Here Be Monsters - By M T Murphy Page 0,18

flinching at the most brutal tests. She had read many of those reports before, all of them in fact, even the ones from the dead. Each one was a one-way mirror into a bubble of pain and isolation. She was familiar with the bubble. She had one of her own. The Doctor had never allowed her to read her own file, but she suspected that he was still writing it. His last monster.

The Witch was hiding in plain sight.

No shady alleys or trailer parks for her. The apartment was beautiful, a welcoming space designed for comfort. It wasn’t even bobby-trapped, but of course, an empa-telepath has her own in-built alarm system. Not to mention weapons.

It wasn’t a pristine abode. Lux found it pleasantly dishevelled, a textured chaos of life being lived. She walked into every room, the methodical exploration of a well-trained killer, getting the feel of the place.

But hiding places are useless when facing a telepath.

According to the file, the Witch could detect her emotions, and possibly hear her thoughts, from at least two rooms away. Who knew how much bigger her range might have become since the break-out.

She examined the clothes carelessly flung everywhere. They were soft, colourful fabrics. Not garments to fight in. Exotic images adorned the walls, far away lands captured into frames. The bathroom was a special place, with shelves full of jars and bottles. Modern potions of beauty. Fragile bowls held aromatic salts, bars of soap carved into flowers and powdery spheres of bubble bath.

A luxury of scents to overpower the senses. A fragrant hiding place. She recognized a safe-room when she saw it.

Lux was coming out of the bathroom when a flicker of movement startled her. A cat was looking at her from the sofa. It was a slick creature with misty-grey fur and golden green eyes on its heart-shaped face. It waved its long tail, like an undulating question mark.

The Witch’s primary power was a biological self-defence. Her skin produced a mutated pheromone combined with a mild hallucinogenic to aid her psychic suggestions. Simple chemistry. Lux raised her hand and inhaled deeply on her sleeve, soaked with a mixture of essential oils to neutralize the Witch’s subtle scent.

“I can see you,” she said, even though it wasn’t true yet.

The cat blinked twice and a woman took its place. Like her feline illusion, she continued to study Lux with the calm eyes of a predator that isn’t hungry at the moment.

“Come closer, girl,” a smile bowed her perfect red lips. “Sit down with me. Be welcome to my home.”

She wore a lovely summer dress, and her hair had been meticulously braided.

“That was a good trick, with the perfume. You’ve done your homework. But it’s quite unnecessary. I only use my tricks on paying customers.”

Lux gave in to the telepathic pull, but not completely. She resisted enough to take a chair, instead of joining her host on the sofa. The mental fingers probed her mind lightly, as delicate as a cat licking blood.

Meanwhile, she kept talking, talking.

“And how is the Doc these days? Still strapping girls to tables? You grew up pretty. He must be all over you…”

Lux flinched at the salacious images filling her head.

“Oh, I see. It’s not like that with you, is it? You’re just a sweet obedient killing machine. I suppose I was your prototype. Or maybe all of us were. He enjoyed my services a few times, before he decided that I’d be an ideal subject. He paid well, until then.” She watched the girl shift, uncomfortably. “He’s just a man, cherie. He bleeds and he comes and he can be…distracted.”

Lux, concentrating on keeping the woman out of her mind, thought of a wall of spikes.

“No need for that, sweetness. I am only skimming the surface. Although I don’t suppose he allows you to have depths. No. Thinking creatures make bad slaves,” she paused. “You are here to kill me. But…you don’t want to. What is it that you want, Lux?” She had picked up her name, like snatching a fish off the water. “What’s your heart’s desire?”

The Witch’s skin was flawless, creamy caramel. Her skin was her armour. No one would ever touch her again. Were their powers determined by their wishes? And, if so, what did a terrified five-year-old wish for?

“For a while, I thought you were his child, but he must have stolen you from somewhere. Do you even remember?”

Lux flinched again, and the probing stopped.

“No, of course not. You are not his, Lux,” her voice