Page 60 of Equalizer
“That depends,” Humphries replied. “My earlier efforts were a learning curve, and I refined my technique. Having good source materials makes a big difference.”
Source materials. Stolen parts from people’s bodies.
“It also depends on the age and health of the recipient as well as that of the donor,” he went on. “But if all the aspects are positive, the attachment can last for quite some time. The oldest ones still functioning are over a year old. I don’t know yet what the outer limit is.”
The donor dies and the limb is only good for a year, maybe a little more. The recipient could have lived reasonably well as an amputee without requiring a murder. Seems like a bad bargain.
“I can guess what you’re thinking—too high a price for too short a time,” Humphries guessed his unspoken judgment. “The people who get another year or more of having a working hand or foot don’t think so. This world isn’t kind to people who can’t do for themselves.”
“When the limb fails, what then?” His agent training couldn’t pass up the chance to learn more, even though he suspected Humphries’s willingness to brag came from his certainty that Calvin wouldn’t leave alive.
“I’m working on that,” Humphries said. “The trick is to remove the new part before it goes septic and infection killsthe recipient. But as the reattachment process and the magic supporting it become more sophisticated, I’m confident we can overcome that issue. Maybe even have a part last for the rest of the recipient’s lifespan.”
Technically, if the new part goes bad and kills the person, it did last for the rest of the recipient’s lifespan. The span is just shorter than advertised.
“What’s in it for your witch?” Calvin ignored the throbbing pain in his head. He hated being drugged, although he allowed that it was probably better than being hit over the head.
“All the usual things,” Humphries replied. “Money. Notoriety. Access to rich, grateful patrons. Bragging rights. It’s certainly not something that just any witch could do.”
“You’ve got a tame necromancer?”
“Hardly. Avery is a colleague, an equal partner. He’s a visionary who sees how magic and medicine can work together.” Humphries’s passionate tone was a shift from his earlier clinical coolness. “Right now, medicine and magic stand divided by prejudice on both sides. Can you imagine the possibilities if that barrier was broken down? Accredited doctors who are also skilled witches, practicing their full abilities in the open, without fear of being persecuted.”
Because witch doctors have such a good reputation.
“Being the pet of the Conti Family isn’t big enough for you?” Calvin figured he had little to lose by keeping Humphries talking since it forestalled his death and gave Owen the ghost of a chance to come to his rescue.
Humphries laughed. “Luca Conti doesn’t have the balls to be my patron. That hag who runs his coven has all kinds of Catholic compunctions about bringing what was dead back to life. Rich, isn’t it, considering Easter?”
“So who? Someone looking to knock the Contis down a peg? The Russo-Lombardi faction?” he guessed, remembering the conversation with Louisa the previous night.
“The world is changing, and people who can’t change with it will be left behind.” Humphries had continued to stitch his patient as he talked. The man remained unconscious, but Calvin saw his chest continue to rise and fall. “The Russos aren’t afraid to seize an advantage and use it to their favor. They’ll be the top of the Chicago Mob, and I’ll make sure their soldiers are nearly unkillable.”
Nice fantasy and probably made a great pitch to your patron. Delivering on it could be a real bitch.
Calvin shifted on his chair. His bonds didn’t give him much leeway, but the slight movement was enough to let him know that the thin saw blade hidden in the waistband of his pants was still there. He thought he could work it loose with his fingers. He just needed time to cut through the ropes to free himself before Humphries made him the next project.
I’ll give escaping my best shot, but the odds are slim. And if Humphries’s witch shows up, I’m out of luck.
I wonder if Owen has realized yet that I’ve been taken? And if he does, will he rush in half-cocked to rescue me and play into Humphries’s plans?
They had come so far, learning to trust and letting down long-held barriers. Both of them had old scars that healed slowly, damage from the past, but they had brought out the best in each other. Their relationship was still new, but their bond was already surprisingly intense.
Owen will blame himself for my death and Steven’s. It’s not his fault, but he’ll never believe that. Will he quit the service? Can Winston stay with him, or will he be reassigned?
Calvin thought back to leaving the train car that morning, glad they had kissed and traded endearments.At least Owenknows I love him, and I hope he knows I’d never leave him if I had a choice. We haven’t had nearly enough time together, but I’ve tried to tell him how much he means to me. I wanted a lifetime. It doesn’t look like we’re going to get that. I’m sorry, Owen.
If we got lucky, we could have eventually retired together or done something less risky. Other agents manage. We can’t marry, but we could make our own vows, pledge the rest of our lives together.
Looks like the rest of my life is going to be far too short.
Calvin swallowed hard, steeling his nerves and keeping his face impassive, determined not to show any weakness or fear. He wouldn’t give Humphries that win, even though inside he felt cold with terror.
How does he intend to kill me? Probably depends on what parts he wants to take. I imagine a bullet to the head would be too kind. To the heart? Or maybe slitting my throat? Does it matter how much blood I lose before he cuts off whatever pieces he wants?
The thought of Owen finding him like that, not just dead but mutilated, filled Calvin with remorse.I shouldn’t have gone to the library without backup, knowing what was going on. Should have waited for Winston or Owen.
I took precautions. Humphries just got the drop on me. And now Owen pays a price as well.
