“Me, on the other hand… well, I didn’t get along quite so well with Julia’s chromosomes. Something went wrong. The clone infection went rampant, and my new face grew in every which direction.” She snorted, “Not something to write home about.”
Laina’s eyes widened as she listened, but she said nothing. Danal didn’t know whether to resent the malformed imposter because she was not Julia, or pity Zia as another one of Nathans’s victims. “Why does he keep you here? Why bother? Why doesn’t he just kill you”—Danal’s voice cracked—“like he killed Julia?”
Zia made a rude noise with her mouth. “Francois Nathans is too genteel for that. He needs to keep me quiet about his botched plan, but I was one of his favorite tools, remember. Malleable, willing to make the greatest sacrifices for a good cause.” She scowled. “Obviously, I can’t go anywhere. And even without my rather shocking appearance, I don’t have an identity on The Net, since I was supposed to take Julia’s place. I need surgery every week or so, otherwise my nose and mouth grow together, and my eyelids seal shut. But Nathans takes care of me just dandy—what more could I want in the whole wide world?”
Before Danal could say anything, Zia rapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I haven’t set off any alarms, you know, but I damn well could. What do you want coming here? This was a big risk… just to visit me? Touching. How come you didn’t bring any flowers or candy or get-well cards?”
Danal mumbled his words through a gauze of grief. “I thought you might be the real Julia.”
Zia shrugged bitterly. “I tried to be. But I ran into some unforeseen complications.” She laughed again at him, a hooting sound from her misshapen mouth, then she stopped abruptly. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Danal swallowed and clenched his fists, helplessly angry at her. But he would not let it bother him, he would not provoke her—it wasn’t her fault. He said his words through gritted teeth, coming to a decision as he spoke, “I’m going to stop Nathans. I have had quite enough of him.”
“Ah, the brave hero, fighting for what’s Right!” Zia taunted. “Then you’d better hurry up—tonight’s Walpurgis Night. ”
Danal started as he realized she was right. “Walpurgis Night. I forgot.”
Laina met his eyes. “What’s that?”
“A long time ago, back in Eastern Europe, all the witches gathered in the Hartz Mountains and had their greatest Sabbat of the year. May Day Eve—Walpurgis Night. It’s usually a big deal for the neo-Satanists. Nathans will have a sacrifice or two, kill a few more people.” Danal’s voice began to shake. “My imposter will do the sacrifice, pour more blood on the hands of Vincent Van Ryman.”
Zia smiled with her lumpy mouth. “Understatement rears its ugly head—oh, it’s much more than that this time. You’re a great hope for us all if I know more than you do—and I’ve been stuck here in this single room!
“This is going to be the last of the High Sabbats, and Nathans is going to wipe out all the followers of neo-Satanism. He’s lost patience with them and wants to end everything with a bang. He’ll poison them. He’ll trick them, as he always has. Audience participation in a big way… and this time they’ll all die.”
Her voice quavered, and suddenly she looked pathetic, not defiant at all, all traces of sarcasm replaced by defeat. “When Nathans comes to visit every once in a while, he tells me his upcoming plans. He likes to talk about his grandiose schemes, and there’s no way I can shut him up. He thinks I’m interested.”
She scratched absently at one of the waxy tumors on her cheek. “He told me—me!—that anyone who joined such a sham as neo-Satanism was incapable of rational thought. Anybody who couldn’t think for himself didn’t deserve the benefits of society. Do you think it means they’re all incapable of rational thinking? I think it means they were misled by a charismatic leader and some sophisticated gimmicks. I was misled, too—I fell for it. Is that a crime worth dying for?”
“Have you done anything to stop him?” Laina asked.
Zia laughed in a grating, burbling sound. “Me? You’ve got to be kidding! I’m cooped up here with a guard at the door every day. What the hell am I supposed to do? Look at Nathans and turn him to stone? I’m almost that ugly, but not quite.”
Danal swallowed uncomfortably. “Tonight…” He looked at Laina, then at Rolf. The burly Waker had propped the unconscious Enforcer against the wall and stood listening in silence. “Nathans is forcing our hand.”
He bit his bloodless lip and took a deep breath, assuming the role of leader. Anger rode behind his eyes, but he kept it under control. Galvanized, he fixed his gaze on Zia. “Do you want to get out of here? Come with us? There might be something you could help with, when we confront Nathans.”
The malformed imposter looked surprised and suspicious that he’d even ask. She spread her arms to indicate the hospital room. “And take me away from all this?” She stood up, and Danal saw that her slim figure matched Julia’s exactly. She could walk and move unhindered: the surface-cloning disarray had destroyed only her face and hands.
Zia set her jaw. “Yes, I’ll come if I can help kill him.”
36
Zia gazed at the Wakers’ underground world, inhaling details. With her distorted face and stretched eyelids, Danal could not interpret her expressions, but he could sense Zia’s growing awe. She had remained silent as they smuggled her through a sublevel basement entrance, all of her sarcastic bitterness dissolved away. Astonished to be free from the hospital complex, she was intrigued by the very existence of the Wakers and the world they had built under the city; but most of all, Zia was delighted to know that Francois Nathans suspected nothing of the Wakers whatsoever.
She sat by herself, silent and daydreaming on a hammock as the other Wakers discussed the new turn of events. Without bothering to use gloves or a rag, Zia had removed the hot sunlamp bulb above her head, keeping herself in murky shadows, but she wore her deformities without cringing, brandishing them for all the Wakers to see.
Danal locked his fingers behind his smooth head, stretching his elbows back until the joints creaked. He let the silence hang for a moment, turning his gaze on the gathered Wakers.
Gregor sat back on his heels and watched Danal make his case, rubbing his big square jaw and waiting. Danal spoke carefully, gauging their reactions, then decided it was time to let them judge for themselves. Before any of the Wakers could speak, Gregor stood up and faced Danal. “Let me be your straw man for a minute. A devil’s advocate, if you’ll forgive the pun.”
Danal watched him, trying to detect hostility or resentment in the Waker’s eyes, but he saw only disturbed consideration.
“Why should we Wakers give up everything we’ve worked for? You want us to expose ourselves to Nathans and all the neo-Satanists—but that’ll put us at their mercy. Your reasons aren’t good enough to me. It sounds like a personal vendetta.”
The other Wakers watched, tense. Rikki. Laina. Rolf. Forty others. Did they perceive this as a showdown? Julia would be out there somewhere, silent and patient, probably sitting motionless as she had been told to do. Danal did not want to clash with Gregor, but he couldn’t let himself hesitate.
“It’s more than that. If I go by myself, I can’t win—I’m sure of it. And half a victory in this game isn’t worth anything at all. I need your support, all of you. Look at Zia, remember what Nathans intends to do tonight at the High Sabbat—you’re a conscientious person, Gregor. Isn’t stopping him the right thing to do?”