Chapter 8
DAVE
As a knock sounded at the suite door, the Eight stood as one and then caught themselves, because standing as one was not what they had been practicing.
Number Eight sat back down. Number Six remained standing. Number One walked to the door alone and opened it.
A woman stood at the door with an immortal guard holding her elbow, not roughly, but the way a handler did.
He delivered the merchandise.
"This is Anita," he introduced her.
"Thank you for escorting her," Number One said.
The guard did not let go of her elbow.
"What time should I come back for her?"
They hadn't expected that. In fact, they'd planned on keeping her there most of the night and continuing to do so in the following appointments, so it would become a pattern. The idea was that when they escaped with her, no one would come looking.
Number One affected a smile. "There are eight of us." He waved at the others. "We will probably keep Anita here through the night and escort her back in the morning."
The guard's eyebrows lifted. "I wasn't told that's the plan."
Number One smiled again. "I assumed it was self-explanatory when I told the lady making the bookings what we needed."
Number One contemplated altering the guard's memory and making him think that the request had been communicated to him, but when the male returned to the brothel and reported, the discrepancy would be noted.
The idea was to make Anita's visits routine and unremarkable. They needed to follow protocol.
The guard looked uncomfortable. "It might be so, but I'm just following the procedures set by Lord Hocken. If you want to keep Anita overnight, that can be arranged, but you will need to call the front desk and coordinate that with them."
"We will do that right away."
The guard released Anita's elbow. "I guess you are staying the night."
If she was troubled by the development, her face revealed nothing, and neither did her scent. She wasn't alarmed or frightened, and the collective speculated whether it was the effect of the drugs or just her normal temperament.
As the guard inclined his head and stepped back, Number One ushered Anita into the suite, closed the door behind her, and turned the deadbolt.
The woman was in her mid-thirties, maybe even early forties, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a face that had probably been striking before life and drugs had taken their toll.
She wore a wrap dress in a light green color and sandals with gold straps and spiky heels that looked dangerous to walk in, especially in her drugged state.
The brothel dosed its workers regularly. It dulled fear, increased pliability, and made the women easy to thrall even for the least competent of thrallers. After all, they served humans in addition to the immortals, and those humans could not be allowed to learn about the immortals.
The women had to remain silent about what they saw and experienced on this island.
She took several surprisingly steady steps into the suite and surveyed the eight soldiers spread across the living room.
Her expression did not change.
There was no widening of the eyes, no half-step backward.
"Who wants to go first?" she asked.
The cards slipped from Number Four's hand, but he quickly caught them and resumed his shuffling.
"We had something else in mind," Number One said.
She tilted her head. The small professional smile she had brought into the room did not waver, but something behind her eyes adjusted.
"I prefer one at a time if you don't mind."
"We didn't invite you here for sex. We just want to talk."
"You want to talk?" She didn't sound as surprised as they had expected her to be. "Fine, I can talk." She walked over to the couch, dropped her purse on the cushion, and sat down. "What do you want to talk about?"
Number One shrugged. "We just want to spend time in the company of a female. Soldiers on this island don't get to do that, and we want to educate ourselves. We thought we would play cards, eat, and converse while we are at it. A relaxed, natural atmosphere."
She chuckled. "Right. Natural. Me and the eight enhanced soldiers."
They shouldn't be surprised that she knew who they were. Petrov had most likely told her a lot about them when he was still visiting the brothel regularly, and if it hadn't been him, it could have been the woman booking the appointments or the guard who'd escorted Anita to the hotel.
Number One forced another smile and motioned at the cart. "We ordered a variety of food. I'm sure there is something in there you like."
It was difficult to pretend to be normal. To smile, to communicate things through facial expressions, and not to do things in sync with the others. It was like relearning what had been forgotten.
Anita looked at the cart with the display of snacks. She looked at the wine. She looked at Number Four, who was sitting on the floor and shuffling cards on the coffee table.
"That's a lot of food," she said. "Is it all for me?"
Was that an attempt at humor?
"It's for all of us," Number One said. "But you go first. I was told that civilized men let ladies choose before they do."
"Civilized," she repeated. "And you called me a lady."
"You are a lady," Number Four said from his spot on the floor. "And we are much more civilized than the rest of the army."
She said nothing for a long moment, looking confused, and the collective wondered whether she was thinking that she was hallucinating. Probably no other immortals had treated her with respect, and the encounter must feel surreal to her.
"Do you know how to play Crazy Eights?" Number Four asked.
Her eyebrows drew together, and as she looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifted. It was not a full smile, but her face had loosened a degree. "I might have played it a long time ago, but I have forgotten the rules. You'll have to remind me."
"No problem," Number Four said. "It's the first time we are playing it too, so we will learn the rules together. It's a simple game."
He explained the rules while the others got busy clearing a space on the carpet because the coffee table was too small for a card game with nine people, and so was the dining table, which could only seat four. The floor was the only surface that could accommodate them all in a circle.
Number One brought a cushion from the sofa for Anita, because the carpet was thin and the floor was hard, and she was wearing a flimsy dress.
She accepted the cushion with a small nod that had something old-fashioned about it, and the collective realized that she must have been treated with courtesy once but had stopped expecting it.
They sat in a rough circle, the tray from the cart between them.
Number Four dealt five cards to each of them and flipped the top card of the remaining deck face up to start the discard pile.
It was the six of hearts.
"You go first," he told Anita.
"Why me?"
"Because you are our guest and a lady."
This time, the curvature of her lips was almost a full smile. She looked at her hand, picked a card, and laid it down on the discard pile.
The game began.
For a few minutes, nobody spoke except to call colors when an eight was played.
Anita won the first hand. "I remember the game now. My grandmother used to play it with me and my sisters, but that was a very long time ago when I was still a girl." She smiled sadly. "It seems like it happened in a different world. I barely remember anything from before."
"How long have you been on the island?" Number One asked.
"Nine years." The words came out flat.
The collective absorbed the number and didn't say anything for a moment, because there was nothing useful to say. Nine years was a long time.
"Doctor Petrov told us that you were a nurse before," Number One said.
She tilted her head. "Does he talk about me?"
"Yes. Often."
She smiled. "Doctor Petrov is a good man.
Brilliant, really. I just wish he didn't drink so much vodka.
He's not a mean drunk or anything, and he's somehow lucid despite how much he drinks, but he smells of alcohol and I don't like it.
" She shook her head. "I shouldn't have said that.
Konstantin is so nice to me. He always showers before he comes, which is more than I can say for most of the others. "
She played a card, and her hand stilled before she lifted the next one.
"He hasn't come for weeks," she said quietly. "Do you know why? Has he gotten bored with me?"
"Not at all," Number One said. "Lord Losham is putting pressure on the scientists, bringing them new assignments and tightening the deadlines on the old ones. Doctor Petrov and Volkov have been working sixteen-hour days, and neither of them has left the lab in a long time."
"Really?" She looked at him.
"We are there every day. We know it for a fact."
She held his eyes for a moment longer, searching his face, but even if he were lying, she wouldn't have been able to tell. The Eight had mastered the art of emotionless expressions long before they mastered the emotions themselves.
"Poor Konstantin." She sighed. "I wish he weren't working so hard. He needs a vacation."
"Don't we all," Number One said. "But none of us are getting any."
Anita nodded. "Is he well?"
"He is more resilient than he appears."
She chuckled. "It's his Russian stubbornness that keeps him going."
Anita picked up her next card and slid it into her hand.
"Tell him that I miss him," she said. "And tell him to come see me when his workload allows."
"We will," Number One promised.
Number Four played a card, Number Two played a card, and the pile grew. A silence settled over the circle, but it didn't feel awkward. It was just a pause, and the collective wondered what they could ask next to get better insight into the minds of women.
So far they had learned that women appreciated cleanliness and consistent attention.
"You said that you had questions," Anita said. "Ask away."
Number One looked at the others.
The collective rotated through several candidates and settled on one.