Badder (Out of the Box Book 16)

by Robert J. Crane

  They started away, Weissman again in the lead, and Raymond giving one last subtle look around. He seemed to stare into the dark, and then, placidly, quietly, gave an indistinct wave at the darkness, but not at her. As though he could not see her, but somehow suspected—or knew—she was there. Then he, too, turned and started after Weissman.

  “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Ray,” Weissman said, their voices receding into the dark. “Why can’t you use your souls like Sovereign does? Seems like a thing that you’d want to do. Power untold, right at your fingertips? Why not seize it, Ray ol’ boy?” Weissman adopted a British accent—a terrible one—for the last bit.

  “Because it’s forbidden,” Raymond said, raising his voice slightly, as if trying to project the message backward, to Rose. “After Hades died, his offspring were warned, in no uncertain terms—do not seek this power, or you will be annihilated, swift and sure. And they did some annihilating, too. My brothers and sisters—”

  “Yeah, I got the story from Sovereign,” Weissman said, already sounding like he was losing interest. “Still…haven’t you ever at least been tempted? I know you’ve got to have some serious souls rattling around in there, Ray. Why not just…keep it in reserve, you know?”

  The answer came back, muffled, not given for her benefit: “Because my father never taught me.”

  Weissman was quiet for a moment, then let out a peal of laughter. “Daddy issues? Join the club, Ray.” And they vanished into the night.

  Rose huddled behind the bushes, listening. They were talking still, in the distance, and she could hear them all the way up until they reached a vehicle and she heard the engine start. She sat there listening, until it faded from sound, from audible range, and was gone in the night.

  When it was gone, she stood. The village was silent, dead.

  And her mind…

  …her head…

  …was not.

  The question, unasked, on her lips, was asked instead, in a dozen voices, in her mind, all at once, a cacophony of confusion and fear and worry:

  What now?

  We have to get away, her granddad said. Have to survive.

  What if they come back?

  We need to be elsewhere, her mam said.

  Where do we go? they all asked.

  Edinburgh, Tamhas said. We vanish. Blend in there. Wait. We’ll be safe in numbers.

  Rose just stood, listening, buried in her own thoughts, the thoughts of the entire village.

  You carry the fate of us all now, her mam said, seeping disgust. Try not to cock it up, you little whore.

  You should get going, Tamhas said, a bit more kindly. You can take Miriam’s car.

  Aye, Miriam said with loathing that was apparent, even in Rose’s head. The keys are in the house on a hook. She’s topped off.

  “I…don’t know how to drive,” Rose said, muttering into the dark, speaking to herself? It felt so strange.

  Miriam knows, Tamhas said. So now you know. You know everything we know, and can do everything we can do. Hamilton’s acting…my martial arts…it’s all at your disposal now. For the good of us all.

  Did you hear what those two were talking about? Granddad asked, sounding a bit shrewd. About—

  Her using our powers, Tamhas said, with some calculation of his own. Aye, I heard it. Sounds like something we should look into as well. I knew it was possible for Old Hades to do it, but…this is an added wrinkle, isn’t it? Explains why her kind— he didn’t put any meanness into it, like others in the village might have when talking about Rose —were so hated after he died. It became quite a stigma.

  Aye, it’s a wrinkle, all right, mam said. But what’s my useless daughter going to do with our knowledge, our powers? Other than likely burn herself to death with Augie’s?

  Tamhas was quiet, was calm, but when he spoke, a ripple of excitement ran through them all. Why…she’s going to get revenge, of course. For all of us. Because… And she could almost see him smile in the dark of her mind. …that’s our way.

  *

  Zack just stared, stared at the dead bodies, and a cold unrelated to the winter’s chill ran through him, top to bottom. “Oh…my…my God…”

  “This…changes things somewhat,” Eve Kappler said in quiet voice, staring at the dead, and the girl who stood frozen in the middle of them, talking to voices in her head that they all could hear. “Weissman and Raymond killed her family.”

  “They tried,” Gavrikov said, the Russian seeming to shiver in the chilly Scottish night. “But did you not see? The entire village sacrificed their own lives to Rose in order to save themselves from Raymond.”

  “It’d be hard to miss that mass suicide disguised as a midnight wilding,” Harmon said, looking around a little cagily.

  “This little scene bringing back memories?” Bjorn asked Harmon with a nasty sneer.

  Harmon snapped around to look at him. “Why, yes, yes it is. When it comes to throwing yourself on a succubus to avoid death, I’m very familiar with the process. Though even I have to admit, watching an entire village mob make that choice at one time to avoid being drained by a Hades? Well…I thought I was jaded, that I’d seen it all.” He looked over the dead. “This…this is new.”

  “It’s not new,” Zack said quietly. “This must have happened…seven years ago now. Look at Rose here. She’s a teenager, probably about Sienna’s age. She’s got that thin, reedy look, malnourished. Reminds me of—well, Sienna, when we pulled her out of her house.” He looked away. “It’s starting to alarm me the similarities I’m seeing between them.”

  “Her people were wiped out by Century during the war,” Eve said, nodding at the dead. “How many voices do you suppose this scared, angry girl has in her head right at this moment?”

  “This moment we’re viewing?” Harmon asked, looking away. “Or this moment right now, that we’re not living because we’re among the dead trapped in her head, reliving the tragic high points of her life?”

  “Explains why is she crazy, no?” Gavrikov asked.

  “The sooner we get out of here,” Harmon said, “the better.”

  “Now all we need is a body to jump ship to,” Eve said. “And a chance to do so.”

  “You assholes,” Zack said under his breath. “Bastian…you cannot possibly think this is a good idea?”

  Bastian’s ghostly form was standing silent in the moonlight, arms folded across his massive chest. He stirred in the dark. “Leaving this place behind? Why wouldn’t we want to? This girl’s made a hell in her own mind and we’re living it with her. You bet your sweet bippy I’m getting out of here if I get a chance.”

  “Sienna has been our—” Zack started.

  “Horse?” Eve asked.

  “Vessel?” Gavrikov threw in.

  “Prison,” Bjorn said.

  “Our home,” Zack said, “for lack of a better word. And you guys are talking about leaving her to die at the hands of this crazy—”

  “She could already be dead,” Gavrikov said, but there was a slight catch in the way he said it. He swallowed, visibly, uneasily, “for all we know. We can’t see outside this place. She may well be a corpse, cold, and gone. Our loyalty should be to—”

  “To her,” Zack said, feeling the fire of the feeling.

  “I don’t think we’re going to come to a consensus on this,” Harmon said stiffly. “But if it makes you feel better, remember this moment. And when we jump ship, and I have access to my powers again, we can send this memory of Rose’s to Sienna, if she’s still alive.” He spoke smoothly up until he said her name, and there…he seemed to catch a little as well. “Maybe the knowledge of what Rose is, how she came to be…maybe it’ll help her. But beyond that…”

  “This is not our fight anymore,” Eve said, eyes cool. “We’re not sharing a body with Sienna. We never really shared a mind with her. She has goals to save the world from all these dubious criminals, most of whom don’t actually want to destroy it. They just want to cut their little slice out
of it, and I’m content to let them have that piece—so that I can have peace.” She shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

  “It’s depraved indifference to human life,” Zack said. “Yes, that’s generally considered bad.”

  “I’m not human,” Eve said. “Hell, I’m not even alive anymore.”

  “I’m indifferent,” Bjorn said with a split grin, crooked at the corner of his mouth. “And depraved.”

  Bastian broke his silence. “I’m not indifferent. But this mano a mano thing that Rose has got going with Sienna…” He looked right at Zack. “You think our place is in the middle of this fight? We’re on the bench at best, out of the arena at worst. Rose doesn’t want us, and Sienna…” He shrugged. “She’s not in our Area of Operations, okay? Much as you might want to help her…what do you really think we can do from here?” He looked around, as if taking the emotional temperature of the others, who were nodding in quiet. “It’s our obligation to bust out. After that, if you want to help Sienna…” He shrugged again. “Maybe we can get you your own body, and off you go.” He looked to Harmon for approval. “Right? Let the man pursue his interests.”

  “We are going to need many fresh bodies,” Gavrikov said.

  “I’m certainly not opposed to trying,” Harmon said smoothly. “I don’t wish Sienna any ill will…at this point.” He seemed to stiffen again. “If you want to go help her once we’re out…I won’t stop you. Just don’t expect me to get involved. Rose is a small threat to everyone else—”

  “She’s killed five thousand people, man,” Zack said, disgust welling within him. “That’s not a small threat and that’s not a small number—”

  “It is in the long history of mankind,” Harmon cut him off. “You want to get involved? You may. Leave me out, all right?” He looked around, caught a few nods. “Leave us out of it, I should say. Because it looks to me like a grudge match. Like Rose powered up to kill Sienna. What’s she going to do once she’s done? Hm?” He paused, waiting for an answer Zack didn’t have to give. “Probably nothing.”

  She will not stop, a quiet voice seemed to whisper in the wind.

  “Oh, good,” Eve said dryly, “the disembodied voice again. Look me in the eye when you speak to me, voice.” She looked around, as if expecting something to jump out of the shadowy bushes. “Hm? Or are you a coward?”

  “Yes,” came a voice as a silhouette slipped out of the dark, appearing before them as if shimmering like falling water. His face was clear, handsome even, and the earnestness that had been there before was replaced by eyes that were dark and shadowed.

  Graham.

  “So you are in here with us,” Zack said, looking him right in the eye. There was a sadness there, one that hadn’t been present when last he’d seen Graham, in this very memory, grabbing hold of Rose and letting her rip his soul out of his body to save himself.

  Graham just looked at each of them in turn, and then stared at Rose, still huddled in the bushes. As they watched she stood, turning, and started down the lane toward Miriam Shell’s house, as if spurred to life by their discussion of her. She wobbled, unsteady on her legs, but gained strength with each step. She avoided the bodies, picked her way around them, and disappeared into the night behind a house that was freshly painted and shone blue in the moonlight.

  “This…” Graham’’s voice was quiet, full of sadness, and some strange, foreboding menace. “This is not all.” He looked at each of them in turn, and Zack could see in his eyes a pain, a callousing to his soul, a wounding that years in Rose’s mind had left him with—something that Zack himself did not feel, could not feel, even after years of his own imprisonment in Sienna, a longer sentence than Graham’s.

  And it worried him.

  “This…” Graham said, and it seeped into Zack like the rising chill of Scottish winter as the wind ran through, rustling the bushes around them, “was just the beginning…”

  24.

  Sienna

  I woke up in the middle of the night, under the car, cold seeping in on either side. It was probably in the seventies or sixties, Fahrenheit, based on the chill that had sunk into my bones. I was shivering slightly, metal underbody of the old farm truck above me, the concrete parking pad beneath me, and the sides open so I could breathe in the cool night air.

  Obviously I’d been at the point of deathly exhaustion when I’d crawled beneath the truck seeking shelter, but now that I’d awoken, other than the open sides and fresh air coming in, it kind of reminded me—what with the shallow confines above and below—of the time I’d spent in the steel box my mom used to imprison me in.

  No wonder I’d fallen asleep so easily. It was like a little slice of home away from home.

  My muscles ached, but not impossibly badly as they had when they’d seized up before I’d conked out. That oily smell beneath the vehicle was now oddly comforting, like something I’d gotten used to. I tested my arms, and they worked again, which was fortunate. My legs did the same, bending on command. My abs felt a little sore, and my inner ear seemed to be still experiencing the feeling of rapid swimming, even though I’d concluded my flight across the Firth many hours ago, a sense that I was bobbing in the waves still thrummed through me.

  “Oh, gahhh…” I mumbled, my face pressed into the concrete parking pad. I hadn’t felt it when I’d collapsed, probably a little too focused on being completely spent rather than worrying about the fact I was using concrete as a pillow. For my cheekbone.

  I lifted my head, but carefully, very aware that there were tons of metal lingering just above me. I’d drooled in my sleep, one of those qualities that made me so super attractive, I supposed. No wonder I was beating the men away with the stick these days. A headache lingered, lightly, behind my eyes, and I figured it was my body’s revenge, along with the other aches, for pushing myself so desperately hard with so desperately little over these last few days. I was living on nothing and adrenaline before Rose had stolen my powers, and since then it had basically been junk food, adrenaline, and Irn Bru, which was not much better.

  Hardly conditioned to live the high life, I had nonetheless become accustomed to a certain lifestyle these last few years, and it mostly included decent food and a bed to sleep in. Waking up on concrete and marathoning and swimming for miles and miles? Not something my body was super jazzed about, I could tell from the pain.

  Sorting through the aches, I came back to the memory of my dreamwalk during my sleep.

  Reed.

  I’d talked to Reed.

  I rose so quickly I did clang my head against the undercarriage of the truck, and in the distance, what sounded like miles away, a dog started barking. “Oww,” I muttered under my breath. I hadn’t dinged myself hard enough to split the skin, fortunately, I could tell by running my fingers over the point of impact, but neither had I done my already aching head any favors.

  I’d talked to my brother.

  And he was coming to get me.

  The weakness that filled my arms, the pain that had replaced the agonized muscles and screaming tendons, gave way to a surge of strength. I belly-crawled out from beneath the truck like it was just another short length of the culvert I’d struggled through yesterday, filled with new purpose.

  I had to get my ass to York.

  I’d forgotten so much in my attempt to pass on information in a hurry to Reed. I’d forgotten to tell him, “Bring Suppressant.” I hadn’t mentioned my plan for getting my souls back. I hadn’t begged him to bring a bevy of weapons with him.

  But none of that mattered, really. I needed a ride first and foremost. I needed to escape, to regroup, to get clear of Rose and the police and all the other trouble that hounded my footsteps here in Scotland.

  Once I was clear of all that, I could start my planning. I could come up with a real strategy, maybe even set a trap for Rose, since she seemed so keen to come after my ass.

  All I had to do was get to York, and get the hell out of the UK.

  And that started with getting the hell movin
g.

  Once I was out from beneath the truck, I looked up. I’d used the sun all day as a reference point for directional heading. It was easy enough, so long as you knew about what time of day it was. But now it was night, and probably around midnight, my gut told me. There was no sun, and I was deep in the countryside, with no bank clocks to tell me what time it was, or a compass at hand to give me direction.

  Surprisingly, in all the years my mother trained me and taught me, trying to impart survival advice to her wayward and listening-only-because-the-alternative-was-no-TV daughter, she went pretty light on anything related to surviving in nature. Orienteering was right out, except in theoretical terms, probably because I wasn’t allowed outside. For a woman obsessed with trying to prepare me for every dangerous scenario, she left some huge gaps in my knowledge base, all related to what to do when you’re alone with nature.

  Fortunately, my mother hadn’t been my only source of instruction. Glen Parks had come along after her, and he hadn’t been lacking in knowledge about surviving and thriving in the wilds. It was hardly my favorite thing, preferring firearms training and martial arts and all that other hitting and hurting people stuff, but I had some knowledge of navigating now.

  I looked up, lying on my back on the concrete pad, the metal roof of the truck obscuring my view of the stars. I let out a slow sigh; I didn’t really want to move that much, but there was work to be done, and my new plan—to get to York to meet Reed so I could escape—was enervating me.

  Creaking as I got to my feet, my joints popping as they resettled, I started to wonder if this was what normal people felt like after a particularly laborious workout. It certainly wasn’t normal for a meta, and probably wouldn’t have been happening right now if I’d managed a few more hours of sleep.