Chapter 187: Infected (8)

Anderson made a sound through the ruin of his mouth. It had almost been a word, and Misha had no way to decide whether it belonged to him. His tongue moved beneath the pale appendages, briefly visible through the blood, before something knotted and glossy forced its way past his teeth and dropped beneath the table. It struck the marble with a wet slap, then folded upon itself like an animal trying to hide its head.

Misha followed it before she could decide what she had just seen. One dagger pinned the mass through its center while the other cut across the smaller cords scraping against the board. The thing tightened around the buried blade, pulling hard enough to make her wrist turn. She set her boot against the pummel and drove it down with her weight.

Something gave beneath her heel. Colorless fluid seeped from the puncture and followed a crack between, carrying a thin thread of Anderson’s blood with it. Misha kept the second blade ready until the remaining cords stopped moving. Even then, she waited another breath.

Anderson slid off the table. His shoulder struck the floor first, followed by his head, and the sound made somebody gasp. She looked in time to see his fingers uncurl beside his hip. His chest remained still.

「Parasite Eliminated: 1 / 5 」

The window stayed in front of her long enough to be read twice. A correct result, finally, after days of questions and bodies and people looking at her as though she might decide to cut their throats if they answered her inquiries badly. She only wanted proof. Anderson lay within reach of her boot, and two people had been killed before she imagined to stop what was inside him.

Misha pulled her dagger free. A bead of blood gathered at its tip and fell beside her foot, disappearing into the crack where the parasite’s fluid had gone. She watched that happen for no useful reason.

Somewhere beyond the overturned chairs, a man kept asking where his wife was.

"Don’t touch the remains yet. Keep everyone away from it until we’re certain that there’s nothing harmful left in his body." Her voice sounded steady enough, though her grip needed adjusting twice. "That includes the pieces on the floor."

Dorian looked at Anderson, then toward the people nearest the table. He directed two of them back with an open hand and waited until they moved before speaking to them. Blood had splashed across one cuff. He folded that wrist behind his back when a frightened woman looked down at it.

Sweeping her gaze across the hall, Misha found Carl through a gap between two adults. He was crouched near the passage with both hands clamped around his bag strap, his eyes fixed on her blades. For a moment, she thought he was looking at the blood. Then his gaze moved to her face, searching the white mask for something it could not show him.

She lifted one dagger, keeping its point turned away from him. Her fingers shook around the hilt, and she had to brace her wrist with the other hand, so the gesture became an awkward little salute.

Carl nodded, his lower lip trembled, and he pressed it between his teeth as thought that might stop the rest of him from following.

"Misha. Your wrist." Astrid lowered her sidearm only after checking Anderson again. Her eyes stayed on the torn sleeve while thumb pressed firmly against the weapon’s grip. "Let me see it."

Misha looked down. A shallow cut ran from the base of her thumb toward her forearm, and seeing it separated that particular sting from everything else that hurt. She set the daggers on the table and flexed her fingers once. They answered, which was enough for now, so she drew a strip of clean cloth from her storage and wound it around the injury. Then she picked up the blades again.

Astrid started toward her, then stopped when a child called from behind. She glanced between them before Misha tipped her chin toward the passage. The girl’s mouth tightened with an objection she chose to swallow. She went to the child instead, crouching low enough to be seen beneath the adults’ elbows.

Alaric stood near the far wall, his mandolin resting against his hip. His fingers lay over the strings without moving, and the stillness caught Misha’s attention more readily than another joke would have. When she looked at him, his lips parted a little. Whatever he had meant to say took too long, and she turned away before he tried.

Four parasites remained. Their hosts might be watching her bind the wound, or helping somebody stand, or crying over someone the first parasite had killed. Her hands needed to stop shaking before she could touch another wrist.

"Have you seen–"

The man asking for his wife went quiet. Misha noticed because the silence cut through the middle of his question, leaving the last syllable unfinished. He reached for the back of a chair, missed it, and swayed toward Dorian. His eyes stayed open while his knees began to fold.

"Sit down. You’ve seen enough for–" Dorain caught him beneath one arm, then looked at the man’s face. "Can you hear me?"

The man’s head rolled against his shoulder. Before Misha could reach them, a woman folded beside Carl and struck the bench with her hip. A cup dropped somewhere to her left, spun across the marble, and came to rest against a boot. The person wearing it was already falling.

Caius moved toward her. He managed three steps before Valecyr’s end struck the floor, the sound ringing through the hall as he tried to brace himself against the weapon. His gaze met hers. She saw him recognize what was happening, and his hand slipped before he could warn her.

The clock above the kitchen passage showed six.

During Anderson’s attack, they all had forgotten it entirely. The hand moved while she stared, indifferent to the room coming apart underneath it.

Her eyelids grew heavy. Twinfang slipped from hands and struck the marble with two sharp clangs, and she dug her nails into her palms before the last of her strength went. The pain came clearly. Her knees buckled anyway.

She caught herself on one hand. Her injured wrist folded badly beneath her, sending a hot line of pain up her arm, but she could not shift her weight.

"No... not yet." The words barely left her mouth. She tried to drag her knee beneath her, scraped her boot against the stone, and accomplished nothing.

She had spent days thinking about what happened while they were unconscious. Every arrangement they made had required somebody to stay awake, and every time the Floor had taken that possibility away. She could feel it doing the same now, settling through her limbs while the hall blurred around her. Her fingers remained spread against the marble, useless and increasingly distant.

Heat flared beneath the back of her hand. Misha stared at the three curved marks as their dark edges sharpened beneath her skin, then lengthened into fine branching lines. They spread around her wrist and climbed her arm beneath the torn sleeve. By the time the burning reached her shoulders, her eyes were watering.

「 〔FORSAKEN’S MARK〕

Eligible Restriction Identified.

Movement Restriction Rejected.

Exemption applies to the current rest phase.

Next invocation available in 72:00:00 」

Her fingers curled. Air rushed into her lungs as she pushed against the floor, clumsily at first, then hard enough to lift her chest. Every tired muscle protested. The cut in her wrist still hurt, and the pressure behind her eyes remained, but she could move. She drew one knee beneath her and held there until the dizziness eased.

Hearthkeeper tightened around her waist. Loose fabric drew close along her arms, black and gold settling into the combat configuration while white fur rose at her shoulders. She felt the change across her back as she reached for her daggers. Her hands obeyed this time, though the left one did so reluctantly.

At the far end of the hall, somebody stood.

Misha stopped after placing Twinfang back in their sheaths. She turned and watched the broad man straighten beside a chair. His head hung forward. He had been sitting there a moment ago, both hands covering his face while people backed away from the table.

A second figure rose farther along the wall. It pushed upright without using its hands, its torso lifting before the legs adjusted beneath it. Neither looked toward Anderson. Both turned toward the only person still moving among the sleepers.

Misha took Starfall out of her storage, lowered its point to the floor while her grip settled. The claymore had always moved more easily than a blade that size ought to, but her arms were trembling and her wrist had begun bleeding through the cloth. She brought her other foot beneath her and used the hilt to steady herself.

"Nyxie, come." She swallowed, watching the broad man take his first step. "I’ll let you handle this."

「Authorization Accepted.

Possession Initializing...」

「Control Transfer Complete.」

「Possession Time Remaining: 00:25:00」