Thresholder

Perry limped into Flora’s apartment from the balcony, his cloak having been lost along the way, maybe when he fell from the roof. He was dripping blood from his injured arm, and his fingers weren’t twitching as well as they once had. There was a slight delay to when he told his fingers to move and when they actually moved.

“You understand what a tourniquet is, don’t you?” asked Flora. “It stops the flow of blood. Your arm needs blood. It’s going to cause damage, might have already. Four hours, tops.”

“It’s been twenty minutes,” said Perry. “If that.” She wasn’t making him feel any better.

“You can’t go to the hospital, you’re right, they’ll amputate,” said Flora. “I’ve seen more than enough amputees in my life, remnants of the Reclamation War.” She was looking Perry over, like she could see anything through the armor.

“You said it takes a week to turn someone,” said Perry. “That it was a slow process.” He’d taken his helmet off, and he knew that he was looking pale. The tourniquet was stopping the worst of it, but there was a bit of internal bleeding.

“You said they had a Chalmer’s cannon?” asked Flora.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Perry. “But they announced themselves as the king’s men, they were vampires, they had the lightning gloves, and yeah, they had long-barreled artillery that they in no way should have been able to lift. It was a setup, one with more firepower than I could have imagined.” Flora prodded his arm, and Perry let out a hiss of breath.

“If you don’t get this handled, you’re going to die,” said Flora.

“Yeah,” said Perry. “I was hoping that you had something to help.”

“We don’t have healing,” said Flora. “Not among the vampires.” She looked worried, and kept looking him over like she might be able to find a silver lining.

“I don’t want my arm cut off,” said Perry. “No way I’m going to one of your hospitals, leaving my armor behind.” He hesitated. “Outside the vampires?”

“Outside them?” asked Flora.

“You said something before, about other creatures under the Custom,” said Perry. “You thought that I was one of the fair folk, or something. An elf.”

“I wouldn’t treat with the fae even if I knew where to find them,” said Flora. “You’d keep your arm and give up your eyes for it.” She swallowed. “But you’re right, there are other solutions. Ways that we might keep you alive …”

“Bad ways?” asked Perry, seeing her look. “Because you said we have four hours until there’s permanent damage, until the arm just dies, and I don’t know what you’re talking about, so —”

“Don’t panic,” said Flora. “Stay calm.”

“Alright,” said Perry. “I need to lay down, to take off this armor, but I think if I remove the wrong piece, the tourniquet will fail.”

“Stay where you are,” said Flora. “Go lay down on the bed.”

“I’m bleeding,” said Perry.

“I’ve cleaned up blood in the bed before,” said Flora. “Don’t go to sleep, I’ll be back soon.”

Perry swallowed. “I’d really rather you didn’t leave.”

“I need to go get someone,” said Flora. “It’s permanent, the change, but you’ve been wanting power, and this is the only way to keep you whole, if your soul damned.”

“What will I become?” asked Perry.

“A werewolf,” said Flora. “There are five in Teaguewater, an immigrant family. They’re across town, but if I can get one of them here … it’s possible.” She bit her lip. “You’re more fragile than the stories.”

Perry swayed on his feet. The adrenaline was leaving him, the knot of anxiety over losing his arm giving way to a kind of grim acceptance. He was light-headed, and really did need to lay down.

Laying in Flora’s bed, waiting for her to return, Perry first went through some of the basic diagnostics that Richter had shown him, which showed damage to some of the computing substrate that was located in the chest. Microchips were delicate things, and couldn’t take all that much damage, and aside from extreme hardening, there were a few other strategies to not allow the suit to have a catastrophic failure. One of those was distributing the ‘nerve centers’ of the suit to various places on the body, so that a single cannonball to the chest didn’t take the whole thing out.

There wasn’t much that Perry could do though, and all the steps he might have taken, March had already taken automatically.

Perry looked at his wounds, as presented by March, rotating the image of his body, looking at vital signs that he was in no way equipped to interpret. This was as close as he’d come to death, and he might still die. In the back of his mind, he was wondering whether or not Cosme was telling the truth, that he’d go to the next world one way or another. He didn’t believe Cosme though. It felt like a lie. Cosme had given no specifics about his previous world, and that was the first thing that Perry would have given, if there had ever been a chance for trading information.

Flora came back an hour later, with an old, hunched man in tow. Perry had drifted off, and only knew that time had passed because March had put up a clock on the HUD.

“You’ll have to take off the helmet,” said Flora.

Perry did, though it was more difficult with only a single working hand. He twitched his fingers in his left hand, or tried to, but they were no longer moving at all.

It was different with the helmet removed. The air had that characteristic Teaguewater smell, smog and soot, and a faint dampness from Flora’s apartment. The smell was mingled with the smell of Perry’s blood, which hadn’t been quite so strong from within the armor.

The old man had gaunt cheeks and eyes that were rheumy and too-yellow. He wore a cap, which he took off and held in his hands when Perry’s helmet came off.

“He’s sure?” the man asked.

“Yes,” said Flora. “Very sure.”

Perry wasn’t sure that was how he would characterize it.

“The Jade Council has said it’s okay?” the man asked. He had a thick accent, unplaceable, which was no surprise. Flora had called him an immigrant, but not said from where, and from the map of the world Perry had seen, most of the countries were unrecognizable, and the ones that Perry did find familiar were probably just false cognates.

“There’s authorization,” said Flora, which was almost certainly a lie. She was already out on a limb with Perry. “He needs this, to save his life.”

The man nodded. He opened his mouth, and fangs extended, crooked yellow teeth looking stained from tobacco. Perry closed his eyes, waiting for the feel of the bite, but opened them as the man began to whimper.

He was pulling one of the fangs out, gripping it with his fingers, and after a long moment of tensed, wiry muscles, the fang came loose. He moved forward, and Perry shirked back as the man’s bloody fingers tried to push the yellowed fang in his face.

“Let it happen,” said Flora.

“You prepared him?” asked the man — the werewolf.

“As much as possible,” said Flora, which was another lie.

The man moved forward and slipped the fang between Perry’s lips. It was large and sharp, like the largest pill that Perry had ever swallowed, and that was clearly what was expected from him. The man placed his calloused hand over Perry’s mouth, and when Perry didn’t swallow the fang, the man pinched Perry’s nose as well. Perry was still in the suit, and felt the urge to punch the man in the face, but this was all to save his life, so he swallowed the fang down.

The man left without another word, not a single mention of aftercare or what would actually happen. The moon wasn’t out, but Perry didn’t even know whether that would matter.

He was having immediate regrets, but his arm had started to hurt again, and he laid there with his eyes closed.

“We need to get you out of the armor,” said Flora.

“It’s the only thing holding me together,” said Perry. He opened his eyes to look at her. There was something in the way she was watching him that he didn’t like. It was curiosity, he thought.

“I’m not sure that I can hold you down with the armor on,” said Flora.

“Will you need to?” asked Perry.

“The change, for werewolves, comes with rage,” said Flora. “You’ll want to kill. I’ll stop you. But if you’re wearing the armor, you might overpower me.”

Perry twitched his fingers, and was rewarded with actual movement this time. Sensation was returning to his arm, and with it pain. If he was going to take the armor off, it needed to be soon.

“March, emergency release,” said Perry.

“That’s not available while the Zeus-Killer protocol is in effect, sir,” said Marchand, voice coming from the speakers on the chest.

“Then stop the Zeus-Killer,” said Perry. “And when you do the release, not the injured arm, okay?”

“Very well, sir, emergency release in progress,” said Marchand.

The power armor unlatched itself, and came off easily, all but the arm, where the tourniquet was still in place. Flora did most of the work, and examined the armor as she removed it, looking inside of it. Perry had never left her alone with it before, but he needed her help here.

“It’s custom-made for me,” said Perry. “Designed around my body.”

Flora nodded, though he wasn’t sure whether she understood the implication. He was going to be out of it, he knew, more vulnerable than he’d been before, and all the alarms that Marchand had to offer wouldn’t help him if he couldn’t do anything about them.

Perry was left in the skin suit, which he wore below the armor, and Flora helped him to peel it off, since it was soaked with his blood. His chest wasn’t bruised, but it would be in another few hours. It was puffy and raw where he’d taken the hit, just at the bottom of his ribcage. It was only because the suit had protected him that he hadn’t broken a rib.

“How long does this take?” asked Perry. He was down to his underwear, which was technically another part of the skin suit.

“I don’t know,” said Flora. “There are only five werewolves in Teaguewater. I’m not supposed to induct people as vampires, let alone werewolves.”

“I can feel the arm,” said Perry. “I’m healing?”

“I don’t know,” said Flora. “I’ve been told that you’ll feel it, when the change comes in full.”

“Will I … need to avoid the moon?” asked Perry.

“You have the armor,” said Flora. “So long as you wear it, you won’t feel the effects. It’s tempered by sunlight too, so during the day, it will have less impact. To fully heal the arm, you’ll need full moonlight. You’ll transform, grow wild. It will take some time to get it under control, but they do, eventually.”

“I don’t want to hurt people,” said Perry.

“No, Perry, you do,” Flora replied. “You’re quick to fight. You want to kill the other thresholder. And after you’re done here, you’ll go to other worlds, to fight other people.”

“I meant civilians,” said Perry.

Flora gave a slow nod. “Can you feel it yet?”

“No,” said Perry. “I can still taste it though.”

“I’ll get you water,” said Flora.

She was in the small kitchenette when it happened. Perry felt it as a bloom across his chest, which went down his injured arm. It was like a shot of whiskey to the gut, hot cocoa on a freezing winter day, and he clenched his fists, trying to keep from letting out a guttural shout. He clenched both fists, even the one on the injured hand.

“Release the tourniquet,” said Perry.

“Are you certain, sir?” asked Marchand. The armor was mostly off to one side, in a pile, and March was barely audible. “You’re still gravely injured. I recommend medical attention at the nearest hospital.”

“Yes,” said Perry. “I’m sure.”

The tourniquet released, and sensation came flooding back, hot pain through the whole of his arm, and no small amount of blood. Perry had been right though, and the arm was healing, the severed artery was no longer causing him to hemorrhage blood. Still, blood dripped from the arm down onto the bed, and Perry felt bad about making a mess — but the flow of blood was a trickle, and he could move his arm again, albeit with severe pain. He could feel things moving around within his arm, the fractured bone resetting itself somehow, and the pain was fading away.

“It will, at least, save your life,” said Flora.

“Is that it?” asked Perry, looking down.

“No,” said Flora. She began stripping off her clothes. “You’re going to feel more.”

“Why are you stripping?” asked Perry.

“To keep the blood off my clothes,” said Flora.

The anger came on quickly, so quickly that Perry almost missed that it was happening, and his muscles seemed to swell as it rushed through his body. He wanted to punch someone, to grab someone by their jaw and wrench their mouth apart, to pick someone up by their throat and push them into a wall. He wished for a gun, for a weapon, for claws — and found that he had claws.

Flora grabbed his wrists, and he snarled at her before he remembered himself. Her pale face was placid.

“I’m fine,” said Perry.

His claws retracted without him even willing them, in response to the coolness he felt. It had been a frightening moment, at least in retrospect, but it was past. The bleeding in his arm had now fully stopped, and he was left with only a dull pain, which was fantastic given that he’d had a compound fracture.

“It’s going to get worse,” said Flora, releasing her grip on his wrists.

“There will be waves like that?” asked Perry. “Worse ones?”

Flora nodded. “Worse, and longer. We’re going to be at this all night.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said Perry.

“You did, in the moment,” said Flora. “You will.”

“We should go,” said Perry. “I can fly away, off into the wilderness, where I won’t hurt anyone.”

“No,” said Flora. “Even if you could take me with your magical sword, I don’t think I could handle you if that happens while you’re in the air. And if you go alone, there’s no one to protect you, or to stop you. Ideally, you’d be manacled to the wall of a cave, but we don’t have the time or resources.”

“So this is the plan?” asked Perry. “We’re just … wrestling through the night, while I turn into a werewolf?”

“Yes,” said Flora. “Try not to scream in my apartment. I have neighbors. They wouldn’t come complain, they know I’m a gendarme, but they might report me.”

“I won’t scream,” said Perry.

“You won’t be in control of yourself,” said Flora. “I’m hoping that you manage to hold on, but if you scream, I’m going to keep you quiet.”

“You can gag me,” said Perry.

“I’m waiting for the next wave,” said Flora. She had gotten into a stance, arms at her sides like she was going to tackle him. “Then yes, I’ll tie you up and gag you, not that you won’t be strong enough to break through any bonds I have. You’d rip off handcuffs like they were paper and bite straight through leather.”

“That’s not good,” said Perry.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” asked Flora.

He was staring at her pale face and outstretched arms when it came on again. He was expecting it this time, but nothing he could do would make it stop, no thought would keep it at bay. The anger boiled to the surface, his fingers extended into claws, the hair grew thick on his forearms, and if he’d still been wearing the blood-soaked skin suit, he thought that he’d have ripped it as his muscles swelled up.

Flora stopped him as he moved toward the door. He was only dimly aware that he’d been moving, had no real idea where he was going, and his anger turned toward this small creature that had dared to get in his way. He snarled at her, and she looked at him calmly, then blocked him again as he moved toward the door once more. He raised his arm to backhand her, and she simply stood there, unfazed, which only enraged him further.

The anger faded before he could hit her though, and he felt himself shrink back down.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s not you,” said Flora. “This is what a werewolf is. I expect you’ll attack me before the night is out. Probably more than once. You might even injure me.”

“I won’t,” said Perry.

“You need to understand what you are now,” said Flora. “You won’t be like this all the time, but when the moon is full in the sky, you’ll feel an instinct toward violence.”

“I don’t like that,” said Perry.

“How many people have you killed since you’ve been here?” asked Flora.

Perry thought about that.

“More than you can count?” asked Flora.

“I don’t know,” said Perry. “Some of them got away. Some of them might have died later. I’m not a violent person, I was just a soldier, and if people attack me — tonight, that’s what happened, it was an ambush.”

“We can talk about it later,” said Flora. “You’re going to rage out, again and again, and I’d rather you were thinking calm thoughts.”

The thought of Richter went through Perry’s mind, and that seemed to bring on the rage, more overwhelming this time. He did strike out at Flora, unthinking, only to have her move quickly and stop him, catching the blow with the first sign of emotion she’d shown since he turned — anger of her own, or at least irritation. He tried pulling back, as he’d meant to punch her, but she held him, not quite in place, because he was larger, but preventing him from winding up. When he made to howl at her, her hand went out of closed around his throat, cutting him off.

Perry came to his senses while he was in the middle of struggling against her.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said.

“It will never be so strong as tonight,” said Flora. Her hair was out of place, though she wasn’t showing the slightest sign of sweat despite having held him off. She was so much shorter than him, so much smaller.

“You’re stronger than me,” said Perry.

“I am,” said Flora. “Barely.”

She was already bloodied, his blood, from his arm, some of it where she’d grabbed him, and in other places where there was a spray from his motion. She’d been right to dress down. Her outfit was an unattractive undergarment, structural rather than in any way enticing, and it was blood-spattered.

“You’ll heal back from injuries,” said Flora. “I’m sorry if I need to injure you to keep you from shouting. We’re trying to do this stealthily.”

Perry was growing worried by the waves of anger. He was healing more with each of them, settling into the transformation — and it was a transformation, even if it had started subtle. He didn’t want to hurt her, and more than that, didn’t want to hurt anyone else, whatever else she might think of him. He wanted to go through the worlds and gain power, but not power with caveats, not power that would warp him. The vampires were cool and dispassionate, calculated, but it seemed a werewolf was something else, and he was learning only slowly what that was. Mood swings that he’d have to avoid by staying out of the moonlight, strength that he’d need power to lock up — he could have used the suit of armor, locking it down so that he couldn’t move, but he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t damage it from the inside.

Flora was watching him, looking for the anger in him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That this was necessary, that you need to do this for me.”

“It’s the power you were seeking,” she said. “Your immortal soul is safe. The werewolves are afflicted, they haven’t lost a piece of themselves.”

He grew angry with her then, and her religious ideas she was pushing against him, as though this was a better outcome. He was going to be trapped like this, the permanence of the change more complete than the loss of an arm, because at least an arm could be replaced with a prosthetic, regrown through magic, but what would anyone be able to do about this? And it was her fault, so he went at her, tackling her because striking her with his fists hadn't worked. She flipped him, and he landed cleanly on the couch, soft and quiet with only the sound of the couch moving its legs against the floorboards as he landed. He was going to scramble to his feet, but she landed on top of him, bony body holding him tight, her hands again against his wrists. He made to scream, to howl, and she pressed her mouth against his.

He was still kissing her when the anger passed, and he pulled back, eyes on her. She had blood on her face — he’d bit her lip.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Do not scream in my apartment,” was all she said.

“It’s not just rage,” he said. “It’s passion.”

“It’s the base and animal,” she said. She was staring into his eyes. “You at least stopped trying to kill me.”

“I wasn’t,” said Perry.

“To hurt me then,” said Flora. She was still on top of him, though she’d let go of his wrists. “Save the rest of your apologies until after the night has passed. It’s early yet. This is going to keep happening. There will be more to apologize for once the night is through, you can get it done all at once.”