“Shhh,” Vishous whispered.
Phury immediately canned the talk, but his lips kept moving, the prayer continuing on. And yeah, V thought of his mother doing her I-can’t-even upstairs—and was tempted to tell the guy he was wasting his time. But whatever. No reason to rob the brother of his illusion.
Besides, if the mhis didn’t work? The three of them and what they did, or did not pray to, were going to moot point it right off the planet.
The Omega slowly made a turn, surveying his “dead,” and V tensed up so hard, he was in danger of falling forward like a plank. The evil’s gaze did not linger on where he and his brothers were standing, however, suggesting that the mhis was working—probably at least partially because the Scribe Virgin’s brother was so distracted by the devastation to his Society.
Shit, that’s my uncle, V thought grimly.
And then the Omega went on a float, traveling over the trampled, black blood–soaked lawn in the same hovering way V’s mother ambulated.
Rain began to fall from the sky, the cold drops hitting V’s hair and nose, his shoulders, the backs of his hands. Even though the stuff tickled his skin, he made no move to wipe it off or shelter himself—and frankly, yeah, he could have done without the reminder of exactly how flimsy their optical illusion was. That rain made it through?
Hell, you could pop a newspaper over your dome and get a better umbrella result.
Fuck.
From time to time, the Omega paused and bent down to pick up an arm, a leg, a head. It threw whatever it was back on the ground, as if it were searching for something in particular. And then it stopped without warning.
A low wail sounded out over the campus, the sound weaving in and around the empty, rotting buildings without echoing.
And then the Omega extended its palms out straight.
A sucking breeze hit V in the back and pulled his hair into his face and eyes, streaking forward his jacket, too, until the leather began to flap and he had to gather the thing against his body.
All at once, the debris of the slaughter, all those slayer pieces and stains, liquefied into a viscous shadow that pulled into itself, becoming a tidal wave that headed for its master, its home, its core.
The Omega absorbed it all, reclaiming the part of itself that it had given to its inductees during their initiation ceremonies, recalling its essence, reabsorbing everything until the battlefield was as clean as before the attack had been waged, nothing but trampled grass and downed trees to show what the beast and the Brotherhood had done.
When it was all over, the Omega stood in the center of the school’s square, turning around and around as if it were double-checking its work. And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the entity disappeared into itself, a subtle flash the only leftover of its presence—and even that was gone a heartbeat later.
“Wait,” V hissed. “We wait.”
He wasn’t about to take for granted that the Omega was up and out of there for real. The problem was, dawn was coming … and yup, if the mhis couldn’t protect the three of them from rain, it wasn’t going to do dick about straight-on sunlight.
But they could afford to stay a little longer. Just in case.
Better to be conservative than discovered. Besides, he needed a moment so his one remaining testicle could drop back down into place again.
Fuck.
TWELVE
“I do not believe this is necessary.”
Back at the Brotherhood’s training center, Assail stared down his body at the dark-haired human who was closing the gash on his calf and ankle with a needle and thread. When the man made no response and did not slow in his ministrations, Assail rolled his eyes.
“I said—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The guy poked his needle through skin once more and pulled until the black thread was taut. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. The only thing I’ll say back is that MRSA doesn’t give a fuck if you’re a vampire or a human, and leaving a six-inch open wound on your leg is the definition of stupid.”
“I heal rather fast.”
“Not that fast, buddy. And can you stop twitching? I feel like I’m working on a goldfish in water.”
Actually, he could not. His extremities had their own ideas at the moment, and as he checked the wall clock and calculated how little time there was before dawn, the trembling got worse—
The door to the room swung open and his cousins came back in.
“I thought you didn’t want to watch,” Assail muttered. And indeed, Ehric, the one on the left, was studiously not looking at the fix-it job.
As proficient a killer as the male was, his stomach turned squeamish at clinical matters, a contradiction that could be a source of amusement—but was not, currently.
Indeed, Assail was not in the mood for any manner of levity. He hadn’t consented to be brought here to this facility of the Brotherhood’s for treatment. What he had wanted to do was go back to his house upon the Hudson and scratch the itch that was quickly turning to a roar.
“When shall you be finished?” he demanded.
“I’m X-raying your shoulder next.”
“There is no need.”
“Where’s your medical degree from?”
Assail cursed and lay back flat upon the gurney. The medical chandelier above him, with its brilliant lights and its microscope arm, was like something out of a science-fiction movie. And as he closed his eyes, it was impossible not to remember coming here with his Marisol, right after he had gotten her free from Benloise … the pair of them passing through the extensive gating system, heading underground, entering this stellar facility.
He tried to train his mind elsewhere, however. That thought destination was simply too painful to bear.
“I shall need to depart prior to dawn,” he blurted. “And I want our weapons, phones, and other personal articles returned to us promptly.”
The doctor did not reply until he had put in his last stitch and tied a tight little knot at the base of Assail’s ankle. “You mind telling your boys to step out again for a minute?”
“Why?”
Ehric spoke up. “Zsadist wants us in here. And I am disinclined to argue with the Brother, as I am unarmed and desirous of retaining the blood supply to my head.”
The doctor sat back on his rolling stool, and for the first time, Assail read the stitching on the human’s white coat: Dr. Manuel Manello, Chief of Surgery. There was a crest and the name of a hospital system below the black cursive writing.
“The Brothers brought you in from the other species for this night?” Assail asked. “How is that possible?”
Dr. Manello looked down at his name. “Old coat. And old habits die hard—don’t they.”
As the human met Assail in the eye, Assail frowned. “Whatever do you mean.”
“Do you consent for me to speak candidly in front of these two?”
“They are my blood.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You humans are so odd.”
“And you can cut that superior tone, asshole. I’m married to one of your kind, ’kay? And excuse me for thinking you might not want to be called out for your drug addiction in front of a peanut gallery—whether or not they’re related to you.”
Assail opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I know not of what you speak.”
“Oh, really?” The man snapped off his bright blue gloves and put his elbows on his knees, leaning in. “You’re fidgeting on my table like you have a case of the hives. You’re in a cold sweat, and not because you’re in any pain. Your pupils are dilated. And I’m pretty sure if I give you your coat back, the first thing you’re going to do is make an excuse to go to the bathroom and use the rest of the coke that was in the vial I took out of the inside chest pocket. How’m I doing? Reading your mind correctly? Or are you going to lie like a motherfucker.”
“I do not have a drug problem.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.”
As the human got to his feet, Assail did some studious ignoring of his own—no way was he going to look over at his cousins: He could feel their twin stares on him quite well enough, thank you rather much.