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A collective shake of heads. Some of the audience shuffled closer, eager to hear what I had to say. “They were being sent to other countries. Made here and sent elsewhere. Can you believe that?”

A few muttered comments said they could believe that, the majority quickly coming round to my way of thinking.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” I said. “Not when I’m a stranger to all of you. That’s why I waited until the rain came, so I could give you a demonstration.”

I took a step back, my foot hanging over the edge of the parapet.

“Don’t,” a kindly old woman said, her hand reaching out to pull me back.

“It’s okay,” I said, offering her a smile. “Because I have this. Just think of it as a little piece of liquid magic.”

A man stepped forward, his eyebrows the kind of bushy that could only come with many years of growth and zero grooming. I almost wanted to applaud them. He had a knife tucked in his belt. Concentrate, August. “If you turn,” he said without even a hint of friendliness, “we will put you down. Have no doubt about that.”

I doffed a pretend hat in his direction and dipped forward in an ostentatious bow. “And I would expect no less, good sir. And for that, you have my eternal gratitude.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “It warms my heart to know that should things go disastrously wrong, you wouldn’t hesitate to save me from a fate worse than death.”

The slight furrow of his brow said it hadn’t been the reaction he’d been expecting. Before he could comment, I stepped off the parapet and into the rain, a collective gasp going up. I backed off a few steps to place myself firmly in the shaft of moonlight that penetrated the otherwise dark courtyard. Who needed a stage and a spotlight? If you were creative enough, you could make your own. But then that was the problem with most people in this world; they couldn’t see beyond the ends of their noses. They let themselves get too caught up in the daily grind of survival.

The rain tinged my shirt pink, making it sodden within seconds, and plastered my hair to my skull. I lowered my gaze and stared into the puddle, letting waves of emotion wash over me. Anger. Hunger. Lust. Just as I’d talked about. The only sounds in the courtyard were the steady drip, drip, drip of the rain and the occasional crack of thunder, my audience too enraptured to move.

I let the time stretch, tension stealing over them once more. When I finally lifted my head, the front row moved back, their instinctive reaction to put space between them and the furious countenance they were witnessing. I glowered at them, letting hate pour out of my eyes. My shoulders were tense, and my hands were curled into fists.

“Watch this,” I shouted to make myself heard over the rain. I lowered the autoinjector to my thigh and pressed the trigger. “It takes a couple of minutes to work.” I tipped my head back and let the rain stream over me as I silently counted the seconds, timing my breaths with each one.

When I opened my eyes, I was back to being the man who’d stepped into the rain. Albeit a much wetter and colder version. I held my arms up—no lightning this time, more’s the pity—and carried out a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn. I didn’t speak again until I faced them. “The effects are gone,” I shouted. “I could stay out here all day.”

A man surged forward, making sure to keep his hands out of the rain as they fastened on the railing. “How much? You said the laboratory wanted us to pay the earth for them. How much are you charging?”

My answer came without hesitation. “What can you spare?”

The reaction was instantaneous, everyone talking at once. Some waved watches and jewellery. Others emptied their pockets. There was no stopping the smile that crept over my face, and I knew that in my sodden state, with my arms stretched wide like Jesus, I must look like a madman. They wouldn’t care. They probably wouldn’t even notice. All they cared about was getting their hands on the magic juice.

I jerked my head up as someone slid into the chair opposite, my fingers tightening around the glass of whiskey. I relaxed when I saw who it was, the craggy face familiar. “You’re here,” I said. I didn’t have friends, but I supposed if I did, this man might come close, solely on account of him knowing who and what I was. Not that I’d ever told him. But given how often his job as a traveling salesman meant our paths crossed, it had been inevitable he’d work it out.

Ellsworth Booth snatched the half-full bottle off the table. Without a glass, he settled for drinking straight from the bottle, his throat working as he swallowed. “What name are you going by here?”

I checked the immediate vicinity, only turning back to him when I was sure nobody was listening. “Tobias Breeze.”

Ellsworth smirked. “Do you have a list that you tick off once you’ve used them?”

“No, I’m just inventive.”

“Ever used my name? Not the entire name, but like my first name?”

Had I? There’d been hundreds of names over the years. Unable to say for sure I hadn’t, I settled for a shrug.

Ellsworth nodded as if I’d confirmed what he thought. He jerked his head to the window, the storm having stopped but the rain still coming down. “I would have thought you’d be out of here by now. Not sitting here drinking like you don’t have a care in the world. What if the shit hits the fan?”

I sat back in my chair and regarded him coolly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ellsworth laughed, took another drink from the bottle, and then laughed some more. “What I mean, Tobias, is that your performance might have been top-notch… and I admit even I was impressed. Maybe even more impressed since I know you’re immune, which rendered it nothing but a big steaming pile of bull crap.”

His voice had grown more strident. “Keep your fucking voice down!”

He rolled his eyes, but did lower his voice. “The minute they inject themselves with whatever crap is actually in that injector, because we both know it ain’t any magic suppressant that’ll render them immune to the rain, they’ll know you’ve ripped them off and they’ll be baying for your blood.”

I locked eyes with Ellsworth. “Maybe they won’t be breathing once they’ve injected themselves. Have you thought about that? Dead men can’t tell tales.”

A look of surprise settled on Ellsworth’s face. It lasted only a couple of seconds before he shook his head. “Nah! There are a lot of negative things I could say about you, August Stoll. But you being a killer isn’t one of them.”