerked my leg from my hip, causing such pain that my heart stuttered out of rhythm. I fell flat on my face. Before I could spit out the snow in my mouth, a force yanked me in a pull. I snaked backwards, dead trees, roots and stones rushing by, while I desperately tried to hook my fingers in the ground. Snow was scraping glass to my palms, and I knew exactly when a couple of fingernails sprang off. The pain was there, but just so severely unimportant that it didn’t stop me from grabbing on to every dead branch, from hooking my fingers into the frozen ground again and again. Still, I let go quickly of anything stable, or the pull would’ve ripped the leg from the rest of my body. The ride was dizzying and my screaming automatic. My reason shut down, and autopilot kicked in. Only moments after I came to a brusque stop. I waited a few moments for the pull to start again and, when it didn’t, I rolled on my back. My flesh was stiff. I couldn’t flex my muscles to get up, I only managed to lift my head. Torn clothes, the skin on my stomach and breasts looking like beaten meat. I cried before I touched myself, expecting pain. But there was nothing, my entire body was numb. Whimpering, I put snow on the reddest places with a stiff hand, but even that small amount of wit fled off when a pair of legs in earth-gray pants and rubber boots emerged from the white storm. The face cleared only when it was close above mine. A face withered by many winters, with ashen stubble and a rotten grin. A face that might once have been peasant’s, but belonged to a bloodthirsty animal now. Not for a second did I have hope. I knew he was there to hurt me, I saw it in his eyes. He said something, but I didn’t hear it. The storm’s

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roar covered the sound. He pressed his fingers on my stomach, grinning with expectation, hungry for the pain. But, when nothing came, he tightened his lips in anger and threw himself over me. With sadistic appetite, he crushed my face with his fist. The blow felt like lightning in the most literal sense. Then it all went black for moments, until the next one came. Then the next one, until I tasted blood in my mouth. He wasn’t going to stop. He’d beat me to death, leaving my corpse disfigured. In a surge of despair sight returned, bringing the madman’s face into focus. That ugly face with a bad, stinking grin. The face of an evil maggot who didn’t deserve to live. Who thrust himself at a helpless woman, taking her for an easy prey, for a chunk of meat on which to unleash his killer instincts. Anger pumped frantically in my veins, making me feel as strong as a machine gun. I let out a cry of rage and sank my fingers in his eye sockets, pushing my thumbs hard in the jelly of his eyeballs and wishing for the rusty screwdriver I’d dropped at the cottage. He grabbed my wrists and tried to pull away, but I didn’t let him. I wound my legs around his waist, sticking to him like a leech. “Oh, no, we’re going all the way, asshole!” I could only hope he heard me. I wanted him to feel the fear. To be in the victim’s skin. I could not let him live. I would not let him live. “I’ll fucking suck the life out of you!” I screamed. He fell to the ground with me, wriggling like a stabbed snake, but went smart enough to move his hands from my wrists and grab my shoulders. He rolled over me. Applying more strength, I pierced his eyeballs with my fingernails, but just a moment later something made of fur knocked him hard from my hands. He flew to the side, followed by more stripes of fur that leaped after him. I got up on my buttocks and squinted through the blizzard.

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Though I didn’t see anything, I did hear his cries and faint animal growling. Wolves, those strings of fur were wolves. For some reason fangs felt more threatening than the rusty chain that still coiled around my ankle, more threatening than the man’s sadistic glare, than his blows. I got up to my feet, slowly walking backwards, careful not to make any sudden moves. The wolves could still have been very close. I bled, which placed me far down the food chain and would make them put up a fight for my flesh. I dragged my leg with the heavy chain until one wrong step sent me stumbling backwards. My body smashed against rocks. I fell down an endless slope, blow after blow hard in my ribs and crack after crack loud in my ears. I didn’t even get to feel any pain. It all stopped with a knock to the back of my head, and light began to close in on a small moon. That face again. Those eyes. The brightness fizzed in them like flickering neon, and I was sure this was it. My muscles relaxed and my lungs gave out one last, resigned breath as those words filled my head – “You need me.”

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Chapter Six

Whispering somewhere close.

If I was dead, I wasn’t alone. I felt warm and so very comfortable, all that whispering, as if somebody were careful not to disturb. Then I must’ve fallen asleep and dreamt, even in death, and it felt anything but nice. I was small, so small, a bee in a jar. And I tried to get out, but the glass was slippery, with nothing I could grab. Every time I tried to reach up, my palms would leave traces of blood down the jar. Instead of fingernails, I had pus. I screamed a sharp scream like a train whistle, then pushed hard on my hands. And then my eyes were open, though heavy, so very heavy. I sat up, sweat trickling down my forehead and neck. The room seemed warped, like in a dream, my skull burdensome as if it contained rocks. I dropped back on pillows that smelled of disease, and something stung my arms. My body grew heavier and heavier, sinking in the mattress like a pile of steel. I realized I wouldn’t be able to lift myself again, it had been only a rush that my body wouldn’t sustain again anytime soon. A sweet, pained voice spoke close to my ear. “Alice, baby, you’re awake. Thank God, you’re awake.” English. I now knew Mom leaned over me, her lips pressing on my temple and forehead. I tried to open my eyes again, but I didn’t find the strength, my lids swollen. She held my hand, I now felt it, aware again of the life that flowed feebly through me. A slow pulse in my chest, like a lazy clock. Tick – pause – tock. Tick – pause – tock. Among sobs, Mom began telling me the story of the Sleeping Beauty. It had been one of my favorites as a kid, and her voice brought back the oldest and sweetest

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memories of pink pajamas and Judy the Monkey. Memories as distant as how and why I’d ended up feeling as beaten and finished as I did. My mind filled with only the image of a prince with beautiful, sculpted face and long raven hair, the girl slumbering in a high, ivory tower, and the taste of cotton candy mingling with that of blood. The story came to a forced end when two men walked in – I could tell they were men by the deep voices that didn’t manage to keep their conversation to the mere level of whispers. “I won’t leave her under your wing alone.” The man’s identity flashed in my head – Dad. “You’re being unreasonable, Tiberius,” the other man warned in a commanding voice. Probably as commanding as his person, since he called my dad by his first name – very few called the great Dr., PhD., a-pile-oftitles-in-biochemistry-I-can’t-even-read Tiberius Preda by his first name. Images of a rusty chain and strings of fur crossed my mind’s eye like sharp lashes. Then the fall, the knocking and cracking of bones. “I can take care of her at home,” Dad said. “That’s not a good idea.” Among wretched sobs Mom whispered, “She has woken up, Tiberius. She was up on her hands, she opened her eyes.” The shuffle of fabric told me Dad hurried to my side. Hands checked the catheter. Hospital, doctor, IV lines . . . reality caught outline. How on earth could I have survived? The leaden sensation all through my body prevented me from moving or making a sound, and a ton of sedatives and painkillers must’ve been keeping me numb to pain, but my brain activity took off like a rocket. “She’s regaining her strength fast,” Dad said, and bent close to my ear. “Alice, do you hear me? Are you

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awake, sweetheart?” Regaining my strength felt far from the truth, since I didn’t find enough to moan, let alone answer. “She fell asleep again,” Mom lamented, as if I were more dead than alive. “She fell asleep, my poor girl.” She caressed my hair, tickling my temple. “You should get some fresh air, Jen. You look and sound scared, and that’s the last thing she needs.” Mom took offense, it was obvious in her higherthan-usual pitch. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my baby, barely out of a cold ditch.” “Go, Jenna.” “No way.” “You’re an emotional wreck. I promise, I won’t stand in your way when you come back, but go come to grips first.” Dad sounded severe – that kind of severe that used to sew my lips together years ago. I sensed Mom linger in the doorstep before her steps faded down an echoing hallway. I still couldn’t understand why she put up with Dad’s brashness. Once she’d said it was for my sake, but that hadn’t kept him under the same roof with us anyway. “I’ll leave you with her,” the other man – probably my doctor – said calmly. “No, don’t. Close the door, we need to finish our talk.” “Not here. Not now.” “I won’t abandon her with you, lad, and I don’t want you doing anything behind my back to force my hand.” He can force Tiberius Preda’s hand? “I won’t take action without your knowledge”, the doctor said. “But I won’t back off either.” “I won’t have her in your custody. That’s my final word.” “Let’s talk about it later, some other place.”

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“Some things can’t wait. Have you seen her blood count? It’s so good it’s frightening. After hours in the cold and everything she’s been through, not even a bladder infection. She fell down a precipice and not a broken bone. This is not normal. Besides, she’s always been a fragile kid.” There was a trace of discontent in Dad’s voice that baffled me to the marrow. If I was doing so well, what was there to be urgent about? And why was I hooked to IV? And why ask my own doctor if he’d seen my blood count? “She won’t remain this strong. But either way, she remains in danger,” the doctor said. “What if she doesn’t come back to normal at all? Leona Ignat, her blood count looks just as staggering, there’s still no change …” Leona. Flashes of the last moments at the cottage came at me. “BioDhrome’s our priority now, Tiberius. They won’t stop here.” They know about BioDhrome? “No, BioDhrome won’t stop here. Especially if Alice’s blood count doesn’t come back to normal,” Dad said. “It will. The gas effects always fade. It causes the body to regulate its chemistry so that it can become a fighting machine, the best version of itself, this is no secret to you. But the effects are temporary. Alice will be the fragile kid you know again, but they’ll still hunt her. They took special interest in her.” “The effects of the gas might wear off after a while, but the experience will never go away. The experience is powerful and, combined with the gas, it can make the effects permanent. I don’t want her . . . forgive me, but I don’t want her ending up like you. I don’t want her to become an Upgrade, Damian.”

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Damian! Excitement pulsed through me, but outside I remained still as a corpse. For whatever reason, my body wouldn’t respond. What the heck am I on? “BioDhrome did much more with me than they did with Alice, Tiberius, you know this. She’s far from an Upgrade. Her values will normalize. You’ve seen George Voinescu’s results—his liver’s already a mess again from all that drinking. The healing wasn’t permanent.” Hold on. How come Dad and Damian know each other? “Alice might be soft and frail,” Dad said. “Not naturally violent, like you, but she is in a difficult place. She could get permanent effects from the gas.” “You have only yourself to blame for her being in a difficult place,” Damian said. I felt my veins frost. “She ran away from everything you represented, she was desperate enough to want and marry some loser just to be rid of your name.” Pause. Both in Dad’s breathing and mine. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Tiberius? With all due respect, you can’t help your daughter.” “How deeply did you two bond, boy, that she told you all of this?” Dad hissed. It was easy to imagine him pointing a rifle at my handsome barbarian. “She talked. I listened.” “Did all that listening get her in bed with you?” Oh, no, no, no, Dad, please don’t! “Have I not proven my loyalty?” Damian’s voice went a frequency lower, full of reproof. “I wouldn’t disrespect you like that. I only got close to Alice in order to protect her, like you requested.” Requested? “So can I rest assured that you haven’t taken a special liking to my daughter, Damian?” Another pause, this time in Damian’s response and in my breathing again. He hesitated. Good God, he

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hesitated . . . Was it a good sign? Was he reluctant to admit that he liked me? Damian’s reply lagged for seconds, but when it came, it was velvety and clear. “Alice is a gem, I must admit. Sweet in appearance, sharp in wit and loving as an angel. But she’s your daughter.” “Don’t take this the wrong way, lad. It’s just . . .” Awkward pause. “You’re not good for her. It’s not your fault that they did this to you, yet . . .” “I get it,” Damian cut him off. The air was so laden that I could almost hear Dad nod. “I can’t risk you and Alice getting this close again.” “We won’t get close again. But she’s in great danger, Tiberius, and I’m the only one capable of protecting her.” “Thank you for watching over her, but you can’t help her anymore.” “This is irresponsible of you, Tiberius.” “Respect and loyalty, Damian, if I may remind you,” Dad retorted. “Do not go behind my back.” “No. Not behind your back.” With that, Damian closed the door behind him. A chair raked the floor as Dad pulled it close to the bed and sat down. I opened my eyes, and Dad’s face appeared through the blurry shield my eyelashes made. I couldn’t help myself. “What did BioDhrome do to Damian Novac?” I demanded.

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Chapter Seven

I paused and

swallowed painfully. My throat felt dry. “How do you know Damian?” “Does your head feel heavy? Your whole body? Lift your right hand,” – as if he didn’t hear me this time either. “What did they do to him, Dad?” “Is breathing difficult? How about talking?” “Damn it, Dad!” – No difficulties – “Answer me!” The door creaked ajar and Dad’s face sprang over mine. His breath steamed my cheek as he whispered, “Play along. Breathing is difficult, Alice. Everything hurts, no matter what.” Then he straightened up to face the visitor. A mind-blowing surprise to see the person interested in my wellbeing this time was Hector, the bearded singer with aquiline features. Only when two men in POLICE jackets followed did I realize he wasn’t there as brother-in-pain, though. His frown and suspicion-filled eyes measuring Dad from head to toe already spoke of a strict inspector or something, but as he flashed his badge my mouth still popped open. “Your wife kindly told us that Miss Preda is awake,” he croaked, low and controlled, as if he hadn’t been there with us, as if he’d only just read the case facts in a file that got slapped on his desk. What movie is this? “She’s still weak.” “That’s okay.” Hector adjusted his attitude to match Dad’s aristocratic demeanor, clearly mocking. “Later, Agent Varlam, I must insist.” “Time is precious, Dr. Preda, given the circumstances. Surely you understand.” More of this back and forth “I insist,” and “So do I,” until Dad was left with no choice, the two officers framing

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him on each side. With silent threat on their furrowed brows they grabbed Dad by his arms. Offended, he jerked from their grasp and whisked his suit, giving me a reassuring, “I’ll be back with you as soon as the hawk’s out. Don’t let him pressure you.” With that the officers ushered him out, and Hector took the chair by my side. Up close he looked roughly used as well despite his facial hair that did something to hide the signs. His lips were split, a cut with stitches presided on his forehead, not to mention that one eye was already turning from blue to black, so it couldn’t be just in my head – he’d been there with us, he’d taken a gulp of dread and violence as large as I had. “What is this?” I managed, unable to hide astonishment. “Isn’t it obvious? Agent Hector Varlam, at your service.” “Jesus, Hector!” Memories of lilt guitar tunes spun in my head. “You were there with us. You lived it all first hand, what? Why? Why are you here?” “Now, now, take it easy, babe. I don’t need you to recount what I already know. I need to find out what happened after you played decoy and got almost everybody out of the cottage.” “How do you know I played decoy?” I didn’t wait for the answer though, other questions pressing against this one like a crowd against a door. “And what do you mean almost everybody?” “There have been fatalities, I’m afraid. Marius Iordache and a few others didn’t make it. I hate being the one to deliver the news.” “Jesus Christ!” One particular memory lit up – the Wretch, coughing out blood and grunting. “Alice, please.” Hector lowered his voice and face. “This isn’t easy on my side of the barricade either. But we

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have to keep a cool head and recount the facts while the whole thing is still warm. If too much time passes, the brain begins editing broken pieces of memory.” “How long have you been on this case, Hector? How long have you been chasing BioDhrome?” I didn’t even think of beating around the bush. If he’d been undercover it was because he already knew, no doubt. He decided to be straight-forward about it, too. “Quite a while – six years, to be exact.” “So, you didn’t get them in six years, and now you want me to believe that my account of a fight in the woods will make the difference?” “A fight? Is that what happened?” He looked at me with raised eyebrows but no genuine surprise. “I have a feeling you know more than you let on.” Like he did that I played decoy. “The rescue team did find the body of a villager close to where they found you. But I seriously doubt you were the butcher.” “I wasn’t. It was wolves.” But I had a feeling he knew that, too. “Humor me. Tell me what happened.” I did. Short sentences, only facts – struggling to push the gate shut in the face of all emotion. Hector listened, eyes down at his hands taking notes on a small notebook. “You were the only one attacked, you know,” he murmured when I was done, without lifting his head. “The rest of us ran and ran, spurred on by rage and bloodlust. The rush began to fade once I reached the woods, and by the time I reached the village in the valley I was dead tired, my lips and fingers frostbitten. I didn’t find a soul in the village, Alice, it seemed completely deserted. I was the first to find refuge in the church. Soon the others joined, your friends Leona Ignat and George Voinescu included. All usable paths turned out to lead to that village like a fuckin’

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maze. The church was the only friendly-looking place, all houses looked like coffins. “Interestingly enough, the only one who managed to escape that maze was Damian Novac. He came in last, hours later, not alone. He’d found the military base deep in the woods, some miles from the village, and brought help. How he made it there remains a mystery. Like so many things about him.” At this point, his eyes shot at me. “He was here with your father, wasn’t he?” “So is this it? Is this why you’re really here and pretending to be bonding with me? To find out what they talked about, compare my version to the one they give you?” I proved unable to hide the contempt in my voice. He’d been shadowing Damian for years, and yet here he was, squeezing information from me. “Damian Novac is dangerous, Alice, you must understand. I have reason to believe he’s working for a powerful criminal organization. I don’t have proof, since the guy is damned shrewd, given, but I’ve been around him for six years. Six. That’s enough time to feel things, if not know them. “I’d studied Novac before this mission, monitored his every move, adjusted my personality to get under his skin. We became friends, or so I thought. He always remained detached and secretive. Still, one thing slipped, by chance actually – his friendship with your father. I discovered it when I saw him emerge from Dr. Preda’s private booth at the Marquette . . .” He went on carefully here, “The booth where Svetlana danced for him, you understand? For your father. I’m sorry, Alice. I really didn’t want to tell you this, but I need your trust.” The news hit me hard. “What?” “I’m saying that your father rented a booth at the club and paid for anonymity. I’m saying he’s working for the same criminals as Damian Novac, and that he’s having

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an affair with Svetlana Slavic.” “My Dad is the mobster she danced for?” “The mobster thing was just speculation, cheap gossip. But Novac – I’ll have to stop here, you’re in no condition to hear this. “My condition didn’t stop you before. Go on.” Hector gritted his teeth. “You know how I received the assignment to get close to Damian Novac, Alice? The Executioner file, archived with the R.I.S., disappeared six years ago. Disappeared, you understand? No one can make that happen unless they’re the K.G.B., F.B.I., fucking David Copperfield or a nasty monster with friends in high places, like the organization he’s working with. That’s how the Intelligence Service got me on the job. After six years of rubbing shoulders with him, I still don’t have evidence against Novac, I don’t. But I’m positive as hell he’s a villain.” The room spun with me. This isn’t happening was back in the charts. “So help me.” Hector lowered his voice even more, taking my hand in both of his. They pressed on my bandaged fingers, reminding me of how my nails had come off. The pain helped revive awareness that I was still in the real world. “What did your father and Novac talk about?” He put slightly too much emphasis on this last question. My thoughts suddenly fit together like puzzle pieces, leaving no room for doubt – he’d come to see me as an investigator, yet he’d done as good as all the talking, telling me horror stories about a Machiavellian Damian and a father I refused to recognize. All of this even despite the hospital bed and IV lines snaking around my arms. “Everything hurts, no matter what.” It dawned on me. The son of a bitch tried to manipulate me into betraying my own father, and Dad had known it. Maybe what he said was true, but this was my

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father he was talking about. I turned my head to the narrow window, letting the gray daylight flood my eyes, as stinging as it was. “I wouldn’t know, Agent Varlam. I wasn’t yet awake.” “Yes, you were,” he insisted. “Your mother told me you were.” “She was wrong.” “As simple as that?” “It’s the simple truth. Now if you don’t mind, I’m tired. Everything hurts.” Hector tensed, I felt it in his grip on my hand and the intensifying pain in my fingers. “I really hope you’re not covering anything, Miss Preda,” he stressed. “More shit will happen if I don’t lock up Damian Novac soon.” “And who else would you have locked up, Agent Varlam?” My own father, right? “Whoever aids him in his endeavors, directly or indirectly,” he spat. As soon as Hector was out the door Mom rushed in and kissed my forehead, again and again, smothering me. “Where’s Dad?” I asked. She gazed lovingly into my eyes, tears sparkling among her lashes as she stroked my hair. “I love you so much, baby.” A wave of guilt washed over me. With a weak hand, I reached for hers. “I love you too, mom. It’s just that –” How do I put this? “Dad has answers.” “Answers?” “For Varlam,” I lied. It was easier. “Please, Mom, where is he?” She frowned, searching my face unconvinced. “Your dad had urgent business back in Constanța, and was forced to return on a short notice.”

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I frowned. “That’s weird. He seemed vehement to remain by my side when Agent Varlam came in.” “Well, he said the business was related to the case at hand.” She stroked my forehead. Slim and graceful, Mom reminded me of a swan with her perfect blond-and-white chignon and elegant suits. She seemed a Royal. I wished I’d inherited more of her looks than I had of Dad’s. “Where are we, by the way?” I said, looking around. “The General Hospital in Brașov.” A white-lit place it was, but depressing as hell. I got to explore its corridors while searching for Leona as soon as I could walk, which didn’t happen until the following day. Considering the great blood values I was supposed to have according to Dad, the weakness and vertigo that made me throw up were unexplainable. Didn’t dare talk to Mom about it, though. It was hard to even look her in the face, knowing what I knew now – that Dad had been sleeping with a girl my age, a girl I knew. But I couldn’t walk without help, so I had to live with the crushing guilt as we strolled through the hospital. To top the whole thing, I had this ever-present sensation that I saw Damian everywhere, unyielding and unnerving that I almost choked on it. “Is it just me, or you’re in love with this boy?” Mom said with a patient smile as we walked down the hospital hallways to Leona’s room. “I am.” The truth tumbled like a rock off my chest. “He must be very fond of you, too. He spent hours by your bed.” My heart jumped. “He did?” She nodded. “Didn’t take his eyes off your face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was hypnotized, standing there like a statue.” I don’t think a bungee leap could’ve been more exhilarating than the feeling that coursed through me at

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those words. “When your father and I arrived, he was already with you. God, sweetheart, never put us through this again.” She paused, swallowing the panic down her thin, dry-skinned throat as she skipped to a part that seemed to comfort her. “That boy was always there as doctors swarmed around you, and he stayed after they stabilized you, too. I didn’t have the heart to ask him for privacy.” “Of course you didn’t.” “He’s remarkably handsome, if I may say,” Mom continued with another conspirator smile. “That he is,” I whispered. Only after we finally found Leona’s room in the east wing – as dark and humid as any old building that rarely saw an investment – did the bitterness succumb, replaced by a flood of sadness at the sight of my friend lying on that piece of metal with a flimsy mattress, her chocolate eyes drooping and lips drawn downward from crying. We exchanged no words. Just that locking of the eyes. I dropped by her side and squeezed her in my arms as hard as my tired muscles allowed. She was softer than usual, her flesh felt like warm polenta. And tears flowed, wordless, both of us shaking with them, our fingers hooking like claws in each other’s hair, tugging as memories drained from us. We cried and leaned on each other like exhausted boxers until there was no drop of rage left, just sighs and lunatic laughs. Although Leona was perfectly healthy too, as her blood tests showed, the hospital wasn’t cleared to let her go. The police had ordered that none of the survivors were to leave the premises until specifically permitted to do so. “This is more of a prison than a hospital,” Leona said as we sat on the empty bed opposite from hers, looking out the cracked window into a sad, grey park.

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“A situation I’m sure Hector has manipulated using his badge,” I retorted. Indeed. Clearance came in about twenty-four hours. Every survivor was allowed to leave, no one had serious physical injuries, but mentally we were all wrecks. We drove with Mom at the wheel for four hours to Constanța in silence. George was sensitive to sound, he covered his ears, and his face would twist in a grotesque mask if any of us dared to utter a word. “He killed a man with his own hands, the trauma was most severe for him,” his doctor had explained. “He remembers every detail of it vividly, which gives him terrible headaches. Don’t leave him alone, for whatever reason, except maybe when you’re sure he’s asleep. He might do something reckless to punish himself.” The street to my parents’ house revealed itself on a last turn, cobbled and ghostly in our headlights. The barking from neighboring yards and the crisp sea air were the first to greet us, followed by the screech of our old iron gate and the warm darkness of our living room. I think that was my first real experience of synesthesia, I could almost feel the massive oak bookcase through my skin, the homely upholstered couch, Dad’s favorite armchair. George didn’t wait for an invitation to throw himself face-down on the sofa in the small antechamber that opened into my room, which I used to call my “boudoir” back in high school. Leona and I shared my bed. Mom turned on the lamp outside, the thick skeleton of our old apple tree bathing in its mild light. We kept the curtains open so we could face it from the bed, my old guardian from childhood days. It felt safe, but I still couldn’t close my eyes until the early morning hours. Something was missing, something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t home. It only hit me when my eyes snapped open at midday, my brain refreshed: Where was Dad?

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I threw the blanket aside, squirmed out of bed – squashing Leona in the process, and provoking a sleepy grunt – and rushed to the master bedroom. The curtains hung open, making way for the pale winter light through the overlarge window. The bed was made – of course. Mom must’ve been up for hours, if she’d slept at all, considering the circumstances. Having left my parental home a few years ago to live with Leona in the suburbs, most of my parents’ habits had moved to the back of my brain, only to resurface when exposed to them again. As they did now. I went to the kitchen to find Mom sitting at the table, her thin fingers slowly stroking a coffee mug smeared with souvenir photos of San Francisco – one of the few items that still bound her to her own home. Her stare was lost over the black liquid that didn’t give out steam, which meant she must’ve been staring blankly at it for some time now. Her hair, blond and crisscrossed by gray strands, fell rumpled to her slim shoulders. A fluffy white nightgown clad her thin body. The sight was disconcerting, considering her usual innate urge of always looking flawless and making an impression of aristocracy on all eyes that fell on her, including the cleaning lady’s. Now the absence of an elegant and shiny chignon and the uncovered wrinkles on her meager face in the presence of a stranger were another definite sign something was wrong. A heavy winter coat hung negligently on the rest of his chair, his chubby hands cupping a coffee mug like pillows of flesh emerging from under thick sweater sleeves. His mien was grave as he set small brown eyes on me. After a few moments of puzzling silence he stood up, gathered his coat and turned to the door that led directly to the back garden. With a hand on the handle and the coat on the other arm, he turned once more to Mom.

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“You know where to find me.” She nodded, and he left. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I walked slowly to the table, and sat down in the man’s place. Mom didn’t raise her head. On the contrary, she seemed to sink it even closer to the mug, a hunch forming on her slim back that was otherwise as straight as a wood plank. Hadn’t it been for the thick bathrobe, I would’ve seen the skin stretch over her ribs. The truth of the man’s visit must’ve been a burden not much different from an affair. Could it be? “So?” I breathed. Her fingers still stroked the mug with slow, even moves. “We’ll be under police surveillance. I don’t know for how long.” Police surveillance? “Why?” “You and your friends. The –” She chewed on her lower lip, probably to keep back what looked like a nervous breakdown. Her cheek twitched. “Those people from the mountains. BioDhrome, they told me.” Panic shot to the tips of my toes. “BioDhrome’s our priority now, Tiberius. They won’t stop here.” “Where’s Dad?” Mom looked me in the eyes, searching for a way to put it, no doubt. “No, God, please no!” Mom’s expression grew alert, the way it had been at the hospital. She touched my wrist, voice soft and soothing. “No, baby, no. He’s all right, safe and sound.” “Where is he then?” This was the news she’d been nervous about, I could tell by the pause. “He’s been extracted.”

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Chapter Eight

“Extracted? What’s that supposed to mean?” Another nervous chew on her lip. “This BioDhrome thing, it’s – Alice, this must stay between us. Tell no one, not Leona, not anyone.” “Just tell me, Mom!” “Give me your word first. For your own safety, not my comfort.” “I’m your daughter, you think I’d betray your secrets?” Her words hurt. I went for one of the oath formulations I’d learned from the gypsies as a child. “All right, may I die in chains, if a word on this leaves my mouth.” Mom shuddered. “Not like that, please. Your promise suffices. Keep this all to yourself, for your own good.” “No need to elaborate on that. Elaborate on extracted.” She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “I’ll start with the beginning so you understand.” “Please do.” “For many years, your father has been working with an international organization whose name he never told me. He’s been analyzing blood and tissue samples they delivered him. The results baffled your father, which filled him with enthusiasm in the beginning. After a while he withdrew into his work like a turtle to its shell. At the time I wondered if his work was claiming his mental sanity. Eventually it took its toll on our relationship. We had midnight fights more often than naught.” Her voice trailed off, lost in painful memory.

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“Tell me about it,” I whispered. All those late nights when Dad had tiptoed to the master bedroom, the quarrels they thought I hadn’t heard—they played like a movie in my head. “I pressured him to quit. I imagine that’s why his heart grew cold, and he found comfort elsewhere. Oh, dear baby, I haven’t asked – some coffee? Tea?” With the premiere of her confession on my shoulders I nodded, and Mom put a kettle on the stove. I let her decide on whether coffee or tea, and moved a few inches in to let her sit by me and slide a loving arm around my back, as if to support me through what she’d say next. “Your father is a BioDhrome target, they tell me, because he works with their direct enemy – an organization that calls itself ‘the good guy’ in comparison, but I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that they’re so powerful they could order the R.I.S. to take your father in while we were still at the hospital in Brașov, and that kind of power is dubious. To be honest, I’m no less wary of them than I am of BioDhrome. However, what matters now is that your father is safe with the R.I.S.” “How can you be sure?” Worry broke through my voice, no matter how hard I tried to keep it chained. “Because there’s nothing safer than their protection in this country.” “The few words I exchanged with him back at the hospital, he didn’t seem anxious about his life. He wanted to stay here, with us.” “Two of his colleagues and their families have been assassinated, Alice. Those men worked for the same organization, in matters related to genetic research. The R.I.S. are certain BioDhrome is responsible for the murders…and back in the mountains it’s suspected that they meant to murder you baby, in the same horrendous way—to teach your father a lesson before killing him, as well. Tiberius is a risk factor in this house. Without him

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we’re safer, but still. Officer Sorescu, the man you saw in here . . .” – even more careful now – “he’s around with his colleagues, just in case. Leona and George will be staying with us, too.” “Does this mean we’re confined to these walls?” “No. The R.I.S. agree that resuming a normal life is a must. Public places and crowds will be safest. You’ll be under surveillance.” Mom was right, BioDhrome wouldn’t risk taking action in public. They’d try to get me alone, in secluded places or even at home. So surveillance and protection made sense. But the feeling that Dad had been extracted against his will nagged at me. He’d been adamant at the hospital, his tone had left no room for doubt—he could protect us, especially by being present. “What if I want to talk to him? Is there some number we can call? Some place we can go?” “We can contact Agent Varlam.” “I see.” So Hector was forcing my cooperation by using Dad as leverage. On a second thought, what if extraction was no more than a gross lie? What if he’d thrown Dad in a nasty cell to get information on Damian Novac out of him? I jumped to my feet, bumping into the table edge. My ears whistled in tune with the kettle on the stove. “Well, I’d like a word with him right now,” I spat. Mom stood up too, hand on my cheek to calm me down, blue eyes identical to mine wide and worried. Standing half a head taller though, she made me feel like a kid again. “Alice, honey, the whole idea behind this was to keep out of touch. Why bother organizing an extraction, if family stops by at the hideout to say hello anytime they please?”

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“And you accept this so easily?” I snapped, and brushed her hand off. “Are you really not worried about him, not one bit? His absence doesn’t bother you in the least?” Now it was Mom’s turn to frown and apply a hard edge to her voice. “It’s not much difference to the past years, is it?” “But this is different, Mom! BioDhrome is serious trouble that not even the R.I.S. might be able to protect him from.” “I am worried about your father, Alice, believe me, but yes, I admit, I’m more worried about you. And if his presence puts you in danger, then I don’t need or want to see him again until the afterlife.” Her words stabbed at me, but I kept my anger behind tightened lips. Dad had been cheating on her for a long time, and she knew it. Indeed, why should she give a shit? I tried for a peace-making tone. “Well, I don’t need to see him, Mom. I just want to talk to Agent Varlam, to make sure Dad’s all right. I need to convince myself.” “You’re hard to assure of anything, sweetheart. I’m telling you now: your father is safe. Now let it go.” I heard the door between the antechamber and my room open. Then light steps. Leona’s steps. Large empty eyes stared at me. Her face had lost much of its glow, and she hadn’t even brushed her hair. The experience we’d been through had taken away what was left of her carefree self. Mom smiled at her and hurried to pour her a cup of coffee, eager to cover the subject of our conversation. Leona joined me at the table, huddled in my old pink bathrobe that came too short on her arms and legs. “No milk, no sugar,” Mom said, placing the cup of coffee on the table. Leona took a sip, careful not to burn her lips.

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Lingering on her feet beside her, Mom tucked an ebony strand behind Leona’s ear, her gaze motherly. It brought back a flash of her teaching the small gypsy girl with the defiant scowl how to properly hold a pen. Now, ten years later in the same kitchen where she’d learned to read and write, a finely educated Leona curled her olive-skinned fingers around a cup of hot coffee. She leaned her head back, savoring not only the aroma but also her surroundings. There was love in her gaze as it crossed over every detail of the room – the cluttered wooden cupboards nailed to the walls over the counter, the door to the back garden with its frosted glass pane, the pots, kettles and spoons dangling from a wooden stripe with hooks above the sink like bells waiting to be played. “I’ve missed this place,” she said, her hand gently stroking the nylon table cover. Mom gave her a warm smile. “It’s missed you, too.” Despite the promising start, the conversation got stuck as soon as Mom uttered a “Did you sleep well?” Leona lowered her head and pressed her lips, as if not wanting to remember. But, if she’d had nightmares, I hadn’t noticed. She’d been still and quiet. Only George’s low moans had occasionally reached me. George woke up late in the afternoon. His sudden screams made us all jump, and Mom almost threw down the door to the antechamber to attend him. His pained groans sent chills down my back. Leona slapped her palms over her face, her shoulders shaking in sobs. Carefully, I took her in my arms. I threw a glance at the big, lazy clock on top of the bookcase – four in the afternoon. George had at least gotten a good chunk of sleep. Unlike Leona and me, who hadn’t even found the energy of losing the pink bathrobes we still wore like overgrown babies, curled on the couch, TV on.

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Without Mom to promptly switch channels as soon as the news came on, always packed with tragedies and subliminal, “This is the end of the world,” Leona and I were now fully exposed to them. A report about a massacre at a remote cabin in the mountains of Bulgaria made both our eyes bulge. A story frighteningly similar to ours, only that no one had been found, dead or alive. The perfectly groomed reporter’s words were like “deja heards,” her voice matterof-fact but disturbed in its depths. Censored images that played on the half of the screen next to her face accompanied her story. “Blood on pieces of clothing and torn curtains. Broken windows and –” And this is where my ears began buzzing, muffling the sound of the TV. So this one made it on the news. “They’ll cover up in a few days max,” Leona said, close enough to my ear to pierce through the buzz. “How is that supposed to work? How could footage like this be a mistake? They freaking filmed the mess. People are not stupid, Leona.” “No, they aren’t. But there have been so many tragedies with so many explanations lately, that illegal experimentation won’t cross their minds. They’ll accept any animal attack, serial killer, drugs and orgies that ended up badly, you name it.” Then the reporter said, “The police arrested Dr. Lazar Dobrev, a psychiatrist. He used to treat one of the missing persons. Dr. Dobrev set the man on the loose, even though he was known to have murderous impulses, which he shouldn’t have had trouble acting on at a height of two meters, and a hundred and seventy kilograms of muscle.” “See, what did I tell you? They found Mad Conan to blame it on. As for the old man, he’s a scapegoat,” Leona said as images of a sorry old doctor with Einstein hair, cuffed hands and fragile body in a tweed suit appeared on

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the screen, led to a police car by two men in black uniforms. According to the reporter, the car exploded only shortly later, the doctor and the policemen all dead. The connection to Dad fired in my head – first extraction, then death. “Jesus, Leona, this is bad! This is real bad!” She looked at me, startled by my reaction. In a few breaths and with no second thoughts I broke my oath and told her about the extraction, glancing at the door to make sure Mom didn’t catch me on it. “Help me, Leona,” I pleaded. “I need to see him, make sure he’s not being held hostage and questioned like a heretic, then maybe even killed in some staged accident!” “And who’s gonna tell you where Dr. Preda is? Apparently no one wants you to know.” “We’ll go see Varlam at the station. I’ll find a way to get him talking.” “You don’t have his number?” I snorted. “I can’t talk to him about these things on the phone, can I?” Leona studied me for a while. A deep-in-thought V formed between her eyebrows as she assessed my face, and the moment Mom walked back into the living room, she began talking without warning or turning her eyes from me. “There’s no way I can spend days here without something proper to wear.” She sounded so convincing, I fell for it myself. “You can have anything from my wardrobe,” I babbled. “You’re petite, Alice, you don’t own anything I can actually take out on the street or to campus tomorrow.” Her eyes danced on mine, maybe in expectation for me to kick the ball back at her. But, since I was too puzzled to produce a sound, she went on herself. “I need to buy a few things.” I finally understood her game, but Mom intervened

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as if burnt with red iron before I could say anything. “Absolutely not. You’re not going out now—it’s dark.” Leona’s face froze for a moment but, as she turned to Mom, it had already regained its elasticity and added a rakish smile. “What if we ask one of the boys outside to accompany us to Marvimex?” “They’re here as watchmen and not escorts,” Mom admonished. “Then please, have a word with them,” Leona said. Mom gave me a suspicion-filled look, which I blocked with a shrug. “I’d love to get out of the house for a bit,” I said. “It feels like prison, Mom.” It was the begging tone that unbalanced Mom’s resolve, no doubt. After little more insistence from our part she allowed us to get ready while she went out, looking for Officer Sorescu and his colleagues. I parted the curtains with two fingers and spied – much like old Mrs. Teodorescu from across the street did each time a car pulled up in front of one of the neighboring houses. Mom crossed the street, keeping the long winter coat wrapped closely around her body. To my surprise, she entered the corner bar where loud drunkards burned away their time gambling cigarettes and bottles, sometimes their wives’ jewelry, sometimes their wives. With its barred windows and narrow entrance the place was perfectly designed to keep interest at bay. Yes, suited for undercover tailing operations, why not. Leona and I went to the antechamber, then tip-toed by a slumbering George to my room, where we got dressed. Leona tossed over to me a white wool sweater and a pair of tight jeans that reminded me too much of what Svetlana had been wearing in the mountains. The jeans were a couple of years old and had gone through repeated

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washing along with the other pairs, but I’d only worn them once on the day of acquisition. Tony had once labeled this particular pair “slutty”. A change of clothes was already folded for Leona on the rocking chair by the window. I watched her sinewy shape dance into it and recognized Mom’s elegant red turtleneck sweater and a pair of white pants. “How do I look?” she said. “When did Mom give you the threads?” If Mom had offered Leona access to her wardrobe, what was the point of shopping, especially at five in the evening? “She didn’t. I helped myself after the shower today.” She winked. “Your clothes are all too small, and I figured Jenna wouldn’t mind. She never did before.” “But she’ll see you’re wearing her stuff when we go out. Marvimex won’t stand, she’ll know we’re going somewhere else. Plus, even if we manage to persuade her we’re going shopping, we might not even make it to Varlam with one of those watchmen on our heels.” I sounded increasingly desperate as I realized the holes in our plot. “Oh, we’re going to Marvimex, all right. I can only wear Jenna’s clothes as an exception. Once we’re there, I’ll talk the guy into accompanying us to see Hector. I’ll tell him you and I have confidential information, and that our seeing him needs cover.” “He won’t buy it.” I shook my head. “It’s weak, it won’t work.” “Wanna bet?” Leona retorted, a mischievous grin quirking up a corner of her mouth. In less than half an hour we stood under the large sign creaking askew above the entrance to Marvimex, the rain rapping on our umbrellas. The crooked plate read “Shopping Center,” yet the place wasn’t far from a bazaar. Engulfed by grey blocks of flats with walls damped by rain

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that testified half century of communism, it looked like a stable with dozens of barracks in the middle of a concrete fortress. Small, round men and women wearing thick golden chains around their necks populated them, offering contraband like circus performers did their tricks. Still, many shoppers preferred the place to the Tomis Mall for its cheap and often unique wares. Officer Sorescu sheltered Leona under a dark blue umbrella. I caught glimpses of her profile now and then as we slithered through strings of people. I read seduction in her smile, and knew the batting of her thick lashes was having the necessary effect. Sorescu would accompany us to the station for a confidential meeting with Agent Hector Varlam. I lost sight of them as a large and boisterous family squeezed me between them, making me lose my umbrella in the process. When I emerged from their midst like from a tornado, I found myself in a completely different part of the bazaar. Persian rugs hung among lamps and chandeliers of different shapes, their glass icicles clinking whenever they trickled too low and touched my hair. This part of the bazaar was good as empty of life except for a few passer-by shadows here and there. I spun among the hanging rugs, curtains and lamps that surrounded me the way circus gadgets would a child. Intertwined patterns engraved into the carpet fabric had a hypnotic effect. An effect that was all-surrounding. “Miss Preda.” I turned on my heels and gasped. The largest man that must’ve ever existed stood before me, his head looming far above mine. He wore a black cloak that reminded me of a priest’s garment. Cold sweat trickled down my temples. His eyes shone in a way that wasn’t natural. I realized on the spot he must’ve been a freak of nature, for which the Persian Empire was once so famous. Except that

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he was definitely here now, thousands of years off. “Now this is unexpected,” his voice boomed. The brightness of his eyes blinded me to the details of his features. It took only another second for me to realize he was under the influence of the gas. Connections fired in my mind – the psycho from the news, the one who’d supposedly killed all those people in the mountains of Bulgaria. He was a freaking giant. “What are you?” I whispered. “The Executioner’s shadow.” A hand started toward me, looking like he wanted to introduce himself. But part of me feared that he would instead go for my throat. I stumbled backward placing distance between us. His feet moved slowly, following me. My pulse increased and my rational mind shut down. I turned on my heels and ran, slapping heavy rugs out of my way, lamps shattering as they caught on my hair and fell. My body moved without thought, and I bumped carelessly into things and people until at last I emerged back into a crowd. I was sure that man had drawn me to him, the boisterous family had set me up and drifted me along to that lonely corner of the bazaar. Officer Sorescu would be completely useless against the giant freak, that much was clear. Which meant Leona was no safer than I was. Just as I identified Leona’s yellow umbrella in the crowd something hard wrapped around my waist. Someone lifted me from the ground as if I were a feather. I wanted to scream, but a large hand covered the lower half of my face. Panic struck. The giant had found me. He spun me round and crammed me between two booths. Then I looked up into crystal-green eyes under dark eyebrows, and recognized the finely chiseled face of Damian Novac.

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Chapter Nine

I stared at him with an open mouth. The beauty of his face struck me as if I were seeing him for the first time. He may have been big like the Giant and just as intimidating, but he made my heart race and my face burn. “What were you thinking?” Damian hissed through his teeth. I managed to find my voice. “I wasn’t thinking anything. What are you doing here, Damian? Or should I call you Executioner?” “Either will do. But you haven’t answered my question. Why the hell are you here alone?” I stuck my chin higher up and gave him the most capable of scowls. It didn’t seem to impress him, but I was proud of it anyway. “If anyone is owed an explanation here, it’s me.” Before I knew it, my index finger poked until it hurt against his stony chest clad in just a white V-neck and a thin leather jacket. “I’m looking for a way to contact my dad, who was allegedly extracted by the R.I.S. after the little talk he had with you.” Damian’s jaw tightened, his face taking on the hardness of honey-glazed granite. He caught my wrist in an iron grip. “How much of our talk did you hear, girl?” “Girl?” “Eavesdropping is dangerous, Alice.” “Oh good, you remember my name. I heard quite a bit, but there’s not much you can do about it now, is there? But rest assured – the more I find out, the more questions I have. Too few answers.” He threw a scowl in the direction where I’d come

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from. “And who exactly have you been speaking to up until now?” “Why should I tell you? Let’s get one thing straight, Damian, Executioner, or whatever they call you: I. Don’t. Trust. You.” Damian raised his chin, looking imposing. His hair spilled in raven waves to his shoulders, his mouth sculpted and his eyes sharp crystal. A beautiful devil. I swallowed and sank my head, praying he hadn’t seen the way my eyes had widened at him and exposed me for a treacherous second. “Good,” he said. My head snapped up. “Good? That’s all you have to say? Damian, you have a world of explaining to do.” His fingers wound around my arm, sinking into my flesh. “You want explanations? I’ll give you some,” he said, and pulled me after him. I clasped his forearm with my free hand and felt something edgy strapped to it. Something metallic. Though I couldn’t be sure, the first thing that jumped to mind were the blades that assassins carried under their sleeves. Damian patted Sorescu’s shoulder. As soon as the plump man turned around, his jaw dropped. Damian was most definitely a striking sight, and I couldn’t blame him. Leona’s eyes darted from mine to Damian’s in surprise, but she didn’t make a sound. “Not a good evening for outdoor shopping, is it?” Damian said with a grin. After a quick set of blinking, Sorescu came to himself. “Do I know you, Mr. . . .” The metal under his sleeve jumped to mind again. I shuddered and swallowed the knot in my throat. “Novac,” Damian replied. “I see,” Sorescu said, sinking his hands in his

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pockets and pushing his chest forward. “Well, Mr. Novac, how may I help you?” “I’m one of the survivors from the mountain incident, your colleagues have me under surveillance. Which is how I know who you are, Officer, and why I was disturbed to find Alice wandering aimlessly around Marvimex. It’s dark, and dangerous people lurk around.” Sorescu cleared his throat but remained silent. “I must express my concerns with regards to your competence,” Damian said with a headshake, like a reprimanding teacher. He let go of my arm, his hand moving to the small of my back and covering it almost entirely. An electric sensation coursed through my body as the memory of our first night at the cottage lit in my head. Leona broke the silence between the two men, who glared at each other like fighters in a ring. “Forgive me, Damian, but I . . .” “I’m sure you must’ve noticed Alice was missing, didn’t you, Leona? As her best friend and aware of the danger she was in, I mean,” Damian interrupted her without taking his eyes off Sorescu. “Why didn’t you look for her or draw the Officer’s attention?” Leona shifted from one leg to the other. “I’m sure Miss Preda hasn’t been away for that long, maybe a few minutes,” Sorescu retorted, his tone conciliatory all of a sudden. “And Miss Ignat already has what she came here for, so we’ll be heading back now anyway.” As Sorescu reached out, inviting me to cross to his and Leona’s side, Damian held tight to my waist. I felt his muscled thigh against my hip, and my cheeks prickled. “Minutes can be lethal, Officer. The fact that you take this so lightly is reason enough for me escort Alice home myself.” “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She came here

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with us, and she’s going back with us.” “I think not.” Sorescu laughed quietly, hands up as if surrendering in front of a gun. “Tell you what, mate – why don’t we drive back together? That way you’ll be sure she made it home safely.” “That would at least allow my supervisors a dinner break,” Damian said with a smug grin, as if he’d obtained the very result he aimed for. We followed Sorescu out of the bazaar, leaving behind the heady smells of homemade sweets. This time Leona walked alone under her umbrella, and Damian shielded me under one he bought at the nearest booth. Wet gravel crunched under our boots, my arm hooked around Damian’s. We separated when I climbed into the back with Leona. Damian took the passenger seat. Leona kept her head down during the entire ride, while Damian kept Sorescu under tight scrutiny, the tension only masked by dull radio chatter. I patted Leona’s leg to let her know that we were all good. Finally, we pulled up in front of the house. The shadows seemed to be dancing across it. It was the branches of our tree, bending and bowing to the wind. “Where can I take you,” Officer Sorescu addressed Damian, “now that the girls have been delivered safely?” “I’m not going anywhere,” Damian replied, turning to me. “Alice invited me in, didn’t you Alice?” Cold sweat covered my palms in an instant, and a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed audibly. “I could use a cup of hot tea, the rain has permeated my bones,” Damian said with a sly grin. Officer Sorescu looked defeated behind the wheel. He flicked the heat on, his gaze darting from Damian to me. Dark windows greeted us as we approached the

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front door, with the exception of a faint flickering that seemed to be emanating from the living room. Damian hovered on the doorstep waiting for me to take the lead, I assumed. I stared at him, unsure of what to do next. The door opened, bathing Damian’s face in light. “Oh, there you are,” Mom greeted us with a large smile. She kissed Leona and me, then her eyes rested on Damian. She welcomed him so warmly, my skin creased. I was sure my mom would be able to sniff out the fact that he had a weapon beneath his sleeve. But no. “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to the old fluffy sofa as she took us to the living room. That she was ecstatic about Damian’s visiting and that she still believed he harbored tender feelings for me was obvious as it was alarming. Damian spent a few moments looking at the sofa as if it were a museum piece, then slowly he lowered himself down onto it. It warped and squeaked under his weight but held together. My mother frowned and gave me an odd look. I just shrugged—maybe he thought the old couch wouldn’t hold him. He was a big guy, after all. “Power’s out,” Mom said with an apologetic shrug and headed for the kitchen. “Thank God the stove’s on gas. I’ll just grab some tea and cookies.” Leona and I stood next to one another nervously glancing about the room. “Oh, Leona dear, George was asking after you,” Mom called from the kitchen. Leona took off in a second. With a flick of Damian’s eyes he hinted at me to sit next to him. I took the bait and sat down, my arm rubbing up next to his. “Does my being in your home make you nervous, Alice?” he whispered, his breath tickling my cheek, and his fingers stroking the base of my neck. My pulse thumped in my ears.

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“A little.” My voice came out gruff and crackly. “I’m not here to harm you,” he continued just as hushed, his fingers now wrapping around my hand and taking it to his left arm. “I’m here to give you what you want. Answers.” The blade was hard under his jacket. I couldn’t help stroking along its length over the leather arm of his jacket like I would his manhood. I kept doing it mindlessly, slowly. His lashes hooded his eyes, in a way that made me think maybe he enjoyed it. His voice rippled, deep and velvety. “Number one – the police can’t protect you from BioDhrome. Number two – your father is safe, but trying to find him puts you in great danger.” His words slapped me back to myself. My hand stopped moving. I threw my head back, staring him in the face. “Number three,” he continued, beastly eyes drilling into mine, “BioDhrome sent an agent for you, Alice. That’s not the best news.” He retreated, his breathing a bit heavy. “I believe you met him tonight. You need to keep a low profile, because he’s a very dangerous man.” My tongue froze. Before I got to say anything Mom appeared with a tray of cookies and mugs of tea. She seemed a warm headmaster dressed in her light blue two-piece suit, her hair up in an elegant bun. “So, where did you grow up, Damian?” she asked, carefully placing the tray on the side table, before settling back into Dad’s armchair with her red tea mug. “A village in the Danube Delta, not far from the Ukrainian border.” Damian reached for a mug and handed it to me, then he picked up his own. The heavy ceramic mug felt hot in my hands, and the heat began to spread all over my body. “They call it the End of the World.”

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Mom gave a sad, melancholic smile. “Tiberius took me to the Danube Delta once,” she said, looking into the candle flames. The scent of wax mingled with that of Damian’s leather jacket, giving me a feeling of memory and mystery, too. “Paradise on Earth, wild and free.” A small ripple went through Damian’s jaw, as if his own memories of the Delta weren’t quite as pleasant. “Wild, yes,” he said, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, the mug disappearing between his enormous hands. “But also dangerous. Life is hard where I come from.” “Well, it’s the hard life that taught you survival and, thanks to your skills, Alice is safe right now. I understand the . . . train, CPR. Had it not been for you –” Mom shook her head like she didn’t want to imagine. “I wish I could express how grateful I am.” “Thank you, but I’m not really a hero,” Damian said, his voice a deep rumble. “However, according to Alice, you are.” Mom raised her eyebrows. “Me? A hero?” “You did save Leona Ignat and her sister from underage marriage and illiteracy, didn’t you? And later you engaged fully as a social worker for the Roma minority. How did you manage to get them interested in education, by the way? It proved an impossible task for others.” “They like stories, the Roma.” A soft smile curled Mom’s lips. “I simply tapped into their traditions. For hundreds of years, their entertainment has been dancing and story-telling around campfires. I used the story-telling, and took it from there.” As Mom spoke, I fidgeted waiting for the chance to be alone with Damian again. Of course, it was all in vain. As soon as his tea mug was empty, he stood up, thanked Mom for sharing her fascinating story, and bid us a nice evening. “Thank you again for seeing Alice and Leona home

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safely,” Mom said, smiling. “Officer Sorescu had that under control. It was a whim of fate that we bumped into each other, really.” With a hand on the door handle he looked at me, the candle flames playing their game on his deceitful grin. “I’ll accompany you to the gate,” I said. “Not necessary,” he blocked. “Oh, but it is.” With a fake smile I walked passed him and led the way out. I could feel his eyes on my back as we strolled down the stone path to the gate. I stopped and turned slowly, not sure I wanted to catch the expression on his face. Apparently he didn’t want it caught either. When my eyes rested on his he looked to the side. “Who is that giant guy, Damian?” “That’s a good name. Giant. Just call him that.” “I’m not in the mood for jokes.” “Neither am I. The information I already gave you is all the information you need. The less you know, the safer you are.” “Safer? Giant got to me at the bazaar, and you entered my home with blades under your sleeves, so it’s pretty clear my protection is useless. I seriously doubt knowledge will make matters worse.” “You are protected. I’m constantly watching over you, Alice, I owe it to your father. No one will lay a finger on you as long as I breathe.” My heart jumped into my mouth. I could barely find my words again. “You were at Marvimex tonight because you followed me?” Damian took a few steps towards me, his stare steady on my face. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay, Alice?” Opening my arms in a Halleluiah-gesture, “I’m willing to get everything straight, Damian.”

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“I owe your father a lot. It’s because of him that I can live among people again. He’s been extracted to safety, but you are in the open. You, his daughter, the apple of his eye. If you heard the entire talk we had at the hospital, then you know how I offered to protect you. I’m your best chance at survival. Your surveillance officers are useless. And I will protect you, for Tiberius’s sake, even if it makes him mad. But that doesn’t make me your friend, Alice, you understand? Your father would disapprove, and he’d be right to do so.” “Are you saying you can do what the police and even the R.I.S. can’t? That you can protect someone where they can’t?” “I used to be a BioDhrome agent, Alice. I can do many things the police and the R.I.S. can’t.” BAM! There it was, the guilty plea loud and clear, knocking me back. “We discovered that BioDhrome led the operation in the mountains with the purpose of getting you,” he continued, “and thereby taking revenge on Tiberius for working with their antagonists – the organization both he and I are with. Tiberius’s science brought our organization results that seriously damaged BioDhrome’s business, and BioDhrome wanted to make a point.” I shook my head, my chin trembling to keep back tears. Damian came closer. “He did infiltrate me on campus to watch over you when BioDhrome’s threat became too great, but he didn’t expect what actually happened. He thought BioDhrome would try something here, in Constanța, but nothing of this magnitude.” He cupped my face with both of his big hands. “Alice, I orchestrated your father’s extraction because I had to keep him away from Constanța, since he wouldn’t have sat still and let me do my job – protect you. He would’ve put you in more danger. I acted against his wish, but

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nevertheless in his best interest, because I have special respect for him. I owe him, and I’ll keep you safe, but you should never take me for a friend, Alice. At the core I am a villain. It’s in my blood and, no matter how much time I spend in the world of normal men, I’ll never be one again. BioDhrome made that impossible, but for this very reason your only safe shelter is with me as long as you’re a BioDhrome target. You have to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, you understand?” Tears broke down my face, an uncontrollable salty flow. “Two of Dad’s colleagues were murdered,” I cried, clinging to his jacket in a surge of despair. Letting it stream out of me felt liberating. “Then a doctor from Bulgaria was taken in by the police, and then he died too. And you want me to believe my father is safe? I’m so terribly afraid he’s already dead!” “None of those doctors are dead, and Dr. Lazar Dobrev is not in police custody. Those are lies. They have all been extracted by our organization. Their families, too.” I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. With a gentle finger Damian stroked a wet tendril off my cheek, making my scalp prickle. Unable to resist, I pressed myself harder against his leather-clad body, fingers clawing in his jacket. “Where is he, Damian? Where is Dad?” He looked in the distance, above my head. “Please,” I insisted. “The less you know, the safer you are.” With that he set me out of his way and dashed out the gate. A few moments later, soaked to the bone and snuffling, I leaned over the fence, peering down a dimly lit street blurred by rain.

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Chapter Ten

Leona sat by me on the bed’s edge as I towel-dried my hair. “I say we take this to Hector,” she said. “I mean, come on, there’s no such thing as an ex-BioDhrome. They’re a vicious pack, they traffic organs and conduct genetic experiments on humans, I doubt they let anyone out of their ranks alive. There must be an awful lot of power behind what BioDhrome does, and I’m talking megalomaniac oligarchs who want to live forever, maybe backed up by entire freaking governments. Novac wouldn’t have been able to escape them, so he must still be in the game.” “Damian admitted both he and Dad now work for BioDhrome’s antagonists, who are just as powerful.” “In your place, I’d try to get more information out of him.” Leona stood and started preparing the bed for the night, her toned backside wriggling through her satiny night robe. It made her look like a temptress from a Latin American soap opera. “If anyone stands a chance of winning his trust, it’s you.” “I’ll talk to him again tomorrow,” I said a few moments later as I turned off the light and tucked myself in. “I’ll push for more answers.” The mattress warped as Leona turned on one side, facing me in the half-darkness with an arm curled under her head. “I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “And? Am I right?” I exhaled in surrender and pulled the blanket up to my nose, as if that could conceal my thoughts and fantasies. “I guess so.” Yes, I was completely taken with him,

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even under the circumstances. “I think he’s pretty much into you, too.” “You think?” “Don’t take this wrong, it’s not like I want the two of you together anymore. Damian Novac is dangerous, but his attraction to you is good for your self-esteem. For you to lose the preposterous complexes Tony left you with.” I snorted. “Are you even sure he likes me?” “I don’t have the slightest doubt, and I’m pretty darn certain his feelings are way beyond ‘liking’.” I didn’t reply, allowing her time to say more. I couldn’t hear enough of this. But there was something else Leona seemed eager to talk about. She propped herself on an elbow and turned the reading lamp on. “There’s something going on with you, Alice.” “What do you mean?” “You’re different. Something changed. I mean, you’ve always been pretty, but . . .” “Good night,” I cut her off and turned my back at her. I wasn’t in the mood to hear, “You’re beautiful the way you are.” But Leona jumped out of bed, grabbed my hand and pulled to drag me out. “What the hell are you doing?” I squealed. She rummaged in her bag and took out a makeup set the size of a cell-phone. She opened it and stuck the mirror out to my face. “Just look at yourself and save me the effort of explaining.” An eye appeared first, then the mouth, then a cheek. Leona didn’t succeed in centering the thing on my face, but I doubted there was anything special to see anyway. “I still don’t see your point.” I pushed her hand away. She dropped next to me, forcing me to look into the mirror. She pointed her finger at this and that part of it,

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which surely reflected my face from her angle, but all I could see was the plastered ceiling seemingly afloat in the vague lamplight. “You’re different since you came back with Novac at Marvimex, as if his presence had somehow activated the femme fatale in you,” she said, gaining more and more enthusiasm. “Your skin is silken and smooth in a natural and yet unnatural way. Your lips are rosy even though you’re not wearing any make-up. I don’t know what happened with you tonight, but you look ravishing, Alice.” “I don’t see anything, to be honest. And I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation, it’s just plain stupid. And vain.” She clapped the makeup set shut and gave me a narrow-eyed scowl. “The Alice I know is very much in touch with her inner bimbo. ‘Phony they are if they deny her.’ Should I go on?” “I recognize my own quotes, thank you.” Leona nodded, neck long and face drawn in mockrefinement. “Words put to paper in your dear philosophic period. Freshman year, wasn’t it? When you were still fearless. Why put up a false pretense now, Alice? You know that most women want to be desirable. Fuckable.” She sneered the last word in my ear. “I did say that, didn’t I?” “You must’ve read it somewhere.” “Surely some misogynistic philosopher.” “Aren’t they all …” “Maybe Nietzsche. I’d expect particular impertinence from him. Wouldn’t hurry to ascribe it, though, it was a while back.” “Well, you know what they say. We forget names and titles, but the content shapes us. Do you still believe in your old thesis?” I pondered and fished the truth right out of the darkest depths. “Strongly.”

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Leona smiled. “Then hear and savor: You returned home different tonight. It must be the adrenaline Novac makes boil in your blood. You’re still the sweet Lolita with baby blue eyes and creamy caramel locks but somehow more . . . glamorous. Striking even.” “But still Lolita,” I whispered, deflating. Beautiful or not, Lolita was still a child and a subject I resented. “How’s George feeling? Any improvements?” Leona dropped back on the bed, hand already reaching to turn off the reading lamp. I caught it. “I’m listening.” She rolled on her back. When she spoke, she did so as if she talked to herself. “All he wants to do is cling to my chest and snivel. The entire time. Among sobs he might repeat apologies.” “Apologies?” “He feels guilty for being violent with me. He fears he might’ve killed me like…he did that guy.” A heavy silence fell over us. What was I supposed to say? “Oh, honey, everything’s gonna be all right?” Overused and devoid of meaning. I lay on my back by her side. She turned off the light, and for minutes both Leona and I stared upwards in the darkness. “You think he would’ve done it, Alice?” The question I feared. I squeezed her hand, my voice faint. “Yes.” Further moments of silence, even though we were both wide awake and haunted. I decided that, since we took off the gloves and wielded the dirtiest of truths again, we might as well do it all the way. Plus, this particular truth might just free her. “You would’ve done it, too, Leona.” The sheets rustled as she rolled on the side to face me. I didn’t do the same, but kept staring upwards, eyes darting all over the ceiling in search of words.

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“The gas, it raised our adrenaline to a level that stripped us of everything…leaving only the most basic of instincts. We were . . .” “Enraged animals,” she completed. “Every one of us was ready, willing, and eager to spill blood.” “Not every one. You weren’t.” I couldn’t keep back a bitter laugh. The memory of the peasant in rubber boots, his bad-smelling grin, the wrinkled, bloodshot eyes that my fingers had clawed into, all of it played before me like a movie on fast-forward. “Oh, yes, Leona, me too.” She squeezed my hand harder. “That was different. It was self-defense.” “You call it self-defense when you don’t have a choice. But I overpowered him, Leona. I scratched his eyes, he couldn’t have followed if I’d used the chance and run away. But no, I wanted to finish him.” I took a deep breath. “Malice is in all of us, I guess. When stripped of the icing of civilization and given the proper chemical input, we’re all just instinct. We’d never guess who we really are until we get down there, to the most basic level.” Another few moments of silence, grotesque memories sucking us both in. When Leona talked again, I heard her as if through static. “I don’t know, but basic isn’t how I felt.” “How did you feel?” “Superior.” The mattress wobbled as she rolled on the other side, her back to me. She cried herself to sleep that night. For hours I thought about what she meant by superior. How could anybody feel like that in the state we’d been? We’d been animals. Stronger than in our civilization-coated environment where most of us are lost to apathy, but still basic. Indeed better than merely human in some sense.

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Tougher, more efficient, darn resilient. All due to the gas that had turned our bodies into some kind of highperformance machines. I’d even recovered from multiple fractures and God knows what else before I’d woken up. The realization gave me the chills. But if the gas alone could do that, resulting in blood tests that baffled doctors, then what had BioDhrome done a whole year with Damian Novac? I shuddered at the idea of him lying on a metal table, needles sticking out of his body, his eyes half-closed and mouth open, tubes snaking down his throat. Then I thought about Giant. His being so large that he could’ve easily won Mr. Olympia could be ascribed to steroids, the brightness in his eyes to the gas, but combined? In the context of Damian’s and BioDhrome’s story? With his breathtaking looks that bordered on inhuman, Damian seemed to be of the same outlandish league as Giant, so the latter was surely one of BioDhrome’s experiments, too. Then it hit me. A genetically modified organism. I sat up in a flash. This is it! This was the result of everything linked together: BioDhrome’s illegal medical experiments, the R.I.S.’s chase for them, my Dad’s part in it as a geneticist, the extraordinary Giant and the striking Damian, all of it led to one conclusion: BioDhrome agents were genetically engineered. An urge hit me to find out exactly what they’d done to Damian, and what made him unable to live among people, as he’d told me tonight. An Upgrade, Dad’s specific words came to mind. Yes, that’s what they must be called, Damian and the Giant. Upgrades. Superhumans. For hours I strolled in circles around my room. Barefoot and gnawing at my fingernails. When Leona found me in the rocking chair in the morning, my eyes were still open.

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“What are you doing, curled up there?” she inquired, black hair messy, eyebrows raised. “I’ve got it, Leona. I’ve got it.” Telling her the conclusion I’d reached during the night was only a matter of minutes. Leona listened with her usual concentrated frown. George still snored as we picked our outfits for the day. It was an easy and fast process, with Leona grabbing her bags from Marvimex, which she’d dropped on the chair by George’s couch when she’d stormed to him yesterday. I plucked black khakis and a loose sweater from the wardrobe. It wasn’t my favorite outfit, but more creaking would’ve woken George. Mom was up ahead of us, as usual. A rich breakfast was already on the table: marmalade, chocolate croissants, butter, scrambled eggs and, luckily, black tea, the only thing I managed to get down my throat. Mom grinned, guessing what knotted my stomach. “Anxious about seeing Damian today?” Leona’s eyes flipped up at me over the rim of her teacup. “He’s just a friend,” I muttered. The word prickled my tongue. “Now that you mention it, I never got to ask,” Mom said. “How long have you known each other?” I thought about the first time I’d laid eyes on him mid-November. “Two months,” I replied, recounting our history in my head. I’d stalked him from afar for about a month and then made plans over the Christmas break with Leona to get his attention. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered stumbling into his arms at that party. We’d started talking in the cafeteria afterwards. Then the trip to the mountains and the events that had shaken us to the core. And now we had . . . wow, already mid-February. “Three, maybe.” “Hmm,” Mom said. “I’ve seen great loves develop

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over that amount of time.” “Not the case here,” I retorted, a little acrid. “He seems to like you,” Mom insisted. I rolled my eyes for the first time in over a decade. “Are you in league with Leona? The guy is every girl’s fantasy. The competition’s fierce for him. And he’s actually seeing one of the campus Barbies, so forget about it.” A flash of Damian rolling his hips between Svetlana’s legs made me wince. Mom placed the aluminum-foil clad sandwiches in our bags. I remembered the rice pudding she’d packed once back when I was in elementary, the entire classroom laughing and pointing fingers at me in the lunch break. “What are you doing, Mom?” She ignored the question and proceeded. “He’s great looking and, as far as I can tell, darn smart, of course there’s competition for him. But his eyes are on you, my dear.” Leona intervened. “Jenna, are you saying you have a good feeling about this guy? I thought you hated that whole Prince Charming vibe.” She sounded and looked surprised, too. “Actually, I do have a good feeling about him,” Mom replied with a warm smile and the look of wisdom on her face that I’d trusted all my life. Had I been wrong about her superior mom intuition? The morning unfolded as per usual. We took the bus to campus—a true pleasure ride. It was packed and stunk of onions, but there was no way Officer Sorescu was going to offer his private escort services ever again, so crowds were the safest place to be. The campus hallways were an explosion of voices and laughter, and the cafeteria was as busy as ever. I risked a glance over my shoulder in search of Damian and found him looking as muscular as ever in a thin beige knit. It was

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tight on his arms, and made my chest squeeze up into a ball. He was in the middle of an animated conversation with his friend when Svetlana teetered up to him on her sky high, pin thin heels—giggling girlfriends included. Her long arm coiled around Damian’s like a viper around a thick tree branch, her grin large and white, her hair falling long and glossy platinum down her back. Dressed in a white blouse and slim khakis, she looked beautiful and seductive. Damian didn’t even glance at me, but Svetlana’s girlfriend whispered something in her ear, and Svetlana looked at me and doubled over with laughter. “Stop glaring,” Leona said as she placed her tray on the standing table, facing me. “It’s obvious you’re jealous, and that doesn’t work in your favor.” Leona was right. I shook off the feeling, lest anyone notice my bitterness showing. “This isn’t about Damian,” I grunted, still looking daggers at my father’s mistress. “I feel I owe it to my dad to smash her face.” “I’m sorry, Alice, but your dad has no one but himself to blame that his much younger lover fell for his much younger bodyguard. Or friend, or pseudo-son, or whatever Damian really was – is – to him. Besides, I don’t believe you. This is about Damian, and you know it.” She slid a plastic bottle of water over to me. “Here, cool off.” I caught the bottle, unscrewed the top, and took a swig with my eyes still on Svetlana. Yes, jealousy ate at me like an army of rodents at a piece of cheese. Svetlana averted her gaze. Perhaps it was obvious in my glare this time that I was ready to tie a pretty bow around her neck using her own jugular, even if it cost me a bruised face. She began rummaging in her designer bag, and I looked away. When I looked back up, a man’s face blocked my view. He stood real close, and I had to back up a couple of steps to bring him into focus. My mouth popped open.

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“Tony?!” He smiled a shy smile. “Hi, Alice.” I stared at him, unable to utter a word. It had been a long time since this guy had stood before me, although part of me thought not long enough. He looked older and run down—his face was bloated and blotchy and his smile sagged like some sort of misshapen pumpkin. Too much partying, I thought. The air of arrogance was still in place though, his hair slicked back like that of mobsters in old movies. He looked halfway presentable in his coat á la Clark Gable. “I,” he began, voice shaky. “I saw you on the bus, I –” “Aha.” Eyebrows high up, I still couldn’t recover from surprise. “You were with Leona,” – who, I now noticed in a glance, also stared with an open mouth – “and I wondered if I should come and talk to you. I, I heard what happened, you know.” “What did you hear?” shot automatically out of my mouth. “The whole story, you know. The train, broken down in the mountains. The avalanche, you were trapped there. Until they found you, the villagers, you know,” he stuttered. “I see,” I said, thinking of the adjusted version the R.I.S. had given the police, and the police had given the public. “You’re looking good, Alice, really good.” Now he ogled me from head to toe, much the way Officer Sorescu had the evening before. “It took a while until I decided to come here and talk to you,” he said. “I understand.” “You do?”

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“Perfectly.” “You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?” “You still ask?” A slam on the table made me wince, and the bottles clatter. Leona’s eyes stabbed Tony, her fist clenched, knuckles showing white. “Watch yourself, asshole,” she spat, so loud that every head in the cafeteria turned in our direction. My eyes darted to Damian, who looked at us like a wolf ready for attack. I had an idea. I placed a light hand on Leona’s forearm. She gave me a questioning glare with a quirked-up eyebrow. “It’s all right, Leona. The man has good intentions. Why don’t you tell him what happened in the mountains, if you feel up to it. I sure don’t yet.” Leona glared at Tony. It took a few moments until she was able to address him again, eyes down to her books, hand angrily flipping pages to stay busy. While she detailed our adventure, I casually observed and gauged Damian’s reaction. A tight jaw and fixed eyes on us for the win— maybe he feared we’d say too much. Tony stayed until after the last class that evening. He was there every break. He must’ve really wanted to redeem himself. “Listen, Tony,” I said, smile broad, eyes soft, hand light on his shoulder, all to convey the show as far as to the corner Damian’s group had gathered in. “Let’s talk about this in a more comfortable place. Why don’t we go to Portofino?” Of course Tony jumped at the chance. But, contrary to what I’d expected, Damian didn’t follow. The place welcomed us with its orange walls adorned with paintings of fishermen throwing nets in calm seas, and broad tables laid with shell-shaped dishes. Leona was pretty creative when it came to stories, so she gave

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Tony details about this imaginary peasant granny who’d fed us homemade bread and roasted pork. It felt a bit like the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale, with Leona often displaying a disturbed expression as if she remembered watching someone being chained and stuffed with food, then sliced open. Tony made himself smaller and smaller in his chair, eyes wide like onions as he constantly expected a sharp edge to the story that Leona’s tone threatened with. Soon unable to put up with the game I myself had initiated, I cut in. “It’s getting late,” I said, and threw another glance out the window to check if Damian and his crew came strolling down the paved little street that linked the white university building and Portofino. They didn’t, and dusk was falling. No point in waiting any longer. But, as we emerged from Portofino there it was, his black BMW with dark windows, parked by the restaurant. Damian himself was nowhere to be seen, yet for a moment I hoped with all I had that he’d somehow been watching us, concealed, eating his heart out. Then Damian appeared with Svetlana and two laughing couples from the nearby gas station. They’d most probably had their dinner at the local fast food joint. Leona chose that moment to drag me forward. Tony used the walk to the bus station to fill us in on the changes he’d made in his own life over this past year. He sure could monopolize a conversation. “I sold my car to pay for my last year at Shaguna,” – a private university with bad reputation, but no matter – “and I no longer live with my Mom.” Here he smiled at me as if that was supposed to give me some sort of satisfaction. It was funny, seeing him in his cheap suit swaying in the ride, holding to the overhead rail, yet giving me looks like he was the most powerful man alive. I barely repressed the

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urge to laugh. “Now I live with Cocker and Furious in a rented apartment at the Lighthouse,” he said. “You remember them, don’t you, Alice?” “Sure.” Like I could forget the two thick-necked drunkards Tony would leave me for often in the evenings— his ride or die boys. I tuned out his chatter, my mind spinning around Damian, and drowning in jealousy. It was unacceptable that I allowed him to make me feel so used and powerless. Then I glanced up at Tony and realized that was my pattern. Tony accompanied us to the gate. I was no longer angry with him. Tonight he’d been an instrument that had failed its purpose. He’d used me in far more vile ways, so this was the least he could do. He started visiting daily at the cafeteria. A week later, at noon, Leona sent him for coffee – the poor guy went out of his way to win her favor as my best friend and influential counselor. “Don’t look now, but Novac’s been watching you,” she whispered in my ear. “What?” “Whenever you glance at him, he looks away.” Butterfly wings flapped in my stomach. “He’s surely wondering what the deal is with Tony. He’s already made it clear that he means to protect me, he owes it to Dad. Maybe he feels guilty for keeping his whore warm.” I threw Damian and Svetlana a jealous glance. “No matter how detached he manages to appear, he’s watching you! Trust me. Whenever you turn your eyes from him, his settle on you. I mean, c’mon, he’s followed the freaking bus every night, Alice.” Another flapping of butterfly wings that I struggled to repress. “So what. He’s playing the bodyguard.” “Oh, yeah? Even here, in the full cafeteria, where nothing can happen? I don’t buy this detached act, he’s

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drinking you in. It’s growing more obvious by the day. Even Svetlana noticed.” Her eyes flicked to the woman, and mine followed. Indeed, she glared at me, while Damian talked to another campus heartthrob, Gino Bogza or the blonde Elven Prince, as I liked to call him. “Leona, he’s just keeping an eye on me because he feels he owes it to Dad.” I let my shoulders slump. I was tired of this scenario. “He extracted Dad, who is now safe with his organization, and I . . . I’m giving up.” “Give up?” Leona interrupted. “What if Hector Varlam is right? What if the organization Damian and your father work with is as nasty as BioDhrome? What if more people will be caught in this war between them like the Wretch and Marius Iordache? More people will die, Alice, and it will partly be on us if we don’t do anything about it!” “And what do you suggest we do? Grab machetes and march to war?” “I suggest that we work with Hector. I’ll go right away and tell him about the Giant, and how Damian confessed to working with BioDhrome’s antagonists. All this information could be vital in order to prevent the mountains debacle from ever happening again. We need to help take down BioDhrome. Meanwhile, you keep your lover boy busy so that he doesn’t worry about where I am.” “He’s not my lover boy,” I snapped. “Stop that. He watches your every move. You make sure things stay that way until I’m gone, so that he doesn’t notice and send someone to tail me.” Maybe she was right. Maybe I owed cooperation to the R.I.S. and to others who might fall prey to this war between the organizations. If Damian and his people were clean, then they had nothing to fear. I nodded with a heavy heart and let her go. Leona used the crowd pouring out of the cafeteria in the evening to leak out as well. A chance Tony took to inch

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closer to me at the standing table, and further from his coffee-to-go. “You were here all day, Tony,” I said with an awkward smile, making myself smaller and taking a step back. “Aren’t you tired?” “Sure I am,” he replied with a slimy grin, his piggy face too close to mine. “How about we call it a day and grab some dinner?” I glanced over to Damian to gauge his reaction to this, but he happened to look away. My chest caved in with disappointment. Jealousy my ass. This isn’t working. “Maybe some other time,” I said, gathering my books and clutching them at my chest. “I’m going to Dr. Barbu’s Educational Psychology class.” “I thought you wanted to skip today.” “Yes, but then I decided it wouldn’t be wise. I have an exam with him in a couple of months, and good attendance will soften him on the grade.” “I can wait,” Tony said. “No, don’t. We might stay for debates after class. It could get late.” “Then just call me when you’re done.” “Okay, I will,” I lied with a smile. I was relieved to see him walk out, but I suspected he’d wait outside to make sure this wasn’t a strategy to lose him, which it initially had been. The cafeteria was now a more pleasant venue with only a few students left, rain trickling down the tall nightly windows, and dimming lights. To my dismay, as I glanced to the place where Damian should’ve been, it was empty. Despite the late hour and the scarce attendance, Dr. Barbu’s lectures always took place in a great aula, its amphitheater shape reminding me of ancient Greek plays. I loved attending seminars and lectures in these halls, woodpaneled symbols of history. A thin man in a tweed suit, bald atop his head but

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with jet-black hair on the sides, the proud bearer of a Poirot-style mustache, Dr. Anton Barbu always made an impression as he stomped into the aula. He took his place at the lectern, squared his shoulders and adjusted the mike system from his ear to his mouth. A famous and infamous psychiatrist whose name reverberated as far as the Sorbonne, he intimidated the living shit out of us. The room went so quiet, even flipping pages echoed like drones. Dr. Barbu had everybody’s attention in a matter of seconds, and not because his lecture was fascinating – as you might falsely expect from psych classes – but because we all desperately needed to pass his exam. I scribbled as he talked, soon barely thinking of anything as my hand moved, eyes down to the page. But then he said something, and my wrist froze. Current shot up my nape, and my head snapped up. “More on gene-generated compulsions, their manifestations and how to identify them in Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair’s ‘Facets of the Nuclein,’ available at the city library.” He wrote the book’s title on the blackboard, and recognition smacked me full in the head. I’d read five pages of a book written by Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair up in the mountains. The book had belonged to Marius Iordache, the now dead journalist.

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Chapter Eleven

“The relationship between genetics and psych might be far from obvious, but it’s there,” Dr. Barbu perorated as he paced the lectern area moving his hands like a TEDx speaker. “Genetic predisposition, behavior and mental condition are linked, make no mistake about that. Depression and schizophrenia are often genetically inherited. “Many of you are aspiring teachers. It’ll be your responsibility to keep an extra eye on cases of serious sadness, piercings and tattoos and, of course, watch for borderline. Request to see the parents, ask about the grandparents. Dig as deep as possible. Remember the suicide case studies last year, and remember that in all of them it had turned out that at least one family member had committed suicide one or two generations before.” But with a biochemist for a father and a teacher for a mother these things weren’t new to me. Not for a second did I wonder why a geneticist’s name would end up on a shrink’s list, but this particular name . . . That Marius Iordache had been reading a book written by Dr. Sinclair for a reason related to what happened in the mountains was now crystal clear. As it was that Dr. Anton Barbu had answers, answers worth gold. I barely contained myself until the end of class, when I hurried to reach Dr. Barbu to ask him questions, but some of my fellow students were faster. And just as two people still hovered ahead of me at the lectern, Dr. Barbu bluntly closed the session, grabbed his briefcase and scurried out of the aula. I ran after him, but found the hallway shadowy, echoing only the evening steps and voices of my fellow students.

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As we trickled out of the university I kept close to a flock I sort of knew until we crossed the campus and reached the bus station. Some members of the group took the same route. I moved to the back of the bus, chin deep in my wool shawl with my bonnet pulled down over my ears as they talked and laughed out loud. I glanced behind through the rear window. Of course a pair of headlights tailed us, but there was no way I could tell if they were Damian’s. It could’ve been anyone, just another car on the road after ours. Plus, I doubted Damian’s tailing would be so obvious. I would’ve peered harder, but it would’ve been too weird, since my company was increasingly interested in me. Boys stole glances as they cracked loud jokes as if taking a stage, and girls’ stares were even more unfriendly than usual. By the time the bus stopped at the intersection of Unirii with Iorga I felt like a clown in the middle of an arena. I got off the bus into a strong wind, tiny snowflakes whirling around me. Advancing was difficult. Soon the cold permeated through my fleece coat, and a sensation of loneliness to the marrow of my bones. The light from street lamps was a haze cast along the empty street like a tunnel into darkness, making my steps heavy and slow. A couple of shaggy stray dogs crept out of the shadows and flanked me. I had known them both forever – Vasile and Chanel – and was more than grateful for their company. They hoped for something to eat, begging eyes up at me. “Need to get to the house first, guys,” I said. They suddenly began to bark – a warning to any stranger to those parts, no more than the harmless tunes of home to me. Especially as we approached my parents’ gate Vasile and Chanel became increasingly alert. They eventually stopped in place, tail and ears up. Baring their

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fangs they growled ugly growls that made me freeze in the whirling snowflakes, peering through. I waited for the dogs to dash ahead of me as they usually did when spotting a stranger in the night, but this time they only dared the growls. “Freakin’ traitors,” I breathed to myself, white steam escaping from my mouth and damping the shawl. It felt piss-wet under my chin. And piss-wet is how my whole body felt in a second, as I watched with widening eyes how something moved in the darkness, as if the shadow itself had grown legs. Long, rock-muscular legs outlined through the fabric of denim as they moved. Then Damian’s face emerged from the night. We stared at each other. “Tell me,” he hissed, “don’t you have one bit of backbone?” His strong chin was locked, his stare steely. “Say what?” I forced my frozen lips to move, barely fighting the surprise he seemed to have a talent at producing. “Anton Anghel. A.k.a. the Jackass, if I remember correctly. You’re seeing him again. Has it occurred to you that his interest has resurfaced for a reason?” he said before I got to reply. “So this is why you’re here? To make sure I understand I’m once again a failure?” Damian took a few steps closer. Vasile and Chanel barked in alarm, but kept back. “With BioDhrome on your tail, trusting anyone is a bad idea.” “Which is exactly why I want to wish you a good night, Damian.” I pushed the gate ajar. Damian grabbed one of the rusty bars and yanked it shut. The old thing creaked like a wounded crow. “Apparently I didn’t make the rules clear, girl,” he pressed, his upper lip curling over bone white teeth. “You allow anyone to get too close, and I switch on the necessary

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mechanisms to keep you safe. And those mechanisms aren’t exactly orthodox.” The way he said it, cold sweat shot down my spine. “You didn’t mention rules, actually,” I managed, failing to sound confident. My voice trembled, my gaze wavered. This is how I became aware of Officer Sorescu and two of his men, acting drunk before the dump-bar. But soon they disappeared around the corner, pretending to lean on each other. After the Marvimex evening it was clear Damian was safe for me. “Well, I have a whole list of them rules,” he said. I glimpsed the light flick on between the living room curtains. Mom had surely heard the gate slam shut, but before she could look out Damian had grabbed my hand and drawn me after him. I realized he wanted to present the said list someplace else, though I didn’t see what couldn’t be clarified in a few minutes right here and right now. He’d parked his car around the corner, in front of the elementary school and just a street away from the seafront. Here the wind blasted, almost knocking me off my feet. Only Damian’s grip kept me standing and walking until we found the safety of his BMW. He had me call Mom, which I did—assuring her I was safe and sound. Tea with Damian Novac, and she approved. She didn’t ask any further questions and hung up before I did. I could only hope my playing indifferent worked by the time we parked somewhere close to the Mircea National College, a rather gothic-looking, shady building, which directly neighbored and resembled the Ovidius Theatre. Damian held the car door open for me to get out. In order to appear composed, I refused to put my sweaty hand in his, but took his arm instead. We walked in silence towards Café d’Art, a historic and busy little place by the theater. It had been at a table in

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the back of Café d’Art a year ago that Tony had screamed in my face, “It’s over, Alice.” Every pair of eyes had turned to us. And every pair of eyes had known us, since we were regulars here. “Please, keep it down,” I’d begged in a small, rickety voice, lacing my fingers together in my lap. He banged his fist on the table, making my teacup clatter against the saucer. “It was stupid of you,” he’d spat, his eyes alight and his face red. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now your father is gonna think I pushed you to do it.” I kept kneading my hands painfully under the table. “I already explained to him why I gave up his money. And besides, why does it matter what he thinks?” “It matters because he can destroy my life with one single phone call! And he’ll surely want to punish me after this. Did you stop to think about that when you made the stupidest move ever? No, sure you haven’t,” he’d grunted, measuring me up and down like I wasn’t worth a spit. “You don’t think much, do you?” He’d poked my temple with his index finger as he spoke the next words. “This monkey brain of yours isn’t built to think of others, only of itself, right?” Tears had burned in my eyes. He’d turned and left. I’d stayed there, sniffling and wiping my nose with my sleeve. When I finally looked up again, everyone was staring. I wondered why Damian brought me here of all places, among the people who’d witnessed my embarrassment. His arm curled around my waist, and he acted as possessive as he had at Marvimex as he led me among the open mouths to a small table by the bar. As if he were proud to have me. Had it been Friday evening this particular table would’ve been taken, but couples rarely had romantic dates here on weeknights. Weeknights were for groups, like those

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Tony and I had belonged to in his phase as a drunken poet. We used to come here and hang with his artist friends, Tony reciting his newest poetry, which was better than I like to admit. The enclosure by the bar made for a more intimate atmosphere than the other tables offered, while it still lay in the public eye, so to say. The thick candle that presided on the table enhanced the sensation of privacy, and the butterflies in my stomach went frantic against my best wishes. Behind us, dark cherry curtains separated the pub from a more or less secret access corridor inside the theater. Damian helped me out of my coat, then he peeled off his trench coat and sat down to face me, unnervingly close across the small table. He wore a dark shirt with a few buttons open to reveal the top of his perfectly defined pectorals. I swallowed hard and fixed my eyes on his, pale green. The butterflies weren’t doing any better so I looked aside. “Why did you bring me here, Damian?” No reply, but his gaze on me felt intense. My fingers sought something to keep busy and calm the nerves. They finally settled on the rim of the tablecloth, as did my eyes. “Look, before you lay down the said list of rules or anything, I’d like one thing to be crystal clear between us: I can see whomever I want. I’m not going to live like a hermit because you want to be sure I don’t reveal too much, or just because you’re playing overprotective out of a sense of debt to my dad. And, after all, if you’re so eager to prove your respect and loyalty, you might as well stop banging his bitch.” The last part might’ve come out a little bitter. The table tilted under Damian’s weight as he leaned toward me, so close that I felt his breath on my cheek. “Listen, Alice, and listen carefully. You are to keep

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Anton Anghel at arm’s length, and you’ll cut his visiting schedule.” I stuck my chin out and glared at him with all I had. God, this man had a way of driving me nuts. “I won’t tell him anything, so there’s no reason why he should inconvenience you, is there?” “I’m the only thing that stands between you and BioDhrome, Alice,” he stressed, now very close. “The man at Marvimex – Giant, as you like to call him – he’s still on to you, and he’s not a joke. He’s a hit man, a highly dangerous hit man. But make no mistake, he’s not BioDhrome’s only instrument. He’s not enough, since I’m in his way. So they will use other people as well. People you’re vulnerable to. They have enough money to pay an army of pawns. Haven’t you wondered for one second why Anton would show up now and not at any other time? Why are you so blind? He has a hidden agenda, even a child would see that.” I narrowed my eyes, unable to resist the urge of biting back. “Of that I’m well aware, Damian. Whatever you do, don’t take me for an idiot. What happened in the mountains might’ve left my face unscarred by some miracle, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to lose the paranoia. With Tony I’m trying, you know. Just trying to bond with people again, and who could be more suitable for such an exercise if not someone I know well. Someone from whom I know what to expect. But now that we speak of things even a child would see . . . If BioDhrome is so big a hydra, your organization – their antagonists – must be just as big and nasty in order to be able to fight them, am I right?” Damian leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. The shirt tightened on his rocky arms, making his shoulders and chest look even broader. I bit my lip in a useless attempt to suppress the feeling in my lower belly. “We’re big and nasty enough.” “Should I take it that you’re also powerful enough

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to finance operations such as BioDhrome’s as well?” “I would appreciate it if you would lower your voice.” A few glances around the room, and I noticed what he was worried about—giggling girls at the bar to our left, their eyes groping Damian, and funneled ears from the tables nearby. The waiter, a tall and lean boy of around twenty in an apron, pretended to clear a table in the nearest corner. His attention was fixed on us – I could tell since he used the moment of silence to glide in and ask for our order. He acted particularly friendly, with a beaming smile and cute dimples that Damian brusquely made vanish. All business – straight back, frown and all – he was fast with a harsh and concise order – I would have Penne Carbonara and so would he, along with mineral water and jasmine tea. The boy didn’t wait to be dismissed, but scurried away as soon as Damian’s jaw set. He looked angry. It gave me the chills, but I’d be damned if I’d show it. “Since when do you decide what I have?” I redirected the fear into annoyance. His jaw still clenched, he spoke through his teeth. “Penne Carbonara is your favorite dish, though you’re so skinny no one would say.” He looked me up and down. “And it’s the only thing you ever had in this dump.” “And you just happen to know that?” “I have a file on you. It’s highly important that I know all there is to know about you.” “All there is to know?” I decided not to overdo it since I didn’t really mind. “How long have you been keeping this file?” “For a while now.” “How long, Damian?” “If it makes you feel better, it was a necessity, not a pleasure.”

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Ouch. Blood raced to my cheeks. “Well, I’m sorry you had to endure that kind of hardship. Studying me must have been just awful,” I whispered, fingers pulling at the rim of the table cloth. “Of course, you had your reasons. I didn’t mean to suggest that you were . . . in any way . . . you know, interested . . . not in that way. That never, ever crossed my mind.” “I’m sorry.” He reached over the table and touched my arm. Those imbecile butterflies went all crazy again, and I swore to God I’d choke them or die trying. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “No, I know.” I looked at him and took in every detail of his face as I continued. “Don’t worry about Tony either. I’m not offering him my trust wrapped with a ribbon or anything, I’m just trying to live a normal life. I need a distraction, you know, in order to relieve the memory of all that’s happened. And it won’t be only Tony, you might see me with other guys, too. But I won’t mind if you’re around to watch. Watch over me, that is.” I looked up and smirked, and Damian Novac looked astounded. Oh, it felt like balm on my ego. The waiter brought our drinks at that very point. I took the opportunity to look at him. Just a short glance and a shy smile, of course, I didn’t want to overdo it and risk Damian seeing through my strategy. But the delight was over sooner than the taste of lukewarm jasmine tea on my tongue. Damian’s eyes flashed. “These games are dangerous, and you shouldn’t abuse your powers.” What? He leaned in closer, and I felt his hand wrap around my thigh under the table. It paralyzed me. Its warmth permeated through my jeans, the buzz spreading to my womb. I exhaled slowly to keep my heart rate from shooting up. “As you might have noticed, things are different

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about you lately,” he said. “I think you should know exactly what happened in the mountains, and how it changed you in order to make sure that you understand the situation. You see,” he lowered his voice to a dark whisper, his hand kneading my thigh, sending waves of static all through my body. “BioDhrome agents had been lurking in the woods by the cottage days before we arrived there. They derailed the train, too, but I guess you figured that out yourself – if I learned anything about you, it’s that you’re very smart. But even so, I don’t believe you realize how they did it. No person with their wits about them would. I could tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me.” Try me, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. I only looked long and deep into his eyes. “Keep contact,” he said, and I understood he referred to my gaze. Then, slowly, he turned his head in the direction of the door, leaning slightly back to be able to see behind the bar, the end of which was right next to our table. All he had to do was extend his hand to touch it. Soon the eyes spying us followed his gaze, curious as to the subject of his interest and leaving us unobserved for a few moments. The corner table that Pretty Waiter Boy had cleaned earlier was still unoccupied, while the group behind Damian, drunk and absorbed in their poetry, kept their backs at us. In a flash of complete privacy, Damian’s hand dashed towards the bar and touched it with just two fingers. Then I swear that the finest hairs stood all over me. He didn’t seem to be straining at all as he pushed the heavy oak that sustained over three meters of drinks, mixers and other bar-props in its drawers. It lifted slightly, just enough to expose an inch of metal fittings that anchored it to the floor. The scene lasted only a second, then the mass of wood settled back on the ground, Damian’s fingers

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seemingly guiding it and preventing a loud drop. But they didn’t stop the blast in my brain. “What in God’s name!” As if bitten by a snake, I flexed to jump up. But Damian’s hand, covering most of my left thigh, revealed its purpose there – it instantly turned into a concrete cuff that moored me down. “This is how they did it,” he whispered, eyes fixed on mine. “This is freaking impossible,” I stressed through my teeth. Didn’t lean in though, instinctively keeping distance from him. My heart slammed frantically against my chest. “You’re freaking Hulk strong!” “Keep it together,” he warned, hand still hard on my leg. With a glance around he made me aware that my reaction had drawn attention back at us. He was once again very close, his breath warm on my cheek, the scent of fresh wood strong in my nostrils. “Listen, Alice. BioDhrome agents are different. They’re what we call Upgrades – upgraded humans. That means they can do things that normal people cannot do. Things like hoisting a train carriage off tracks with their bare hands, as unthinkable as that may sound. Giant is one of these Upgrades.” He paused, searching my face as if to assess if I was ready for more of this. I broke into low laughter. Part of my wit was still about me, as he would put it, thinking this could only be bullshit, while part of me based judgment on the extreme experience in the mountains and on what I’d just seen Damian do. Catwoman and Dracula may be pure fantasy, but his inhuman strength was freaking real. “As are you,” I whispered. “You’re an Upgrade. An agent.” “Not an agent.” “Still, you’re a bad guy. You said it yourself.” With his stare still hard and fixed on mine he said, “Bad guy or not, I’m your best hope of staying alive.” “But you’re one of BioDhrome’s projects.”

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“One of their hitmen once, to be exact.” BAM! My head went light. “Which means nobody knows them better than I do, Alice,” he continued, “but I still can’t foresee everything. This is why I need you to cooperate, for your own safety. The hit in the mountains had been prepared days in advance, as I told you. The peasants in the village had been intoxicated with the gas in their homes until they lost control the way our group later did at the cottage. They attacked each other and devastated the entire place, which is what our group would’ve come to if you hadn’t baited them out of there. You saved many lives, Alice, and I admire your courage. What you did was a special and rare thing. But the gas effects are a complex matter.” “The gas must be a complex substance . . .” “Less so than you imagine, actually. Despite the appearances, it isn’t the inhaled gas that makes you stronger. The gas only unlocks possibilities that are already there. It gives your genes a kick, if you want. The chemicals your body produces settle at a specific level – just an infinitely small unit above or under that level would’ve produced no unusual effects – and your body starts to perfect itself, so to say. Everything about you takes a huge step towards perfection, and your looks make no exception.” Here his voice caught menacing undertones. The corner of his mouth crooked up. “Which brings us back to Mr. Dimples, Anton Anghel and, well, men in general. You see, your body starts to perfect itself, each trait when claimed. For example, after you’ve fallen down that ravine in the mountains, you needed the ability to self-heal. So your brain activated it. Which is why the traumas of fight and fall left no marks on you. And that night at Marvimex – that night you needed your looks as weapon. “Yes, that’s right. You needed to soften an attacker

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whom you wouldn’t have had a chance of escaping otherwise. Your reptilian brain knew that, it did its calculations in a split second. Your attacker was much stronger, fighting him or outrunning him were out of the question, so your only chance was seduction. It’ll take a while until this extraordinary physical attractiveness will deactivate and go into hibernation until needed again, the way your ability for self-healing did. “So you see, poor Mr. Dimples never stood a chance, and I’m aware that neither does Anton Anghel. I don’t doubt that he’s into you, Alice, it’s pretty hard not to be under the circumstances, but that still doesn’t explain his popping into the picture at this very point. Which brings us to the reason I brought you here of all places.” Slowly, his hand withdrew from my leg, but his eyes glinted, intense as he stared deep into mine. “I have information that Anton Anghel works for BioDhrome, and that he has a contact person in here. This is where Anghel spends his entire time whenever he’s not waiting for you at the cafeteria, by the way. I’m told he never attends his own classes, never sets foot in his university. All he does is drink himself senseless and write poetry, fantasizing without a hope of making it big one day. “It turns out my informers were correct – the person who links Anghel to BioDhrome already reacted to our presence. He started texting feverishly under the table, and he’ll leave the place in a hurry when he thinks he found a good moment – since I’m busy with you; had I come alone or with irrelevant people, he would’ve felt watched every second, and wouldn’t have made the same decisions; he would’ve been more cautious. “My men are outside, and they’ll follow him. He will guide us to BioDhrome’s front-line, and from there we’ll follow other leads to its leader – whom I’ll crush once and for all.” The last words were a low threat that sent chills crawling down my spine.

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“Why so radical?” I breathed, my eyes scanning the place for the man Damian talked about. “You still ask? Weren’t they radical with us? Alice, they would’ve let you die in pain in the mountains, or tortured you to upgrading.” “Is that what they did with you? Torture?” His eyes remained hard on mine, but the answer was there. “Did you tell my dad?” Tears lurked behind my words. “Does he know what you’ve been through?” “He does.” “He’s the only person you ever trusted with that secret, isn’t he?” I inquired softly. He hesitated, then answered plainly, “Svetlana knows, too.” Jealousy punched me full in the stomach. I forgot all about Tony and BioDhrome. “Of course, your sweetheart knows. She knew who and what you were all along.” I grew vehement, though keeping it low. “You’re surely working together.” “Let’s leave Svetlana out of this.” “Are you protecting her?” “It’s not that.” “What is it then, Damian?” I snapped. “I know she dug out the story Marius Iordache published about you nine years ago, and I know she somehow confronted you with it. Leona told me about that night at the Bourbon Pub.” An idea hit me. “It’s Svetlana who recruited you and got you on the antagonists’ side, isn’t it?” Before I even realized it happening, Damian lifted my chin with two fingers, his stare hard as if I were an errant child who needed to get things inside her head once and for all. “Listen, Alice. I’ve been working with BioDhrome’s antagonists – the Order of Lords by their true

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name – ever since I left BioDhrome almost a decade ago. Svetlana couldn’t have had anything to do with it, as you must realize.” “What made you switch sides then, if not a beautiful woman?” I spewed. “The promise of becoming something other than a beast engineered into a killing machine.” The deep tar in his voice gave me goose bumps. “I proved potential, that’s why I advanced so rapidly in BioDhrome’s assassins’ ranks. But with them, I had to obey orders. With the Order of Lords I get to decide when to use my skills. There’s no one to tell me who I am to take down, I make my own decisions.” “You’re still a hitman, then? Only that you work for someone else?” A part of me slapped the other. What did you expect he was doing with the blades under his sleeves, carving pottery? “I don’t work as an assassin. That’s a pleasure I grant myself once in a while, when I run into scumbags like BioDhrome’s Upgrades.” “Pleasure? You find pleasure in killing?” He shook his head. “You don’t understand.” “Hell, no. I don’t understand, Damian. You kill people!” “Lower your voice,” he hushed me. “We didn’t come here to have this conversation.” “No, we came here so you could lay down some stupid set of rules that I won’t follow.” I tried to stand. In a second his hand was back on my thigh, keeping me down. “Those I kill are not what I’d call people, Alice.” “That’s what all fanatics think about their victims. What Hitler thought of the Jews.” “No, this is different.” His grip tightened so much that it hurt. “I hunt creatures like myself, criminals engineered into Upgrades, into killers normal men don’t stand a chance against. You must understand, what

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BioDhrome does with men like me, it’s . . . it’s like enhancing deranged murderers, turning them into Terminators. That is giving them power, Alice, physical strength beyond measure, brains to rival geniuses, and good looks. But on the inside we’re still the rotten devils we were born to be. We’re hideous, and we should be squashed like the creepers we are before we get to do too much harm.” His voice grew softer, his touch on my thigh turning into a strange caress. “But Alice, no human, no matter how strong and well-trained, could take out someone like Giant. For that you need another Upgrade. You need a monster like me. That’s the only thing that justifies my existence, and that enables me to live with myself. I only seek to eradicate my own kind. A cause I share with all Upgrades in the Order of Lords.”

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Chapter Twelve

“I guess you’re not that rotten after all,” I said. “Maybe you weren’t born a beast, but a guardian of mankind. All right, maybe that’s a bit pompous. What I mean is, since you went for med school, and hunt down creatures that mean us harm, you must like normal people.” “Normal people.” He smiled, looking boyish and vulnerable for a moment in a way that made my head spin. “When I switched sides Alice, I did it for this very reason. Normal people don’t have a chance of surviving if these oppressors ever decide they want this world all for themselves. You know, all that speculation about alien contacts, about angels and demons walking this Earth, they have their roots somewhere. Humans are highly sensitive and sensorial creatures, so they sensed there was something so much like and at the same time so unlike them out there. In the absence of information they resorted to archetypal models such as demons and angels, which they later transferred to fantasy characters like vampires, aliens and superheroes to explain what their sixth sense told them – that human potential is limitless.” “It sounds to me like you love us, mere humans.” I gave him an honest smile. “But it’s still not for you to decide who lives or dies, Damian. Even if your victims are exclusively Upgrades, they’re still that – victims.” Damian’s lip curled over his predator teeth. “Nothing will keep Giant from breaking your neck with a flick of his hand if he lays it on you, so don’t go overboard with the morals.” “Speaking of morals.” I tilted my head to the side and narrowed my eyes. “Will you finally tell me where Svetlana fits into this story?”

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“She doesn’t matter.” I didn’t need more than an instant to go from enthralled to mad, too. “I asked you a question, Damian, don’t take me for an idiot. Don’t lie to me.” Steady, deep, “I don’t do lying.” “I know Svetlana used to sleep with my dad,” I snapped at him over the table. “As I know that she’s obsessed with you, and that she’ll go to any lengths to get you. Did she achieve her purpose?” I waited for a reaction, but none came. Damian kept inspecting my face, his own features expressionless. “Damian, talk to me,” I insisted, clasping his hand on my thigh. The feel of it sent static up my arm. I thought Damian’s eyes lost some of their sharpness for a second too, but maybe that was just in my head. The air around grew hot, my skin tingled. “BioDhrome recruited Svetlana Slavic,” he said, “and used her against your father. She seduced Tiberius. They started seeing each other frequently, and, through him, she met me. She developed a weakness for me, but I wasn’t something BioDhrome could give her along with everything else they’d promised.” Not the slightest change in his tone, as if this didn’t flatter or interest him in the least. “So she tried to use the information she’d obtained from BioDhrome about my past ties with them – the article, The Executioner file, the upgrading process – to force an affair.” Damn, Leona was right! “And it did come to a one night stand, but unfortunately too late to spare you the incidents in the mountains. I only conceded when we returned to Constanța in order to secure her cooperation. “It got her to tell me all she had on BioDhrome – they had promised her money and upgrading in exchange for her loyalty, but in the mountains she had a particularly violent reaction to the gas, which you know better than

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anyone. She understood she wouldn’t survive the upgrading process, and this strengthened her decision to betray them. This is the reason I talked to her about my own upgrading, to make her realize it’s not for everyone. Now she’s helping me get to BioDhrome’s leader, which isn’t easy. She might be a double agent, but that doesn’t bother me. I feed her the information I want BioDhrome to get anyway. I keep her in check in the hope for more sex and – of course – with money.” So cold, so matter-of-fact, even as that word, sex, left his sin of a mouth. After the short stricken phase I became aware of my feelings again – anger. “When?” I rasped through a dry throat. “When did you two—?” Damian looked away from me, to the door again, as if this were just casual info. “We drove back to Constanța together after you were all released from the hospital. I invited myself to her place, and she was happy to accept.” So after he’d allegedly stared at me for hours as I lay in that hospital bed. Just a night before he had tea in the living room with my mother. My brain began to boil. “What about Dad? Did he cross your mind when you decided to bang her?” My tone was sour even to my own ears. “He’s better off without her.” “Maybe he has feelings for her. Feelings you tramped on.” “Not maybe, surely. He has feelings for a woman who was BioDhrome’s weapon against him. He’ll want nothing to do with her once he gets back, trust me.” “You made love to her,” I whispered, pain in my chest. “I didn’t make love to her!” His hand wrapped around mine, bringing it on the table between us. He shook it to make me look him in the face. I couldn’t hide my tears as our eyes met. “I did what I had to do, Alice.”

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“Sure, poor you. Being handsome as a god comes with a price, doesn’t it? You spark obsessions against your will, so no wonder you get forced into this or that bed now and then, ain’t it?” Damian pressed his lips together. A shift in the air signaled that we were no longer alone, and I realized why – Mr. Dimples stood by our table in his apron, the smile wide on his face, a plate of Penne in each hand. “Sorry for the delay, the chef was on break,” he apologized with a slight bow towards me. I’m pretty sure he gave me small wink, but all I managed back was a twitch of my cheek. He went away kind of disappointed, while Damian and I remained facing each other over the plates, neither of us touching the food. He still didn’t speak, as if there was nothing more he had to add on his affair with my dad’s slut, but tension oozed out of him. “It’s the way it is,” I eventually broke the silence, grabbing the fork and picking with it at individual pasta that happened in its way. I didn’t take any of it to my mouth. “Actually, if I think about it, yours isn’t such a bad strategy. Maybe I should do the same with Tony, and he’ll tell me everything he knows about BioDhrome, too.” Before I could blink Damian’s hand clenched around my face. Huge and stone-hard, that’s how it felt from jaw to temples, and I wasn’t sure if he got ready to kiss me or crush me. “I’m sure Anton Anghel would promise you the world in order to get his dick inside of you.” What the –? I stared at him dumbfounded. His eyes wandered all over my face, his wooden scent strong in my nostrils, assuring me this was actually happening. “But all he can make is false promises. He doesn’t have any power, and he can give you nothing. He’s nothing but a pawn. Should he ever claim differently and try to get his sleazy hands on you, I’ll burn him alive.”

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“Let go of me,” I managed. Damian’s hand moved from my face to the back of my head, sinking in my hair. He massaged my nape gently while his tongue swept over his upper lip, sending my butterflies wild. “Know this, Alice – if there’s anyone you’ll ever have to sleep with for advantage, it’s me.” The statement struck me like lightning. I got goose bumps all over. The way he said those words, the way they left his mouth. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered, unable to believe there was any way he actually meant it. Maybe he only played with me as punishment for ranting on his affair with Svetlana. The affair with Svetlana . . . With renewed spite I tried to wiggle out of his grip. “Cut the charade.” But his clasp didn’t loosen. On the contrary, my chair scraped the floor as he pulled it closer, then he yanked me into his arms. They wrapped around my body, all hard muscle. “When you stumbled into my arms with a glass of wine, Alice Preda, I saw a pretty girl with sweet freckles trying to act the diva. But I have to say, that ostentatious red lipstick on your sweet little face, your shy yet witty tongue in the bathroom, I barely held back a hard-on.” Who the hell are you and what did you do with Damian Novac!? Horny instead of offended, I stared speechless at this devil whose eyes glinted like those of an angry beast. “That night I jerked off, you know? I jerked off thinking of you, of your skin, of the shape of your breasts under the top, and that way you spoke, of the way your hand moved up and down as you rubbed my shirt.” His breath deepened, his index finger tracing the shape of my cheek, the sensation shooting down to my lower belly. “I wanted you, Alice. And with every time we

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interacted I wanted you more. Soon I wanted you so badly that it hurt. It was only out of respect for your father that I didn’t do you to last me a lifetime when I had the chance. Remember? In the mountains? Yes, I sensed you wanted me as you lay in my arms. “I wanted you even as I watched you on the hospital bed. It wasn’t easy to keep it in my pants all this time. But now, since you’re willing to play a dangerous game anyway, I’ll gladly take the chance and have you spread your legs for me in exchange for, say, not ripping Anghel’s head off.” I nodded as I finally saw what he was doing, though my heart still thumped and my face burned. So much for “I don’t do lying”. “You had me for a moment there,” I said with a forced grin, brushing his hand off my face. “But trust me, not all men have this kind of acting skill, and I don’t usually fall for words of passion, not after my life experience.” He didn’t react, eyes intense on mine. “Still,” I continued, praying without a hope the heat in my cheeks didn’t show in their color, “you need to understand that I won’t live like a hermit. I want a life. I need a life.” Damian let me go and leaned back in his chair. Arms folded across his chest, and eyes slowly regaining the sovereign composure that defined him, he smiled. It wasn’t friendly or the smile of a mentor who’d finally brought his student to the desired conclusion, but rather the warning of a bully. “Maybe there will come a time when you’ll be able to have a life, but it’s not now. Pay attention, Alice. Rule number one. I see a guy as much as hold your hand, I put him in the hospital – just in case. “Before we come to rule number two, there are

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some things you need to understand. The gas turned on certain powers in your mind and body. In time they’ll wilt, but right now they can put you in trouble. Back at the hospital in Brașov, your dad had you and your friends on very strong sedatives in order to keep you in bed and looking sick. Otherwise you would’ve recovered from the frost, jumped up and stormed the place as if nothing. The press would’ve easily found out about your odd case, and it would’ve been really difficult for your dad, the R.I.S. and even me and my people to restore ignorance, so to say. Therefore rule number two that you’ll have to live by is no standing out. You’ll have to keep the charms your brain activated in check, and spare poor imbeciles like Anghel and Dimples. “Rule number three. You notice anyone suspicious around you, you let me know immediately.” Without asking for permission, he grabbed my bag from the rest of my chair and opened it. I wanted to yell an angry “Hey!” and snatch it back, but then I didn’t. He typed a number – probably his own – into my cell phone agenda. “No matter the time, you call me. Rule number four. No police involvement, for their own sakes. I don’t think I have to draw you a picture of how helpless Sorescu, his men, and even Hector Varlam are in this story.” Hearing the name, curiosity spiked. “Did you know? That he was with the national Intelligence Service?” Still typing with his thumb, “I did.” “Since when?” “I knew the entire time.” I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly keep a ‘file’ on everyone, and besides, I highly doubt that the R.I.S. would be so transparent.” “I’m not alone Alice, I told you. I have the Order of Lords backing me up, and all their resources at my disposal.”

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Dropping the cell back into my bag, he changed the subject. “Rule number five. No wandering around. Keep it to home and campus for a while.” “For how long?” “For as long as necessary.” “What if I need to go to the library?” My intentions since I’d left Dr. Barbu’s class returned to mind. “The library shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you do it on daylight. No going out in the evenings.” “Not even my dad imposed such restrictions on me.” “And look where that got you. You have the attention of highly dangerous people, Alice.” Including yours, only not the way I’d hoped. I bit into my lip again, fighting the frustration away. Further discussion was obviously pointless. “I understand.”

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Chapter Thirteen

The food just wouldn’t slide down my throat. Maybe it stuck because of Damian’s domineering attitude, or because of the entire place staring at us, but what I knew for sure was that I felt uncomfortable. To add to the awkwardness, Damian insisted not only to help me into my coat, but also wrap the shawl and fix the bonnet on my head as if I were a helpless kid, then lead me out with a possessive arm around my back. It made things unmistakably clear for Mr. Dimples. No question the boy had been observing our body language – Damian’s hand on my thigh, our heads close together, me plastered to his chest as he closed his arms around me and set longing loose in my body, but the handsome barbarian still had to make a final point. In the car I couldn’t keep from staring at Damian, a huge frame whose head reached the ceiling, his jaw hard, his eyes glassy and cold. His features, perfectly sculpted, seemed imbued with the ruthlessness of a hitman indeed. Impossible that the passion he’d shown me was real. Impossible that he requited my infatuation. I still gave this open wound spins as he pulled up in front of my parents’ house. I hoped for a sign from his part, a gentle touch, a smile, no matter, something. But he looked away from me, cool and detached as he spoke. “Say hi to your mom for me, will you?” “Sure,” I muttered and cracked the door. I did it in slow motion, hoping he’d take the chance and add something more personal. He suddenly reached over and slammed the door back shut, startling the crap out of me. Before I knew it he put his arm around my shoulders, his face big and close, his lips inches from mine.

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I blinked fast in surprise. “On a second thought,” he murmured, his breath warm on my face, “I do need a little something that’ll seal our agreement.” “Agreement?” I mumbled. “See, you forget. That’s why I need a token that you’ll comply with the, what did we call them again? Rules. How many were they?” “Umm . . . Five?” “Five indeed. What was the first one?” My thoughts spinning, I couldn’t place any of them. “I didn’t exactly mark the sequence.” “You better, because I listed them in the order of importance. You are to discourage any man who courts you, for safety and prevention reasons – the first rule. And as fate will have it, here is my chance to aid you in the endeavor this very evening.” He leaned even closer, brushing my ear with his lips and sending current through my body. “Anton Anghel is hanging by the bar across the street, beer bottle in hand, talking to Sorescu’s men. I take it he’s been there for a while now, waiting for you to return home, since I gather he didn’t even dare ask your mom to let him wait inside. Considering your history, I mean.” I looked over Damian’s shoulder. The street was dark, but the lonely bulb hanging from a wire above the entrance to the dump cast a cone of hazy white over three big-bellied figures. “He didn’t even call me,” I muttered under my breath. “He did, but your phone was on silent, and I erased the calls when I saved my number in your agenda.” Emotion surged in my belly, but I struggled to repress it. “Don’t you think you’re taking too many liberties?”

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“I’m taking protection measures.” Damian caressed my chin with a gentle finger, and my judgment instantly clouded. “Let’s paint Tony boy a picture that should stick with him, shall we?” I had no idea what he meant but, under the spell of his touch, I responded to all his actions without protest. I waited in the car until he walked around to my side, opened the door and held out a hand to help me out. The way he kept his arm around me as we walked to the front door sent my heart thumping again, but this time things felt different than at Marvimex or Café d’Art. Damian emanated a different kind of tension. I couldn’t believe it when, once under the overhang, he spun me round and closed his arms around me, pulling me to his chest that felt like concrete beneath his trench coat. I stared wide-eyed at his face, a perfect sculpture that hovered over me, framed by raven locks. I don’t know at which point I realized he was going to kiss me, but, when I did, I stopped breathing. And the instant I felt the stonesmooth touch of Damian Novac’s lips on mine, my legs turned to jelly. His kiss was unexpectedly gentle, his mouth warm as it softened and molded mine. I tinged him with the tip of my tongue, my buds opening like flowers at the slightly metallic taste of his lips. He took his time as if savoring the feel of me, then grew bolder on my lips, taking them between his over and over again. His tongue kept shy of mine, but with one huge hand he cupped my head possessively, while his other arm tightened around my waist, crushing me against him. I understood he granted his instincts some freedom, but fought to control himself at the same time, like keeping attack dogs on long leashes. My mind clouded, completely the prisoner of Damian’s kiss and of his arms until I had no air left.

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Damian loosened his embrace, then clasped my shoulders to hold me steady. He pulled away, but still planted thirsty pecks on my lips as if our mouths had a will of their own and didn’t want to separate. When I pushed my lids open, Damian Novac looked at me with brows scrunched in what I interpreted as restraint that seemed to hurt. His lips were slightly reddened from our kiss, lending an angelic touch to his perfectly carved, strong-boned barbarian look. Damian Novac just kissed me . . . “This should make things clear for Mr. Anghel,” he said, his voice low and throaty. I searched his eyes and relished in their kindling. I understood he’d done this to “help” keep Tony away from me, but I didn’t really care. He wanted me, I’d sensed that. As I sensed he fought back lust. I can give him a hard-on like Beauty-Queen, too. “Yes, that should do it,” I whispered, referring to the gratification of knowing I had him hooked at least for a few moments. But he surely thought I was talking about Tony. Only after Damian pulled away from me and walked out the gate did the winter air begin to cool me down. Until I closed the door behind me he hadn’t driven away though – probably making sure I wouldn’t leave again once he was gone. I slapped my back against the door and trickled down with a drunken smile on my face. I stayed there on my butt, a fantasizing idiot, until Mom found me. She was so eager to know how my evening with Damian had gone that she unwrapped the shawl and took off my coat herself, then led me to the couch. The TV was on. Leona kept Mom company. A pleasant surprise to see George had joined them as well, even though he still wore the same pajamas he had the

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entire week, his hair a rumpled heap, his narrow face drawn and pale. Too ecstatic about tonight, I couldn’t keep the main part to myself, and told them about the kiss over jasmine tea, my cheeks burning in the homely warmth. Mom clapped her hands and giggled like a schoolgirl, while Leona was torn between smiles and frowns. George gawked, confused. “So you’re with Damian Novac now?” he inquired. “Well, I don’t think I’m ‘with him’,” I said, reality striking back. It wasn’t welcome, I wished I could’ve dreamt a little longer. “I mean we kissed, but from that to being together. . . It’s a long way.” I immediately regretted having spilled the beans. I’d made tonight look like a date, which wasn’t the case, and now everybody, especially Mom, had expectations. So I changed the direction of our talk using Damian’s strategy – I started asking questions, addressing most of them to George. In the end, this was the first time he joined us since we’d returned from Brașov. “The nightmares are lighter,” he said. “I know I have the medication to thank for that, but –” He looked sideward at Leona and took her hand. “Being with Leo seems to be the best kind of therapy.” He even laughed a few times. He looked carefree those moments, yet not the same young man he used to be. He appeared older. As for Leona, she gave George half-hearted and, I daresay, fake smiles. Maybe she had trouble forgiving him for the incident in the mountains but, when we finally had time alone much later that night – she had to share George’s couch until he fell asleep – it turned out something else held priority on her mind. “Hector needs your help,” were the words that startled me from my fantasies of Damian at around two o’clock, when Leona barged into my room.

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“Geez, you scared the life out of me!” “Then brace yourself, for what I’m about to tell ya will send quite a few nightmares down your street.” She dropped on the bed by my side and glanced to the window behind her as if somebody might be spying on us. “Hector says Novac’s patrons, the Order of Lords, are just as dangerous as BioDhrome. Under their umbrella, Novac plans a bloodbath against BioDhrome’s people. Hector doesn’t know exactly when and where, but there’s no doubt that in such a confrontation many innocent lives will be lost. But there’s hope! Hector’s convinced Novac has a thing for you, and he wants you to help prevent the slaughter.” I stared at her in shock. “What is this, freaking James Bond on S.F. scale?” “Damian Novac is no less a villain than BioDhrome. Talk to Hector, have him show you everything he’s shown me. Damian Novac runs dirty affairs, Alice, even with the government.” “What?” “Just a few nights ago, the Minister of Defense himself came to Constanța in complete secrecy, only to have a private meeting behind steel doors with none other than Damian Novac.” The info stuck like too big a bite in my throat, and prevented me to make a sound. “As the agent who knew Novac’s case and the man himself best,” Leona continued, “Hector went with something like a S.W.A.T. team to bring Novac in at around midnight. The Ministry has such special interest in the man because of what BioDhrome made of him, something that became a matter of national security a decade ago – the Executioner.” She paused for the effect. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was stubborn. “Hector had to escort Novac to a block of flats by

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the seafront,” Leona went on. “He and his men waited on the landing on the highest floor while Novac spoke behind soundproof doors with the Minister. There’s something huge going on here, Alice. Something that will cost many innocent lives, like it almost cost us ours back in the mountains. But even though the Executioner has the support of corrupt ministers, Hector and his people from the R.I.S. are willing to fight and take down the hydra. And you could play a huge part in it.” I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head to the side, inspecting Leona. “And how come he told you all this? Hector, I mean. No offense, but you’re just an anonymous student, a civilian. It’s not common to trust civilians with this kind of information.” She smiled with deeper meaning, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hector and I, we’re both gypsies, Alice, and, as you know, blood runs thick for us.” I smiled. “You think he has a thing for you?” “I hope he has a thing for me.” That yanked the curtain of doubt aside. “As you do for him.” Leona’s cheeks went dark cherry. She looked to the window, hiding her eyes. She didn’t talk about her feelings that night, though. I guess she wasn’t ready. We chewed on the story she’d presented until she was lost to exhaustion and light snores. I’d had a long day and the hell of an emotionally demanding evening myself, but I barely managed a few hours of sleep. ***

Dawn washed over the bald contour of the knotty old apple tree, and the first feeling I felt when I opened my eyes was ecstasy unleashed at the memory of Damian’s kiss. Only for Tony’s eyes, I remembered, the morning

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happiness deflating, and my brain switching on. I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth and struggled with my hair. I finally managed to restrain it in a ponytail, jumped in a fluffy black knit mom had gotten for me, and a pair of comfortable jeans and boots. I grabbed my coat and backpack, and dashed out the front door before breakfast or seeing anyone’s face. I texted Leona from the bus, a concise message: “Library, checking Dr. N. Sinclair.” The county library is one of the most impressive buildings in town. It’s big, cubic and ugly, inside-out white and massive with stone that looks like – but I doubt actually is – marble. To me it had always been a graveyard for books with a far too complicated search system. It took a while to find the right little drawer where they’d listed Sinclair’s name and his only two titles, “Facets of the Nuclein” and “Psychology and Physiology, unlikely Twins” in the forest of boards. They were so low in demand that they hadn’t been introduced in the digital system, the staff explained. I removed the slips and took them to the front desk, ordered them both, then took the stairs to the second floor to wait for the delivery. The books were allegedly too old and fragile to take home, and therefore could only be examined on site. I waited, tapping the desk with my fingers, surrounded by tall bookshelves and a grave-like silence. There wasn’t a soul in the room besides me – no secret that barely anybody read outside the exam months. So I had the ticking clock and the rapping of my fingers on the desk as sole companions until a groomed librarian with long fingernails finally brought the books. “Sorry for the delay, but they weren’t easy to find. We don’t get requests for the older editions much anymore,” she admonished rather than apologized. She

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scowled at me, making it clear that she didn’t appreciate me having made her search the deepest and – judging by the eaten covers and her smell – mold besieged basements of the county library. She lingered a few moments, allowing me the chance to ask for forgiveness, but I was much too fascinated by the ancient appearance of the books. The leather covers, black and eaten by humidity and time, looked medieval rather than nineteenth century. Jewels, neglected gems. The pages were yellowed and caked together, so I was extra careful when separating them. The Romanian library didn’t make a safe place for such treasures that too few people knew about, and I instinctively wondered how many valuable pieces had been lost to negligence and decay all over the world. How much information had been out there that was forever out of our reach, forever destroyed? The bits of intelligible content – much of it was faded and destroyed – read complicated and elaborate, not to mention much more advanced than what I imagined they knew back in 1891, when the book had been published. I barely made it through a few pages, but I gathered that “Facets of the Nuclein” furthered the work of the German Dr. Friedrich Miescher. It talked about how genes regulate the kind and amount of protein cells produce in order to complete different tasks. With throbbing temples and a grumbling stomach, I took a break around noon. I got a bagel from a nearby baker, then went back to the library and on to the second book in the reading room. It was a bit lighter than “Facets of the Nuclein,” being divided in what resembled a “hardware” and a “software” part. I got most of the software – the psychology part – but physiology stretched out of my brain’s reach. I eventually gave up with an exhausted groan that scratched the silence. It was past seven P.M. when I left. It had started to

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snow again, the first layers of sludge already in place, the evening mist glistening in the streetlights. I passed by the windows of busy cafés with the coat wrapped close around my body, and my chin tucked in the scarf, watching the boisterous groups inside. Girls were overly groomed with strident eye makeup and inflated lips, while boys acted the rich gangsters with golden chains, their napes folding with fat. I took the bus home, half expecting him to emerge at any stop from around a dark corner or from the crowd. But, if he was anywhere close, he didn’t show himself even as I walked up the street to my parental home. Vasile and Chanel flanked me again, their tails still waggling as I closed the gate on them – with every intention of coming back, which they knew. But, as I returned with a tray of chicken leftovers and bread in tomato juice, the cobbled street was empty and dark. Not a soul up or down, nothing but the ghostly street lamps that seemed to have swallowed my two scruffy old friends, and gave the night an air of Londoner danger. The bulb hanging from the overhang of the dump swayed alone in the wind. A chill went through me from head to toe. I shuddered, as if Jack the Ripper might emerge in a blink from the haze and slit my throat. It was a premonition much stronger than anything I’d had before, a premonition of a danger that felt no lesser than the peasant in the mountains. I dropped the tray by the gate and hurried to the house. Wrong move, it turned out. As soon as I closed the door to the vestibule a hand covered my mouth and nose with a stinking cloth. I was yanked backwards into a fleshy body that soon seemed to coat me completely. Vision darkened, and my head began to spin. I blacked out.

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Chapter Fourteen

It took a few seconds until my sight cleared on a pair of legs and boots. Mine. I lay crouched on the back seat of a car, the sound of the sea a muffled roar outside. A leathered hand held a small bottle that looked like cologne at my nose, but stunk pungently of sulfur. As I recognized Officer Sorescu in the driver’s seat, I panicked and scrambled to sit up. My eyes must’ve spoken volumes, since he hurried to explain himself. “Don’t worry,” he said, palm up as if to stop me from screaming. “I mean no harm. Agent Varlam wants to see you.” The slightly anxious tone and soft brown eyes confirmed that he posed no danger. This situation wasn’t any more pleasant to him than it was to me. Fear subsided. Rubbing the back of my neck I said, “What the hell did you do that for?” He looked down, mien guilty. “It wasn’t my call, Miss Preda.” “Hector’s call, then?” But he wouldn’t lose a word on it. He helped me out of the car into the roar outside, and kept me in balance as I stepped on the brink of an earth cliff above the raging sea. My hair whipped against my face in the wind, the cold infiltrating through the loops of my knit and biting me all over. Grains of sand and hair stuck to my lips. That Hector wanted to talk at the sea front in such weather struck me as weird at the very least. For all I knew, Hector Varlam could be as dangerous as any thug. I didn’t trust him, he wore too many masks, and something told me he was using Leona. He messed with her mind and

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exploited her vulnerabilities. I braced myself in a futile attempt to keep some of my body heat that quickly lost the battle with shivering when Sorescu put an arm around my back. It helped, warmth spreading along my spine as I managed my first wobbly steps through the frosted shrubbery towards the front line of apartment buildings, spotted with lights at scattered windows. As we walked, the man brought his body closer, and I gave in to his warming arms. His presence felt somehow reassuring, but then Damian’s warning flashed through my mind. I loosened myself gently from his embrace, as if Damian could pop out of nowhere any second, and punch the man senseless. As we reached the entrance to a tower-shaped block of flats close to the cliff, my heart raced like a rabbit’s. The place looked sinister, doors and railings creaking in its hollow, obscure heights. Elevator broken, which was a tragedy considering the ten stories we had to climb. They seemed deserted. We reached the highest floor panting. There were no apartments here, only a set of double doors cast into the long wall, apparently made of steel. They were closed, massive and forbidding, like the entrance to a vault. “What is this?” I asked Sorescu, puzzled. Sorescu didn’t reply. He just pushed a button embedded in a metal panel that looked like a high-tech interphone, much resembling the one at Dad’s lab. The heavy steel withdrew sideward into the wall with a hightech sound worthy of starship Enterprise, making my jaw drop. A freaking penthouse bunker in what looked like a ghost block in Chernobyl? A disappointment to see we now stood before a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows across from us. It seemed they hadn’t been washed in months, but they were surprisingly well insulated, the roar of the sea barely

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audible. Only our steps reverberated across the bare-walled space, the concrete smeared with what looked like rudimentary graffiti and cusses written in coal, resembling the ashen skin of a heavy smoker covered with tattoos. Hector Varlam looked out one of the dirty panes of glass. He stood with hands in his pockets, a thick coat covering him to the knees, the collar straight up, concealing his nape. He seemed a cold war, James Bond character. The door behind us slid shut with a thud – incredible, all the technology deployed only to hide an empty room in dire need of renovation – and Agent Varlam turned around to face us. A surprise to see he’d shaved, revealing olive skin with vestigial craters – maybe from chicken pox? His aquiline features were even more pronounced without the beard, expressing cunning, and the dark eyes focused, his hair slicked back. He wasn’t close to Damian’s league, but he was a good-looking man nevertheless. Robust and masculine. I imagined a hairy, nicely formed chest and rough hands that would make Leona’s body vibrate. “He meant every word,” Hector said, his voice an echo in the hollow space. “What?” “Novac. What he told you about his feelings at the café, he meant it. It wasn’t just a point he made about your ‘susceptibility to lies of passion,’ as you told Miss Ignat. He really is strongly attracted to you. Miss Ignat told me all about your evening with him, I hope you don’t mind.” “I do mind, as a matter of fact.” “Don’t be mad at her, all she means to do is to protect you. With someone like Damian Novac on your case, a killer with a sick crush, you could use the protection.” “Oh, I believe you, but I have a hard time trusting you.” “And why is that?”

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“You threatened to lock me up, along with my dad, remember?” “You have me all wrong. I assure you that was not my intention.” “Are we playing games now, Hector? Are we going to pretend that we didn’t share that train carriage? The cottage? The cold? The dread? That you didn’t speak those words at the hospital?” “It’s not like we shared all that as best friends, is it? Our exchanges were few, so you can’t claim to know me as well as a friend.” “Back at the hospital you would’ve had me believe so to get info out of me. And, truth is, we did go through things that would create a bond between even the most distant of people. Our lives were threatened in the same place, in the same way. So. What happened to babe?” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’d like me to call you that again?” “I’d like to keep our relationship authentic, if we’re forced to have one at all.” He nodded, inspecting my face. “I knew it had to be more than looks that got Damian Novac hooked.” Then, addressing Sorescu, “Leave us.” The man turned and walked away, but lingered by the door, his fingers missing the code on the panel several times. A low cuss. Hector gave him the combination. The metal doors thudded shut behind Sorescu, and Hector and I were left alone, facing each other. “You must make him nervous, poor Sorescu,” Hector said. “I think you intimidate him.” “Never enough to make him lose his focus. He might not be the brightest, but he’s a well-trained man.” “Then I must make him nervous indeed,” I replied

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in the most defiant tone I could, chin up. “And I’m certain you know it was BioDhrome’s gas that brought about this . . . attractiveness. It made my brain activate it. As you know I didn’t always possess it.” “Oh, you were always an attractive girl. It’s just that you looked so . . . fresh, most men thought you were still underage. Your fellow students are too young to appreciate the type. They’re intrigued by the mature, well versed women. But Novac saw the goddess in you from the beginning.” He turned around and walked along the windows. “He watched you on campus. You were the only woman to have ever caught his attention, actually, as strange as that sounds. At first I accredited his interest to the fact that you were Preda’s daughter – since it had been Dr. Preda who’d infiltrated him on campus with the mission of protecting you in the first place – but it soon became obvious that he found pleasure in the sight of you. Especially after that night at the dorms, when you spent half an hour together in the bathroom. Which was very inconsiderate, by the way. Yes, I was there, too, observing. Since that night something changed in Novac’s entire body language. His eyes glinted in a special way as he glanced around for you, and his interest grew by the day. It was a shock even to me. In six years I’d never seen a spark in those dead eyes of his. Well, except in the depths of his studies – the science of man fascinates him, as it does any psycho.” He turned to me, dark eyes sharp as he marked the heavy. “Novac is a genetically engineered killing machine with little trace of humanity left, but somehow you managed to reawaken the man in him.” My heart jumped. Hector grinned. “I didn’t say anything at the hospital because I wasn’t sure,” he said. “But now I have no doubt. After that night at the party, Novac finally began acting like a man

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and not a thing immune to all cravings like a Terminator. After he met you I could read feeling in his face, in his moves, in every twitch of his facial muscles. Back in the mountains it was obvious that wanted to rip your clothes off.” I looked away from him, out the window to my own reflection. The fuzzy face was flushed, chest rising and falling fast as I breathed. The scenario Hector’s words put in my head . . . Damian between my legs, moaning and slamming into me, hands clenched on the edge of the bunk above my head, veins showing between his arm muscles. “Damian’s shrewd,” I said, making an effort to control my breathing and my voice. “Calculated. Maybe this is a strategy of his to manipulate me more easily.” “I’m absolutely positive this isn’t the case. But you can and must use his feelings to manipulate him.” Hector and I looked at each other at the same time, and I knew this was it. This was the point where he’d tell me why I was here. “Alice, the R.I.S. desperately needs your cooperation. Lives depend on you.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that Damian Novac is an engineered killer with friends in high places, and he’s planning a bloodbath. Our only chance to stop it is to use his only weakness against him – to use you.” I clenched my jaw, my eyes burning with the need to slap him. “This is outrageous! You’re a freaking trained R.I.S. agent, you have the entire Intelligence Service and the entire police force at your disposal, and you’re putting this on my shoulders?” “Listen, Alice. Novac is an extremely dangerous creature, and he’s got the support of entities so powerful you can’t begin to imagine. None of my agents can get anywhere near him, no one can. The only one who can is

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you. You he welcomes in his proximity, he seeks your closeness. He stalks your house, and he’s got someone there whenever business keeps him away. That’s why Officer Sorescu had to create the illusion that you were safe in your home this evening, knock you out with chloroform – I know, old school, but still highly efficient – and sneak out through the back door after the rest of my men baited Novac’s minions away.” Blood thumped in my ears. Damian is stalking me. Hector came really close, clasping my shoulders. “Alice, listen.” He took a deep breath, his gaze darkening and locking on mine. “The Executioner is planning a bloodbath at the Marquette on Saturday night.” I threw my head back, squinting at Hector as if that could help make sense of what he was saying. “BioDhrome holds a nucleus meeting with their most important members once every ten years,” he continued, “and Saturday is when the next grand event takes place. A chance the Executioner and the Order of Lords have been waiting for since forever, and a chance they’ll take to wipe them all out. Novac will order the doors closed at midnight, and he and his minions will massacre everybody at the club – including innocent people, since protocol says everybody might be working with BioDhrome.” “But, if the R.I.S. knows . . . there must be some way for you to stop this!” He shook his head. “The Order of Lords is much too powerful. The only person who can stop this is you – if you’re at the club on Saturday, Novac will desist. He’ll call off the operation.” I refused to believe Damian capable of such a monstrous thing. “This can’t be. I can’t – Damian would never –” “Don’t be a fool, Alice. With you, Novac is showing only his best side, but he is, in truth, a monster. I

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guarantee that you won’t be in the slightest danger if you help us. Novac would never hurt you or the people you care about, so Miss Ignat, George Voinescu, everybody who means something to you will never have anything to fear from him either. But don’t confront him about his plans for Saturday, because that would give him the chance to find a way and keep you from the whole thing. Innocent people will die, and no one will be able to stop it from happening. Your presence there must be a surprise to him. Saturday will be the only night he won’t have your house under surveillance because he needs all of his men at the Marquette, so you’ll be able to move as you please.” The dying Wretch, blood gurgling out of his mouth, stabbed my brain. It’s happening again. “What do I have to do?” “Make him jealous and get him out of there.” Say what? I blinked. “Excuse me?” “Go to the club with a group of friends, flirt with one of the boys. It’ll get Novac to grab you and storm out, leaving his commando position. His minions won’t do anything unless ordered by him, so the whole thing will be disarmed. You could use that young man whom you were supposed to marry not long ago. Mr. Anghel. He follows you around like a slobbering dog lately. He’s moldable like clay in your hands.” “Yeah, seems I suddenly have a fan club,” I sneered. “BioDhrome’s gas works wonders on the pheromones. Imagine everything they’d had time to do with Novac during the year they had him.” “I wish I didn’t have to imagine. I wish I knew exactly.” “Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair’s books describe much of the upgrading process. Thank you for having led us to them, by the way, they are crucial for our purposes.”

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I shook my head, the abrupt turn in the direction of this discussion making my neurons a bit dizzy. “All right, you’re losing me. How do you even know about the books?” “I’ll be direct and clear with you, Alice. You’re our villain’s love interest, so we follow your every move.” “Can I still count on privacy in the ladies’ room?” I spat. Hector looked amused for a change. “We don’t have cameras installed in your house, if that’s what you’re asking. Your mother or your friend, Miss Ignat, would’ve surely sniffed them.” “And in what way are those books valuable to you?” “You still ask? They hold key information on how creatures like Novac are made. The content of those books is so precious it should never reach the world at large. Believe it or not, the underground archives at the county library were a perfect hideout.” “Hector, you won’t get a formula in those pages. They’re made to elude mediocre intellects.” He caught the insult, but bridged over it with a grin. “Of that I have no doubt. We’ve retrieved the books to send them to our professionals. They’ll work out a way of undoing what BioDhrome has done with Damian Novac. We’ll humanize him again. That’s our ultimate goal.” A chill ran down my spine. “What would you do that for? I mean, what would be the use of re-humanizing him?” “What would be the use?” He snorted as if I didn’t see some obvious truth. “The man is a genetically engineered Terminator, Alice. His body is steel-strong, his reflexes snake-swift and his mind blade-sharp. Not even a whole squad of our best men can take him down and, believe me, that’s no exaggeration. If we want to ever defeat him and others of his kind, we have to weaken them.

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You want a clear picture of what Novac is?” He walked away from me and around the room, his tone that of an actor taking the stage. “Years ago, BioDhrome used him alone against a military squad sent for their people at a manor in the Carpathians. The place was heavily guarded, men with guns and all. Cruel mercenaries, but human mercenaries, vulnerable to bullets and blades. Our team took them down and penetrated the premises only to find a boy standing in the middle of the great hall with a dagger in each hand. “The squad knew who he was. The Executioner. He was only sixteen at the time, but he’d already made a name for himself as a hitman, with only the highest-ranked assassins in the Far East as his equals. He already had a portfolio of fifty hits with deadly outcome. Fifty. Our squad was the fifty-first. They were twelve, and only one survived to tell the tale. “I see this affects you. Good. Wanna know exactly how he took down the entire squad, and what his code name – the Executioner – means? Yes? As soon as they pointed their guns at him – the Executioner was to be shot on sight and not given the chance to fight – he kicked open a hatch under his feet and disappeared through it. “The only survivor said the boy killer was faster than a cobra. He hunted down the squad one by one and sliced them into ribbons of flesh. The man could hear his comrades’ screams echoing through the manor, and later stumbled over their bodies in hidden corners and behind creaking doors. It was a horrific experience, Alice, as you may imagine. “When the Executioner finally got to the survivor, the first thing he did was cause him to drop his weapon by breaking his arm. Screaming in pain, the survivor sent a punch with his good hand toward the Executioner, but his fist smashed into a shoulder as hard as concrete. His

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knuckles cracked, making him collapse in agony. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the impact of a punch to his face. The Executioner left the man alive to tell the tale and further his myth, since that’s how he got his reputation – by always keeping a witness alive. BioDhrome scared people into loyalty with that technique. “Damian Novac is a villain, Alice. BioDhrome manipulated his DNA and turned him into that. Their exact methods are still unknown, but Sinclair’s books will help us begin to understand. We’re still decades away from engineering our own super soldiers to counter BioDhrome’s and the Order’s, but we’ll be able to at least weaken them.” Hector’s words resounded inside my head. Genetically engineered Terminator, fifty kills. “The survivor you told me about,” I breathed, “Maybe he noticed some kind of weakness, no matter how small. Did you talk to him personally?” Hector’s eyes darkened even more, hidden deep under his thick eyebrows. “I did.” “Can I meet him?” “Why?” “I think I know what to ask. How to put the matter.” “Then go ahead.” “What?” “Go ahead and ask, because you’re looking at him.” “But . . . How come? He would’ve recognized you!” “I was wearing a face mask that night, like the entire squad, and under it my face was painted army green. Anyway, Novac never bothered to remove the mask. The rescue team found me with it on.” He was surely wrong. That must’ve been how Damian had always known that Hector was an undercover agent. I chose to keep that conclusion to myself, though. “Jesus, Hector, that’s . . . that’s . . .” “Yes. And trust me, before he met you, this monster

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didn’t have any weaknesses at all. I’ve spent years looking for one. I made a life purpose of getting the Executioner and putting him behind bars that would be able to keep him there – no metal can restrain him, so we’ll only be able to lock him up when he’s human again.” “But, if BioDhrome made of him what he is, it’s not his fault, Hector.” “He has his share of guilt for his destiny. He proved such good raw material, that after less than a year among BioDhrome’s killers he became part of the Cleric – the highest ranked assassins in the world. Do you realize what this means? We cannot fight these creatures as what we are, simple men, no matter if we’re the police, the R.I.S., Marines or Seals. We don’t stand a chance. Our only hope is to strip them of their powers.” Hector looked around, as if searching for a place to sit down. Or, judging by what he said next, a place where he could invite me to take a seat before this new blast would knock me off my feet. “A few months after my squad was murdered in the Carpathians, your father returned from his lodge in the mountains in the company of none other than the Executioner.” The veins in my head threatened to explode. “What? How? Where did that come from?” “Hear me out,” Hector said, eyes on me. “Novac had been sent to Dr. Preda’s lodge to either persuade him to join BioDhrome or wipe him out. Yes, the Executioner had been assigned to either recruit or execute your father, Alice. But, by some miraculous method that still remains a mystery to this day, Dr. Preda managed to reason with him.” “Are you saying my dad was the ranger in the mountains, the one Damian barged in on?” “Your father was there for experiments that could

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only be carried out in isolation, so he chose the Carpathian woods. The word ‘ranger’ was Marius Iordache’s choice because he didn’t know who the person who’d found Novac was. He could’ve found out the truth had he tried harder, but I guess he was more interested in the sensational headlines of organ trafficking and illegal experimentation. Anyway, fact is Dr. Preda got Novac to switch sides, and join the Order of Lords. “Soon Novac started working with your father in Constanța. He was your father’s protector, but also his partner in research, all on behalf of an organization more powerful than any you’ve ever heard of.” “Come on, Hector,” I burst out, throwing my arms in the air. “There must be some way for the defense structures in this country to stop the Executioner.” Hector snorted. “Those who could do something are on the Executioner’s side, Alice. They helped organize the bloodbath on Saturday. Now you understand why no one can do anything about it besides you?” My head swam. I raised my eyebrows as if that could help understand things better. “Say what?” Hector exhaled and put his hands in his pockets. “Listen. A few days ago, the Minister of Defense himself came to Constanța to have a one-to-one meeting with Damian Novac about the threat of BioDhrome. He authorized the massacre, Alice, and he authorized the collateral damage. And this very room is where they met. Hard to believe, isn’t it? You look around and see nothing but an empty space, stripped even of the wallpaper. You know why? Because they had to erase every trace of that meeting. To erase every trace of Novac’s DNA in a Ministry-owned space. One day they’ll erase all proof of his existence because he is a classified project in himself that mankind is never supposed to learn about. He’s goddamn superhuman.” Hector stopped, looking out the window, lost in his

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own reflection. My ears buzzed in the silence. The load of information hung heavy in my head. “You, Alice, you’re our only hope at this point,” he said. “You can manipulate him and, yes, that’s what we expect you to do. You reawakened the man in him. The cold-blooded killer now has a weakness. Alice, if necessity demands it, we expect you to go all the way.” “What do you mean?” “I know it’s a lot to ask.” He tried for a warmer, maybe even more compassionate tone. “You know there is blood on his hands. Hell, you now know that he’s not even entirely human. But if you refuse to do this, Alice, many innocent people will die.” “Hector, what you ask . . . this is huge.” “If knowing that Damian Novac is an Executioner, an engineered superhuman that will kill dozens of innocent people in a bloodbath isn’t incentive enough,” he said gravely, coming closer to make a point, “then maybe this is: I’ve gathered enough on your father to put him away for a very long time, because he works with the same assholes as Novac. But your father isn’t exactly young anymore, and he could end his days in prison, Alice. Do you realize what that would mean for him?” I bit my lip, thinking of the ramifications. “But if you help us, I promise I’ll forget all about him.”

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Chapter Fifteen

Sorescu drove me home in silence, while I stared out the window, sunken into my own agonizing thoughts. The Executioner hadn’t mended his ways by switching sides, but merely adjusted them. There was blood on his hands, and more yet to be spilled. Tears pooled in my eyes as I entered the back door. It was one o’clock in the morning when I tiptoed through the antechamber to my own room, where Leona waited in the rocking chair, a laptop on her knees. She looked at me with a guilty face. I had a feeling she knew about my meeting with Hector, and that she’d helped to orchestrate it. I didn’t say anything, but sat on the edge of the bed, facing her and the nightly window in tears. “I did some research on this Dr. Sinclair,” Leona said, her introduction careful and soft. “For some reason it wasn’t easy to find information, even though he’s some personality.” When I failed to ask for details, still staring out the window, she continued. “In short, he initiated the theory that people can be perfected. And he proved it. During the first years he did in-depth research on what he called nuclein. He’d adopted the term from Dr. Miescher. It’s basically what modern science calls DNA. He also investigated how to manipulate genes to turn humans into the best versions of themselves. And you know what the most shocking part is?” She paused and stared at me to make a point. “This was happening in 1885. I mean, think about it, DNA was officially discovered – or coined – in the 1950s by Francis Crick and James Watson.” I didn’t have the energy left to deal with any of this.

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My brain, heart and bones felt heavy like lead. “I think I’ve had enough for one night,” I whispered, and dropped down onto the bed. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, dark sleep that didn’t let me out of its grip until midday. I woke up with a headache. The shower helped reduce it a bit, but by the time I had my coffee my head threatened to blow up again. Leona and I took the bus to the university, but neither of us had any intention of going to class. After we got off the bus, we took a turn and walked to our old haven—the lonely pub by the lake where we’d forged our plan to get Damian’s attention months ago. How lame it all seemed now, looking back. Jenica, the small friendly waitress, brought our coffee and left us after exchanging a few pleasantries. “That Dr. Sinclair’s work preceded and exceeded that of Crick and Watson isn’t the only surprise,” Leona said. We sat shoulder to shoulder, looking at the laptop screen. “I leafed through his books at the library and those formulas . . .” “That’s not the only way he was ahead of his time, I tell you,” Leona interrupted. “Take a look at this.” She typed Sinclair’s name along with “Facets of the Nuclein” and hit search. “The name alone triggers endless pages of something else, mostly junk. As if the guy wasn’t one of the world’s greatest scientists.” “Or as if someone wanted to keep him hidden,” I whispered. Leona nodded. “You need to combine the name with one of his titles, then scroll down to the end of the sixth page to find this,” she said. The site she accessed showed the picture of a very

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handsome face, profound eyes looking deep into the camera. There had only ever been one face that struck me that way – Damian Novac’s. He and Sinclair had so much in common. The beautiful bone structure, the iridescent eyes, and that air of being different from mere mortals. They didn’t look related but rather as if they belonged to the same species. Maybe that’s why I had such a strong feeling of familiarity as I stared at that portrait. Yet the most shocking part was that Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair had been either black or a mulatto. “Unthinkable in those times,” Leona said. “That a black man should make it so far in society, let alone –” she gave the picture an askew look, “a hybrid.” “He was an aristocrat no less,” I whispered, scrolling down and reading through the available bio eagerly. When “Facets of the Nuclein” was published in 1891, Nathaniel Sinclair was still outrageously young, a genius who’d graduated from university and obtained his title at only the tender age of twenty. He proved a remarkable personality in many ways, which managed to attract a lot of hatred instead of admiration, especially from the part of his older half-brother. Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair disappeared from the social stage in 1899, shortly after his father’s death. Gossip-mouths of the time speculated that he fell victim to his half-brother’s jealous scheming, but this was never proven. Nevertheless, despite his brother’s efforts of burying Dr. Sinclair’s work, his contemporaries, mostly his university mates, made use of his research and discoveries and furthered his “school”. There were rumors that, under the jealous brother’s persecution, this circle had to go underground and soon turned into a secret society. The mystery and fascination shrouding them survive to this day, and some anonymous sources even claimed that Watson

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and Crick and others of their league had access to these people and to classified information. Still, there was no media coverage on this society whatsoever. “These people must all be members of the Order of Lords,” I said. “The founding fathers. They created the most dangerous killers that ever existed, they created the Executioner, and I’m supposed to stop him all by myself. I feel like David against Goliath, only that this is the real world.” Leona grinned like an adrenaline junkie who looked forward to a free fall. “You won’t be alone, Alice. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I already assured Hector that I’d give you my full support, and I’m going with you on Saturday.” “Like hell you are,” I burst. “Jesus, Leona, I can’t even believe that asshole Varlam asked such a thing of you!” I threw my hands in the air, my face burning with anger. “Damian wouldn’t hurt me, Alice. There’s a good chance he’d call off the operation even if I went to the club alone, because he knows how much I mean to you. He would never hurt you like that. Actually, I suggested to Hector that I should stay at the club if you get Novac to leave the place, just to make extra sure nothing happens.” “I’m warning you, Leona, Hector’s using you. He’d sacrifice you anytime in order to satisfy his ambitions. I know you like him, Leona, but trust me when I say he’s not going to stick around once we’re done.” I could say that was the first time ever that Leona scowled at me with something fiendish in her eyes. “I’ll take my chances,” she spat, and pulled away from me with the laptop, gaze down at the screen. I immediately felt guilty for my tactless manner. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled after a few moments. “I know it sounds cheap and cliché, but I only want what’s

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best for you. And that comes from the heart. I love you, Leona.” She looked up at me from under her eyebrows, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from quirking up. “I love you back.” We forged plans for Saturday and took most decisions smoothly, but I still hated the idea of having Leona at the Marquette on Saturday. But what I felt particularly guilty about was involving Tony. Leona knew what she was getting herself into, but he didn’t. “He deserves it, Alice,” she told me as I stared at my cell phone in the living room, unable to make the decision of calling him. “Remember all the vile things he did to you and, if that’s not enough –” She grabbed the sides of my face and made me look at her – “Remember he betrayed you not once, but twice.” She had a point, so I called Tony and invited him to join our club-group, which he agreed to just as Hector had predicted. My heart was still heavy, though. Meanwhile, my best friend had to deal with a nuisance of her own. “You’re not coming, Cora, and period,” Leona decreed in her cell phone as she emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying her hair with her other hand. She dropped on the couch next to me, swinging her legs onto the coffee table and rolling her eyes to express how much her sister aggravated her. The fluffy white bathrobe slipped off her legs, revealing her toned, olive-skinned thighs. “I’m the older one, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” The cell was close enough for me to hear Cora’s annoyed voice. How had she gotten wind of the planned club night? “Yeah, but I’m the smarter one.” Leona grinned as if her sister were right in front of her. “Plus, George’s best friend is coming, too. You know, the psycho-nerd he tried to hook you up with? You swore you’d never wanted to see

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him again.” I thought of the guy’s face and pretended to shudder. With his thick-framed glasses and slicked back hair, he did resemble someone who impaled rats in the basement for kicks. “Yes, but after all this abstinence I’m not picky anymore,” Cora said. “Come on, Leo, cut me some slack here. It’s been forever since the divorce, and I’m itching to get out. Not to mention it’s the first time I’ll have a babysitter in months.” “You’re itching, huh?” Leona flashed a grin. She got up, went out of the room, and returned with an apple, the cell between her ear and her shoulder. She ended the call with, “Fine, I’ll see you on Saturday then,” and tossed the phone on the table before she dipped into the cushioned sofa by my side. I sat up, staring hard at her. “What the hell are you doing?” I admonished. “Do you remember why we’re going to the Marquette on Saturday? We’ll be there to stop a massacre, for Christ’s sakes, you can’t expose your sister to something like that. What if something goes wrong?” “Relax,” Leona said as she grabbed the remote and took a bite of the apple. “She’ll be gone with the psychonerd before you know it,” she said with her mouth full. “And there isn’t going to be any massacre. Novac won’t let it happen with you there, not in a million years.” “I wish I were as certain as you,” I mumbled, more to myself than to her. The door opened, and George walked in, juggling bags in one hand and a coffee tray in the other. “Hey ladies, what are you talking about?” Leona smiled. “Nothing, just girl stuff. You look like you’re feeling better.” ***

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Damian Novac is a cold-blooded murderer, I repeated to myself on Saturday evening after a bath, tapping my forehead against the bathroom wall. The guilt was eating me alive. I would refrain from flirting too much with Tony in order to keep him safe. Yes, that was the answer. That way, Damian wouldn’t harm him, but I’d still be there to break up his little party. “Alice!” Leona’s rapping knuckles on the bathroom door pulled me from my churning thoughts. With only a towel around me, I hesitated but cracked the door and let her slip inside. “What are you doing in here?” she inquired, looking at me from head to toe in horror. “You’ve been in here forever, and you’re still not ready?” “I- I don’t know where to start,” I mumbled. A grin slowly stretched over her face. “Has that ever been a problem since you met me?” In a matter of minutes she’d sent George with his psycho-looking friend to pick up Cora, and began primping me. Choosing the right outfit was the hardest task. She eventually held up and inspected two hangers with outfits she’d put together. After tedious try-ons she decreed that the black lace corset had won. “It’s perfect,” she exclaimed. “Provocative yet refined, especially if combined with these black sheen pants.” She held them up as if presenting them on the shopping network. I stepped into the pants. They were tight, and the hem stopping a few inches from my ankles. “Fabulous. The corset highlights your waist, and I don’t even have to squeeze you into it,” Leona said as she tied the cords along my back. Then she took a few steps back to watch me like an eccentric fashion designer with a

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glass of sparkling wine in her hand. Taking a sip, she swirled her finger in the air to let me know she wanted me to spin around. “I love it,” she said as I faced her again. “I don’t deserve you,” I murmured. Her chocolate eyes met mine, the gaze of a devoted sister. “I don’t do things for undeserving people, Alice. You’re the worthiest person I’ve ever met.” I felt awkward in sentimental moments, so I broke away and went in search of my big silver earrings to play off the silver stilettos. I wasn’t Heidi Klum on the catwalk, but I kept my balance as long as my steps were narrow and slow. Since I couldn’t be of much help to Leona in matters of fashion, I placed my belongings at her disposal—most of which we’d bought together over the years anyway—and straightened her hair. The phone rang and my stomach instantly clenched. I knew it was George–he was on his way. Leona grabbed my hand. Against hers, it felt clammy. “Are you all right?” she inquired. I stared nervously at her reflection in the mirror. She looked so confident in her white dress with her one olive-skinned shoulder bare, and endless toned legs. I pulled my shoulders back and tried to mimic her stance. The stilettos made me look tall and the makeup robust and yet somehow I felt even more fragile. “No, Leona. I’m not.” I turned to look her in the eyes so fast, that I nearly fell off the high heels. “I’m terrified.” “No, no, no, don’t you dare cry now.” Leona planted small slaps on my face. “Now, you listen to me. You’ll pull this through, okay? You’ll take it step by step. It’s not a big deal.” “No big deal? Damian threatened to crush any guy

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who as much as holds my hand. His words.” “Then make sure Tony doesn’t hold your hand. You don’t have to give him hope, Alice, or kiss him, or make it look like you have something going with each other. Your goal is simply to get Novac out of there, and it’s not even a must. Actually, all you have to do is be there, and the problem’s solved – Novac will cancel his plan, and no one will get hurt.” Leona’s cell rang three times, the signal that George and Cora already waited in the psycho friend’s car. Spring had officially started with the first days of March, but this was a still winter-crisp night with glassy ice under a thin layer of snow, and a large moon. Shivering in our flimsy clothes and silly jackets, Leona and I held on tightly to each other until we reached the Skoda on teetering heels. George sat in the passenger seat, while Leona and I joined her sister in the back. “Tony said he’d meet us there,” I told them after a warm hug from Cora – the curvy brunette with the stylish bob and overflowing cleavage. “How’re the kids?” I inquired, avoiding the bespectacled nerd’s ogling in the rear-view mirror. “Oh, fabulous,” Cora replied. And from there an avalanche of stories about the little ones followed, as I’d expected, allowing me the comfort of merely asking questions from the background every now and then. We couldn’t park anywhere in front of the club, since the narrow street was already packed. Music drummed through the open club door, two inflated and intimidating guys in black jackets stood at the entrance. We parked a few streets up and hurried to join the line. At last immersed in the mass of bodies and loud voices, it got so warm that I could take my jacket off. As we finally made it past the two bouncers, my heart shrank again – this was the place where my dad had been seeing Svetlana Slavic. The thought was as harsh as

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the cigarette smoke that polluted the club, and as dizzying as the sweaty dancing bodies. Then our purpose here solidified in my mind. We had to hustle our way through the crowd to a table with a “Booked” sign on it, surrounded by white couches complying with the style the big-bellied new money of our town preferred. As soon as Cora, George and the nerd sat down, the waitress brought a bottle of whiskey and six Red Bulls, all unordered. After explaining something to Cora, George and the bespectacled nerd, she set them on our table. Leona and I threw our jackets and handbags on the couch, but remained standing. “Where’s Tony?” she yelled over the deafening beat. I shrugged, looking around. “Must be already here somewhere,” I yelled back when I failed to see him among the people and lasers. I couldn’t keep my eyes from sweeping along the blurred booths on the first floor, hidden behind fake arches and heavy curtains. I wondered which one it had been. The private little space where Dad had watched the temptress dance with sleazy eyes. But that stream of thought came to a snap the second my eyes crossed over Damian Novac’s face. I blinked fast to make sure I saw right, surprised at his springing into presence out of nowhere. Like an assassin from the white steam spewing out of the club gadgets just a few dancers away. He wore dark jeans and a t-shirt, but he still stood out like a god. The t-shirt fell just right on his body without going tasteless-tight, and the jeans did the same with his powerful legs, while his face was so much more handsome than the others that it was ostentatious. With his sculpted barbarian features and raven mane he was irresistible, and his eyes had fixed on me. The memory of his kiss charged my senses. The

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touch of his lips—stone-hard, and yet somehow soft and warm. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be so cruel as to really have planned to murder all of these people tonight. A yell made me turn briskly – “There you are,” in a scratchy male voice somewhere in my immediate proximity. Tony stood so close that my nose hit his as I turned my head. As soon as my eyes fell on his fluffy-cheeked face, a feeling of guilt overtook me for my brainless, base attraction to the Executioner, as if I’d just woken up from a drug-induced trance. He’s a cold-blooded killer! “Yeah, here,” I replied. “I already ordered, there’s whiskey and energy drinks,” Tony said, gesturing toward the table where everybody else sat, already enjoying the treat the waitress had brought from the start. “Yeah, tonight will be something,” I said and lifted a glass of whiskey as if for a toast, then took a gulp that burned down to my guts. I hadn’t eaten anything but some bread with marmalade in the morning, so the sensation of wobbliness after the whiskey only went up a notch with a mouthful of Red Bull. Just a bit later I felt more apt to play pretense that I enjoyed Tony’s presence. I tried a cheap joke about his wearing a dress shirt and slacks even at a club, but I found him deaf to that, hostile eyes aside to the spot where I’d seen Damian Novac. He still stood there, not even minding Tony, but scowling green crystal daggers at me. “I see you brought company,” Tony grunted. “I didn’t know he’d be here,” I hurried with the lie, not wanting Tony to think I’d invited him only to take revenge for matters of the past. “This was supposed to be a night out with friends.” “You mean this is something like girls’ night for you and boys’ night for your boyfriend?”

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“I mean our gangs don’t really get along. So we decided on this. I didn’t know they’d come to the same club.” There. Tony seemed to buy it and take a bit of distance as well. He obviously hated what he heard, but it kept him from touching me in any way that could raise Damian’s suspicion and his wrath – or so I thought. Damian soon disappeared from the spot we’d seen him stand and, no matter how desperately I glanced around for him, after two dances with Tony – he asked after Damian vanished – I still hadn’t managed to spot him. I grew desperate. My eyes darted around as Tony squeezed me to his chest, his shirt damp on the modest swell of my breasts, his smell mixed with cologne irritating my nostrils. To top the whole thing my feet virtually bled in the shoes that felt like iron. Then, just as I began to lose hope, I saw him again. And again my heart reacted with a jump. He glided among the dancers on the first floor gallery, but within a few moments he disappeared behind a curtain into a booth. I worked my way up there, limping in the damned shoes and leaning either to the balustrade where the crowd permitted, or to the columns that guarded the entrances to the booths. I kept my eyes on the kissing couple that marked the alcove – he a tall, skinny guy, and she a fiery redhead. The club was circular, so keeping track of the right booth posed a challenge. I’d never seen the booths from so close before, never lent them any attention, actually. Even though they seemed vulnerable from the outside, since anyone could brush the curtains aside and walk in, I could see a back in a suit through the crack between the drapes shielding the booth Damian had entered. A guard or something. Another yell in my ear accompanied by spittle

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startled me as I tried to peek by the guy. “They must have a lot of money, the people who rent these things.” Tony again. He must’ve followed me. And judging by that familiar sparkle in his eyes, he thought we had our own privacy up here, hidden behind one of the wide arch columns that separated the booth entrance from the gallery. A pry-proof spot. Tony stood too close, his sweaty, fluffy hand curling around my arm. I jerked out of his clasp, my back hitting the column as I retreated. “What are you doing?” I warned, but it must’ve come across to him only as mouthing. The music thumped deafeningly. He trapped me against the column, his small eyes sparkling with expectation. He bent to my ear. “Does it turn you on? Having your way with another behind his back?” “You’re drunk.” I pushed him, my hands sinking in his cushion-like body, but he was surprisingly resilient despite the swaying. “Then why did you get me here tonight?” “I just want to be friends, Tony.” “Come on, Alice. After everything we shared, we can only be enemies or lovers. You know that. I know that. You want more.” His mouth almost touched mine. He stunk grossly of alcohol. I tilted my head aside to get out of the way of his, and brought my own lips to his ear, gripping his upper arms to signal that he should stop. “Why on Earth would I want you,” I said, already anticipating the pleasure his expression would give me. “When I have him.” And then I faced Tony again, unable to control a grin and the satisfaction I’d unconsciously desired for so long. He stared at me, forehead creased as if struggling to understand my words. A little drunk, I relished the look on his face, that delightful mix of an offended ego and genuinely hurt feelings. I knew that part of me would take the chance to

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feel guilty just some hours from now, when my spinning head would settle again, or when my throbbing eyes would open to daylight. But then there was a small falter in his eyes. I noticed it, since my gaze was fixed on his. He glanced to the side a few times and then settled on whatever he saw, as if the sight was not only unexpected, but held particular relevance. I turned to it. Damian had reemerged from the booth, bright green eyes darting from Tony to me. I barely got to blink until Tony grabbed the sides of my face, and his lips covered mine. His tongue broke into my mouth like a drunken mollusk. I thought I’d throw up instantly, but something yanked Tony away with such force that my teeth raked his tongue. The first thing I did was spit out the jelly-like remains of liquor and saliva, coughing and wanting to puke. The second I looked up again I panicked. Damian had grabbed Tony by his throat and pinned him to the wall. My eyes dropped to the fist that clenched by his side. The muscles in his arm flexed up to the sleeve of his tshirt, his knuckles protruding like stone bolts ready to smash a skull. I had a flash of him lifting the oak counter at Café d’Art with just two fingers, and one of the train wobbling on the frosty tracks in the mountains, set in motion by other creatures of his kind. And with those flashes reality stripped naked – a single blow from Damian Novac could kill Tony.

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Chapter Sixteen

I clung to Damian’s arm with both of mine, but he still moved with ease, as if my weight counted for as much as a feather. “I can explain,” I yelled as I jumped up to reach his ear and make myself heard over the music. “This is my fault!” But Damian’s eyes were ice cold, and his fist already underway toward Tony’s face. “My fault!” I screamed from the top of my lungs. I watched in horror as his fist changed trajectory by just a few inches, and slammed like a hammer into the wall by Tony’s scrunched-eyed head. The blow was so hard that crumbles of plaster dribbled to the floor. I still stared with an open mouth at the white cracks in the wall as Damian’s hand tightened like a wrench above my elbow and pulled me after him along the gallery, making way through the crowd. I turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of poor Tony to make sure he was all right. And as soon as I spotted his face that resembled that of a pig who’d just escaped slaughter, I also glimpsed something else between parted curtains. A big, bald man in a suit, with an intimidating frown. His body made the shape of an X-cross as he held the curtains apart with his hands, inspecting the immediate vicinity of the booth, surely having heard the impact of Damian’s punch in the wall. Yet the most striking thing about this snapshot was another. Visible under the guard’s armpit was a man sitting on a leather sofa the color of brandy. A man dressed in what looked like an expensive suit, or maybe it was just the elegance about him that gave the impression of filthy-rich.

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He looked refined, had white hair, other particularities unclear, but one thing was certain – he was as stunningly handsome as Damian Novac and Nathaniel Sinclair. A man of their league. A man of their “species”, gazing straight in my direction, a glass of liquor that looked like scotch in his hand. A bump against someone made me turn my eyes ahead and seek balance by leaning into Damian’s grip. He squeezed me harder, and I let out a cry as he dragged me down the stairs. We swept across the dance floor and out into the frosty air. Before I knew it we’d passed the bouncers and emerged out into the street, barely avoiding a hooting and headlight-flashing Mercedes. Damian took up speed as he dragged me up the street to the first corner. He turned a sharp right and then left into a narrow, dark alleyway with only the moonlight glittering on the ice-polished surface of cobblestones that I slipped on. He caught me, and as good as carried me to his BMW. He yanked the door open and hauled me in, slamming it back shut. Shivering in the cold leather seat, I stared at him through the windshield as he crossed over to the driver’s side with an angry mien. A handsome beast in the cold, not even getting goosebumps. Despite his wearing only a black t-shirt, his skin stretched like smooth silk over those dangerous-looking muscles. The engine purred to life, and Damian let it warm up for a few moments. His jaw rippled, and his eyes were hard as bullets under knitted eyebrows, his profile stony. My heart drummed inside my chest, and a lump formed in my throat. I just stared at him anxiously. “If I may ask, Alice,” he said through his teeth as he stepped on the gas. “Are you irresponsible or just plain stupid?” “Damian, I can explain,” I babbled, shivering. He

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turned on the heating. “Please do.” “I- I asked Tony here tonight. I gave him hope. It wasn’t his fault.” “A slut then,” he spat. “Excuse me?” He took a brusque turn, and the BMW’s ass skidded to the side. “Fasten your seatbelt.” I ignored him. “A slut?” He reached over, pulled my belt and clicked it in without taking his eyes off the road. “Why did you do it, Alice? Didn’t you take me seriously?” “I did. But I – ” I searched for something to say, but all I could find on the spot was, “I needed him.” He bared his bone-white teeth in an angry grin. His canines seemed a bit longer than the others. Sharp, like an animal’s. “You needed what, exactly? Company? Compliments?” He threw me a vicious glance. “Some cock?” “I won’t put up with this, stop the car!” “You’ll put up with me.” My heart banged against my chest in a sickening mix of indignation, shock and dread. I was suddenly hot, and my face burned. Defiance surged in me, so abruptly that I had difficulty recognizing the words leaving my mouth as my own. “And if that were so, Novac? If I wanted to spend the night with Tony, how is that any business of yours? I told you, I’m not going to live like a hermit.” “You will, if you want to live at all. You’re too vulnerable to put yourself out there. You’ll follow my rules,” he said, cold and cutting. “So I’m forced to put my life is in your hands, is that what you’re saying?” “In more ways than one. Only I can protect you.” “If I live by the despotic rules that you set alone. I

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never agreed to them.” “I never asked you to. I have experience with BioDhrome, I know how they operate, how they plot, how they kill. I decide, you comply.” “Comply? With your orders?” I blurted. “With the decisions of a killer?” He didn’t reply, but his jaw tightened, and the car took dangerous speed. I decided not to confront him about his plans for tonight yet. “Please, understand, Damian,” I said, softer this time to calm him down. “If I chose Tony of all people, it was because I know him well, we spent years as a couple.” I hoped this would be the very proof I wasn’t a slut. But Damian took it another wrong way. “And you still love him.” As much as I wanted to, under the circumstances it wasn’t smart to contradict him. Tony had reacted on impulse and kissed me right in front of him. But if I told Damian that in truth I hadn’t invited that kiss, Tony might end up choking on his own blood in some dark backstreet. “Tell me,” Damian continued when no reply came. “Back in the mountains, if we’d slept together, would you have thought of him?” What? “I –” Again, the truth wasn’t an option. “I didn’t intend to sleep with you in the mountains.” Damian gave a mocking snort, making it clear he didn’t buy it. “I misinterpreted your body language then. How embarrassing.” I needed to change the subject, fast. My cheeks burned with shame. “Who was that man in the booth? The one you met tonight.” “So I got it right, you followed me to the gallery?” “Yes, I did,” I dared, using the opportunity to forge a plausible story for Tony’s reckless action. “I didn’t intend

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to drag Tony right into your hands, though. But he doesn’t know anything about your rules, or that you were in that booth in the first place, so he surprised me.” “I see. And didn’t he ask for explanations about our own kiss the other night?” “It was you who wanted to make a point, Damian, not me. I never wanted to give Tony the wrong impression. And it wasn’t easy to repair, what he saw that night.” The lie seared my tongue. I could only bear it by repeating to myself that Damian Novac was a monster in an outrageously handsome body, and that I wasn’t supposed to be in love with him. He pulled up with an abrupt brake in front of my parents’ gate. He turned to me, hand on my headrest, eyes striking crystal. “The man in the booth is BioDhrome’s leader, the Regent.” “What?” “The meeting tonight was a first ever since I left BioDhrome, and it was something I obtained with a lot of effort. Something I’ve been preparing for years, and an opportunity I would’ve used to crush the snake’s head. But the Regent threatened that if anything happened to him, one of his agents would kill you in a matter of seconds. He knew you’d be there, and he knew I’d care. I desisted from a long-planned operation for your protection, Alice.” My mouth opened. “Damian, wha-” I shook my head to gather my thoughts. “I thought you planned a massacre for tonight, that’s why I came. Innocent people would’ve died.” “Massacre? Where did that come from?” “Hector Varlam, he said –” “Hector? And you believed him?” he spat angrily, making my skin crease. “Hector works for BioDhrome, and he used you to stop this operation that I’d planned for years. The entire Order was prepared for it, the Ministry of

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Defense backed us up, and there was nothing anyone could’ve done to stop it. This was a large-scale operation indeed, but it didn’t involve mayhem, it didn’t involve one lost human life. Alice, I. Don’t. Do. Lying. As I told you before, I only kill my own kind, I would never hurt humans. I pick on creatures my own size. With Anton Anghel, that was an exception, that was . . .” Jealousy? My heart stopped. But Damian didn’t elaborate. His tone grew deeper as he moved away from the subject. “One thing is certain: BioDhrome will increase not only their defense lines after tonight, but also their list of wanted names, and you’ll be top of that list. Now they know for a fact they can manipulate me by using you, and they’ll take you more seriously than ever. Whether as a target or a tool, I can’t tell for sure just yet. But I can tell you for sure that I continue to be the only thing standing between you and BioDhrome. You know what that means? That your life belongs to me.” He lifted my chin with a rough hand, his eyes piercing mine, words hissing through his teeth. “There’s more I found out these past days. BioDhrome doesn’t have any use for Anton Anghel anymore, which means they’ll do absolutely nothing to protect him. I can do whatever I want with him. Whatever I want, Alice, no one will try to stop me. What? Surprising?” Surprising yes, but irrelevant at this particular moment. I was completely taken with Damian, with his devilish eyes. Ashamed, I tried to hide it as well as possible, and pretended interested in the subject of Tony. “It is.” “Would you still sleep with him now that you know I’d make an exception from my principles, and kill him?” He leaned closer, his big arm around my headrest. “Please don’t hurt him,” I reacted out of my gut. I

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felt overwhelming pity for Tony. Whenever I thought of him and BioDhrome the words “Forgive him Lord, for he does not know what he’s doing” filled my head. “No? And what are you willing to offer so that I leave him alone?” Damian’s voice, smoky and dangerous, got under my skin. “It sounds to me like you already know what you want. Name your price.” “My price. All right.” He raised his chin, eyes burning green. “I’ll have you spread your legs for me.” The words blasted, boomed, banged and cracked in my ears. I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Damian, I, err,” I searched for an argument to keep him away at least for another few moments, until I could think straight. But his lips took siege of mine, and this time he didn’t hold back. His chest made a trapping wall, and his tongue invaded my mouth. He tasted metallic, he tasted of wild lust, his concrete body breaking the barrier of my palms. That moment I knew he’d make me want him until it hurt if I resisted him. And, outrageous as it may sound, it made me so moist down there that, as his fingers popped the buttons of my pants open and sought their way into my underwear, I panicked. It was the fear of humiliation at his finding me heavily creamed that made me put a stopping hand on his wrist. My hips wriggled deeper into the seat, seeking at least a bit of distance from him. In vain, his fingers slid over my swollen, wet flesh and inside of me, his deep kiss muffling my moan. I turned my cheek to free my mouth, his lips and tongue leaving a warm trail on my face as they went down to my neck. Trapped and horny between his big body and the seat I breathed hard, his wooden scent filling my nostrils. “Damian, please,” I managed with effort. “Aw, Alice, let’s do this,” he said, hoarse with desire, his fingers sliding deep inside of me. I arched and

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moaned, so very satisfied. “Oh, you’re so wet . . .” I couldn’t believe I actually heard Damian Novac make sounds of pleasure while he touched me there. He kissed the curve of my neck, his fingers moving inside of me. I squeezed my legs together, struggling to keep from coming in his hand. Desperate to save some face, I kept my hold on his wrist, applying with no success all the pressure I could to make him stop, feeling the cords of his wrist move as I built up. That my body responded this fast was new and frightening. He could give me an orgasm against my will. With a strike of divine intervention, an idea hit me. “Respect and loyalty, Damian.” I panted. “That’s what you swore to my father, didn’t you?” Damian’s kisses ceased. His hand stopped moving, but he didn’t pull away, his face still hidden against the curve of my throat, his long hair tingling my bare collarbone. “You don’t want me?” he said in a low voice that grew angry. “Are you thinking of Anghel?” “No, Damian, I’m not,” I cried, exasperated. How could I, when I have you? “Then why reject me?” He looked deep into my eyes now, his face only inches from mine. His hand was still between my legs, the other one up behind my headrest. He had me trapped. “Agree to do this, Alice, and I swear I’ll put the world at your feet.” Then, with a touch of guilt in his voice, “Tiberius doesn’t ever have to know.” My scalp prickled while his eyes searched mine with what looked like a violent need that I couldn’t believe. Damian Novac, the most desired man on campus, the stud who drew all eyes to him like a magnet everywhere he went, really wanted me. But he was a killer. I’d hate myself

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forever if I gave in like an animal driven by basic instincts. And I was afraid that with every moment that passed with his fingers inside of me he’d break my will, making me moist like a snail halfway down my inner thighs too soon, too fast. “Give me some time, Damian, please,” I whispered. “To think about this. Let us talk again tomorrow, all right? Tonight I’m just –” I decided on the naked truth this time, “overwhelmed.” Damian’s stare kept intense on me as I opened the door and slid off his fingers and out of the car from the narrow, laden space between my seat and his body. He didn’t try to stop me, and I couldn’t look at him, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I could feel his predatory stare on my back as I staggered on those impossible shoes to the front door, both arms folded across my chest as if they could protect me from his intensity and the cold. A void sucked my heart away as Damian’s car shot off with squealing tires. I broke out in tears, hunkering down in the dark vestibule, scrunching my face in pain and opening my mouth wide in soundless screams. The sensation of loss in my chest was biting, taking away all will or strength of getting back on my feet. Minutes passed before I could drag myself through the living room towards the corridor and then to the bathroom, shoes in hand. It might have only been my mood but it seemed as though the wind was rising, like a mournful cry. It was low, at first. A lament, a soft keening that was barely audible. Mom would probably hear the water fill the tub but, if I lay in it long enough, she’d fall asleep again and we could skip the interrogation. So I bathed in the soft light of the bathroom, my fingers laced behind my head. I just listened to the wind as it played against the wooden shutters on the window. Only when the water turned cold did I bother to get

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out. Wrapping a towel around my body, I reminded myself over and over again that Damian Novac was a killer, a monster who’d taken lives without the slightest bite of remorse. That he’d slept with Svetlana Slavic, which should make me sick. That, if I was dumb enough to sleep with him, he’d soon get tired of me. The wind picked up, sweeping across storm windows and shutters with a greater fury, its pitch high, like someone screaming far away. All those sounds… I listened to them and identified them, certain my mother was sound asleep. Then I heard a new sound. This one was furtive. Slow. It was a creaking of a rocking chair, and it was coming from my room. I told myself it was nothing. It was probably the cat or maybe mom was up after all, but when I opened the doors to my room all resolve melted away, and my reason shut down. A dark shape sat in the chair by the window, his ankle resting on his knee. His eyes glowed the exact same way Giant’s had that night at Marvimex and, hadn’t I been somehow used to it – if you can ever really get used to something like that – I would’ve panicked. But right now my heart drummed in excitement. Damian Novac was here, in my room.

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Chapter Seventeen

“H-how did you get in here?” I asked, securing the towel and knotting the ends above my breasts. “I have my ways,” he replied, his voice smoky bass. I saw the shape of his big arm reach to the small table by his side. He pulled the string, and lit the lamp. It gave out cozy orange light through the shade, light that enveloped Damian’s face beautifully. My heart jumped out of rhythm. “The ways of a thief,” I muttered. “I’m only here to claim what’s mine.” Claim what’s his . . . “You should go Damian, Mom might pop in any second,” I managed, closing the double door quietly and struggling to keep my heartbeat in check. “She heard me about the house, and she hasn’t yet learned to knock.” “She’s not here. We’re alone.” I turned swiftly. “What do you mean?” “She got a call. With the wind outside and the water on, you must’ve missed the ring.” “Where did you get her to go, Damian?” I urged. “Don’t worry.” His velvety voice crawled under my skin. “Just your neighbor, Mrs. Teodorescu, having a panic attack. I know she always calls your mother when in distress. Tonight the house creaks and rustles, it whispers to her. She’s convinced her dead husband’s ghost came back to haunt her.” “And how did you get the man’s spirit into the house?” I attempted a jeer, but my voice trembled. “Experience.”

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“Which also helped get passed Officer Sorescu and his mates outside?” “I’m not here to discuss my methods, Alice.” I smiled. “I suppose not.” My heart drummed, pumping a flush to my cheeks. At least that would cover the freckles that had earned me my Lolita nickname. “You know what I want,” he whispered darkly, walking to me. I stood in place, hands tight on the top of the towel above my breasts. “And I think you want the same,” he said, now only inches away and huge. I breathed in his wooden scent as he removed the pins from my hair and dropped them on the floor, my tresses falling loose and tingling my back. “I need time,” I murmured, pulse loud in my ears. “Just tell me to stop if that’s what you truly wish,” he said, and pulled me into his arms, crushing his lips on mine. The realization of what was happening stunned me, making me unable to react in any way as Damian’s tongue broke into my mouth, his body a wall that pinned me against the door with my wrists above my head. He kept them hostage in a fist, the towel pooling around my feet and leaving me naked. He gave a groan of satisfaction as he cupped my breast a bit too hard. I inhaled sharply. “You’re so beautiful, Alice,” he said hoarsely, and took over my breasts like a starved man plundering a meal, his lips hard and bruising. A moan escaped my mouth as he let go of my wrists and lowered himself to his knees, his mouth latching greedy to that place between my legs. My eyes blasted wide as his full tongue

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stroked me down there for the first time, making me flinch in an impulse to pull away. But his big hand tightened on my buttocks, forcing me in place, the other kneading my breasts, as if he wanted to possess my whole body at once. Everything he did seemed so instinctual, as if he cut himself loose after years of restraint, which made me so horny that I overflowed. Unable to withhold rebel moaning, I pinned my head back against the door with a high pulse and an open mouth, eyes up to the ceiling. Desperate to control the sensations building up too fast and compelling my hips to rock into Damian’s mouth, I grabbed his stony shoulder to stop him. But the filthiest part of me wanted him to keep doing what he did so much, that I sank the other hand in the raven silk of his hair to keep him there. He gave muffled groans while he licked hungrily, making me come with hands knotting in his locks, stunned that Damian Novac actually pleasured me with that sculptured mouth I’d dreamt of for so long. Spent, I felt my knees give in and my body melt in his arms. He kept kissing me along the chest and neck as he rose back to his feet, his arms supporting me under my armpits. I felt so vulnerable, hanging naked and wet in a titan’s power. “You taste so good, Alice,” he whispered. I stretched my neck for a kiss that tasted of me and sent yearning racing through my veins, feeding me stamina. Nerve now unleashed, my hand went straight for the bulge in his jeans. I didn’t have enough strength left to squeeze, but his eyes flashed. Without a second’s thinking, he grabbed me beneath my thighs and laid me crosswise on the bed, my buttocks on the edge. His belt rattled as he undid his buttons with

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impatient fingers. He stood beside the bed and between my legs, beastly eyes fixed on the wet, folded flesh between them, drinking in every detail. A stab of shame went through me. I wasn’t ready for this kind of exposure. I managed to sit up and close the view, legs on each side of Damian’s, hands trembling their way under his t-shirt. He grumbled in protest at being parted from the sight, but didn’t try to stop me. I picked the waistband of his boxers and licked the skin beneath it, crazy to feel him on my tongue. He tasted as metallic as his kiss. His arms were idle to the sides, his fists balled in restraint, and his breathing heavy. I felt it as my hand slid up concrete abs to his chest. And when he threw off his t-shirt, baring his honey-skinned torso, my jaw dropped. Naked, Damian Novac looked exactly like what I imagined a warrior barbarian would – badass muscles, sculpted and brutal. Raw and perfect. Fascinated, I traced his contours with my palm. I craved more and more of that metallic tinge of his skin as I rose to my knees on the bed and slithered up to his neck, my lips leaving worshipping trails in their wake, my hands wild all over his body, giving in to the hunger that had consumed me for so long. My taste buds traced the shape of his jaw, invisible stubble prickling and sending current to my womb. He cupped my head and pushed his tongue inside my mouth, while my hands slid down with his boxers and clasped his stony buttocks. He pressed me to him, and my heart jumped – his manhood, naked and hard, pushed against my pubic bone as we moaned in each other’s mouths. He laid me back on

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the bed, his gaze fiery as our lips parted. “Christ’s sakes, you’re the most beautiful creature,” I whispered, taking in the sight of him. I bit my lip and let my eyes drop to his manhood that protruded big and thick and gnarled from his pubic hair, a mighty piece. He’s actually naked between my legs . . . The butterflies went crazy as the man I’d been obsessed with for so long eased himself into me, grinding his way slowly into my moist flesh, a hand tightening on my hip with every move, the other sliding under my head, and keeping his weight on his elbow. I arched my back as he finally glided splitting deep, groaning like an animal, my nails scratching the skin on the sides of his back. His jeans still clinging low to his hips, the cold buckle of his belt swung and hit my backside, adding to the crudeness of his lust with each time he rocked into me. The build-up inside threatened to spill as I watched him tilt his head back, his strong neck glistening, jugular pulsing. I did that to him, I was the one who gave him sensations so intense that he struggled to restrain release. But when his words reached my ears I couldn’t hold mine any longer. “Your body is heaven, woman,” he growled, his godlike muscles flexing, his eyes flashing down on me as he peaked, as if the climax were not only extreme, but also completely new to him. I came in a flood around him, my toes curling with pleasure that broke out from that G-core I’d always believed nothing but fantasy. I fell exhausted on the ruffled sheets, my brain afloat after my very first deep orgasm, staring up at Damian and still unable to comprehend what had just happened between us.

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He came crashing down on his elbows and buried his face in my hair, breathing hard. Giving in to my impulses, I caressed his back and licked his neck, exhausted but ecstatic, unable to control myself. Everything in him seemed to smell of wood and taste of steel, as if he were made of those two materials. Or as if his flesh were mixed with them. He rolled on his back with me in his arms, his hands all over my body as if they couldn’t stop. I admired his profile in the faint light – the nose with the determined, slightly flared nostrils, the chiseled bone structure, the strong jaw. His eyes were now closed, hidden from the world. I wished I could read his feelings in them. Cuddling under his arm, I let my fingers slide through the dusting of hair on his pectorals. They felt impossibly hard. I pushed with my index to see how deep it’d go, but my finger bones seemed softer than his flesh. It didn’t budge even a millimeter, as if I’d literally touched granite. “How far did BioDhrome go, Damian?” I murmured. “Did they . . . armor you?” Damian’s hands wandered with more pressure on my skin, gluing me to him, as if he wanted me to probe the true density of his body without asking questions, as if he wanted me to understand some truth he couldn’t speak out. “You can talk to me,” I whispered. “I already know you’re not entirely human.” His arms locked around me, a cage of steel, his voice deep and dangerous. “You don’t know the half of it.” “Tell me then. I can take it.” “You can’t take it, Alice. No one can.” I propped myself on my elbow to get a better

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view of his face. “What are you?” “Right now I’m more concerned with what you’re becoming,” he said, opening his beastly eyes. I frowned. “What do you mean?” His arms slithered on me like a python. “I mean your core talents have been activated. And, if you fall into the wrong hands, they can be upgraded into weapons.” “Core talents? What core talents?” I whispered. But Damian Novac wouldn’t lose another word on it. He closed his eyes, and his jaw set.

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About Ana Calin Are you into forbidden fruit romance and superhuman hunks? Then allow me to introduce myself – I’m Ana Calin, and I’m your author. A translator for psychology institutes and pharma multinationals for over a decade, I combine learned facts with imagination in stories of alpha males with obscure powers and girl-next-door heroines who turn out to be very special. The more hero and heroine want each other, the more obstacles they have to defeat in order to be together. My career goal is to write many books of forbidden fruit romance and speculative science for your enjoyment. I live in Berlin, Germany – another well of secrets I intend to draw on in further books – with my husband and son. My hobbies are reading, reading and reading, and my idea of perfect relaxation is on a porch in the mountains with a volume by Emerson. Social Media Links: Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorAnaCalin/ Twitter: @AnaCalinAuth http://twitter.com/AnaCalinAuth WordPress: www.ana-calin.com Acknowledgments:

I’d like to give special thanks to my ever patient and supportive husband, and my close friend and author Camelia Miron Skiba, who’s helped me polish not only this

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novel, but also my writing skill. Without them, this wouldn’t have been possible. My sincerest thanks go to my top cheer leaders, college friend Alina C. and Lavinia W. “Hansen”, and to my peer author Stephanie Payne Hurt for having encouraged me to submit The Executioner to Solstice Publishing, with whom the novel has found a perfect home. I say thank you to my new Solstice family, and to you, my readers. Enjoy this tale of forbidden love, dangerous passions and dark secrets of mankind.

Stay tuned for Part Two, Coming out in the Fall of 2017