by Dana Cameron
Distraction? I felt my temper flare. “Speaking of distraction, my friend back there is dying—”
He totally ignored my concern. “We don’t have much time; this connection is weakening. What do you want to know?”
The enormity of that question left me at a loss. I went with the first thing that came to mind, as he said time was short. “The dragons said you thought we, the Fangborn, were broken?”
“That is a harsh word, but . . .” He trailed off. “We were . . . um, taken aback, is the closest way I have of expressing it, to find not only were you in hiding from the other creatures around you, but also that you imagined you were somehow in their service.”
“He also mentioned the word ‘subjugation.’ So we were meant to be, what? A spearhead? An advance army? You’re going to swoop in and take control? Of who?”
“Oh, no,” the Administrator said hastily. “No, the word we use is not unlike your ‘ambassador.’ And not take control, only . . . well, organize and keep in reserve. If there were resources or technology that developed since we scattered your—” Here the Administrator said a word I could not understand. “We would take them into account and catalog them against our future need.
“Your genetic material is human. We changed some of that, to accommodate the ability we find useful. For some reason, it did not grow as it ordinarily would, and rather than being dedicated to our purposes—”
I nodded. “The Fangborn thought we were dedicated to protecting humans.”
“Yes, exactly!” The Administrator leaned back.
“Wait—what about the dragons? Aren’t they more . . . advanced than I am? Why am I suddenly the center of all this attention?”
“The dragons are too old, too distant from their humanity. You’re the closest to our ideal, within our perception, and your power makes you available to us.” He actually began to tidy files. “We must decide how to proceed. And do not worry. We can give you some assistance with your people. We don’t want to cause any trouble, either of precedence or misunderstanding. We will sort it all out. Thank you, Miss Miller. That will be all for now.”
“Wait! No! My friend—”
But I found myself dismissed and was slammed back into the here and now. Which was not a particularly good place to be. While I’d had my attention drawn away by the Administrator, for even just a fraction of a second here, I found myself in my skinself, confused. I sat down, naked, on the hard ground, my backpack still on my back, the bullets still flying. A fine mist was descending over the area, and it seemed to be coming down from the remaining helicopter.
I didn’t smell hellebore, one of the few things harmful to the Fangborn. I could only assume it was my journey back from wherever I’d “met” the Administrator that made me so powerless.
The big bird landed, and a statuesque blonde right out of a recruitment ad for Valkyries hopped out. She held a rifle on me, approaching cautiously.
“Stay down, bitch.” As she got closer, I heard her laugh. She raised her goggles and relaxed slightly. “I’ve never seen the like. Running around, naked as a jaybird with a pack—and a sword? You really are some kind of freak, aren’t you?”
I gazed up blearily to see the rifle barrel as it met with my forehead.
I woke up later, feeling seven kinds of hung over. I was wearing what looked like medical scrubs and dumped in a chair. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. There you go, sweetheart. I got you some water. Sit up easy now . . .”
I’d barely made sense of the words when an ice-cold blast hit me in the head. I screamed with the pain and surprise, sputtering and choking with the water up my nose.
A barking laugh was my only response. Taking a big, gasping breath, I managed to wipe my face on the coarse fabric of my shoulder. My hands were cuffed in front of me. I still had no ability to focus—tried to summon the Change and couldn’t.
“Time for a little trip, kiddo.” It was the Valkyrie who’d smashed my head in.
“Fatima?” My question came out as a croak.
“That mangy old thing? Dead. We burned the body, too. Right there on the ground.” The woman—I could see a name badge that said “P. Halle” on her uniform—shook her head with mock sadness. “I love a flame thrower. You know, it’s possible she was just coming around when the flames really got going. The bullets and the gas might not have been enough to kill her. That’s sad to imagine, isn’t it?” She wuffed and coughed as if she were Fatima suffocating.
I lunged for her and fell to my knees. I felt a jarring bolt of a Taser and the prick of a needle.
“Oh, save it for someone who cares. You and me, we’re gonna go see the big guns.” She pressed her face down into mine as I sank into unconsciousness again. “You’re getting a treat. Not everyone gets to meet Carolina Perez-Smith in person.”
Carolina—“Leena” to those very few who knew her well—was only in her early fifties and already a one-name celebrity, but one who most certainly didn’t crave the spotlight. There was a great deal of mystery and mystique around this woman, with her trademark flaming red hair, alabaster, almost translucent skin, and rectangular glasses, so much mystique that I was surprised to see how petite she was, no taller than me, and chicly thin. Asked yesterday, I would have said I had as much chance of meeting Carolina as I did meeting the queen of England.
She had the eyes and ears of billions of people and her Rolodex might be the envy of the NSA. Industrialists craved her attention and fortune and feared them. With ten houses and a fleet of personal jets, she had a net worth that was conservatively estimated to be equal to the GNP of a not-so-small country—much bigger than Belize, but smaller, probably, than Jamaica. While her own fortune was rooted in real estate and industry, she married into communications. Information gathering was now something of a passion of hers. That marriage was short and tragic, and after the death of her husband, her army of lawyers made certain that the children of his first wife never saw anything like the fortune they should have received. So now Carolina had newspapers and television stations and satellites of her very own. She hired people to create a compelling image for her.
Recently, she had been developing an interest in politics, which was reciprocated eagerly. In an age where airtime means elections, there was no part of Carolina’s wealth and influence that was not attractive. Websites were devoted to demonizing her as a modern-day robber baron or praising her as a model of the American dream.
A temporary office had been set up; this place had to be an Order facility. I knew most of Carolina’s office real estate was back east. She glanced up, her eyes flicking over me. She seemed disappointed in what she saw, and I couldn’t blame her.
Though the stuff she’d doped me with was strong and new to me, I was feeling better than before. Okay, maybe I’d find out something by letting her think I was weaker than I was.
“It’s as simple as this,” she said, making no introductions. “You’re useful to me, for a while. You creatures quite possibly represent the next step in evolution. Even if the rest of us have to wait for ten thousand, fifty thousand years before we see any new physical, evolutionary developments, what your powers represent is certainly the next renaissance. What we apply from studying you to medicine, technology, exploration will be the heart of that renaissance. Sebastian Porter was making tremendous strides when he was killed.
“Even if we only use observation and testing, we’ll gain in one year the same amount of ground we’ve covered in the past thousand. Imagine what we can do with vivisection.” She smiled. “Cooperation would be more efficient, of course.”
It made sense now. “You’re part of the Order.”
“I funded Porter’s research; I’m the financial foundation of the Order. And with his death, I’m seeing a vacuum, so I’m stepping into his place. For my investment, I have in my hands the chance to control that next leap, to make sure that it benefits the right pe
ople.”
“You and your friends.”
“I mean, our country and her allies. And yes, it would be disingenuous if I said I didn’t think I’d be able to make a fair bit of money off the process, too.” She paused, then gave into curiosity. “I was on my way back from LA when I got the call you’d been captured. I had to see you for myself. People like you . . . Do you even know what you are?”
“A woman. An American. An archaeologist. A werewolf and Fangborn. Not always in that order.”
“You’re a threat. If you’re the next evolutionary step, then you’re gunning for Homo sapiens sapiens.”
Look at La Leena, busting out the Latin and anthropology, however misinformed. “That’s simply not true.”
“If you are a mutant strain of humanity, you threaten to overrun us, like kudzu. And if you’re not human, you’re a threat.”
“Where’s the logic to that?” I said. “We’ve been here forever, unseen and contributing to society.” It was very important I watch my words now. “Sacrificing ourselves for it.”
“And what happened at Boston? Was that contributing to society?”
“It was. We were asked to help with a situation that was directed at us and threatened the general population.”
“Humans were killed,” she said. “Because of you.”
“On both sides. And don’t forget: Porter and the Order started it. We were—are—trying to protect ourselves. And for the record, we consider ourselves human.” I had no idea if that’s how most Fangborn thought, but I knew I sure thought of myself as human.
“I have no interest in what you think. I’m interested in the threat you people pose, and I mean to mitigate it.”
I’ve been “you people” to a lot of folks through my life, and it is possibly my least favorite insult. It dismisses with no discretion, it lumps, it ignores, it diminishes.
I bit my tongue and kept my cool. I had to find a way out of this. “What threat?”
I felt her annoyance like a slap. “You know the stories; you yourself have made the stories. Murder, breaking and entering, theft, in your case alone. You killed Sebastian Porter.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” My friend Toshi had in fact killed Porter, but I could have, just as easily. I of course knew what she meant, but she wasn’t the police and she wasn’t a jury. More than that, I reminded myself: Even now, even with me drugged and cuffed, she wasn’t the boss of me.
“I have proof on every aspect of Fangborn life. I intend to reveal it.”
“You can’t! It would be catastrophic.” I began to worry. She was the one behind the missing Fangborn and Normals in Boston. She had been in on the plan to set the Fellborn loose on Boston and blame their carnage on the Fangborn.
“All evolution, all revolution is ultimately catastrophic. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I’m the one controlling it. And it seems I am. Things are moving apace, Ms. Miller, and I’ll need you only long enough to finalize my own plans. In the end, shortly, you’ll be irrelevant.” She turned back to her keyboard. A door opened, Ms. Halle and another guard entered, and I was escorted back down the hallway. Carolina was done.
“Time for another shot,” Halle announced. Her exquisite model’s face was gleeful, and I realized, that’s why she was here. She was a sadist.
“Shot?” her colleague said. “Jesus, Penny, you said nothing about another dose.”
“We need that. This one—” She tripped me, let me fall on my face, and then hauled me back up. I thought about busting loose and going to town on her, but I wanted to hear this conversation. “She’s a priority. Keep her alive, keep her locked up, but give her the injections.”
“The prep suites and cells are full since we started the major push,” the other guard said. “This place was never made to hold this many . . . subjects. And we’re not going to get another delivery of the serum until later today.” The other guard was visibly nervous; the idea of failing Carolina scared him.
I could make that work for me, I thought woozily. I tried to summon up some vampiric influence. “You should just let me go. Anything you do should be about setting me free.”
“Jesus, will you ever stop!” Halle slammed me into a wall. The blood flowed freely from my head. My healing was slowed. I felt three hard punches to my stomach. She pulled out a small canister, and I braced myself for pepper spray.
Instead, I felt my muzzy-headedness return threefold. Again, there was no smell of black hellebore—just the same strong reaction as to the mist that was sprayed by the helicopter.
“I love this stuff,” Halle said. “Gonna be available at every corner store, come the day. Better living through chemistry.”
“What is it?”
“Some new stuff from R and D,” she said, dragging me along. “Labs were going mental when her nibs came back from London. Some old book sale she found had her creaming her panties.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that.”
“Why? You gonna tell on me? Anyway, it’s stronger than the old stuff, much more efficient, and even better when it’s injected. We can just use the aerosol until the new doses arrive.”
“Fine, but where are we going to put her? We can’t just leave her out here, and we’re beyond capacity.”
“I have a plan, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” she said to the other guard. When we entered an elevator, Penny Halle opened a panel and typed in a code. She shut the door with a smirk.
“Jesus, Penny, we can’t do that. We have to keep her safe. That thing in there . . . Do you know how many men he put in the hospital?”
“I know he’s making my life even harder with a staffing shortage, and I’m gonna give him some eggs for that.” She patted a billy club on her hip. “We’ll dope ’em both up, make everyone’s life easier.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Don’t worry, princess,” she mocked. “It’s all on me.”
I could smell the wrongness of one of the Fellborn before the door opened. My heart shriveled with fear. Helpless against one of those unthinking killing machines . . . It had been very bad, fighting them in Boston.
I heard a growl, and a snarl, then a hiss and a thud. Halle had gassed the other occupant of the room. It was pepper spray, though; he wasn’t Fangborn, of course. More thuds followed, and I assumed that the “eggs” she’d promised the Fellborn for making her life difficult were being administered.
Footsteps, and she grabbed my arm. Not content with the beating she’d just administered to me, Halle and the other guard picked me up and threw me to the floor. I turned my head to avoid eating cement and losing my teeth but still felt a couple of layers of skin rubbed from my face as they were left on the dirty floor.
They were going to leave me here, defenseless against the Fellborn.
The door clanged shut and I struggled to get up.
Far on the other side of the holding area was movement. The smell grew stronger, and I strained to make my body work. My head ached inside and out, and whatever that stuff was they gave me kept me from healing, kept me from being able to Change, kept me from being able to defend myself. I couldn’t shift my bonds, and just sitting up cost me a lot of pain.
Soft padding across the dimly lit room. I could hear the claws tack-tack-tacking on the floor, in that peculiar half-upright gait of the Fellborn. In a moment, he’d be tearing into me.
I couldn’t quite bring myself to close my eyes. That would come soon enough. I turned my head away.
The steps paused about ten feet away from me. I could practically feel its muscles tensing, bunching up, preparing to pounce on me.
A wheezing cough came. Gasping breaths, and clearing of a rough throat. Lots of phlegm.
“So, kid. What are you in for?
Chapter Nine
If I’d had any more screams left in me, I would have
used them then. That thing had just talked to me?
I must be hallucinating. That happened sometimes, like when—
“Hey! Cat got your tongue? I said, how’d they get you?”
Growling, rasping, like a four-pack-a-day habit, but unmistakably human speech. The pain I was in was enough to convince me that I was conscious; the hallucination made it clear I was still suffering the effect of the aerosol.
“Got caught trying to impersonate a wolf,” I said, playing along.
“Sweet. Nice to know I’m not locked up with a killer or anything.”
“Well, I’ve done that, too.”
“Shit. Well, don’t try anything with me. You’re not in any shape, by the look of you, and while I’m not at my best, either, I could cross some ethical boundaries of my own.”
“Um, okay.” I tried the obvious. “You’re really talking to me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m an elaborate hand puppet and Miss Penny out there is a really good ventriloquist. Of course I’m—say. What do you mean? You seem surprised.”
“Well, yeah. Last time I met something—someone like you, it attacked me. Actually, every time I’ve met something like you, it’s been a fight to the death.”
“Jeez, you must have some serious temper.”
“No, I mean it was coming after me. Relentlessly, powerfully, lethally.” It dawned on me. Must be the drugs slowing me down.
“Yeah, kid, I’m just teasing you. Tell me there are no more like me out there, could you? You know, good looking, thoughtful, capable of speech.”
“Trust me when I tell you: I’ve never seen anything like you. You’re different. You can talk, you’re not . . . vicious.”
