Dean’s fear grew to the point where he wanted to gibber and moan with fright, even though some still rational part of his brain frantically tried to scream to him that it was all manipulation.
Jenna’s face, which could, if not clouded by her twisted nature, have been beautiful, contorted with hate as she spat into Dean’s face. Her acrid spittle stung his eyes, but he was unable to blink, his vision blurred by the liquid.
“Harv, you’re a fuckwit,” she said in a quavering voice. “You can’t even get the better of a whelp like this. You know I hate using the taint in my soul unless I have to, so why make me have to?”
“Kid took me by surprise,” Harvey muttered in return.
“Yeah, right,” she said, sneering. “Nothing to do with you getting old and useless.” Harvey, now in front and facing Dean, tried to slip an arm around Jenna’s waist. “That’s not what you say when—”
“No, not now,” she screeched, shrugging him off violently. “You moron, you always were led totally by your dick.”
Harvey’s face hardened, but he said nothing. Dean figured that he would be the one to pay for the sec chiefs humiliation, and knowing this didn’t help the fear that was still flowing through him.
Jenna stepped back from them both and crossed her arms, looking askance at the young Cawdor.
“You’re obviously a bright boy, like your father. And you’ll grow to be as handsome as him… No, you won’t, because you won’t live that long. Shame. Mebbe I should take your father instead of old Harv here,” she said mockingly.
Harvey was stone-faced, his attention fixed on Dean.
Jenna continued. “I suppose you feel disgusted by what you’ve seen here. And I’ll grant that my experiments have not been that successful as yet. But progress takes time, and that fireblasted war came far too soon. You see, boy, one of the little projects the Illuminated Ones were working on was the creation of the perfect human being. It wasn’t a widely known project, even within the group. Everyone has their secrets. But my father worked long and hard on it, trying to rebuild what his father had started, and what had been smashed when they left the redoubt and came into the open. Oh, yes, there were many little wars within the group, some of which even Alien knows nothing…despite what the fool thinks.”
“You sure you should tell him this?” Harvey asked, still stone-faced, his eyes fixed on Dean.
Jenna shrugged. “He’s going nowhere. Anyway, I want him to see that this has an aim, a point.” Her eyes began to shine. “Some of the Illuminated Ones were against the idea of the perfect human being, but those with vision could see it was the only way forward. A way that became more of an imperative when skydark happened. How else are we ever going to rebuild? It’s too late for me, cursed as I am by these mutie traits. But for others? Those children are the future. They may not be perfect yet, but they tell me much for the next time around. And when I have reclaimed that lost knowledge, then…”
She trailed off, lost in thought. Dean struggled to assert his will over his own body, hoping that her reverie would cause to weaken—if only for a moment—her grip on his mind.
He was right. It took an immense effort on his part, but he managed to move his limbs, could feel the strength start to flow back into his muscles. He made as if to move forward.
But he was too sluggish, still too much in thrall to Jenna. He was far too slow. Harvey stepped forward and punched Dean, using the time the boy’s sluggish movements allowed him to draw back his arm and put all his weight behind the blow, knowing that Dean wouldn’t be able to move his protesting body quickly enough to protect himself from the blow.
Dean saw it coming toward him, but was unable to get out of the way. The fist hit him like a jackhammer in the face. He felt the blow as if in slow motion, blood filling his mouth as one tooth loosened and others bit into the flesh of his cheek. The bone of his jaw groaned and grated in protest, perhaps at breaking point.