To Hell And Back_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by Natalie Grey

  This was far from the hellish, depressed city he’d expected.

  He turned in a slow circle, staring around himself. The article Arisha had written was lies, clearly, but it was just as clear that she had been here—there was the church she had mentioned, and there was the bakery.

  So, why had she done it?

  The next moment, he cursed himself for a fool. He’d come here precisely because he knew Arisha was a liar. When their editor had said, worriedly, that he hadn’t heard from Arisha in some days, Dedov had volunteered to go find her—because he’d begun to suspect that she wasn’t everything she seemed.

  He knew she’d last been in Spain, but he came here first. He was going to be thorough. He would find out what she was hiding.

  More than once, he’d left late, only to see Arisha in the records room, poring over old news stories. She shouldn’t have had access, and naturally, he feared the worst—but when he later looked over the same articles, he couldn’t find any that discussed national security. Nothing even remotely dangerous.

  Not only that, she never dated.

  Never.

  She turned down every offer of a drink politely, but firmly. She took care with her clothes, but she never preened over her hair or her blouse like other women did. No one ever caught her staring after the women, either, so it clearly wasn’t that.

  When she didn’t come back from Spain on time, Dedov was sure he had stumbled across the truth: Arisha was being paid by someone else to follow much bigger stories than just travel stories. After all, she was always the one to suggest where she went, wasn’t she?

  She was hiding something big, and he was going to find it. Why shouldn’t he have some of the good times, too? Why shouldn’t he get to work on this big story? When he found the truth, Arisha would have no choice but to cut him in on the deal, or he’d rat her out.

  Dedov smiled to himself and set off for the Hotel Sofia. The trail started there.

  QBBS Meredith Reynolds

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Marcus jumped as Barnabas appeared in his peripheral vision. He was sure he’d shut the door, and he knew he hadn’t heard it open.

  Vampires could move far, far too quietly for his liking.

  Quick footsteps burst through the door.

  “And me,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Tabitha.” Barnabas sounded equal parts amused and despairing. “Marcus did not request your presence.”

  “He should have,” Tabitha told him confidently. “Whatever he wants your help with, I can help, too!”

  Neither man said anything, and her shoulders slumped.

  “I’m bored,” she admitted.

  “Are you not supposed to be training with Ryu?” Barnabas asked her.

  “Okay. I’m bored, and I don’t want a ton of bruises.” Her eyes slid to the shining vats pots. “And I kind of hoped you were here to test beer, and I thought I might have some.”

  “I’m sure that’s not why I am here,” Barnabas told her patiently.

  Marcus decided to interrupt finally. “Actually, it is. Sort of.”

  Both Tabitha and Barnabas looked at him in surprise.

  “Bobcat, William, and I are having a…friendly competition.” Marcus stood and came around his desk. He made sure the door was firmly closed and that no one was lurking outside before he spoke again. “I have three beers I am currently planning, all variants on the same, and I hoped to have Barnabas’s input on the hops I am using.”

  Barnabas smiled. “I would be happy to help.”

  The truth was, he was sometimes nostalgic for his days in the monastery, with the simple rhythms of a monk’s life. And he had always enjoyed brewing beer. Like everything, it was a strange mix of precision and art.

  He had originally made gruet, a sour beer fermented with an herb mixture. There was a certain peace to be found in pounding and mixing the herbs, but he had also enjoyed the new beers made with hops—ironically, the only type of beer anyone else in the room would recognize. The earthy, sometimes-sharp smell of the hops rose into the air as the beer brewed, becoming at once richer and softer. Flavors deepened and changed. The liquid turned a rich gold.

  With so much happening to prepare for the journey through the gate, Barnabas relished the thought of returning to his roots. He smiled at Marcus.

  “Which should we look at first?”

  “Yeah!” Tabitha was looking at the various copper vats. “Which ones do we get to try?”

  “We can’t try them yet,” Marcus explained. “I haven’t even started brewing.”

  “So…we should come back tonight?”

  “The beer will need to ferment for some time,” Barnabas informed her. “Months,” he clarified before she could suggest tomorrow as the time to come back.

  “So we don’t get to try anything?”

  “Tell you what.” Marcus leaned close. “You should go talk to Bobcat or William, see what they’re up to. Ask if they’ve got anything special you could try. Then you come back and tell me all about it, okay?”

  She was gone like a shot.

  “EVERY FLAVOR!” Marcus called after her.

  “I do not think,” Barnabas said carefully, “that she will have an overly-broad lexicon for discussing such flavors.”

  “Ah.” Marcus nodded but then brightened. “Maybe they’ll let something slip, though.”

  He closed the door again, locked it, and brought out three sealed canisters from under his desk. A different arrangement of hops was in each.

  He pushed one toward Barnabas, “Now, this one was my original concept.”

  Barnabas opened it and sniffed delicately. “Citrus,” he murmured. “Spicy. I like it. Not a boring beer by any measure.”

  Marcus flushed with pleasure. “Now this one.”

  Barnabas carefully placed the lid back on the first jar and pulled the second one forward. “Still the citrus, but a more earthy complement. Interesting.”

  “Do you have a favorite so far?” Marcus asked him.

  Barnabas shook his head. “Not yet. What of the third?”

  There was a thud outside as Tabitha met the door at high speed, and the sound of inventive cursing made its way through the panel.

  “We’ll be right out,” Marcus called.

  He looked back and smiled. Barnabas was breathing in the scent from the third jar with a rapt expression.

  “This one,” Barnabas said at once. “You should use this one. Citrus, a faint floral taste, the tang of the hops—it will be perfect. Where did you find these hops?”

  “Spain, believe it or not.” Marcus leaned back in his chair with a smile. “Very good, then. I will begin brewing immediately.”

  “I must go now, but I would very much like to come back to brew with you,” Barnabas said. “It has been a long time.”

  Marcus smiled. “Welcome to the team, Barnabas. We’re going to make some fantastic beer.”

  And thank you, Bobcat, he thought, with a grin.

  Jennifer found Stephen in the medical bay, listening to a list of injuries from one of the techs.

  The bay was crowded. Technically, the survivors from Velingrad and Spain would be ready to go home anytime. Due to the quick healing of those of Wechselbalg blood, and the medical capabilities of the TQB team, their physical injuries were entirely better.

  The psychological trauma, however, would take considerably longer.

  Stephen looked over as Jennifer approached. He smiled, but there was concern in it.

  “Seventy-four percent were treated for hairline fractures,” the tech was saying. “A little over half had the lingering effects of repeated concussions, which we think may actually be related to the radio waves. Now, in the children—”

  There was a shout from across the lab; someone beckoning the tech.

  “I should go attend to that.” She looked worried. “I can prepare a full report.”

  “Yes, please,” Stephen told her. “Take your time.”

  Jennif
er drew him away from the crowds. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” He looked confused. “Why would I not be?”

  “Because it’s hurting you to hear them report the injuries,” Jennifer explained bluntly.

  “If they could endure the injuries, surely I can endure—”

  “You aren’t a doctor. You want to have your finger on the pulse of this mission, I get it, but right now you need to be out there doing what you do best—kicking ass and taking names.” Jennifer shook her head. “You’ll have plenty of time to debrief later. In the meantime, these people are as well taken care of as they possibly could be.”

  “Right.” Stephen nodded.

  He looked her up and down. Jennifer’s boots could match anything from a designer line—Bethany Anne would accept no less for her team—they had more grip than any shoe on the market, and had internal slots for tiny throwing knives and an extra clip for each gun Jennifer carried.

  Her leather jacket, retrieved from Velingrad, was similarly kitted out. Stephen could see the lines of the gun harness over her close-fitting shirt.

  She grinned and teased him. “Like what you see?”

  “Always,” Stephen replied emphatically. “Although I was more marveling at the fact that you are always ready to fight.”

  “You better believe it.” Jennifer leaned closer. “Although, when this is all over, I wouldn’t mind a nice night out. The taking-down-the-bad-guys dates are fun, I just think maybe we could switch it up a little. Champagne, steaks...”

  “I will take you to my favorite restaurant in Paris,” Stephen told her.

  “Oooh. Wait, is it still around? Because the last one you mentioned closed in eighteen hundred and something.”

  “It’s still around,” Stephen assured her with a grin. “I went just last year. Now, let’s go finish the facility at Khachmaz and get ready for what I’m assuming will be a fairly unpleasant meeting at Naftalan.”

  “Fairly unpleasant for Emeric, maybe.” Jennifer grinned and followed him out of the medical bay.

  “You’re not at all worried?”

  “You eat guys like Emeric for breakfast,” Jennifer replied confidently. “I’m just planning to sit back and watch. Although…we really should consider letting Hsu have a go.”

  “About that.” Stephen held open a door for her and followed her through. “What would you think of playing the Chief Administrator this time?”

  “What, me?” Jennifer started laughing. “I can’t act that well!”

  “Gotta start somewhere.” Stephen grinned. “Besides, the older you get, the more you’ll learn that a good con is much better than a fight.”

  Khachmaz, Azerbaijan

  They stepped out of the Pod near Khachmaz in a light dusting of snow.

  Arisha was just taking a deep breath of the winter air when she heard a sound she hadn’t heard in weeks, the ringing of a cell phone. Bemusedly, she dug it out of her pocket.

  “I thought this thing had run out of batteries.”

  “Wireless charging,” Stephen explained. “One of the many, many features of the ArchAngel.”

  “Wow.” Arisha looked at the number on the screen and frowned as she accepted the call. “Who is this?”

  “Arisha?” The voice was tentative. It continued in Russian. “Is this the right number?”

  “Da.” She realized she’d spoken in English when she picked up. Her English really was getting better, the more she hung around this group.

  “It’s Kostin.”

  “Kostin!” Her youngest cousin, and the one who had been most terrified by the other cousins’ stories of the big wolf in the woods so many years ago, Kostin had since grown up to become an engineer. Now he worked at the University of Moscow and was getting married in the spring. “Is this a new phone?”

  “Nyet, I am calling from work.” His voice dropped several notches. “A man came by yesterday. Asking about you.”

  “About me?” Arisha laughed. “Why?”

  “He…said you had gone missing.”

  “Oh, no. I swear—”

  “Well, your mother said she had heard from you a few days back, and all was well, so I did not worry. But then today I called you at your work, and you were not there, and they said that he had gone to look for you.”

  “Oh...” Arisha squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, no. Who was it?”

  “He said his name was Dedov.”

  “Dedov?” Her voice rose several notches.

  Everyone turned to look at her, and she waved them off with a shake of her head and a flap of her hand.

  Of all of her coworkers, Dedov had to be one of her least favorite. The man had no real ambition and seemed to believe that he should be granted riches and fame simply for existing. He always moaned about a lack of opportunity, saying there was no way for anyone of their generation to get ahead.

  He wanted things, but he didn’t want to work for them.

  “Where did he go?” Arisha asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. He said you’d been in Spain, but then he kept mentioning Bulgaria. He kept asking me all of these things I didn’t understand like I should know everything about your work. He asked if you ever talked about your ‘real’ job. Arisha, what do you do for your real job? Are you not a reporter?”

  “I’m a reporter.” Arisha could not make head nor tail of this. “I don’t understand what he’s talking about.”

  “Neither do I, then. I’d say he had the wrong person, but if he found me...” She could practically see Kostin shrug, the way he had started doing when he was fifteen, lanky, and sullen. The gesture was even more endearing in an adult. “I’d talk to him, anyway. He seems to think you found some big story and you’re using the newspaper as a cover.”

  Arisha’s blood turned to ice. Some big story.

  Like werewolves. And if Dedov did, by some twist of fate, manage to stumble onto the story in Bulgaria, she knew exactly what he would do with it—sell it to the highest bidder.

  “I have to go, okay? Thanks for calling.” She hung up without waiting for an answer and met Stephen’s eyes. “I have a problem.”

  11

  Khachmaz, Azerbaijan

  “What is it, Arisha?” Stephen was worried. He looked at the facility.

  Arisha realized he thought something was wrong with the mission–and that she was being foolish.

  “No. Not at all. Just something I need to resolve when we’re done. I’ll need to go to Sofia.”

  Stoyan was at her side instantly, “What is wrong? What has happened?”

  Stephen tilted his head. He also wanted to know what had made Arisha go white as a sheet. The woman was, by and large, unflappable.

  “One of my colleagues, Dedov…he has been tracing my steps over the past few articles. He thinks I have found a big story and am using my work as a travel reporter to cover my movements.” Arisha hung her head. “The funny thing is, it’s true.” She gave a humorless laugh.

  “You’re worried he’ll expose you?” Irina asked.

  “No. I can get a new job if I need to. I am worried he will learn what happened in that facility. Dedov is always looking for a way to get rich quickly. He would sell the information to anyone who would buy it, and then you’d have companies and countries descending on Bulgaria, searching out Wechselbalg. I can’t let him find what he’s after, but he can always sniff out a lie.”

  “Maybe you tell him the truth about where Emeric Carre is, and the problem will solve itself,” Jennifer murmured.

  Stephen tried not to laugh. “We will, of course, take care of this soon.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Arisha nodded down the hill, to where the factory poked out of the snow-covered ground. “This is more urgent. I just panicked.”

  “After what Filip did, selling us out to Hugo, I’m not surprised,” Stephen told her.

  Stoyan growled softly. Part of him still could not believe that Filip was dead. He could hardly believe how much damage a selfish person could cause
. Filip, blinded by his own self-interest, had nearly caused the deaths of hundreds.

  He would not let anyone do the same again.

  He leaned close to Arisha as they descended the hill toward the factory. “I will come with you to Bulgaria to deal with this Dedov.”

  Arisha smiled at Stoyan, “Thank you. Although…if he is following the trail of what I found, is it wise for you to be around?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Stoyan frowned. “What if—”

  They reached the gate, and he broke off as Jennifer swiped her access badge and the gates started to slide open with a screech.

  Guards poured out of the building as the gates opened, running for the gate with their guns half-raised and yelling for the intruders to halt. Jennifer and the rest stood patiently until they arrived.

  “Hello,” Jennifer began pleasantly when they stopped moving. “I need to speak to the administrator, please.”

  The guards exchanged a look. This was not, after all, how break-ins were expected to go.

  “Immediately,” Jennifer continued, trying to sound bored. “If you would.”

  “I, uh...” One of the guards toward the back straightened up. “I’ll go tell him. Who should I say you are?”

  “Chief Administrator Zhang,” Jennifer informed him.

  There was a long pause while Stephen refrained from dropping his face into his hands and Hsu tried not to let her mouth twitch.

  “Not to be confused with Associate Administrator Zhang,” Jennifer recovered. She pointed imperiously at Hsu.

  The guard blinked at her for a moment, and then hurried back over the cold ground.

  Jennifer waited, arms crossed.

  She was pleased to see the administrator hurry out a few minutes later, accompanied by some of the senior scientists. The man bobbed his head nervously.

  “We were informed that you would be arriving, Chief Administrator. What do you need from us to begin the shutdown of the facilities?”

  “Only for the scientists to withdraw outside the walls.” Jennifer gestured to Arisha and Stoyan. “My associates will direct you to the correct place to wait for pickup. In the meantime, we will begin dealing with the experiments.” She allowed her smile to slip a little, a clear indication of what the phrase meant.