The Anathema by Zachary Rawlins Page A

room.”
    Renton took a couple of steps back. Donner was suddenly between them, with his heavy black body wedged them apart, almost standing on her slippers, snarling in response to his mistress’s mood, his instincts overriding whatever suggestion Renton had implanted in him.
    “Okay, I got it, Ana, message received,” Renton said, backing away with a smile. “I’m already gone.”
    She watched him walk all the way to the door, Blitzen tracking his every step, a consistent, low snarl coming from the Weir’s throat that sounded like the revving of a small, rusted engine.
    “Since you’re feeling so curious,” Anastasia called out after him, “go see what’s happening at the infirmary. It will probably be interesting. You can tell me about it in the morning.”
    “Right,” Renton said, flashing her a weak smile before he closed the door on the snarling Weir.
    Anastasia sighed heavily, and then spent a minute petting Donner and Blitzen, calming them down. She had given that final order to Renton not because she needed his perspective, but more as face-saving measure. He probably would have done it anyway, even if she hadn't ordered him to. It was probably time, Anastasia thought regretfully, to do something about Renton, in case he got to feeling even cleverer than he already was. Anastasia went back to the bathroom to brush her hair again. She was too agitated for bed.
     
    * * *
     
    “Okay, things got a little heated. It’s the first time we’ve all met, so it’s not surprising that there was some miscommunication. Now, why don’t we just, you know, put down the scalpels and stuff and start over?”
    He looked over at Katya hopefully. She was standing in front of him, one hand clutching a couple of nasty looking surgical tools she had pillaged from one of the drawers in the infirmary. Their companion pieces, two quivering scalpels, were imbedded in the wall, one on either side of Grigori’s head. Katya turned to look back at him in confusion, her face flushed and shoulders heaving. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then shrugged and set the tools down on the counter in front of her, conspicuously within reach.
    “That’s good,” Alex said encouragingly, turning next to Grigori. “Now, you stop whatever that glowing-hand thing it is you’re doing.”
    “I don’t work for you,” Grigori objected, still attempting to burn a hole in Katya with his eyes. “And this is hardly the first time I’ve met Katya Zharova.”
    “Alright, that’s great,” Alex agreed. “On the other hand, I only just met you, and yet I prevented her from stabbing you in eyes. So, maybe you could consider doing me a favor, huh?”
    Grigori looked over at Alex in stunned silence, but his right hand, which had been emitting a crackling, vivid blue energy, gradually returned to normal. Alex figured he could put that one in his ‘win’ column.
    “Okay,” Alex said, sitting back down on the examination table with a sigh of relief. “This is all very civilized. Now, Mr. Threatening-Russian guy, what is so important that it merits scaring away the doctor, whose help I desperately need?”
    “You are a fool, Alexander Warner,” Grigori sneered, his face flushed and ruddy.
    “You probably could have waited to tell me that.”
    “Are you insane?” Grigori demanded. “You have an assassin next to you, right now!”
    “What?” Alex said, glancing around. “Oh, you mean her? This is Katya. She’s not an assassin.”
    “I’m his bodyguard,” she offered gleefully. “Anastasia Martynova's orders, courtesy of the Black Sun. Alex needs protecting.”
    “She’s not my bodyguard,” Alex sighed. “Look, do you both think this could wait? I’m supposed to be getting an injection.”
    “You cannot possibly be this stupid,” Grigori insisted. “Anastasia Martynova installs one of her agents in your life, an assassin no less, and you simply accept it? Are you already their creature, Warner? Do you already belong