“War lied.”
“I’m… your sister.” Eyes rounding, her pupils swallowed her eyes. “We’re… family. She said… she said…”
“The man you killed was my uncle.” The delivery fell flat, the words dull. “He was my family.”
“I don’t… understand.” Her brow creased in familiar lines, borrowing my uncle’s expression. “We’re —”
“No,” I snarled, stalking over and clamping a hand around her throat. Her protest choked off under my palm. “We’re not.” I leaned in close. “Why did War plant you in this house?”
“Protection,” she wheezed. “Hiding… in plain sight.”
“We must not have played much hide and seek as kids.” I eased off on my grip before she lost consciousness. “Frankly, you suck at it.”
“I tried… to follow orders.” Writhing under my hand, her whine pierced my ears. “But this… host… and his life…” The throat in my grasp swallowed reflexively. “Such a good man… an honorable man…” Her lip curled at the corner. “Protecting humans… serving them…” Hatred sparkled in the depths of her eyes. “I had to… act. I had to… find release.”
“War was cleaning up after you. That’s why there were two origins with the Culberson fire.” The others too, I bet. “Why didn’t she extract you after you compromised yourself?”
“I was… trapped.” Crimson frothed at her lips. “This death too… hard… to conceal from you.”
There would have been no sweeping this murder under the rug, that much was for certain. Uncle Harold’s disappearance would have blown Famine’s cover. War must have decided the risk of continuing her recon was worth the potential reward, even with Famine crumbling under the pressure of her infiltration.
“This body made… tracking you… easy.” She flashed pink teeth. “All I had to do… was sit back… and wait for you… to call with updates.”
No wonder we hadn’t brushed up against War. I had been feeding Famine my location this whole time.
“How did you select your targets?” We had yet to discover a link between all three sites.
“War,” she gasped. “Coterie.”
“You chose locations War had already secured.” Making me wonder why she had selected those targets in the first place, unless she really had chosen locations frequented by my family and friends. Or perhaps War’s infiltration of this town was so thorough Famine could act out where she pleased without fear of reprisal. “You left her to clean up your mess.”
A shuddering spasm rocked her limbs, and her eyes rolled back in her head. I let her hit the ground, unable to stand the contact a moment longer.
Watching the blood darken a shirt my uncle had worn a million times flipped a switch in my head, and the cold place swirled around me, offering the chill kiss of relief from the throbbing ache building behind my breastbone.
An execution might be what Famine deserved, but I wasn’t in a merciful mood, and revenge came in as many flavors as there were stars in the heavens. Fingers stiff from the cold, I watched my hands take out my cell and shoot Kapoor a text. The NSB enjoyed using charun as lab mice; well, I had caged him a big, fat rat.
I examined Wu, whose labored breathing concerned me, and Dad, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, before circling back to stand between them and Famine with the shotgun aimed at her ravaged midsection.
Famine was waiting for me.
“You’ve grown soft, sister,” she panted, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Braced on all fours, she swayed with the effort to stay upright. “These humans have made you weak.”
In a move faster than I could track, Famine jerked upright and snapped out her arm, yanking the gun from my hands.
Quick reflexes must run in the family.
Drawing on Uncle Harold’s years of experience, she handled the weapon with expert ease and had me in its sights in the span of a heartbeat.
I didn’t think. I didn’t have to. That was the beauty of the cold place. As long as I operated in that headspace, my body was on autopilot. Going boneless, I flowed out of the path of the slug she fired at me.
There were vulnerable targets behind me who could become casualties of our two-woman skirmish if I let them. But I couldn’t think about that right now. Concern for them was a distant drum too far away to hear.
The wound on Famine’s side had healed enough to hold in her intestines, but she was too weak to stand or give chase. She was trapped on her knees. That was something. It still might not be enough.
I had loaded five shells in the chamber. Minus the slug in her gut, she had four shots when she only needed one to end my whole world.
The look on her face confirmed she was thinking the same thing. “Apply enough pressure in the right spots, and it will break you.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.” I bounced on the balls of my feet, unsure what my next move would be, uncertain if my hindbrain would guide me or if it would rather show me. “I’m a cop, remember? I work best under pressure.”
“No.” Her eyes narrowed to thin slits, an expression Uncle Harold had never worn a day in his life. “You’re not.”
The reminder I wasn’t one of Canton’s finest hurt worse than if her shot had hit me.
“No,” Wu groaned, lost to his fever dreams. “Mercy, Father.”
Famine cut her eyes toward him, the gun wavering in her hand, and I charged. I hit her in the throat with my shoulder, sandwiching the weapon between our bodies, and rode her down to the floor. I landed straddling her upper stomach and locked one hand around the barrel of the shotgun, pinning it against Famine’s chest with my weight, then swung my other fist in a brutal arc aimed at her jaw.
Contact snapped her head back and left my knuckles singing, but the blow loosened her hold enough I could pry the gun from her spasming fingers. I hurled the weapon across the room, tightening my thighs to keep her trapped beneath me, and cocked my arm to land another blow.
Famine brought up her forearms and took the hit. Rocking forward, she got under my guard. Blood gushed from her wounds as they reopened, but the move allowed Famine to lock her arms around me and yank me flush against her chest. She hauled me over her, hooked her right leg over my foot and her right arm over my shoulder. Famine kicked out her left leg as her left arm hit me hard across my ribs, and we flipped in a messy tangle, leaving her smiling down atop me.
“I’m going to rip this shell apart with my bare hands,” she panted, clamping down on both of my wrists to hold me steady while I bucked my hips to unseat her. I managed a minor success and forced her to kneel between my thighs rather than straddling my hips. That would have to be enough. “I will show you your true face before you die.”
“That sounds painful.” I brought one of our joined hands toward my face while tugging the other across my body until my fingers closed over her wrist. Bringing up my left knee, I sank it into Famine’s gut, in the soft spot where her wound had yet to heal, then kicked off her hip with my other leg. The motion sent me sliding back and broke her hold. It gave me precious inches to crabwalk away until I could get my feet under me again. “I’m going to have to pass.”
Famine, gasping from the impact to her tender middle, collapsed forward on all fours to catch her breath.
I didn’t give her a chance. I soccer kicked her in the mouth, snapping her head to one side. Her elbows buckled then gave, and her face hit the hardwood, followed by the rest of her.