Change of Heart - Hailey Edwards Page 0,72

lead. “He’s a minor fae.”

“What’s that thing with him?”

“No clue.”

Ambrose, in a plea to get more chocolate, volunteered that the shadow and the man tasted the same.

“All right then.” Like a sucker, I dropped another chocolate into the void. “Let’s be alert, shall we?”

Hurrying to catch up to the man, we met him at the entrance I had detected just yesterday.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess.” He flushed. “I don’t often get visitors.”

“You’re fine,” I assured him. “You should see my place. It looks like a bomb went off in there.”

Bishop shut his eyes, as if my sense of humor caused him physical pain, then shook his head.

Laughter was a great coping mechanism. It was also a great defense mechanism. I tended to joke, a lot, with varying degrees of success.

The doorway I’d discovered opened smoothly once our host found the right key, and he ushered us inside then sealed us in. He had been right to warn us. His place looked worse than my apartment, and that was saying something. Since, you know, the bomb thing had been literal.

A living area occupied the left side of the space, and it was tidy in the way of unused rooms. A lab cluttered the right side, and it was utter chaos. Potions bubbled in honest-to-goddess caldrons suspended over the hearth. Vials of liquids oozed vapor onto the aged-wood countertops. Aquariums teeming with all manner of creatures lined the back wall, most of them insectoid or amphibian.

“I expect you’re here about the periplaneta compressa. That’s what the coven stole from me.” He indicated a tufted couch and claimed a chair across from it. “Poor darlings.” He clucked his tongue. “They’re so misunderstood.”

“We’re here about giant cockroaches that infect live hosts, control them while they mature, and then explode out of them to start the cycle over again.”

“Miraculous creatures.” Reverence seeped into his voice. “The mechanics of it all...”

“Did you hear the live host part?” I pressed. “Or do you just not care?”

“They feed on insects,” he said slowly, his eyes shining. “Oh! Are you a fellow entomologist then?”

“Hold on.” I raised my hand. “You’re saying these things you created preyed on fellow insects?”

“That was the whole point, my dear, yes.” He grew animated. “A hybrid of predator and prey. One might call it the ultimate hunting machine.” He laced his fingers. “I hypothesized that, using modified radio waves, I could control the minds of the infected hosts. Can you imagine?”

Roaches that listened to this guy? No. Not really. “How does that work if they don’t have ears?”

“Well, that is to say, I…” He flushed. “To ensure the success of the project, you understand, I made a few slight modifications.” He shoved his glasses up his nose. “The alpha hybrids’ reactions to radio waves weren’t quite as promising as I had hoped, so I modified them. I gave the beta hybrids the superior ears of the katydid, Copiphora gorgonensis, which are almost mammalian in their complexity.”

I had known the Martian Roaches could hear, but I hadn’t been sure how much of that was based on their current host’s faculties, and, honestly, it was all so gross I skimmed a lot of my reading material.

“Initial testing proved the beta hybrids were viable,” he continued, “their hearing flawless, but then there was the break-in.”

“How did they find your…” I wavered on what to call this place, “…facility?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.” He patted his thigh, and his shadow dog padded over to flop its head onto his lap. “Eustice and I don’t get much company. The occasional investor, naturally, comes to check on the progress of their order.” He rubbed the creature’s ears. “The corporation behind the hybrids was furious when I reported that my notes and the specimens themselves had been stolen.”

“You got paid for Frankensteining the hybrids?”

“I am, sadly, forced to work. I must earn money to fund my less glamourous projects.”

Nothing came to mind less glamourous than breeding roaches, so I kept my mouth shut.

“I hate to tell you this, but the people who stole your hybrids mutated them with magic and set them loose on the citizens of Atlanta.”

Eustice whined and leaned against his master’s leg. “What sort of monster would do that?”

“A witchborn fae coven out to seize control of the city by wiping out anyone who opposes them,” Bishop told him. “And it gets better.”

Poor thing, he actually brightened with hope. “Better?”

“He was being sarcastic,” I apologized. “They’ve also synthesized its saliva as the base for a street drug they’re