Another Kind of Dead Page 15

  Bright orange signs were posted near the concrete water barrier, the words too small to read from my position. Probably things like “caution” or “biohazard area.”

  “Too bad. It’s kind of lovely here.”

  “How far are we from Boot Camp?” Phin asked, joining us by the trunk of the car. He’d left his shirt in the backseat, wings already out and tucked close to his back.

  “You need to fly about a mile northeast,” Wyatt said. “That will put you within a half mile. You should be able to see the valley from that distance.”

  “And when we do, that’s my cue,” I said. “Barring any unexpected resistance, we should be back in thirty minutes, max.”

  “Speaking of which …” Wyatt popped the trunk of his car, opened a small black suitcase, and removed a GLOCK .22 pistol. He checked the magazine and the chamber, then held it toward me, butt first. “In case of unexpected resistance.”

  I hesitated, understanding the reasons and hating the implications. “What kind of rounds?”

  “Something new that Morgan’s and Sharpe’s teams are field-testing to use on civilians who get in the way. Rubber bullet with a tiny shatter-tip that injects victims with a sedative capable of knocking them out and impairing their memory of the incident.”

  “Impairing memory,” I repeated, and took the gun. I hated guns, but the new rounds were impressive. As impressive as our a-c rounds and their ability to make a flesh wound fatal through the injection of an anticoagulant. “It’s a roofie bullet?”

  Wyatt snickered. “Yeah, basically. Like I said, it’s being field-tested, but I’d rather send you in with that than with something that could kill.” They were still our allies.

  I tucked the gun into the front of my jeans and covered it with the hem of my T-shirt. “Guess we should do this thing. Time’s wasting.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You know me.”

  “Be careful anyway.”

  Familiar banter that should have been easy was slightly strained by what had happened at the cabin. I shook it off and assumed the position. Phin drew up behind me, his warm chest to my back. Locked arms around my waist and held me closer. His heartbeat thrummed, faster than mine.

  A cyclone of air swirled dust and grit, and then we were shooting up, rocketed by the strength of Phin’s wings. My legs dangled, helpless, and I struggled to keep from kicking. The parking area disappeared, replaced by the low tops of trees. Very low tops. Leaves and pine needles rustled beneath us as Phin flew hard and fast toward our destination. The wind beat against my face, cool and crisp here in the mountains.

  It was nothing like the other two times I’d been flown by a Coni. This time I felt free, as if I were soaring through the air on my own wings, heedless of the world and its stresses. Was this what it felt like when Phin flew as an osprey? Was he going anywhere close to his maximum speed? I wanted to ask, but sound roared in my ears and would have stolen my voice.

  Up and down, cresting one peak and swooping down the other side, he flew us onward. I imagined unsuspecting campers below suddenly looking up and seeing two people coasting above the treetops. I laughed. Phin made an indeterminate sound that rumbled from his chest into my back.

  “It’s coming,” he said all too soon, mouth very close to my ear. “Prepare yourself, and I will say when.”

  I closed my eyes and tugged on a visual of the first sublevel. The carefully described storage closet at the south end of the corridor. Two rows of metal shelving inside, full of supplies. An empty area near the door, kept clear so carts could be brought in to load supplies. Pale yellow tiled floor, gray walls, plaster ceiling. I held on to that, then cast my line for loneliness. With the tension still palpable between me and Wyatt, it was easy to find. My tap to the Break sparked and fizzled, ready. And still we flew.

  “Now,” Phin said.

  I pushed my energy toward him deliberately this time, caught it around him like a net, and pulled us both into the Break. Behind my eyes, a steady throbbing began, the lightest start of a headache. We shattered apart like a shotgun pellet, invisible pieces hurtling toward the image in my mind. Faster, faster. The throb increased to a slight pounding as we moved through solid walls. Almost there.

  A tang of astringent cleaning products announced our expulsion from the Break. My knees wobbled, and I would have fallen without Phin. Warmth trickled down to my lip from my nose. The pounding remained, flashing colorful lights behind my eyelids. I shuddered; Phin pulled me tighter to him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Woozy. I just need a second.” Two deep breaths later, I blinked my eyes open. The room didn’t tilt. Nausea was ebbing again. My wrist-ache was tolerable. I tapped Phin’s arm and he let go. The nosebleed had already stopped, and I swiped at the remnants. The occasional tiny tremor still stole through my guts, but for the most part, I was fine. Not too bad for my first long-distance transport.

  We’d landed exactly in front of the storage room door. It had a simple aluminum knob. Yellow light spilled through beneath in a narrow line. I pressed my ear against the smooth metal.

  “The hallway is empty,” Phin whispered. Excellent hearing was a species perk. “I hear muffled voices to our left, about twenty feet away, behind a door. Unless the rooms are soundproof, no one else is on this level.”

  “Terrific.” I turned the knob, grateful it didn’t squeal. Neither did the hinges. With my heart in my throat, I led Phin along our predetermined path. Right and down three doors to the stairwell. Each step seemed to ring loudly, even though my sneakers were mostly silent on the clean linoleum. The astringent odor followed us into the stairwell, its door as squeak-free as the other.

  We descended past sublevel 1—marked by a simple white plaque next to the landing door—and made our way to sublevel 2. Same plaque, new problem.

  “Shit,” I muttered. A numbered keypad was fixed below the plaque, and the door looked mechanized. Tighter security around the beasties. “I don’t suppose you know how to override one of these?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Then let’s hope no one’s standing on the other side of the door.” I grabbed his right hand with my left; he gave the gentlest squeeze and said, “I hear no one close by.”

  Good enough. I oriented, then dragged us both into the Break, through the door, and back out the other side. The throb became a relentless pounding, a single hammer knocking at the front of my skull. But Phin was right—the room in front of us was empty of human beings. The same couldn’t be said for other things.

  It looked like a dog pound from Hell. Cell after cell lined the walls both left and right. Cement blocks made up the floors, ceilings, and partitions, with thick iron bars for doors. The things inside them snuffled, shifted, snorted, and growled. A maelstrom of odors wafted toward us, cloying and intoxicating and thick. Phin made a soft gagging sound. I gave the hand I was still holding a gentle squeeze. I didn’t envy him his sense of smell.

  Four metal gurneys, each one bolted to the floor, took up the majority of the room’s center. Each one had overhead lights, rolling trays full of equipment, and individual drains in the floor. I stared, struck by just how similar it was to the morgue in which I’d first woken up, three weeks ago. Really similar, because one of the gurneys wasn’t empty. A white sheet covered a lone figure, its actual shape or species impossible to guess.

  “Should we check each cage?” Phin asked.

  “Only if you want to have nightmares tonight.”

  I’d seen some of the abominations Thackery had created—a small child with oily black skin and a prickly dorsal fin down its spine; the living corpse of a house cat with fangs longer than my thumb. I’d heard wings flapping, animals growling, monsters hissing, and skin squelching.

  Near us, something gurgled. I glanced at a cage and just as quickly looked away. All I’d seen were its snakelike yellow eyes, swimming in madness.

  I approached the gurney, drawn by morbid fascination, and lifted the
sheet. A familiar face lay beneath it—one I’d seen many weeks ago in Tovin’s underground lab. Once a teenage boy, half his body had been turned to stone, rendering it immobile and useless. Seeing him there, dead, his human side cold and gray, churned my insides into a mass of quivering anger. We hadn’t been able to save him.

  “Fucking hell,” I said, then spun in a complete circle. “Token?” My voice bounced. Something growled, while another something made a high-pitched hissing noise. “Token?”

  “Master?”

  I cringed, then followed the sound of the call. All the way to the last cage, past glimpses of red skin, scales, shiny teeth, and swiping claws. Token bounced to the front of his cage and wrapped bandaged hands around the bars. His face was a puzzle of cuts and bruises, a horrible reflection of the patterns on his bare chest and arms. I knew they’d torture him for information, but for some reason I couldn’t understand, seeing it made me sick.

  “You came,” he said. “Knew you would, knew it.”

  He was getting loud. I shushed him. “I need to ask you an important question. Will you answer me?”

  “Token answer, yes.”

  “Do you remember the place you used to live? With your old master, the human man named Thackery?”

  “Yes. Took me away, told me to hunt and kill.”

  Yeah, I remembered that part. “Token, if I take you to the place where he left you, do you think you can find your way back? Can you smell a path to your old home?”

  His brown, too-human eyes widened. Narrowed as his brow furrowed. “Can try, yes. For new master, yes.” He shifted his attention behind me, and those haunting eyes widened to comical proportions. “Angel.”

  Phin made a rude noise.

  “He’s a friend,” I said. “Promise me, Token. Promise me if I let you out, you won’t hurt anyone. You will do as I say and find your old home for me.”

  “Token promises. Will do anything for master.”

  “Good.”

  It took several minutes to find the collection of flat plastic key cards that opened the cells, and another to sift through them for the correct one. The lock light finally flashed green, and the mechanism released. Token limped out in a cloud of urine-scented air. I swallowed hard.

  “We should go,” Phin said. “I hear voices.”

  I folded my arms into position. Phin wrapped himself around me. Token stared.

  “Token,” I said, “I need you to listen. We are going to get out of here, but you have to hold on to me.” Every muscle in my body rebelled at the idea of the human-goblin half-breed clutching me. “Hold on to my legs with both arms, tight, and do not let go. Don’t let go until I tell you. Understand?”

  Facial muscles twitched as Token struggled with my request. He looked at my legs, my face, legs again.

  “Evangeline,” Phin said.

  “Token, you must. Your master commands it.”

  His small body flinched. “Token understands.” He did me one better by sitting on my feet and wrapping his legs around my ankles. Arms locked around my knees, he held so tightly I feared loss of circulation.

  “Ready to fly?” I asked.

  Phin grunted. “We cannot fly if you don’t transp—”

  “Brace yourself.”

  He did. So did I, and away we went.

  Chapter Twelve

  The furious pounding in my head, coupled with the cool stream of air against my face, woke me. I was still in Phin’s arms, high above the trees, with the reservoir looming in the distance. I didn’t look down, but the heavy weight dragging on my legs told me Token hadn’t panicked and let go. Cold wetness covered my upper lip, and some had dribbled onto my chin.

  Final transport was a blur, but it was obviously a successful blur.

  My stomach flipped. I groaned.

  “You’re awake,” Phin said in my ear.

  “Gonna hurl. Fly faster.”

  We were at his maximum speed with two passengers. I breathed deeply, concentrating on the persistent spear of pain between my eyes as the parking lot appeared over the tree line. Wyatt was sitting on the hood of his car, and he launched to his feet when he saw us. Phin set down with an unsettling thud, not his usual graceful stop, and let me go, anticipating the regurgitation. Token, however, didn’t uncurl from my legs.

  I toppled sideways and skinned my palms on the gravel even as I puked all over it. I barely felt the shock of jarring my wrapped wrist. Token released me and scrambled away. Not much came out, but it left my stomach sore and ribs aching. I spat out the taste of bile. My arms trembled, and I nearly collapsed into my own vomit.

  Strong arms slid around my waist and hauled me back to safety. I let him pull me against his chest, nearly cradled in his lap, and it took several deep breaths to realize it wasn’t Phin. “I’ve got you,” Wyatt said. “Phin, there’s bottled water in the backseat.”

  I closed my eyes, drawing on the familiar heat of Wyatt’s chest, the steady thu-dump of his heartbeat, for strength. The nausea was gone, but the headache hadn’t dimmed. Something cold and wet dabbed at my lips and chin, then hard plastic pressed to my mouth. I drank a few sips.

  “She passed out during the final teleport,” Phin said.

  “Lotta walls,” I said. “Fucking walls hurt.”

  “Did anyone see you?” Wyatt asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” Phin replied. “I heard no alarms raised. The mission, it seems, was successful.”

  I peeled my eyelids open and winced against the sunlight. Phin was crouched next to us, Token shadowing him on the right. Wyatt’s hold was loose, and he didn’t protest when I sat up. It felt good—more than good; right—being in his arms like that.

  “We shouldn’t hang around,” I said. “Phin heard voices coming toward the lab, so they might realize Token’s gone and start looking.”

  Gravel crunched as Wyatt stood. He circled around and offered me his hand. I took it, grateful, and used his support to pull unsteadily to my feet. The ground tilted a bit. I squeezed his hand until the dizziness subsided, then let go. We took our previous places in the car, with Token tucked into the backseat with Phin. Good thing Token was the size of a fifth grader or they wouldn’t have had much room back there.

  I relaxed against the seat, eyes closed, willing away the headache. It would take time. It always did when I teleported too much at once. Even with my healing ability, it took its toll, and I couldn’t image how much damage the teleporting would cause if I couldn’t heal quickly. Then again, without the healing, I’d have been dead long ago.

  The road smoothed out, and we began a steady descent out of the mountains, back toward the city. I listened to the hum of the engine and tried to ignore the new, itchy pressure in my right wrist. Finally the bones were starting to mend.

  “Let’s assume that Token successfully leads us to Thackery’s location,” Phin said sometime into the trip. “Do you have a plan in mind?”

  “Surveillance,” Wyatt replied. “We can’t go in until we know what to expect. Who’s there, who’s not, and where the trickster’s enisi is being held.”

  “And once we know these things?”

  Silence. I listed my head to the side and squinted at Wyatt through half-closed lids. He chewed on his lower lip, brow furrowed. Thinking. I asked, “Your first response wasn’t calling in the Triads, so what’s up? Having trust issues again?”

  “Bringing them in to clean this up exposes you.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Even if I hid during whatever operation breached the hideout and apprehended Thackery and his latest menagerie of monsters, there was nothing to stop Thackery from flapping his yap about me. He wanted my blood. Would the Triads turn down a deal from Thackery? Me for whatever new weapons or defenses he’d devised against the Dregs? Hell, what if he offered them a vaccine against vampire bites? The idea of such a thing, its base components likely coursing through my veins, horrified me as much as it thrilled me. No more Hunters lost to accidental bites.

  Was Thackery good enough to
develop a cure for existing Halfies as well?

  “What about the Bloods?” I asked.

  “They’re just as risky, Evy. They’re a very logical species and will likely see the potential in the science Thackery has to offer in exchange for his life. I don’t know if I trust them not to turn on us if a reason presents itself.”

  Good point. Vampires preferred logic to emotions and had no apparent qualms about sacrificing their own in order to achieve a greater goal. Their MO of late was to observe and lend a hand when necessary. I’d received help from Isleen, a daughter of the royal family of Bloods, and I trusted her with my life. (Easy to do when she’d saved it once.) I didn’t trust any of the others. Not as far as I could throw their skinny, pale, white-haired asses.

  “Well, the three of us aren’t going to be much good on our own,” I said. “We know Thackery’s not working alone. He at least has that blond kid, and who knows how many other people?”

  “You have a point, and the fewer people we tell about this little operation, the fewer birdies can fly over and warn him.”

  “Still doesn’t mean we don’t need backup.”

  “Makes quite the predicament.”

  “I admit,” Phin said, “this conversation surprises me.”

  I twisted around in my seat. He was behind Wyatt, hands folded in his lap, pensive. “What do you mean?”

  “You can imagine the benefits of Thackery’s work for your people, and yet you hesitate to allow the Triads access to it?”

  “I can’t say I automatically trust it in their hands, no.”

  “Would you risk it falling into the hands of another race? My people, for example? The vampires? Or, worse, the goblins?”

  My stomach clenched. “The goblins haven’t been much of a threat since Olsmill. They aren’t exactly known for their higher thinking skills, so they’d have little use for vaccines and hybrids.”

  “And yet the risk remains. Will the technology fall into the hands of humans or Dregs?” His use of the derogatory word—one he’d made no bones about hating—was deliberate. It drove his point home good and hard.