King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,82

and stirring, and working to create the poison that sent humans into oblivion.

“Never call this a drug,” Castor said, making a face. “This isn’t a sin. This is us mere mortals being touched by the divine.” He lifted both hands overhead, triumphant, beaming.

The great vat tipped, and the liquid it poured onto the sluice was molten and golden, glowing. Heaven made physical. It chugged down the line, and wound up in another vat, this one stirred.

“Now,” Castor said, clapping his hands together, the sound thunderous despite the new noise of the machinery. Rose wondered if some sort of magic projected his voice; if conduits were real – which she could now see – and their blood was this powerful, then surely they could assist with something simple as voice projection. “This demonstration will require a volunteer.”

The bodyguard who’d poured the blood into the vat moved toward the crowd of dealers, and one of his friends came down to assist. They looked them over like cattle headed for auction: assessing, up-and-down scrutiny, knocking feet apart, tipping caps back off foreheads. One looked especially sickly, pale and sweating, hollow-eyed; he looked like a dealer who sampled his own product too often.

The two guards converged on him, and he realized too late what was happening. Tried to scramble. “No, no–” But he was slow, unsteady, and they took him easily by the arms. Propelled him up the stairs; he tripped, and stumbled, and the light caught the sheen of tears coursing down his cheeks. He didn’t look like he was resisting anymore, but like his legs were too wobbly to support him.

The knot in Rose’s stomach tightened as she watched. She didn’t know what would be done to this man – this volunteer – exactly, but she knew it wasn’t going to be good. Was already half-sick in anticipation of it.

Beck vibrated beside her.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Castor said, still smiling, when the dealer was maneuvered into position in front of him. “Daniel?”

The conduit stepped forward, face totally blank, and stared at the dealer a long moment, while the dealer shook and fought back sobs.

“Will he do?” Castor asked. Still projecting his voice – he wanted everyone to hear this exchange, though Rose couldn’t understand why.

“Yes.” The conduit’s voice was eerily hollow and monotone. It didn’t sound like a voice that could be produced by the physical body from which it came.

“Please–” the dealer began.

The conduit struck. So quickly the movement was a blur, but suddenly his hand was inside the dealer’s stomach, and the dealer was screaming.

Rose watched, slack-jawed, as the dealer threw back his head, and his scream tapered off – and he seemed to shrivel. His skin grew dry, and stretched-tight, and he crumpled like paper. Folded in himself, until he was a husk – and the husk collapsed, leaving a pile of greasy clothes and ashes.

The conduit’s hand hovered in the air, red with blood and viscera. The glow around it swelled, pulsed, and the gore fizzled away with a last burst of white fire. Clean now, Daniel curled his hand into a fist, and pulled it up to his chest. Closed his eyes, and breathed a moment.

“Acceptable?” Castor asked.

“Yes.”

Rose turned to Beck. “What was that?” She could hear the panic in her voice. “Beck, what the hell did he do to that man?”

His throat jumped as he swallowed, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t look shocked, either. “That’s what conduits do. The divine presence is too much for the human body, and they have to consume the lives of others to stay bonded to their conduit.”

She knew, then, with aching clarity, what had happened to Simon. She wanted to lay a hand on Beck, to offer words of comfort – insufficient, she knew.

She glanced back toward the balcony, where a guard was sweeping away what remained of the consumed dealer, and where Castor and Daniel were descending now to the factory floor, surrounded by armed guards.

The faintest rasp of wet leather sounded beside her: Beck drawing his gun. This was the plan happening, finally. Reckless, dangerous, maybe stupid…but he’d been firm on it. They’d studied every entry point of this building, knew all the pathways that would offer an escape. The head has to come off the snake, he’d said. That’s what matters.

She’d wanted to argue with him: he’d said himself that there was always a new crime lord ready to take the place of a fallen one. Killing Castor would create turmoil in the