Skinwalker
Chapter 13

I walk through the hallways on a path I’d ingrained into my mind during my time here. Making a left at this T intersection would take me to the court rooms. Turning right on the next hallway will take me to the law office, the legal library, and the subhuman archive.

Those are the hallways I frequented the most. My entire education happened in that library, I didn’t go to school like a normal kid because I wasn’t permitted to leave the district surrounding the subhuman capitol. Then again, I wasn’t a normal kid.

Around the time I was given my first host, I began being trained as a legal aid in the law offices. In the beginning, I was shadowing other subhumans who did that job, and on occasion I was taken into the archive by one of them. After three years, I began receiving my own cases. Simple ones, but cases none the less.

I recall being assigned a rather simple vampire case the first time I was alone in court. The boy was 17 years old; he had been attacked by a vampire who made a mistake and left him for dead on a new moon. Not vampire dead but deceased dead. His name was Nathaniel Jones.

This was when I learned one of two ways that vampires are made, which is accidentally. The vampire had drained enough blood that Nathaniel’s pulse was thready, slow, and hard to make out. Mistakenly leaving him as a victim in the street. However, his body took on the venom left behind, and when he woke up, he was one of them. Accidental creation can only occur on the night of the new moon.

The government found him simply because he was a newborn; they’re all reckless. They kill mercilessly and always leave a trail behind them. The Sanguinem Committee wanted to exterminate him because he was illegally made and risking exposure of their kind. That’s why he was assigned to me. The new girl will flop, and they would get their way.

They weren’t expecting me to come in with the knowledge of someone with several times my experience, especially in vampire specific law. While the one who created Nathaniel is still being punished severely, seven and a half years in the coffin, he wasn’t the person I was representing. It didn’t matter to me what happened to him for breaking the law.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, got off just as any planned newborn would. He was placed with another of his kind, someone to teach him what was expected of him, and had monitored feedings for the first three years of his new life. Essentially, he got off scot-free.

It was a few months after that I had been exposed to the second way vampires are created thanks to the vampire junkie host I obtained. Planned newborns are made with ritual: drink the blood of the one creating you and donate your blood back to them. Their blood will begin absorbing into the system as yours is being removed. Their bite, and providing the venom, is a necessity to the transformation no matter which way you’re created. The blood exchange simply ties you to your maker.

I summon an elevator at the end of the hallway to go to the top floor of this building. When I exit, there are turns on two different hallways I take before reaching the skybridge; on the other side of it is a different elevator. This one only has two buttons: S for Skydeck, and P for penthouse. I press that one labeled P. The queen’s office is located there intentionally; it’s inconvenient and she doesn’t want to be easily accessible.

When I’m dropped off on the top floor, I follow a rather unwelcoming hallway before replaceing the door into a lobby that functions as a waiting area to three offices, including hers.

The secretary glances at me from her desk then looks at her computer and clicks her mouse several times before typing a message. I don’t bother telling her who I am, she knows. As far back as my knowledge goes regarding the staff of this office, she’s always been the woman sitting behind that desk. Instead of taking a seat in one of the provided chairs, I examine the art hanging on the walls. If nothing else has changed around here, it has.

The queen has always had an eye for art with a pocketbook capable of updating her collection often.

“Piper,” Leona calls.

She’s standing in the doorway with her hands cupped in front of her. Her clothes are far more business than they had been yesterday. It’s more fitting to the Leona I remember. In these walls, she always wears some type of dress suit that is made up of some combination of a fitted suit jacket, blouse, pencil skirt, and heels. It flatters her hourglass shape.

My outfit is too casual and the look on Leona’s face tells me it’s unacceptable. I’m dressed meet a friend for coffee, not the Queen for business.

Leona holds the door and when I pass, she directs me down a short hallway by extending her arm in the direction she wants me to go. “You’ll replace something better suited to wear.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise that she prepared for this. I spent nearly half of my life with her. She knows me better than anyone and being Queen Scarlet’s right hand when it came to me, she probably knows even more about me than I do myself.

The clothes I replace hanging in the large restroom are ones I never wore; it’s a tan cap sleeved dress that looks form fitting with a double row of decorative silver buttons at the waist and a short slit in the back of the skirt. There is even a shoulder cover to match. I dress in the outfit, pull on a pair of pantyhose with a thick seam up the backs of my legs and replace a pair of matching heels that slide onto my feet. The whole outfit is very much Queen Scarlet’s taste that lingers greatly in the 1940’s.

I leave the clothes I was wearing on the counter, folded neatly, and meet Leona in the hallway. “Better?” I ask.

A satisfied grin lifts the corners of her lips. “Much.”

I take a moment of pause in the hallway, watching her turn the handle. My heart beats faster and I feel my hands begin to sweat. I laid in bed for hours worrying about what the Queen would have to say to me instead of sleeping like I wanted to.

Would she lecture me on running away? Would she tell me I owe her a debt for the time I spent in the capitol? Am I going to have to argue the debt was paid the moment she started having me testify one’s innocence or guilt in court?

I had conversations with myself about what the two of us would say to one another. I had fears of conversations that I couldn’t even imagine. What if she chooses to punish me for my actions? Did I commit a crime by leaving the life she provides me?

The office is light and wide, with marble floors, paneled walls, and matching baseboards and crown molding. The pleated chairs near the desk are colored in muted florals with mahogany frames that look freshly polished. The coffee table, desk, two tall narrow bookshelves, and bar cabinet are glassy wood that match the chair frames.

On the floor, there’s an area rug that somehow pulls everything together. The walls have beautiful paintings on them that seem like they came from the Louvre, the surfaces have a few live plants in fancy planters, and there are knickknacks here and there on display as in a museum.

While there’s plenty of personality in the space, there’s no person in it. This office has no photographs or framed certificates in it the way a normal office or cubicle would. There’s nothing to give even the slightest glimpse into the queen’s life. If she even has one outside of the government. That’s something I never even learned.

The space is lit by UV safe windows that have thick curtains drawn back, framing them. Standing in the middle of one of the large spaces is a woman, with a stiff upright posture and her hands held behind her back. The woman’s blonde hair is pinned in victory rolls, falling in waves down her back and over her shoulders. The dress she wears is dark grey, with a collared neck, half sleeves, and a trapeze skirt that ends just above her knees. She, too, wears seamed pantyhose.

Though she was created almost 400 years prior to the era she dresses and decorates, it’s been part of her identity as long as I’ve known her. While I never had the nerve to ask the queen directly, I did ask Catherine one time. Her answer started off fashion forward and then moved to the patriotism of America, and what it meant to be a woman in that period. Where I didn’t expect the explanation to end was how easy it was to come across victims, wounded soldiers who were expected to die and questions wouldn’t be asked when they did.

When the queen looks over her shoulder, her silver auraed, pale blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach goes cold. While she may still be just as beautiful as I remember and just as young, she’s also just as dangerous and it shows in the depth of her eyes. The office decor may have changed in the last two years, but she has not.

She was turned centuries ago, in a time where there was no subhuman government or laws that had to be followed. Before she helped create the world we live in today; she was a true predator of humans with so much blood on her hands you could fill a pool with it.

“The prodigal one has returned,” Queen Scarlet says, breaking the silence of the room.

I do the only thing I know and that’s curtsey with a bowed head. “My Queen.” Immediately I hate myself for this regression.

The old version of Piper, the one who became an adult in the subhuman capitol, who was educated by the government, and worked as a legal aid for them. That Piper curtsied and bowed and greeted royalty properly. That was when I trusted this woman.

Abruptly I stand in protest of my own actions.

Back then, the queen made me feel wanted when my own flesh and blood didn’t; she gave me a home, provided for me, and taught me what it means to be subhuman. She became a distant, apathetic, enigmatic, but ultimately dead part of my family. I spent years with her, trusting her to teach me how to control my hybrid mutation. I didn’t know her only interest in teaching me was for her benefit. I was naïve.

How could I predict, as an ingenuous teenager, she only wanted me to further her reach over subhumans? How convenient it was for her to have a skinwalker who could sneak into her enemies’ lives, pretending to be any woman she needed me to be and trick them into the noose for crimes against the subhuman government

“It pleases me to see you have accepted my request.” She doesn’t hide her English accent the way Leona hides her Italian one.

“I’d like to get to business,” I say, biting back the apology that wants to follow; I know I’m being rude.

For a moment she considers me. “Leave us.”

The click of the door closing is the only noise I hear, and I know Leona is gone. I am alone with Queen Scarlet. Goosebumps prick at my flesh.

She extends her arm in the direction of one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

By the time I choose a chair, she’s sitting in the leather one behind the oversized desk. There is a thin monitor to the side of the desk so our view of each other isn’t blocked. She turns it so we’re both able to view the screen and the faces of the four abductees I’m aware of are there like mugshots.

While I’ve gone over these files again and again, this is the first time someone else goes over them for me. The Queen is brief and to the point about who they are and why they’re important. I listen, she explains, it takes only a few minutes of our time.

“The host I have chosen has access to many subhumans, among them, these four hybrids. She also has access to a database of information Genetics Incorporated has been compiling. I want you to get that information.”

The Queen sets a small black box, no bigger than a man’s wallet, on the desk.

“What sort of information?”

“Studies, test subject information, and their version of our archives.”

“Archives?”

The subhuman archives are secured here in the district and the list of people who can access them is limited. The archives date back to the creation of the government, it’s an underground library filled with hand bound books and inked handwritten pages. Researchers have been attempting to fill out family trees for several hundred years. They have millions of families on file and what they’re capable of. It’s something we’ve kept hidden for fear of what the world could do with that information. How did Genetics Incorporated get their hands on it?

“It seems there are many subhumans who would sell out their friends and families for the right price.” The way she twists the corner of her mouth into a smile tells me these are people she would love to punish.

A folder is slid in front of me, inside is a stack of papers attached to the outside by a clip.

“You’re giving me a contract?” I’ve always been expected to do what she asked, it was never negotiable, and there was never a contract attached to it.

“My terms are listed. You will replace they are reasonable with great payoff.”

The primary motive is to rescue Catherine, no matter the circumstance, followed by the other hybrids. The records and database hack is prioritized over any other subhuman. If my life is in danger the only thing of more importance is Catherine, period. I don’t leave Genetics Incorporated for any reason without the princess.

My reward? Cold hard cash, and a pile of it too. The Queen put a price tag on me, it’s what I’m worth to her for risking my life and its hefty. I’d never have to work at Tails again if I didn’t want to.

I stare at the ridiculous number, and soon replace myself wondering what else I could ask of her. I want my freedom from her and the government, and their ever-watchful eye over me. It seems like a fair thing to request.

Wouldn’t it be nice to just live my life however I want to, without interruptions like this? That’s exactly why I ran away in the first place, that desired freedom. The problem is, if I don’t phrase my request just right, Queen Scarlet will replace a loophole. She will be able to bypass it.

Then again, a request that big could come with negotiations on her behalf. We could end on terms I don’t agree with, terms that could inevitably benefit her more than me. It’s something I need to consider, so I decide on the next best thing.

“I want a favor in return for doing this.” I look up from the contract and meet her gaze.

“A favor?”

“When the time comes, and I need something, you will be obligated to give me exactly what I want without question.”

“In exchange for the payment?”

“I want half of the number on the page and a favor.”

There is a long pause, especially for a vampire, and then she slides the contract toward her, goes to the pages where the payoff is printed, and crosses it out. When she’s finished changing the terms, and signing them off, she slides it back to me.

The payment is crossed off with the new price written above it followed by, and one favor to be agreed upon by both parties at a later date.

I slide it back to her and point at the writing. “I want an unrestricted favor.”

“You cannot believe I would be that senseless.”

“A favor isn’t a favor when you can tell me no.”

“A limitless favor from a queen? There’s no such thing.”

“Then I want the entire amount.”

“An no favor?”

“The entire amount and an agreed upon favor.”

Queen Scarlet just realized I’m not as ignorant as I once was.

“5%,” she counters.

“50.”

“Don’t force my hand, Miss Monáe.”

For a moment I debate what the best option is between five and 50, without being a pushover and without being unrealistic. “25%.”

It takes some time, but Queen Scarlet scrolls the new number over the old one, once again, then initials the changes. The correction is made throughout the contract. At the bottom of every page, we initial. The last page is our signatures and bloodied thumb prints.

Honestly, I made out like a bandit and we both know it. Queen Scarlet very easily could have forced me to do this, with no incentive what-so-ever. Instead, I’m walking out with a restricted favor that she must agree to accommodate and almost thirty-five thousand dollars. So, these are the perks of being a skinwalker away from the government and on contract. Honestly, I could get used to the money.

The contract is closed, tucked into a drawer, and she stands.

“Let me introduce you to your host,” she says.

Standing outside of the room where Brittany Allen waits, is one of Scarlet’s Guard. Unlike the ones in the prison, this one is not a vampire. To the untrained eye, he could be mistaken for one with the way he mimics them. He doesn’t look at me nor does he react to my presence. He’s a prop. He’s only been assigned to this post to make Brittany feel as uncomfortable as possible. I would wager he’s a mute but he’s smart enough to avoid eye contact, so I can’t tell if his aura’s broken.

Pausing, I think about the life I once had here. If I’m going to get this woman to trust me, quickly, I need to remain unbiased and not subjugate her to my opinions. Piper does not get to blame her for abducting subhumans, for running trials on unwilling victims, or for anything else she’s guilty of. My job is to get her to cooperate. I have to figure out who Brittany is on the outside so that once she’s my host, I’ll have everything I need.

Before opening the door, I straighten my outfit and take three deep breaths.

Brittany is standing in the room; her eyes are looking from one object to the next, not really paying attention to any one thing before turn to me. Her hair is oily and disheveled, like she’s been raking dirty fingers through it for hours, and her fingernails have been chewed to the quicks. She pops her knuckles and glances between the two guards.

The men are dressed the same as the one outside of the room, and they’re as much of a joke as he was. Both have broken auras and are incapable of doing anything of subhuman nature if Brittany chose to put up a fight. The Queen wants Brittany afraid; that doesn’t work for me.

“Leave,” I command.

“I’m sorry ma’am, we’ve been directed to remain with the prisoner,” one of them states.

“For what purpose?”

“Safety concerns.”

“Mine or hers?”

“Hers, ma’am.”

I take in our surroundings. “Tell me, from where you are, how were either of you going to stop her from jumping out an open window if she chose to?”

Both guards are standing near a wall on the opposite side of the room from two, floor to ceiling, open windows, and a glass door with a balcony. If she ran for an open-air exit, they would never be able to catch her in time. She would be a pancake on the asphalt seven stories down.

One of them begins to stammer an answer but I wave a hand silencing them. “Just get out.”

Brittany flinches away from them when they move. Both glower at me as they pass, and the door is shut with a sharp snap that echoes through the room. I hide the smile that wants to cross my mouth, the Queen will have something to say about my actions later.

Ignoring the niceties of introducing myself, I walk toward the side table the two guards had been leaning against. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No,” she says in a weak, scratchy voice.

My back is toward her while I pour hot water from a kettle. “Suit yourself.” Then I choose a tea bag from a wooden case. When I turn back around Brittany’s eyes flash away from me and toward the open window but doesn’t move.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to fling themselves from a government building.” The sad thing is it’s not a lie. “I doubt you will though.”

It takes a moment for her to pluck up the courage to ask, “Why?”

“You would have done it already.” Despite her current situation, she maintains some optimism about her prospects.

She squares out her shoulders. “You can’t keep me here.”

I set my tea on a round coffee table that situated between a white sofa with large print flowers on it and two matching armchairs.

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

“According to this government, you have.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and glances at the clock.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” I take a seat on one of the armchairs and grab the tea I set down.

I’m left without an answer.

“Here’s the thing, Ms. Allen. You’re here because we know you’re working for Genetics Incorporated, a company that has been abducting subhumans for vaccination trials.”

“I’m not responsible for any of that.”

“You may not be responsible for the abductions, but you are responsible for the mistreatment of the subhumans who have been abducted.” I sip at my tea.

Her courage shrinks. “Where…”

“Did I get that information?”

Brittany nods her head and her dirty brown hair wags back and forth.

“Do you really think Queen Scarlet hasn’t been keeping tabs on Genetics Incorporated?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“It doesn’t work like that, here.”

The color drains from her face. “What does she want from me?”

“Your unequivocal cooperation in all matters related to Genetics Incorporated.”

“In exchange for?”

“There’s no exchange.”

She shakes her head and approaches me. “I want my children.”

“They’re not part of the deal.”

“You don’t understand, if I don’t report to work tonight, they’ll come looking for me and when they can’t replace me, they won’t hesitate to use my children for leverage,” she pleads. “I will do anything the dead queen wants as long as my children are with me. Please.” Her eyes are glossed with held back tears and her nose begins to turn red.

What she doesn’t know is I will be showing up to work in her place. Genetics Incorporated won’t be the wiser. They will have no reason to go after her children, at least not right away. If I make a mistake, they might change their mind. Hopefully, we never cross that bridge.

“Tell me about them.”

She looks at me like I’ve just asked her to recite the National Anthem. “What?”

“If you want them safe, then you’re going to have to work with me.” Hopefully this tactic will allow her to drop her guard and teach me her true body language.

Slowly, Brittany lowers onto the very edge of the sofa across from me. It’s as if the dam protecting her just broke because all the sudden, she’s spilling her story, telling me about her two young daughters and their life together. I listen as she talks, studying the way her posture changes throughout the one-sided conversation.

Whether the Queen approves of my actions or not, I need to figure out how to get those girls. I could use them as reward for her cooperation but also, it’s a safety precaution. If I mess up, their lives could be in danger as a result. Here, at least, they would be safe from Genetics Incorporated. Perhaps this is something I could get Leona to help accomplish? Having children of her own, in a she’s made a few vampires herself sort of way, maybe she would be sympathetic to the situation?

The two of us have been silent for a long time when Brittany clears her throat. “Some of the subhumans at G.I. are good; they’re people who volunteered because they want a cure, because they believe in the good it can provide to others who want to be human.” She pauses, lost in her thoughts and staring at the floor. A heavy frown pulls the corners of her mouth down. “I never agreed to hunting down and kidnapping subhumans. I was helping volunteers; I was helping subhumans who wanted a choice, and then one day I wasn’t.”

“How are they replaceing us?”

“There are subhumans who agree with G.I.’s overall purity goal and are selling out others. They give the company a name or two in exchange for their placed on the vaccine list once it’s been approved. Others are paid for the information they provide.”

A heavy weight hits the pit of my stomach; subhumans selling out other subhumans, forfeiting the lives of their kind for their own comfort. It’s repulsive.

“How did they replace out about hybrids?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “One day I showed up to work and I was notified that there was a demi-demon telepath waiting to be processed. After that, hybrids became a little more regular. I don’t know how they found any of them.”

She’s talking about Logan Soto and technically, he isn’t a hybrid. Demi-demon’s come with all types of strange abilities passed on from their fathers. Being a telepath, and a demi-demon, isn’t all that farfetched. I’m not going to be the one to correct her though. It’s best she has as little factual information about subhumans as possible.

“Why do they have Catherine Lucella?”

She lets out a single sarcastic laugh. “Leverage. They think the girl is a good way to keep the dead queen away. They’re studying her but threatened to kill her if they begin to suspect anything.” Her attention shifts to the door.

Exactly on time, as promised, the doors into the conference room are pushed open by Scarlet’s Guard. The ones accompanying her are actual subhumans. They’re not the mutes who just look intimidating for that purpose. These ones could cause real damage to someone if they meant any harm to Queen Scarlet, and I’m certain they have.

“Follow my lead and cooperate with the queen,” I say.