Touch of Evil (38 page)

"Here's a knife." Mary handed him the sheath that had fallen from my boot. "It's sharp." Michael reappeared in the door of his office carrying the empty silver fruit bowl. At Brooks's command, he poured whiskey into the bowl until it was almost a third full. He then knelt beside me between Rob and Mary. I could hear him

murmuring a prayer of blessing over the whiskey before standing so he was between the four of us and the vampire.

I tried to ignore it as Brooks came at me with the knife drawn. I stared up at the pleasantly painted sky and felt them. My mind was dominated by the individual beings throbbing with life in my left arm. They were so alive, though still un-hatched. But the strongest by far was her. I knew that in just a minute or two more she'd escape her shell and swim through my bloodstream in search of the nesting spot.

The knife was keen and the ice had numbed my arm well. I barely felt the slice that opened my skin to expose a smooth string of eggs laying inside my largest vein. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help myself. Brooks had to use delicate movements to open the vein without nicking the eggs. The yolk from one egg hatching would hit my body like a drug. More than one would flood my system and kill me with the speed of a snake. He needed to remove the eggs intact to keep from killing me. He opened a small section of vein without severing it. There wasn't much blood. The tourniquet was doing its job well, and the eggs themselves were absorbing most of the blood through their shells. Brooks used the tip of the knife to pry the egg through the hole he had created. It was the size of a seed pearl, rubbery and covered with thick blood. As I watched, the blood was absorbed through the shell and the egg rippled with interior movement. A wave of nausea hit me and a cold sweat broke out on my brow. I turned my head, fighting down the flow of bile. I heard a sizzle and a mental scream as it was dropped in the alcohol.

A small tug. Soft swearing as Brooks tried to remove the second egg, and found it stuck. "What I wouldn't give for tweezers right now." He muttered.

"Bryan." Michael called my brother over. "Kneel here." He knelt beside me where Mike had been.

"Hold this steady." He handed my brother the bowl and stood.

The vampire was suddenly in front of Mike. I had forgotten to explain that he couldn't help. I was so wrapped up with watching Brooks and the eggs that I couldn't even think of what to say. The Host's lips pulled back to bare ivory fangs. He hissed in warning. "You may not aid! It is forbidden." The weight on my wrists lifted. I felt a wave of heat—heard the sounds of struggle. I turned my head in time to see a pony-sized gray wolf leap at the vampire before he could strike at Michael. I saw fangs sink into the thick fur, heard the wolf scream. Mary reached over and did double duty by holding both of my feet. I opened my mouth to call out to Rob, but the hard crack of the vampire's skull sounded against the marble floor. When Rob stepped back, the vampire wasn't moving. She and Monica were horrified and furious. In less than an instant something began to happen outside. The doors of the church shuddered under rhythmic blows from many bodies.

Mike didn't stay to watch the struggle. "I'll be right back." He sprinted through the archway and up the aisle. I knew he was going to cut through the basement and go to the rectory, but tried not to think about it. I didn't want Monica or the hatchling to know.

The arched front doors shuddered again. There was no way the flimsy locks would hold under the assault. As if from a distance I heard Rob swear. He must have changed back to human. He ran

naked into Mike's office. I watched him grab the crucifix from Mike's office and jam the long pole through the brass door handles.

Another tug at my arm brought me back to

Brooks. The second egg was loose from my arm, balanced on the tip of the knife blade. I felt a wave of panic as the nestling realized what was

happening. It was aware enough to understand death. I screamed then, long and loud. But over the screams I heard the sizzle of the egg hitting the alcohol. A flash of searing pain cut across my brain. Then it was over. Brooks moved on to the next victim.

Michael was back. He'd brought tweezers with him and the black bag he takes with him when he goes to the hospital to administer last rights. As if from a distance I saw Brooks take the tweezers, heard Michael begin the rites created by the church to aid the gravely ill.

I closed my eyes, unable even to think clearly enough to pray. All I could do was concentrate on keeping my body still—on not fighting, but as the process dragged on, my will was weakening.

The tweezers speeded the process. Egg after egg was removed to char in the silver bowl. I felt each death. Each individual personality silenced. More than that, I felt the rage of the thousands of Thrall throughout the world at the murder of their young. Time slipped by as Monica enthralled me; called to me. I was nothing compared to her children. I must stop them. I tried to steel my will, but it was useless. My back arched and I struggled to free myself from the iron grip of the wolves who had to use all of their strength to keep me pinned to the floor. Brooks pulled back, unable to perform delicate work because of the thrashing of my body. Minute after minute sped by as I fought. The children grew stronger. Their minds became mine as I joined the Nest. Brooks knelt on my pony tail to hold my head down. I swore at him, spat at him. I pulled against the handcuff until my wrist bled and the wood cracked. Mary was forced to kneel on my left shoulder—while Rob did the same to my right. I screamed from the pressure on my swollen arm, but he didn't ease up. Completely pinned, unable to move, I watched in blind fury as another child was removed from me.

Monica fell to her knees as the eighth egg

burned. She collapsed with the death of the ninth. I felt a white-hot explosion of pain as her Host died. I screamed in fear and pain. Nestlings and Herd around the church writhed and dropped to the ground in death throes and I couldn't help them. NO! A voice roared it in my mind. It was her. The strongest egg. I felt the rubbery skin of the shell split as she tore against it with all of her strength. They would live. She would make the Nest live!

I came to myself for an instant. "Shit! One of them's hatched."

I turned my head to look at Brooks. It was the last move I made before the toxin from the egg yolk hit. I couldn't move; I was suddenly numb and completely paralyzed. But my mind . . . my mind slipped the bonds of my body. I was free. The Host's awareness was pushed aside. She was

nothing. I could look out from inside any human. I knew their thoughts, could feel their simple emotions. I felt the other queens all over the world. They waited for my birth; they offered me their strength of will.

I struggled to attack the humans' minds. Brooks was first. His mind blazed with intense

determination. The Thrall, my people, were things to be defeated. To him, Kate, the Host—the inferior shell—was what mattered. He would save her. Try as I might, I could not break through. There was not enough talent yet to reach him. Bryan, the Host's nestmate, held the bowl of infernal alcohol. My mind lingered behind his empty eyes, wandering through darkened passages. I searched for the spark of life, for something I could control. I found it trapped, closed off by burnt out and scarred tissue. He could be useful if I restored his mind. I probed and called to the spark. As if a door opened, I felt his mind start to awaken, but it was taking too long.

I looked out of the Host's eyes and saw the wolf who hurt my child. I tried to slide inside his mind, but the way was barred. The magic of his beast burned with hot orange fury and a strength of will that matched that of my warring Host.

I heard the thump of a body on the roof and it distracted me.

Kate's will pushed against mine, our twinned consciousness flew outward and I felt her thrill of recognition. Tom!

I fought for control, but the Host was stubborn. Together we watched as he backed up, ran with all his strength to the edge of the building and leapt onto the roof of the church. He staggered on landing, nearly losing his footing and dropping the medical bag he was carrying. He saved himself by throwing his arms around the steeple. The Host's surge of joy and pride made me snarl with rage. He would die for his interference.

No! I won't LET YOU! The Host fought for dominance, screaming in rage and defiance.

Once the wolf named Tom had steadied himself on the steeple, he held on with one arm and used one booted foot to kick through the shutters that closed off the bell tower. I heard his bellow of rage as his leg punched through the rotted floor of the bell tower. We all looked up at the sound.

"Father Michael! Get the door!" Tom's voice was a scream of rage, panic, and burning loyalty. Mike rushed to the locked interior door, keys in hand.

"Katie—"

With a cry of fury the hatchling was pushed aside and I was once again Kate. I felt moisture on my face and my mind was again in my body. My mind, not the hatchling's. Tom knelt naked beside me. His hand stroked my face. His neck was a torn mess that was still dripping blood. He was crying. "You have to fight. You have to. I—I love you so much."

The pounding on the front doors continued. They were holding up better than I would have expected. Thank the Lord for craftsmen with pride in their work.

I couldn't speak. I could only look out at him with sad, haunted eyes. God help me, I was trying. But She was born and I was fading fast. I could feel her will pounding at my mind, ready to pounce and take over again at the first sign of weakness. Tom brushed Brooks aside as I slipped away

again. "Get out of the way. I need to get the ones that haven't hatched yet."

Tom took over with quick but steady

determination. With a loud hissing and mental scream, the last eggs hit the bowl. She, however, was already swimming through the vein of my arm. The lack of circulation weakened her body. But nothing could weaken her will.

The hatchling hit the barrier formed by the tourniquet. She struggled, her panic increasing as the last of her siblings died.

I heard Mary speak as though from a distance.

"Can you get the one that hatched?" Her voice was strangely calm as she addressed Tom.

There was a tense silence that spoke volumes.

"No."

I watched as Mary nodded. She gave Tom a

pitying look before calling out Rob's name. I knew what he would do. I knew it had to be done. But the look on Tom's face was horrified as he realized what was about to happen. He squeezed my hand and repeatedly kissed my forehead while tears streamed.

When the hatchling realized what was about to happen she panicked. She screamed her will at me; tried desperately to make me remove the shoelace around my arm. I had to let her reach my mind. I was the Host. It was my duty to protect her! The effect of the toxin had worn off. I could move. Human hands with inhuman strength held me down as I screamed and thrashed.

In the background I felt the wave of heat as Rob changed to wolf form. There was no more time. In a last ditch effort to save herself and the last tattered remains of the nest She ripped through flesh and muscle using the sharp head horn that had cut through the shell of her egg. There was a small explosion of tissue and blood as she broke through my arm to open air.

For a moment, I felt the mental control weaken. She had to concentrate on breathing and moving through air instead of blood. She skittered across my pinned body—a slimy pulsating eyeless

maggot, the tendrils that would become the ganglia dragging behind her. I slammed my mouth shut, screaming again and again through gritted teeth as I caught a glimpse of her plan in my mind. The mouth or the nose. She would go in through the mouth . . . Brooks and the others flinched and recoiled from the sight of her. I heard their screams of surprise and alarm as she moved across my chest. A flash of light and power enveloped me as the rest of the wolves changed form in a rush of adrenaline. She kept moving; struggling across the foreign

landscape of cloth and flesh. She was on my chin when I felt a splash of wetness across my chest and face.

I tasted the harsh bite of whiskey as she slid onto my lips, and her scream of pain was ripped from my throat. The whiskey flooded my nostrils until I couldn't breathe. It seared down my throat and into my lungs. With the last of my awareness before the pain took me, I heard a familiar, long-ago voice.

"Ka . . . tie?"

23

I woke in a hospital bed. As if in a dream, I tried to move my head and arms. A sting and ache in my left arm was my first shock of sensation. I looked down to see the arm tied to a board which was fastened to the bed. A long row of stitches was black against my pale skin. Wires and tubes snaked from my arm to disappear behind me. The other arm was wrapped in gauze. My mind was foggy, but it was my mind. I was Mary Kathleen Elizabeth Reilly and while I could hear the buzz of Thrall voices in my mind I wasn't one of them. I'd escaped. I felt the rage of the other queens at my joy but it didn't diminish it a bit. I looked again at my left arm. Still there. I closed my eyes under a wave of pure relief.

"Thank you God." It wasn't much of a prayer, but it was heartfelt.

I opened my eyes again, taking a look around the room.

Joe was asleep in one of the two guest chairs and I felt tears well. He was alive! He wore his usual hospital garb—blue shapeless scrubs with the St. Elizabeth logo printed on the front and one shoe. His left leg was in a walking brace and his face was a mass of bruises. What had happened?

The scrubs were rumpled and looked like they'd been slept in. Obviously they had.

Michael snored peacefully in the other chair, his neck at a ridiculous angle that was guaranteed to cause him problems when he woke up. Still, he looked fine. Crisp as ever. Made me wonder what fabric those clerical uniforms are made out of. Bryan sat cross-legged on the tile floor. His neck was bent at a painful angle as he stared wide-eyed up at a television hung near the ceiling. Cartoon images rollicked mutely across the screen.