A Web of Steam & Puppet Strings (Sevastyan #1)

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

She leaned against her desk disarmingly, dressed down from her queen-like status into simple baggy jodhpur pants, suspenders, and a basic shirt and collar. She had left her hair down, socially forbidden. The white makeup, gone. The formal posture, wrecked. She was another person entirely, and I would have thought her a morbidly accurate imposter to the real Isidora if not for that familiar cryptic smile she aimed at me.

The sharp corners of her eyes crinkled. "Hello, Sevastyan."

Every instinct inside me screamed to run, but I knew there was no point now.

No. She was here. She was right in front of me. The woman who had used me and everyone else inside the Chamber as some sick science experiment. We were her test subjects. Her toy soldiers.

I could end her now.

"I know what you're thinking." She pushed away from the desk, hands pocketed, and took idle steps toward her hidden machine. She had the gall to turn her back on me, as if I was no threat. "You're thinking this is your chance. Here's the woman who's twisted and manipulated you and your, well...I don't suppose I could call them 'friends', could I? How about...fellow subjects?" She whirled around on the ball of her faded leather work-boot and faced me again, eyes narrowed, smile darker. "Here she is, and you're ready to end her."

Good. At least we were both on the same page.

I started for her, ready to rip that smile from her face—but her hand lifted, stopping me cold.

"Before you pull such an unequivocally senseless act, my gorgeous two-zero-two, take a moment. You are a Tangible, after all, and Tangibles think before they act, don't they? They consider every option, weigh every repercussion versus every gain. You're a rooted boy. More rooted than the usual Tangibles because you lean more toward Mother Earth than most. It's in your blood to listen and speak to her." She pocketed her hand again, tilted her head in almost a conversational way, a gesture Katya might do for Eliza when flirting to show off her long expanse of bare neck. "Obviously, I knew you were coming. Do you not think me rational enough to plan accordingly?"

It took all my power not to hiss and spit like a feral cat at her, but I couldn't deny my puffy fur or arched back. "Do you really want to know what I think of you?"

"Oh, tut-tut, you naughty child." She chuckled, and then guided her long, dark hair from the smooth curve of where her neck met her shoulder. "Save me the enlightening, I can already see it in your burning eyes. Hate in all its forms is quite beautiful, passionate, and the amount you've developed for me over the past few nights is extraordinary."

She absorbed me, studied me, from my face to the bulging veins and tendons in my tense body, from my posture, even down to the placement of my feet. I was a specimen to her, here for observation.

She had intended for me to show myself here, in her secret workroom, alone as I was.

She had lured me here.

She took on a more relaxed stance. "Anya must have told you at some point that I'm a physicist, and it's true. I am. But I dabble in mathematics and neurosciences as well. I know which part of the brain makes you sweat, hungry, sleep—which you haven't been, by the looks of you, and I apologize for that. Just as well, I know that part of the brain is in control of memory."

Memory.

Or the lack thereof.

"It's a shame, really," she continued, "an unfortunate side-effect of tampering with the prefrontal cortex, but every victory has its losses. As long as the specimens are sustainable, I say the gains are worthy enough, don't you?"