And she was telling the truth about the hunt. The cops might already be trawling Newark in their tanks at ABP’s instruction, backed up by another squad of gas mask-clad goons.

Either brand of misery would land Yaya deep inside one of ABP’s labs at the heart of their tallest glassy skyscraper. She would then be diagnosed if lucky, stuffed into some giant ABP terrarium, maybe fashioned like Yaya’s tiny apartment. Dissected if she was unlucky, a carved turkey on some mad scientist’s slab. Every minute she spent holed up instead of wandering the street was time toward saving her life.

She set down the peanut butter jar, half-empty now, and expected every spoonful to show at her hips within the hour.

There were worse fates.

8

Yaya let Doc wander the apartment, doing everything she’d need to do on ordinary nights—fetch leftovers from the fridge, wash up, sit on the couch and stare, and eventually go to bed. Yaya didn’t let Doc get close again.

When the bedroom door finally shut and the bed creaked with Doc’s weight, Yaya crept to standing. She would’ve liked a shower, but Doc might escape then. Yaya kept the scissors in one hand when she used the toilet in case Doc opened the bedroom door and tried to slip by. Snoring soon rang from the bedroom. Either Doc was faking or she had stressed herself to sleep.

Yaya could relate. All that peanut butter made her sluggish. She stripped down to her black top and underwear and reclined across the couch. With her period having ended as suddenly as it arrived, at least she didn’t have to worry about staining more of Doc’s furniture.

If Doc woke up in the middle of the night—Yaya had to hope that wouldn’t happen. Her leg ached less now, but she didn’t trust it to close the distance if Doc made a mad dash out the apartment door.

The voice rattled. Peanut butter.

Yaya jammed the back of her head against the couch arm, hoping that would be answer enough. Her gut growled, and she pictured tentacles entwining her stomach. She still craved protein, but she wasn’t standing on her bad leg again just because her vagina monster was hungry. Besides, if she ate any more of that stuff tonight, she was going to throw up.

And tomorrow? She’d never been good at planning that far. The creature inside shared her nervous system; they felt each other’s pain. Did that make them one creature? But they had two voices, two minds. The tentacles acted on their own, independent as her heartbeat.

Confirmation of Sibs then, dividing her? A parasite that ABP had injected into her blood? Doc had mentioned Yaya’s unique quality. Flattering, but right now uniqueness was both obvious and dangerous, a target on Yaya’s chest, nothing better. She looked down at herself as if she expected to see red rings between her breasts, a bullseye in the center. Once ABP had claimed rights to half, they might as well have declared manifest destiny on everything.