“It seems possible that I made an ass of myself back there.”
“Do you think so?”
Alex looked away while the nurse swabbed his forearm with iodine, prepped a needle, and then, without so much as a warning, gave him a numbing injection. Alex yelped in protest, but the nurse ignored him, collected her tray, and informed them that the doctor would be there shortly, and then left, the door swinging slowly shut behind her.
“Well, the thing is…” Alex continued, kicking his heels against the examination table. “When we first met I may not have done everything I could to make a good first impression.”
“Oh?” Katya asked, her face pleasant and serene from where she sat in the uncomfortable molded plastic chair that haunts every doctor’s office. “That would be when you referred to me as a ‘bitch’, right?”
“Um, yes, technically,” Alex said, hanging his head. “But I wasn’t really talking about you as much as I was…”
“You were pointing at me when you said it,” Katya noted.
“Okay, that’s true,” Alex admitted. “I wasn’t actually upset at you, though. It’s just that, you know, I’ve had issues with Anastasia, issues with the girls at this school in general, and…”
“Which is it? Do you have a problem with my boss? Or is it a problem with girls in general?”
“Uh, well, it isn’t exactly like that…”
Katya leaned forward, but he wasn’t sure if she looked concerned or amused at his expense.
“Are you gay, Alex?”
“What?” Alex said, flustered, shaking his head emphatically. “No! I mean, not that I have problem with gay people, but no. Ah, crap. Is there any way I can just apologize and we can start over?”
“Sure,” Katya said, sitting back and shrugging. “Go for it.”
“Okay, then,” Alex said, nodding uncertainly. “I’m, uh, sorry for being rude. I was mostly yelling at Anastasia. She likes to interfere in my life, and I wasn’t at all prepared for her to spring the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing on me, and the last time she got involved in things…”
“She saved your life, right?” Katya asked, inspecting the muted burgundy paint on her nails. “That’s what I heard.”
“That’s, well, yes. You could look at it that way, I suppose,” Alex allowed, helplessly.
“I see why you’ve got a problem with her,” Katya said flatly.
“Are you messing with me?” Alex sighed. “I can’t even tell anymore.”
“No,” Katya said, and then laughed shortly. “Well, maybe a little bit. You didn’t do much to win me over when we met, and you do have a bit of a reputation for being a wimp.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about… hey, wait a minute. I have a reputation for what?”
“Well, you were clutching your arm and moaning a minute ago.”
“No, you have it all wrong! I have this chronic injury — I hurt my arm a few months ago, and for some reason, it never seems to get all the way better.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Katya asked, inclining her head to indicate the forearm he was still holding, despite the fact that it was chemically numbed.
“Actually, a werewolf bit me a while ago, and it hasn’t been right since.”
“Ah. Remind me to stay at arm’s length during full moons.”
Alex’s jaw dropped.
“Really? But, it’s been a while and nothing like that…”
Katya laughed again.
“No, not really, Alex. Humans can’t become Weir. In fact, Weir aren’t even humans — they are wolves who do a good imitation of a person. You don’t pay much attention in class, do you?”
“Not really.”
“It shows.”
The silence stretched out while Katya sat, pointedly not looking at him, until Alex gave up.
“I’m really sorry about what I said,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I’ve had a difficult night, and I wasn’t at my best at that particular moment.”
“Don’t get all gloomy,” Katya scolded, unfolding her arms and slouching back as far as the unyielding material of the chair would allow. “I’m not actually upset with you. I wasn’t too happy when I heard the news from Anastasia earlier today. I was hoping for something a little more prestigious when she had me brought over from Mr. Cole’s class. No offense, but looking after you isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“I meant to ask… so, your parents gave you to Anastasia?” Alex asked, unable to repress his curiosity any longer. “Is that some sort of punishment?”
“Are you kidding me?” Katya asked, eyeballing Alex as if he were mad, possibly dangerous. “My original cartel is tiny, Alex, and my parents had seven kids, just to be sure. Most of the other cartel members did the same. How many positions do you think there are to inherit? I don’t think that the Kiev Oblast has ever had more than thirty members…”
“Why did they all have so many kids?”
“You haven’t noticed yet? Man,” Katya said, whistling. “You really are dense. Being an Operator isn’t exactly hereditary. The trait is passed down from parent to child maybe once in three times, so every family here has some completely normal members. That’s where all the day-to-day personnel come from, the maintenance staff and the lawyers and the bookkeepers and what not.”
“Oh,” Alex admitted, fascinated and ashamed to admit that he had never thought about it.
“You aren’t too observant, are you, Alex? Take Anastasia, for example. She has four siblings, and only her older brother is an Operator, and not much of one at that. My parents figured on the same odds, and they wanted to make sure the family business would be secure. Most people don’t show the potential for activation until they hit puberty, more or less. So, my parents had a bunch. And, as it turned out, six of the seven were Operators, a great many more than they needed.”
“Wow.”
“A man of few words,” Katya observed coolly. “Anyway, that used to mean fights over succession. Back in the old days, we probably would have tried to kill each other off fighting over potential inheritance. Fortunately, the Black Sun has a system to prevent that’s sort of thing. My parents pledged my brother and myself to the Black Sun’s service when we were twelve, freeing them from the need to pay Academy fees or find jobs in the cartel for us, and in return, their own standing was enhanced. It was a good deal for us, too, because we have a better chance at advancement and prestige in the Black Sun. Everyone knows that Anastasia will take over in a few years. All the precognitives swear to it, I hear even her father thinks it’s a foregone conclusion and plans to step aside. All the subsidiary cartels are trying to get on her good side.”
“That does seem to be the usual reaction,” Alex agreed ruefully, poking at his numbed arm. “What about her brother? You said she had an older brother.”
“He put his claim aside. Anastasia had a couple cousins who have tried to challenge her position as heir apparent once. Nobody ever heard anything from the entire family, ever again.”
“Are you supposed to be telling me all this stuff? I’m not part of the Black Sun or anything.”
Katya shrugged, tossing her hair. In the fluorescent light of the examination room, Alex could see that her hair was actually dyed in very fine streaks of red and dark brown, intermingled so that it appeared auburn from a distance. Alex wondered how it could have taken him this long to notice that she was cute, in a quiet way. Something about how Katya carried herself, the lines of her body beneath her uniform — she gave off a general air of indifference, as if she wasn’t concerned with being seen as attractive.
At least, not by him.
“None of this is a secret. Besides, Anastasia told me that you would join eventually, that it was inevitable.”
“I bet she did,” Alex said sourly. “Look, no hard feelings, but I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Are you sure?” Katya asked, slowly standing up from the plastic chair, her expression hardening. Alex followed her eyes to the open door of the examination room.
“You don’t look like a doctor,” Alex said.
It was true. Grigori Aushev looked nothing at all like a doctor. He was solidly built, but not like Michael; it was as if he had the frame to be tall and skinny, but had managed to pack a bunch of muscle on in defiance of nature’s intentions. He moved gracefully, like a dancer, belying his size. He looked unhappy; however, the face beneath his uncombed dark hair did not seem capable of expressing happiness, so Alex wasn’t sure. He had Slavic features, three days worth of stubble on his cheeks, flat brown eyes that refused to acknowledge the light, a thick accent and a voice so deep that Alex had to lean forward to hear him.
“Alexander Warner? Grigori Aushev. We need to talk.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Alex muttered, his head in his good hand. “Can’t any of you people at least wait until I see the doctor?”
“You’re going to have to explain that to me.”
Anastasia was brushing her teeth at the time, so she did not hear him approach. It wasn’t like Renton to come into her wing this late in the evening, and it wasn’t like Donner and Blitzen to ignore the intrusion. She was surprised; surprised enough that her she poked herself in her gums with her toothbrush, the sting making her eyes water, though she had enough composure to make sure it didn’t show. She was decidedly less than happy with Renton when she turned around and made an interrogative noise, her mouth full of toothpaste.
“Sorry,” Renton said, looking anything but. “But I’m curious. Timor I understand, he has done some personal security courses, and I think he will make a decent bodyguard, even if he is a bit inexperienced. But Katya was trained as an assassin, Ana.”
Anastasia said something that apparently sounded enough like ‘And?’ that he understood.
“I looked up her records,” Renton admitted with a guilty look. She knew from experience that it was entirely for show. Renton didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t feel bad for anything he did. “She’s formidable in her own way. Six years worth of tradecraft and combat training, and her aptitudes are all solid. Nevertheless, her proficiency is all in wetwork. She is academically, diplomatically and socially unfit for the position; moreover, she does not know the first thing about protecting someone. Katya is nothing more than a killer, not to mention emotionally unstable. So, why her?”
Anastasia closed the door in Renton’s face, ran water in the sink, and then finished brushing. She did not normally bother with mouthwash at night, but she did this time, delaying to make a point. When she finally opened the door again, he was still there, with the same false, friendly smile on his face.
“Did you learn anything else interesting about Katya?” Anastasia demanded, trying to act as if she wasn’t talking to Renton in her nightdress, her hair down in preparation for bed.
“Well, she does manage to look alright, even in the uniform…”
“Do you have to say things like that, Renton? That has nothing to do with why she is here. Katya’s protocol, you fool. Do you think she could, say, kill Alex with it?”
“I could kill Alex with a mean look,” Renton said smugly.
“When he is at full power?” Anastasia asked, her voice dripping with contempt. “When he is using his Black Protocol? I am not so certain, Renton. I am not sure that you could get close enough to him to try. While you are poking around records that you are not supposed to be in, review the footage of what happened in the quarry, when Michael had him activate that protocol for the first time. It was quite frightening.”
“If you say so, but…”
“I assigned her to Alexander as a favor to someone worth doing a favor for, someone who wanted to take out a bit of protection, while hopefully providing him with an educational experience. Katya may be a terrible student, but she excelled in the Program.”
“Oh,” Renton said, nodding. “Then it’s just a coincidence that’s she’s…”
Anastasia glared at him, her best glower, and he trailed off and looked chastised. She was not at all sure he actually was.
“Nothing I do is unintentional, Renton,” she snapped. “I hoped you would have realized that by now. Whatever happens with Katya, I assure you, it will be what I had in mind.”
“That would be easier to accept if you weren’t wearing those,” Renton said, pointing down at her feet. They both paused to look at her plush brown slippers, and then Anastasia looked back up at him, twitching with fury.
“These are Domo slippers,” she said menacingly. “Don’t you dare mock Domo.”
“Of course,” Renton said, holding his hands up in faux surrender. “Whatever you say.”
“Speaking of whatever I say, what are you doing here? What did I tell you about coming to my room? Or using telepathy to keep my dogs from eating you?”
“Something encouraging, I hope.”
Anastasia shook her head and then sighed.
“Enough. Renton, I am about to get upset,” she said quietly, but with feeling. “Therefore, I suggest that you find somewhere else to be. Maybe you could find a girl who actually appreciates you showing up unannounced in her room.”
Renton took a couple of steps back. Donner was suddenly between them, with his heavy black body wedged them apart, almost standing on her slippers, snarling in response to his mistress’s mood, his instincts overriding whatever suggestion Renton had implanted in him.
“Okay, I got it, Ana, message received,” Renton said, backing away with a smile. “I’m already gone.”
She watched him walk all the way to the door, Blitzen tracking his every step, a consistent, low snarl coming from the Weir’s throat that sounded like the revving of a small, rusted engine.
“Since you’re feeling so curious,” Anastasia called out after him, “go see what’s happening at the infirmary. It will probably be interesting. You can tell me about it in the morning.”
“Right,” Renton said, flashing her a weak smile before he closed the door on the snarling Weir.
Anastasia sighed heavily, and then spent a minute petting Donner and Blitzen, calming them down. She had given that final order to Renton not because she needed his perspective, but more as face-saving measure. He probably would have done it anyway, even if she hadn't ordered him to. It was probably time, Anastasia thought regretfully, to do something about Renton, in case he got to feeling even cleverer than he already was. Anastasia went back to the bathroom to brush her hair again. She was too agitated for bed.
“Okay, things got a little heated. It’s the first time we’ve all met, so it’s not surprising that there was some miscommunication. Now, why don’t we just, you know, put down the scalpels and stuff and start over?”
He looked over at Katya hopefully. She was standing in front of him, one hand clutching a couple of nasty looking surgical tools she had pillaged from one of the drawers in the infirmary. Their companion pieces, two quivering scalpels, were imbedded in the wall, one on either side of Grigori’s head. Katya turned to look back at him in confusion, her face flushed and shoulders heaving. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then shrugged and set the tools down on the counter in front of her, conspicuously within reach.
“That’s good,” Alex said encouragingly, turning next to Grigori. “Now, you stop whatever that glowing-hand thing it is you’re doing.”
“I don’t work for you,” Grigori objected, still attempting to burn a hole in Katya with his eyes. “And this is hardly the first time I’ve met Katya Zharova.”
“Alright, that’s great,” Alex agreed. “On the other hand, I only just met you, and yet I prevented her from stabbing you in eyes. So, maybe you could consider doing me a favor, huh?”
Grigori looked over at Alex in stunned silence, but his right hand, which had been emitting a crackling, vivid blue energy, gradually returned to normal. Alex figured he could put that one in his ‘win’ column.
“Okay,” Alex said, sitting back down on the examination table with a sigh of relief. “This is all very civilized. Now, Mr. Threatening-Russian guy, what is so important that it merits scaring away the doctor, whose help I desperately need?”
“You are a fool, Alexander Warner,” Grigori sneered, his face flushed and ruddy.
“You probably could have waited to tell me that.”
“Are you insane?” Grigori demanded. “You have an assassin next to you, right now!”
“What?” Alex said, glancing around. “Oh, you mean her? This is Katya. She’s not an assassin.”
“I’m his bodyguard,” she offered gleefully. “Anastasia Martynova's orders, courtesy of the Black Sun. Alex needs protecting.”
“She’s not my bodyguard,” Alex sighed. “Look, do you both think this could wait? I’m supposed to be getting an injection.”
“You cannot possibly be this stupid,” Grigori insisted. “Anastasia Martynova installs one of her agents in your life, an assassin no less, and you simply accept it? Are you already their creature, Warner? Do you already belong to the Black Sun?”
“You’re the excitable type, aren’t you?” Alex asked, lying down on the examination table. “Look, not like it’s any of your business, but you’ve got everything wrong. Anastasia is my classmate, not my boss. I don’t work for her. I'm not a member of any cartel, not even the delightful one you are a part of, whichever that is. And I haven’t accepted help from anyone, much less a volunteer bodyguard; which, by the way, you are doing a stellar job of convincing me that I might actually need. Anyway, Katya’s totally not an assassin, right?”
“Totally,” Katya agreed, deadpan.
“See?”
“I haven’t completed the training yet,” Katya continued blithely.
“That is not helpful,” Alex complained. “I am trying to make the angry guy go away.”
“Sorry about that,” Katya said, still watching Grigori, her body tense and her hand hovering near the shining instruments. “Bad habit of mine.”
“What is wrong with you, Warner?” Grigori demanded, clearly dumbfounded. “I came to warn you about a threat to your life, based on the positive reports on your character I received from Emily Muir, and instead I find you cracking jokes with the threat? This is simply too much.”
“Wait, Emily gave positive reports about my character? What did she say?”
Katya moved on the balls of her feet, like a cat, walking circles around Grigori.
“I have never liked you, and your accent makes you sound like my grandmother,” Katya said deliberately, just out of his reach. “I spent a lot of time in Mr. Cole’s class thinking about what I would do to you, if you didn’t have a cartel to stand behind you. Well, I have a job now. You get close to him,” Katya said, pointing at Alex, “and then I’ll do what I have to do. It will be my obligation.”
“Ahem.” Rebecca cleared her throat, fingering the scalpels embedded in the wall with obvious trepidation. Behind her, a doctor and handful of nurses peered out in suspicion and hostility. “I’m just going to say it. Everyone in this room is in a whole lot of trouble.”