“Change my—” He snorts. “Are you really hoping to make me into something other than what I was created to be?”
I shrug. It’s presumptuous, but I can’t help what I want.
“Whitney, I am death. I’ve been restoring the balance of the world by causing death among humans for thousands of years. You can’t change me.”
“You just made a thousand little wrigglers.”
He rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t me. They sprang from my blood.”
“Life,” I say. “You created life.”
“Whitney, I gave you time to train, and I took some time to get my bonded champion who is inexplicably not entirely dark in line, but now I need you to help me locate those in control so that I can prepare them to destroy the others who are in power.” I point. “That’s always how this works.”
“Why war?”
“Would you prefer famine?” He points at the area on the bank I burned. “You seemed upset about killing those plants, but we can kill people the slow way if you like.”
“I don’t want any of this.” I throw my hands in the air.
“Or plague. That’s my least favorite.” He crinkles his nose. “Too smelly and messy.”
“Xolotl,” I say. “Please, just delay a little longer. Let me?—”
“What?” His nostrils flare. His hands clench on the handles of the jet ski. “What’s your goal, Whitney? What do you think you can do by feeding me burgers and making me like you?”
“Making you like me?” I blink. “Do you like me?”
He exhales. “No, the point is that delaying won’t change a thing.”
A jet screams overhead.
Another right behind it.
And then there’s an explosion just behind Xolotl. He looks up into the sky, and he beams. When he looks back down at me, his eyes are bright. “They’re here. You didn’t even have to call them, and they came anyway.”
Ah, shoot.
Mom must’ve told Leonid, and he decided to go ahead and let the American military have their go. I guess we’ll find out if Xolotl really is as bulletproof as he thinks, and whether he can protect me.
Because I know I’m not bulletproof, and now it’s come to it, I’d rather not die yet.
12
Xolotl
One of my favorite things to do when I wake is to discover how much humans have improved their weapons. They always come up with better, faster, and messier ways to kill other humans. The muskets and cannons were a pretty big improvement in tech.
But now, they’ve really outdone themselves.
They don’t realize that I’m able to incorporate anything they develop almost immediately, so their gain is literally my gain as well. Anything that helps death draw near faster powers me up. The rain of bullets that shower down over us makes me turn and smile upward.
“Glorious,” I say.
“You’re insane.” Poor Whitney’s huddling below a fallen tree.
“Stand up.” I wave. “They may not know you’re with me unless they see it from the start.”
She doesn’t budge.
