Ever Strange

by Alisa Woods

  Between the four of them, they pinned Ever down, holding her wrists to the concrete floor over her head and slipping the cuffs on. She kept struggling, then let loose a guttural scream of defeat that Zane felt pierce his soul.

  Once cuffed, it took only two of them to haul her up from the floor.

  “Excellent.” Pennies tipped his head to Zane. “Shall we?” He strode toward the door with the pulsing light, which led to the rest of the prison. The alarm clanged on. Zane lumbered behind, not even bothering to glare at the corrupt guards warily watching them go. Pennies’ thugs brought Ever, Willow, and the crate of world-changing drugs along behind them. As Pennies reached the door, a guard spoke into his handheld, and it sprung open before him.

  Zane prayed he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ever had never felt rage like the heat boiling her blood.

  That rage couldn’t express as magick, even if she wanted it to—she was cuffed and trailing behind Zane and Pennies on the way to who-knew-where. And where the hell was the FBI? The small group she was in—which had absolutely the wrong people as prisoners—had left the dock and there was no sign of Arrow and his SWAT team. Pennies was simply being waved through one locked checkpoint after another like he owned the place. The guards were safe behind their bullet-proof glass, buzzing them through, not that Pennies had to threaten them. It’d been clear as soon as the correction officer offered up handcuffs for Zane that they—and probably the warden too—were dirty with this. But why had Zane let them cuff him? Why didn’t he fight? She wanted to rescue the people Pennies had captured, too, but how the hell was she supposed to do that without magick?

  It wasn’t until they’d made it through several lockups and past a hallway that sounded like the riot was happening right next door that she realized… she was scared out of her mind. The anger wasn’t rage at Zane or even Pennies but just raw, naked fear. She wasn’t an FBI agent or a hardened criminal—she ran meetings and drafted business strategy and researched the latest in med-magick. She’d never seen the inside of a prison before today. And she didn’t kill people intentionally with her magick, as she had just done with Berzerker, Pennies’ brother. It was necessary—she knew that—but using her gravitational Talent pushed her close to the edge, where her magick felt unstable. Unhinged. Not that she had to worry about losing control now, not with the cuffs cutting her off from all of it.

  Still… she was shaking.

  Pennies led them through another checkpoint, only this one put them into a large, open, tiled room with rows of shower heads down the wall. What the hell? Why were they here?

  A shallow gasp to Ever’s left drew her attention. Ever had shoved off Anton’s hold, but he had Willow by the arm, dragging her along. The poor girl’s face was drained of color, and if her eyes got any bigger, they’d pop out of her head. If Ever was freaking out, Willow had to be utterly panicked. And she’d already been Pennies’ prisoner, subjected to whatever that bastard’s whims were—and Ever knew they had to be dark. She caught Willow’s gaze and gave her a small nod meant to be reassuring. Willow just blinked. And visibly swallowed. But then she gave a jittery nod in return.

  Somehow, that made all the difference.

  Ever’s heart rate settled. She tried to assess the situation anew. Pennies was up ahead with Zane, leading them to the end of the long shower room. The cartel boss was cruel and calculating—and smart enough to command a drug-running enterprise that spanned the city—but he was also arrogant and cold. She’d magick-blasted his brother, probably to death, and the man had left his body behind with hardly a second glance. Ever probably cared more about Bezerker’s death than he did! Pennies only cared about these drugs they were carting in the wooden crate—and that single-mindedness was both a strength and a liability. Her boardroom skills were coming back to her, fighting through the haze of fear. Pennies had the upper hand in this negotiation at the moment, but time had to be limited on this—the FBI would come for them. The only question would be when.

  And if they would still be alive.

  Zane had to have a plan. He wouldn’t just march them off to their deaths. Maybe it was a really stupid heroic plan that might result in their deaths—but he wouldn’t do it unless they had a chance of saving everyone. She knew the man better than that. So she needed to keep calm, trust in that for the moment, and watch for the opportunity when it came.

  Pennies reached the end of the shower room. He tapped on the wall twice. Ever couldn’t tell if it was a signal or if the tapping itself was responsible, but a door swung open that had been invisible before. It fit seamlessly into the wall. Beyond was a dark stairwell going down that eerily reminded Ever of when she’d met Zane only a few days ago. He’d slipped out the back of the brothel by taking a secret passage built between the walls. It must have been left over from the bootlegging days or part of the illegal magick underground. But Pennies confidently leading them down this concrete stairwell with one dim bulb at the base of it was really, really bad. He’d been here before. He knew where he was going. The door closed behind them with a solid thunk at the top of the steps, shutting out the sound of the blaring riot alarm and throwing the stairwell into even more darkness. Another pulse of fear ran through her.

  What if the FBI couldn’t find them?

  Ever shoved that chilling thought away and let the adrenaline rush sharpen her mind. Where was he taking them? And if this was some kind of escape route—some secret passage out of the prison—why bring Zane and Ever along? Why not just shoot them once they were cuffed? Zane had gambled that Pennies was telling the truth in at least one important way—that he wanted Zane and Ever alive.

  That wasn’t exactly comforting.

  At the bottom of the steps, a short tunnel led to another door. Strangely, this one also opened into another shower room, nearly identical to the one they came through—except this one was fifty years older, cracked and broken, with horrible rust stains bleeding down the walls from the shower heads, half of which were missing. The walls themselves were weeping, slimed by a constant drip from leaky and busted fittings. The lighting was uneven, with most of the fluorescent panels broken, parts hanging awkwardly from the ceiling, flickering in their death throes.

  Pennies kept moving.

  Beyond the shower room was an equally decrepit hallway—peeling paint, some indefinable stain running along the floor—but worse were the open doorways that lined it. Lit only by the infrequent bulbs of the hall, the rooms had empty beds, mattresses rotted or missing, and pots for toilets in the corner. It was a prison, of sorts, only abandoned and secret, languishing in the basement below Underwood Correctional.

  It stank of mildew and decay.

  One room they passed had a freestanding a metal pole, tall and skinny, holding yards of tubing that dangled to the floor. Only when Ever saw a second one—this one still attached to a bag of fluid, a saline bag—did she recognize this place for what it was.

  A hospital.

  An abandoned hospital underneath a prison—there was only one kind of place that could be. A magick asylum. Back before med-magick entered the modern—and humane—age, mental health conditions were considered Talents gone awry, especially when the patients showed signs of mental magick. They were treated with brutal lack of concern for the patients themselves and even less sophisticated magick—often illegal mental magick—with predictably horrific results. Most asylums were shut down fifty years ago, which was about how long this haunted hospital seemed to have been decaying.

  Ever’s pulse quickened as they marched down the hall, their footsteps echoing louder as the sound of the riot alarm grew more distant. They were underground. These walls were built to be solid, buttressed by the earth, secret… so the screams wouldn’t carry as far.

  The perfect place to hide your victims.

  Ever was expecting it—holding her breath, waiting for it—but she was still shocked when Pennies threw open the double wide door at the en
d. The ward beyond was huge, lit unevenly by caged spotlights dangling from the tall ceiling and hanging over row upon row of hospital beds. It was a nightmare from the past, bare metal beds with thin mattresses and patients handcuffed to the rails, some moaning and thrashing, others still as corpses. And there were dozens more beds, in and out of the spotlights… empty.

  Waiting.

  Willow let out a small sound. Not quite a sob, just a tiny note of terror. Ever felt it in her throat, too, but kept it inside.

  “You’re a fucking lunatic, Pennies.” It was Zane. His look of disgust—not fear or horror, just pure loathing—was the anchor in reality that Ever needed at that moment.

  “I am nothing of the sort, incubus.” Pennies was gloating, grinning at the handcuffed agent.

  Ever snapped out of her reflexive horror at the nightmare of this place and realized—this was what she’d wanted all along. Pennies, whatever his crazy plans, no matter his intention for her and Zane and Willow, this was what Ever came for—his victims. She had no idea how they would get everyone out of this, but first…

  She craned her neck to scan the closest beds, but she could barely see the faces in the play of shadows and stark light cast by the overhead spotlights. She lurched forward, hands still cuffed, shuffling past the men standing guard over the beds. The first few “patients” were all women. They had IVs snaking into one arm, the bags of clear fluid being dripped into them glittering from their infusion poles, while the other arm was cuffed to the bed. But they weren’t going anywhere—they were either passed out or dead. Ever rushed past them, picking up speed. No one was stopping her—probably because there was nowhere to go. The only door was behind her. Pennies’ watchmen tracked her progress but didn’t interfere. Zane and Pennies were having some kind of discussion, but she only wanted one thing—and when she found it, she reflexively brought her handcuffed hands to her mouth to cover her sob.

  Her father lay motionless on the bed.

  “No, no, no.” She dropped to kneel by the bedside. He was so pale, his eyes closed, dark circles underneath, cheeks hollowed. What had Pennies done to him? “Dad? Dad!” She lay her hands, bound, on his shoulder—which was clothed in the same black silk shirt he always wore, the one he must have been kidnapped in—and gently shook him. Nothing. “Dad, no, please…” Why couldn’t she have even a fraction of the healing magick her brilliant father possessed? Ever struggled mightily to hold in her sob. With trembling hands, she reached out to press two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. She was terrified to feel his bare skin. To discover he was cold. The instant she touched him, before she could even register what she felt, his eyes snapped open, and he gasped—and Ever nearly shrieked.

  “You’re alive,” she exhaled in a rush.

  His eyes opened wide, then he pulled away from her touch and squinted at her. A beat later, recognition flooded his face. “Ever. Oh, God, no.” Defeat carved lines into him, his expression collapsing under some horrible dread.

  “I’m here to save you.” She gestured with her hands for emphasis, but that only drew his gaze to her cuffs.

  “Oh, honey.” His eyes crinkled up. “I hoped they wouldn’t get you, wouldn’t find you.” His brown eyes were suddenly watery. “At least, I get to see you one more time.”

  “What are you saying?” Horror gripped her. “I’m not… you’re going to be okay!” She said it forcefully, angrily, like she was casting a spell to make it true.

  He just sighed and held up his wrists. They were thin—so thin, it made her eyes burn with angry tears—and she could see each blue vein snaking under nearly clear skin. Nothing like the vibrant man she’d known all her life. The one she’d seen less than a week ago, completely in his prime. It took a moment for her to look past the obvious frailty and see what he meant.

  No cuffs.

  “They take them off afterward.” His voice was raspy.

  “After what?” She searched his face. He was still her father. The same kind, intelligent eyes she’d always looked up to. Whatever Pennies had done to him, he was still her dad. Still alive. Still going to live. She refused to believe anything else.

  “After they take your magick.” His eyelids drooped, and he closed them for a moment, seeming endlessly tired. Like not just the magick had been pulled out of him, but his very life.

  “The drugs,” she whispered, suddenly feeling the weight of it. “They overdosed you, and it destroyed your magick.” The sudden desire to kill Pennies welled up in her. She’d never wanted anyone dead—not even Berzerker, who she’d probably killed minutes ago—much less had an urgent desire to burn them to ash, but she wanted that now for the man who had stolen the magick from her brilliant father, a med-magick researcher who used his Talents to heal. To help countless people through his work. It was just so wrong.

  “No.” Her father shook his head for emphasis then twisted to look back, down the row of beds. Anton was approaching. Her father’s gaze snapped to her. “It was a second formulation. A series of them, in fact. They’ve been running experiments, Ever. Don’t let them—”

  “That’s enough,” Anton said as he arrived at the bed. “Stand up.” He wasn’t talking to her father.

  Ever slowly rose.

  Her father’s eyes went wide. “Ever, you have to—” His gaze dropped to her cuffs then bounced back up. “Stop them, Ever. Don’t let them—”

  “Shut up!” Anton shouted over him, leaning menacingly over the bed.

  Ever reflexively blocked him with her body, getting way too close to the man. Anton was only a simple, she was sure, but she was cuffed, so that left physical attributes, and he outweighed her by fifty pounds. And had a gun strapped to his waist.

  “My father’s no threat,” she said, working fast to diffuse the man’s ire. “You don’t have to hurt him. What do you want from me?”

  “The boss wants you.” He tipped his head back to Pennies at the front of the room, who was looking at her expectantly across the cavernous ward.

  “Fine.” She gave her father a tight smile, hoping to reassure him, but his eyes were alive with panic. Still, he kept quiet as she turned and allowed Pennies’ thug to escort her back to the front. Zane stood next to him, expression inscrutable. Willow’s hands were clenched at her sides—they’d never put cuffs on her, but then she was only a charmer. Her magick wasn’t much of a threat to anyone… and little protection for her.

  Pennies held the key to everything.

  “You’ve got what you wanted,” Ever asserted with a lift of her chin. “You don’t need them anymore. You could just let them all go.”

  Pennies chuckled. “You’re right—I don’t need them anymore. But letting them go?” He shrugged like this was all out of his hands. “Can’t really do that, now can I?”

  “You can’t just leave them here,” Ever protested, even as it was dawning on her… that was exactly what he intended.

  “You never planned to let them go.” Zane’s voice was rough. What was he thinking? What was his plan? Ever’s brain was spinning. “So why drop a body on the FBI’s doorstep?”

  Pennies smirked and arched an eyebrow at Zane. “Distraction. You really need to leave the FBI and come work for me—for real, incubus. They’re idiots over there.”

  Zane just glared. “Why throw them a bone at all?” He glanced around the ward. “Your operation was pretty safe.”

  “And still is,” Pennies sneered. “They won’t find you down here.” He flicked a look to Ever. “Any of you.” Then to Zane, he said, “It was your pet here that caused all the problems. Everything was going smoothly until she thrust herself into the middle of things.” He returned her glare. “You should know those two people died painfully because of you.”

  “You’re the monster here.” But Ever’s stomach was a pile of snakes. What did he mean?

  Pennies snorted a laugh. “I’m the monster. When you’ve been fucking this one?” He hooked a thumb at Zane.

  Ever’s face ran hot, but not because
it wasn’t true—because he still hadn’t said why this was her fault. Which it wasn’t—she was sure of that. Well, ninety percent sure.

  “Ever’s not at fault for any of this.” Zane’s defense only settled her stomach a little.

  “Isn’t she?” Pennies arched his eyebrow again. “She could have just left this alone, accepted the pathetic overdose death of her father like everyone else. But no.” He returned his glare to her. “You’ve been a problem from the start. From the moment you walked into that bakery, I knew you’d bring undue scrutiny to my operation at precisely the least convenient time. I should have simply killed you. Even your disappearance ended up splashed all over the news. I needed time, Ms. Strange—not a lot, just a very specific amount.” He swung his gaze back to Zane. “So a short distraction, a few bodies, a couple nonsensical notes—it didn’t take much to throw the FBI into a frenzy.”

  Zane's eyes narrowed. “There was never any serial killer. You were buying time to finish whatever you’ve been doing to these people.”

  “Well, I’m not quite finished.” He beckoned over the men who had carried the crate all the way from the train. They set it down in front of him, and one pried open the wooden-slatted lid. Inside, packed in straw, were hundreds of small, gold-colored scroll cases. The kind that held one-time spells for things like hair restoration or good luck charms, each scribed on rolled-up parchment and imbued with magick then sealed up to be sold. Some spells like that were legal, others not so much, but it made no sense that Pennies would smuggle in charm spells to his secret med-magick asylum.

  Pennies lifted one from the crate and popped open the lid of the gilded case. Inside was a white plastic bottle, which he slid out. It was a simple pain reliever, not even med-magick—Ever instantly recognized the brand. It was one of hers. Well, one of the pharmaceutical companies she had recently acquired. What the fuck?