Sister of Shadows, page 34
Seeing no point in prolonging the moment, he pulled the trigger. With a muted slap, the spear shot through Sensei’s throat and out the back of his neck.
Blood fountained from the wound. The man grasped at it, jaw moving, eyes locked on Mr. Justin’s.
The butler dropped the speargun and ran, gagging and retching, but not stopping.
His plan was not yet complete.
69
Wet and Crimson
Mr. Justin yanked open the door to Sang’s room. The boy rolled over in his bunk, dark eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Leslie?”
Mr. Justin leaned against the doorjamb, breath heaving much harder than necessary. “Sang, come quickly! Mr. Justin has attacked Sensei.”
Sang shot to his feet. “Is that blood on your uniform?”
Nodding and backing into the hall. “Please, help. I can’t trust anyone else.”
The boy followed him. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Justin kept his face pointed away from Sang, afraid he’d smile at his own brilliance. “You were locked up when Sensei was—” He sobbed and hugged his arms close to his body the way he’d seen some of the girls do after Constantine’s funeral. “So you can’t be Mr. Justin. And now I think I know who he is.”
They started up the central stairway, taking them two at a time. Mr. Justin gasped for air. “At least I’ve finally proved you innocent. I hope you’ll forgive me for accusing you.”
Sang didn’t say anything.
No surprise there. Leslie had led the accusations that had gotten Sang soundly beaten and locked up.
“What happened to Sensei?” Sang asked. “Will he be okay?”
“I didn’t see it. I went out to the deck to get some air and there he was.” Mr. Justin pretended to break down again.
“I can’t believe Mr. Justin would just leave Sensei to be found.”
“I don’t think he had time to plan it. He just needed to get Sensei out of the way so he could take over the boat.”
“Who did Mr. Justin transfer into?”
“I hate to say it.”
Sang grabbed Mr. Justin’s arm, yanked him around. “Tell me!”
Here was a fun moment.
Mr. Justin reveled in it. Sniffing and rubbing at his nose, hoping Sang didn’t notice there weren’t actually tears running down his face, Mr. Justin revealed a horrific secret. “It’s Humphrey. It’s the only thing that makes sense. No suspicion on him at all. He’s able to impersonate Dr. Carlhagen . . .”
Sang’s mouth dropped open and he stared past Mr. Justin. “It’s brilliant.”
They pushed onto the deck. Mr. Justin shoved Sang toward the stern. “Go find Sensei. Help him if you can. Make sure no one gets a hold of the murder weapon.”
Sang ran off.
Mr. Justin grinned and sprinted forward to the little hidey-hole a certain wayward Scion had made his little den.
It was the Jeep. Nobody had bothered to search inside it because it was concealed under a taut stretch of plastic tarpaulin. Only by chance had Mr. Justin noticed an odd fold on one side where the tarp had been slit then neatly drawn back together.
But first he had to collect the knife. He stooped and felt under the rear bumper. There it was. Right where he’d stashed it. A knife from the kitchen. Ten centimeter blade and reasonably sharp.
Sharp enough.
He tore open the slit in the tarp and pounded on the Jeep’s rear window. “Come out. It’s an emergency.”
Horace’s face popped up, hair mussed and collar sigil pin askew.
Mr. Justin waved Horace out.
Looking like a Dolphin who’d been caught with contraband tub of ice cream, Horace squeezed out the passenger door. “I’m not leaving my spot.”
“It’s an emergency. Mr. Justin got free and killed Sensei. There’s so much blood.”
Horace’s face took on a weird aspect, nostril’s flaring and eyes lighting up. His teeth showed, white and sharp in the darkness. “Where?”
Mr. Justin pointed toward the rear of the ship.
“Stop Sang if you can!” Mr. Justin started guiding Horace astern. “Here. You may need this to defend yourself.” He pressed the knife into Horace’s fist.
The boy held it aloft like it was a magic sword.
“Go, Horace! I’ll call the others to come help you.”
Horace sprinted away.
It was only a few meters to the hatches for the Boys’ and Girls’ Holds. They were propped open to allow fresh air to circulate. Mr. Justin shouted at the top of his voice. “Help! Help! Sensei is dead! Sang is missing!”
In less than a minute, Tytus, Kirk, Obu, Wanda, Dajeet, and Bethancy were on the deck, sprinting toward the scene of horror.
Questions followed Mr. Justin as he ran aft. “I don’t know,” he answered to all of them. “I heard a cry and struggle. Then I saw Sang and Horace standing over Sensei’s body.”
The Scions funneled past the bridge and around the derelict winch and gantry. The bridge light spilled its harsh glare across the deck.
Sang stood there holding the speargun in one hand. Horace moved around him, crouched, brandishing the knife.
“I didn’t do it!” Sang shouted at Horace.
Wanda screamed. “Horace, put that knife down. You, too, Sang. Put the weapon on the deck.”
Sang stooped to lay the speargun down.
That would never do, Mr. Justin decided. So he screamed, a wordless howl of terror. Even Horace looked at him.
Mr. Justin crept forward, the others to either side of him. He pointed a shaking finger. “Sensei. He’s been shot in the throat.”
With fury quaking his voice, Mr. Justin raised his finger to Sang’s face, which was sickly white in the weird light. “He’s Mr. Justin. He killed Sensei. Get him!”
Horace launched himself like a panther bringing down its prey. One moment he was high in the air, knife raised overhead. The next he was on Sang, plunging the blade.
Again. Again. Each time it rose, the blade glistened, wet and crimson.
Sang shrieked, but it was soon drowned by the shouts and cries of the other Scions.
Tytus and Kirk darted in and dragged Horace back. The boy slashed at Tytus, drawing a thin line of red across the Snake’s cheek.
With calm and precise kicks and blows, Kirk and Tytus beat Horace to the ground.
Still the wild boy flailed. He jabbed the knife an inch into Kirk’s thigh.
Roaring, eyes bright with rage, Kirk smashed Horace’s face. He grabbed the wrist of Horace’s knife hand, threw a leg over the boy’s arm, then twisted with all his might.
A crackle of breaking bone shot across the deck like gunfire. Tytus dropped to a knee onto Horace’s throat, arms blurring as he rained blows onto the boy’s face.
Blood curtained from the slice in Tytus’s cheek, over his lips, dripped onto the deck. He looked possessed with violence as he punished Horace.
With every blow, air burst from Tytus’s mouth, spraying blood and curses in equal measures over Horace’s head.
Kirk yanked the knife from Horace’s limp hand, tossed it and caught it so the point faced down. With a sob, he raised it.
Mr. Justin dove, wrapping his arms around Kirk and pulling him away.
Even as he did it, he reveled in the beauty of the moment. “Stop, Kirk!” he yelled.
He did not let go of the boy, who was straining to get at Horace. “He’s down. Can’t you see that?”
Wanda and Bethancy had pulled Tytus back. The boy sat on the deck, legs straight out, body hunched, face bleeding. Tears and groans of pain and sorrow poured from his soul.
Wanda snapped her fingers at Dajeet. “Go get Humphrey.”
“Let me go,” Kirk said.
“Put the knife down.”
Kirk obeyed, then the weight of what had happened seemed to hit him like a blow to the gut. He leaned into Mr. Justin and wept on his shoulder.
Mr. Justin consoled him, patted his back and told him he’d only done what was necessary.
With Tytus utterly drained of energy, Wanda had moved to Sang. She felt at his throat.
Her hand came away wet with blood. “He’s dead.”
She glanced at Sensei, but it was obvious he was dead, too.
Face grim, Wanda tucked her unruly hair behind her ears, unconcerned with how she fouled her locks with blood.
Lips pressed tight, she went to Horace. She felt at his throat, then thumbed open one of his black and swollen eyelids.
Lifting her gaze to meet Mr. Justin’s, she sighed through her nose. “Alive. But barely.”
To mask his disappointment, Mr. Justin turned his attention back to comforting Kirk.
Everything had gone perfectly. Sensei dead. Sang proven to be Mr. Justin in the eyes of all the Scions.
And if Horace still breathed, well, the boy could still take a turn for the worse.
70
Double Famous
A chill swept over the sea, carried on the unceasing breeze coming out of the east. Jacey was still keeping watch at the bow of the ship.
She drew the corners of a crinkly silver emergency blanket tighter around her shoulders. How Meow Meow had known to search for it among the onboard emergency gear was beyond Jacey. It seemed the weird girl was full of surprises.
So far they’d seen the lights of three ships on the horizon. All had been too far away to risk using one of the flares.
But as every hour slipped away, Jacey’s fear grew. Captain Wilcox had to know by now that they’d escaped on the boat. His men on the dock would have reported that.
It couldn’t take long to refuel a chopper, and once they recovered the empty life raft they’d know they’d been tricked. And this boat, dead in the water, would be easy to board. Hiding in the storage compartments wouldn’t do much good then.
Meow Meow wandered back and sat next to Jacey. “Our loverboy is sleeping soundly. The bleeding has stopped. I thought he might need stitches. I’ve already given him all the antibiotics from the first aid kit.”
Jacey let the “our loverboy” thing slide. She’d come to realize that Meow Meow made suggestive comments out of habit.
“There’s another ship.” She pointed, making the blanket crinkle. “What do you think?”
Meow Meow’s face was unreadable in the darkness. “It’s headed the direction we came from. I don’t think we want to get on board anything going closer to Vin’s island. Know what I mean?”
“Yes.” It was the only boat they’d seen that was reasonably close. “How long until dawn, do you think?”
“Dawn and I are not on friendly terms. I don’t think I’ve seen her for fifteen years.”
Jacey gave a half-hearted laugh. “Are you nocturnal, or what?”
“Absolutely. Do you have any idea what it took to get me awake and ready for Vin’s thing this morning? I had four alarms set on my tablet, and I’d put it in the bathroom so I’d have to get out of bed to turn it off. Even worse, I set the alarm to be that horrible ‘Waddle Waddle’ song.”
She pumped her hands over her head and sang: “When I do the thing, I do it right. When it comes to you, I do it right. When I do it right, I do it all night long. Waddle waddle. Waddle waddle.” She laughed and made the middle finger gesture at the sky. “Go to hell Mercutio!”
“Mercutio?” Jacey said. “I don’t think so. Those lines are most definitely not from Romeo and Juliet.”
Meow Meow cocked her head and twisted her lips into grimace. “Romeo and Juliet? Nah. Mercutio was a singer when I was a kid. ‘Waddle Waddle’ was a huge hit—”
She clamped her mouth shut a moment and shook her head. “You really don’t know who Mercutio was? So that whole Scion School place you were telling me about really is insulated from the outside world.”
“I don’t know who you are, either.”
Meow Meow giggled. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
She put her arm around Jacey’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I like you, Jacey. If by chance we get off this little boat, you’re going to need my help. With that face of yours . . . mmmm, mmm . . . The paparazzi are going to be on your ass like a tail on a bunny rabbit. But don’t worry. I’ll show you how to be famous. It’s really not too hard.”
“I don’t want to be famous.”
“You said you were interviewed by Yvonne Kellar, right?”
“Yes.”
Meow Meow squeezed her again. “Girl, your face was famous the day you were born. And now . . . I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying this . . . You’ll be ‘double famous!’” She made air quotes with great vigor.
Jacey scanned the horizon. A blip of blue light had appeared to the north.
“But you don’t get that reference, do you, sweetling?” Meow Meow said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
“What reference?” Jacey was having trouble paying attention. The light on the horizon was fast approaching.
“Double famous.”
“That’s a reference? To what?”
Meow Meow laughed and slapped her knee and wiped at her eyes. “Oh my god! This is surreal! It’s from one of your own movies. Might be your most famous line ever. The film was a musical called Slip That Jack, and you starred in it with that guy from Saskatchewan, the one with the sexy harelip. Anyway, it’s a classic. You’ll have to watch it some time. There’s this one scene where you’re doing a song and dance number—you’re a traveling vaudevillian—and two ladies come into your dressing room afterward. One says, ‘I’m gonna make you a movie star.’ And the other one says, ‘No, I’m going to make you a pop star.’ They’re fighting over you, right? Then you step in and say, ‘Ladies! Pipe down. Give me one good reason I can’t do both.’ Then you break out into song.”
Snapping her fingers and swaying, Meow Meow sang: “The whole wide world will know my name is/Sharilee Jackson Charleen Shamus/From holovids to concert stages/I’ll be, I’ll be, I’ll beeeeeeeeee/DOUBLE FAMOUS!”
Meow Meow clapped for her own performance and nudged Jacey with her bony shoulder. “I bet ninety-nine out of a hundred people could sing you that song. It’s as famous as ‘White Christmas’ or ‘Thriller’ or ‘The Macarena.’”
Jacey’s blank look produced a snort from Meow Meow. She composed herself and apologized. “I’ll help you, dearie. That’s all I’m trying to say. If we ever get rescued, I’ll help you survive being famous.”
“That might be about to happen.” Jacey pointed at the ship headed their way. With only a couple lights visible, it was obviously headed straight for them. “Get the flare gun. I’m afraid they’ll run us down if we don’t let them know we’re here.”
Meow Meow fetched the gun from where she’d stashed it. “Are you ready, sweet tart? We are going to have to do some fast lying once they pull us on board.”
Lying was all Jacey had been doing recently. She stood and rubbed her elbows, chilled by more than the wind. “Do it. And . . . thank you.”
The skinny girl in the blue wig grinned and aimed the gun at the sky. Face bunching, she pulled the trigger. Her arms kicked back as the flare whooshed out, trailing white smoke.
Seconds went by.
A red explosion bloomed against the backdrop of stars, sending spidery tendrils toward the sea. It hissed and popped, then faded to nothing.
The response was instant. A sonorous horn blasted across the water.
Meow Meow fumbled to load the next round, mumbling, hands shaking. With a click, she snapped the chamber closed and raised the gun again. Another shot. Another sparkling spider appeared in the sky.
“Get Dante’s flashlight,” Meow Meow said.
Jacey found it and shined its light at the oncoming ship.
An answer flashed back at them. Clearly a code of some sort, but Jacey had no idea what it might mean. She turned the flashlight on and off a few more times.
It only took a few tense minutes before they were sure the ship had changed course. The sound of its massive engines grew ever louder. And the closer it came, the bigger it got.
“Time to wake loverboy,” Meow Meow said. “We need to get our stories straight.”
But Jacey’s mind was already past that. Her thoughts were on Livy, Humphrey, and the rest.
Under her breath, she said to the night, “I’m coming, Livy. Hold on. I’m coming.”
71
The Two Remaining Sharks
“Who let him out of his room?” Humphrey demanded.
Every Scion aboard Aphrodite had gathered around the grisly scene. The youngest clung to the older ones, the oldest huddled around the bodies. Thankfully, someone had covered Sensei’s body with a tarp.
“I assume you did it,” Leslie said. “Weren’t you the one who let him and Horace out when the marines boarded the ship?”
“I’ve been on the bridge since Con’s funeral.”
And now there would be two more. Maybe three, if Horace died. The boy was breathing, but with difficulty. Wanda crouched next to him, pressing an icepack against his battered face.
Summer ran up and skidded to a stop when she spotted the crowd. She carried a huge flashlight. Elias trotted up next to her, holding his side and wincing. “Orson spotted a flare off the port bow. He—”
Elias was already at Horace’s side. The wild boy was the Snake in Elias’s Nine. While Wanda told him what had happened, Humphrey went to Sensei. Holding his breath to brace himself, he lifted the tarp. Just as quickly, he lowered it again.
“At least we know Mr. Justin is dead now,” Leslie said. “Poor Sang.”
Poor Sang indeed. “Somebody cover him up. He’s Mr. Justin no more and deserves respect.”
“Who’s keeping an eye on Orson?” Leslie asked.
“Nobody at the moment. I heard screaming and came running.”
“You left him up there alone?”
Humphrey grimaced. “Obu. Please go to the bridge and make sure Orson doesn’t accidentally sink the ship.”
