The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(27)

Lazlo hadn’t been born, however. At least, not in the usual sense. He’d sprung to life on one of the Institute’s shadowy lower levels. It was there, in utter secrecy, that Dusek practiced his most powerful alchemy.

Maweth wondered if Lazlo—or any of his half-dozen “brothers” currently alive—realized the ultimate purpose of their existence. How could they not suspect the grisly truth each time one of them disappeared? And yet, as far as Maweth could tell by looking into their blank, golden eyes, they didn’t suspect a thing.

Dusek regarded his visitor with an air of irritation. “Lazlo. To what do I owe this unwelcome disturbance?”

The clone approached the desk, bowing low. “Beg pardon, Professor. I bring news of the new thrall. The Haitian.”

Maweth let out a long, guilty breath. He’d helped Dusek locate the Haitian woman in her dormant state, shortly after she’d emerged from a near-death experience. Now she was an adept, enthralled to Dusek and imprisoned in the lower levels of the Institute. But what choice had Maweth had in the matter? None. He was as much a thrall as she was.

“What of her?” Dusek asked.

“She is...distraught.”

Dusek waved a hand. “Only to be expected. Her rebellion will subside, eventually.”

“With respect, sir, I fear she may do herself harm before she reaches that point.”

Dusek’s brows rose. “Impossible. She is restrained. Physically and magically.”

“Yes, sir. But within the restraints, her Vodou magic runs amok. I believe she’s trying to kill herself. Her magic blazes like a torch. Her head twists and jerks most violently.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dusek steepled his fingers, tapping them against his chin. The face on his golden ring opened its eyes. “Interesting,” he said.

Several beats of silence ensued. Lazlo shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “What do you wish me to do about her, sir?”

“What?” Dusek looked at him, as if he’d quite forgotten his presence.

“The thrall,” Lazlo said. “The Haitian. What do you wish me to do with her?”

“Do? Why, nothing.”

“But sir—”

Dusek waved a hand. “Her little rebellion will run its course. Rest assured, she will not harm herself. At least, not permanently.”

Lazlo accepted this pronouncement with a nod of his head. “Very good, sir.”

Dusek nodded toward the door. “Back to your duties.”

“Yes, sir.” Lazlo backed respectfully out the door. He neglected, however, to close it completely. A slice of light shone between the heavy mahogany slab and its frame.

Dusek stood. As he did so, his gaze fell on the mirror. His eyes seemed to meet Maweth’s. Though Maweth knew the Nephil couldn’t precisely see him through the quicksilver, he couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back.

“Maweth.” Dusek snapped his fingers. “Come.”

Holy crapoly. He directed a glare toward Lucky. “I’ve got to answer,” he whispered. “Or he’ll—” He paused. “Well, never mind that. Just stay here, and stay quiet. Quiet like the grave. Not a word,” he added, in case the cherub had somehow misunderstood. “Not. A. Sound.”

Lucky, his blue eyes enormous, nodded.

“Maweth! Now!”

“I’m here, I’m here.” With a sigh and a popping sound, Maweth materialized atop his master’s desk. He bowed, adding an ironic flourish. One took one’s little pleasures where one could. “What is it this time?”

Dusek’s gaze narrowed. “Insolent creature.”

“Let me go,” Maweth said. “And problem solved.”

Dusek ignored the suggestion. “Arthur Camulus,” he said, “isn’t in his right mind.”

Maweth blinked at the unexpected conversational gambit. “Um...and you’re telling me this, why? If you recall, oh Master, I’m the one who informed you of Arthur’s mental state. Not...” He checked an imaginary wrist watch. “...thirty hours ago, in fact.”

“A mentally unstable Nephil is dangerous,” Dusek said.

Maweth had to agree with him there. He had the living proof right in front of him.

“But one who’s completely lost his mind?” Dusek mused. “Why, that Nephil might be easily enthralled. He could be a formidable tool.”

Maweth eyed him uncertainly. “Well, then. I guess you’ll have to wait and see if Arthur goes completely bonkers.”

“No. I can’t risk Arthur recovering his wits enough to control his magic. I need to drive him over the edge. Or rather, you do.”

“Me?” Maweth couldn’t hide his astonishment. “How could I possibly do that?”

“How indeed?” Dusek gave a thin smile. “You are Death itself. It could not have escaped your notice that when humans think about you too closely, they often lose their minds.”

“Um, well maybe, but—”

“Arthur does not even have the possibility of an afterlife to console him. He knows his death will bring Oblivion.”

“Well, sure. But even so, that doesn’t mean I can—”

“You will go to him,” Dusek said. “Cause him to stare you in the face.”