Another Kind of Dead Read online

It was just past sunrise, the north-south streets still cast in shadows. Halfway to the park, in the gloom between two streetlamps, I pulled the little tin box out of my back pocket. Flipped the lid and looked at the two white capsules nestled in a bit of cotton. Enough poison lurked in one of those to kill a three-hundred-pound man in under ten seconds. I took the pills and tossed the tin into a garbage can. Held the milky capsules in my palm a moment, contemplating how benign they looked.

  I had told Wyatt I would rather die again than be anyone’s guinea pig. I had meant it then, and still did now. But staying alive meant a continued chance of rescue or escape. Killing myself precluded those possibilities. Precluded him.

  I dropped the pills and crushed them beneath my heel, grinding the poisonous contents into the sidewalk. Even as I’d suffered at Kelsa’s hands, I’d stayed sane with thoughts of rescue. Thoughts of Wyatt looking for me, doing everything in his power to find me. No matter what Thackery had in mind, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  The park was empty, silent as a grave. The neighborhood around it would be waking up soon; for now, not even birds occupied the stubbly trees. The ground was soaked and muddy in places from last night’s rainstorm, and the odor of wet earth was cloying. Almost suffocating.

  I tested my tap to the Break and found its familiar, buzzing power quickly. Just in case. The utter silence unnerved me. Then the phone rang, and I had it open and to my ear before it could chime a second time. “Where’s Phineas?”

  “The trade isn’t happening at the park. It’s too public.”

  “Where, then?”

  “I’m sending a courier to get you, Ms. Stone. And, please, try to keep an open mind about your transportation.”

  “I don’t—”

  He hung up and I grunted, sick of him doing that. I pocketed the phone. I didn’t have to wait long, though, to see just what he meant by transportation. I sensed movement behind me and pivoted, dropping my weight back to my right foot, ready for a fight.

  I wasn’t ready for the sight of a two-hundred-pound gray wolf standing on the sidewalk, less than twenty feet from me. Streetlight glistened off its long canines, glinted across the sleek gray pelt that covered its heavily muscled body, and sparkled in its intelligent silver eyes. It drew back black lips and snarled.

  My stomach hit the dirt. What the fuck was a wolf doing in the middle of the city? I had no weapons, and no way to defend myself short of teleporting onto the roof of the next building. I stared, waiting for its muscles to tense, for any sign of impending attack. It didn’t. It actually turned and hunched sideways, offering its back, then swiveled its head around to stare at me again. I gaped.

  Try to keep an open mind about your transportation.

  “You have got to be shitting me!”

  It was actually kind of brilliant, as long as the wolf didn’t get hungry and decide to make a snack of me on the way to our destination. Wolves were fast—much faster than any human being—and had the agility and grace of natural predators. It could carry me on a zigzagging course through Mercy’s Lot that would leave my trackers in the dust, rendering the dye useless as a means to follow me.

  Fucking genius.

  I took two tentative steps forward. “Nice doggie,” I said softly.

  The wolf remained still. More steps, a few at a time, until I was nearly at its back. I longed for one of my knives. Something to plunge into the animal’s hide and rip through muscle and flesh. The odor of it roiled my stomach—sweat and meat and something musky, almost sinister—both familiar and completely foreign. I touched its shoulder. Coarse fur and hot skin rippled under my touch. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in its chest. Orders warring with its killer instinct to rend rather than carry.

  The growl grew louder, and I swore it was from impatience. I took a deep breath, summoned up my courage, and climbed on like it was a pony ride. My arms tightened around its neck, fingers finding purchase in unexpectedly soft fur, my legs clamped firmly around its hard, muscled waist. It paused only a moment to let me get a grip, then bolted. I pressed my cheek into its neck and held on for the horseback ride from Hell.

  The city sped past—alleys and streets and sidewalks, everything mixing together in a blur. Steel muscles rippled beneath me as it moved seemingly without effort. I saw very few cars, fewer people. Oddly, we passed what I guessed was a small group of gremlins conferring in an alley behind a bakery. Gremlins, of all damned things.

  The wolf made several more sharp turns, keeping to side streets for a while, and then raced into a condemned public parking garage. It leapt over the white-and-black-painted pole permanently dropped into place across the entrance, and I nearly fell off. Not just from the momentum but also from the sparkle of orange light that flashed through my brain and body as we passed. Protection barrier. Figured.

  I barely hung on as the wolf continued its breakneck pace. Up to the center level. Dirt and grime and a few abandoned cars marked our path, as well as something else—fresh tire tracks and footprints.

  I tried to drum up a location and could think of only one condemned parking garage in Mercy’s Lot, as far south as you could get on the peninsula without crossing one of the rivers. Based on the length of time we’d been traveling—and the fact that we hadn’t crossed either of the rivers—it had to be where we were. Outside the half-mile limit of the tracking dye.

  On the third level, the wolf came to an abrupt stop and crouched. The sudden forward momentum pitched me over its head. I hit the cement on my back, blasting the air from my lungs in a pained whoosh, sending bolts of agony up my backside. I gasped, seeing stars and winking lights in my vision. I felt, more than saw, the wolf circling me. Watching me.

  “Ms. Stone?”

  I bolted upright, sending more spasms through my lower back, which had tears stinging my eyes. Walter Thackery stood ten feet from me, dressed exactly as before in a long coat and snazzy suit. Behind him was a long black vehicle, and I had to blink several times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. He’d driven up here in a hearse.

  The irony of it made me snort.

  “Not a terribly polite greeting,” Thackery said. “But that doesn’t surprise me, given your abrupt unseating. I apologize for the mode of transportation. It seemed the most effective method of preventing you from being followed.”

  “Forgive me for not bowing to your evil genius,” I said bitterly.

  “What you see as evil, I see as the preservation of the human race.”

  “At the expense of what?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “Even your friends? We know about Bastian.”

  Something akin to annoyance flickered across his face. “Did you kill him?”

  I kept my expression neutral—at least, I tried to while I continued getting my breathing under control. He didn’t like my silence. Anger tightened his shoulders and clenched his fists. I ignored it as I stood up, a little wobbly, back shrieking in protest.

  “Where’s Phineas?” I asked.

  “Did you kill Bastian?”

  Part of me wanted to say yes, just to see his face. To cause him a fraction of the pain he’d already caused me. Only I feared his temper if he decided to retaliate. He’d use Phin as a punching bag, not me. “No, I didn’t, and I doubt anyone else will.”

  “I believe you. I admit, I’m a little surprised you aren’t trying to use him against me.”

  “You wouldn’t trade your science project for his life, so why bother?”

  “You’re correct, Ms. Stone. The applications of my research are worth far more than one man’s life.”

  “Really? More than the lives of your wife and son?”

  A thundercloud stole across his expression. I’d hit a nerve. Good.

  Thackery waved me toward the rear of the hearse. I kept a good-sized pocket of air between us. The wolf stayed close to me, canines still bared, probably hungry and ready to chew on my hand with one order from his master. Thackery opened the back of the hearse. I stifled
a startled cry at the sight of an actual coffin.

  He grabbed a handle and pulled. The coffin glided halfway out on a metal track. With a key I didn’t see him produce, he unsealed the front half of the coffin. Air hissed. I took another step forward, my entire body trembling. God help you, Thackery, if you went back on your word.…

  He lifted the lid. I choked.

  Phin’s skin was ghastly white, almost gray, against the coffin’s cream lining. He was bare-chested, his eyes shut, an oxygen mask over nose and chapped lips with a tube leading somewhere down and out of sight. His chest rose and fell sporadically, almost impossible to see. It wasn’t those things, though, that made tears sting my eyes.

  It was the long, Y-shaped scar running lengthwise from chest to belly, sewn up with neat black stitches. Just like incisions made during autopsies. I stared, cold even as two hot tears streaked down my cheeks, remembering how Phin had screamed over the phone. Had he been conscious while Thackery cut him open?

  “I’ve always wanted the chance to study a were’s anatomy.”

  My fist connected with Thackery’s jaw with a solid crack. Even as he reeled, the wolf tackled me from behind. It didn’t bite or rend, just held me down, suffocating me with its bulk. I bucked and screamed, unable to dislodge the damned thing. I couldn’t even teleport out from under it with that protection spell blocking my tap. Rage crept over me.

  “Let her up!”

  The wolf moved, taking its musky smell with it, and after another command from Thackery, retreated to the other side of the hearse. I rolled onto my knees and pulled into a crouch, only to come face to muzzle with Thackery’s gun. This time it didn’t look like a dart gun. He glared down at me over the length of it.

  “Make another move like that, Ms. Stone, and I will kill the shape-shifter. Don’t mistake my allowing him to live for kindness.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  A car door opened, then shut seconds later. Someone else from the hearse joined Thackery. It was the blond teenager from the train yards, same loose clothes, head bowed in the same submissive stance as before. Our eyes met briefly, and I flinched at the predatory hate in his—so much hate for someone so young.

  Between Thackery and the boy, they lifted the coffin out of the hearse and put it on the concrete, shocking me with their combined strength. Thackery opened the bottom half, confirming my suspicion that Phin was hooked up to an oxygen tank. He’d been left in a pair of gray briefs and nothing else. Thackery removed the oxygen mask, and the pair lifted Phin out and deposited him on the chilly ground in an undignified heap.

  I scooted forward and, when Thackery didn’t warn me to stay away, crouched at Phin’s side. His skin was cold and clammy, his breathing shallow. All I wanted was for my friend to open his eyes and look at me, to tell me he’d be okay. He was deeply unconscious, and it was probably for the best. I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

  “Time is wasting, Ms. Stone. Into the coffin, if you don’t mind.”

  A startled cry choked me, and I looked up. “Into the coffin?”

  “The oxygen will keep you from suffocating until we reach our intended destination.”

  Oxygen or not, the idea of being locked into a box for the next however many hours terrified me. Stall, stall, stall. “Why did you send those hounds after us at the cabin?”

  “The pùca failed me. I was simply tying up loose ends. He knew too much to allow him to stay in your hands for long.”

  “Did you kill his enisi, too?”

  “Of course not. He was returned to the desert from which he was taken.”

  The nearest desert was hundreds of miles away, across several states. “By who?”

  A muscle twitched in Thackery’s jaw. “Who, indeed?”

  “Token’s still out there, you know. You keep losing your science projects, Thackery. That’s pretty careless.”

  He quirked his eyebrow, but my words produced no other reaction. Still, I had only one more bluff up my sleeve. “They tested my blood at R&D before I left. Hate to see you going through all this trouble when there’s nothing useful to be found.”

  “Your scientists have no idea what to look for.”

  “You feel confident of that?”

  “Yes.”

  Shit.

  “Get in the coffin, Ms. Stone.”

  I hesitated. Not good. Thackery barked something at the boy, who immediately pounced on me. I wriggled and kicked, surprised by his steel grip on my arms. Something stung my shoulder, spreading warmth beneath my skin. Then the strange musk of the boy’s scent faded, my muscles grew too heavy to move, and I passed out.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The first thing clueing me in to impending consciousness was the gentle rumble of movement. Not me moving, exactly—an encompassing sensation of motion. Vibrations beneath me and around me, like I’d fallen asleep in a car.

  I lurched toward a sitting position and didn’t even get my head up. I was strapped down to something moderately padded, secured at every joint from my ankles to my wrists, across my stomach, and even one strap over my forehead. Sleep and tears had sealed my eyes shut. I worked them open, aware of a barrage of new smells—disinfectant, motor oil, bleach, blood, sweat—among other, unidentifiable odors.

  My eyes focused on a ceiling of sheet metal, dull and unpolished, reflecting light from elsewhere in the room. It wasn’t very wide, maybe ten feet. The length was impossible to tell without turning my head, which I couldn’t. Panic splashed across me like ice water. Where the hell was I? Why was I moving? Where was Thackery? Had Phin been found?

  On my right was an IV stand with a single bag and tube attached. A bag slowly filling up with blood. I flexed my right arm, felt the prick of the needle in my vein. He’d already started collecting his samples. Bastard. I tested my other limbs. Nothing could move, but nothing else felt poked, pricked, or cut. Just held down and a little numb—especially my ass. I’d been lying there a while.

  My tongue was dry and did little to wet my parched lips. My brain was muddled, almost lethargic. Side effects of whatever he’d knocked me out with, I’d bet. My eyelids kept drifting shut, ready to sleep again.

  No, not yet.

  A door opened and closed, and shoes squeaked across the floor. Thackery stepped up on my left side, smiling like a doctor welcoming his favorite patient back to life. “Didn’t expect to see you awake,” he said. “Not after drawing nearly six pints of your blood.”

  Shit, so that’s why I was so sleepy. He really was going to drain me dry. Still, this allayed my fears of him performing exploratory surgery on me. You can’t torture someone if they’ve bled to death first. But the thought gave me little comfort. Fast or slow, dead was dead.

  “Why … moving?” Both words took a concentrated effort that left me panting.

  “Staying on the move makes it harder for my enemies to track me.”

  Good point. I poked around for my tap. Felt nothing. Was I too weak? Were we so far out of the city that the Break’s power had disappeared? Had he enchanted this mobile lab with protection like he had the parking garage? All three thoughts made my heart ache. No, I wouldn’t let Thackery see me cry. I closed my eyes and allowed fatigue to overtake me. I’d rather die in my sleep than give him the satisfaction.

  I drifted for a while, thinking of my morning in bed with Wyatt, holding him, being held by him, and let those precious memories carry me into blackness.

  Bleach … urine … car exhaust. I had to be in Hell; no way heaven smelled this bad. Ugh. I always thought Hell would smell more like brimstone—not that I knew exactly what brimstone smelled like. Rotten eggs or something. And shouldn’t it be hotter in here? I wasn’t cold. I just couldn’t feel anything below my neck.

  What the—?

  That subliminal sense of motion was still there. Getting my eyes open took a concentrated effort. Glued together from sleep and tears, I probably tore out a couple of eyelashes forcing them apart. A silver blur greeted me. Even out of focus, I k
new it was the same roof. The same table, the same straps, the same damned place. I wasn’t dead. So what the fuck was Thackery playing at?

  My head wasn’t strapped down as before, giving me a bit more freedom to look around. The IV stand was still there. Instead of a bag sucking out blood, a clear bag hung from it, dripping something into me. Gee, so nice to offer an intravenous snack in between drainings.

  The thought seized my heart. Was that his game? Drain me as dry as he could, then let me rest and refuel for a while before round two? Or three, or ten? I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious. Hours? Days? My numb body was cause for concern. I’d been lying here for too damned long. I tried testing my extremities again. Wiggled my fingers and toes, flexed one knee. Nothing else. Just an odd pressure between my legs that didn’t make—Son of a bitch! I’d been hospitalized with traumatic injuries enough times to recognize the feel of a catheter. He’d also removed my clothes and put me into a plain cotton gown, not unlike a hospital drape.

  Asshole had seen me naked!

  “Welcome back.”

  A low growl rumbled out of my throat in response to the strange voice. It warbled in that odd middle between adolescence and maturity. The blond teen shifted into my line of sight, that same blazing hatred in eyes I now saw were a deep, glinting silver. The coloring was familiar somehow. I licked my parched lips with a still-dry tongue, then rasped out, “Fuck you.” It wasn’t poetry, but it would do.

  Bastard laughed at me. “No thank you, you’re not my type.”

  Grrrr. “Why?”

  “Why are you not my type? Because you’re a filthy, fucking human.”

  Which meant he wasn’t. “No, why am I alive?” God, my throat was on fire.

  “Because you’re of less value to the master dead.” Spoken as though his reply should have been painfully obvious. Maybe it was, and I just didn’t want to admit it.

  “Leverage?”

  “Goodness no,” Thackery said, stepping up behind the teen. “I think I gave away my best leverage yesterday. You, Ms. Stone, intrigue me.”