Pursuing Flight

by C. I. Black

  Doctor Stanbury, with her dark-rimmed glasses and hair pulled back in a severe chignon, stood at her bedside and stared at her. With a tsk, her dark gaze jumped to the monitors beside the bed, and she made a note on a chart secured to a clipboard. “Lost the connection again.”

  Thank God.

  “You should attempt to reconnect.”

  Hell, no. Please. Don’t make me try.

  “There’s no connection.” The words jumped out before Becca could stop them. Arguing, denying, saying anything to her captors was pointless. She’d learned that from the cave. Besides, they weren’t real, and this wasn’t happening. Clearly, Stanbury was a part of the dream… hallucination… psychotic break? Whatever the hell it was, since she wanted to know what the devil’s master was saying. God only knew why Becca wasn’t just telling her.

  Except she knew that, even in this nightmare, if she gave in to her captor’s demands, she’d be lost, her body imprisoned, and her soul just as trapped as it was now. Freedom didn’t come from giving in. It came from fighting.

  Which meant she really had to be crazy, because there was nothing to fight. This wasn’t real. She wasn’t feeling what she was feeling, and she wasn’t hearing what she was hearing.

  “There’s no point in lying,” Stanbury said, her smile so cold it could freeze fire. “Tell the truth and your… situation will become more comfortable.”

  Yeah, because grabbing me off the street and strapping me to a bed makes you trustworthy. Thank God, it was just her wrists and not her legs as well. At least the monsters in the cave hadn’t tried to manipulate her. They’d just invaded her head and tried to brutalize her mind into submission. That was the kind of fight she preferred. Head on. None of these games.

  But maybe that was why her nightmare had changed and become manipulative. She feared she wasn’t mentally strong enough to survive. It hadn’t been the attack on her men… her friends… her family at the market that had made her leave the armed forces. It had been the look on the face of the boy with the bomb. The certainty and fervor in his eyes. It had been the wails of a bleeding toddler, tugging at his mother’s body, and the cries of the children in the mangled school tent. It hadn’t mattered what Becca had done then. She hadn’t been able to save everyone.

  And it didn’t matter what she did now, because this was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. She was herself, Becca Scott. A human. Dragons and magic didn’t exist.

  Maybe if she thought it hard enough, said it enough times, it would be true, and she’d wake up.

  Stanbury tapped her pen on the clipboard, the ticking a counter-rhythm to the beeping of the heart monitor. “If you’re going to beat this, you need to confront it.”

  “And telling you I hear voices is confronting this?”

  “It would indicate there’s still a part of you resistant to the delusion.” Stanbury pursed her lips. Tap. Beep. Tap tap. Beep.

  Yes, that was what it was, a delusion. Except—

  “It would mean,” Stanbury said, “a part of your mind can detach itself from your condition and examine the situation dispassionately.”

  Except that would mean Stanbury wasn’t a part of the nightmare?

  Becca’s chest tightened, and the beeping of the monitor picked up. If Stanbury wasn’t part of that nightmare, that meant not all of this was in her head.

  Tap. Beep. Tap tap. Beep.

  Surely being trapped in the cave, having monsters invade her mind and tear into her soul to awaken an impossible magic, was the nightmare.

  But when had she regained consciousness? When Werner had created that vortex and dumped them in a deserted playground in… she had no idea where. It had been freezing, and there’d been modest-sized mounds of snow. Or had she still been captured by the hallucination when she’d figured out they were in Newgate in the USA — only God knew why her nightmare would toss her into a foreign country. Or had it been when they’d found an abandoned warehouse, dumpster-dived for food, and stole clothes from a bag abandoned beside a clothing-donation drop box? Or had it been sometime when the devil’s master had been after them and the others, and they’d fled, hiding in a different abandoned warehouse or then the abandoned house or when in the park or—

  She didn’t know what was real. If anything was real. Was Stanbury? The hospital?

  All she knew was that she couldn’t stay like this. Every instinct she had screamed Stanbury couldn’t be trusted, but that could be part of the dream. If she was losing her mind, she couldn’t trust anything she felt or thought.

  “The voice—”

  “The devil’s master?”

  “Yes.” Heat flushed Becca’s face. She really was crazy. Last night she’d said he was sending the devil after her. It had felt so real, and the devil had been so angry.

  When she’d first heard the voice of the devil’s master, it had been a growl in her dreams. The night she’d escaped from the monsters and their cave had been the first time she’d heard him while awake, and now—

  Now he was inside her. Not just a voice, but a presence, filled with agony and rage and heartache and determination.

  “I think he’s looking for me.”

  “I see.” Stanbury adjusted her glasses and jotted something on the chart. “Does he know where you are?”

  “I don’t even know where I am.” Or if any of this is real.

  “You’re in a private facility.” Something flashed across Stanbury’s expression, but Becca wasn’t sure what it was. It seemed like hope… or satisfaction. That had to be it, because Becca was opening up — a move that made Becca’s insides squirm.

  Hadn’t she just decided fighting was best?

  Hadn’t she just thought a thousand crazy thoughts before that?

  God. Please. “What kind of a facility?” And who was paying for it? She didn’t have a lot of money and didn’t have any family left to help pay for a private facility. She doubted the government would cover something private… and this wasn’t her country, so not her government—

  Jeez. The point was, the lack of details only added to the evidence that this was still part of the nightmare.

  “You’ve made good progress today, Rebecca.” Stanbury slipped her pen into the side pocket of her lab coat.

  She was leaving? But she’d promised to make the situation more comfortable. Surely that meant removing the cuffs.

  Becca flexed her wrists against the leather securing her to the bed, hoping Stanbury would realize what she’d forgotten.

  The doctor’s gaze dipped to the restraints and the ice returned to her smile, making Becca’s heart stutter and breaking the monitor’s steady rhythm.

  Stanbury’s attention jumped to the screen.

  In that heartbeat, Becca knew Stanbury wasn’t going to remove the cuffs. Ever.

  Stanbury’s smile bled from frozen to satisfied. So soon. The dugga must know who she is and be desperate to find her.

  Becca’s pulse leapt again and she fought to steady it. She hadn’t just heard that—

  No, she had, and she was still trapped in the nightmare. A nightmare with a monster so terrible, even the monsters from the cave had feared him more than their terrifying queen. They knew if the dugga had discovered them, he’d kill them all, monsters and human prisoners alike. If the devil’s master was the dugga, she had to find a way to get him out of her head.

  Her pulse beat faster.

  He was coming for her. He’d wanted to know where she was.

  She had to get out of there, hide, and then come up with a plan.

  “What’s he saying?” Stanbury asked.

  Becca’s throat tightened. Her first instinct had been right. She couldn’t trust Stanbury, and there was no way in hell she was staying there.

  “Tell me, Rebecca.” Stanbury leaned closer, the lab coat brushing Becca’s knuckles. “What is he saying?”

  “Saying—?” Who was saying what? Did Stanbury think Becca was hearing the devil’s master right now?

  “Rebecca,” Stanbur
y said, her tone too sweet as her gaze returned to the heart monitor and Becca’s rapid pulse.

  “He’s saying—” God, she had to get out of those cuffs. She had to lie, say something to convince Stanbury to release her, or—

  The pen in Stanbury’s pocket bumped against the back of Becca’s hand, and her heart jerked again.

  Escape. She could use the pen to undo the buckle on the cuffs.

  “He’s talking to the devil,” she lied as she shifted her hand, straining to grab the pen without Stanbury noticing.

  “Diablo?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” Stanbury drew the pen from her pocket and made a note in the chart.

  Shit.

  Becca’s pulse beat faster.

  God damned shit.

  Confirmation of the black dragon Diablo, known member of the Asar Nergal. Confirmation she’s attuned to the dugga.

  Becca gasped and fought to concentrate on her thoughts instead of Stanbury’s.

  Come on. Get the pen. She couldn’t hope someone would accidentally loosen the cuffs. The pen was her only way to freedom, and, even if this was just a nightmare, she sure as hell wasn’t going to remain a prisoner. She was going to fight with everything she had.

  3

  Fight. That was what Becca needed to focus on. Getting free, getting safe, and fighting—

  But was there really anything to fight?

  She didn’t know.

  No. Get the pen. Get free. Figure the rest out later.

  “The devil’s master.” Stanbury checked her watch. Duration until convulsions… “What’s he telling the devil?”

  “The devil?” Right, she was lying to get Stanbury to step closer. Crap. Think of something. “They’re looking for me.”

  “Are they close?” Stanbury glanced at her watch again. Convulsions could start in thirty seconds. I have to get her to maintain the connection longer. “Concentrate on what they’re saying.”

  “It’s not clear,” Becca gasped. If Stanbury would just put the pen back in her pocket. Come on. There had to be a way to get the woman to stop taking notes.

  Convulsions in fifteen seconds. “Really concentrate, Rebecca.” Stanbury held the pen close to the clipboard, ready to write the instant Becca said something.

  “He—”

  The pen dipped to the paper.

  Son of a—

  This wasn’t working. She had to find another way to get the God damned pen.

  Five seconds to convulsions, and she’ll stop talking. Say something, Rebecca. Tell me where the dugga is. Tell me who the dugga is.

  Becca ground her teeth, and a ripple of pain flashed through her chest, reminding her that moments ago her body had been wracked with a seizure. And that seizure had severed the connection with the devil’s master. That was her only way out of this mess. If she couldn’t get the pen, she had to regroup, figure out a new plan, and that was best done without Stanbury standing over her. But God damn it, she wanted that pen. It was the fastest, easiest solution to her problem.

  She jerked, and the heart monitor screamed in time with a pulse racing half in desperation and half in fear she’d get caught.

  It’s worse than before. Stanbury shoved the pen into her pocket and hit a red call button on a panel above Becca’s head.

  A nurse… orderly? — Becca wasn’t sure. The guy wore nurse’s scrubs but had a shaved head and the build of a linebacker. He rushed into the room, along with a woman with brilliant white hair and dark skin dressed in a pale blue pantsuit and a white lab coat.

  Stanbury glared at the woman. “I don’t need your help.”

  “She’s convulsing again,” the woman said.

  “I have this.” Stanbury nodded at the nurse and stepped back. It’s too often in too short a time. “Secure her so she doesn’t hurt herself against the restraints, and I can get the connection back.”

  Becca jerked harder, straining to hear anything from Stanbury’s thoughts indicating how long she was supposed to be seizing.

  “Twice within the hour,” the other doctor said. “We need to sedate her.”

  Becca’s heart stuttered and her chest tightened. If she was unconscious, she couldn’t escape and she couldn’t come up with an alternate plan. She had to get that pen, now, hide it in the blanket, and pray it was still there when she woke.

  “He’s saying—” Becca gasped. Come on. Get closer. Give me that pen.

  Stanbury leaned forward. The pen brushed Becca’s fingers.

  Yes.

  “15 ccs of Versed, Lenard.”

  Lenard, the nurse, turned to a small cabinet beside the bed and opened the door.

  “No,” Stanbury said, and Lenard stopped, his hand poised to take something off the middle shelf. He glanced from her to the other doctor. God damn it, Koehn, I have this. “She needs to be conscious to reconnect with the dugga.”

  “She might not survive if we don’t get these seizures under control,” the other doctor, Koehn, said.

  “We won’t survive if we can’t learn the dugga’s identity.” Keeping her alive would be nice, but knowing the dugga’s identity is better. Stanbury grabbed her pen and leaned closer to Becca. “What is he saying? Concentrate, Rebecca.”

  Shit. Just one fucking pen. That was all she wanted. Becca rolled her eyes back in her head and jerked again.

  “Six ccs of Versed.” Koehn raised her chin, as if daring Stanbury to disagree.

  “Six is still too much.”

  “The connection has gotten stronger in the last twenty-four hours. Six might not be enough to control the convulsions and prevent brain damage.”

  “Fine. Six ccs,” Stanbury said, her tone sharp, and she jotted something on the chart.

  Becca strained to breathe against the panic screaming at her to fight, survive, even though it was hopeless. There was no way she was getting that pen and no way she was getting out of there. But that was exactly how a nightmare worked. There was a hint of hope, but no matter how hard she tried, she’d never find an escape.

  Koehn drew close with a needle. Lenard’s grip tightened as he leaned over her and held her down.

  Something hard and cold from Lenard’s uniform bumped against Becca’s hand. She bucked Lenard back and loosened his grip for a second. A pen. Another pen. In his pocket.

  Lenard shoved her back against the bed, his fingers digging into her shoulders. Koehn shoved up the sleeve of Becca’s gown and jammed a needle into her biceps.

  Last time the Versed took two minutes, Stanbury said… thought? Becca wasn’t sure anymore what she heard or what she imagined. All she could think about was getting that pen.

  Lenard started to ease back, taking the pen with him.

  Grab the pen.

  The monitor screamed her racing panic.

  Grab the pen. Escape.

  She jerked one last time, straining against the restraints to reach it. She caught the tip between her first two fingers and yanked it down. It tumbled out of her fingers, bounced on the blanket beside her arm, and she wrenched her body over it to capture and hide it.

  “The other one said the dugga could change. That it was a position, not a person, and could be given to another dragon,” Koehn said. “If you kill her, we’ll lose our chance of keeping tabs on whoever becomes the dugga.”

  The pen tip dug into Becca’s wrist, but there was no way in hell she was moving. If she could keep it hidden, she could escape.

  And she had to escape. Kidnappers weren’t this open about their plans if they were going to release their captive. Yes, they’d needed to reveal their faces to convince her they were doctors in a hospital, but outright discussing what they wanted made it clear that, if they weren’t holding her forever, they were going to kill her.

  Becca jerked once more — keeping her arm pinned against the pen — to sell the last of her fake convulsions and not give them a reason to suspect anything. Her pulse stuttered, an uneven thump within her and beep on the monitor, as a weight wrapped around her wi
th sudden, consuming exhaustion.

  Stanbury glanced at the monitor, checked her watch, then wrote on the chart. “The Versed has kicked in. You’d better hope if she connects again, she’ll be conscious enough to communicate.”

  Koehn huffed and stepped close. “Rebecca, can you hear me?”

  The weight increased. It crept over her face and into her head, and the need to close her eyes and melt into the bed overwhelmed her.

  “Rebecca.” Koehn’s cold hand pressed against her cheek and forehead, and she forced Becca’s right eyelid open and flashed a light in her eye.

  Becca winced, the movement two seconds too late to protect against the light.

  “Rebecca?” Koehn moved to the other eye.

  “Yes?” Becca’s mouth responded of its own volition… or had she actually thought the response first?

  Responses slow. Too slow, Stanbury thought. I should have stopped Koehn and risked the damage.

  “If the dugga reconnects, the heart monitor will pick it up,” Koehn said.

  “You better hope he does.” Stanbury straightened, and the doorway behind her tilted, shuddered out of focus then snapped back into sharp reality… Except this was still all a nightmare?

  “You said yourself you think he’s looking for her.” Koehn glanced at Lenard and jerked her chin toward the door.

  His gaze slid to Stanbury then jumped back to Koehn, who glared at him until he rushed out of the room.

  “He will,” Stanbury said.

  Right. The devil’s master was still after her. If she stayed there, she was safe… no, she was a prisoner. No…

  God, it was so hard to think… and keep her eyes open… and…

  “—sedation will only last a few—”