Page 104 of Spit

I tried to catch Quinn’s eyes several times, even just to ask what was happening, but the demon wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Did he think he had taken advantage of me? Did he regret what we did?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about grinding on a demon while drugged with gluttony, but I didn’t regret it. Quinn belonged in the same mental box as Legion and the other stewards. I had seen his past, and he had been the only thing keeping me sane when it felt like the walls of my cell were closing in. It would have been easy for the demon to take advantage of me. To blame the drugs for his actions and totake take takelike every other man I had met before coming to the Red City.

Quinn had worked his way under my skin. A problem I couldn’t solve.

Maybe it was the drugs lingering, or perhaps it was the bonds that connected him to the others, but I felt as if we were kindred. Both of us trapped, both alone.

“Ms. Boudaire.”A tinny voice called out over the intercom, interrupting the alarm. “Please face the wall and place your hands behind your back. Project Delta, please remain in position, or you will be tranquilized.”

“Project Delta?” I turned to Quinn, my brows arched. “What does that even mean?”

Quinn sighed and rubbed his cherubic face. “They don’t use names, not for the demons. It humanizes us too much. It's easier to justify cruelty when your victim doesn’t have a name.”

“Like a cow heading to slaughter,” I muttered.

“Precisely.” Quinn made a show of turning around and placing his spread hands against the wall. His shoulders were corded muscle. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “They want Legion. Don’t let them get him.”

I turned around, facing the wall, with my hands behind my back. I’d never been arrested, but working security meant I had watched my fair share of arrests when someone got rowdy at a bar while I was working the door. I mimicked the posture I had seen the repeat offenders adopt as I waited.

“Why do they want Legion so badly?” I murmured to myself.

“I have a feeling that you know.” Quinn’s voice was quiet, hoping we wouldn’t be overheard. “You knew about the bond. You know why and how the seven of us are connected. Legion is the lynchpin. If he is gone, then we all fall.”

“Who would want to get rid of the stewards?” I wondered, not expecting an answer.

The door swished open before Quinn could give me an answer. I kept my head down, so they didn’t see me as a threat. It was always better to observe. To gather information before acting. To make people think you were weak and uninteresting until the right moment.

They could think they’d broken my spirit. Drugged me to the gills and let a demon loose on me in a confined space. They could think I was cowed. It was part of my plan.

Then I’d make my move.

Something clicked behind my back, locking my wrists together. Two orderlies in port-wine red scrubs led me away from the cell. They held my biceps but made no effort to drag me, trusting that I would walk on my own two feet.

I cataloged every door, corridor, and sign we passed as they led me through the sterile building. The walls were painted white, and the floor was a sickly green; the orderlies wore rubber shoes that squeaked against the linoleum.

My feet were bare, and the floor was cold, but I didn’t complain. I kept my head down and let my pink but greasy hair fall on my face as I glanced through the strands. There were no exit signs; the orderlies had security IDs with barcodes but no photos.

We got into an elevator and rode all the way to the top. Real-life sunlight made my eyes squint, and my head pounded as soon as we stepped out. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed being outside after being trapped under fluorescents for a few days.

The building seemed to have changed as we climbed higher, from the basement labs and glass box cells to the plush carpet so thick that it swallowed the edges of my feet. The mahogany bookcases looked older than the continental US.

I was led straight to an office. The sign on the door simply said CEO: CECIL PHAGIA.

I had never heard the name before. Legion hadn’t even mentioned Happy Cow with more than a passing comment. He’d seemed to think they had left the Red City entirely and were no longer operational save for a skeleton staff—that obviously wasn’t the case.

The orderlies pushed me over the threshold, not staying around for more than a moment before they slammed the door behind them and locked it. The back of a leather executive chair was the only clue that someone else was in the room. The windows were floor to ceiling, showing an expansive but tumultuous sky. Rolling dark clouds, broken only by the lights of the skyscrapers surrounding the Happy Cow building. Like little candles in lanterns made of concrete and steel.

“A marvel. Isn’t it?” A deep voice called out, the words muffled, as if whoever spoke had their mouth full. My stomach gurgled in response to the idea of food, and I ground my fist into my belly, hoping the pressure would stop the twinge of pain.

I said nothing, leaving the stranger's question unanswered.

Hunger. I was startled at the realization. I looked to my feet, finding not one shadow but two. My shoulders slumped with relief that I hadn’t expected to feel. My shadow was back. I had backup.

I had never been so happy to see my hungry counterpart.

The chair spun around as if making some grand reveal. A bald man with bags under his eyes indicated he needed more sleep than he was getting. His white shirt was marked in several places with spaghetti sauce. His fingers were yellow with nicotine stains.

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