by Devyn Quinn
She woke with a start. Pain pummeled her head, and to a lesser extent throughout her body. Her world spun in dizzy circles.
She hurt. Bad.
Eyes little more than narrow slits, she grimaced, trying to swallow. Temples pounding double time, she felt her heart pump shards of ice through her veins. Deep inside, she felt chilled despite the fever raging through her. A curious numbness spread through her.
Half-conscious, weak to the bone, she shifted her head, trying to make out her surroundings. The effort of movement forced a gasp from her lips. She lay, panting, the chill creeping up her legs and spine. The pain in her skull danced a jig, throbbing in time to a lingering beat hovering on the edge of her hearing. Even her eyeballs ached, the sensation akin to a thousand tiny needles being driven into her nerves.
She blinked, staring dizzily around, trying to get a bearing on her whereabouts. As far as she could tell, she was alone, lying battered amid a great pile of charred wreckage. The sharp but not unpleasant pungency of burned wood tickled her nostrils.
How or why she’d arrived in such a place, she had no idea. A hazy gray veil of nothingness hung right in the center of her brain, cutting off all memory of her recent activities.
She struggled to rise. Sheer will and determination moved her. Managing to ease herself into an upright position, she discovered the source of some of her agony. She’d been lying on a pile of debris. Realizing what it was, she cast a wary glance toward the ceiling. The roof looked none too stable. Many of its sagging spots appeared to be nearing collapse at any second.
“Where am I?”
No answer. The silence took great delight in scoffing at her. In her dazed state it seemed to her this place had looked different once, yet she recognized nothing tangible in the ruins. Sunlight filtered in through gouged-out doors and windows. The skeletal remains of furniture were scattered throughout, little more than twisted metal frames. Gaping cracks were visible in the scorched walls, giving the impression the exterior was being torn apart by giant phantom hands.
The atmosphere of the place was stifled, quiet and eerie, as though a part of some alien world. She didn’t know where she was or why, and that frightened her. Whether it was premonition or self-preserving instinct, all warning signs were pointing the same way. She was in deep trouble.
A fierce churning sensation caused her guts to clench in agony. She was going to be very ill. Barely able to get onto her hands and knees, she vomited, managing to catch her breath before another body-wrecking spasm struck. Nothing came up except putrid yellow strings of bile. She gagged until dry heaves set in and a raging thirst clawed at her throat. Mouth bone dry, she wished for a cool drink of water. Not that there was any chance of getting one now. By the looks of it, the facilities were definitely shut down, probably never to reopen.
Waking up without caffeine and sugar was a bitch. Wiping chapped lips, Callie sat back on her knees. The room around her bobbed and weaved in an alarming manner. Her skin was hot, burning with fever. Her hair hung in limp strands, plastered to her forehead by perspiration. Her limbs felt like noodles. She gulped, trying to keep from falling into a dead faint. Huge blurry spots rose up before her eyes, threatening to merge into one big ugly abyss.
A painful sensation began to work its way up her spine. Traveling her shoulders, it snaked through the back of her neck and straight into her skull. She felt the air around her shift, the pressure on her lungs robbing her of breath. A chilling sweat drenched her, giving rise to a foul odor that assailed her senses. Fear. Her little demon had grown into a giant, knocking at the doors of her mind with ferocious insistence.
Don’t let it in.
Her training kicked in. Panic would weaken her to a potentially fatal degree. Keeping cool, keeping calm, would get her out of this place faster than blind fear.
She crouched, silent and motionless as a fresh wave of nausea rippled through her. The room was spinning. Body cold and soaked in sweat, she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the surge of sickness. “I can’t pass out,” she gasped. Trying to jump-start her groggy self, she slapped at her cheeks. All she wanted to do was curl up in a tiny ball and die.
Not the way to think at all. Stubbornly, she shook her head. “I have to stay awake.”
And then she noticed. She had no clothes on.
Oh, shit.
Something bad had happened. The specter of rape rose in her mind as she struggled to her feet. To her relief a pile of clothing lay a few feet away. She staggered over. Tears of relief stung her eyes when she recognized them as her own. Thank heavens.
Aching and barely erect, she struggled to dress. She’d never have thought such a simple act would become so difficult. Miserably frustrated, she tried to move her numb fingers, but they refused to cooperate. Getting into her jeans proved to be a task she almost didn’t complete. She had to sit down to slip them on, then move up to her knees to finish pulling them up. Her socks were easy enough to pull on, but the laces of her motorcycle boots defied her. She left them undone, hoping she wouldn’t trip and break her neck on the way out. Dying, alone in this deserted place, wasn’t an appealing thought.
Heavy and suffocating, the silence surrounding her chewed ceaselessly at her imagination, stoking it at the same time. Her throat was dry, and her breath came in choking gasps. Her heart skipped a beat. She pricked up her ears, attuned to any sound. She had to make a decision, find a way to go.
Breath rasping over raw lips, she stood up. Her legs shook but held her weight. She took a step forward, then another. As her boots shuffled over the remnants of some tattered carpeting, she imagined she heard a whisper. She stopped dead, cocking her head. Listening.
All at once, the room wasn’t so peaceful or calm. The temperature dropped significantly as a chilly breeze winnowed around her, whistling among the wreckage. A grating voice sounded around her. Calista.
It was an illusion, of course.
Unease gnawing at her guts, Callie shivered. “Knock it off,” she muttered, chastising her imagination.
She started to walk again, closing the distance between herself and what she hoped was the nearest exit. She’d taken no more than ten steps when an unexpected force, invisible to her, gave her a push. Caught by surprise, she staggered, nearly knocked back on her ass. A shadow whizzed past her, no more than a blur to her eyes.
“Shit!”
The voice spoke again, this time clearly and much more audible. Stay, Calista.
She shook at the sound of her name on invisible lips. Fighting for composure, she closed her eyes and tried to suppress the tremor shimmying down her spine. As if gripped in the clutch of some invisible force, she stood rooted to her spot, not moving a muscle. Bruised, exhausted, surging with pain, her breath caught. Closing her eyes her awareness was stretched to the breaking point. She experienced again that strange tentative in-reaching of contact, as if something was trying to directly enter her mind.
I’m here. Waiting. The drone of the words became an oddly echoing chant that seemed to sound not in her ears, but inside her own skull. Some inner instinct warned her she wasn’t alone.
“Where? I don’t see you,” she called, wavering violently. Voice tight with emotion, she felt every nerve in her body scream with tension. “This isn’t funny.”
The strange breeze immediately vanished. The stillness surrounding her became a heavy, suffocating cloak, so weighty it took all her willpower not to sink to her knees. Something wasn’t right. Something had wanted her, had brought her here, for a purpose.
Feeling as though she’d disintegrate, Callie bowed her head. She massaged the ache in her temples, feeling the pulse there under her fingertips. Was she losing her mind? Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. Control threatened to slip through her fingers.
Look, the voice said.
Callie froze. Her heart clogged her throat as a giant’s hand squeezed her windpipe. A whimper escaped her lips, and she glanced around. A flicker of movement caught her attention out of the corner o
f her eye, little more than a wisp of shadow. She turned, but there was no one there.
A strangled cry of frustration and fear escaped her. Confused and frightened, she ran her hands through her disheveled hair, then clenched them into tight fists. The room seemed to be spinning in slow circles around her. Her lips trembled. “Look at what?” she groaned in frustration.
Something pushed past her from behind, streaking by so fast all she caught was a smudge of darkness. Maybe the size of a large rodent, though lacking such a discernable form, the shadowy thing darted toward a rear wall. It came to a rest, hovering perhaps three feet above the ground.
Callie’s eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. Her thoughts skittered away like a frightened kitten, but she knew she had to fight to overcome her fear and disbelief.
She forced herself to stay calm. Staying in control was strictly up to her. That was an agent’s job, hanging on to self-discipline when everything else was falling apart. Concentrate.
Barely aware she was in motion, she walked toward the thing. The strange entity vanished as she approached, zipping out of sight before she was even sure it had gone.
She blinked, puzzled by the attraction. Though fire had earlier gutted most of the place, the flames had only licked at this wall. Remnants of wallpaper, patterned in red and green, still clung to the plaster. Recognizing it, her whole body started to shake. The silence around her felt charged with electricity. Hand trembling, she reached out. Her fingers trailed its pattern, sapped of its vibrancy but still recognizable.
Callie shivered. For an instant her mind merged with the past as the shackles holding her memory prisoner fell away. The gray veil parted a little, thinning. Bright lights and crawling colors wriggled through her brain, merging together to form a new picture. Accompanied by a slow prickle of wonder the decay around her seemed to fade, turning into something breathtakingly beautiful. She shut her eyes to better visualize the place. It came, the splendor of sight, sound, and colors slowly seeping back. The picture wasn’t complete, but at least she knew why she was in this place now.
The grayness curling around her brain receded a bit. Her eyelids fluttered shut. A soft moan escaped her lips. For a moment her sense of reality vanished and she found herself in another place. Lying on a canopied bed, naked, awaiting the illuminated angels representing a magical realm existing everywhere around her…
Toryn and Cadyn. The twins.
And Iollan.
Her mouth filled with their taste, her nostrils with their scent. How could she forget their tease, their bite? The way they’d slipped inside a depth longing to be filled, then out again—only to return with a deeper plunge. Claiming. Binding. Nibbling.
A fit of unexpected quaking overtook her. Her spine turned to icy water. One hand rose to her neck, pressing her fingers against her skin. She remembered sharp fangs and a sharper bite.
Her forehead ridged, the folds growing deeper as her animosity toward her abductors intensified. Images filtered through her mind, tugging her back to the vicious events.
Clearer now.
She could see them.
Feel them.
Callie felt her blood pressure drop, the air in her lungs becoming a deep, heavy weight in her chest, a crushing sensation. She felt dazed and sick. Her mouth moved a little as she struggled with strong emotions.
“Blood,” she murmured, for an instant feeling an inner surge of revulsion. A slew of images ravaged her feverish brain. Jesus Christ. Had they really drunk her blood?
Sick bastards.
An odor assailed her nostrils, one she too well recognized. The smell of fear. A palpable thing, more sour than the bile rising at the back of her throat. Her fear was a specter, mocking, laughing, a leering death mask.
The realization disturbed the precarious control she held over her mind and body; the surging disparity left her alarmed. Without knowing quite why, hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She was almost physically sick with the knowledge that she’d been used and discarded like so much trash.
Dissenting voices began to echo in her brain, teasing and taunting. Against her will, an awful defilement had taken place, a hideous event nothing in life prepared her for. Gasping to catch her breath, she made a peculiar unfocused sound much like a sob. “I’ve been drugged.” Her palm flattened to her forehead.
And raped, her mind filled in.
A fit of unexpected quaking overtook her. Fighting the mental quagmire of writhing snakes in her head, Callie concentrated her energies and struggled to center her thoughts. It had to be some sort of hallucinogen.
“It didn’t happen.” She ran her hands through her disheveled hair, then clenched them into tight fists. “It can’t be real.” Was she losing her mind? Gritting her teeth, she shook her head, struggling for control.
Feeling her disintegration, Callie bowed her head and massaged the ache in her temples. She swallowed, trying to breathe past the incredible lump in her throat. No other reasonable explanation made any sense.
Just when she believed she had a grasp on logical answers, everything changed.
Great clots of blackness rose before her eyes. She struggled to concentrate, forcing them back. More mysteries brooded beneath, behind that dark veil. Afraid her memory would falter into nothingness again, she shook her head, trying to orient herself. She was attacked from inside; her mouth flew open and her jaws gaped. The pictures in her mind wavered, began to dissolve. Through long, frightening minutes she saw naught; the wall in front of her faded into a dusky gray nothingness.
Something doesn’t want me to remember.
The realization disturbed the precarious control she held over her mind and body; the surging disparity left her alarmed. Her hands rose to cover her eyes, shutting out all light, all sight, as if by blocking her vision she could keep the memories inside her brain her own.
Weary, weak beyond belief, Callie sank to the floor. Her body stiffened. Jerked. She writhed in anguish, convulsing, and her body arched with the agonies of the strange invasion. Her head thrashed and her arms beat the air, defending herself against an enemy snaking its way into her skull. There was a low throbbing throughout her body, but it was all far away, held at bay by the voices reverberating around her. A sluggish groan rose to her ears, feeble and without objective, extended by the wheeze emanating from her mouth. Invisible fingers clawed at her, threatening to drag her back into the abyss of insensibility. She resisted, struggling to remain aware.
Moaning, she twitched, the feeling of abject helplessness only adding to her panic as her senses reeled. A chill seized her brain. Limbs out of control, she couldn’t rise to her feet. She became conscious of the beating of her own heart. The organ hammered inside her chest, a hollow, irregular rhythm. Her blood thrummed at a furious pace, pressing for release.
Her body went limp. She lay in a huddled mass, her strength all but gone. She swallowed, trying to breathe past the incredible pressure squeezing her throat.
Sick and tormented, she withdrew her mind into the deepest, darkest parts of her skull, where not even the soul dared to tread. Heavy with weariness, she surrendered to exhaustion. She was slipping away, almost insensible but holding on to awareness with what seemed to be her last wisps of strength.
Her eyes dropped shut, and she felt no emotion except muffled relief. She wanted to stay in this safe haven of darkness. Merging with the merciful womb of unconsciousness, she willingly gave herself to that sinister void where none could follow and cause her further distress.
14
Callie sat on the floor, waiting. Positioned across from one of the burned-out windows, she watched as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Half of the fiery orb had already vanished. Another few minutes and total darkness would envelope the city.
She shifted to ease some of the numbness in her butt. She’d been sitting almost an hour, simply waiting. She’d wanted to arrive early, be in place before sunset. Not sure what would happen, if anything.
After she’d a
wakened from her second bout of unconsciousness, she’d done what any reasonable person would. Gotten the hell out.
As she’d suspected, the building was abandoned, condemned, according to the sign outside. Third floor gutted by fire and water damage, the entire structure was well beyond salvage, one of many on the block slated for the wrecking ball. Depopulation, property abandonment, crime, and a desolate and unfriendly landscape all added up to the need for an urban renewal program. Good people wanted out, and bad people wanted in.
Certainly, no one would think to look for vampires in a condemned building. Great place to hide. Brilliant, even.
If you believed in vampires.
Callie wasn’t sure she did. In fact, she still wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed, or hallucinated, the entire episode. There were plenty of powerful mind-altering drugs on the market, including Rohypnol, a popular “date rape” drug. A very potent tranquilizer with a sedative effect, amnesia, muscle relaxation, and slowing of psychomotor responses were just a few of the side effects. Completely colorless, odorless, tasteless. She remembered drinking wine. That shit must have been seriously spiked. Melting walls and fanged men seemed to belong more to a wild-ass psychedelic trip.
Logical and made sense. She’d heard about people seriously tripping on it. Blackouts, visual hallucinations—some people even believed they were able to fly. Why couldn’t she hallucinate vampires?
Except hallucinations didn’t leave bites on your neck.
She had two fresh sets. That made three bites in all. Weren’t people supposed to turn into vampires after three bites? She hoped not. That would mean she was dead. And she didn’t want to be dead. Even when she was cutting, death hadn’t been the goal. She’d just wanted to feel something other than numbness inside. Dead, she’d feel nothing. Dead, she’d be nothing.
