As his awareness sharpened, he struggled to recall what little information the nurse had given him.
All soldiers were modified to increase their effectiveness as members of the queen’s army. He would wake up improved.
He took in another breath and this time picked up on a new scent. No, two scents.
Two individual odors made up of pheromones and sweat and soap and chemicals. Coming closer.
The door opened and a man and a woman entered. The woman wore a white lab jacket and had spiky auburn hair.
The man was a thaumaturge, but not one who had taken Z from his home. He had dark, wavy hair that he’d tucked back behind both ears and eyes that were as black as the sky. They matched his tailored third-level thaumaturge coat.
And Z could pick out every unique odor on them—lotions and cosmetics and hormones.
“Good,” said the woman, pressing her finger against a pad on the wall. The exam table began to hum and Z was raised to a seated position. He grasped at the thin blanket around his chest. “Your monitor informed me that you were awake. I am Dr. Murphy. I presided over your surgeries. How are you feeling?”
Z squinted at her. “I’m not … am I—”
He hesitated as his tongue met something foreign in his mouth. He clasped his hand over his lips, then reached inside. The pad of his thumb found the sharp point of a fang and he jerked it away.
“Careful,” said the woman. “Your new implants will serve as some of your most effective weapons. May I?”
He didn’t resist as she pulled his jaw open and examined his teeth. “Your gums are healing nicely. We replaced all of your teeth, otherwise there wouldn’t be room for the canines. We’ve also reinforced your jaw for additional leverage and pressure. You’ll likely be sore for another ten to fourteen days, especially as we wean you off the painkillers. How are your eyes?” She pulled a contraption out of her pocket and flicked a light across his pupils. “You’ll likely notice increased pigmentation—it’s nothing to concern yourself with. Once your optic nerves adapt, you’ll find that your eyesight has become optimized to detect and pinpoint motion. Do let your thaumaturge know if you experience any dizziness, blurred vision, or dark spots. I trust you’re already experiencing heightened senses of hearing and smell?”
It took him a moment to realize it was a question, and he gave a shaky nod.
“Excellent. The rest of your modifications will evolve over the next eight to twelve months. As your body adapts to the genetic alterations, you’ll notice new muscle strength, agility, flexibility, and stamina. All this will come with increased metabolism, so you’ll find yourself eating more in the coming months. Even more than a normal twelve-year-old boy, that is.” Her eyes twinkled.
Z’s pulse began to pound against his temples.
“But we’ve prepared for all that,” she continued when he didn’t laugh. “Soldiers are provided a high-protein diet that we’ve created for your specific needs. Do you have any questions before I hand you off to Thaumaturge Jael?”
His breathing was becoming more and more difficult to soothe. “What’s going to happen to me? In the next … eight to twelve months?”
She flashed a braggart’s smile. “You’ll become a soldier, of course.” She held up the small device again. With a tap, a holograph emerged, showing two rotating images.
One, a young male, perhaps in his late teens.
The other, a white wolf.
“Based on years of research and trials, we have perfected our methods of genetic engineering, allowing us to combine select genes of Her Majesty’s prized Canis lupus arctos with those of still-developing Lunar males.” She tapped another button and the two holographs merged. Z sucked in a breath. This new creature had rounded shoulders, and enormous hands that were covered with a fine layer of fur, and fangs that jutted from a grotesquely twisted mouth. More fur covered his face, surrounding severe yellow eyes.
Z pushed himself back into the exam table.
“Using this method,” continued the doctor, “we have created the ultimate soldier. Strong and fearless, with the instincts of one of nature’s greatest predators. Most important, he is a soldier who is entirely subject to the will of his thaumaturge.” She shut off the holograph. “But Thaumaturge Jael will be able to explain all that to you in due time.”
“Th-that’s going to happen to me?”
The doctor opened her mouth to speak, but the thaumaturge cleared his throat and took a step toward the bed. “Perhaps, or perhaps not. You have undergone the modifications to give you the skills all soldiers require. But we chose to withhold the more animalistic changes. For now.”
“Though we can complete the necessary mutations at any time,” added the doctor.
“But—why not…”
“You have been selected as one of only five hundred conscripts to receive special training,” said the thaumaturge. “Your aptitude tests suggest you could be valuable to us as more than a member of the infantry, and Her Majesty is preparing a unit of soldiers to play a very specific role.” He listed his head. “Whether or not you are admitted into that program will ultimately depend on the potential you display during your training.”
The threatening look the thaumaturge pinned on him wasn’t necessary. Z never wanted to be back on this exam table. He never wanted another needle beneath his skin. He never wanted to wake up with fur on his face and eyes that had no humanity behind them.
The queen was making a different kind of soldier, and he had already decided that he would be one of them.
* * *
He was kept in the facility for another twenty-four hours, so that the doctor could monitor how his body was reacting to the surgeries. He discovered that what had seemed like a few hours of nightmares had, in reality, been twenty-six days of being kept comatose in a suspended animation tank while his body underwent the surgeries and adapted to the mutations. Twenty-six days, gone, while his DNA melded with that of a white wolf, while nameless doctors and scientists turned him into a beast to serve his queen. In that time, the sun had come and gone, plunging the great city of Artemisia into another long night.
The next day, he found a pile of clothes left beside his bed—soft brown pants, a black T-shirt, and plain boots. They fit him perfectly.
He had just finished dressing when he smelled someone coming—the thaumaturge from the day before. His nausea from his new heightened sense of smell had been quelled during the night, but a new sinking, crawling feeling settled in Z’s gut as the thaumaturge entered the room.
Because another sense was missing.
The telltale vibration of energy that his people could perceive and manipulate. It was gone.
His throat clamped. “Something’s wrong with me,” he said before the thaumaturge could speak. “My gift. It’s … I think something’s wrong.”
The thaumaturge stared blankly for a moment, before his expression softened into kindness. The look eased Z’s growing panic. “Yes, I know,” he said. “That is an unfortunate result of the modifications. You see, wild animals do not have the abilities that we do; therefore we must hinder your awareness of bioelectricity so that your Lunar instincts will not interfere with your new wolfish instincts. Don’t be alarmed—you are not powerless. We have simply given you a new tool with which to take advantage of your gift. It will be my job to ensure that all of your instincts and abilities are functioning properly when you’re called on to use them.”
Z licked his lips, finding it awkward to maneuver around his new teeth. He had to shut his eyes to force the wash of bile back down his throat.
They had taken away his Lunar gift. He was as vulnerable as an Earthen now. As useless as a shell. And yet they wanted him to be a soldier?