The Brimstone Betrayal

by Terence West

  Twisting the keys in the ignition, he turned to me and smiled. “That's two you owe me, Seeker."

  Chapter 22

  I yelped as Yaz reset my broken pinky with a solid crack. “What did you hit?” he asked with an amused look on his face. “A concrete wall?"

  "Pretty close,” I grunted.

  I was already starting to feel a bit more like myself. The bones would knit thanks to my vampiric nature, but they had to be set to heal correctly. Didn't want to walk through the rest of my afterlife with terribly gnarled hands. And that's where the pain came in. Already having healed slightly during the trip from the wolves’ den back to Brimstone, Yaz had to rebreak the bone and then set three of five metacarpals back into the proper position, which was difficult considering several of them had cleanly snapped in two.

  Turning away for a moment, Yaz rummaged through a set of nearby drawers until he found a roll of heavy gauze. “I know there's no need to cast the break,” he turned back to me, “but at least let me wrap it to give it a little more support.” Without even waiting for my response, he started to roll the gauze around my hand and fingers.

  I watched him roll the gauze around my hand with a confident ease from performing the task a hundred times before. “Any luck with the Vampire we brought in?"

  "Beyond the mutations I found during my cursory inspection?” He paused. “No. I am still waiting for the toxicology to come back from the lab though. Should have the results tonight.” He glanced at the Werewolf arm lying on a small, silver table. “I don't know if I'll be able to tell anything from the arm you recovered.” Tearing a few pieces of tape from a nearby dispenser, Yaz finished my bandage. He looked up and started to peel away my leather jacket. “Now let me take a look at your shoulder."

  Brushing his hand away, I scooted off the examination table. “I'm fine."

  "You are not,” Yaz countered. “You obviously have some severe tissue damage that even your Vampire physiology might not be able to repair."

  I tried to ignore the pounding pain in my shoulder as he spoke. Of course he was right, but I didn't have time for that right now. “I appreciate the concern, Yaz, but I'll be okay."

  He smiled. “Of that I have no doubt. Just let me take a look at it. I can tell by the way you're holding your body that you are in a great deal of pain."

  Right again. I started toward the door and grabbed the handle. “Let me know if you find anything from the Werewolf arm."

  "I can make it an order,” Yaz warned me. “I have the right to revoke your Seeker status if I feel your are unfit for duty."

  That was exactly what I didn't want to hear. Leaning my head against the wooden door for a moment, I let my hand slide off the handle. Slowly, I turned back to him. Yaz was right. It did hurt like hell. I was certain the Gargoyle had really torn me up. But if he looked and decided to take me off Seeker status, I wouldn't have the resources to finish this case. I only had one option left. “Please,” I asked softly, “don't do this."

  Yaz's face was unrelenting as he stared at me, but in the silence, I think he and I came to an understanding. He wanted to know what was going on as much as I did, and I was getting closer to uncovering the truth. He finally relented. Turning away from me, he snapped off his latex gloves and started to wash his hands in a tiny sink that occupied the center of the counter.

  Smiling, I carefully pulled on my leather jacket to mask the wound. Buttoning the coat up to hide the blood on my shirt, I grabbed the door handle. “Thank you."

  He waved me out of the examination room without another word.

  Medical, with an entire floor of the Brimstone building devoted to it, was quiet. Only the squeak of the nurse's shoes against the highly polished tile floor broke the silence. A circular, centralized nurse station occupied the center of the floor with wings heading off in three different directions. Each was a specialized section with its own staff, facilities, and usage. Medical was divided into general practice for common problems; a hospital for more traumatic conditions, and a laboratory wing constantly working to develop newer and better treatments for Inhumans.

  Exiting the hospital wing, I nodded to the nurse station and headed for the bank of elevators on the far wall. My shoulder was throbbing angrily while my shirt and pants were torn and splattered with blood. I looked like hell. Holding my broken hand against my stomach I jabbed the elevator call button. Watching the red arrow above the door light, I stepped back and waited. Signaling their arrival with a tiny bell, the silver doors split open. Taking a step forward, my gaze settled on the lift's single occupant.

  I stopped. “Elena.” Her name escaped my lips before I realized I was speaking.

  "In or out,” the Witch growled.

  I looked at her slightly confused, but realized what she was talking about. Pressing my good hand to block the closing door, I slid inside. I jabbed the button for my desired floor and pushed myself up against the wall opposite Elena. She stared unwavering at me, a glimmer of anger—or was it fear?—in her dark eyes. Hearing the lift chime, I felt the breaks release as we started to descend. I could've stayed quiet in our uncomfortable silence, but I didn't. Maybe somewhere in my warped brain, I thought she had changed. She had helped Toby and I, after all, and even provided Maynard with enough information to lift our suspensions. Maybe she was different.

  I smiled as politely as I could. “How's the investigation?"

  Elena remained quiet.

  "Any leads?” I asked.

  The Witch shot me a nasty glance.

  "Listen, Elena,” I breathed and took a step toward her. “I—"

  The Witch yanked a wooden cross from the bag slung over her shoulder and stuffed it in my face. “Get back!” Elena roared.

  With a sigh, I straightened my jacket. Pain pulsed through my shoulder, but I was angry enough to negate it. “Religious symbols don't repel me,” I explained, bored with Vampire ignorance. Wrapping my fingers around the cross, I ripped it from her hand and broke it. “They just really piss me off."

  She held her ground, but I could see the fear in her eyes. She had played her hand and lost, but that didn't mean she didn't have an ace up her sleeve.

  I took a step back from her. “A Seeker would know that.” Wait, she was one of Brimstone's top Seekers. She did know that. Why did she pull a cross on me when she knew it wouldn't work? Why didn't she use her magic? Something wasn't right.

  My eyes wandered down to her throat where a white scarf was knotted tightly. With a movement too fast for her to react against, I slammed the Witch against the opposite side of the elevator and pinned her arms. She struggled against me but it was pointless. Grabbing the scarf, I pulled it away. My eyes changed to black as I stared at the flesh.

  Nothing. Her throat was in perfect condition. No dark bruises or cuts from our fight, despite the fact it had been there earlier in the night. I looked up at the woman before me.

  Elena screamed, “Get off of me!” She drew another breath into her lungs. “Help me! Anyone! Help!"

  This wasn't Elena Ramirez.

  My mind flashed back to Patrick Peterson's dead body at the Werewolf den. Someone was body-snatching Syndicate Operatives. Why? What purpose did this replacement serve? Maybe Elena had gotten too close to the truth and she was eliminated?

  "Who are you?” I growled and flashed my fangs. “What did you do with the real Elena Ramirez?"

  The elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

  "Help!” Elena shrieked in terror again.

  "Tell me!” I roared, clasping my hands around her throat. I felt a pop in my hand that Yaz had just set. I had broken the bone again but so much adrenaline coursed through my body I didn't feel any pain. “Tell me now!"

  I felt a pair of arms snap around my midsection and another around my neck. The powerful arms ripped me away from Elena and out of the elevator. I felt my head snap forward and stars appear before my eyes as my skull hit the tile floor hard. Finally looking down, I saw the arms were muscular and covered with t
hick fur.

  Werewolves. Crap.

  One I had a chance against, but with two, I was in trouble. As easily as I had pinned Elena, they held me to the floor. I felt a massive, clawed paw wrap over my face and hold my mouth shut. Pushing with all of my strength, I couldn't loosen their grip. I felt the beasts roll me over and pull my arms behind my back. I felt the cold, hard slap of spelled handcuffs snap around my wrists. Pulling me up to my knees, I felt the wolf's hot breath on my face. Turning slightly, I stared into the massive muzzle and powerful yellow eyes.

  "Take her to the detention area."

  Snapping my head around, I focused on Maynard standing a few feet away. His face was contorted in anger.

  I pulled my mouth free of the wolf's grip. “That isn't Elena,” I protested. “Maynard, you have to listen to me. She's an imposter!"

  Maynard turned his back on me. “Get her out of here."

  "Maynard,” I breathed his name in disbelief.

  He dismissed the wolves with his hand. “Now."

  I felt my heart sink as the wolves pulled me to my feet. What the hell was going on here? As the Werewolves started to escort me to the detention area, I turned and saw Elena being attended to by several workers. She wouldn't make eye contact with me.

  I don't blame her. The next time I saw her, I would kill her.

  Chapter 23

  Everything was going awry. I had no idea where this investigation would take me, but I was fairly certain it wasn't a cell in the Brimstone Detention Area.

  The keys on the guard's belt jingled loudly, echoing off the bare, drab, gray walls as he led me inside. A single, tall, check-in station stood in the center of the room with another guard manning it. Behind the check-in station, I could see my ultimate destination: the entrance to the cellblock.

  "Name?” the guard asked. Vampire. I could almost see death's bony fingers wrapped around him as if ready to snatch him into its eternal embrace. He must be a fledgling. As time passes, I think death loses interest in most Vampires. It only clings to the new ones, waiting for them to make a mistake.

  "Rose Webb,” my escort answered, pulling my attention away from the Vampire. This guard was a Demon, but I couldn't put my finger on the species. The aroma of oak was strong on his flesh, very similar to Maynard. Perhaps he was Dendro as well?

  The guard scanned down a notebook computer in his hands. Tapping his stylus on the screen twice, he nodded. “Ah, I have her here. Just added.” He snickered ominously. “Interrogation room two.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to the cellblock.

  Interrogation room? That seemed a little strange. If Maynard was following standard procedure, I should be taken directly to a holding cell while I was processed. At this point, multiple witnesses had seen what I'd done, as well as the director. There was no need for interrogation ... or so I thought.

  "I'll buzz you in,” the Vampire offered.

  Walking past the station, the Demon guard waited for the cellblock door to be unlocked. As the alarm buzzed, he grabbed the door and propped it open. Shoving me inside, he wrapped his hand tightly around my arm as they were still cuffed behind my back and securely shut us in. I felt my heart sink as I stared down the corridor at the glass doors that lined both sides. I had placed many Inhumans into these cages, but never once thought I would end up in one as well. As I was escorted through the cellblock, Inhumans inside leered at me behind the glass. If looks could kill, I would have been dead fifty times over by now.

  Nearing the middle, I spotted Vlad standing just behind the glass with his hands clasped behind his back. A smarmy grin was spread across his pale lips. “Seeker,” he greeted me almost pleasantly. “I hope they put you in a cell next to mine."

  I tried not to, but couldn't help but cringe at the sheer toxicity of his tone. I dodged his glance and lowered my head like an animal being led to its death.

  The Demon guard drew his nightstick and slammed it against the glass. “Shut it, leech."

  Unflinching, Vlad continued to smile at me as I passed.

  When we reached a door at the end of the hall, the guard unhooked the keys from his belt. Cycling through the color-coded keys with his thumb, he selected a bright red key, flipped it over in his hand, and then pushed it easily into the lock. Once he snapped the lock to the left, he pushed the door open and guided me through. Retrieving his keys, he returned them to his belt and shut the door, all while keeping a vice-like grip on my arm.

  The rectangular room before us housed Brimstone's interrogation rooms. Two doors on each side led either to the interrogation room, or the observation booth. Personally, I thought the observation booth was the brainchild of screenwriters as a way of involving additional characters during a dramatic scene. You know, when a detective is questioning a smooth criminal who may or may not have killed his wife/fiancée/sister. Unwilling to cooperate, the detective begins to beat the criminal with a phone book, supposedly so as to not create bruises, causing the other investigators watching through the one-way mirror to come rushing in and pull the detective kicking and screaming out of the room. It turns out, however, that the booths are becoming more and more common to ensure prisoners are being treated humanely.

  Makes perfect sense ... to humans. They have more laws to protect criminals than to take care of the innocent.

  Guiding me to the last door on the left, the guard opened it and pushed me inside. Behind the small, gray table and chairs bolted to the floor stood Maynard with his arms crossed. His gaze was decidedly hostile.

  "Thank you,” Maynard said to the guard. “I'll take it from here."

  "Yes, sir.” The guard nodded, backing up.

  The guard closed the door and disappeared leaving me alone with Maynard. I wondered for a moment if there were additional investigators on the other side of the glass to ensure my safety.

  Unfolding his arms, the Dendro pushed off the wall and walked around the table toward me. “Rosy,” he said, digging into his pant pocket, “why do you do this to me?"

  I cocked an eyebrow and stared at him. “Pardon?"

  Pulling a single silver key from his pocket, he stepped behind me and grabbed my handcuffs. I heard the ratcheting release sound and felt the pressure abate. After walking back around the table, Maynard dropped the cuffs and his key in a pile and sank down into one of the hard, metal chairs. He motioned for me to do the same. Warily rubbing my wrists, I swung my leg over the back of the chair and slipped in.

  "You can't just attack people,” Maynard growled, “especially other Seekers."

  "That wasn't Elena,” I countered. “It was an imposter, some kind of pod person."

  "I know,” Maynard replied coolly.

  The next words clogged in my throat as my brain registered what had just been admitted. I hit rewind, pause, and began to actually listen instead of thinking of my next defense.

  "Elena missed her check-in time this evening,” Maynard explained. “That isn't like her at all. Unlike you, she's a by-the-book Seeker."

  I let the not-so-veiled knock at me slip past without retort.

  "Then she just shows up like nothing happened,” Maynard continued, “but she's acting a little strange, not at all like herself. She even knocked over her altar candles."

  My eyes widened. “The small ones on her desk she won't let anyone touch?” One of the cleaning personnel had accidentally tipped the candles once. When Elena found out who it was, they were promptly terminated.

  Maynard nodded. “With all the weirdness, I posted heavily armed Cleaners at all exits and had two Seekers shadowing her."

  "The Werewolves?” I asked, painfully remembering the beasts that yanked me out of the elevator.

  Maynard nodded. “I was going to tell you but you found her before I could,” he paused, “and overreacted."

  "Overreacted?” I echoed angrily. “She pulled a cross on me in the elevator!"

  "Oh,” Maynard replied. He looked up at the mirror behind us and waved. “What tipped you that it wasn't really E
lena?"

  "That she pulled a cross on me in the elevator,” I repeated. “The real Elena would've known that doesn't work. I also saw her throat,” I added, pointing to my own. “No bruises."

  Maynard understood. “From your little scuffle with her."

  "Right.” I nodded.

  The door pushed open revealing Toby and Karl. They had apparently been the ones in the observation booth.

  Toby patted me on the back as he moved past. “You really hate that Witch, don't you?” He leaned against the back wall with a laugh.

  Karl skittered in behind the Werewolf and tugged on his jeans like a toddler. “Up."

  "Oh,” Toby recognized the command, “sorry.” Snatching the Goblin carefully from the floor, he deposited Karl on the table.

  "That's better,” Karl said with satisfaction. “Way to go Mike Tyson on the Witch's ass.” The Goblin laughed.

  "That wasn't really Elena,” I defended myself.

  "They know,” Maynard said quickly.

  Karl beamed and nodded. Toby just shrugged.

  "The Goblin knows?” I scoffed. “How am I out of the loop?"

  "Because they check in like they're supposed to,” Maynard snapped.

  I crossed my arms in a huff and sank down into the chair. “She's not the only one,” I added. “I found Patrick Peterson's body."

  "The Cleaner who shot me?” Toby asked.

  I nodded.

  Maynard pinched his brow. “His body? I saw Patrick earlier tonight. How did he die?"

  "Stake through the heart, oddly enough,” I answered. “But by his body's level of decay, it looked like it happened a couple of weeks ago. The same night the Werewolves were killed."

  "So Patrick is one of these...” Toby struggled for the name and finally turned to me. “What did you call them, Rosy?"

  "Pod person,” I answered. “From Invasion of the Body Snatchers."

  "Pod person,” Toby repeated, savoring the words. “So Patrick is a pod person too?"

  "That's my guess.” I frowned.

  Maynard exhaled slowly allowing this new information to sink in. “I haven't noticed anything strange about Patrick."