I gawked at him as he rose and began climbing the ladder. “Did you even hear a word I said?”
“I heard you.”
“Then why can’t you tell me?!”
“Because the less you know, the better off you’ll be!” He cast me a fiery glare and shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “Some truths aren’t worth the price of knowing.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Does he think I can’t handle it?
I remembered Angel’s insistence that Aden really was looking out for my best interests. That may be so, but right now I was angrier with him than I’d ever been at anyone else in my entire life.
I looked back at the tunnels. One of them had to lead home. I just had to figure out which one. I needed a map.
Angel.
With a plan already forming in my head – along with a firmer resolve to go home – I climbed the ladder after Aden, back into a life I was running from only moments ago.
***
Once we were above ground, Aden wasted no time.
“Where are we going?” I asked, running at a dead sprint to keep up with him. With the bullet gone and some of Aden’s blood in me, I felt almost back to normal, though extremely tired from fighting the acid.
“I’m taking you somewhere safe. You’re going to stay with a friend, until I can find out exactly who they were and what they were doing here.”
I stared at him, fighting the growing realization I really knew nothing about this beautiful stranger in front of me. Aden had seemed as surprised by the attack as I was, but I was beginning to question just how much he truly knew about what was going on. Whatever secret he guarded must be big, enough so to kill for. On the upside, I now knew how to get back to the surface, or at least, I had a rough idea. Now I just had to figure out a plan for getting there.
When I had lived in the White Sector, I thought my life was as surreal as it could be, but this whole experience had put things into perspective for me. I’d gladly take back my human life; it seemed so normal in comparison.
We eventually slowed our pace in another housing quad. Most of the lights were out, and Aden walked straight up to the last apartment and knocked loudly on the door.
A few seconds later, a light flicked on and the front door opened. My stomach immediately dropped to my feet when I saw who it was.
Chapter 17
“Oh, hell no,” I said. “I’ve just been shot. I don’t need to be tortured, too.”
Paris De Lange regarded me with equal distaste. She had clearly just rolled out of bed. Her normally immaculately styled hair was twined into a disheveled braid, and a plush burgundy sleeping mask rested above her hairline. I briefly wondered what time it was, not thinking it to be late enough to sleep yet. Then again, Paris was a doctor, so she probably kept weird sleeping habits.
Paris wrapped her scarlet silk robe tighter around her, her sharp eyes snapping to my wound. She sniffed the air and hissed. “More Scarlet Steel? What the hell happened now?”
“We were attacked, at the arcade,” Aden said as he pulled me inside. I looked around. It was neatly furnished, with modern looking furniture and wall art. A black leather couch sat beside the door, and I plopped down on it as Aden turned to face Paris.
“Was it Frost?” Paris asked. “I heard about the ruling.”
“No.” Aden’s face was grim. “It looked like Imperial guards.”
Paris gasped softly. “Do you think he knows?”
“For all our sakes, I hope not.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Am I in some sort of danger?”
Aden and Paris turned to me, as if noticing I was there for the first time. “Probably more radicals,” Paris said, waving away the notion. “The Blood Brotherhood has always been extreme in their demonstrations. I wouldn’t be too concerned. Aden will get to the bottom of it, I am sure.”
I remembered opening the door that night to find the group of red robed men standing before me, branding Mrs. Knight as a traitor to her race. “It wasn’t radicals, though, was it? You’re hiding something, both of you.”
“I need to go,” Aden said, stepping around Paris. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something.” He looked back at me one last time before closing the door behind him.
I stared after him. What were they not telling me? What precious secret were they trying to keep hidden?
Paris crossed her arms and looked me over. “Aden has his hands full being your guardian, an appropriate punishment on Frost’s account.” She sighed irritably and motioned for me to follow her. “Come, come. Let’s get that arm stitched up.”
The hallway was full of framed photographs, most of which were Paris and a handsome, dark haired man. She looked different, happier.
We settled in the kitchen, me at the table while Paris stood at the counter, sterilizing a needle. I squeezed my eyes closed, my skin all of sudden clammy as the image of the needle rooted itself in my mind. There was the strong smell of antiseptic before Paris plunked down a small glass of red liquid beside me. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
I sniffed the liquid. It didn’t look like blood, so I took a sip. The bittersweet wine flowed along my tongue and down my throat. I didn’t mind wine. I’d had it before at my Mom’s Christmas parties. Even after Orion died, she had still thrown extravagant parties after becoming Sovereign.
She didn’t have time to mourn, not with so many important people to impress.
The wine was laced with blood. I could taste it the moment it hit my tongue, and I wondered whose it was. My nerves loosened up the more I drank, and I felt my mind begin to freely probe Paris’ thoughts and emotions as glamour leaked out of me. Paris removed the tourniquet and applied antiseptic, wiping away the dried blood so she could get a clear view of the wound. It stung a little, but for the most part I felt blissfully numb.
She didn’t tell me when she started stitching, which was probably wise on her part. There was a prick and I tried to focus on something else. All along the walls of the kitchen were more photos of her and the handsome man.
“Who is he?”
She paused, following my gaze. Her face warmed, and I latched on to the feelings of love and affection pouring through me. I had become good at using glamour, thanks to Angel’s meditation tip. I could practically control it on a whim now. Almost subconsciously, I reached out with my glamour, coaxing her to tell me. Gradually, I felt the walls around Paris’ mind and heart start to crumble. “My husband… my Emile,” she said with a sad, wistful smile. “I keep photos of him around so I won’t forget him.”
I shivered. The way she said his name – kind of breathy, combined with her accent – made it sound so… romantic.
“Where is he?” None of my business, I know, but the wine was making me a tad bolder than normal.
She trembled slightly, her voice barely audible. “He’s dead.”
I paused mid-sip. “I’m so sorry.” I might not like Paris very much, but I wouldn’t wish the death of a spouse on anyone.
As she sewed, her eyes misted over, glamour freely pouring out of me and pulling the past from her. “We met at medical school, in Paris, my home city.” A warm glow lit up her face. “It was love at first sight. We courted for only a few months before we were engaged, later eloping because we were so eager to be married.”
I listened in silence, enthralled. “On our wedding night,” Paris continued, “he told me what he truly was – a vampire.” She paused with a wicked smile. “He asked me to join him, and I said yes without hesitation. He changed me that night, and taught me how to live amongst humans, how to behave civilly and not as a monster. We were very happy.”
She swallowed hard. “He was killed by vampire hunters on our one year anniversary. He pushed me out of the way, taking the bullets that were meant for me. I tried to save him, but it was too late. He died in my arms on the very spot where he proposed to me.”
I felt like a lead weight had been dropped in my stomach. No wonder she hated me
. I was guilty by association, so to speak. I was a hunter, just like the ones who had killed the love of her life. I wanted to say “sorry” again, but it seemed inadequate. Instead, I placed my good hand over hers and squeezed.
Poor Paris.
She gave me a small, tight smile, and pulled her hand free to brush away a tear. Tense silence filled the small space between us as she finished stitching up my arm. I laid my head against my good arm – which was draped across the table – and closed my eyes, exhaustion threatening to take me under.
Paris went to the sink and washed out the glass, storing away her medical supplies. “Let’s get you to the couch before you fall asleep at my kitchen table.”
Drowsy from the wine, I staggered to my feet and managed to follow her into the living room before settling onto the couch. In a more motherly manner than I would have guessed possible from her, Paris removed my boots and brought me a fluffy pillow and a blanket. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back a moment later with two red pills and a half glass of water. “For the pain,” she said, holding them out to me.
I took the pills and downed them with the water, handing her the empty glass. Before I could even say “thank you,” I was fast asleep.
***
Something woke me up, a rustling in the dead of night. Groggily, I pried my eyes open enough to see Paris standing by the door, pulling on a jacket. Rose scented perfume wafted toward me. Her hair had been combed and secured with a clip, her eyes alert and…
I tasted it, the acidity of fear and anxiety. Now that I was starting to wake up, I noticed how truly uneasy she looked.
Where is she going? Did Aden call? It must be two or three in the morning. Maybe someone got hurt, and she’s been summoned to the hospital.
When Paris started to glance my way, I hastily snapped my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. A moment later, the door opened and gently clicked shut. I listened to Paris’ footsteps as she walked away before throwing aside the blanket and quickly pulling on my boots. The blood-laced wine had helped immensely, and my shoulder didn’t seem nearly so sore with the pain killers.
Riding a hunch I couldn’t deny, I opened the door and quietly let myself out.
If they won’t give me any answers, then I’ll have to sleuth some out for myself.
I paused. Damn! I forgot about the tracking chip.
Would Frost be watching me? Though my probation had been lifted, someone could still be keeping tabs.
Paris’ footsteps were growing more distant.
It’s now or never.
Making up my mind, I picked up the faint trail of rose perfume, using it to guide me as I followed Paris into the night.
Chapter 18
The base was still as I wove through the buildings, blindly following Paris to who-knew-where. Though my wiser side chided me, telling me I should go back while I could, my desire for answers won out, and I pressed on.
I didn’t recognize this part of the base. Then again, I’m sure there were many areas I hadn’t explored, leading me to suspect the base must run farther than I originally thought. Buildings so tall they reached the ceiling rose on either side of me, and the alley I now crept through was a dark, narrow corridor.
Fabulous, my mind said. You’ve just been shot. Lurking down a dark alley alone is exactly what you need to be doing.
Shut up! I told my conscious.
The alley seemed to go on forever, and with no lighting it was near impossible to tell when it would end. As I walked, the air shifted, growing colder. Paris’ rose perfume was lost to an undercurrent of something stronger that burned my nose, like a chemical.
I was so focused on not making a sound that I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going. If I hadn’t first heard Paris go down the steps, I probably would have fallen down them, ruining my cover. I ran a hand along the wall until I felt the edge of the alley. I paused, feeling with my boot for the first step. Once I had my foot firmly planted, I slowly descended.
My ability to see in the dark seemed to be improving the more I used my sight at night. Now that I knew it was there, I could see the stairwell clearly, and beyond that a single, shabby door, which was slightly cracked open. The chemical scent grew stronger the closer I drew to the entrance.
I knew this scent from somewhere. Not all of my memories had come back, thanks to the amnesia brought on by vampirism, but one drifted out of the fog now. It was me, walking down the biology wing in my high school. The previous class had been dissecting frogs, making the entire hall smell like –
Formaldehyde. That’s what the smell is, I’m sure of it.
But that wasn’t all. Something musky, like moldy mushrooms, hung under it. I’m not sure I would have noticed it at all if I hadn’t been a vampire.
I paused by the door, peering through the crack. White bulb lights hung from the ceiling, lighting the hallway in patches. I didn’t see Paris, or anyone else, so I carefully let myself in, making sure to leave the door cracked like I’d found it.
My ears popped. There was some kind of a hollow, vacuum feel to the air down here. The hallway was all gray cinderblock and was lined with black doors. A few feet in front of me, the concrete floor turned into a small staircase, leading up to a second landing that was level with my eyes.
I was almost to the staircase when footsteps echoed off the walls, coming closer at a rapid pace.
Panicked, I quickly tried the handle on one of the doors. Locked. I went to the next. Also locked. I went down the whole row of doors, each locked, before one finally opened and I ducked inside, shutting the door behind me.
It was dark, and the smell of formaldehyde and decay was so strong in here I nearly gagged. I bumped into something cold and metallic, like a table. Running my hand along the wall, I found a switch and flicked it on. Slowly, the single bulb in the center of the ceiling came to life, illuminating the source of the smell.
I nearly screamed.
There, stretched out on several tables that filled the small room to capacity, were at least a dozen dead bodies. White, blood stained sheets covered them all from the waist down, and their hands hung limp as they stared at the ceiling with cold, dead eyes.
I looked around me in horror. Had I run into some kind of a morgue? What was Paris doing in a place like this?
Swallowing bile, I forced myself closer to the tables. Some of the bodies had dotted lines drawn on them while others had networks of incisions that made me weak at the knees. But there was one thing they all had in common.
They’re all human.
Not a single one of them had a telekinetic signature. Were the vampires harvesting their blood? Scenes from War of the Worlds flashed through my head, where the humans were used as livestock and fertilizer for the aliens. It made me sick, despite the well-known truth that vampires fed off humans. Seeing all the dead people spread out around me really made that fact strike home.
A chart had been left on one of the tables. Gritting my teeth, I carefully leaned over a body – praying I didn’t fall on top of it – and snatched up the chart. Notes too messy for me to read were scribbled across its pages, though I made out two words in perfect clarity: “test subject.”
A cold shiver rolled through me. Were they using these people in some sort of experiment?
What the hell’s going on down here?
A voice outside the door made me jump. It had a French accent.
Paris.
I had been so distracted that I hadn’t heard her walk up. Not seeing any better options, I crawled under one of the tables, thankful the sheets reached the floor.
Paris’ voice was muffled through the door, but not so much I couldn’t hear her say, “We’re right on schedule.”
A deep rumbling answered her, a man. But there was something odd about his voice, like his vocal chords or throat had been damaged, hindering his speech ability. I strained, trying to make out what he was saying but with no luck. A scent drifted from beneath the door, something familiar and fo
rgotten.
Cinnamon and cloves… the same scent I’ve smelled on Aden.
I reached out with my glamour, trying to figure out who the man was. Though I could tell he was a vampire, I couldn’t find anything else, not even a stray thought or any real emotions. He was simply… empty.
I thought of Aden, how he had kissed me so passionately, like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Was he somehow in league with this man, the man who smelled of spices? And who was he, for that matter? What were he and Paris doing in the dead of night in a building housing a lab full of dead people?
The eerie possibility that Paris could be the one trying to kill me crossed my mind, but I quickly debunked it. If she had wanted to kill me, she would have already done so, as she’d had plenty of opportunities.
My leg was starting to fall asleep, and I tried shifting my weight. The table shuddered, and a second later a scalpel clattered to the floor. I tensed, silently swearing.
The man paused, and panic rose in my throat. Through my fear, I picked up one of Paris’ stray thoughts, something about the light.
Crap! I left the light on!
She must have been in here recently, and if she had turned the light off, she would definitely know someone else had been in here. I hoped the smells riding the air would be enough to mask my scent, and prayed Paris and the man would stay outside.
I felt a sliver of cold emotion from the man – suspicion – before Paris said, “I probably set something too close to the edge of a table and it fell off. Who else could it be? The dead?”
She laughed uneasily as they walked away, and I waited for the sound of their voices to die off before crawling out of my hiding spot.
I didn’t know what was going on, but something told me I had stumbled into a place I was never meant to see.
I shook my leg out as it tingled back to life, and limped over to the door, pressing my ear against it. Sweet silence beckoned me forward and I grasped the knob, turning it.
Fear gripped my throat.
It was locked.
The Scarlet Dagger (The Red Sector Chronicles, #1) Page 16
