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McBrid was still tipsy when he tapped on the back door of the shelter. He’d gone home after visiting with his father and uncle, but just when he’d been about to flop into bed, he’d remembered his appointment. If he didn’t get a new host soon, Conguise would choose one for him and McBrid couldn’t let that happen.
“You parked in the usual spot?” Satcha, the House Servant who ran the place, opened the door a crack, waving him inside.
The Shelter was closed so any carriage outside the building would look suspicious. Which meant he’d had to park in the alleyway several streets over.
“Of course.” He didn’t even try to hide his disgust. They’d been doing this for years.
“Gotta ask. You wouldn’t believe how many of you Almightys get lazy. You forget that you can die almost as easily as us.”
“I never forget that.” He followed the Servant down the back hallway. “He’s in isolation, right?” The conversation he needed to have required privacy.
“Yeah. He isn’t really contagious, is he?” Satcha looked at him as if expecting an answer.
He stared at the Servant, not saying a word. He was an Almighty. At least Satcha believed him to be and that meant he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone from the lower classes.
“It’s going to cost extra.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Come on. Putting Servants or Guards in the sick-wing causes questions.”
“You should’ve mentioned it earlier.” This wasn’t the first host he’d had Satcha place in isolation.
“I’m mentioning it now.” Satcha stopped. “I want double.”
“No.” Araldo, he should’ve stayed home and gone to bed. He was in no mood to deal with this tonight.
“You should think about that.” Satcha’s tone was sly. “No one else is going to be willing to risk doing this for you.”
Great, now he was being blackmailed. “You may want to think about this. I know you switch the blood.”
“You asked me to.”
“And you were quite familiar with the process.” He moved closer, backing the Servant against the wall. “I wonder how many of my co-workers would like to hear that juicy detail. How many sick or dying have you passed off on them?”
“None. I swear.” The sweet scent of fear poured from Satcha’s pores.
“You’re lying, but even if you weren’t it doesn’t matter. Truth isn’t important in a situation like this, only suspicion.”
“I’ve never given anyone but you a sick Guard or Servant. Never. I wouldn’t.”
“Enough.” He wasn’t in the mood for Satcha’s fear filled rambling. Plus, he couldn’t afford to frighten this guy too much. He refused to go back to killing healthy Servants and Guards. “Tell you what? Next time, I’ll increase your fee by twenty percent.”
“Thirty.”
“Deal.”
The Servant’s smug expression told him that he could’ve gotten it for less but he didn’t care. Money wasn’t the issue. His conscience was.
“Right through here.” Satcha opened the door and followed McBrid inside.
He turned. “You wait”—he pointed to the door—“out there.”
Satcha frowned but obeyed. The Servant would be listening at the door. McBrid walked to the cage until his face was almost pressed against the bars.
The Servant inside was skinny which wasn’t unusual for strays but this guy was all bones. Leukemia could do that to a creature. The young, male Servant stood, watching him warily. The guy had no idea the danger McBrid offered like a gift.
“Come here.” He motioned the Servant forward. “What I say can’t be heard by anyone but us.” He tipped his head toward the door.
“Don’t worry about Satcha. That piece of Gruntshit, is too scared to say or do anything.” The Servant said it loudly and smirked as he walked to the front of the cage.
“What’s your name?” McBrid wanted to grin too but as an Almighty he shouldn’t have heard the snort of derision from the other side of the door.
“My friends call me Cal.”
“I’m not your friend.” He’d been Fersia’s friend and would hate himself forever for what he’d done to her.
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” The Servant looked down at his feet.
“I’m sorry. Forget I said that.” He shouldn’t have but the whiskey had brought his regret to the surface. “I have some questions to ask you.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, but the Servant would hear him.
“Okay.”
“I analyzed the blood that Satcha drew and—”
“I’m not sick. I don’t care what you say.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Sorry,” Cal whispered. “But I’m not sick. If they’d give me more food, I’d be fine.”
“You are sick. Very sick.” He hated feeding on the needs of the dying, but he had no better option. “You won’t live long.”
“I’m not going to live long in here anyway.”
He was right. The shelters executed all unwanted Servants and Guards and no one would adopt this kid. He was too thin and sickly looking. If it weren’t for McBrid’s needs, Cal would’ve been killed the day he’d arrived.
“I might be able to help you with that.”
“Really? You’ll buy me?” Cal’s blue eyes, dull with defeat and illness, suddenly sparked to life.
“Maybe.” McBrid wanted to flee. What he was promising was a fate worse than death, but he had no choice. He had to keep making the monsters or he’d die and his father and uncle might too. This was the best solution to a terrible situation.
Since Fersia, he’d been purchasing the very old but a month ago Conguise had seen the host before the transformation had begun. He’d lied and said that the new serum was causing accelerated aging. He didn’t think the professor had believed him, so his only choice was to pick a younger Servant.
“I swear with good food and some sleep—”
“You’re not going to get better. You have leukemia.”
“So. I’m young and strong. I’ll fight it.” Cal wasn’t educated but that was also common with strays.
“You may fight it but you won’t win. However, I might be able to help you with that.” It wasn’t a lie. If Cal came with him, the Servant wouldn’t die from leukemia.
“You can make me better?” The kid dropped all pretense of not being sick.
“There are risks.”
“I don’t care.” Cal’s eyes darted around the cell. “I have no chance here.”
That was true. “What I’m suggesting will be painful.”
“Like this isn’t.” Cal looked down at his body. “I hurt all the time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t go. Give me a chance.” Cal grasped the bars. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I...I meant, I was sorry that you’re sick.”
“Oh.” Cal let go of the bars. “Yeah. Just my luck, I guess.”
He took a deep breath, hating himself for this. “I want you to understand that what I’m proposing will change you.”
“Will I get better?”
“If you don’t die, you won’t be sick anymore. At least, I don’t believe you will be. I’ve never done this with someone who was sick. I usually purchase the elderly.”
“And they felt better?’
“They became stronger, faster...They became something else. Something other than Servant.” He wasn’t going to lie. From his recent experience, there was no need. The Servants were so desperate for a chance that they’d even take a terrible one.
“I’m in.” Cal grinned.
“I’m serious. If you live through the shots—”
“Shots?” Cal’s face paled a bit.
“Yes. I’ll be drawing your blood and injecting you with serum every day. I may even draw blood more than once a day.”
“I hate needles.”
He waited, doubting that a small fear like this would turn the kid away.
“But...you said I’d be stronger and faster. Not sick anymore. Right?”
“Yes, but you also won’t be a House Servant.”
“What will I be?”
“A monster.” There it was, the entire truth.
Cal’s eyes brightened with amusement but faded as he studied McBrid’s face. “What kind of monster?”
“The deadliest there is.”
Cal’s body trembled but he smiled. “Well then, let’s do it.”