“Easy now, Lucian. If you hold still they might not hurt you,” Cassius mutters behind me.
Their pulsing lights sync into a steady amber glow. I look up at the nearest Flesher. There’s something familiar about his face. It’s not a resemblance to the Flesher we fought at Infiernos—there’s something distinct about this one. Unique. But that can’t be right.
My shoulder brushes against Digory’s. “I don’t know why, but I think I’ve seen this one before.”
Nobody moves. I turn and grab Cassius by the throat. “What’s going on here?”
But he just smiles at me, smug.
“Answer me.” I spit the words at him through clenched teeth.
“Tycho’s been resurrected. You should be thanking me.”
Digory snarls and tears Cassius from me, lifting him into the air.
Cassius glares down at me. “You’re not the only one with a trained Canid.” He shoots the Fleshers a look. “Take them.”
In unison, the Fleshers’ jaws snap open.
“Digory—”
His name has barely escaped my lips when dark blurs burst from the creatures’ throats toward us.
The wind is knocked out of me. Something cold and slimy coils around my body, a wormlike membrane that pulsates, secreting a wetness that seeps into my pores. In seconds, my body numbs and my muscles lock. Some kind of paralytic. I drop to the floor. Luckily, I land on my side. But I can’t feel a thing. I can’t breathe.
“Don’t panic, Lucky.” Cassius’s voice sounds muffled, dreamlike. “It’s not going to hurt you. It’s a neurotoxin designed to temporarily immobilize you for more efficient transport. The fluids being put into your body are feeding you oxygen and circulating it through your system. Uncomfortable, I know. But don’t resist it like your boyfriend’s trying to do.”
As I struggle in vain to move, I catch sight of Digory thrashing on the ground beside me. Whatever dose of this poison they gave us isn’t completely working on him. He’s resisting it somehow.
Cassius walks over to him. “Impressive. It appears the Ultra Imposer Program is quite the success.”
He signals to the lead Flesher.
Snap!
The Flesher’s abdomen pulls apart and an appendage looking like some souped-up version of a neurostim shoots an energy blast Digory’s way.
Don’t hurt him anymore. I want to scream the words at the top of my lungs, but I can only lie here as they ricochet through my brain instead.
Digory’s body spasms, convulsing with seizures, but still he writhes, reaching out his hand toward me even as his movements slow into twitches. His fingertips are just shy of my cheek when he slumps into immobility, staring at me through a cobalt haze.
Cassius stoops beside me and pushes Digory’s hand away, stroking my face with his own hand instead. Even though my skin can’t feel a thing, it’s like a squirming clump of maggots are eating through my brain.
“Sorry I had to do this,” he whispers in my ear.
Then he stands and moves out of my field of vision. “Let’s go,” I hear him tell the Fleshers.
How does he have control over these things? What’s the connection?
But my brain’s too fried. I look over at Digory, willing every muscle to move, to crawl toward him. It’s useless.
I can only stare straight ahead, the chill of the tunnel harsh against my opened eyes, as I’m hoisted into the air by one of the Fleshers, just like Digory and Talon are, and carried off into the labyrinth.
THIRTY
I’m not sure how much time passes as we move through the tunnels. The journey is a blur of darkness, flashes of light, indecipherable shapes and images. In spite of catching occasional glimpses of Cassius and the still-unconscious Talon, the one image I focus on, which grounds me and prevents me from completely losing my grip on reality, is Digory.
Little by little, I feel the numbness start to lift. At one point I blink against a harsh light.
Daylight.
We’re out of the tunnels. More images flash. Concrete rubble. A broken sign that says Fifth Avenue.
And then the crumbling spires of a ruin that conjures memories of the Priory. Although most of the wreckage we’ve passed is barely recognizable chunks of concrete and glass, the architecture of this one is decidedly different, more like what I’m used to from back home.
As we move through what’s left of a tall, arched doorway, I catch glimpses of the remnants of a massive door. Strange letters are carved above broken stone figures embedded in its surface. Then we’re jostled inside and I panic when I lose sight of Digory. I’m carried down a long aisle surrounded by shards of stained glass, broken statues, and torn pews, past toppled pillars of jagged marble. The whine and purr of the Fleshers’ gears and treads grinds over the debris and echoes through the chamber as we approach what looks to be some kind of altar.
Now that the toxin is starting to wear off, my lungs take in a tentative breath of stale, musty air and I nearly choke on the storm of swirling dust flurries.
Cassius’s face appears just above mine and he reaches out and strokes my hair. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there, Lucky.” He smiles at me. “Open it,” he commands our captors.
No sooner does Cassius move out of the way than I catch sight of Digory again, fidgeting between the grip of two Fleshers. Obviously his body’s resistance to the toxin is markedly ahead of mine. What was it Cassius called it in the tunnels? The Ultra Imposer Program.
What have they done to Digory?
A long glistening pincer springs from the forearm of the Flesher on Digory’s right and hovers over his neck, zeroing in on his pulsing carotid artery. For a second our eyes connect and I try to flash him a warning look, not sure if my brain’s succeeding in getting the message across to my eyes.
I guess it registers, because Digory gives me a nod and his muscles relax. He slumps in the Flesher’s grip.
But that pincer doesn’t retract.
A hum fills the air, rattling the debris. I’m able to finally shift my head. The floor beneath what’s left of the altar parts and a boxlike chamber rises onto the surface, some kind of an elevator. Unlike the ruined state of the rest of this city, the black and silver surface of the car is pristine, gleaming under the strobing lights of the Fleshers’ instruments.
What the hell is something so technologically advanced and new doing here, buried under New York City’s grave?
The glass doors slide open without a sound.
Cassius movies to stand beside the elevator. “Let’s get them inside.”
In no time we’re herded in, with half of the Fleshers remaining outside since there’s no way we’re all going to be able to cram into the space. By this time, both Cassius and I are able to stand on our own two feet; the paralysis has almost faded.
All the better to feel the sharp edge of one of the Flesher’s sharpened tools digging into the back of my neck.
Then the doors slide shut again and my stomach does somersaults as we drop. My fingers brush against Digory’s until we manage to interlock tips. After what we’ve both been through, I can’t think of too many things we won’t be able to face as long as we have each other.
“I know you think I’m a monster,” Cassius says, shattering the moment. “But maybe you’ll understand once you’ve seen for yourself.”
I’m finally able to dredge up enough spit to coat my parched throat. “I think I’ve already seen enough.” I barely recognize my own voice.
The elevator begins to slow and the blur outside the doors becomes discernible.
And I can’t believe what it is that I’m seeing. Surely it’s got to be the hallucinogenic after-effects of whatever poison they pumped into my system.