Phoe jerked awake and immediately wished she hadn’t—her head felt in serious danger of splitting wide open and spilling her brain into her lap. She tried to blink away the gauze that had settled over her eyes to little avail. Her vision was blurry and the room around her was almost pitch black, save for a few fuzzy balls of light that she could only assume were lamps along the wall. She could barely make out the shape of the wall ahead of her and possibly a door somewhere off to her right. She was sitting on the floor, that much was clear, and her wrists and ankles were bound with heavy brass cuffs.
“Hello?” she called out. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton fluff and she coughed violently. “Hel—” She tried again, but the pain behind her eyeball flared and choked any rational thought. “Jesus,” she slurred. “What did you hit me with?”
Phoe didn’t remember much about the abduction, only flashes. Being hit on the side of the head with some blunt object. Seeing tiny explosions of color before losing consciousness. A filthy wooden floor. The scrape of dirt and broken glass across her cheeks as someone dragged her along the floor.
Who was the someone? She hadn’t seen his face, but she remembered him calling her name. She knew that she had recognized the voice, but who was it? “Oooh,” she whimpered. Every time she tried to process a thought, the throbbing pain would come back with a vengeance, as if the brain itself were punching back against her skull.
“Okay, Addison,” she coached. “We can do this. I have to get up.” She winced at another stab of pain, but at least her vision was starting to clear. Looking around, she realized that she was in some abandoned room, like an attic or basement. All around her was broken furniture and ruined trinkets. Maybe a storage room for the hotel? A large wooden worktable stood in the center of the room with large hooks and chains at each of the corners. Phoe didn’t like the look of that.
She struggled against the brass cuffs at her wrists. They cut into her skin and she cried out. Soon they would be bleeding, but that might not be so bad. Bloody wrists were easier to slip through handcuffs.
“Idiot,” she whispered to herself. She would shift, and her problems would be over. Just fly right out of here, get a message to Cage, and get the fuck off this colony. She closed her eyes, centering herself and trying desperately to calm the panic that was beginning to set in. “Ugh, my beautiful dress,” she whispered. She willed the burning. She could feel it under her skin, bubbling and roiling as her cells woke up. In a moment, she would be able to taste the ash on her tongue. Phoe braced herself for the transformation.
But nothing happened.
“Come on,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Don’t panic. We can do this.” Again, nothing happened.
“It’s no use, Mrs. St. John.”
Phoe opened her eyes to see Alfie Pankenthorpe emerge from the shadows. She watched him approach. His gait was a strange shamble. Not quite a limp, but definitely not normal. His eyes were red, and the deep dark circles beneath gave the once well-kempt professor a skeletal look. His teeth stood out in the darkness behind a mirthless grin.
“Alfred?” she said. “Is that you? I thought you’d be on your way to the spaceport by now.”
“No,” he replied.
“Well then,” Phoe spoke as if they were friends, trying to sound unafraid. “Perhaps you could help me. It seems I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a mess.”
“Be still, Mrs. St. John,” Alfie said. His voice sounded almost cheerful. “You aren’t going anyplace.”
“What are you talking about?” She began pulling at her bonds once again.
“You won’t be able to shift, I’m afraid. I gave you a bit of insentia to ensure that we wouldn’t have any accidents.”
Alfie moved around the room, pulling out a large leather case that looked like a doctor bag. He set it out on the wooden table and began taking things out of it, one by one—mostly silvery metal instruments that glistened in the gaslights. “You know, I’m rather excited about our time together tonight. Despite all reports, I am rather concerned with proper hygiene. Dark alleys and street corners aren’t usually my style, but one does what one must. But tonight, you and I should have plenty of time to really enjoy ourselves.”
Phoe wanted to scream. Pankenthorpe, the husband of her friend, was the Ripper. Of course. Now everything made sense. Their travels to Absinthia. Alfie being gone at night, disappearing at the theater—he’d been right under their noses all along. “Look, Alfie. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but whatever it is, we can talk about it.”
He snorted. “Please, Phoebe—may I call you Phoebe? Spare me the dime store psychology. What’s going on here can’t be solved by long talks over coffee or island vacations. People have died.”
“Yes, too many. Too many innocent lives, Alfie. You can’t let this go on.”
Alfie grabbed a sheet from his bag and began laying it over the table. He smoothed it out lovingly. “They were not innocents.” He turned to Phoe and his eyes were cold. In that moment, Phoe understood that this man—this thing—was no longer Alfred Pankenthorpe. “None of you are. You’re an abomination.”
Alfie came toward her, and Phoe began struggling with the cuffs. She scooted backward, trying to put some space between herself and the professor. When he got close enough, she kicked out with her feet, but he avoided them easily, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting Phoe to her feet.
“Let me go, Alfie. Macijah will be back any second.” She tried to pull herself away from him, but the insentia had made her slow, like she was trying to fight him underwater.
“He won’t be able to find you, I’m afraid. No one will. That’s the beauty of this particular spot. It’s hidden quite well. Though, I suppose the ventilation system will alert the staff of your presence eventually.”
He hoisted Phoe over his shoulder and carried her writhing body to the table. He laid her down and began fastening the shackles to the chains. “Alfie,” she called. In her training, Phoe had learned that if she were abducted, she should try to use the person’s name as much as possible. “Alfie, please. I know that you don’t want to do this. I know that you’re upset about Eleanor.”
He laughed. “You think this is about Eleanor?”
“Isn’t it?”
He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Maybe a little bit. After all, it was her malfunctioning womb that started it all, but no. I’m afraid dear Eleanor was collateral damage. She knew too much. I couldn’t let her go to Tuggingham.”
“She was your wife,” Phoe cried. “She loved you. She knew something was wrong and she wanted to help you.”
“She didn’t want to help me,” Alfie spat. “She was a sniveling moron, like all those IU idiots. I wanted to bring our son to the colonies, far beyond their reach, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She kept telling me to trust the doctors.”
“Your son?” Phoe asked, trying to keep talking. She knew that once Cage returned to the study and she was gone, he would know something was wrong. He would find them. She had to buy time. “Eleanor told me about him. Thomas?”
Pankenthorpe nodded. “He was such a bright little thing.” His expression softened. “So kind, so young. He was only two when we found out about his heart condition. The doctors said he would be lucky to make it to five, but Tommy was strong.” Pankenthorpe picked up one of the scalpels at his side and twirled it absently in his fingers. “It broke my heart to see him sitting by the window, staring down at the other children as they played, knowing he never could. But he bore them no ill will. He said it made him happy to watch them playing.”
“He sounds like a lovely little boy. Macijah and I, we don’t have a son, but we take care of a little boy. He’s away at school. His name is Ben.”
Pankenthorpe smiled and Phoe thought she could see the shade of his true self, but it quickly dissolved, and he gripped the scalpel tightly. “When the doctors couldn’t help us, I started to work on a new heart for our son. Others had tried before, but the metal used in traditional biomech wouldn’t allow the heart to pump as it should. I figured it out. I designed a mechanical heart that had articulated pieces. It was powered by the body and would run indefinitely. I took my discovery to the IU, but they insisted on wasting time with clinical trials. Meanwhile, my child was dying. By the time those idiots were ready to move forward, Tommy was practically gone. For months he lay there, not moving, not speaking, barely existing in a hospital bed. Eleanor could only sit there by his side, clutching his hand and holding on to the foolish hope that the doctors would be able to heal him. Those hypocrites then wouldn’t allow me to help Tommy. They said he was brain dead and to give him a mechanical heart would be unethical. As if letting a child die while we argue in committee isn’t unethical.”
“I’m so sorry, Alfie,” Phoe sympathized. Her voice trembled, and tears rolled over her cheeks. She kept her eyes trained on the scalpel that he twirled over and over. It was so close to her skin that she could feel the cool metal brush past. “I’m sorry, but those women, it wasn’t their fault. Or mine.”
“Of course it is. It is the fault of every single person who carries those enhancements inside of them. That slut Arabella and her eternal youth. The whores with their mechanical eyes, and hands, and cunts. Even you with your mindjack. Those scientific breakthroughs that you all wear so proudly were acquired with the blood of my son. And now I want them back.”
Suddenly, the scalpel was at Phoe’s throat. “Please, Alfie.” She looked into his eyes as he leaned over her. All she could see was resolve. Phoe pictured Cage’s face. She wanted him to be the last thought she had in this life. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
“Shove off, asshole.”
Phoe opened her eyes to see Shercroft Sigerson bursting through the door. Pankenthorpe slashed downward, but Phoe was able to move enough that he missed her throat, opening a gash at the corner of her jaw. He stumbled forward and Phoe crashed her head against his as hard as she could, throwing him backward. Sigerson grabbed the professor by the shoulder and turned him around, punching him in the face.
Phoe shrieked as Pankenthorpe shook off the blow and came back at Sigerson. He swung wildly, but Sigerson was quick, dodging his fists easily. Unfortunately, he failed to see the scalpel still clutched in the professor’s hand. He slashed downward and Sigerson screamed. Phoe saw the blood spew as Pankenthorpe easily sliced Sigerson’s ear completely off. His hand immediately went to shield his head from another slash and Pankenthorpe kicked him full in the chest, sending him sprawling backward, gasping for air.
Phoe pulled against the shackles as the professor started toward her again. Sigerson’s blood dripped from the end of the raised blade. The professor was ready to finish what he’d started.
“Step away from her,” said a hissing whisper from across the room.
Phoe pulled herself up enough to see over Pankenthorpe’s shoulder. Vampiric eyes glowed in the shadows, looking like two silver beacons. “Cage,” she murmured, almost laughing with relief.
Pankenthorpe turned, holding the scalpel in front of him. The glow disappeared, but they could hear a low growl. Pankenthorpe whipped around wildly, looking for the source of the noise. It seemed to come from everywhere. “Come out,” he shouted.
Something out of the darkness shoved Pankenthorpe to the ground. Phoe heard the scalpel hit the floor with a soft tinkle. The professor, thrown off his guard, pulled up on the table to get to his feet. He kept his head low, and his eyes were everywhere. He pawed at the tray of instruments, looking for another weapon. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“He’ll kill you, Alfie,” Phoe warned. “Vampires have no mercy.”
“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m not afraid of any of you technological abominations.”
With a rush of cold, Cage appeared in a flash, this time punching the professor hard. He fell over the edge of the table, screaming as he clutched his cheek. Three long gashes bled down his face. Phoe winced, knowing the pain he must be feeling as the venom from the vampire’s claws seeped into the wound.
“Stings, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t worry, vampire,” Pankenthorpe called, ignoring Phoe’s taunt. “There will be plenty of blood left for you.” He turned back to Phoe, a scalpel raised. “So much blood.”
Phoe gasped, bracing for the impact. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cage pounce from the rafters, descending on the professor. He grabbed him by the back of the head, pulling him away from Phoe as if he were a child’s toy.
“I never share my food,” Cage growled, throwing the professor across the room. Pankenthorpe recovered and came at Cage with the scalpel. He slashed out and Cage dodged it easily. The professor slashed again and again, but this time Cage grabbed his arm, twisting it hard. Phoe heard the sickening pop as the shoulder popped out of its joint, and her stomach rolled over. Cage’s fist came down across Pankenthorpe’s nose three times in rapid succession until his face was a mess of blood.
Though she knew it was Cage, her savior looked nothing like him, save for the shreds of the suit that still clung to his form. He had grown in height and breadth. His head was still vaguely human, but his jawline was elongated. His eyes were narrow and slanted like a cat’s and they glowed silver. When he hissed, Phoe could see that rows of sharpened teeth had grown in, and the hand that clutched the professor was gnarled and ended in razor-like claws. He shook the professor until the scalpel dropped from his hand then threw him aside. Miraculously, the man was still breathing, but broken.
Cage snarled like a hungry animal then turned to Phoe. She could feel the blood where Pankenthorpe had cut her dripping down her neck. Cage’s eyes were fixed on it, and for a moment she was afraid. She’d never seen him this way before. Always, when Cage shifted, she had been able to see understanding and clarity glimmering in his eyes, but this was truly monstrous. She searched his face for any sign of recognition and saw none. She wasn’t quite sure if he was aware of himself in this form. Had she jumped from the proverbial frying pan and into the fire?
He lurched toward her. She winced as he grabbed her shackled wrist. His skin was so cold. One good jerk and the chain broke, spilling the brass chinks to the floor with a loud clatter. He broke the other and pulled her upright. His breath was ragged. She could smell the death emanating from his body.
“Cage,” she cried, reaching up and stroking her fingertips along his cheek. “Everything’s okay.” It was more of a question. He took her hand by the wrist and pulled her closer. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could hear the blood whooshing through her veins. “It’s me. You know me, right?” He rubbed his cheek against hers then began sniffing lightly at her hair and throat. She closed her eyes as he lapped at the blood seeping from the thin wound at her jawline. Phoe could feel the slight tingle as the venom irritated the cut and made the blood run faster. “Cage, please,” she whimpered, her voice trembling.
Phoe cupped his cheek gently, forcing him to gaze into her eyes. “Please,” she whispered again. Over his shoulder, she caught a spark of silver off a blade, and looked up in time to see Pankenthorpe. He had raised the knife, poised to strike. “Cage,” she screamed.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Cage covered her with his body. Pankenthorpe dropped the knife, looking down. His expression was a mixture of shock and relief as he dropped the knife and fell to the floor.
Sigerson emerged from the shadows and stood over the body, firing twice more for good measure. He looked up at where Phoe huddled behind Cage. “I do hope that I don’t have to kill you as well,” he said to Cage. “Do step away from the lady so I can be sure you haven’t gone all creature of the night.”
They watched as the man lurking inside of this beast struggled to break free. Cage had explained it once. When he first took the splice, it was like his true self had been locked away in a dark room and he was always shouting for someone to open the door. Then he met Phoe, and somehow, without even trying, she’d managed to give him the keys. His body shrank and contorted as he fought against the ugliness inside. Phoe could hear his bones crack and the strangled screams of agony as he doubled over.
When Cage sat up, Phoe could tell that the fearsome vampire had drained from his system. Shaking his head, he smiled wide at Sigerson, showing that the fangs were gone. Sigerson lowered the gun, and then he stared at it as if he were unsure that it had been him that pulled the trigger. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure I had another bullet.”
“A bullet probably wouldn’t have done it anyway,” Cage informed him, cracking his shoulder as it popped back into place. “Damn,” he grunted. “That might almost be worse than the dragon.”
Phoe threw her arms around his neck and wept against his shoulder. He smelled like her Cage. She prayed that she would never have to see that creature again. “God, I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered. “For a split second, I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to come back.”
He brushed a sweaty tendril away from her forehead and kissed it gently. “For a second, I wasn’t sure myself.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.
“Yes, yes,” Sigerson complained, rolling his eyes. “We’re all lovey-dovey now, but I’m standing here having shot a man dead and I’m starting to freak out a little.”