Читать книгу Queene Of Light - Jennifer Armintrout, Jennifer Armintrout - Страница 9

Malachi opened his eyes to a strange, mechanical whirring and a pressing weight on his back as he lay on his stomach. He remembered the man in the tunnel, the one who had stabbed him and drugged him, the shock and horror as he realized he would be defenseless against whatever would come.

Panic seized him, and it was an emotion he did not like. In fact, he did not like any of the emotions he had experienced thus far. He jerked up, bracing his hands beneath him, the bite of cold metal meeting his hands where his flesh had not warmed it.

“Don’t move, I’m almost done.” The command was most calm, considering the man had abducted him.

Malachi swallowed, his newly mortal throat as dry as parchment. “I am thirsty.”

“Sorry, nothing to drink during surgery. It’s unsanitary,” the man responded. A flare of something passed Malachi’s face, and when he peered over the rolled edge of the table he saw the withering remains of those addictive tubes of paper the mortals in the Underground despaired of finding regularly enough to feed their habit.

Mortals lived in the Underground for two reasons. They sympathized with the denizens of the Underground, or they had been banished from the Human world for practicing magics. But the man’s reason for being there did not concern Malachi so much as what he was doing. “Surgery? I do not understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” Another burst of whirring, accompanied by an acrid scent that Malachi recognized as burned flesh, punctuated the man’s words. “Your kind are ethereal. You never need patching up, or at least you’re not supposed to. But you, my friend…you were in bad shape when I found you.”

Though the man’s words were strange, his meaning was clear. Malachi cursed him silently and rested against the table once more. “You should have left me to die.”

“It was tempting. I haven’t ever gotten my hands on a pair of these beauties. Promise me if you kick off before I do, you won’t mind me keeping them?” Another burst of whirring, then, “Okay, all done.”

The man jumped down from the table—it must have been his knee causing the pressure, Malachi decided—and helped him to sit up. Malachi teetered under the weight of his wings. They’d been too heavy from the moment he’d turned mortal, but they were lopsided and unwieldy now. “What have you done to me?”

“Saved your life. And your wings.” The man touched one of them, and Malachi hissed involuntarily at the pain. “Well, they’re gonna be tender for a while.”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Malachi moved to stand, but his weakened limbs would not support him. Light danced before his eyes, leaving the room darker with each starburst, and he fell onto the table again, bending the tips of his wings beneath him.

“No, no, don’t go passing out. You’re too big for me to catch if you fall.” The man steadied him, then held out one blood-crusted hand. “Name’s Keller. And I’m doing this because I hate to see perfectly healthy folk go down for things that are easily fixed. You would have bled to death out there. Don’t let me tell you how to live, but I’d much rather live a life that’s worth something than die alone in the Sewer District. Place is a hellhole.”

“Where am I?” His vision cleared, Malachi surveyed the room. Pipes made a grid of the low ceiling, and the Human had used them to hang too-bright electric lights that gave off a terrible fizzing sound. He’d covered the walls in a wide, wire mesh fence, forming crude walls around their space. Everywhere were boxes and steel cabinets, and tables strewn with mechanical parts and tools.

“You’re in my shop,” Keller said with forced pride. “In the Sewer District. But hey, the rent’s cheap, and at least I found a dry place. You wouldn’t believe some of the hovels around here—they have to sleep in hammocks to stay out of the muck.”

Malachi said nothing. He’d seen many homes in the Darkworld. Creatures mortal and immortal fought to survive in the harshest half of the Underground, and their ingenuity knew no bounds. Keller’s humble shop seemed a palace in comparison to some Darkworld dwellings, and his numerous boxes indicated he had some way of earning material possessions.

“I outfitted you with some lightweight aluminum I won in a card game. I heard it came from an airplane.” Keller tapped one of the sore spots on Malachi’s wing, and the resultant clang distracted Malachi from the pain. When the man faced him, Malachi saw one arm was completely missing from the elbow. In its place, an intricate system of metal and wires imitated the severed body part. In fact, the man’s head seemed to be fitted with metal, as well, a long, curved piece of shiny steel that scooped around his ear. Keller scratched at the metal fragment in his skull with the false hand, and sparks jumped from the contact. “So, now you know why I’m not living the life fantastic up on the surface.”

“Yes.” There was nothing else to say. The man was clearly a Bio-mech, a creature who believed the Human body an appliance with replaceable components that could outlast the ravages of time. It was not as the Lord intended, as evidenced by the high number of souls the Death Angels claimed from experiments gone awry.

“Yeah, well, I saved your life, so go to hell,” Keller snapped, and only then did Malachi realize he’d been staring.

“I did not ask for your pity. I prayed for death, and this is how I am repaid?” Malachi shook his head. The motion seemed oddly natural. “I am not meant to be here.”

“I can always put you back.” Keller sounded…insulted? Malachi had such a difficult time putting the word to the tone of voice.

“You are not pleased.” He could not summon up more empathy for the man’s reaction. Malachi’s only concern was for his mortal body, and the death that had been stolen from him.

“I’m a little pissed, yeah. I did save your life.” Keller turned to one of his worktables, moving some equipment there. “That’s worth something, whether you believe it or not.” After a long pause, he tossed something heavy onto the table with a clatter. “What were you doing in that tunnel?”

Malachi did not wish to discuss the details of the past hours with this man. It horrified him enough to know it himself. But the thought of not speaking made the ache of sorrow expand in his chest, and the only relief came from releasing the words he did not want to say. “I have fallen.”

“Didn’t the fall happen a long time ago? Like, in bible times?” Despite his questions, the Human seemed genuinely impressed.

“The first time. But Angels continue to fall.” Malachi closed his eyes. “It was an accident.”

Keller’s voice came from a great distance. “Well, ain’t that a bitch. One minute you’re immortal and the next you’re…not.”

When Malachi opened his eyes, the room spun. He listed to the side, felt as though he might slip from the table. With a shout of alarm, Keller raced to his side. “Lie down, lie down,” the Human ordered. He peered into Malachi’s face with an expression of worry. “I’ve got to get you something to eat. Then we’re going to the Strip.”

“Why?” The word sounded hollow from Malachi’s parched lips.

“Because you need a healer.” Keller moved away, and Malachi could not follow him with his eyes. They were too sore, too set on closing.

“Here, eat this.” The Human shoved a chunk of bread into Malachi’s hands. “It isn’t much, but I don’t keep supplies on hand for entertaining company.”

Malachi struggled to lean up on his elbows. The experience of eating was strange. The coarse, grainy bread made his mouth drier. It tasted horrible, but he could not stop stuffing more and more of it into his mouth, desperate to fill the aching void inside him. He gagged, and Keller rushed to his side. “Whoa, slow down. Here, drink this.”

Taking the cup offered him, Malachi swallowed the bread and gulped the water. Now, instead of empty, he felt uncomfortably tight, and he wished the Human had never offered him food.

Keller took the cup from him. “See, that’s good clean water. You’re lucky you found someone who’s got connections.”

“I am still thirsty.” Malachi reached for the cup, and Keller held it away.

“Not right now. Sometimes, when people are starving, they consume so much so fast that they…” He waved a hand. “Well, you’ll just cause yourself more trouble than you’re in now.”

Searing pain ripped down Malachi’s torso, as if he’d been run through with a sword. “Where is…where is the healer?”

“On the Strip.” Keller eyed him as though measuring him. “But you’ll need some clothes.”

“I do not wear clothes.” As an Angel, any garments he had needed had manifested from pure energy. Material objects, especially coarse fabrics, were too unpleasant to tolerate.

“Yeah, well, you look a little more Human than you used to.” Keller went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a box. “I won some clothes off a guy on a bar bet. He was shorter than you. Smaller all around. But there aren’t too many Humans your size.”

“Give me what you must, then take me to the healer.” If he survived the journey, he would devise another way to die.

“So, how did this happen to you? I mean, how does one accidentally fall? It seems like something you’d have to do intentionally.” Keller’s voice was muffled by the box he’d buried his head in. Occasionally he cursed and tossed something over his shoulder.

The memories were clouded, but something flickered through Malachi’s mind. A blaze of orange. Had there been flames? No. It had been…a Faery.

Rage burned his veins. Now this was an emotion he could grow to enjoy. It pulled the past few hours into sharp focus, gave him purpose. He could not seek death. Not when he could feel this anger grow in him, fuel him to seek out the Faery who had stolen his immortality and get the revenge due him. If mortals felt this exhilaration every time someone wronged them, perhaps he did envy them a bit after all.

“Hey, buddy?” Keller had been staring at him, Malachi had no idea how long.

But he did know what he would do next. “Take me to the healer.”