A tense breath escaped me. Blood House. There could be only one place he meant. The red laboratory.
“Come with me, now. No questions. No questions.”
I gave a shaky nod and waved him forward with the knife. He moved through the undergrowth so silently that he hardly left a path for me to follow. My skirt caught every thorn. I made as much noise as ten of him. I studied the way he stepped, dissecting his movements. Ball of the foot first, then rolling back to the heel, which only grazed the ground. His body moved side to side, swaying almost imperceptibly but giving him better balance. I mimicked his steps and soon I was almost as quiet as him.
He wore no shoes. I’d counted his toes again and again, but always the same. Five. It hadn’t been him stalking me at the cabin, but something else.
The monster.
Not once did he look back. At times his specter melted into the jungle like a shadow. I stumbled to keep up with him. My head ached. The heat was relentless. I lost my balance and held on to a tree branch to steady myself. The missed treatments were taking their toll. I could hear the roar of dizziness before I felt it, and then my vision disintegrated into black spots.
The coarse brush of his fur against my bare arm made me jump. I clutched the knife, though I was too weak to raise the blade. “Stay back,” I said. My voice was barely audible above the blood rushing in my ears. “I just need a moment to rest.”
But he came closer. I could smell his musty scent, like tartan and unwashed man.
“You are unwell.” The warm moisture of his breath misted my neck.
“I’m only dizzy. It will pass.” My fingers squeezed the tender flesh inside my elbow.
The thick pads of his fingers grazed my forearm, turning my elbow gently. The knife in my weak hand flopped uselessly. I closed my eyes.
He ran a finger down the inside of my arm. There was something familiar yet perverse about his touch. A creature like him shouldn’t exist and yet here we were, in the solitude of the trees.
He sniffed my arm. Something wet and warm nicked at the pinprick.
I jerked my eyes open. He’d licked me. The shock brought me back to my senses.
He’d licked me.
“Let me go!” I pulled away.
“The doctor’s medicine,” he said.
“Yes.” I clutched my inner elbow. My mouth hung open, searching for words. “Just keep going.”
He’s an animal, I reminded myself. Dangerous.
“As you wish.” He nodded.
I kept more distance between us as he led me deeper into a valley. There were only more trees, more vines, as far as I could see. We entered a copse of fernlike trees taller than my head. As his figure faded in and out of the wispy green fronds, I drifted farther back and farther still, until he was just a shadow far ahead.
Then I turned. I didn’t know if he’d been taking me to the compound or not. I didn’t know if he was the murderer or not.
I didn’t intend to find out.
Using his calculated, silent steps, I vanished into the jungle.
Twenty-three
I WALKED FOR HOURS. Maybe less. Maybe more. The jungle rose around me like a fortress of tree and stone. Through the canopy breaks I glimpsed the volcano’s ever-present plume of smoke drifting up, up, into the sky.
After a while, I detected the smell of a campfire. It wove into my hair and clothes, pulling me forward until I heard a faint hammering noise. The trees opened ahead into a clearing. I pushed aside the high grass and found myself on the edge of a village.
I immediately covered my nose. The smell of smoke only thinly covered an overpowering stench of rotting food and dirty animals. A few sloppy thatched huts sat at the village’s edge, with dirt paths running between them. Rats dug through piles of decaying food. One hissed as I passed.
I peeked inside a hut’s doorway and glimpsed a few signs of life: a wooden branch shaped into a plow, a tattered cloth pooled in a corner, shriveled onions drying in the rafters.
The pounding began again, making me jump. It wasn’t hammering, I realized, but drumming. As I moved closer, I heard chatter and grunts. One droning voice rose above the rest.
I wasn’t sure if I should hide or show myself. I didn’t trust the islanders, but at least these lived some semblance of normal life in a village, not like Jaguar. I slunk along the next path until I could glimpse the village center. Dozens of islanders clustered, feet kicking clouds of dirt, hands swaying in the air. Most were dressed like Jaguar, in ragged blue canvas, though some women wore faded cloths wrapped around them. They all moved with stilted steps and hunched shoulders.
Seeing so many—a whole village—made it seem inconceivable that my father had actually made them. I couldn’t deny they were unnatural. But to fabricate something as complex as a man who spoke and danced and dressed in trousers . . . it was impossible.
The crowd parted slightly. In their midst stood a tall man with a powerful set of elk antlers growing out of his tawny-colored hair. My mouth fell open. The odd tusk or horn on the other creatures looked malformed, but this being’s antlers looked perfectly suited to him as he held his head and arms high, blood-red robes dragging in the dirt. He was the chanter. His voice droned like beetles. At his side was a boy no higher than my waist. It was Cymbeline, though the wilderness had robbed him of his sweetness. His eyes locked on to me and he pointed.
They all turned. Their faces were things of nightmares. One of them, I thought, might even be a murderer.
Run, my body urged, but it was too late. They had already swarmed me, dirty hands reaching for my hair and pulling at my clothes. They dragged me into their midst. The antlered man raised his staff, silencing their wild chatter.
“Her hand,” he commanded.
Beside me was a slanting-eyed, bald woman with oddly translucent skin that seemed to reflect sunlight. She splayed my hand with four smooth, strong fingers. I tried to jerk away, repulsed.
“A five-finger woman,” he said.
The woman hissed, revealing a snake’s forked tongue. A python, I thought. That’s where I’d seen that skin before. The boar-faced man beside her was also missing one digit on each finger, as were the two dingy children who pulled at my skirt. Everyone was, except the tall man in the robes whose five fingers were long and stiff and covered in a thick, coarse hair.
“A five-finger woman!” he bellowed, and the crowd pressed closer. Their sour breaths turned my stomach. My illness grappled at me, making me weak, knotting my insides.
“Who are you?” I asked the robed man.
“Caesar,” the python-woman hissed, petting my sleeve with strong fingers.