“There’s only one way in and out,” Orson said. “You can’t run.”
“Run? I would never. Just shocked that someone didn’t want to hold my dick while I pissed.” That was the truth at least. I wasn’t planning to run. I had something else I was desperate to do. My eyes slid to Nemo, making sure he wasn’t suspicious. He scanned the crowd, distracted by all the bustling people around us. Undoubtedly, making sure none were Supra.
I checked my watch as I walked into the bathroom. Twenty-seven minutes. I swallowed thickly.
At the sinks stood a spotless man in unwrinkled clothes. I got the impression the button-up would stand on its own, even without him wearing it. His hair was gray, and there were wrinkles around his eyes, in lines across his forehead, and around his mouth. As I approached, I noticed the skin on his hands looked thin and loose.
People aged. I knew that. There had been others at the asylum that showed it. Even Orson looked older than us. But I’d never seen someone like this. It was fascinating.
In theory, I understood that humans lived shorter lives. However, I couldn’t help but feel that this man was ancient beyond comprehension. My family, phoenix, they aged extremely slowly once they hit adulthood. My sister Hazel would look the same in a hundred years. After two hundred years, she might show slight signs of aging. If a phoenix ever managed to look likethisman, I’d assume they were a million-year-old god.
I didn’t know how I’d age. Hell, I wasn’t even sureofmy age. I knew I wasn’t immortal, that was all. Basilisks were not creatures anyone understood well, since we were killed at birth whenever possible. Growing up with that knowledge and in a family of immortals, I always felt fleeting. I’d never anticipated being around for long.
I approached the man. “I need to use a phone. Can you help me?” I looked over my shoulder, making sure no one else had followed me in. The man hesitated.
“Please,” I added. It wasn’t hard to sound desperate. The old man reluctantly pulled something from his pocket, pressed it with his fingers, and handed it to me. I looked down at the thin device in my hand. Numbers were on the screen. A modern cell phone.
“I just need a minute,” I said, slipping into a stall. I dug my hands into my pockets and pulled out the vials. One fell to the ground and shattered. Little pieces of glass spread over the tile and grout. The one left in my palm had a phone number printed on it. Damien D'Bolique’s number. The man behind the asylum. The leader of Supra Group. The person desperate to get me for no good reason.
I knew this man didn’t want to cure me. He wanted a weapon. It had been Zero’s final warning to us. What that wouldmean, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps I’d end up living the life my sister had—an assassin desperately loyal to his abusive master.
In actuality, I was unlikely to see daylight again. A monster chained in a basement, poked and prodded until it bled liquid death.
But I’d choose to suffer if it meant saving them.
Dread pooled in my empty stomach as I typed in the number. It rang. I looked at my watch. Twenty-five minutes. Was it already too late? I had to believe it wasn’t. My throat got tight as more rings went on.
Maybe I should hang up. Try to run on my own. Hide somewhere where the others couldn’t find me.
The ringing stopped as someone picked up. I held my breath.
“Hello, Basil Fury.” The voice was smooth, and the words flowed together rhythmically. There was a slight nasal quality from an old accent that had been washed away, but a faint stain lingered. All my thoughts stopped, and my heart pounded in my chest.
“You need my help?” He asked.
“I—” Knocking on the stall door caused me to jerk.
“I need my phone back.” The old man sounded urgent.
“Where are you, Basil?” Damien’s words were relaxed, polite. I cupped my hand around the phone.
“Is this Damien D'Bolique?” I whispered.
“It is.” He paused. “I know you’re worried, but I can help you.”
“There’s not much time left.” My words were the opposite of his. Packed anxiously together.
“Where are you?” Such a simple question, and he asked it with such calm, as if to assure me with his tone that everything would be okay if I just gave up. Let him have me. I thought back to the last pages in the journal I’d read and closed my eyes.
“Promise me you’ll let them go. You can have me, but only if you let them go.”
“Who?” He asked.
“The ones I’m with. You know who. My … friends.”
“Ah,” he said, an entertained lilt telling me he knew exactly who I meant. Knew they weren’t really my friends, but more than that. How much did this man know? We’d been monitored for years, some of us our whole lives. Did he know it all? There was a chance that all the moments I thought were only ours were recorded on video to be watched by strangers.
“You can have me, but only if you let them go freeandunharmed.”
