Page 69 of King Among the Dead

White light seemed to emanate from his skin; it poured out of his eyes so they looked like beacons, like searchlights. She thought that if she were to touch his skin, it would feel as hot as a running car engine.

This, then, was the conduit. The man Daniel said to be the host of the angel Gabriel.

Castor smiled down at the gathered dealers and thugs below him. “I’d like to assume that no introduction was necessary,” he said, chuckling again, projecting his voice so that it carried, and echoed off the metal of the huge space. “But I’m not quite so vain as that.” He pressed a hand to his breast with a demure expression. “I’m Tony Castor, and you’re all here tonight because you’ve been selected as excellent examples of our retail business.”

A darted glance at Beck proved his jaw was set, and his eyes blazed, gaze pinned on Castor with undiluted hatred.

“Tonight,” Castor continued, “you have a rare opportunity: the chance to watch the production process up close and personal.

“All of you have been selling our most in-demand product: heavensent. Everyone wants to escape for a while. To kiss heaven. And tonight you will see it made.” He gestured to the man – the conduit – beside him. “At the hands of our most esteemed Daniel.”

The conduit didn’t acknowledge the low, awed murmuring that followed.

“Daniel, if you would.” Castor made an elaborate gesture.

One of the death squad stepped forward and produced a bottle from inside his jacket. Held it out, as if in offering.

Slowly, Daniel lifted his hand, produced a knife with the other, and sliced his own wrist. His tipped his hand so that blood pooled in his palm, and he poured it neatly, in a dark, viscous string, into the bottle. The glow around him seemed to pulse.

When the bottle was mostly full, Daniel placed two fingers against the wound in his wrist; the light swelled, and the slice healed, as if it had never been.

The guard carried the bottle down the stairs with slow, courtly grace. He had sharp, handsome features, and his short, dark hair was trying to curl in the remnants of steam, a touch of softness across his forehead, where the rest of his face was nothing but hard angles.

The dealers parted at the foot of the stairs – not in deference, but in a mad scramble to avoid touching the guard, and the bottle he carried. Some stumbled; some fell over one another.

The guard walked across the wide factory floor, drawing step-backs and wary glances from the workers who’d been tending the lines. Walked all the way over to a vat, and upended the bottle into it.

More steam rose, immediately, boiling and black, then white. A whir, a chug, and the assembly lines started up again, everything waterwheeling, and turning, and stirring, and working to create the poison that sent humans into oblivion.

“Never call this a drug,” Castor said, making a face. “This isn’t a sin. This is us mere mortals being touched by thedivine.” He lifted both hands overhead, triumphant, beaming.

The great vat tipped, and the liquid it poured onto the sluice was molten and golden, glowing. Heaven made physical. It chugged down the line, and wound up in another vat, this one stirred.

“Now,” Castor said, clapping his hands together, the sound thunderous despite the new noise of the machinery. Rose wondered if some sort of magic projected his voice; if conduits were real – which she could now see – and their blood was this powerful, then surely they could assist with something simple as voice projection. “This demonstration will require a volunteer.”

The bodyguard who’d poured the blood into the vat moved toward the crowd of dealers, and one of his friends came down to assist. They looked them over like cattle headed for auction: assessing, up-and-down scrutiny, knocking feet apart, tipping caps back off foreheads. One looked especially sickly, pale and sweating, hollow-eyed; he looked like a dealer who sampled his own product too often.

The two guards converged on him, and he realized too late what was happening. Tried to scramble. “No, no–” But he was slow, unsteady, and they took him easily by the arms. Propelled him up the stairs; he tripped, and stumbled, and the light caught the sheen of tears coursing down his cheeks. He didn’t look like he was resisting anymore, but like his legs were too wobbly to support him.

The knot in Rose’s stomach tightened as she watched. She didn’t know what would be done to this man – thisvolunteer– exactly, but she knew it wasn’t going to be good. Was already half-sick in anticipation of it.

Beck vibrated beside her.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Castor said, still smiling, when the dealer was maneuvered into position in front of him. “Daniel?”

The conduit stepped forward, face totally blank, and stared at the dealer a long moment, while the dealer shook and fought back sobs.

“Will he do?” Castor asked. Still projecting his voice – he wanted everyone to hear this exchange, though Rose couldn’t understand why.

“Yes.” The conduit’s voice was eerily hollow and monotone. It didn’t sound like a voice that could be produced by the physical body from which it came.

“Please–” the dealer began.

The conduit struck. So quickly the movement was a blur, but suddenly his hand wasinsidethe dealer’s stomach, and the dealer was screaming.

Rose watched, slack-jawed, as the dealer threw back his head, and his scream tapered off – and he seemed to shrivel. His skin grew dry, and stretched-tight, and he crumpled like paper. Folded in himself, until he was a husk – and the husk collapsed, leaving a pile of greasy clothes and ashes.

The conduit’s hand hovered in the air, red with blood and viscera. The glow around it swelled, pulsed, and the gore fizzled away with a last burst of white fire. Clean now, Daniel curled his hand into a fist, and pulled it up to his chest. Closed his eyes, and breathed a moment.

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