BoneSong
[in draft]Â
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Prologue
At fourteen, he'd been to many a disinterment, but very few funerals. Still, this had to be the weirdest burial ceremony he'd ever witnessed, or even heard about. He was so busy watching his footing on the precipice, and trying to make sense of the bizarre burial rites, that it was a while before he noticed how strange the people themselves were.
My relatives. Justin could see now why his father had always kept his distance. Nobody would rightfully claim this lot. They weren't exactly normal.
And they didn't want to know him. That much was obvious. Those steely gazes held even more contempt for him than they did for his father.
Justin didn't get it. Magnus Hyde, his father, was one of the foremost anthropologists in the world. He was well-respected--hero-worshipped by some younger grad students. It was, well, sickening at times, but Justin was used to it, and he'd even gleaned a few worshipful glances himself. Apparently, being related to greatness was nearly as suspect as being great yourself. The potential was always there.
And they seemed to think Justin was lucky--that being dragged along on digs, to sift through dusty remains, was a great honor.
Like hell, he thought now, grimacing. All that desiccated skin and muscle, trapped in the dirt. Sick! When he blew his nose afterwards--expelled all the dirt and dust and snot--it always made him feel like he was expelling human remains, before they could contaminate him somehow.
He'd tried to tell his dad how he felt, but the man hadn't exactly been filled with remorse. His expression had held more scorn than regret.
Yet now, here was the “family”, looking at Dad with the same kind of contempt Justin frequently received. For some reason, it failed to make Justin feel vindicated. Instead, he felt angry, furious even, that these strangers would dare to diss his dad. No matter what Justin might personally think, his father was well-respected, and had worked hard to get that way.
Which made the family's attitude even more bizarre, considering the glory Magnus had bestowed upon their arrogance.
Arrogance. Here was an attitude Justin recognized. He shot his father a quick glance, a smile twitching his lips.
Interesting. His sire looked slightly discomfited--something Justin had never seen before. His father's self-image had always been bullet-proof. No newspaper report or interviewer or son shouting in his face could faze him. Apparently, his relatives possessed the goad to get at him the way nothing else could.
For a moment--only a moment--the idea of gloating danced unworthily in Justin's head. In front of these relatives, Dad's persecutors…
But, gloating was reserved for those times when he and Dad were alone. Justin chased the temptation with a loud clearing of his throat and a newly intense expression of solemnity. Hell, this was a funeral.
It didn't stop him from damning his father for involving him in this. These were people he didn't know and it was obvious they didn't want to know him. Him or his father. The corners of Justin's mouth twitched angrily, and he quickly closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. One of Magnus' favorite sayings crept into his head: “Consequences may not be sought, but must be endured.” It was his father's admission that he couldn't control everything, despite how hard he tried.
Unless it's his fault?
Was it possible? Justin glanced at his sire again. Had Dad been up to no good? These arrogant bastards were treating him like tainted meat--the garbage man with the stink of rubbish fouling their air.
Despite Magnus' determined facade, his father wasn't completely unaffected, either. As Justin watched, Magnus' pride shuddered briefly, then reasserted itself in the stiffened spine, narrowed eyes and squaring of his jaw. “Disassociation,” he explained. “Not their problem.”
Since Magnus had never really bothered offering any explanations to his son, Justin took it as a sign of just how far his father's “honor” had been compromised. He just wished the explanation had been a little clearer. Magnus wasn't given to follow-ups on comments or orders.
“Their needs are best served by distance.”
Bitterness.
Justin's brows lifted. Here was another emotion his father rarely exhibited. “The taint of the garbage man,” Justin offered, amused. “Tell me they don't see anthro as glorified rubbish duty.”
A rare glint of humor shone in Magnus' eyes. “Inglorious duty.” Even rarer, a glint of pride. His perspective had been enlightened by the presence of his dour relatives. For once, it seemed he could appreciate his only son's presence. “You're a throwback, to your mother's side.”
His father hadn't spoken of his mother in almost ten years. Justin could still remember the last time clearly, even though he'd been only five. “Your mother's people were a 'revelation'--but she couldn't understand her Duty.” It had stuck out in Justin's mind, because Dad had not only mentioned his mother, but he'd actually laughed--both, major events. For a moment then--only a moment--Justin had had the distinct impression his Dad missed her.
Now, Justin made a conscious effort not to gawk at him, especially when he added gruffly, “You'd do better with them.”
“'Them' who?” If he was talking about his mother's family, it would have been nice to glean a few details. “'Do better' how?”
But, that was it--the extent of Magnus Hyde's revelations.
Typical. His father had never been forthcoming about the location of his other relatives, and when Justin had started demanding answers, he'd been met with chilly disdain. Now, he usually asked only when he wanted to stir an emotional reaction from his father. Any reaction.
As the ceremony drew to a close, Justin prepared to leave. His father might intend to stay, but he certainly didn't need a son's support. He could face his family on his own. Whatever he'd done to stir up all that animosity was his problem.
Justin shifted, fingering the change in his pocket. Enough for a bus, and he could walk the rest. After I climb down the damned mountain. I'm outa here.
As the last ceremonial words were spoken, in a tongue as crusty as old bones, Justin turned to go.
Magnus gripped his arm. “Don't!”
Justin lifted one brow, and faced the man. Other than a slight flaring of his nostrils in distaste, he kept his expression masked. No need for his father to know how all this had affected him. No need for Magnus to suspect it had had any effect at all. He's taught me well.
But his father's next words shocked him out of his faux complacency. “I'll need your help.”
“'Help'?” Justin repeated, through stiff lips.
“Yes.” A trace of amusement glittered again in the elder man's eyes. His father glanced over at his cousins then, but they'd already turned away.
Justin's nostrils flared. It appeared that Magnus and he were to be the only ones left at graveside. Magnus smirked, and Justin would swear later that the amusement in his father's eyes grew as he anticipated his son's reaction.
It was enough to stir resentment in Justin's own. “Gladly,” Justin retorted, the arrogance he'd been subjected to all afternoon very clear in his own voice. “Why?” he asked, bluntly.
Magnus replied, just as bluntly as Justin had. “To bury her, of course.”
* * * * *
Chapter One
“Justin! Yo!” Sterling Dawkins wandered through Justin's living room and down the hall. “Yo, Justin!”
No sign. No sound. Just a preponderance of green walls and blue ceilings. Dawkins shuddered, as always, at Justin's unique interior decor, shoved aside the big fern frond and plopped down on the sofa.
No Justin, dammit.
He hit the “Power” button on the remote, and crossed his arms. He had tickets and that fool Justin should have been here.
The front door opened a moment later after a rudimentary knock.
Dawkins didn't even bother looking up. “He's not.”
“Do you think--?” Colley Kent began.
“He's not.” Dawkins reached under the cushion and pulled out the hidden flute. It was carved bone, and old enough to treat reverently, but carved by some Neanderthal? He snorted. “It's here.”
“He could have forgotten it.”
“The way he's forgotten the game?” Dawkins roared.
Colley wriggled a finger in his ear and winced. “All too likely. The Mighty Moron strikes again.” Justin had a way of ruining the best-laid plans. “Methinks he has an aversion to being scheduled. If I'd sprung it on him,” he added glumly, “he would've have been the first one in the car.” He tilted his head as though considering it. “He's not on a mission for The Jackal--”
"The Jackal" was Justin's slang term for his father when he was in Magnus the Great mode.
Dawkins
gave him a do-you-know-something-I-don't
Hard to tell. “The flute,” Colley reminded him.
“Oh, yeah.” Dawkins sniffed. “There's that.”
“Yeah, there's that. He wouldn't leave it behind--not if he was hitting the caves.”
“Good luck charm. Superstitious bastard.”
Colley snorted. “Right, Dawkins.”
Dawkins looked slightly sheepish.
“The point is: he'll be here. He only blows it on freebies.” Colley grinned. “You know he'd never miss something you'd paid for.”
“Too cheap,” Dawkins grumbled. Justin was not in his good books right now.
Only, Justin wasn't there four hours later, when Dawkins stopped by, and the next day, there were only missives under the door. No Justin. No note. Dawkins picked up the phone and punched in Colley's number.
This is not good. Not good at all. Colley may have been right in the first place. Justin may have hit the caves by himself.
Dawkins hoped the caves hadn't decided to hit him back. Even for someone as experienced in caves as Justin, there were hazards. Maybe more so if he'd gotten careless.
And let's face it: we all have. They spent so much time on the dig site that it was a second home. The word "hazard" only came up when they were talking to their students. To Colley's squawked hello, Dawkins said bluntly, “He's not here. Still.”
Colley launched into a, “Magnus must have--”
Dawkins cut him off. “Missives under the door. He's not here. Hasn't been here.”
“Where do you think he went?” There was an edge to Colley's voice.
They both knew what he meant. Justin had a propensity for visiting out-of-the-way, and frequently, almost inaccessible places, like caves and mountainsides. Last year, he'd nearly broken his leg, but somehow managed to crawl back to his car. Colley always attributed it to trying to steal a jump on his father in the exploration and discovery department.
“He might not have been so lucky this time.”
“But he didn't take his flute.” Colley's words were light, but his tone wasn't.
Justin could be stuck in some ravine, or dangling from a cliff, with nobody the wiser.
Colley went on, “His dad sends orders--”
Magnus was always giving Justin last-minute instructions and orders. New assignments which made it damned hard for Justin to keep up with his own research.
Dawkins caught on right away. “But he also sends a nag list.” It was one of the things Justin detested about his father's methods--that he gave orders, then had to double-check, to make sure they'd been followed through. If Justin didn't return a missive, his father would assumed he'd blown it, at least a little, and was going back for a do-over.
Colley, apparently, didn't like the implied slur against his idol. He might refer to him as "The Jackal", but that was only because Justin considered it a great joke. “Could be Magnus' way of checking on him.”
Dawkins rolled his eyes. In Colley's view, Magnus Hyde was among the "great ones" of palaeoanthropology. “Checking up on him, ya mean,” Dawkins growled. He had the phone under one ear, and was gathering up the missives. There were four altogether. He'd discovered another two under the door mat. His voice was tense as he asked Colley, “When did you last see him?”
“Maybe a week--”
Dawkins nodded absently, even though Colley couldn't see it. He was popping open the first note. “Bizarre…”
“What's bizarre? Is he home?”
“He's not bizarre, you fool--it's the letter, from his dad. Weird.”
Colley waited with impatient silence. Finally, he must have figured out Dawkins had forgotten he was there. “Well?”
“It--They--are in cuneiform,” Dawkins mumbled. “But they're not like any cuneiform I've ever seen.”
* * * * *
Only black magic left. Justin's guffaw sounded strained, even to his own ears. The idea had just seemed so ludicrous--so hilarious, he couldn't hold back. He laughed, then laughed again, the resonance remaining for that brief time--held in the sound waves, and rebounding off the rock. Echoes of him reverberating around his head.
Busy sounds, to shatter the emptiness.
But no, that wasn't right, either. This was merely one more fever dream, rising to chase the remnants of his voice.
Get it together, Hyde. He could almost hear Colley saying it.
If he only knew how not together I am. Justin felt as though pieces of his psyche were strewn, like bones, across the cavern.
Like the bones I was hauling.
He could see it all in perspective now, and knew himself for a fool. He'd given up everything--friendship, obligation, honor--for a packet of bones. For a crusty group of survivors who didn't care whether he lived or died.
His entire career he'd longed for open spaces and living beings. To study life, instead of bearing death. Yet, from infancy, he'd been little more than a tool for his father and his family. Because he possessed the Kyrloge Versir. The Gift of the Damned.
His father hadn't translated it, of course. That had been for Justin to do. Apparently, some of the Damned never bothered.
Justin laughed again.
He lay there, dreaming then. Other people dreamed of mighty missions across continents, but Justin was content with the lure of shrub and tree. Especially tree. Forests, with their rustles, and living shade, and bird music, and patterns of layered green drew him.
He shifted, and the hot pain made him suck a sharp breath of dusty air. For a moment, then, he was lost, a fantasy of moist glades, and leaves crunching beneath his feet; mud squelching between his toes--until the heavy thunk-clatter of falling rock roused him.
It was Colley's voice. He was loud and excited, the way he always sounded when he found something new. Dawks was shushing him, and then they were both making a ruckus. "Shut up!" Justin shouted. A man couldn't concentrate with all this noise.
Grouch. I sound like my father.
The thought brought him nearly fully awake. "How?" he asked, but they didn't seem to hear him. Colley was clambering down into the shaft in a pelting of stone and gravel. Justin winced and grinned, not even caring when Colley's boot stood on his arm.
"Y'okay, Juste?" Colley kept asking him anxiously. "How is it?"
Justin tried to tell him it was fine, now that they were here, but he couldn't talk for the gravel in his mouth. He choked and spat, then nodded his head.
Dawkins, braced above them, tossed Colley a water bottle. "How bad?"
Colley didn't answer, but Justin could feel his shrug through the boot.
"Fuck it!" Dawkins swore. "No phone."
Phone. Paramedics. No.
"No!" Justin shook his head, took another swig of water, cleared his throat, then shook his head again. "Just get me out!" Justin recognized that was rude--worse, that he sounded even more like Magnus--and added politely, "Please."
The expression on Colley's face made Justin burst out laughing. The sound was wheezy, but obviously humor.
Colley's eyes brightened. "He'll live," he told Dawkins, grinning. "Anything broken, Juste?"
Justin shook his head.
Dawkins wasn't convinced, damn him. "Could be his back. I don't think--"
In the distance, a clatter of falling stone made Justin suck a quick breath. The natives were getting restless. Justin's eyes met Dawkins' in a moment of pure panic. "Get me out, Dawks!"
Whatever Dawkins read in his face almost convinced him, but he looked to Colley. The two of them were going back and forth in some sign language that had Colley rolling his eyes and wriggling his phone and Dawkins gritting his teeth and trying not to look exasperated. "Hold on, Juste."
Justin could have cried. He bit his lips to stop the lower one trembling. He didn't want Colley to see it--to think he was in pain or something. Truth was, he was feeling dissociated from all this. Nearly numb, and sort of buzzy.
Wouldn't do to tell 'em.
They'd only make him wait. The next minute was the longest in his life, even longer that his first Svolce journey. He had a terrible fear that They wouldn't let him leave.
Whatever Colley said must have worked, because Dawkins called it, or maybe he just realized that it would be hours if they had to wait for more help. Whatever his reasons, the next thing Justin knew Colley was fastening a harness around him, and Dawkins was winching them both up and out of that damned hole.
* * * * *
Dawkins was mad as hell, but mostly because he was worried. His better judgment told him Justin should be on the way to the hospital, not Justin's house. It was bad enough that they'd hauled him out of the cave themselves. They were acting like a bunch of idiots.
And the biggest idiot was behind the wheel. Damn that Colley! He was so accustomed to kissing Magnus' ass that even the mention of his mentor's special physician, and the way the "Hydes" handled things, had him "bending over for a kick." Dawkins didn't bother lowering his voice.
"Or worse." Justin wore a pale grin.
Dawkins didn't spare him. "Now that you're getting what you want."
"Whereas you couldn't get a doc to play a house call if it was his house you were calling from." Colley smirked and tore round the corner at a speed that made Justin wince.
Dawkins saw it. "Slow down, you moron, before you hurt Justin's Hyde." Sympathy past, his eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "Did it ever occur to either of you that all this guy's gonna do is order an ambulance? Doubt if he carries X-ray equipment around in his little black bag."
A few minutes later, Justin was uncomfortably settled on his lumpy couch. Restless as always, he twirled the bone flute casually in shaky fingers. “I play it,” he told Colley.
Dawkins couldn't help himself--he stretched out a hand, preparatory to snatching the ancient instrument out of Justin's hand. The man must be delirious to treat it so casually.
Justin's eyes brightened with amusement, or maybe that was fever. Dawkins had a feeling it was the latter. “We used to find them--the flutes--every time we uncovered a settlement. We just didn't know what they were for.”
“But now you do?” Dawkins prompted. Keep him talking. He had a feeling Justin was on the verge of passing out. He caught Colley's eye over the top of Justin's head.
Justin was gripping the flute more carefully now, as though recollecting that he should be considering it a precious object.
Colley's fingers twitched, but he didn't grab.
Justin grinned tiredly. “Me--I do.”
“I don't get it. Bizarre uses like the one you're suggesting don't just 'spring' to mind. There must've been some hint--some way you guessed at it. I mean, the literature says it's more likely to represent art than music.” Colley had tossed down the gauntlet.
That oughta keep Justin going for a few minutes. Justin opened his mouth, but Dawkins cut him off. “And don't give me any shit about instinct. You can't presume to know about Neanderthal instincts.”
Justin nodded, but Dawkins could tell he was stalling--attempting to find the words. He frowned. Justin wasn't thinking straight.
“Instinct's out?” Justin finally managed.
Colley snorted, then nodded toward the sound of footsteps crunching up the path. “That'll be your house call.” He lowered his voice. “I don't see why you can't have an ordinary doctor like everyone else. Germ's gonna be pissed off, y'know.”
Germ, AKA Michael Germaine, was a doctor. He was also a damn good friend. He was going to be furious that Justin--hell, none of them--had asked for his advice.
We haven't even told him yet, Dawkins suddenly remembered. Uh-oh.
“I'll tell him you called him 'ordinary',” Justin assured Colley. “That'll fix it.”
Dawkins smirked. At least, Hyde still had his sense of humor. “He'll take one look at your dented 'Hyde', and we won't even have to worry.” He returned Justin's grimace with an obnoxious grin. “Touché.” And opened the door.
Dawkins' presence must have shocked the doctor a little, because he hesitated before coming inside.
“I know,” Dawkins said, extending his hand. “I look far too healthy.” He opened the door wider. “That's the guy you want.”
* * * * *
Justin looked up, into Anton DeFriest's eyes. He recognized him, from a photo his father wasn't supposed to have. His father had warned him once, in a moment of weakness: “If Anton DeFriest arrives at your door, do not allow him transgress.” His father was accustomed to giving orders, but this time he'd been adamant. “Don't--let--him--in.” Even so, it wasn't the sternness of his father's voice which had lodged the words in his memory--it was the tremble. There were few things his father feared, but Anton DeFriest was one of them. Don't--let--him--in.
Too late.
There was something far too blank about the man's expression. It was similar to the Svolce--the trance state that Justin was supposed to assume every time he went into the caves as a Pystoskvor. Did the man require it to attempt whatever healing he planned?
Justin wasn't so sure he wanted DeFriest that close to him. In that moment he decided he wasn't going to take any medicine the man dished out, either, without having it analyzed first.
What now? Justin knew he needed something to boost his body's responses along, and Mike Germaine would be only too eager to help. Justin couldn't allow that to happen--not if he wanted to keep whatever pact his silence had sealed these many years. The consequences? He wasn't sure, but some inferences by his father suggested they wouldn't be livable.
Survivable?
It meant he couldn't just send DeFriest packing. It was a wonder the doctor had consented to come here at all.
Justin wondered whether he should phone dear old Dad. Find out why he'd damned DeFriest--just what he had against him. At the moment, though, the thought was nearly as unappealing as having DeFriest examine him. Not that Justin wasn't into father-son reconciliation, but he was having trouble getting past those long hours in the pit, and the way his father hadn't come looking.
Because Dad knew where I was. What I was doing.
And that I was doing it for him.
Despite their history--despite the way Justin rejected much of what his father stood for--he had never totally rejected the only person he could reasonably call kin, any more than he had totally distanced himself from the tasks his father still performed. His father wasn't about to stop, just because Justin demanded it, but there were times he couldn't go it alone--not any more. So, Justin sometimes stepped in, to help. Nothing was said, no words of thanks, and little courtesy, because Magnus Hyde regretted the need as much as Justin regretted the deed. The fact remained that it was his father who'd initiated the last Pystoskvore, which had ended in such folly.
And I waited for him to find me.
Down in the dark. The cold. Justin could feel it again, all too clearly. The moving darkness. The pain. It hurt so much more when you were alone.
Four days.
And he didn't come. Justin lowered his head to hide the wetness in his eyes. Dammit! Fever was making him weak.
But, didn't Dad know?! Didn't he realize?! Stupid as he knew it to be, Justin actually treasured those times during his youth, when his father had been less than overbearing. When his father had patiently explained a theory, or waited silently--irritably, maybe, but definitely holding his tongue--when a younger Justin had inadvertently dropped artifacts, or misarranged bones, or raged in teenage angst. Hadn't there been something in his glance, his voice, that had actually signaled affection? Some trace of connection? For years, Justin had rerun those epic moments at the woman's grave. It had clearly been the two of them against the mob. Against the family who hated them both.
And he never rejected me, the way he could have. The way they wanted him to.
Yet Magnus Hyde hadn't come today--yesterday--the day before--when his son had needed him. Justin had lain there, trapped, and Magnus should have been the one to effect rescue. Despite the fact Justin was a man well-grown, long past the age of nurturing and neediness, it still stung. I needed backup, and it never came.
Well, that was a lie, anyway. The help had come, but in the form of those creatures his father considered a subspecies. In his moment desperation--when it was down to do or die--Justin had been saved by his friends. They'd searched until they'd found his car, then kept on searching till they'd found him.
God knows, they'd proven themselves far more socially aware than his own species.
* * * * *
“I'm outa here.” Dawks opened the front door. “You coming, Coll?”
“I'll stay--in case he needs some help later.” Colley looked at Justin for verification, but Justin was fixed on DeFriest. Colley smirked, and rolled his eyes at DeFriest's back.
Dawkins would no doubt give him hell for it later, judging from the way he was grinning when he went out the door.
Disparaging the help. One more phase in my diminishing hero worship.
Justin hadn't budged--not even to wave Dawkins off. Colley suddenly wondered whether Justin had an heretofore unsuspected fear of doctors. He certainly looked daunted enough.
Germ would love that.
DeFriest moved, disrupting Colley's wanderings. The man stepped past him with a curt nod. Apparently, contempt was the name of the game.
* * * * *
There remained a certain blankness to DeFriest's expression, which Justin couldn't penetrate. Maybe it takes a trance to heal a half-breed, Justin thought, a trace of the old bitterness surfacing.
It was the fever rising, but Justin hoped his expression hadn't been too revealing. This man, after all, was a victim of his background, his upbringing, just as Justin was.
Personally? I'd rather hang with humans.
But, DeFriest didn't intend to do the same. “You'll have to leave,” he informed Colley. It was a command. The imperative, following so swiftly on his obvious disdain, spoke volumes.
Colley Kent looked uncharacteristically confused. It was clear he'd believed the Hydes, or DeFriests--or whatever branch of the family this was--would tolerate him, especially in circumstances like this. It didn't make sense. After all, he worked with Magnus, and had been a friend of Justin's for years.
Justin could almost read Colley's mind: if he--Justin--intended to remain so pig-headed about staying here, then Colley was sacrificing himself to act as nurse and general valet, at least for the time being.
A good friend. Justin could have cried. Instead, he grinned, at Colley's embarrassed, “I can step outside, if you want. I just thought, with the Big Guy down this way, I'd hang in here--to help him out.”
“He won't need help.” The words were harsh. The healer was obviously displeased at Colley's presence. At first, Justin thought it was due to this further evidence that Justin associated with a subspecies. It took him a moment to recognize the truth: Colley wasn't merely cramping DeFriest's style--he was upsetting his plans.
But unless his examination involved some massive mumbo-jumbo, DeFriest could easily have performed it in the bedroom, or the living room, with Colley waiting outside.
No, DeFriest had other plans entirely--and he couldn't get on with them if Colley was here.
There's a reason Dad's afraid.
And then it was almost too late. Colley, irritated at his abrupt dismissal, had picked up his jacket and was heading for the door. “See ya, Hyde!”
“Wait!” On impulse, Justin picked up the flute. If there was one thing that could keep Colley here, it would be the promise of further revelations--and a chance to lord it over Dawkins. Justin lifted the bone instrument to his lips. “It's got a weird resonance--” He looked up, to see DeFriest eying him in horror.
And Justin hesitated. He suddenly saw his action as DeFriest would--as his father would. He was about to do the unforgivable, and all because he'd acted spontaneously--on impulse.
Hell! He fumbled with the flute and nearly dropped it.
It was too late. DeFriest's nostrils flared with disdain, and his expression went from carefully blank, to open revulsion. He reached inside his coat, and pulled out a syringe. He held it like a knife.
Jab it in a knee, a thigh. Anywhere--
Justin tumbled off the couch and began scooting backwards, across the floor. It reminded him of that first solo Pystoskvore in the cave, so many years past. In both cases, blackness had been coming to claim him.
“What's up?” Colley took a step in DeFriest's direction, but Justin knew he wouldn't act--yet. He didn't understand. How could he? Justin was only just beginning to understand it himself. Colley wouldn't act until it was too late--for Justin and himself.
DeFriest advanced swiftly--jabbing wildly--his anger out of control. The needle caught in the tangle of blankets, but DeFriest had backup. He hadn't come to deal with someone so much taller than himself without a counter plan.
But he didn't know Justin could read him. As DeFriest abandoned the needle, he couldn't mask his fury at being bested by such an unworthy foe. He detested the half-breed all the more because he'd caused him to resort to crude tactics--because this job was about to get messy, and the clean-up, intolerable.
The pressure was on. DeFriest knew, if he botched this, he'd never get another chance. The half-breed, who was so full of revelation, would rule the day.
Would best them all.
“Never took you for a needle freak.” Colley was at Justin's side now, hands under his arms, hoisting him up off the floor. Grunting, he griped to the lousy doctor. “Don'chu think it would be better, to do this at your offic-?”
He didn't get the chance to finish. Justin had never taken his eyes off the doctor's face. The man was pulling something else from his jacket now, and he didn't bother hiding his resentment. He was going to take out Colley first, leaving his blood to cover the trail.
Only human DNA allowed.
Justin would be easier prey, once Colley's “help” was eliminated. Lots of other needles, where that one had come from.
DeFriest was fast, but Justin was faster. The knife went flying, but not where DeFriest had intended. The last thing he would ever have expected was that Justin would value the human so highly--enough to put the human's life above his own.
Justin lurched onto Colley, knocking him sideways. Colley had only just pulled Justin's left arm over his shoulders, and he fell when Justin lodged over on top of him.
“Fuck it!” Colley griped. “Get your big butt off m-!” He froze, as a low rumble vibrated Justin's chest. “Hyde, you okay?”
Justin didn't answer. The rumble rose to a growl, as DeFriest advanced. Justin watched him, through slitted eyes, his features drawn back in a sneer. DeFriest was clearly rattled, by this alteration to his plans, but no less determined.
Distinction at the price of extinction. Magnus' words. DeFriest would believe them, too--would do anything to hide the evidence.
The blood was soaking Justin's shirtfront now--trickling across his chest--pooling in reddish brown on the floor. The man should just let nature take its course. DeFriest had only to wait, and the job would be done for him.
But, Justin had forgotten Colley, trapped beneath him. Coll had seen the blood, too, and was fighting to free himself so he could help.
To Justin's darkening vision, DeFriest was the blackness--advancing on him--gripping him--tearing at his flesh. But Justin no longer had a boy's high-pitched tones to protect him--could no longer scream his way free.
"It's got a weird resonance--" His words to Colley, minutes before. Justin's bloodied fingers groped for the bone flute, and he wielded it, like a weapon, at DeFriest's outstretched hand.
Fingers of black. The glint of the needle was suddenly blinding.
He never expected DeFriest to hesitate. The flute was such a paltry thing.
Then, Justin saw the flicker of fear in his eyes.
What Justin did next was crazy. Insight. Instinct.
He lifted the slender instrument to his lips, and blasted away evil with his lungs' last breath.
* * * * *