The corpse in Kodie’s lab wasn’t the only human that the Hybrids hadtried to cast the rogue spell on, and now it was clear to the public that something more sinister than they could imagine was happening.
“Should we contact Ash?” Ada said in a low voice.
“...no statement from the Exorcist Guild yet, but we’ve received word that there will be a press conference in the next hour helmed by Captain Ash Song. ...”
“I think he has other things to deal with right now,” Teshin said.
Mai wrung her hands. “What should we do, then?”
For some reason, the three of them were looking at Rui, as if she held the answers.
What about the lady who runs the hotel?
Ruididhave an answer: the rogue talisman had to be destroyed, and to do that, she had to find its maker.
15
Yiran
Someone was slapping his cheek. A shock of icy water smacked his face, the force of it waking him completely. Coughing, Yiran spat out water that had gotten into his mouth.
At first, he thought he’d died and gone to some form of an afterlife. A spotlight shone down on him, as if he were on trial for his crimes. He couldn’t see much farther than an arm’s length away. The slightest breeze wafted in from some unseen opening, carrying the scent of soil and grass and metal. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being on the rooftop with Yuki. Was this the Hybrids’ lair? Why would they risk bringing him in like this?
Because you’re not expected to leave here alive.
But his hands and legs were surprisingly unbound. The chair he was sitting on was fairly comfortable, more suitable for a visitor than a hostage. There was even a bottle of water on the floor next to him. It didn’t add up. He was free to run. To escape. Still, stumbling around in the dark was stupid, he decided, and his head was spinning. He had to get his bearings first.
The bottle of water was nondescript, a mass-market brand found in every grocery store. He grabbed it. The seal on the cap was unbroken. There were easier, more satisfying ways to kill him, so taking the chance, Yiran drank, quenching his desert-dry throat. His head felt better at once. He touched his scalp gingerly, and his fingers came away with dried blood where he’d been struck. Yet he didn’t feel as run-down as he should. Strange. At the very least he should’ve had a concussion. There was, however, an odd sensation across his whole body. It was hard to describe, almost fizzy, like bubbles rising in a can of soda.
Healing magic.A light residual layer that was dissipating. Why wouldthe Hybrids heal him? He was the grandson of the Head of the Exorcist Guild. He was their enemy.
“Hello? Yuki?” he called out hoarsely. “Where am I?”
“Go tell the boss the boy’s awake,” came a voice from the dark. It didn’t sound like Yuki.
A shaft of light streamed in.
As Yiran’s eyes adjusted, he glimpsed figures standing not far from him. There were others sitting at different heights, and a few who were moving around restlessly. Yiran counted a good twenty-five or so Hybrids watching from the shadows.
“Did the Blight make you ugly or what?” he said. “Come on, show yourselves. Don’t be shy, I don’t bite. Not very hard, anyway.”
Hostile hisses spread among the silhouettes, but one Hybrid laughed. “He’s got quite a mouth on him, doesn’t he?”
“We’ll see if he gets to keep that mouth,” growled a less friendly voice.
“Quiet—”
A hush fell over the Hybrids as footsteps came from above. Yiran heard the snap of fingers. The spotlight’s glare widened, and two other lights in front of him flickered on.
He was on an elevated stage, looking down at a school assembly hall. The place was a wreck: dirt-smeared walls, peeling wooden floorboards, dust motes floating in the air.
It was unreal to see the Hybrids gathered on a set of bleachers. They looked like normal humans, albeit more attractive than the average person. The Blight had transformed them into monsters. Beautiful ones. A handful of them were surprisingly young, around the same age as Yiran himself. Had they been randomly infected by the Blight, or were they willingly transformed by the spell?
The Hybrids stared back. A few with interest, others with something closer to disgust. A woman in a green jacket was glowering at him with intense hatred. Her dark hair was looped into a thick ponytail, and therewere reddish pit marks on her forehead and neck, scars made by yangqi burning into her flesh. Yiran wondered which Exorcist had left them.
“I hope you’ll forgive the manner in which you were transported here,” said a voice above him. It was commanding and precise.
Yiran glanced up. With the spotlight’s glare obscuring his view, he could barely make out the imposing figure standing in the rafters. The person carried himself with an almost kingly air, like someone used to their own superiority.
