The shifter by Janice Hardy

Author:Janice Hardy [Janice Hardy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Jeunesse
ISBN: 9780061761775
Published: 2009-09-25T07:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

“Punctual as well as smart,” Zertanik said as the clock tower chimed midnight. He held the door open for me and I walked past him, leaving my conscience on the porch. It curled up next to my principles.

The front room was empty, save for the same blond woman, who counted oppas in neat stacks on the counter. An awful lot of stacks.

“This way, dear.” We slipped in the same door as before. The same softly lit room and out through the servants’ door. The same hall I’d walked earlier. The same room where I’d sacrificed a fisherman to save a rich man’s daughter.

They were the only things that felt the same.

“You know this will kill them,” I said. “The ones who take the pain.”

“Speculation.”

“People I shifted to are dying. The fisherman might already be dead. These folks need to know that before they agree to this.”

“If any leave, there won’t be enough healing for all that lovely pynvium you want.”

I swallowed my objections. “How many are there to heal?”

“Nine.”

Acceptable losses. The war had taught me all about those.

“Let’s get started then. I haven’t got all night.”

Zertanik grinned, and for a horrible second I thought he might ruffle my hair. “As you wish, dear.”

He brought them in like guests at one of the Duke’s balls.

“The Jonalis. The husband broke both legs, and they’ll be dividing it among the four uncles.

“Kestra Novaik. She’ll be taking her son’s crushed shoulder this evening.

“The brothers Fontuno, paying an undisclosed amount to this young lady who prefers to remain anonymous.”

Most were Baseeri, which made it easier. Two looked Verlattan, who had probably traded everything they’d escaped with for this. Those were harder. One family was Gevegian, and I really wanted to tell them to run.

I didn’t. Instead, I drew. I pushed. I tried not to look at their faces, but every heal started with my hand on their foreheads and their hearts. Pain in the eyes of one, fear in the eyes of the other. Each stared at me, then looked away. I didn’t want to think about what they saw.

A snapped back. A shattered hand. Hurt after hurt slid through me. Chunk after chunk of pynvium plinked into a bag near my feet.

“The Mustovos, with their son and, well, someone whose name isn’t important.”

Two men in night-guard’s uniforms carried in a man dressed not as fine. His wrists and ankles were bound, and a rag flopped from his mouth. They’d kidnapped someone off the street?

Shiverfeet raced down my back and out the door, leaving me numb. “What’s going on?”

“Number seven, dear. Wensil Mustovo suffers from multiple knife wounds and a severe head injury.”

“No.” I pointed at the bound man. “He didn’t agree to this. I didn’t agree to this.”

“You agreed to the heals. You never specified the terms.”

“I’m not shifting into anyone who didn’t agree to it.” That was no better than cracking a stranger over the head and stealing his money to buy pynvium. No, worse, it’d be murdering him for it.

I folded my arms across my chest.

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