Skinwalker

The towel is warm against my face, and I let myself feel the heat that seeps from the material. It feels so good to be Piper again. My skin is tight, rolling over my body seamlessly and perfectly unnoticeable, no longer aggravating my sense. My hair is heavy, falling down to the middle of my back and the weight of it makes my scalp sensitive. My joints ache, my bones hurt, and my muscles feel like they’ve been rolled out with a rolling pin. The only thing better than being myself is being away from Genetics Incorporated.

Playing this roll means two things: I’m in constantly in danger and I’m committing a crime against subhumans. I’m stealing their genetics and giving it to humans. It’s what I was enlisted to do. In theory the information will go back to our government, but in the meantime, I’m still telling our enemies our deepest secrets. It’s our genetic makeup is in the hands of humans who want to use it against us and right now there are thirty-four subhumans locked in cells and most of them are in need of someone to help them.

My hair falls in damp curtains, the ends are different lengths, broken from the years of abuse since the last time it was cut. Blotchy light brown freckles smatter across my face, down my neck, and onto my body. There have always been hundreds of them, yet somehow it seems like there are more today than there was last time I paid any attention.

The sound of someone’s knuckles against faux wood echoes into the hotel. From where I stand, I can see the door; there’s no peep hole and no window next to the door to see who it is.

Theoretically, there’s only one person who knows I’m here and that’s Leona. Hellsgate is too far away to return for the night so I’m being boarded at the nearest hotel in Jonesboro, a half an hour northeast of Genetics Incorporated.

Collecting the white towel from the floor of the bathroom, I cover myself with it as my damp feet pad delicately against the laminate floor the short distance to the door. My fingers brush the cool metal of the door handle, and I pause. What if someone from Genetics Incorporated followed me here? I’m over an hour away from Shreveport where my host lives, which may look suspicious to someone like Annamarie.

“It’s Leona,” she answers my unasked question quietly.

Hiding myself behind the door I unlock it and pull it open letting her pass into the hotel room.

The legends of vampires needing to be invited into someone’s private residence are true. It’s an offer that must be extended willfully and can be revoked freely, and at any time. While the arrangement can be verbalized it doesn’t actually have to be. It can be an emotion that allows the invisible barrier to be taken down or built up. As long as I feel friendship Leona’s welcome into any place I occupy so long as the invitation is mine to give. That’s why she could pass through the door at my apartment and why she’s able to inhabit this room.

I shut the door, locking the deadbolt once again.

“Queen Scarlet is requesting an update.” She hangs her peacoat on the rack inside the room.

“I haven’t got one,” I say, walking back into the bathroom to get dressed.

“We both know that is not true.”

“Do you mind?” I say exasperated, wishing there was a door to slam in her face.

Her shimmering brown eyes with their silver aura observe the towel I’m hiding behind. “You work at a strip club.”

“I don’t strip!”

“You haven’t a reason to be modest.”

“Don’t make me revoke you.”

There is a complacent look on her face as she steels one more glance before disappearing from the bathroom archway.

Rolling my eyes, I murmur, “Vampires.”

“I heard that.”

Quickly I dress into pajamas and pull my hair into a damp, unbrushed top knot. I can finish getting ready for bed after she’s left.

Sitting on the chair next to the refrigerator is a small ice box that wasn’t there before. “What’s that?”

“Pigs blood.”

“And what exactly do you want me to do with that?”

“Give it to Catherine.”

I laugh nervously. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“This is not a request, Piper.”

“If you honestly think I’m going to waltz in there and give her a unit of blood, you’re insane. She’s on a fast; she attacked a guard!”

“How long do you expect her to live dry?”

I open my mouth to argue and then realize Brittany’s belief system is attempting to overrule my own. That was her response, not mine. She is terrified of the amount of power a bag of blood can give a vampire. Whereas I know this package is a means to an end. Catherine will need it to rebuild her strength before she can leave that place. If I don’t give it to her, she will never survive her cell.

Squatting, I grab my head and squeeze my eyes closed. The sound of rushing blood is the only thing I hear from the pressure in my skull. Occupying a host for too long always has side effects. I knew Brittany’s thoughts were dangerous, but I hadn’t planned for them to cloud my own so quickly and almost unnoticeably. The throbbing ache moves through my brain like a storm; the pressure systems swelling and contracting as I struggle to push my host back into the depths of my mind, where her poisonous thoughts belong.

The internal struggle has passed when I hear a vehicle go by on the road outside. I open my eyes to see Leona squatting down in front of me. One of her ice-cold hands that was helping to hold me steady brushes moisture from under my left eye.

“I’m okay.”

There’s a pause before Leona helps me to my feet.

“What updates do you have?” She lets go of me like nothing happened.

So, I tell her about the day I had at Genetics Incorporated.

Cassandra is waiting in room one when I get to work in the morning. Uncharacteristically for my host, I’m running a few minutes late. Thankfully, she has two young daughters and I’m certain I can make an excuse if anyone asks questions.

I set my work bag on the chair, unlock my hosts computer, and long into the system so I can look at the lab orders for Cassandra. Her care has been temporarily switched to me as Annamarie was pulled to do the intake on a new subhuman brought in overnight, an animator.

On file, the hybrid witch has two standard orders that regular people would get for regular reasons: a CBC and a CMP. What isn’t routine is genome sequencing, which looks for genomic variations, and a cheek swab to collect cells from inside her mouth. She’s been here for nine days and today, they’re beginning her workup.

I lock the computer, pull on Brittany’s lab coat, clip her badge into place, and head to the room Cassandra is occupying. There is one security guard standing outside of room one. Once I’m inside, I pull the door shut, providing a bit of privacy.

Cassandra isn’t restrained at all. She’s sitting on the chair, slouched over, with her hands lying docilely on her lap. The magic surprising bracelets are clamped around her wrists them there. They’re meant to subdue magical abilities, specifically the kind that can be used against others.

“I was wrong, you shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes never lift from the hands she’s staring at, resting in her lap. Beyond the bracelets, her fingers are curled in and the tips of them look like fresh bruises.

“What have they done to you?”

Wanting to examine her hands more closely, I collect them with my own and force her stiff fingers into different positions. She’s been picking at the bracelets; her fingers have tears on them and there’s dried blood under her broken uneven nails.

“It’s poison.”

I turn her hands palm up. “How did you poison yourself?”

“I didn’t.” Her honey eyes aren’t the bright color they once were, now they’re dull, like someone took all the gold from them. Even her aura doesn’t seem to be as easily noticed; it almost blends in with her iris.

“The bracelets are poisoning you?” Does that even make sense? Why would Genetics Incorporated want her dead instead of cured?

Like a sack of flower, her arms drop back into her lap; she’s too weak to keep holding them out.

“There’s always a price to be paid.”

Suppressing her abilities for nine days has caused her magic to attack her from the inside out.

“How do I get rid of it?”

“Take them off.”

“There has to be a different way.” Even if Cassandra sits in her cell and does nothing, removing those would cause scrutiny. I can’t do something my host would never do.

“It’ll just come back.” Cassandra leans into the chair, resting her head on the back.

My stool rolls to the drawer I guided it to. Inside there are butterfly needles of different sizes and tubes for blood that have no compounds in the bottom. I need to try removing the purple poison that’s sitting in her veins. Sooner or later, the poison will kill her.

With all of the items I need on the tray table beside me, I prep her index finger, just as I would prep any vein. The biggest difference, I put on more than one pair of gloves. What if the poison in her veins is just as dangerous on the outside? What happens if I accidently spill some on me? I need to be careful.

I tie the blue elastic tourniquet around her forearm. When I’m ready, I press the needle into her skin, forcing it to penetrate through the barrier and inside of her. It’s abnormally difficult to breach her skin. When it finally does, a spurt of inky black fluid jets into the container. I milk the poison toward the needle and slowly her finger begins clearing the purple tone.

It takes a very long time to work through all ten of her fingertips, to clear them to the best of my ability. When I do, I have several little tubes filled with magical poison sitting beside us. Cassandra stretches her fingers after the tourniquet is finally removed; some of her knuckle’s pop as she rolls them into fists.

“You need to leave.”

Frowning at her, I quietly say, “They have Levi.” Then I begin prepping her forearm for the original blood draw, letting the conversation fall silent.