sure you're treated right. So I guess they're going to try to get a bead on your bloodline?"
John nodded. Tohr had said that he was getting blood drawn and having a physical. Both of which were probably a good idea, given the stop, drop, and shiver he'd just pulled in Wrath's office.
He took out his pad and wrote, Why are you going to the doctor's?
Phury came over and looked at the scribbles. With an easy shift of his big body, he propped one huge shitkicker on the edge of the chair. John leaned away as the man pulled up his leathers a little.
Oh, my God... His lower leg was made up of a series of rods and bolts.
John reached out to feel the shiny metal, then looked up. He didn't realize he was touching his own throat until Phury smiled.
"Yeah, I know all about what it's like to be missing a part."
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John glanced back at the artificial limb and cocked his head.
"How'd it happen?" When John nodded, Phury hesitated and then said, "I shot it off."
The door flew open and a hard male voice cut through the room. "I need to know-"
John shifted his eyes as the words died off. Then he cringed back in the chair.
The man in the doorway was scarred, his face distorted by a slash that ran right down the middle of it. But that wasn't what made John want to shrink out of sight. The black eyes in that ruined visage were like the shadows of a deserted house, full of things that probably would hurt you.
And to top it all off, the guy had fresh blood on his pant leg and left shitkicker.
That vicious gaze narrowed and hit John's face like a blast of cold air. "What are you looking at?"
Phury lowered his leg. "Z-"
"I asked you a question, boy."
John fumbled with his pad. He wrote fast and flashed the page to the other man, but somehow that just made the situation worse.
"Back off, Z," Phury cut in. "He has no voice. He can't talk." Phury tilted the pad his way. "He apologizes."
John resisted the urge to hide behind the chair as he got raked over visually. But then the aggression radiating from the guy eased up.
"You can't talk at all?"
John shook his head.
"Well, I can't read. So we're SOL, you and me."
John worked his Bic quickly. As he showed the pad to Phury, the male with the black stare frowned. "What did the kid write?"
"He says that's okay. He's a good listener. You can do the talking."
Those soulless eyes shifted away. "Got nothing to say. Now what the hell do I set a thermostat at?"
"Ah, seventy degrees." Phury went across the room. "The dial should be here. See?"
"I didn't turn it up enough."
"And you've got to make sure this switch on the bottom of the unit is all the way over to the right. Otherwise, no matter what the dial is on, the heat won't kick in."
"Yeah... okay. And can you tell me what this says?"
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Phury looked down at a square piece of paper. "It's the dosage information for the shot."
"No shit. So what do I do?"
"Is she uncomfortable?"
"Not right now, but I want you to fill this up for me and tell me what to do. I need one dose ready to go in case Havers can't get here fast enough."
Phury took the vial and unwrapped the needle. "Okay."
"Do it right." When Phury was finished with the syringe, he recapped it and the two spoke for a while in the Old Language. Then the scary guy asked, "How long will you be gone?"
"Maybe an hour."
"Do me a favor first, then. Lose that sedan I brought her back in."
"I already did."
The scarred man nodded and left, the door closing with a clap.
Phury put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor.
Then he went over to a mahogany box on a bureau and took out what looked like a blunt. Holding the hand-rolled between his thumb and forefinger, he lit it and breathed in deep, keeping the inhale down, closing his eyes. When he exhaled, the smoke smelled like roasting coffee beans and hot chocolate combined.
Delicious.
As John's muscles relaxed, he wondered what the stuff was. Not marijuana, certainly. But it wasn't just a cigarette.
Who is he? John wrote, and showed the pad.
"Zsadist. My twin." Phury laughed a little when John's mouth