by Mark Henwick
She sighed and moved away from Gray. The sensations eased. My other senses took over and the marque, the smell of dead Were and dried blood returned. The feeling of wolf abruptly rolled over me.
Mary drifted past.
“It’s time to go. We have to talk, Amber.”
All very well, but I couldn’t talk. She hadn’t noticed, but I had clamped my teeth together. I wanted to hunt and kill. Blood was speaking to me. Saliva filled my mouth. My limbs trembled. Frantic scratching inside.
And Gray’s hand rested on my shoulder.
“My grandfather always spoke to me with wisdom,” he murmured. “And so one day I told him what I feared most in all the world: that I had not one, but two wolves in me. One bright with joy and running in the woods. The other dark and twisted with hate, who lurked in the shadows of the mind. ‘It is so with all of us,’ he said, ‘even me.’ ‘Then what must I do, grandfather?’ I asked, and he replied ‘feed only the one you wish to grow.’”
I closed my eyes. I remembered back to when I thought I only had turning Athanate to worry about, before I’d met Alex and been cross-infused. I remembered imagining running naked through the pathless woods up at Bitter Hooks and singing to the moon, in the cold, clean air.
The horrors of the basement didn’t go away, but they didn’t press so hard on me anymore.
“Not just a wolf, though, are you, Gray?” I whispered hoarsely.
“No. Bear and cougar too,” he said quietly.
Damn, that was so cool. Not what I’d been asking, but cool anyway.
I turned and followed him up the stairs.
“What will you do about this house?” he said when we emerged, as if nothing had happened.
“Call it in.” My mind was clear again.
“Not worth a stakeout?”
“No,” I said. “The rogue never intended to come back. Even if he did, you turned off the alarm.”
“Huh?”
“I bet he’s set it up so turning the alarm off sent a signal to him. He wouldn’t be coming back here. And anyway, he’s planning on leaving soon.”
Was that what he wanted the Nagas for? A ticket out of the US? In exchange for what? Handing me over?
“Gut instinct?” Gray said.
I nodded. “What did you two find in the basement?” I asked as we climbed into the Hill Bitch.
“You’re in great danger, Amber.” Mary answered, resting her head in her hands. “This one’s so powerful, so evil.”
“The dead Were was nothing to do with what that room was used for,” Gray said. “There was a ritual practiced there, many times.”
“A working, a twisted working of the energy,” Mary said. “To take, to give nothing back. Not an Adept working.”
“Not entirely.” Gray cut across her.
“A working of bits and pieces,” Mary said. “All embellished like a crazy patchwork. As if the caster worked from hints and experiments. Like the working on your car. This is the same one.”
“Those experiments…” I said.
“On people,” Gray replied, his face grim.
“To take what?”
“The essence of a person,” Mary said. “It’s not clear what it’s doing or how, but I think the intention is to steal abilities. But it’s like the caster—it’s insane. It takes everything: abilities, flesh, bone, everything.”
“The bodies! The damage done to them.” Melissa said. “A spell like this would cut through bone without leaving a mark?”
Gray nodded.
Mary lifted her face and looked at me. “This was a Were. However he managed to get started, he has built his abilities by stealing from people who access the energy.” She wiped her cheek. “I could feel him in Denver, I knew he was twisting energy and I knew he had to be Athanate. Because that’s what Athanate are—evil. Everyone knew that. I looked away. This is my fault.”
“No,” Gray said. “You aren’t evil. This isn’t your fault.”
“It is. All that is needed for evil to prosper, is for good people to do nothing. I did nothing. I share the blame.”
“Surely the victims aren’t all Adepts?” I said. “You would have known.”
Mary shook her head.
“No,” Gray answered for her. “Not Adepts exactly.” He thought for a moment. “There’s a task that Adepts must sometimes do,” he said. “You’ve been told that everyone has a little access to the energy?”
“Yeah.”
“Some people can develop their ability without spirit guides, without the safety net of the Adept community. Sometimes, Adept communities adopt them. With most, it’s safer just to lock down their abilities. That doesn’t destroy their ability, just prevents them from using it.”
“But why?”
“Because the type of person we’re talking about is on a fine line at the edge of sanity. For this small group, the same thing in their mental makeup that makes them borderline insane also enables them to develop their access to the energy. It would be very dangerous to leave them.”
I was angry. I didn’t know how it could be changed without making it worse, but the thought of treating people like this was plain wrong. And then abandoning them into the human community where a predator like the rogue could discover them…
“This is why he’s so interested in you, Amber.”
“What? But my Adept abilities are nothing.”
“No, not that,” Mary said. “He’s absorbed the Adept abilities he wants. He may have even tried to absorb Athanate before and failed. But you’re unique. You’ve found a balance between Were and Athanate. That’s what he wants from you.”
Chapter 53
I laid my head back on the seat and listened to Agent Ingram’s cell ringing. Any second now, his voicemail would cut in. I didn’t want to talk to his voicemail, but if I left a message, I could claim I’d done my duty, couldn’t I?
I closed my eyes.
The Hill Bitch was just as cold, but I’d picked up an old ski jacket from Liu when I’d dropped Mary off. Melissa was safe back at Manassah. I was warm. Bliss.
“Yes?”
I jumped.
“Ah…Agent Ingram?”
“Ms. Farrell. I do say, I am most pleased to hear from you.”
“Yeah, hold onto that. Are you back in Denver?”
“I am. Are you coming in to talk now?”
“No. Sorry. But I have some intelligence for you. There was a crash out on the Cabrini road off US40 late last night. It’s my belief that the driver belonged to Ops 4-16. Seems like there’s a lot in Denver at the moment.”
“Looking for Colonel Laine?”
“Among others.”
He went ominously quiet for a couple of beats. “My level of discretion about how and what I report doesn’t extend to the army’s fourteen million dollar gunships being blow out the sky, or a battalion of special forces running amok in Denver.”
“I hear you, Ingram. Me, the Alversons, the colonel, you and your boss. It’ll be good to talk. Soon as you put 4-16 away.”
“Ms. Farrell—”
“I’m in a hurry. I have something more specific to the other investigation the FBI seems to be running in Denver, but it overlaps with 4-16. Will you be taking charge of the combined investigation?”
“No. I appreciate your concerns on the matter,” he said, “but I do need to bring my colleague into this conversation.” The sound muffled for a few moments.
He was calling Griffith in. I had been sure he would have to. I didn’t want to talk to the man, but it felt wrong to hide what had happened last night.
“Yes, ma’am.” The sound had changed. I was on a speakerphone.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“Agent Griffith, Ms. Farrell.”
“Okay.” Here goes nothing. “My intelligence is that a string of murders has been committed in Denver by one person. Many of these had a signature of damage to the thighbone of the victim. The victims came largely from itinerant or homeless people and I
understand little investigation was ever done to connect these cases.”
“Culminating in the murder of Barbara Green,” Griffith said. “Wearing your clothes and in your old house.”
“That may have been the last,” I said. “There was one detective who investigated—”
“Clayton,” Griffith interrupted.
Yes, Agent Griffith, you are right on top of this investigation. Now shut up.
“My intelligence suggests he was killed at his home last night.”
There were some muffled background noises, and I let them run with it for a while. Griffith was probably sending a car out to Arvada.
“Are you saying that the detective was on the right track and he has been killed by whoever killed the others?” Ingram again.
“In a manner of speaking. I believe the detective was killed on the orders of the murderer he nearly caught three years ago. But here’s where it gets weird. I believe he was killed by Ops 4-16.”
“The woman at the Cabrini crash?”
“Yes.”
“This all ties back into the military?” Ingram asked.
“I can’t say. My intel simply suggests that the woman and a male accomplice who was at the murder scene were members of Ops 4-16. And there’s one other item. I believe the killer used a house in Glenmore Hills.” I gave them the address, and there were more background sounds.
Griffith came back on.
“Where’s Melissa Owen?” he said.
“She’s safe,” I said. “And she has nothing to add to this conversation at the moment.”
“Ms. Farrell, you’ve been very careful how you’ve phrased all this ‘intelligence,’ and I’m going to find out how you came by it. In the meantime, I remind you, if I catch you or Owen at any crime scenes, I will arrest you for impeding my investigation.”
“I hear you.” I cut the call and scrubbed my face with my hands, stifling a yawn.
I had more important things to do than swap insults with him.
I’d got a session booked with Noble. He wanted to get inside my head. I needed things from him that would help me catch the rogue. One little clue that would unlock the puzzle. The trouble was, I didn’t know what that clue was and the only way to find it was to subject myself to Noble’s well-meaning questioning.
Chapter 54
Something fundamental. Something very important. I have to pick it out from this jumble of images. Nick Gray, wolf, bear, cougar. Dead Matlal Were, hanging on the wall. Silas, Ursula, Kyle. Mary. Where did the trail of unhappy women lead? How far am I from the rogue? Sick fascination; the thought of feeding on fear.
Feed. Which wolf do I feed? Can I tell them apart in the night?
Diana’s hand gripping my neck.
Time is running out. Time!
My head banged on the steering wheel and I sat bolt upright, panic rippling down my skin.
I was parked.
It was all right. I was safe. Not on the roads. Not about to swerve across the interstate and crush someone under the monster tires.
I must have dozed for a second. Or two.
What time was it?
What the freaking hell time was it?
I never carried a watch unless I needed to time something to the second. My dad had trained me to keep time in my head. I hadn’t lost track since…
Since I’d been in Obs – strapped to a gurney, a medical experiment to study.
Sweat stood out on my forehead.
I was sitting in the Hill Bitch, parked across from Dr. Noble’s office. I had no memory of how I’d got there.
What had I been thinking of all that time?
Colonel Laine, up close in my face, tracking my symptoms for the Obs unit. “Blackouts?”
“No, sir.”
Liar. But he can’t tell. He’s not my alpha.
I got out of the car.
There was a tremor in my hands.
What the hell was happening to me?
People have attention lapses all the time.
Not like this.
A drugstore sign had the time on it, and I was late. I remembered something now. I’d called and asked for a later appointment with Noble and it was only available at his office. Now I was late anyway.
Other than last Friday night, sandwiched so happily between Jen and Alex, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the Assembly.
“Four days awake and you start hallucinating,” says Ben-Haim. “As an interrogator, this can be your friend. As a prisoner, not so much.”
It might be that—too little sleep. It might be the Athanate crusis returning, pulled back by my Were infusion. Or the Were and Athanate fighting. I needed help, and I didn’t know who to trust. Bian didn’t trust Alice. Alice said not to trust anyone but Diana. Diana wasn’t here. Skylur wasn’t here. Noble had been helpful, but he was pack first, whatever he said about patient confidentiality. If he thought I was flaky, he’d tell Felix, and that would escalate the issues that Felix was trying to keep us both from having to confront.
Bian. Something I’d forgotten to do with Bian.
I slapped my head and lifted the TacNet from around my neck.
“Bian, you there?”
“I am, Round-eye. I thought you were going pull a treble shift.”
I snorted weakly. “No, just late handing over is all. I’m going in to see Doc Noble and then I’ll be at Alex’s if you need me.”
“Yeah, well, you know my opinion of the doctor. Come talk to Alice and me. It’ll be a lot better for you.”
“Maybe so, but Doc knows a bit more about the Were.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing. I really don’t think I’d want that quack messing with my head.” She huffed. “Anyway, I got the hunt coordination till tomorrow. Get some rest, Amber. You’re still healing from last week.”
“I will. Thanks, bye.”
I cut the comms link and tossed the TacNet in the back of the truck.
I would prefer to be talking to her and Alice, but I was here now. I crossed the road and went into the office.
Doc Noble’s receptionist was too bright and perky for someone who was working on Sunday. She was about forty—a pale-skinned brunette, sensibly and formally dressed. I figured the makeup would have taken an hour by itself.
“Oh, I’m always here when Doctor Noble is working,” she said, when I commented. “He makes such a commitment to so many, I can only try and do my part to help.”
I strangled the little demon in my throat. The way she said his name gave away how she felt. I wondered if the doctor reciprocated. But then, who was I to comment on other people’s love lives?
“You are a little late, Ms. Farrell.” She wriggled on her seat. “I’ve had to shuffle one of his telephone consultations. It shouldn’t be too much longer. Can I make you some coffee?”
Given Doc’s reaction last time, I turned it down.
I’d fall asleep if I sat, so instead, I looked at his certificates and testimonial photographs.
They took up the whole wall, except for a couple of spaces where ones had been removed.
Why?
I caught myself with a snort. Paranoid, much?
The wall was impressive. He did a lot more than his private work here.
I’d known he worked at the Psychiatric Center in Centennial; we’d met for lunch not far from there. Centennial was famous for treating addictions and ‘deprogramming’—curing people with obsessive/compulsive psychoses or victims of cult programming.
By the look of it, he also worked at the discreetly named Aurora Regional Center, which was essentially a lifer prison for the criminally insane. Max they called it on the street.
And the Denver Free Psychiatric Outreach Association.
And—
“Amber, come in, please.”
I followed him into his office. There wasn’t a black couch. In fact, we sat pretty much as we had at Alex’s house, with me rocked back on a recliner. Doc’s chair was cleverly small so he didn’t look s
o lost in it.
“I had hoped to find you more relaxed today,” he said.
I barked out a laugh.
“Doc, I’ve barely slept. I’ve been out fighting. Been all but buried by Were and Athanate politics. Found a hideout house with a torture dungeon. Had to fend off the FBI. And I haven’t even had coffee today.”
“Well, let’s get away from what’s happening outside and concentrate on what’s happening inside. I’ll start by giving you the mild sedatives I told you about—”
“Sorry, Doc. I just can’t.” I pulled the recliner back up. “I can’t even lie back. I’ll go to sleep and drool on your pretty chair.”
He was pissed, and I couldn’t blame him.
“Look, I promise I will next time,” I said. “I can’t slow down. I know I’m messing you around, but I can’t spend time talking about my childhood while there’s a rogue out there. I just feel that things are too critical.”
“You’re right, the next few days are critical—they’re critical to you. There’s no point in running around Denver like a zombie. You’d be a danger to yourself and others. We have to get you to a state where you can operate to your full potential.”
I rubbed my eyes, which didn’t seem to help much. Time to change tack. “What causes blackouts, Doc?”
His eyes narrowed. “For humans, momentary interruption of blood supply to the brain, electrical failure, or psychogenic causes like extreme stress.”
“And for Athanate, you can add crusis, which is, I guess, paranormal psychogenic stress. What about Were? The same? Is it normal to have blackouts?”
“No. For the Were, the blackout represents time spent in a mental state as a wolf that is incomprehensible to the human side. Time spent fully wolf.”
“But it could also just be a human reaction to lack of sleep?”
He tilted his head. “Possibly.”
I couldn’t be going wolf, not while I was driving.
“I’m just stupid tired,” I said. “Falling asleep for seconds at a time.”
“Well, relax for a few minutes before you rush off again.” He picked up his notepad. “Let’s see what we can salvage from this session.”
Crap. But he’d answered a question for me. I pushed the recliner half way. As long as I kept talking, I guessed I had a chance of staying awake.
