Rampant (11 page)

“However, it was much worse than I imagined. And I couldn’t leave. If I wasn’t present, she escaped. No matter how many cages, no matter how many restraints. And I couldn’t watch them do those things to her. Even after what she did.” She swallowed thickly, then said, “I know you don’t believe me.”

It was, in fact, very hard to imagine Cory doing anything other than relishing the experience of watching Bonegrinder suffer. She’d thrown the zhi off a balcony just to watch her squish. She’d shot her in the gut today with nary a thought.

“So I left. And she came with us, our ‘house zhi.’” She let out a little sob. “And I hate myself for not killing her, for not being strong enough to do it myself, strong enough to let
them
do it by inches. And I hate
her
because she couldn’t figure it out. She didn’t know I wished her dead every second. She loved me, and I hated her, and I hurt her, and she
still
loved me. She wouldn’t go away!”

And now the tears did flow. “But you know what I hate most of all? That it’s not true. She
doesn’t
love me. She loves
hunters
—it could be you or Phil or anyone. A hunter. And if not a hunter, then meat. They can’t help it. She didn’t
murder
my mother. None of them did. It was just meat, like wolves after a hare. Like my grandfather and a pheasant.”

Part of me wanted to agree with her, but the other part remembered how the kirin had taunted me, shown me a vision of Giovanni’s gory death. Giovanni wasn’t “just meat” to that unicorn. He was something that belonged to a hunter. But that was a kirin. Maybe the zhi were simpler, as well as tame.

And I didn’t know what to say to comfort Cory, either. In the end, did it make a difference whether her mother was killed by simple wild animals or by magical monsters that knew they were attacking something important to their only known predator? Either way, Sybil Bartoli was dead. Either way, Cory was stuck caring for her killers’ colt.

“So now she doesn’t even love me anymore. I guess I drove her away after all. And she’s not the only one.”

There was a knock on the door. I answered it, and Neil brushed in. He went straight to Cory and enfolded her in his arms, saying nothing at all.

I left the room and closed the door behind me.

We all sat together for dinner that evening. Marten Jaeger had left, citing urgent business, and Lino had packed up his bows and departed. Bonegrinder had completely recovered and was lying at the foot of Phil’s chair, her forelegs curled protectively around what looked like an elephant vertebrae. Cory and Neil had arrived late to the table, both mildly red-eyed but with
pasted-on smiles and hearty appetites. Neil joined the discussion about the afternoon’s archery lesson and Cory remained quiet, though I caught her looking at me enough that I wondered if I should propose a joint trip to the ladies’ room to finish our conversation. In fact, I’d opened my mouth to do so when there was a huge slamming sound against the bronze doors of the rotunda.

“Bloody hell,” Neil grumbled, ripping the napkin off of his lap. “We need to get a lock on that door. Someone grab the beast, then.”

Bonegrinder was already on her feet and shivering. Phil looped a rope around the zhi’s neck, and we all rushed out toward the rotunda.

“Wait!” Dorcas cried as we went. “That’s a big sound. You don’t think a unicorn would actually try to come inside, do you?”

By this time, Phil and Bonegrinder had made it into the rotunda. I was right behind them, and practically tripped over Phil, who had stopped dead.

Just inside the door stood a grungy-looking girl. There were dark, baggy circles under her eyes, her hair was chopped in rough chunks colored a variety of faded-out shades (but mostly black), there were few spots on her face that didn’t sport piercings, and the leather cuffs at her neck, wrists, and waist all had metal spikes sticking out. She was wearing about fourteen layers, torn fishnet stockings, and combat boots. She stood there, pigeon-toed, face downturned, dragging a rucksack with one hand and a half-filled military-issue duffel with the other.

“
Prego
?” Neil asked.

She looked up from between her rough bangs at the gaggle
of figures in front of her and smirked. “They said you feed me.” Her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils were dilated so much you almost couldn’t tell the color of her irises.

“Oh dear,” Cory said, stepping forward. She still held her fork. “You must be mistaken. We’re not that kind of nunnery. There’s a soup kitchen a few blocks from—”

“No!” the girl shouted. “They said
you
feed me!”

I held out my hands, palms up, and moved toward her. “Hi,” I said gently. “What’s your name? I’m Astrid.”

“Val. Valerija Raz.” She glared at me. “I’m hungry.”

“Who, ah—” Neil searched for the right tone. “Who told you to come here?”

She shrugged. “Dunno.”

Cory tried again. “We’d like to help you, but really, there’s some sort of error. We don’t deal with…” she trailed off. I saw her mouth move in question at Neil.
Urchins
?

Whatever. Surely we could spare the girl some pasta. I took another tentative step in her direction. “Hey, Valerija,” I began.

She jumped back. “They said come here!” She reached into her duffel. “They see what I did to
this
.”

She held it aloft by its horn and we all gasped. The midnight dark skin, the brindled coat, the gaping maw, and most of all, the blood that oozed freely from the jagged edge where head had once met neck. A kirin’s head.

Phil grabbed my arm, hard. The kirin was missing one of its yellow eyes. Apparently, not everything regenerated.

Valerija Raz lifted her chin. “They said here is where I belong.”

I
T WASN’T UNTIL
I
SAW
Valerija unpacking her meager and questionable supply of belongings in Philippa’s room that I began to truly appreciate sharing with Cory. At least I never worried that I’d be garroted in my sleep.

Valerija had brought with her a change of clothes, a hubcap, seventeen watches, three knives (one regular, one switchblade, and one Swiss army), a plastic retainer case that rattled like it was filled with pills, a bowl and spoon encrusted with gunk, three paperback books in an alphabet I didn’t recognize, a bottle of perfume, a coat, and a plastic bag filled with snapshots.

Even Phil looked nervous. “How did she kill that thing?” she whispered to me from the door. “Not with a switchblade, that’s for sure.”

“Ask her,” I whispered back, and gave Phil a little push.

Valerija whipped around, eyeing Phil ferociously.

We all backed away. “Maybe I’ll just let you settle in,” Phil said, retreating.

The hunters convened in Zelda and Rosamund’s room. “I’m locking my door,” Rosamund said. “Did you see her knives?”

“Did you see that kirin?” Phil insisted. “How did she kill it with a knife?”

I nodded. “Even if she slit its throat—unlikely, given what we know about Bonegrinder’s rejuvenation capabilities—she’d need something much stronger to saw through the spinal column.”

Cory arrived. “Neil’s still trying to get in touch with Marten. This is so exciting! A completely unknown hunter, coming to us on her own! Has anyone been able to figure out who sent her here?” She looked at Phil.

“And get shivved for our efforts?” Phil asked. “No thanks.” I bit my lip. Truth was, Phil had spent the last ten minutes trying to strike up a conversation with her new roommate and had gotten precisely nowhere.

Cory made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She set her shoulders and marched out.

I stared after her. “Maybe someone should go along, just to make sure…”

“She can look after herself,” Phil said. “Besides, Cory’s the only one who cares where she’s from or what
family
she belongs to. As far as I’m concerned, if she killed a unicorn, that puts her far ahead of most of us.”

“She’s clearly homeless,” said Zelda, “whatever else she might be. I’m curious, though. It’s uncommon that someone in her situation would be also…”

“Eligible
?” Phil said. “Well, don’t judge a book by its cover. We have no idea what her story is.”

“True,” Zelda admitted. “After all, most of the girls I know from work aren’t virgins anymore. They are always surprised when they learn I am.” She looked at Phil. “Why are you?”

Phil shrugged. “I’ve got high standards. There’s no real reason. I’m not saving it for anything special, like my one true love or the person I marry. I just don’t want to sleep with every guy who comes along.”

“I’m Catholic,” Rosamund said. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone but my husband. That’s very difficult for my friends to believe.” She looked at Zelda. “Are you religious, too?”

Zelda ducked her head and walked over to her desk. “No. But everyone thinks that’s the only good reason.”

“True!” Dorcas said. “Whenever someone finds out I’m a virgin, they say it’s only for religious people. And then they try to talk me out of it.”

“My friends say that, too,” I said. “My last boyfriend—I was supposed to sleep with him.”

“
Supposed
to?” Zelda said. “Why?”

Oh, this sounded so idiotic now. “Because he was going to take me to the prom.”

Everyone groaned.

“I know, I know,” I admitted sheepishly. “But it didn’t matter. He got attacked by a zhi.”

“Really!” Rosamund exclaimed. “What happened?”

I explained to them about the Remedy, and how he’d broken up with me after I’d cured him.

“Be glad you didn’t sleep with him!” Phil exclaimed. “Brandt Ellison is bad news. You should have let the zhi finish him off.” She shook her head. “I still haven’t forgiven you for dating him.”

“I broke up with a boy to come here,” Dorcas said. “That’s why I was so sad at first. I loved him, but he wouldn’t sleep with me. He kept telling me he didn’t want to be
The One
. We could do everything but have sex.” She lowered her voice. “He even
wanted to…” She gestured vaguely behind her.

“Gross!” Phil exclaimed. “He’d do that but not the regular kind? What is with guys, seriously?”

“Well, he said that way I couldn’t get pregnant.”

I shuddered. Maybe not pregnant, but all other manner of terrible things.

“Can’t get pregnant with a condom, either.” Melissende said with a snicker. “I hate men. There’s my answer.”

Grace watched us all from her corner. “My father wouldn’t let me see boys. I went to an all-girl school and he was very strict about dating.”

Dorcas sighed. “Well, when you finally do get to meet one, they’ll decide you’re a freak for waiting.”

“I get that a lot, too,” Phil said. “It’s worse since going to college. Apparently, if you haven’t slept with anyone in high school, there’s something wrong with you—you must be saving it for
something
. And no one wants the responsibility.” She laughed. “I couldn’t care less, though. To me, it just proves that if a guy doesn’t want the ‘responsibility’ of being first, he isn’t worthy of being any number at all.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” The words escaped my mouth unbidden.

Phil looked at me, hurt twisting her mouth into a frown. “What do you mean, Asteroid?”

“You were always so pretty and popular in school. If you didn’t sleep with one guy, there were plenty lined up. We don’t all have that.”

Phil blinked. “You’re telling me you dated that slimeball, Brandt—that you would have
slept
with him—because he was the only one who wanted to?”

Everyone was looking at me. I said nothing.

“Because that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard of. Screw those idiots at our high school, Astrid. There are a lot better guys out there. What about those cute boys we met the other day?”

Giovanni and Seth? “The ones who thought we were freaks and ran—
ran
—away from us? Yeah, they’re prime dating material.”

“Well, they were both about ten times cuter than any boy we went to high school with. So don’t judge the entire male species by whatever losers we happened to date back in our hick hometown.”

“What does it matter?” I cried. “We’re not dating anyone anymore. We’re hunters. We’re chaste. It doesn’t matter who we would have slept with or why. If I’d gone ahead and slept with Brandt, I wouldn’t even be here!”

“An Actaeon,” Melissende said. “That’s called an Actaeon.”

“What is?” Dorcas asked.

“The man a hunter has sex with in order to be released from duty.” She pulled another cigarette out of her shirt pocket, looked at it fondly, and sighed. “It was a relatively common situation. Not everyone who
could
be a hunter wanted to be. It was one way to get out of it.”

No surprise there.

Rosamund said, “Actaeon…from the myth? He was the man who surprised the goddess Diana in her bath.”

Melissende nodded.

“But he was killed! Turned into a stag and torn to pieces by his own dogs.”

“The hunters had a different punishment,” Melissende said with a cold smile, “because we had different pets.”

I shivered. “Did they punish the woman, too? Bury her alive like a vestal virgin? Set the zhis on her?”

“What do you think?” Melissende hissed, then lit her cigarette.

Phil held up her hands. “Okay, enough of this talk. People did all kinds of bloodthirsty things in the old days. Inquisitions and torture and throwing folks to lions for sport. But that was then. No one is burying anyone alive around here. Or letting Bonegrinder loose. Understood?”

Dorcas and Rosamund nodded. Zelda rolled her eyes and turned a page in her magazine. Melissende blew out a cloud of smoke and exchanged glances with Grace. “Of course,” she said.

Cory came running in, eyes alight. “She’s a Vasilunas!” She smiled and bounced. “Can you believe it? A Vasilunas. They were supposed to have died out.”

“How does she know?” Phil asked.

“She traced it herself,” Cory said. “The Vasilunases were known for their tracking ability. They were beyond compare when it came to finding unicorns.”

“Oh,” said Melissende. “Like dogs.”

And for the first time, Cory, Phil, and I were in perfect agreement. We all gave Melissende a dirty look.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked Phil for the seventh time.

And for the seventh time, she deferred. “What part of ‘it’s a surprise’ are you having difficulty with?”

“The part where I don’t like surprises. Does Neil know you’re ‘removing one of his hunters from the Cloisters?’” It had been a week and a half since I’d last left the grounds—the night I’d
met Giovanni and attacked the kirin.

She tossed her head and walked on. “Neil and I have an arrangement.” We were in a stunning wooded park in the north of Rome. The afternoon sun slanted through the leaves; birds sang overhead; people walked to and fro with their pet puppies; and all along the path, vendors sold gelato and pastries from carts and stands.

“Really,” I said in disbelief. “And what is that?”

“We both understand that what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“Phil!”

She sighed. “Such a goody-goody. Fine. I told him I needed a more hunting-appropriate wardrobe and that I was taking you shopping with me.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

We went over another rise and into a sunny clearing dominated by a large palace in creamy stone and marble. Knots of people milled around the fountains and steps outside. At the end of the path stood Seth and Giovanni. Seth smiled and waved as soon as we came into view.

I stopped dead.

“Surprise!” Phil said, and tugged harder. “Come on.”

“But—” I trotted at her side. “I thought we were angry at them. They ditched us.”

“Seth called my cell the other day and apologized,” Phil said lightly. “Said he couldn’t stop thinking about me. That Giovanni couldn’t stop talking about
you
. And that they wanted to make it up to us.” She cast a glance at me over her shoulder. “See, there are some very cute, very nice guys who
do
like us. Let’s not go slumming with jerks like Brandt, hmmmm?”

By now, we’d reached the boys, so Phil was spared my response.

“Hey!” Seth said. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show. They’re really strict with entrance times around here.” He started handing out paper tickets.

“Where’s here?” I asked, looking up at the building.

Seth cocked his head toward Giovanni. “Blame the professor and his art fixation. He pulled all kinds of strings to get us these tickets.”

“Did not,” said Giovanni, who had materialized at my side. “I just bothered to call in advance.”

“I like Seth’s story better,” said Phil.

Giovanni turned to me. “It’s the Borghese Gallery, like I told you about last time. There are some amazing pieces inside. Raphael and Bernini. All kinds of stuff. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

I smiled at him, but all I could think of was the look he’d given me after I’d attacked the kirin. The curators opened the doors, and guests with the correct entrance times on their tickets began moving inside. We followed the herd, listening to Phil and Seth chattering away.

“Let’s go upstairs first,” Giovanni said. “Everyone does the ground floor first and it gets crowded.” He led us up a wide spiral staircase done in gilt and marble, different in almost every way from the steep, dark, narrow stairs in the Cloisters.

The first few galleries featured oil paintings of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus on her lap, as well as portraits of famous Italian noblemen and church officials. There was even a set of busts showing Cardinal Scipio Borghese, the famous patron of the arts himself. He was a burly man, with round
cheeks, intelligent eyes, and a very presumptuous air.

“He was pretty ruthless in getting the artwork he wanted,” Giovanni explained. “And because he was a cardinal, he had a lot of power. There was one time that another nobleman had commissioned a painting, and when Borghese saw the artist working on it in his studio, he insisted on being the one to receive it. When the nobleman refused, Borghese set the Inquisition after him until he agreed to give it up.”

I looked at the sculpture before me. The face in the stone seemed almost smug now.

“That’s cool,” Seth said. “I’d like to have that kind of pull.” He took hold of Phil’s hand. “Come with me if you want to live!”

Phil yanked her hand from his and wagged her finger at him. “He was a priest. No girls.”

“Eh, they were all corrupt back then, anyway.” Seth threw his arm around her shoulder and led her across the gallery.

As soon as we were alone, Giovanni fell silent. I waited for him to show me the next piece of art, but he said nothing, just moved forward and started studying the bust from another angle.

Great. He didn’t really want to be here with me. He was just babysitting so Seth could hang out with the girl who
didn’t
chase invisible unicorns.

Seth and Phil wandered out of the room, and I trailed after them, but at the door, I couldn’t tell which of the many rooms jutting off the foyer they’d gone to next. I turned to the right and found myself in the biggest gallery of all. Over a massive fireplace hung an enormous oil painting of the goddess Diana, a crescent moon on her brow, surrounded by a bevy of half-naked girls with bows and arrows. Some were shooting at
targets, others splashed with their hounds in a clear pool, and still others carried in their prey, tied to sticks slung over their shoulders. I stopped dead and just stared.

“It’s Diana and the Hunters,” Giovanni said from behind me. “By Domenichino. Another artist Borghese had thrown into jail until he gave him the painting.” He pointed at a figure hiding behind bushes near the right-hand edge. “See that guy watching them? It was supposed to be a terrible crime to catch sight of the virgin goddess bathing.”