House Immortal (10 page)

Most of the little monsters found an apple to hug and bob along with. I finished throwing the rest of the fruit in there. It should keep them out of the neighbors' crops for a month.

“That's a lot of apples,” he said.

“Just being practical. If I'm going into the city with you, I want things tied down here so it's not chaos when I come back.”

He made a
hm
sound.

“What?” I wadded up the burlap bag and tucked it under the pitchforks in the truck.

“I can't guarantee you'll be back here any time soon.” He got into the truck. I got in too.

“I don't need your guarantee. I can negotiate my own life, thank you.”

“You'll be claimed by House Gray.”

The lights on the old truck cut a watery yellow swath through the creeping dusk as we made our way to the barn.

“Yes. And I'm sure House Gray will want me to do . . . something for them.” I glanced over at him, looking for a clue as to what they might want me for.

“Something,” he agreed.

Not helpful. Okay. Fine.
“After I do that, I'll come back here. Home. Where I belong.”

“You're galvanized. You belong to a House.”

“I have a House.”

“House Brown? That loosely connected group of drifters, failures, and malcontents doesn't count.”

“You fought for those malcontents once, Mr. House Gray.”

“I've never stopped,” he said. “I just know when to change tactics. Do you understand that out of all the experiments, trials, and advances over the past two centuries
no one
has succeeded in creating a new galvanized?”

“Well, there's me.”

“Yes. There's you. Unregistered, un-Housed—and Brown doesn't count,” he said before I could argue. “Until this morning, unknown to any of us. If you are made different enough to feel, then an awful lot of people will go to extremes to find out just what makes you tick.”

“What, like showing up on my doorstep, bleeding and claiming I need protection on nothing but a message from a long-dead parent? Didn't think I was all that special.”

“I didn't say she was alive. Just that we had a message from her. And
rare
is the term I'd use.”

“Well,
rare
doesn't mean I'm going to roll over and let a House tell me what to do. I stand with Brown.”

He grit his back teeth together so hard, the muscle at his jaw popped out.

I pulled up in front of the barn, which was set just a short ways off from the house, and wondered if he was the yelling type.

“How many friends?” Abraham asked, not yelling.

“Are malcontents?”

“How many of your friends are in the path of the heavy equipment?”

“A dozen families,” I said.

“Tell them to pack and leave. It's the safest thing to do.”

“They won't listen. It's their land and they intend to stay.”

“How far out are the machines?”

“Thirty miles. There's still time.”

“For what?”

I licked dust off my bottom lip. “Neds have reminded me that you are not on our side, Mr. House Gray. The deal was for you to answer my questions, not the other way around.”

“Neds don't know me.”

“Neither do I.”

He said something under his breath in that language I didn't understand, pushed open the door, and started pacing.

I walked over to the fence attached to the barn and let myself into the pen.

“Do you want my help?” he finally asked.

“Will it mean I owe you a favor?”

“It means I can buy your friends some time.”

“They don't want time. They want their homes.”

He leaned his elbows against the top of the fence, his boot hooked up on the lowest rail, as he stared at the chickens running around at my feet. He looked comfortable in that pose, natural to this kind of life, and handsome enough that needful fire spread out through me again.

What was wrong with me? We had just been arguing. I shouldn't be thinking about what his touch would feel like, about what his lips would feel like against my skin.

Irritated. That's how he made me feel. I ignored him and my own body and everything else about today that
was driving me mad, and checked the automatic grain feeder instead.

“Those aren't chickens,” he said after a bit.

“They're part chicken.”

“And part lizard?”

“Lizard neck and tail. Bat wings.” I tested the water trough, and then shooed away the hissing flock so I could unlatch the gate.

“Mythology would call them cockatrice,” he noted.

“Fancy. We call them chickens.”

“It's the Fesslers' place, is it?” he said.

That stopped my breathing for a second.

“How do you know the Fesslers?”

“As you pointed out, the galvanized began House Brown. I knew old Gertie Fessler. She claimed a patch of desert around those parts. If her descendants are anything like her, they are pigheaded and devil-tempered. And you're right. They'd rather stand ground and die.”

“That's nice to hear,” I said.

“What?”

“That I'm right.”

A smile crept up the corners of his mouth. “About the Fesslers.”

“About everything.”

“Odds are against you there.”

“I've never been afraid of playing the odds, Mr. House Gray. Now let's go get some dinner.”

The first to fall under the scientist's knife was a man who had survived the Wings of Mercury. When he, the undead, took his first breath, they knew the experiment had not failed completely.—1914

—from the journal of L.U.C.

W
e left the truck where it was and walked up to the house. My feet had been running these paths since I was just a child, and I knew every bend and rock and rise.

Abraham didn't have the same luck. But for a man who insisted he couldn't feel his feet—or any other part of him—he did a remarkably good job of not stumbling.

We stomped mud off our boots before letting ourselves into the kitchen.

The light was turned down low, but a loaf of fresh-cut bread and a pot of roast and vegetables were left on the table, along with a note.

“Secret admirer?” Abraham turned to wash his hands in the sink.

I picked up the note. “Farmhand.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What romantic-nonsense age did you come from where a note has to be from an admirer? Wait—don't answer that, Mr. 1492.”

He chuckled. “Did he quit?”

“Neds wouldn't quit on a note. He just said Grandma turned in for the night and so did he.”

“That all?” He dried his hands on the towel, watching me.

It wasn't all. Neds had also said he didn't know what had taken us so long to feed the animals, nor what else we might have been doing. Plus, he said he hadn't found anything useful in the basement. Which meant we had a big fat zero for ideas on how to stop House Red.

“That's all.” I crumpled the note and shoved it in my pocket. “Make yourself a sandwich. I'll put on water for tea.”

I traded places with him, washed my hands, and filled the pot with water before placing it on the stove. We cooked with electricity, since the pump house generated more than enough for our small farm.

Abraham wasn't shy about putting a sandwich together. He sat at the table and was a few bites into it by the time I put down two mugs and poured water over the mint and chamomile.

I made a sandwich and sat at the table with a sigh.

“Rough day?” he asked, piling some vegetables on his plate.

“I've had worse. Much worse.” I took a bite and rolled my eyes at the flavor that burst through my mouth. Neds could cook, and even simple meals were a feast when he put his mind to it.

And he had cooked to impress tonight.

“For instance?” he pressed, already making up a second sandwich.

“Well, nobody died today. That's a plus. How's your wound?”

He swallowed tea and nodded. “Better than it should be. I don't suppose you'd sell me some of that jelly?”

“You couldn't afford it, Mr. House Gray.”

“I bet I could.”

“You mean your House could. It's not nice of you to promise fortunes that aren't yours.”

“I never said I was nice,” he said. “And I never promise anything I can't deliver. Even though House Gray claims me—”

“Owns you,” I corrected over my tea.

“—I am my own man. I can make my own promises and I can keep them.”

“You're working awfully hard to make me trust you.”

“Is it working?” he asked.

“Here's an idea,” I said. “Why don't you go back to House Gray and tell them there's nothing out here but brush and dirt, and there's no reason for any other House or my father's old enemies to come looking?”

“Even if I did that, it wouldn't change things. By now the other Houses have obtained your mother's message. Old enemies might be the least of your worries.”

“Ominous, Mr. House Gray.” I pushed the last bite of my sandwich in my mouth and dusted my hands.

“Are you allergic to it?” he asked.

“What?”

“Saying my name.”

I paused over my tea. He was watching me, taking in the details of me again, like I was a photo fading all too quickly before his eyes.

“First names seem too friendly, since I've only known you for a day. You laughed at me when I called you Mr. Seventh.” I shrugged.

“Vail,” he said.

“What?”

“It's my true last name. Though I'd prefer you didn't use it around company or strangers.”

“Why not? Are you ashamed of it?”

He sat back, shook his head. “I forget how young you are, Matilda. That”—he held up one hand before I could defend myself—“isn't a slight. It's just . . .” He glanced over my shoulder, staring at the nothing in the shadows
there. “Abraham Vail is a name from a life lived long ago.” His gaze shifted back to me. “It was a good life. And it is a good name.”

“All right,” I said. “Mr. Vail. I hope you don't mind my manners, but I'm going to turn in early too.”

We finished eating. Abraham cleared the dishes, and I put the roast and veggies away in the cold box and wrapped the bread so it wouldn't go stale.

“Nice job on the floor, by the way,” I said as we walked into the living room.

“You're welcome,” he said. “It's been . . . interesting. Good night, Miss Case.” He gave me a nod that was almost a bow, then walked down to his room.

Yes, I stared after him. I was having a hard time remembering he wasn't on our side, wasn't to be trusted. Especially since he hadn't done anything untrustworthy all day.

Well, he'd showed up with drones tagging his location. But he'd called them off and had been mostly reasonable. If you didn't count the whole thing about me having to leave my family home and get claimed by a House if I didn't want to lose everything I'd spent my life fighting for.

I sighed and scrubbed my fingers over my scalp. I was tired, but took a second and peeked into Grandma's room. She was sleeping, the little sheep snuggled around her, that ridiculously long scarf she'd been knitting draped over the foot of the bed like a wooly coverlet.

Down the hall, Abraham's door closed with a
click
.

Grandma was sleeping, Neds were sulking, and I had a stranger who was the eyes and ears of one of the most powerful ruling organizations in the world bedding down in the spare room.

Not to mention fifty people out in the desert counting on me to save their homes.

I'd catch a couple hours of sleep, then head back down to the basement and see if I couldn't dig up a miracle.

I stripped out of my coat, my overalls, and my shirt, leaving them all in a pile on the willow chair in the corner of the room. I needed a shower, and tromped off to take one in the little bathroom on this side of the hall.

I didn't linger in the hot water, but instead scrubbed the dirt and dried blood off me, then toweled off quick. I pulled on a tank top and a pair of shorts and walked down to my room and crawled under my covers, shivering a little from the cool sheets.

Three deep breaths was all I got before the bell rang out. Not just one little jingle like earlier today; this was nonstop clanging.

Something was going very wrong with someone in House Brown.

I kicked out of my covers and ran for the basement door.

Neds were already running up from the basement—he must have decided to sleep on the cot down there tonight. He flicked the alarm off, but was breathing a little hard at the top of the stairs.

“It's the Fesslers,” Right Ned said.

“What happened?”

Abraham was right behind me—still in his breeches—but barefoot and shirtless.

“This isn't your concern,” Left Ned said, pulling on the door so Abraham couldn't see behind him.

“What happened?” I asked again.

“They've sent air support. They're being bombed.”

Oh, shit.
“Are they running? Are they evacuating?”

“No.”

“Let me talk to them,” Abraham said.

“Step back,” Left Ned warned.

“Can you stop it?” I asked. “Can you call them off? Call off the bombing?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit,” Right Ned said.

“Do it,” I said to Abraham.

“Matilda,” Left Ned warned.

“He's doing it.”

Neds moved out of the way, and I ran down the stairs, Abraham then Neds behind me.

Abraham pulled up short at the bottom of the stairs. “Hell's hooks. This is beautiful . . .”

“What do you need?” I stood between my workstation and Quinten's, the screens and equipment stacked around and above me.

“Do you have a slip link?”

“Yes. Here.” I held the earpiece out for him.

He took half a second to scan the equipment we had rigged up, took the piece, slipped it over his ear, and tapped into the old keyboard, his fingers flying.

“Get me coordinates,” he said.

“Do it!” I called to Neds as I patched into every line I had for the Fessler compound. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chanted through clenched teeth.

The monitors were locked on the compound, which was a mess of fire and smoke in the dark of night. I didn't see anyone moving around down there, which didn't mean they were dead, but didn't mean they were alive either.

“This is Abraham Seventh of House Gray,” he said into the microphone, while keying in a string a codes that I wished I had time to memorize. “You are to cease your activities immediately. This contract is canceled until further notice. Abort.”

The old cell line clicked to life and a voice picked up. “Matilda?” It was Braiden Fessler.

“Get out of there, Braiden. Now.”

“This is our home.”

“If you don't run, it's going to be your grave.”

An explosion rattled through the connection.

“Where will we go?” he yelled. “There is nothing for us.”

I snapped my fingers, and Neds came over to join me at the feeds. We'd worked together enough that I didn't
even have to tell him to pull up the closest, safest homesteads that would shelter the Fessler crew.

“Got it,” Right Ned said. “Pocket of Rubies is just to the west of them, and looking for more hands. They could shelter there.”

“Braiden?” I said, “are you still with me?”

Nothing but static. All the screens locked, blinked down to black, then powered up again.

“What the hell?” I said. Our system had never faltered. Never.

A man's face came into focus on the screen, too large at first, then pulling away as if he were adjusting a camera to catch his image. He was in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper curly hair and small, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his round nose beneath thick eyebrows. His skin was fair, his eyes small and bright, and from the scruffy beard and mustache, he looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two.

“This is Oscar Gray,” he said in a pleasant tenor. “Abraham, would you care to explain why you used House authority—without my approval—to cancel the manpower contract with House Red?”

Dammit all.
The last thing we needed was another House getting involved. And we certainly didn't need the head of House Gray involved.

Abraham had taken off the earpiece and walked around to stand in front of the main screen next to me. Neds took care to step off into the shadows where he wouldn't be seen. But it was too late for me, so I just stood my ground.

“There is a settlement in the line of their construction,” Abraham said.

Oscar frowned. “Are you sure? There are no records of House registration.”

“House Brown,” he said.

Oscar took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Abraham . . .”

“Children,” Abraham said. “Families.”

Oscar nodded. “How many?”

“Fifty people. They can be relocated.”

“Why aren't they already relocated? I'm sure notice was served, surveys were done.”

“They can be out of there in three days,” Abraham said.

Neds, in the shadows, swore softly.

“I can't give them three days. They have tonight.”

“Thank you,” Abraham said.

Oscar pointed one thick finger at the monitor. “You've put me in a uncomfortable position. Aranda Red is just looking for a reason to give my brother support, and you've handed her a breach of contract. She'll roast me alive.”

“Maybe not,” Abraham said. “They were running night crews. We agreed to provide the manpower only for day construction, if I'm not mistaken.”

Oscar's eyebrows ticked up. “You're never mistaken, but I'll look into it. It's not much of a reason to cancel all the workforce for House Red in North America, but it's something.”

“All the workforce?” I asked. “It's only one small construction site.”

I knew Oscar had seen me when he'd first patched into our systems. But now he turned so he was addressing just me.

“You must be the daughter, Case.”

“I am,” I said, because, seriously? There was no hiding now.

“Abraham can explain it to you,” he said absently, “but if we are to pull entire crews off a job at a moment's notice, we must suspend all workers on all contracts with that particular House until the matter is satisfactorily resolved.”

“I didn't know,” I said.

“Of course you didn't.” He gave me a small smile. “Abraham, on the other hand, knew full well.”

“Children, Oscar,” Abraham repeated.

“I know, I know.” Oscar waved his hand. “I'll take care of Aranda. In return,” he said with a nod toward me, “you and Ms. Case will return to Gray Towers immediately, please.”

“I can't leave yet—” I started.

“Miss Case,” he said firmly. “You must leave immediately. We've just involved ourselves in a contract dispute with House Red on your behalf, if I'm not mistaken?”

Abraham didn't say anything and neither did I.

In a milder tone, Oscar went on. “Every House will notice the contract dispute. It will take them seconds to trace it back to me, to Abraham, and then to our sudden interest in your property, and finally to you.