Department 57: Bloody Crystal

by Lynne Connolly

Grady didn’t have the same chivalric instincts that Fabrice possessed. Either that or he preferred the truth. “He’s a vampire. What do you think they have to do to secure him?” He glanced at Fabrice, who handed him a steaming mug of coffee, his fine lips tight with disapproval.

  She could imagine several ways. She shuddered. “There’s no drug that can restrain a vampire in possession of his powers.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “Is it just money he wants?”

  Grady made a disgusted sound. “It’s never just money. It’s power, control. Wilkinson wants to control.” Now it was Fabrice’s turn to blow a raspberry. But Grady ignored him. “His trainers didn’t think much of him. He was slow to learn his skill, and his early attempts were laughable. At least they thought so. So he killed them. That was why it took so long to trace him. He’d disguised their deaths, concealed them. But we found him. Fabrice, I want you to examine his dossier.”

  “Me too,” she said. “So what is Wilkinson? What’s his talent?”

  “He’s a metamorph,” Fabrice told her. At her raised brow, he explained. “I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of them. They’re very rare. It’s a kind of shape-shifter. He has the attributes of one, but he’s a special kind. He can change his appearance. At first we thought he was mortal, but later it became obvious that he was a metamorph. He can’t shift sex, except by conventional disguise methods, but he can change his mortal appearance. He can’t change into any other creature, a dragon or griffin or so on.”

  Grady sighed. “We’ll move you to a hotel in Manchester so you can be closer to Rhodri. The signal will be stronger that way. You might even establish a better link. We’ll send Esti as well. She’s fully recovered now. You’ll be guarded night and day, and we’ll find him.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant Rhodri or Wilkinson, but she had no doubt which one she meant. Nothing else mattered now. Even if Rhodri turned his back on her and left once she’d found him, even if he had lied or been married or something like that. But he wouldn’t. She couldn’t have fallen in love with someone like that. Could she?

  *

  So near and yet so far. Llandudno was about an hour, maybe a tad longer, from Manchester. She’d had weekends in the city, but never at this hotel and never in this kind of luxury. Fabrice had gone back to the States, recalled at short notice for another operation, and now she and Esti were posing as wealthy sisters. About the only thing she and Esti had in common was their hair color, but the hotel staff took it in stride. They were paid to. And the bodyguards they brought with them provided interesting eye candy for the maids every morning. That didn’t hurt, either.

  She still felt that edge with Esti. They had been there for little more than a day before Esti got to work. Her way hurt more than Fabrice’s. She wanted him back, but he’d left so abruptly she’d hardly had a chance to say good-bye.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked Esti now. “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate you being here, but Fabrice left so fast—”

  Esti gave a bitter smile. “He wanted you. He liked you too much.”

  “What?” After what he’d told her, she’d never have guessed it.

  “Some of us have to struggle a great deal to maintain our virgin state. Fabrice is very powerful, and he stands to lose too much. Recently I think he’s been more troubled than before.”

  “He has?” Now she felt guilty. Shit.

  “You are small, essentially feminine, and Fabrice Germain has strongly protective instincts. Did you not notice that?”

  “Yes, but brothers feel the same way, don’t they?”

  Esti gave a weary smile. “He didn’t feel like a brother toward you.”

  “How can you know?”

  “I felt it when he first saw you. Just for an instant. Nobody else would have noticed. It is not your fault, Cerys, and it is not your problem. But vampires often have fiery, impulsive natures. They are heroin to a Sorcerer—something he must resist, but he finds difficult to do.”

  “How about you? Aren’t you ever attracted to other people? Vampires? Me?”

  “You are no threat to me. Although I do not use that part of my nature, I know I am heterosexual. I have never felt attraction toward another woman other than friendship or companionship.”

  But she hadn’t precisely answered Cerys’s question. She’d drop it for now, tease her with it later if she got even more bored.

  Cerys turned away. “I’m glad I can do something, however little.” She was feeling like a spare part. She knew the operation was continuing, that agents were combing the area, searching for traces of Talents, questioning everyone they met, but she was here, watching TV, reading, eating, drinking. Waiting for the time they might need her again. But try as she might, she couldn’t get a trace of Rhodri. All she knew was that he was alive.

  Heroin, was she? Nice, real nice.

  Occasionally she’d see someone. Kai was back, and he and Domenici took guard duties. Domenici had brought his wife, a lovely redhead called Nicole. The other agents on the case had brought their partners, all but Kai, who had left his wife and husband to care for each other. So Kai sometimes joined them. The others were staying at different hotels to spread the security load, Kai told her. One hit could bring this fine old hotel down, he said. Cerys thought they were joking or being overcareful until Kai told her of a recent incident in San Francisco, where a whole division of the Department had been wiped out in one afternoon. She remembered the hit, but the media had put it down to terrorists, not the enemy it really was, so she hadn’t realized. She hadn’t even known a Department had been based there.

  She’d lived her life in peaceful ignorance of all this hatred. Her parents had told her there were some people who knew about Talents and hated them, others who wanted to exploit them, but she just hadn’t realized how much and how badly.

  Now that she knew, she’d always be on her guard, always know these stories and look over her shoulder. No more carefree walks on the beach, no more laughing afternoons with her mortal friends, not without scanning them first to ensure they meant her no harm. Pitiful, sad, but if she wanted to live a happy and full life, she’d have to think about it.

  Kai taught her how to fight. She already knew self-defense, but Kai said he wanted her prepared for the daytime, to learn how to use weapons, fight back, hurt people before they could hurt her. That part she enjoyed, working in the hotel’s gym until she was exhausted and she could sleep at night. The guards courteously provided her with the blood she needed.

  Every night she went to bed alone, at around two or three, and slept until noon the next day. Sometimes. Most nights she spent awake, wondering, worrying, trying to find Rhodri.

  She’d never been so alone.

  *

  A week after their arrival in Manchester, they still had no news. Cerys had moved suites twice—annoying but necessary, according to the bodyguards—and she was tired of unpacking, even the beautiful clothes she’d bought in London and hardly had a chance to wear. She wore them all once, even the evening dress, because she felt she had to. They’d love these in the bar if she ever got back there. The authorities still hadn’t discovered who murdered Dave, but then she didn’t expect them to find out. She was sure whoever had killed him were Talents out to find her. She’d had notice from the inspector that they’d ruled her out of any inquiries, and the statement they’d taken from her at the scene would be adequate. That had to be Will’s doing. The police weren’t usually that sloppy.

  She strode around the spacious living room of the new suite. She’d like it if she were here for a function, an event. It would be a treat, but this was driving her demented. She didn’t care how soft the green carpet felt under her feet, didn’t give a shit about the extra-extra-super-wonderful bed, because there was no one here to share it with her. When she wasn’t trying to contact Rhodri with every means at her disposal, she was feeling guiltily bored. Guilty because she didn’t have to work for this or do anything except be her
e and be protected. Like an expensive parcel.

  Deciding to experiment with the clothes, she slipped into her room. Esti was resting. Esti needed a lot of rest, and Cerys suspected she wasn’t as well as she made out. That attack when she’d repulsed the cars following them had done something, and she guessed Esti was working hard to restore her skills. She also guessed Esti wasn’t used to weakness and didn’t cope with it well. But that left Cerys with nobody to talk to and little to do. Not that she felt she could complain.

  She went to her room and stripped, taking out some of the sexier stuff. A bra and thong set in blue, soft and silky. It was the right size—the shopper had measured her—but it didn’t feel like it supported her enough. Her breasts felt heavy. But standing side on to view her profile, she gave herself a whistle of appreciation since there was nobody here to do it for her.

  That was when she got the call. A flash, undoubtedly Rhodri. She saw him sitting in a car, then leaving it and standing outside—fuck, this hotel! He strode into the building, barely acknowledging the doorman, who saluted smartly. It was him. He was here. She recognized his mental signature, the way he spoke, and his sigil. He sent her a call. “Which room are you in? Can I come up? I’ll tell you all about it.”

  He’d got away. He needed her. She sent a cautious message back. “Wait there. I’ll come.”

  She grabbed some of the clothes on the bed that she’d planned to try on. A pair of navy trousers in soft wool and a light, short-sleeved sweater in angora, beautifully soft to the touch. Just right for a crisp day in late spring. She scrambled into the clothes and grabbed a brush. He loved to touch her hair, but it was far too tangled for him to run his fingers through it. He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d shown no sign of being pursued. He’d escaped from Wilkinson.

  Sandals and she was done. Shame the sandals had three-inch heels, but they looked pretty, and she couldn’t locate her sneakers or the ballet flats under the clothes she’d laid out to try on.

  Glancing around, she grabbed her room key card. That was all she needed.

  Esti still wasn’t about, but someone would be. Leaving the room, she saw Domenici was on duty outside, his dark suit and white shirt making him appear like a normal bodyguard or driver. Just bigger. “Rhodri’s downstairs,” she said, gasping the words out. “He contacted me.”

  “Are you sure?” He stood in front of her, refusing to let her past.

  “Positive. It was his signature, his words. I felt it, I know it.”

  He regarded her for a moment, dark eyes solemn. “Okay, let’s go. But you stay back and you wait. Hear me?”

  “Sure.” Anything. “But we need to go now.”

  “Okay.” As he led her toward the lifts, he spoke to someone, presumably another guard. “I’m heading down to the lobby with Cerys. She says Rhodri is down there. She’s sure.”

  “See you there.”

  She didn’t recognize the response, but it had to be a bodyguard. Shit. To have bodyguards. She almost ran into the lift and slid her card through the slot before she hit the button for the lobby. “He must have got away.”

  “Or something.” Domenici still sounded skeptical, but that was his job. Hers was to be there for Rhodri. What had happened? She sent him a brief message, found him there, waiting.

  The lift doors opened, and she looked around. Maybe a dozen people were in the huge lobby, and one of them was Rhodri. He appeared tired but triumphant, and he opened his arms wide. She wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight.

  The sight overwhelmed her. So much that she couldn’t wait to feel him again, couldn’t obey Domenici’s command to stay behind him. After pushing past Domenici, she raced across the tiled expanse, and Rhodri’s arms closed around her. Domenici shouted, but she ignored it. “How did you get here? What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  There was something peculiar about the way he said it. She had it—it was exactly as he’d said it before. The same intonation, the same pattern. And he didn’t feel the same. Softer, maybe a little shorter, something… She looked up.

  And saw not Rhodri but a stranger. She pulled away.

  Except he wouldn’t let her. In a single, convulsive move, he turned and threw her at someone, who caught her deftly and pinned her hands behind her back. She couldn’t move; she wriggled, but he had her fast. And he didn’t delay. Ignoring Domenici’s roar, he backed up through the doors and dragged her to a car, the same car she’d seen in her vision of Rhodri. Except he wasn’t here. It had thick windows, and when her captor slammed the door, it resounded with a clunk that told her it was no ordinary door. An armored car, broad daylight. Shit, shit, shit.

  The car took off, screaming through the busy traffic, turned the corner, and sped up to Deansgate, one of Manchester’s busiest streets. But any hope she had of getting away was dashed when something pricked her arm and a chill streaked up it, through her veins, freezing her into place.

  And as her senses whirled, she kept thinking, Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  *

  “Not stupid. Stop saying that.”

  She snapped open her eyes. Rhodri lay next to her, an irritated expression on his face.

  “Your beard has grown.” She didn’t trust herself anymore. This could be anyone.

  His grin almost convinced her. “So it has.” He was grimy, wore the filthy remnants of jeans and a green T-shirt, the one she’d last seen him in, but if this was Rhodri, it was the only sight she wanted to see.

  His expression turned grave. “Why, Cerys? How did you get here?”

  “Where’s here?”

  He shrugged as well as he could with his arms, legs, and torso bracketed down to a table. The bonds looked like steel, but she wondered. “Are you allergic to silver?”

  No, she wasn’t. They’d already discussed that. That fact alone put her on guard, and then she recognized the warning in his voice. “Of course.” Except that she wasn’t, and neither was he, or not much, anyway. Itchy didn’t count in circumstances like these. She moved her arm. Chains rattled. She was tethered to a bed, manacles and cuffs around her ankles attached to huge chains that seemed comical they were so large. Except that after dark she could probably give them a run for their money. “How did they do it?”

  “You or me? During the day, with a jab of something in the neck. I went to your apartment.”

  “I know. We saw.”

  “The camera?”

  “You knew about that?”

  He nodded. “I knew. I wanted to kill the bastard, but I didn’t know who it was at the time. That’s why I went back that day. I had a fair idea, and I wanted to sort the bastard out.”

  She sighed. “That explains that part, then. It was my neighbor, the sleazy guy I told you about, but he’d captured you being taken. So he did us a backhanded favor.”

  “Us?”

  “You know, me and my—cousin.” She tried to contact him mentally, but her head hurt too much. It throbbed so badly now she’d fully come to that she thought if she moved, she might vomit. And she was unsure she could do it safely. Certainly she’d leave a stinking mess. Hastily she turned her mind away from the thought.

  He frowned. Then his brow cleared. “I’m glad you got in touch with him. How did your protectors let you out of their sight?”

  “I saw you in the lobby of the hotel. You sent me a mental message, and it was you. I know it was.” They were bonded. How could she have been so mistaken?

  He groaned. “They can copy bits of our mental messages. Imprint them. It’s one of the things they’re working on. They must have taken a scrap of mine and used it. And did you forget what I told you about Wilkinson?”

  No, she hadn’t. And Fabrice’s clarification of what a metamorph could do. “They know about me. They must do. They came back for me, killed Dave.”

  “Fuck, oh fuck.”

  “Why do they want me so much?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Unless they think they can use you to get to me. But t
hey haven’t done anything much, just shot me full of drugs, hurt me some. I know they can do much worse, but they haven’t.”

  They wanted to keep him alive? “This is a lab?”

  “It’s the worst.” He stared up at the grubby ceiling. This room looked like it might have been a dormitory, even a hospital room, but it hadn’t seen regular hospital staff in a while. They’d have cleaned it better. “It’s one of Wilkinson’s labs. When we first came across him, we knew he was dirty, but not this dirty. He’s betraying his own kind.” He roared, tried to force his hand out of the bonds that held him by the wrist. “He dissects us, sells bits of us, uses us to develop drugs. He wants to extract what we are, sell us on. Can you imagine a world full of Talents?”

  “I’d have thought you’d have welcomed that,” came a new male voice. Smooth, unctuous. Repellent.

  Well, the door certainly opened on well-oiled hinges.

  She hid her terror and her headache as best she could and stared at the man. Well-oiled described him as well as the door. She knew this was the man who’d captured her, the one who had resembled Rhodri so much that she’d flown to him.

  Now she wondered how she could have made such a mistake. Oh, she knew how he’d done it, but her heart told her no. She should have listened to her heart, not her other senses. Too late now.

  “Where’s your cat?” Rhodri asked abruptly.

  At least he’d put a frown between the smooth man’s brows. “What cat?”

  “The fluffy white one that you stroke when you’re devising your schemes.”

  His face cleared, but he didn’t smile. “I don’t devise schemes. I make deals. The simpler, the better, but I had to put a bit of effort into this one.”

  “Deals?” She didn’t like the thought of that comment. “You’re going to sell us like livestock? You’re a Talent yourself. Surely you know better than that.”

  He grimaced. “Don’t put me in the same class as them. I deal in quality merchandise only. You should be flattered that I chose you. I just came to ensure that you weren’t badly hurt. I regret the necessity of drugging you, but I thought we’d hurt you less if I ordered that rather than had you manhandled.”