The crew chief poked her head into the cargo space to let us know we were about ten minutes out, and we should buckle up to get ready for the descent. Karen nodded. Calix was the only one who'd unbuckled herself during the flight.
I waited for Dmitri's aura to diminish, or Calix's eyes to go back to normal, but they didn't. I turned to face Aleksy. "What the hell is going on?"
My old friend shrugged. "You know, you are not the only extraordinary creature to ever volunteer in service of their country."
That made sense. Him suddenly speaking perfect English did not. But maybe I was still dreaming.
"Once you started working for MONIKER, it was inevitable word would leak out." Aleksy grinned. "Your cooperation with the agency made a lot of very old, very powerful lineages very nervous."
"Dmitri and Calix … they're not–"
"Human?" Aleksy's grin faded as he shook his head. "No. But I think you sensed that."
Well, Dmitri scared me shitless. I felt a little better knowing he was more than human. Calix–well, she was interesting.
"So what are you?" I asked Aleksy. "My former Jedi Master come to give me life coaching advice?"
"No." Aleksy smiled, wider than before. "I'm the ghost of your good deeds, come back to haunt you."
And then I swear on the Gods of the North, he did that creepy Cheshire cat thing where he faded out until all you could see left of him was his giant, cheesy ass grin. Smart ass.
"I see you've rejoined reality." Dmitiri raised an eyebrow.
I wondered if he knew everything I had seen while on my long, strange, MONIKER-induced trip, if he had been treated to a picture of me talking to my hallucinations, or if he'd seen Aleksy and Shin sitting next to me.
For that matter, was I awake? Just as a test, I tried calling the change to me.
Fuck! Ow. Yep. Awake. And the damn cuff hadn't lost any of its effectiveness.
The wheels dropping shook the plane with a clunk, and a fast descent later, the cargo plane waddled down the runway and braked to a halt.
Groggily, I unlatched my harness and staggered to my feet. Karen was already stepping down the narrow ladder on the tarmac, Calix close behind. Dmitri followed after, but not before giving me one of his soul-scraping glances. Still had the power to empty my bowels, no matter how sunny his aura appeared.
I stood in the aisle for just a moment, pondering my life choices. Aleksy's words came back to me. The ones about everyone being a good guy when they looked in the mirror.
MONIKER tangled people in webs of their own making–their feelings of honor, loyalty, family. I'd sworn never to wear their leash again, and yet look at me. Standing there with this cuff on my arm, telling myself I was helping Karen and paying off Dmitri's debt.
Calix poked her head back in the door hatch. "You get lost or something?"
Her eyes had faded back to normal. I shook my head. "Spaced out. Coming."
She grinned. "Was wondering if you had decided to cut and run."
"Not yet," I answered, following her down the ladder. The jet wash rolled over us, the heat sickening after the time we'd spent in the cleansing cold of the north. I needed a good, long, wild run. "Still not a fan of where we're going."
I fell into step next to her as we headed for a car across the flightline. Or rather, I trotted in a general fashion in order to keep up with her long strides. I thought again, longingly, of running. A sharp stab in the temple reminded me to keep my thoughts away from the change.
"You don't trust many people, do you?" Calix inquired idly.
"Not if they have anything to do with MONIKER," I answered. "Present company not excluded."
"I know what they've done to Karen, but what's your story?"
By this time, we'd reached the car. She opened the door to let me slide in.
"They cut off my balls once when I was in wolf form."
She rewarded me with a slack jaw and an uncertain expression as she tried to figure out if I were joking.
"He's joking," Karen told her. "Get in the car. I want to get on this data as soon as possible."
No appreciation for my jokes. Calix rolled her eyes and closed the door. The car started, and I had to swallow back a tremor. I hate enclosed spaces, and until now, I'd been distracted, not thinking too much about where we were headed. I'd sworn to end the agency, and not only had I not come up with a plan, but I hadn't even managed to get the cuff off my arm.
My last-ditch bet hovered in my consciousness. Modern technology was powerful, even when corrupt, but the Überwechsel wasn't more than a week away, and we'd see then how science stacked up against ancient magic.
∞ ∞ ∞
The data Karen had downloaded from Black Mountain's server made it back to MONIKER before we did. By the time we walked in the facility, travel worn, hungry, and in bad need of a shower–it wasn't just me this time–the agency's analysts had dived in deep and showed no signs of coming out any time soon.
Karen went straight to where the analysts were working in a large, bull-pen style office area, sat down, and we lost her, too. I hoped they were finding something good in there. For a brief moment, I considered following her, but where Karen was around here, Gratuszcak could rarely be found far behind, and I preferred not to run into that basement troll if I could avoid it. I liked all my body parts where they belonged.
Dmitri went off and did whatever old Russian spies do for fun when they're alone. Probably read a book. Or devised new methods of psychological torture. Calix stated her intention to hit the showers, and that sounded good to me, although I refrained from saying so out loud for fear of being mistaken for making an innuendo. I carry a healthy respect for people who carry large swords.
The hot water was fabulous, the MONIKER issued razor was dull, and the jeans and T-shirt somebody had left for me fit. Some joker left me a Duran Duran concert Tee, and let me tell you, if I had known that song was going to be such a hit, I would have eaten the band in the eighties.
I was in the kitchen raiding the fridge–and somebody's case of Yuengling–when a sudden draft caught my attention. It came from across the building, and before you roll your eyes, I assure you, given the giant silver prison that was the Vegas MONIKER facility, my senses were attuned to any hint of the outside.
Beer in hand, I plodded casually along, doing my best to feign a desultory wander. There wasn't much acting involved. Up north, with my leash off, I'd once again tasted snow and freedom, and being crammed back into captivity scratched under my skin. The beer tasted fine, but it didn't come anywhere near taking off the edge.
Now that the adrenaline started to wear off, and the reality of silver walls and shackles settled around me once again, my mind kept showing me pictures of John Tell. He stared at me through silver bars–my first glimpse of the man. We'd shared a drink together at a bar in Germany, the day before he sold me to the Collective. The broken man sprawled lifeless across the table in Rose's northern morgue. With every picture that flashed, the smell of blood hit me again, the scent memory washing out the visual.
The faint trace of cinnamon hit my nose, mingling with the blood, and it clicked. When I'd first met her. The chocolate and cinnamon and something else. Calix.
I sneezed, and the memories clouding over me dissipated, although they hung around the back of my throat in a bitter aftertaste. My path had led me to a heavy metal door. The unmarked slab was painted industrial gray. Standing next to it, I could sense the silver shooting through it and emanating off the handle. To touch it would be to risk a serious burn on my skin.
But the path stood open, and I couldn't resist the temptation of an open door. I didn't even try.
Wrapping the bottom of my T-shirt around my hand, I grasped the handle and pulled until the door opened just enough to get my hand in the crack and open it the rest of the way. I spared a quick glance around. Any minute now, I thought, the alarms would blare, and MONIKER would come chasing after their favorite science experiment.
Nothing. Hm. Suspicious.
The cold air washed across my face and I couldn't help but lean forward, the change demanding to be heard. Ow. Fuck. Cuff still worked.
Behind the open door, a set of concrete stairs went up, flanked by a metal railing. Interestingly enough, nothing in the corridor carried more than a hint of silver. Straining my senses, I tried to detect anything else, but all that came to me were hints of moisture and metal.
There are a few things I can ignore, but an open door and the chance for escape don't fall into that category. I stepped forward, my foot edging over the threshold.
A soft beeping started, just a short series of quick sounds. I stepped back. Listened.
The hallway remained silent as the beeping faded with my retreat. Hm.
Open door. Obligations. Promises. Open door.
I shrugged. Fuck it.
The beeping started up as I stepped forward again. This time, I ignored its insistent whine. One foot made it over the threshold. The beeping intensified. I stepped forward again.
An electric shock tossed me off my feet. Sparks erupted. My body flew back into the hallway, and I slammed into the wall. The bottle I had been carrying shattered into a thousand sharp brown shards of glass.
Crumpled, I curled in on myself. The smell of burnt hair filled the air around me as I quivered uncontrollably in the aftershock, trying not to shit myself.
Fuckers put up an invisible electric fence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After what seemed like hours, I finally managed to stagger to my feet. My ear twitched, keeping time with my left hand, which spasmed every so often. The area around the cuff was raw, the flesh burnt and charred. After silver, the next thing I hate with a passion is taking an electric shock to the body.
Stretching my arms out, I extended the middle finger on each hand and waved them around. If anyone watched on the security feed, I hoped they got a good laugh at my expense. My arm jerked, ruining the effect, and I bent over, shaking again.
I waited for an agency response, but nothing. Likely, the agency once again relied on technology to keep me where they wanted me. It worked. I really didn't want to get electrocuted.
And here's the thing–I owed Dmitri a certain loyalty, and I owed Karen even more. I'd made a vow to bring this place down around their ears, and so I owed myself that. But the open door yawned before me, and if I could get out, then maybe I could get this cuff off, and afterward, I'd be able to fulfill my promises.
I'm able to rationalize pretty much anything. It's a talent.
I stepped forward again, just close enough to set off the infernal soft beeping, but not close enough to singe my fur. Hair. Whatever.
The rhythmic sound set an accompaniment to my thoughts, as I debated my next move. There had to be a way out this door. I would figure it out. If it killed me.
A stray aftershock caught me unawares, and I twitched again, a full-body spasm.
Which was why I didn't notice it at first. An almost imperceptible weakening of the signal.
And now, I really did expect the MONIKER shock troops to come pounding down the corridor. Because I'd found a weakness in their tech. Whatever powered the signal that kept me from leaving, whether it was in the cuff, or the door itself, slowly died, beep by beep, as I stood there.
The signal diminished by half as I waited. The skin around the cuff repaired itself, leaving bright pink streaks where the flesh would take a few more hours to completely heal. I fought a battle to stand there and remain calm.
My nerves stayed on edge. With luck–and I rarely had any of that–MONIKER wouldn't notice what I was doing. Or, they would notice too late. The beeping softened again, and I decided to make my move.
Gritting my teeth against the possibility of another fun ride on the lightning, I stuck my hand through the door.
This time, the electric shock stabbed every part of my body on its way through, but it didn't slam me against the wall, and my feet stayed on the floor. Closing my eyes, I pushed my way through the pain until I stumbled into the stairs.
Panting, I huddled over long enough for the shakes to subside to the point I could start climbing the stairs.
More by force of will rather than any physical capability, I made it to the top of the concrete landing. At the top of the stairs, another door opened to the outside, and I forced myself to crawl toward it before I could think about whether or not the agency had designed a double failsafe.
No beeping greeted my ears as I half crawled-half rolled over the threshold and out the door to sprawl on my back in the cold, clean snow.
I took a moment to just breathe and let my body return to normal. The fresh air in my lungs both rejuvenated me and made it hard to breathe until I got used to the cold again.
Assuming whatever I had done had run down all the batteries, I called for the change.
Zap. Ow. Fuck. Nope, apparently whatever mechanism in the cuff prevented the change didn't rely on shitty battery power.
Okay. There were strains under the change. The Überwechsel lurked beneath the ordinary impulse of the change, stronger now. The moon was coming. The snow melting under me poked at my consciousness. It wasn't comfortable, but the transformation drew closer.
Tentatively, I tried ignoring the change, and instead calling for the Überwechsel. It was pure desperation. The Change never responded to my call, only the beckoning of the full moon. I'd only ever managed to Change outside the moon one time–when Gratusczak had pumped his mystery drug into me that had spurred it in the first place.
But now… now I called for it, and although I once again had no luck, the strains of the higher, larger Change stirred just beyond my reach. I grasped for it, expecting any moment for the cuff to deliver its stinging rebuke, but for once it stayed silent, inert. Hm.
The decision remained. Stay there in the snow and try to reach for the Überwechsel? Or follow the trail Calix had left–a trail which was very quickly becoming cold?
In the end, the taste of cinnamon and blood beckoned too urgently to ignore. The need for Change, the call of the moon–those were things that would envelope me shortly. Feeling more confident now, I scrambled to my feet and started jogging away from the facility. But if I was going to do the things I had promised, I needed to trust my teammates, and the mystery Calix presented couldn't be ignored.
∞ ∞ ∞
Calix left a trail both unmistakable and completely weird. For one thing, as I slipped through the facility perimeter, down through the mountains, and finally coming out nearer the city, the scent never wavered–in front of me. Behind me, the trail quickly faded, as if it were waiting for me to follow, but didn't want anyone else chancing upon it. Like I said, weird. Trails don't act like this one did. At least not in my experience.
We were closer to civilization than I had expected, and the little hike cleared my mind. The farther away from the facility, the better I felt, leaving behind the silver permeating the atmosphere and scarring the air I breathed.
Once I hit the highway, I slowed to a fast walk. Traveling long distances on foot didn't bother me. Or rather, four feet. This hoofing it on two was just plain annoying.
A car pulled up beside me, and I flinched, expecting MONIKER to have found me. Instead, the red Volvo lowered its window. One sober driver and two very drunk passengers, all men, all young, all crackling with the energy of humans on their way to a night of legal illicit pleasures, greeted me.
"Hey, man, need a ride?" One of the drunk ones pounded on the door with his hand. "My friend's totally sober, I promise."
I shrugged. "Thanks."
Upon getting into the car, the backseat passenger offered me a hit of their joint. I felt bad taking it–pot never had an effect on me unless MONIKER had laced it with one of their special cocktails, remind me to tell you more about the sixties later–but I wanted to be polite. I took a quick puff, ignored how the scent burned my nostrils and scorched my throat, and passed it along.
"Man, what were you even doing out here?" the driver asked.
While he'd appeared sober, now that we were in a confined space, hurtling in an enclosed metal heap toward the bright lights of Old Vegas, I could detect the tell-tale signs of a contact high.
"Had a fight with my girlfriend and she ditched me."
As expected, my tale was met with sympathetic groans and the offer of another hit. I declined, and they spent the rest of the drive regaling me with the tales of the women who had done them wrong. They were what, twenty? Twenty-five? Once I hit the century mark, I found it hard to tell how old people were anymore.
They dropped me off outside the Old Vegas strip, then drove off in a cloud of pot smoke and testosterone, heading over to the shinier new casinos and clubs. Guess no one ever told them about Glitter Gulch.
To a certain extent, the cuff had cut me off from some more important aspects of the change. But it couldn't completely block me. I could still sense the Change, keep the trail and scent in my nose. And now my feet were back on the ground, that trail burned through my senses.
I'd had a feeling Calix would head back here. Why, though, I had no idea. She didn't strike me as someone who could be tempted by the shiny pleasures of the city. Or the other things it had to offer. And yet, the smell of cinnamon drew me right through the crowds thronging the sidewalk, past the open doors of the casinos through which could be glimpsed the people who, glazed and confused, sat in front of the machines.
Chocolate gives me serious indigestion, so I avoid it at all costs, but now the taste of it lay thickly on my tongue, spiced with the old copper tang of blood. What the hell was going on?
Then I spied her.
She was tall, and the energy emanating from her took on a red tinge that swirled around, highlighting and, at the same time, obscuring her path. I shouldn't have been able to see that. The color, I mean. Maybe the Change, the Überwechsel, lingered close enough to the surface that my eyes were giving me a freebie.
Her movements across the casino floor reminded me of a large cat stalking its prey, all sleek motion and silent lethality. And she had found her target.
Vegas Run Page 12
