Another Kind of Dead Read online

  Milo and Oliver waited in the Jeep. Kismet used her password to gain entry, then led the way with Baylor and Wyatt watching my back. It was the middle of the night, and the lobby was empty. Small, like a doctor’s waiting room, it had two leather couches flanking the entry and framed watercolors hanging on the walls. Opposite the entrance was an elevator and two heavy gray doors. All three exits had keypads. Next to the center door was a black wall-mounted telephone. The room reeked of furniture polish and bleach.

  Kismet strode to the phone, picked up the handset, and pressed one of the four multicolored keys. Waited, then said, “Gina Kismet, Triad Three, requesting sublevel escort.” She waited a beat, then hung up.

  “An escort?” I asked.

  “Our passwords won’t get us into the sublevels,” she said.

  “What about those doors?”

  “We can get into those. It’s mostly offices and low-level research behind one of them. The other houses the entire history of the Triads.”

  “Ever been in there?”

  “Once or twice.”

  I glanced at Wyatt. “You?”

  He nodded but didn’t elaborate. His lips were pressed thin, his cheeks pallid. I wasn’t used to seeing Wyatt Truman nervous. For someone who’d helped create the program and place we were in, he didn’t seem very sure of his position. Not that I begrudged him a little anxiety. His rank hadn’t helped save me from a Neutralize order the first time around.

  The center door swung open, and a too-familiar striking face stepped into the lobby. White-blond hair, still model-handsome, dressed in the same black slacks and white tieless dress shirt I’d always seen Bastian wear.

  What the hell was the Triad recruiter doing here at the ass crack of dawn?

  Bastian froze when he saw me, his face going absolutely still. Unreadable. His eyes flickered to my left, where Wyatt stood, then back to me. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” he said, each word clipped and carefully chosen.

  Don’t be so sure.

  Kismet surprised me by saying, “Call her Chalice. She used to know Evy Stone.”

  He turned that even gaze on Kismet. He seemed uncertain how to react to her proclamation. Like everyone else in the Triads, he’d have heard about my resurrection three weeks ago. And like everyone else who paid attention, he’d have heard Kismet’s report of my death at the potato chip factory a week after that. Even though he’d never met me in my present body, he knew. I could see it in the slant of one eyebrow and the thin line of his lips.

  “I hope she has a damned good reason for being here,” Bastian finally said, radiating familiar calm. “Otherwise, she may not be allowed to leave.”

  I nearly snorted in his face. Unless they kept some sort of Break-blocking magic crystal handy—I mentally shuddered, remembering that damned thing—there wasn’t a holding cell in Boot Camp that could keep me against my will.

  “One of your Hunters was killed tonight,” I said before anyone could stop me, “and another seriously wounded by hounds that are exact replicas of the six you supposedly have locked up in this building.”

  His lips parted, that steady calm starting to crack. “The hounds from Olsmill are still locked up. The only nonhuman who’s left this building in the last four days is the goblin-hybrid who was mysteriously ghosted away yesterday.”

  “Let’s pretend I’m very cynical and will believe only what I see for myself.”

  “You shouldn’t have gotten into this building, much less be getting past this lobby, Chalice.”

  I threw out a name. “Walter Thackery.”

  Another crack in the form of furrowed eyebrows. “What about him?”

  Not “Who is he?”

  “He created the hounds and all the other hybrids locked down in your sublevels. I have information that can help you catch him, but first I need to see those hounds.”

  His eyes narrowed. Bastian seemed to weigh my words, in no hurry, unaware I was on a big damned deadline. He finally broke the hold on my gaze and looked at the trio of Handlers. “Who’s responsible for her?”

  “I am,” all three replied in chorus. I would have laughed if it hadn’t been so generous.

  Bastian blinked. “Adrian comes with us. You two stay.”

  Wyatt made a startled grunt. I squeezed his arm just above the elbow, then winked when he caught my eye.

  “Weapons stay here,” Bastian said.

  “Not a fucking chance in hell,” I replied, as nonchalant as if he’d asked whether I wanted cream in my coffee.

  He scowled, then walked over to the elevator and entered a code. A little yellow light flashed green, and the doors slid open. I followed him and Baylor into the wide polished-metal interior, turned, and held Wyatt’s gaze until the doors closed. My stomach flipped as the elevator dropped. I hated elevators, had for most of my life. Felt too much like free-falling.

  Bastian flanked my right side, and, this close, I smelled oranges and patchouli—an odd mix of scents that mingled with memory. If not for Bastian, my life would have been completely different. Maybe I’d have died long ago on the streets, another victim of random violence—Dreg or otherwise. Maybe I’d have fallen in love with a handsome older man who would have taken me away from this damned city, to a life of luxury and pleasure. And maybe rainbows would’ve shot out of my ass. For better or worse or something in between, Bastian had gotten me here.

  I was tempted to punch him in the eye for it. Fortunately for his good looks, the elevator dinged on level S-3. Another keypad lit up by the door, and Bastian typed in another code. The security in the place impressed me. It meant everyone who went in and out was recorded and logged somewhere—information that would make discovering the traitor much easier.

  The doors opened on a long, well-lit corridor that stretched a good twenty yards before ending in a T junction. Every few yards a stark gray metal door presented itself. Each had a fist-size door at eye level, with a slot to slide it back and see what was inside. At waist level on the left side of each door was a keypad and a card slider—double security on these doors.

  As we exited the elevator, my nose was assaulted by the rank odors of urine, blood, sweat, wet dog, and something I couldn’t identify. Sweet like honey, but with an undercurrent of tang. The strength of the smells made my eyes water. Even Baylor looked queasy.

  Bastian strolled down the corridor, past a dozen doors, and turned right at the T junction. More doors, these a bit closer together. He stopped at the first on our left and pulled back the slot guard. He moved to the next and repeated it with six doors, not even bothering to look inside, so confident the hounds were there.

  I glanced at Baylor, who quirked an eyebrow. “Your show, Stone,” he seemed to say.

  The slot window was protected by thick (and hopefully shatterproof) glass. I peered through, into a room roughly six-by-six feet, dimly lit by an overhead, inset light source. A hulking shadow crouched in the corner of the room, its dark brown pelt glimmering, back to me. But I knew that shape—long limbs and human torso, roped with deadly muscles, hands that sported razor claws. My stomach knotted fiercely.

  “One down,” I said, then moved to the next door. Each presented a repeat of the last—a hound huddled in one of the corners, facing away, subdued and very much not dead. All six hounds present and accounted for. “Hell.”

  “You genuinely suspected someone here released those monsters?” Bastian asked.

  “No reason not to, since someone here tipped off Thackery about Token’s removal.”

  Bastian’s face drew in on itself, like the man had just sucked on a lemon. “That’s a serious charge.”

  “You didn’t deny it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  A chill spread through my chest. Behind me, Baylor drew to his full height, tense, watching. I instinctively felt for my tap to the Break and grasped the fine edges of power with my mind. Just in case I needed to get us out in a hurry.

  “I don’t speak for the scientists who work her
e,” Bastian said. “So I don’t dare speak for or against their possible actions regarding this man Thackery. You came to see the hounds, and as you can see, they’re tucked in nice and secure.”

  “The hounds are here, fine,” I snapped, “but that doesn’t mean someone in R&D isn’t responsible for the other hounds being turned loose, or for getting Phineas el Chimal, a member of the Assembly of Clan Elders, fucking kidnapped.”

  Bastian cocked his head to the side. “Is he the same Elder who demanded the execution of one of our Handlers less than two weeks ago?”

  “So? Phin pardoned Rufus and rescinded his demand of execution. You know that.”

  “Yes, but how do you know that, Chalice?”

  I had not for a single second thought Bastian a fool. There was no sense in bothering with the charade. “I know because I was the one who protected the last three—four if you count the infant—living members of the Coni Clan. I caught Snow, one of the perpetrators of the Parker’s Palace massacre, and I’m the one who actually put Leonard Call into a coma by jumping out a window with him.”

  Annoyance and awe warred on Bastian’s face, skewing his mouth into an uneven line and creasing his forehead. “So,” he said slowly, “we meet again, Evangeline. It’s been quite a few years, and—”

  “Oh my, how I’ve changed? Save it. I’ve heard it before.”

  “I can imagine. It’s not every Hunter who has two death certificates in her file.”

  “Can we pretend the one at the factory stuck?”

  “I’m still working off the premise that the one at the train station stuck. It’s difficult to accept the notion that someone was actually raised from the dead and put into another person’s body.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Baylor cleared his throat. “Do we really have time for this?” he asked.

  “Explain to me again why you believe someone at R&D betrayed you,” Bastian asked. I did, and he nodded along, either accepting or simply absorbing. No idea which until he spoke. “It’s a logical assumption, based on evidence presented.”

  “But?” I asked.

  “But no one will admit to it, Evangeline. And given your deadline, you don’t have time to sift through telephone records and individually question everyone who works in this building.”

  “The only people I need to question are the ones who were on duty yesterday when Token went missing. Where do I find that roster of names?”

  “I can get it from my office upstairs. Everyone who comes and goes uses an individual key code to enter and exit the building.”

  “Good. Were you here?”

  His eyebrows slanted in a deep V. “Yes. As I said, my office is upstairs. Are you going to accuse me of being the traitor now?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  I swallowed, my heart beating just a little faster. “Did you call Thackery to tell him that Token was missing?”

  “No.”

  Phew. Scratch one name off the immediate list. He’d come off the Official List as soon as someone checked his cell phone—

  “I didn’t call Thackery,” Bastian said wearily, “because he called me first.”

  Sound roared in my ears. I didn’t register Baylor pulling his gun, only him stepping around in front of me, pistol leveled on Bastian’s throat. I couldn’t seem to pick my jaw up off the floor. Had Bastian seriously just confessed his compliance with the Bad Guy?

  He seemed unconcerned that Baylor was holding a cocked gun on him, his eyes never wavering from my face. He didn’t even look upset, like what he’d just said had absolutely nothing to do with our current problem. It was … strange.

  “Why?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Why did Thackery call you?”

  “Not while there’s a gun in my face,” Bastian said calmly.

  Baylor took two steps back but didn’t change his aim. “Gun’s out of your face,” Baylor growled. “Now talk.” God bless big men and their guns.

  “I’ve known Walter Thackery for twelve years,” Bastian said. “I met him at the university when I was an undergrad on a student visa and he was working on his doctoral thesis in molecular biology. He was a brilliant man, with his theories on interspecies breeding. Mostly plants back then, of course. He didn’t learn of the existence of Dregs until his wife was turned into one.”

  “Five years ago,” I said. Memory circled back to my apartment right after the earthquake. “His wife was bitten by a vampire, and six months later a Triad team neutralized her.”

  Bastian nodded, not a trace of emotion leaking through. “Thackery was broken when he lost Anne, but he was shattered the following year when he lost his son.”

  “Son?”

  “Anne was four months pregnant when she was infected. Thackery cashed in his life insurance, his stocks, sold everything he owned to find a way to cure her. Somehow the baby was born, and, at first, he didn’t seem infected. Anne escaped and was later killed. But the baby—” Bastian’s voice cracked. “The baby wasn’t normal.”

  I wanted to tell him to stop, that I didn’t give a flying fuck about any of this. The gory details of Walter Thackery’s life didn’t excuse his actions, and Bastian should just shut his mouth. Instead, I asked, “He tried to cure his son?”

  “Tried and failed. After that, he became obsessed with the eradication of the vampire race. He wanted to study them, to discover a vaccine against their salivary parasite, anything to stop the spread of their infection and halt the creation of half-Bloods.”

  Little worms wriggled up the backs of my legs. “What about the other things in his lab at Olsmill? What about the hounds and Token and all the other half-breeds he created?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t know.” More force in his words that time, a spark of fury. “Thackery didn’t tell me anything he didn’t want to tell me. I had no idea he was involved in Tovin’s plans at Olsmill. We had very little contact these last two years, maybe a phone call once a month. I understood what he was trying to do, and, until Olsmill, he never interfered with Triad business. He was off everyone’s radar, except mine.”

  I fisted my hands to keep them from shaking, rage bubbling up, staining my cheeks with a hot flush. “And after Olsmill? After we recovered his projects and brought them here?”

  He looked at the floor, finally—fucking finally!—showing some semblance of shame. “Thackery called the day after,” he said to the floor. “He knew we employed our own scientists here and wanted to make sure they were receiving proper care.”

  Cartilage broke beneath my knuckles and blood spurted hot across my skin before I realized I’d hit him. Bastian stumbled into the wall, his once perfect nose gushing blood and oddly angled. He stared at me, wide eyes glazed with pain, not even trying to staunch the flow.

  “Motherfucker,” I snarled, fist drawn back and ready to strike again. “You knew Thackery had been working with Tovin and you didn’t fucking say anything? Didn’t turn him in? Tell me why I shouldn’t break your balls next!”

  “He said he was close to a vaccine for the vampire parasite, and that he only needed two more months to find it. He swore to me he’d share it when he had it, that the Triads could use it to inoculate ourselves. The payoff was an acceptable risk, so I said nothing.”

  Slivers of pain laced across the palm of my hand—I’d clenched my fist so hard I’d broken skin, created tiny, bloody half-moon indents. Hysteria was gnawing at the corners of my conscious mind, threatening to overthrow my rage. I wanted to beat Bastian senseless for his part in what Thackery had done to me, because intentionally or not, he’d been a willing accomplice to the research. A willing participant in the way my body had been used to incubate a potential antidote to a parasite that had ruined hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. That had killed people important to me. People I loved.

  “The timing of yesterday’s call, then,” Baylor said. “You want us to believe it was a coincidence?”

  “I
t was his weekly check-in on his projects. I got the report of Token’s removal while we were talking, and Thackery overheard. He cut off the conversation, and we haven’t spoken since.”

  “And you never said a damned word to anyone?” Baylor’s finger twitched on the trigger, fury coloring his face. “Thackery murdered Rhys Willemy. His hounds killed David Moreau tonight, and Felix Diggory is hanging on by a thread. Not to mention the living hell he’s put Stone through this last week.”

  Each of the names spat at him seemed to affect Bastian in some way—little tics of his eyes, a flare of nostrils, hints of pain and regret. My name, however, brought on something different. With blood oozing down his chin and staining the crisp white collar of his shirt, Bastian looked genuinely confused.

  “Thackery may have finally stumbled onto his promised vaccine,” I said. “The trade is Phineas for the antibody carrier. Under other circumstances, I’d have no qualms about making the trade, but Thackery isn’t being a philanthropist here. He’s weaponized the parasite, but without the cure he won’t use his weapon, and I’ve got only about four hours left to come up with a Plan B before he kills Phin.”

  “You’ll never find Thackery before the clock runs out,” Bastian said. “He’s stayed hidden for this long. He won’t make a stupid mistake so close to the end.”

  “I have to try.”

  “Why—?” He stopped, realization dawning. I could almost see a cartoon lightbulb blink on above his head. “You’re the carrier.”

  “Give that man a fucking prize.”

  “Do you realize what a gift you could have?”

  I groaned. “For all I know, I’m lugging around ten pints of regular old O positive. Right now the only thing I’m thinking about is how to save Phin’s life and prevent Thackery from using his weapon against us in some sort of power play.”

  “You can’t trade for Phineas.”