by Kim Harrison
“Something like that.” His manner distant, Trent walked beside me, his steps almost silent. “I want you to look at the replacements and tell me if you saw them during your captivity.”
“Winona could have done that,” Jenks said, and Trent flicked his gaze to him.
“It’s a workday. There are people down here, and Winona isn’t ready to face the world.”
I stiffened, wishing I hadn’t yelled at him in the elevator, but a young man in a lab coat with hair as red as mine was striding down the hall toward us, his pace intent and slightly anxious.
“Sir?” he called out as if there was any question that we were his goal. “Mr. Kalamack?”
Trent sighed, and the chair stopped when the man halted before us, glancing at me in curiosity, then going bug eyed when Jenks gave him a peace sign from the arm of the chair. “Sir, if you have a moment?” the man asked, and Trent forced a neutral smile.
“Donnelley, I’d like you to meet Ms. Rachel Morgan and Jenks of Oak Staff,” Trent said as he shifted to make more of a circle.
“Jenks of Oak Staff,” Jenks echoed, clearly pleased as he rose to dust his hello.
“Pleasure,” Donnelley said, shifting his clipboard to shake my hand. “How do you do.”
“The pleasure is mine, Darby,” I said, and the head lab rat started as I used his first name.
Blinking, he looked from Trent and focused on me for the first time. “Have we met?”
Trent was making a really weird noise in the back of his throat, but I kept smiling. “No,” I admitted, “but I was there when Trent decided you were going to take Faris’s place two years ago.” Watched him kill your predecessor. Give his daughter a scholarship. Tell Jon to move you up. “You’re Trent’s chief geneticist, right?”
Trent cleared his throat, and Quen shifted the chair slightly, probably when he let go of the handles. “Uh, I am, yes,” Darby said, his eyes wide. “It’s good to meet you.” Nervous, he shifted from foot to foot, clipboard before him like a fig leaf. “Mr. Kalamack, I hate to interrupt you, but could I talk to you for a moment? The last batch has gone somewhat awry,” he said, somehow looking both confident and embarrassed, his freckles giving him a careless mien. “If you could look at the numbers before our meeting tomorrow, it would be helpful. I say more time, less stimulation. Andrea wants to toss the batch entirely, but we’ll lose three months. Won’t take but a moment to go over the numbers.”
I’ll give Trent credit—he didn’t even sigh as he looked over me to Quen.
“I’ll show her the instruments, Sa’han,” Quen said, and Jenks rose up from the chair.
“Yeah, we know our way around,” the pixy said, his hands on his hips.
Trent turned halfway from where he had started down the hall with Darby. “I’ll meet you there,” he said, then strode briskly away with Darby almost jogging to keep up.
Quen started us forward, our pace slower but following their path until they took a sharp right down another corridor and vanished. “I didn’t know Trent did anything but fund this merry-go-round,” I said.
“He doesn’t do the grunt work, no,” Quen said softly from behind me. “But he enjoys analyzing the data. His new interests lately have been pulling him away from it, and it shows.”
New interests. His sudden zeal in practicing wild magic, maybe?
We passed the corridor that Trent and Darby had turned into, and Jenks rose up to follow them. “Jenks, if you would stay with us, please?” Quen said, and Jenks buzzed back, giving me a shrug as he landed on my knee. No one said anything, and the silence became uncomfortable as Quen slowed, then stopped before a door that looked like any other—apart from the formidable lock, that is.
“In here,” Quen said as he came from behind me and unlocked it using a mundane key instead of the card reader. It looked like the reader wasn’t even powered up, and again I wondered if the latest break-in had been the end of Trent’s love for gadgetry.
I felt like an invalid when Quen opened the door, then backed me in like a professional, swinging me around to face the silent but clearly in-use room. It was a good size, with the expected lab benches, counter space, and machines lining the walls. There was a desk in the corner, and a table used as a makeshift second desk. Charts and graphs took up a bulletin board, and a small, locked cabinet held books, visible behind the glass. It looked very professional and up front, not at all like a place where illegal bio drugs might be researched or prepared, the tools of Trent’s blackmail and rise to power on the back of his father’s legacy—the same one that had kept me alive.
“What instruments did you see at the sites?” Quen asked, bringing my awareness back to why I was here.
Sighing, I stood, reaching for the crutch that Quen handed me. I fitted it under my arm, and the sudden throb retreated to a dull ache under the pain amulet. Jenks had already gone over the room in three pixy seconds flat and was now getting a drink from the dripping faucet.
“That one,” I said, pointing to a machine whose purpose I couldn’t begin to guess at, but it looked the same. “And they had an autoclave smaller than this one,” I added, pointing to the tabletop version. “It had a lot of scratches on it. They also had a mini deep fridge, which I don’t see here, a couple of battery backups, and a test-tube centrifuge almost identical to that one.” I turned, seeing Quen still standing beside the door with my wheelchair. “Bunsen burners, data books, syringes, the usual lab stuff.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“Is this the room they stole them from?” Jenks asked, and Quen’s mood became guarded.
“No,” he admitted, and my instincts sang out at his reluctance. “That’s across the hall.”
Crutch swinging, I started for the door, almost pushing Quen out of my way. “Just over there, you say?” I said, and he backed up as Jenks nearly flew into his face.
“Rachel,” Quen protested, but I got the door open despite the wheelchair’s being in the way.
Triumphant in my small success, I hobbled out the door with Jenks, coming to a quick halt when I almost ran into Trent.
“Oh! Hi!” I said cheerfully as Jenks dropped in altitude, thinking we’d never get a look now. I knew better. Trent wouldn’t have asked me down here to simply identify machines. I could have done that from a photograph. He wanted me to look at something more, and I was willing to bet it was the crime scene. “Does this tour include the crime scene?” I asked, and Trent glanced behind me at Quen.
“It does.” Trent took my elbow, surprising me. “I was hoping you would, if it’s not too much trouble.”
His manner was his usual businessman facade, but that touch changed everything, and I squinted at him, wondering at the slant to his eyes, the hint of humor at his lips. Or was it just my imagination, and he simply didn’t want me to fall down and sue him?
“Sir,” Quen said, pained by the sound of it, and Jenks laughed.
“Lookie there, Rache!” the pixy said as he landed on my shoulder. “Someone’s going to let you in before the vacuum guys.”
“Actually, we’ve been through it thoroughly already,” Trent said as he let go of me and sifted through his own wad of keys. “But I do want Rachel’s opinion. She finds what others miss: sticky silk, class-book photos, curse-hidden graves, HAPA hate knots.” He held up a key. “Or so I’ve heard. Ah. Here it is.”
“Wayde found the knot,” I admitted, still feeling the warmth on my elbow where he’d gripped me. “Thanks, Trent,” I said as he got the door open and leaned over to push it wide for me.
“After you,” he said, his smile holding real warmth, but it was Jenks who buzzed in first, my ever-vigilant vanguard.
Hobbling in, I first noticed the stuffiness, as if the vents had been sealed off. Other than that, it looked like a normal lab, almost a mirror image of the one across the hall, with the exception of a few conspicuous blanks. I step-hopped to the empty lab bench, leaning against it while Jenks flitted over everything. Quen was watching him closely, and I
spun in a slow circle, trying to get a feel for the room.
“There were no prints, no sign of forced entry,” Trent said, and I stared at the ceiling, not knowing why. “We think they used a card, which is why we’ve gone to a physical key for the time being. Everything is as we found it except for some of the books. They’re across the hall.”
“Along with the desks?” I asked, and his eyebrows went up. “There aren’t any here,” I added, and he nodded in understanding.
Jenks finished his circuit and landed on the sink’s spigot. “You sure you don’t have a mole? It’s the easiest answer.”
Quen shifted his feet, a move that wasn’t missed by Trent. “That’s always a possibility,” Quen said, sounding insulted.
“We’re not actively pursuing that avenue of entry,” Trent added.
I frowned and turned away. Though easy, a mole seemed unlikely to me, too. Trent paid everyone far too much to be easily bribed, but ignoring any prospect seemed risky. “I saw one of these over there, too,” I said, pointing at a titrator, and I shivered. It was scary knowing that HAPA had been an elevator ride away from the girls. Eloy had been here, taken what he’d wanted, and left. Illegal machines used for illegal genetic research.
I shifted down the counter, moving slowly so my motions wouldn’t break my amulet-to-skin contact. Everything here had probably been used to save me from the Rosewood syndrome. It was weird that I’d once tried so diligently to bring Trent down. He hadn’t changed. I had.
Had I sold out? I wondered. Or just gotten smarter? My dad had worked with Trent’s dad. But my dad was not the honest, upright man that I’d thought he was. Sighing, I ran a hand along a mundane dishwasher. Maybe I was wrong . . .
“Who am I dealing with?” Trent asked, the cold tone in his voice pulling my head up.
“Besides HAPA?” Jenks asked.
I hesitated, silent but not ignoring him while feeling my way down the counter as if trying to sense the people who had been here before me. Quen was wincing at my hands-on approach, but Trent wanted me to touch or he wouldn’t have let me in. I really needed to start cutting the guy some slack. He understood how I worked, and he let me get the job done.
“Two human women,” I said as I lifted the door to the freezer chest and a wave of stale, room-temp air rose up. “Chris is the driving force behind the science. She can tap a line, so she’s got some elf in her somewhere. I think HAPA is going to ignore that until they don’t have to, and then she’s dead. In the meantime, she runs the science behind the plan,” I said idly as I closed the fridge. “She’s not much of a team player, more of a team yeller. Thinks she’s in charge, but she’s not. Did they take anything from the fridge?”
Trent looked inquiringly at Quen, and the man muttered, “Several cases of tissue-growth media.”
Nodding, I leaned heavily on the counter as I retraced my steps, not knowing why. My leg hurt, and Jenks watched, his dust becoming a concerned blue. “Chris has no problem treating people as a means to an end,” I said, jaw clenched as the memory of Gerald forcing Winona’s clothes off swam up, unwanted. “Really likes her black magic. If she was a witch, curiosity would have her dead by now. If she doesn’t smarten up, I give her a month, but I think she’s just clever enough to survive. They used a curse to hide one of their victims, and I’d be willing to bet she owes someone a favor.”
Once again at the far end of the counter, I opened a drawer to see a plethora of plastic-wrapped instruments. I frowned, not knowing what they were for, then shut the drawer, looking up in exasperation at the large fluorescent lights. “Then there’s Jennifer,” I said, and Jenks laughed.
“Jennifer?” he scoffed, and I curled my fingers under so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “HAPA takes in Jennifers?”
“Don’t stereotype, Jenks. HAPA is an equal-opportunity hate group,” I said. “She’s the pretty face they use to catch their takes and procure their lab supplies. I think she’s a nurse when she’s not mutilating witches. She keeps the data books.” Frowning, I rubbed my fingers over the counter, wondering if I could feel a faint tingle of magic in my memory. “Jennifer doesn’t like the magic, but she’s not as military as Eloy.”
My pulse quickened, and I looked at the floor and an unusual pair of scuff marks—as if from a ladder. Again I looked at the light fixture. By the door, Quen shifted his weight, probably concerned that he’d missed something.
“Then there’s Gerald,” I said, shuffling to the counter against the wall to look at the scratches from a different angle. “Up until I tried to take his head off with a pipe, he didn’t seem to be a bad egg—for a hypocritical, bigoted card-carrying HAPA member with a squirrel rifle under his bed. He’s the muscle and security. Guns and cameras. Good old boy with a degree.”
My leg hurt, and I straightened. “Last is Eloy. He’s not there much, either working as a distant sentry or just making himself scarce. He’s old-school HAPA. Military background. Planner. Finds and stocks their next location. He doesn’t like magic. At all. I think he was the one who killed the vampires when they took me.” I dropped my head and rubbed my brow, thinking I might need a new pain amulet. Everything was hurting. “He’s in charge, but is letting Chris have enough latitude that she thinks she’s running it, and there is clearly some question in her mind. He has the purse strings, but the real question is where HAPA is getting their funds.”
“I agree,” Trent said slowly, and I noticed that he hadn’t moved from where he’d first come in. “What are the chances that HAPA has teamed up with another group whose aim is simply a return to old science?”
I quit rubbing my forehead. “I thought of that, too. Chris was adamant that she’s HAPA.”
Looking from Trent’s concerned expression, my wandering eyes landed on the ceiling again. Jenks cleared his throat, his hands on his hips as he waited for me to tell him what was going on in my head. “Jenks, tell me what you think of that light,” I finally said, and his wings hummed into invisibility as he rose. Quen was frowning, but something had been right under the light and in the traffic flow, and I was guessing it had been a ladder.
Sure enough, the pixy whistled. “It’s clean!” he exclaimed, still out of sight between the ceiling and the top of the fixture. “Really clean. Someone wiped it. No dust at all.”
Trent turned to Quen, and the man had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’ll find a ladder,” Quen said, looking awkward as he shifted past Trent to get to the door.
Jenks dropped from the ceiling, his dust a bright gold. “I’ll come with you,” he said, and after Trent’s initial cringe, he nodded his agreement. Not that Trent could stop Jenks from doing whatever the hell he wanted without downing him with sticky silk.
Quen almost slunk out the door, clearly upset that we’d found something he’d missed, but I wasn’t going to lie to save face for him. Jenks had put himself on the chagrined elf’s shoulder, and just as the door shut, I heard him say, “Hey, don’t sweat it. I didn’t think to look up there, either. She’s good like that.”
The heavy door shut behind them, and the silence took hold. Trent’s suit made a soft sound as he levered himself up onto a counter, looking at odds with the lab setting, more like the man I remembered from our cross-country trip, even if he was wearing dress shoes instead of stable boots.
Remembering the conversation in the elevator, I ran my hand across the top of the counter, leaning against it, the space of the room between us. My chair was across the hall, and I was too macho to ask him to get it for me. Propping my crutch up beside me, I covered my middle and met his eyes, refusing to let the silence get to me. We were alone again, and this time, I swore I wasn’t going to yell at him.
“Why did you come out to find me?” I asked, and he rubbed his nose, ducking his head to avoid my gaze as he slowly slid from the counter.
“I was afraid you might try taking your charmed silver off without breaking the spell first,” he said, his gaze going to it. “And kill yourself in the process.” His ey
es met mine. “I rescued you. Mmm. I’ve never done that before.”
“You didn’t rescue me,” I said. “Winona and I got out on our own! She even stomped on the bad guy!”
“You got shot,” he said, his voice suddenly bland as he looked at the ceiling. “You had no phone, no magic, no car. Your only mode of transportation was a scared woman who looked like a demon.” His attention fell on me, and I felt stupid. “Still mad at me, I see . . .”
Damn it, I was doing it again. Frustrated, I forced myself to exhale slowly. “You’re right,” I said, swallowing hard. “You rescued me. Us. Thank you.” My eyes narrowed. “You’re not my Sa’han, though.”
He blinked, arms falling from his middle as he stood upright. “Ah, you heard that?” he said, face crimson.
I’d never seen Trent blush, and I hesitated in my anger. “Oh yeah.”
He winced. “See, there’s more than one meaning to that honorific. It’s not always a term of respect from a subordinate to a superior.”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. You’re not my Mal Sa’han, either.” I’d heard him try to call Ceri that, and she wouldn’t let him. I had a feeling it had a romantic overtone.
“God, no,” he said, his flush making me even more sure of it. “I only meant that your safety was my responsibility.” I cocked my head, and he added, “My responsibility not like a jailer or a parent, but as an equal. It was your idea.”
Mine? My confusion must have shown, because he said, “The curse that emancipated me? ‘I will come to your aid in a time of war’? Your idea, not mine, but an agreement is an agreement.”
My head flopped to the other side of my shoulders as I eyed him from a different perspective, but he still looked like the same irritating man, his ankles crossed and his stance confident. “So you were out there perched in that tree looking for me because of some stupid Latin phrase?”
“Why do I even try?” he whispered to the ceiling. “Rachel. Listen to me for once. I helped get you into this situation with the demons, and I am standing beside you to get you out. Whatever it takes.”
