Thyla - Kate Gordon [60]
It was as though he could read my thoughts. ‘You think I’m one of them, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. Sometimes, Tessa, to destroy the thing you hate you must become it.’
Vinnie’s breath was hot in my ear. I struggled less as I listened, wondering what his story really was; wondering if I should believe it. ‘I left my home for a century,’ he continued. ‘I have had to work, as Vinnie, for many years to gain their trust and, without it, I would not have known about tonight’s attack. Cynthia and Lord both think I am on their side. I am not. I will explain more, but turn around and you will see I am telling the truth. Can I trust you to do it silently?’
I nodded, my chin pressing into the palm of his hand. He let go and I turned around.
And it was all I could do not to fall to my knees.
In front of me was Vinnie. But not the same Vinnie I remembered from the hospital and the police station. Not the Vinnie in the worn suits with a cardboard cup of coffee permanently attached to his hand, and the bags upon bags beneath his eyes. Not the one who grunted and grouched and slouched about as if the weight of mountains pressed against his shoulders.
He was nothing like that Vinnie, and yet I knew it was him. I could hear it in his voice and smell it on him. He did not smell like strong cologne any more. He smelled like … like musk and sweat and blood. I recognised his scent.
This Vinnie had fire in his amber eyes – they flickered and sparkled. This Vinnie stood tall, his muscles tensed.
This Vinnie had stripes.
And claws.
He was a Thyla. His eyes were larger, rounder, and the iris nearly eclipsed the white. His nose was broader and flatter, and his nostrils turned forwards, like a dog’s. His ears were bigger too, and pointed. His teeth had been replaced by fangs. His body seemed more lithe, and his muscles were harder and more defined. He wore trousers still, like the Sarcos did (thankfully – I think I may have fainted if he were wholly naked) and yet I could see his legs bent backwards. His torso was bare, and I could see stripes when he twisted away. He was still human in some ways and yet he was other as well. He was Thyla. Like me.
‘You’re …’ I began.
‘Since 1851,’ he said, attempting a smile. ‘Just like you. Isaac Livingston is my proper name.’ He held out his broad, clawed hand, grabbed mine and shook it roughly. ‘I don’t think we have time for more niceties than that,’ he whispered. He looked towards the clearing. ‘The Sarcos are managing now, but they need to more than manage. I have reinforcements coming. As soon as they’re here …’
I tried to shake the shock out of me. ‘Isaac Livingston!’
The prison guard from the Female Factory. The man who wrote the report about me. The man I remembered in the room when the overseer was talking to Chassebury. That was Vinnie? And he was a Thyla?
I had so many questions.
He was right, though. We didn’t have time. I just had one question I needed answered before I could truly trust him. I spoke quickly. ‘How did you do it?’ I asked. ‘How did you hide what you are from Lord? If he knew you at the Factory, he must have wondered how you …’
Vinnie read my thoughts. ‘Like I said, I disappeared. Fled to the bush. Became Thyla almost full-time and watched them. With you. You’ll remember that, eventually. It was only a hundred years later, when I saw how they were becoming more ruthless in their actions, that I re-emerged. I dyed my hair to look older. I wore different clothes. Strong aftershave so he couldn’t detect my Thyla scent. I was insignificant to Lord back in the day – a mere lowly prison guard. He didn’t remember me.’
Isaac looked up, past my shoulder.
‘Ah, Beagle,’ he said.
Beagle?
I swung around. Mr Beagle (well, a Thyla who looked and smelled something like Mr Beagle) crept stealthily through the forest. Behind him were another ten Thylas.
‘Isaac,’ said Mr Beagle, nodding. It was definitely him. The voice was the same. ‘Tessa.’
‘Hi, Mr Beagle,’ I said meekly. I