by Shéa MacLeod
Dr. Mickleson steepled his fingers together, excitement flitting briefly across his face before he managed to school his expression. His eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of his glasses, suspicion suddenly erased. He was on the hook. "I would be glad to help in any way I can. What seems to be the problem?"
"As you know, my practice is in geriatric psychology. Experimental, of course."
I almost sputtered over that, but Mickleson nodded eagerly. I guess there really was such a thing. Or he wanted there to be.
"Of course, Dr. Keel. Go on."
"Recently, a patient was brought to me suffering from dementia. She was found wandering the streets, confused. She remembers almost nothing of her past. I am trying to track where she came from so I can access her files and hopefully help her."
I heard the odd emphasis on "help" and knew what Mickleson was no doubt thinking. "Experiment on" was probably close, and Mickleson seemed way too eager to assist us. It made me wonder just what kinds of things were going on behind closed doors here.
"Of course. Of course. If you could give me some details... " Mickleson leaned forward, licking his thick lips.
"She remembers being a nurse in the Second World War, dancing to big band music, and living in a retirement home that includes the name 'Sunny.' That's it, I'm afraid," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was casual, but he watched Mickleson like a hawk.
During Jack's description, Mickleson's face had slowly drained of color. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally he squeaked out, "But she's... "
I knew what he'd been about to say: dead. Instead, he shook his head, sweat popping out along his upper lip and his eyes going wide with panic. He stood up quickly, flapping his pudgy hands to indicate we should do the same.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Keel, but I'm afraid we have no such patient here, nor have we ever. I'm so sorry you wasted your time." He herded us toward the door. "I really wish I could help you."
"As do I," Jack murmured. "She must have come from another facility. We have several more on our list to check."
"Yes, yes. I'm sure that's it. Well, have a nice day." Mickelson all but slammed the door in our faces.
I waited until we were back outside. "He's just about the best liar ever." My voice dripped with sarcasm.
Jack snorted. "No kidding."
"Now what?" Mickleson wasn't going to spill his guts without a little persuasion.
"Now," Jack said, climbing into my car, "we wait."
Chapter 17
We didn't have long to wait. Less than an hour later, Mickelson appeared at the side door of the Sunnyside Village main building. After a furtive glance around, he quickly crossed the small parking lot and hopped into a brand new Chevy Camaro in bumblebee yellow. The car roared to life, and Mickleson took off in the direction of the freeway.
"Total penis car," I muttered.
Jack snorted with laughter. "At least he'll be easy to follow."
"You got that right."
I pulled into traffic, keeping a couple of vehicles between my Mustang and Mickelson's shiny yellow car as we drove north on I205, then west on I84 into downtown Portland. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a small restaurant tucked in between a couple of larger brick buildings, completely ignoring the fact he was blocking a fire hydrant. As he disappeared through the turquoise door, I pulled into a loading zone across the street. Through the large front window, Jack and I had a clear view into the busy restaurant.
The doctor rushed through the dining room, giving a brief wave to the wait staff, who seemed to barely notice his presence. He slipped through a swinging door in the back, which no doubt led to the kitchen, vanishing from sight. Wherever he was going, he seemed in an all-fire hurry to get there.
I moved to get out of the car, but Jack grabbed my arm. "Not yet."
I shot him a scowl. "No way am I letting him slip away without finding out what's up."
"And what if he comes back and catches you? We'll find out more if we wait. Trust me."
Gods, I was sick to death of waiting, but I settled back into my seat and kept my eyes glued to the restaurant. I desperately wanted to know what was going on in there.
Five minutes ticked by with all the speed of five hours. Then ten. Fifteen. Finally, Dr. Mickleson emerged from the restaurant looking flushed and worried. He swiped a blue handkerchief across his face, then jumped into his bumblebee car and took off back toward the freeway.
"Okay, now." Jack nodded toward the restaurant.
I hopped out of the car and strode casually across the street. The inside of the restaurant was just as chaotic and noisy as it had looked from the outside. A harried waiter shook his head as he approached me, a tray full of steaming hot noodles on one arm. "Sorry, but we're full. If you want to wait... "
"I'm here to meet someone."
He frowned. "Uh, okay. Name?"
"Dr. Mickleson."
The waiter shook his head as he peered at the reservations list. "Nothing here under that name."
"Short, grayish hair with a bald spot, black hipster glasses... "
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, lady, you just missed him," the waiter interrupted. "He left less than five minutes ago." He started toward one of the tables with his tray of food.
"Really?" I gave him my best baffled expression, stepping into his path. "But he said to meet him here at one o'clock. I'm a little early. He left already? We haven't even eaten."
"I don't know what he told you, but he wasn't here to eat." The waiter moved around me to deposit the noodle bowls in front of customers at the table. Empty tray in hand, he turned and sped off toward the kitchen.
"Wait." I hurried after him. "What do you mean? Why did he leave?"
"Listen, lady, I'm busy, okay?"
"Please." I gave him my best innocent expression and a twenty dollar bill. "I could really use your help."
He sighed, snagging the twenty before retying the strings of his black apron. "Fine. All I know is that dude rents out the basement from the landlord. We let him through whenever he wants access. No questions. That's where he went today. Then he left."
"But we were supposed to have a meeting. It's important." I doubted the young man was going to tell Mickelson or anyone else that I'd been here, but I kept up the charade, just in case.
"He didn't make a reservation, and he didn't say anything about meeting anyone." The waiter shot me an exasperated look as he stuffed the twenty into his back pocket. "Please lady, I got shit to do. Why don't you call his cellphone or something?" He wheeled toward the kitchen, grumbling under his breath.
"Thanks," I said, but the door had already swung shut behind him. I couldn't help grinning as I exited the restaurant and slid into the car.
"Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?" Jack asked.
"Because I just found out something very interesting about Mickleson." I shared what I'd learned. "I've no idea why on earth he'd be renting a basement, let alone one so far away from his office, or why he would come here straight after meeting with us. But it's got to mean something, right?"
"Interesting." Jack eyed the restaurant entrance. "Very interesting."
There was something in his tone. "You know something. Spill."
"That particular restaurant sits above the Shanghai Tunnels. It's not the main entrance the tours use, but it's one of the few buildings that still has direct access to the tunnels."
The Shanghai Tunnels were a series of underground passages that had once connected just about every basement of every building in old downtown Portland. Mostly they'd been used for delivery of goods to various shops, but some said they'd been used to deliver a lot more than that. Legend had it, they'd been used to shanghai men to crew the ships waiting in port. Hence the name.
"Well, he couldn't be doing anything too nefarious, then," I said. "They do tours down there all the time."
"Not everywhere," Jack said. "There are still plenty of tunnels and rooms that have been blocked off by
cave-ins or bricked up by the owners. Just because he's renting the basement of this restaurant doesn't mean that's where he's actually doing... whatever it is he's doing."
Good point. I watched the busy restaurant. A group of young twenty-somethings in business attire exited the restaurant, laughing and chatting. A couple of them carried little white boxes of leftovers. "We can't exactly waltz in there now. Too many people."
"Agreed. We'll come back tonight after they've closed."
"You don't think it'll be too late? That Mickleson will have gotten rid of... whatever by then?"
Jack shook his head. "He has no idea we're onto him. He thinks we're just trying to find information on some lost old lady."
"We're onto him? Really? Because I don't know about you, but I have no idea what the hell he's up to."
"Smart ass."
That made me laugh.
* * *
I was sort of glad any further investigations had been put on hold. I may have been fully healed, more or less, but I was exhausted. I wasn't sure if it was from the healing itself, or Tommy's version of physical therapy.
At least my new superpower hadn't put in any more appearances. It seemed content to mellow out with the rest of the gang, and that was fine with me.
I let myself into my house and kicked off my boots. Leaving them at the door, I padded in stocking feet down the hall to my bedroom and fell face-first on the bed.
I don't even remember falling asleep.
I lay spread-eagle on a hard surface. Not smooth. Small stones and bits of what felt like roots or branches poked painfully into my back. Overhead, tree limbs covered thickly in rich green leaves nearly blocked out the sun, turning the area around me into a verdant twilight.
I tried to sit up, but my legs and arms wouldn't move. I turned my head and stared at my right wrist, realizing it was trapped beneath a thick twist of vine and root. Same went for my other wrist and, I imagined, both ankles, since they were immobilized, too.
"What the hell?" I struggled against my bindings, but they only drew tighter the harder I fought.
"I suggest you do not resist, Dara." The female voice was light and musical, but underneath lurked something dark and dangerous.
"How do you know my name? What do you want? Who are you? Why are you doing this?" I cast about, trying to catch a glimpse of my captor, but she stood well out of the line of sight.
"So many questions." Her tone was taunting. "I know many things about you, Dara Boyd."
"Listen, bitch," I snarled, showing her my tough side, the one that kept me safe and everyone else at bay. "You better let me up, or else... "
"Or else what?" This time there was no lightness, only the threat of danger.
"Listen, lady, I've got friends." It was a lie. I had no friends. Nobody cared about me. No one would notice if I was gone. Not even my girlfriend, though she might miss my half of the rent money. "They will hunt you down and kick your ass. You don't want to do anything you'll regret."
Suddenly, my captor's face came into view, inches above mine. She was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful, it made my heart ache. Her hair was the color of a sunset and her pale skin glowed like the moon. Her breasts swelled under her shimmering gown, a hint of cleavage revealed by the plunging neckline. Between her parted lips, I saw a tiny gap in her teeth. It was oddly endearing and sexy as hell.
But then I looked in her eyes, and what I saw there was anything but endearing. Wells of blackness swirled there. A darkness so unending, it filled me with horror.
"Regret?" she whispered, her breath warm against my face. "You have no idea what that word means. But you will."
She placed her hand on the center of my chest. For a moment I felt nothing. Then I felt a pain beyond anything I'd ever dreamed of.
I screamed.
* * *
I sat bolt upright in bed, pillow clutched to my chest. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might just crack a rib. Remnants of pain drifted away, along with the fog in my brain.
I yanked the neck of my tank top away from my chest, half-expecting to see the imprint of a hand there. Nothing. My skin was smooth, unblemished. No burn mark. No blisters.
I heaved a sigh of relief, rubbing my breast bone. Gods, these dreams had to stop. I had a bad feeling that one day, they'd go too far, and I'd end up getting hurt for real.
Sliding to the edge of the mattress, I dangled my feet over the side. I gave my neck a careful stretch, noting the muscles were tense and sore.
The dream wasn't hard to figure out. I knew exactly who I'd been in this dream: Dara Boyd, aka Jade Vincent, dragon hunter and psycho bitch extraordinaire. Though if my dreams were anything to go on, there was a very good reason why she was batshit crazy.
Because I'd also known the other woman in my dream, the woman who'd trapped and tortured the very young teenage girl who had once been Dara Boyd. Who'd stolen her memories and planted gods knew what in their place. The same woman who'd caught me in her web of revenge: Morgana, Queen of the Sidhe.
Chapter 18
There was just enough time before I met Jack to stop by my friend Cordelia's place of business. I was feeling a desperate need to see her face to face, not just as a voice on the line. Cordelia read tarot, palms, and crystal balls down at Fringe, a nightclub for Portland's more paranormal residents. Cordy was the real deal, too, not some charlatan trying to make a fast buck. She had actual contacts on the other side.
It was early in the evening, so Fringe was pretty empty. I gave the bartender a wave as I passed through. He nodded, indicating Cordelia was free. I still hadn't figured out exactly what kind of supernatural species he was. More than human, that was for sure. While he was friendly, he was always cautious around me, never letting anything slip, which made me even more curious.
Cordelia's spot was in an alcove off the dance floor. A shimmering silver curtain gave the illusion of privacy and a sense of drama. I pushed my way through into the inner sanctum and had to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing.
Cordy was decked out in a flowing robe of dark blue silk trimmed in gold fringe. There was an antebellum mansion in Georgia that wanted its curtains back. On her head was a purple and gold turban sprouting peacock feathers, and she wore more makeup than an '80s hair band.
"Oh, go ahead. Laugh."
A small giggle escaped. "Sorry, you just look... "
"More ridiculous than usual?" Cordy rolled her eyes and tucked a stray strand of dark hair up under her turban. "Tell me about it. The boss thinks it adds drama or something. He believes the clients will like it. Unfortunately for me, they do."
"The boss" was Fringe's mysterious owner. He was a supernatural of some kind, but, like the bartender, I had no idea what kind. I'd never seen more of him than a vague shadow. He was scary as hell, and he made sure to keep everyone in his club on the straight and narrow. Fringe had a zero tolerance policy when it came to violence, which was a good thing with all the random species running around. Some of them were not very fond of each other.
"How can I help?" Cordelia asked, waving me into the seat opposite her, the rings on her fingers sparkling in the candlelight.
I plopped into a chair on the other side of the little round table holding Cordelia's crystal ball. "I had another dream."
She gazed at me, blue eyes serious. "Okay. Who were you this time?"
It was a legitimate question. In my dreams I'd been everything from an ancient Atlantean priest to a woman jumping off a cliff. It was enough to give a girl a complex.
"Remember that psycho dragon hunter we took down a few months ago? The one that tried to murder... Inigo." My throat tightened so I could barely squeeze out his name. The ache in my chest was a vicious throb.
"Jade?" A frown marred Cordelia's otherwise smooth forehead. "You're dreaming her memories? Why?"
"I was hoping you could answer that."
"What aren't you telling me?" Her voice was stern.
Cordelia Nightwing was nothing if not perc
eptive. "There was someone else in my dreams." I lowered my voice. No way I wanted anyone overhearing this. "The Queen of the Sidhe. In the dream, she was torturing me. I mean Jade. She was also in cahoots with Alister Jones. She stole some of Jade's memories at his behest and replaced them with something else. I don't know what."
"Oh, my." Cordelia's eyes widened. "Why? What did they want?"
"Beats me," I said with a shrug. "The dream never went that far."
Cordy pulled a silk folding fan from somewhere within her voluminous robe and began fanning herself vigorously. "Cripes."
"I know, right?"
She mulled things over for a minute, tapping one long black-lacquered nail on the red silk table cloth while continuing to waft her fan around. Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I have a feeling this is all tied into whatever you're investigating right now. Tell me about it."
I gave her a quick run-down on the soul vampires, Darroch's escape from Area 51, and how Alister was probably behind it all. I left out the bit about my dad. That was personal, and it wasn't part of the investigation, exactly. "What I don't understand is how the Fairy Queen is involved in all of that. If she is."
"Oh, she is. I've no doubt of that." Cordelia said.
I almost asked her how she knew, and then realized what a stupid question that would be. Her guides or whatever told her things. And so far, she might have been vague at times, but she'd never been wrong.
I sighed. "Well, Jack and I are headed over to the restaurant again tonight. Maybe we can figure out what Dr. Mickleson was doing there and what, if anything, it has to do with these soul vamps. Other than that, I'm at a loss as to what our next move should be."
"Oh, that's easy," Cordelia said, carefully closing her fan and tucking it away. Her eyes still had that faraway look, and her voice had an odd, hollow sound it sometimes got when she was looped into the other side. It made my skin crawl.
I cleared my throat a little nervously. "It is?"
"Oh, yes." Her words came out sort of scratchy and whispery.
