Daemon’s Mark by Caitlin Kittredge (web ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Gorshkov withdrew the syringe and capped it, handing Masha a bandage. “Then trust me when I say that I will tell you everything you need to know about the process and that feeling sick is normal.” He patted her cheek.

“You are a healthy girl. You’ll get through it.”

I stepped from behind the curtain. “So I’m guessing this isn’t a spa day.”

Dr. Gorshkov frowned at me. “Mr. Belikov put you in my care, so I’ll thank you to stop with that mouthy manner you have. Sit on the table.”

“Did someone say gene therapy?” I said, turning over the possible permutations of what that could mean in my head. None of them made me jump for joy. “What are you doing to us? What changes?”

“Sit. ” The doctor’s eyes darkened, and he took up a new syringe, pointing it at the exam table.

“All right, all right,” I said, sitting down. The cold metal made my legs break into goose bumps. “Stab away, Bones,” I said. “Hey, can I get you to say ‘He’s dead, Jim’? The accent would make that.”

The doctor glared at me as he grabbed my arm, thumped the skin to bring up a vein and jabbed the syringe in. I let out a small yelp. The large-bore needle hurt like a bitch.

“You talk a great deal and don’t say anything,” he muttered. “Save your breath and keep quiet. Mr. Belikov likes girls who are obedient.”

“I could give a flying fuck what Mr. Belikov likes,” I muttered. Gorshkov jerked the needle out and didn’t offer me a bandage. I grabbed a piece of cotton off the surgical tray and pressed it over the wound. While I was at it, I palmed the small pair of surgical scissors lying next to the gauze pads. Never hurts to be prepared. You can improvise a lot of things with scissors.

The doctor walked my blood over to a centrifuge and set up a vial, spinning it. “We’ll type your DNA, and we’ll see what you’re suitable for.” He gestured me to the padded hospital bed, where Masha was sitting and staring at her knees. “You wait over there. No talking. Talking disturbs my concentration.”

I went and slumped next to Masha. The gown was too small for me, and it itched in all the nooks and crannies.

“Well, he’s a bundle of fun.”

“I’m not supposed to talk in the exam room,” Masha whispered. “Mr. Belikov gets angry.”

I reached over to the bed stand and grabbed a prescription pad and a pen. What is G doing? I scribbled.

Masha looked at me, at Gorshkov, who was watching the centrifuge spin with the gentle, dopey eyes of a toddler staring at Barney. She grabbed the pad and scribbled back. Is my dad really @ Stop 13?

I nodded.

Giving me injections I don’t know what of I’m sick all the time.

Gorshkov moved my blood from the centrifuge to a set of test tubes with a pipette, the same process I’d seen at the police academy when we learned about DNA typing and matching.

What is G looking for? I asked Masha.

She bit her lip and wrote. A perfect match.

“File cabinets,” she said, her voice barely there at all. “Hundreds of them. There are all of these files, medical files. I saw them once when Belikov took me away to…” She went quiet, crimson climbing into her cheeks.

I put my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Gorshkov’s head snapped up, like he could smell insurgency.

“No touching! You will sit quietly and behave yourselves.”

The next person who told me to behave myself was going to get a foot straight into the ass. “Stick with me,” I whispered to Masha. “I won’t let them do anything else to you.”

She chewed her lip. “Promise?”

I nodded. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Masha gave me a smile that was almost grateful before she dropped her eyes again.

“No match,” Gorshkov announced, his voice sharp with disappointment. “You are useless, Joanne. Mikel, return both of them to holding.”

I stood up. “I’m not the girl of your dreams, Doc? Color me crushed.”

“Go!” he snapped at me, pointing to the way out through the decontamination chamber. My jaw tightened. I could confront the smug little worm, or I could stick with Masha. I exhaled, forcing myself to stay docile, and followed her out, listening to the door clang shut behind us like a tomb.

CHAPTER 22

When the outside door rolled back, Grigorii was waiting for us. “Oh, look,” I said. “It’s Prince Charming, the pimp. Be still my heart.”

“Mikel, take Masha back to her room,” Grigorii said. “Luna and I have an exciting development to discuss.” He took me by the arm, like your boyfriend would, gentle and firm.

“Be careful,” I said. “You’re going to sweep me right off of my feet.”

“That’s the idea,” said Grigorii. He led me away from Masha, until we were in a hospital ward, beds and musty curtains hanging like discarded shrouds.

“Alone at last,” Grigorii said, sitting down on one of the beds, the sheets still crisp even though his weight raised a cloud of dust. I sneezed.

“Is this your idea of a romantic getaway?”

“Emil says that you’re not a genetic match for my endeavor here,” he said. “Which leaves me with a problem, because now I have no way to make a profit from you.”

“Yeah, about your endeavor,” I said. “What exactly are a geneticist and a gangster up to in this musty old place? Is it aliens? Please say aliens.”

Grigorii reached out and tugged at the strings of my hospital gown. “If you’d let me finish, I would say that I’m not sure I want to profit from you.”

I tried to tamp down the reflexive twitch at his touch. He noticed it, and dropped his hand. “Why? Do I disgust you?”

“You’ve got a screw loose,” I said. “And you’re the bottom scrapings of the magick gene pool. Sorry if I’m not moistening my panties at the thought of getting next to you.”

“It’s this, or I execute your friend