Vagabonds

Chapter Forty-Five: Lab Rats

Examining herself in the mirror, Amile thought of her mother. Pricilla Robillard was a woman of elegance who was never seen without pearls and a pressed dress. She'd always told her daughter that beauty was important, that it was one of the best tools at a woman's disposal. It could grant her a rich husband, preferential treatment, social power, the luxury of respect.

Amile tilted her head, tucking a single strand of hair back into place.

Her beauty wasn't the soft, inviting sort that her mother had tried to cultivate. Amile's sharp features and piercing eyes were weapons. Double-edged knives that asked for nothing, played at nothing. No, her countenance demanded respect. Even as a child being lectured about all the ways she might secure a good match, Amile had failed to understand the necessity of pleasing the men in her life. Why did she even want a husband? Why did she need men to ogle her, desire her, treat her like a doll that might break at any moment?

She only needed them to fear her.

And the higher she climbed, the less she needed them at all.

There was a distant crash from the other room, followed by an angry shout. Amile rolled her eyes.

These boys were proving to be more trouble than they were worth.

Blinking one last time at her reflection, Amile swirled away from her small vanity — the only feminine object in her austere cell of a room — and marched into the hall. The noises escalated as she grew closer to the lab: guttural snarls matching the shouts of her soldiers, Dr. Oleander's whiney voice struggling to give orders, and the insistent clanking of chains.

Amile swung into the lab without hesitation.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

A flush of pleasure spread through her as the lab fell quiet, subdued by her very presence.

Who's powerful now, Mother? Amile thought, holding back a smile as her cold eyes passed over Dr. Oleander, the handful of privates assigned to help him.

And the test subjects.

It had taken months to design and ship the five special-order tables that would secure them. Two with ruts large enough for huge bony wings. One padded with electrical-retardant plastic. One with reinforced, spine-proof straps.

Mercifully, the skinny one only needed an extra-long frame.

The eagle-boy — Aquila — glared at Amile as she clicked her way across the room, his eyes narrow, trying to mask his fear with rage. But it was no use. She could almost smell the terror wafting off them, even as the one with bleached-white hair snarled obscenities.

She inhaled the power like a fine perfume, scanning the damage.

There was an overturned table near one of the subjects, shattered beakers leaking clear fluid on the floor. An antiseptic scent of rubbing alcohol made her nose twitch.

She smiled. "Have you been giving my soldiers trouble?"

"Fuck off lady," spat the foul-mouthed brother. Gymnotiformes. Electric eel. Amile barely spared him a glance.

"Let us go," Aquila rumbled, his voice a strange blend of pleading and threat.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Amile said, side-stepping the growing pool of alcohol to get closer to the winged boy. "You five are quite essential to our research. But I promise, our procedures won't hurt. Much."

She tilted her head to examine the boy's feathers. They were iridescent, shimmering in a thousand shades of blue and green. Quite beautiful, actually. Perhaps she'd keep one for herself.