Chimera

Chapter 20

Tokyo might’ve been half a world away, but I was right here to terrorize, and that was more than good enough for Godzilla.

“Okay, that’s it,” I snarled. “This time that half-digested hair ball took my gun.” The bedspread twitched at the bottom and I saw a toothy grin bared at me. Somewhere under there in no-man’s-land were my Steyr—unloaded, thankfully—four socks, a pair of underwear, and my comb.

“I think I saw a public service a

Smarter, faster, stronger.

I hadn’t seen any signs of the faster yet, but as for the rest . . . I felt an uneasy ripple tickle the base of my brain. Saving Michael was first and foremost in my mind always, but when he was safe, what then? There were many Jerichos in the world, in intent if not talent. If any one of them sniffed out Michael’s capabilities, we would be on the run all over again—perhaps for the rest of our lives. It wasn’t what I wanted for my brother.

But that was another worry for another time and premature at best. We might not survive long enough to see an existence beyond Jericho. Or beyond the damn ferret for that matter, a distinctly evil squeak had me adding to the thought.

I slid my foot under the bed to feel around for my gun. In retrospect it wasn’t the most intelligent move to be made. The sensation of a miniature bear trap clamping on my big toe had me hopping backward and swearing loudly. If the lamp hadn’t been bolted to the nightstand, it’s hard to say what I might have been tempted to do. Two dots of scarlet bloomed on my sock as a length of charcoal fur flowed past me to perch on Michael’s head. Under a black mask a wet, pink nose wrinkled derisively at me.

Damn rat.

As I used the opportunity to retrieve my belongings, Michael lifted up a finger and scratched the chin of his new best friend. “You should be more understanding, Stefan. Hoarding is probably a natural instinct for the ferret. Isn’t that right, Zilla?” The polecat made a contented sound, a cross between an eep and a purr, before draping bonelessly over Michael’s skull for a nap. “I really do need to get a book on ferret care and their habits. Maybe we could stop tomorrow?” He’d lowered his voice in deference to the snoozing spawn of Satan.

I didn’t know which was more a

He scooped the ferret into his hands and sat up to place it carefully on a pillow. Stretching, he then traced his fingers across the glossy pages and said, “Everything in here is interesting . . . in its way.” As if the thought unsettled him, he closed the book firmly and pushed it away.

“A little too close to home?”

“Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly only after I started to reach for the book. “No, it’s all right.” The volume was swiftly retrieved before I could get a grip on it. “This is me. This is my history. I want to do this.” That he embraced, but my part in it he refused point-blank.

“I’m a chunk of that history too, Misha, believe it or not.”

Before he could deny or give me a sympathy that was unwanted and u

I still had that bike. It was in my condo storage unit. It was one of those things you simply couldn’t look at, yet couldn’t throw away.

“Did you ride it that way?”

Surprised, I laughed. “Um . . . yeah, I did. For a while.”

I’d forgotten about that. We’d lived in an actual neighborhood at that time, with sidewalks and huge houses on postage stamp-sized lots. I’d tooled up and down our street on that clown cycle to universal howls of laughter. Mom had been alive then and she’d gently coerced me into it, saying it was the only way to cheer up Lukas. “It was pretty humiliating, but I guess I don’t have any right to complain.” As understatements went, it was a goddamn doozy, but Michael didn’t challenge it. Why would he? As far as he was concerned, it had nothing to do with him. If he didn’t accept that he was my brother, then he could hardly blame me for his life with Jericho.

“I never had a bike.” There was a bag of pretzels beside him and he dug for a handful. “But I prefer cars anyway. Purple, yellow—the color’s not important as long as they’re fast.”

“A potential speed demon—that’s all I need,” I remarked with a roll of my eyes, accepting the snack bag he passed me. He was joking, I was fairly sure. The times he’d driven, he’d been very careful to stay within the speed limit even before I’d explained that the last thing we wanted was to be pulled over by a cop. “Hey, it seems I’m always the one doing the talking, telling the tall tales. Let’s hear some from you.” I didn’t know if he was ready for that, but I wanted to give him the opportunity. He’d already told me about the classes, the training, the experiments, but he had been careful to keep it impersonal and at arm’s length as if it had happened to someone else. If he had expended even an ounce of emotion in the telling, I’d missed it.

“You don’t want to hear my stories.” He leaned forward to deposit a pretzel by the sleeping ferret’s head. “Boring, all of them. Eat, sleep, go to class—not much entertainment value there.”

“I’m not a demanding audience,” I prompted. “So lay it on me.” At his continued silence, I nudged him with my shoulder. “I know they won’t be happy stories, kid, but don’t pull any punches. I want to know what you went through at that hellhole.”

“At the Institute.” His head dipped and fingers wrapped around a strand of hair over his eyes. Tapping those knuckles against his forehead, he exhaled. “It’s been only days. I can’t believe it. When I wake up in the morning it takes me a minute to remember that I’m not still there, but the rest of the day”—he shook his head—“the rest of the day it seems forever that you showed up in my room dressed up like a Hollywood ninja.”

That had been last night’s cheesy movie. That was one thing Michael hadn’t gotten his fill of at the Institute. He would watch a movie on any subject—good, bad, or just plain freaky. I let the ninja remark, damaging though it was to my ego, sail past and I waited for him to go on.