by Lexi C. Foss
“Perhaps you should try not to get her killed?” Aidan suggested over his glass of brandy.
He looked at the man he considered to be his father. “Casualties are a consequence of war, Aidan. You know that better than anyone.”
“Ah, but is it her war to fight?”
Issac didn’t hesitate. “It is now.”
4
Security Clearances Are Bullshit
It looked like Valentine’s Day threw up in Lizzie’s condo.
Stas dropped her purse by the door and went in search of answers. The kitchen was empty so she continued to the master bedroom. Lizzie was sitting with her bare feet kicked up on the desk and a computer keyboard in her lap. Somewhere an orthopedic physician was cringing.
“Your parents make it okay to the airport?” she asked while typing.
“Yeah.” It took a lot of reassuring, but they got on the plane. She understood their concern. One of her closest friends was murdered and the killer was unidentified. The whole Issac revelation didn’t help matters. It added a potential broken heart to her mother’s list of worries. She promised that wasn’t going to happen, but her parents didn’t look too certain.
“Why does the condo look like a flower shop?” There were flowers everywhere.
Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe ask your boyfriend.”
“What?” The flowers are for me? From Issac? Why would he send her all of these? Her cheeks warmed. No one had ever gotten her flowers before, but this was overkill. It smelled like someone dumped one too many bottles of perfume onto the floor. Cleaning all this up was going to be a nightmare.
Her roommate moved the keyboard to the desk. “There’s a card by the vase of exotic lilies in the kitchen. Why don’t you go read it?”
Okay, so her best friend was still a teensy bit mad about the whole Issac thing. Friendship 101, don’t hide relationships. Except she didn’t know she was in one until last night. And even then, she wasn’t really in a relationship with him.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Stas muttered as she went back to the kitchen. Lizzie was hot on her heels.
“Uh huh.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Liz.”
“No, you omitted it. I’ve been trying to get you to go on a date for six years. What happened to I’m not interested in my MRS degree?” Lizzie’s tone went high as she parroted Stas’s favorite excuse for not dating. She went out a few times and she wasn’t a virgin, but relationships weren’t her thing. She always lost interest; a side effect of bad sex. Her few experiences were nothing to write home about.
“I don’t sound like that and I’m still not interested in marriage.” She found the card on the counter and read it.
I’ll pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow. -Issac
Cocky much? Tomorrow was her security interview. What if it ran over?
“For the record, this,” she handed the card to Lizzie, “will be our first date.” Assuming she agreed to the highhanded proposal. Of course you will, idiot. “And I didn’t tell you I met him because I didn’t realize who he was until yesterday.” Something she already explained after dinner last night.
She chewed her lip, considering. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. Jeans and a tank top?”
Manicured nails clicked on the counter. “Try again.”
“A skirt?”
“And?”
“A tank top.”
Lizzie sighed dramatically. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Help me get ready for my date?” It was a peace offering. Her best friend lived to play beauty consultant, something Stas benefited from over the years. She wasn’t fashionably inept, but she didn’t have Lizzie’s experience. The woman knew high society inside and out. If anyone was going to prepare her for a night with Issac Wakefield, it was her.
“You need me.”
“I do.”
She tapped her jaw, pensive. “All right, you’re forgiven pending an afternoon of chick flicks, wine, and leftover pizza.”
What better way was there to spend a Monday off from work? “Deal.”
She held up a finger. “And you wear the outfit of my choosing on your date tomorrow. I’ll put it on your bed before I go to work.” Lizzie managed an after school program with underprivileged kids, so she wouldn’t be home at six tomorrow.
“You drive a hard bargain, Liz.” The wicked gleam in her best friend’s eyes told her whatever outfit she had in mind would double as a punishment. This was a scary arrangement.
She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Deal?”
Ugh. What choice did she have? I’m so going to regret this. “Okay, deal.”
Stas stared at the one-way mirror in front of her. Here she was taking a polygraph and all she could think about was the dress Lizzie handed her this morning. It came from the redhead’s wardrobe, which meant it was a size too small and barely covered her ass.
The polygrapher, Agent Stark, asked her something about crimes and she answered with a “No.” He was off to her right, behind the only desk in the sterile white room. There was a formidable air surrounding him. She couldn’t decide if it was his imposing height, his deep voice, or the eerie green shade of his eyes. They reminded her of mint leaves, an interesting contrast to his white-blond hair. Or maybe it was the absurdity of the situation. He kept asking her off-the-wall questions and using words she didn’t understand, like Hydraian.
“I told you, some of the questions are meant to throw you off. We make up words and phrases. Just answer honestly.”
His explanation was illogical, but she bit her tongue. She was starting to understand why polygraphs were controversial interrogation techniques.
“Have you ever met an Ichorian?”
Here we go again.
When she asked him to define Hydraian earlier, he told her if she needed a definition then the answer was no. So she answered in kind now and made a mental note to search the term on the Internet later.
It was a slow two hours that ended in him escorting her to the medical examination area in the basement. She assumed that meant she passed since she was moving into the next stage. A petite woman with dark hair and caramel skin was waiting for her in a patient room. Agent Stark left them with a nod.
“Astasiya Davenport, I presume?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.
“You can call me Stas.” Her stomach was in knots. She hated basements and this one was deep underground. The elevator ride down was mental torture. There was something unnatural about going into the earth.
“I’m Dr. Patel.”
The exam started with a few traditional questions, the doctor typing notes as they talked. She took her temperature, blood pressure, listened to her heart and lungs, and drew some blood. It was all fine until she pulled out a tray of syringes.
Stas worried her lower lip. She wasn’t a fan of injecting unknown substances into her body. Not without a proper explanation and human resources never mentioned anything about receiving routine shots. “What are those?”
“A few standard vaccines.” Dr. Patel explained as she readied a clipboard. “It’s mandatory for CRF employees. You never know when you might have to travel for a work assignment.”
“I wasn’t aware my position required travel.”
“It’s standard procedure here.” Dr. Patel handed her the stack of papers. “These are the consent forms. They explain the three different types of shots that will be administered today and their potential side effects. Review and sign, please.”
Unease prickled the back of her neck. It seemed more prudent for an employer to wait until after the employee was cleared for hire to inoculate them. Or maybe even wait until the first business trip. Vaccinations were expensive. To give them to job candidates seemed like a waste of money.
“You can always deny them,” Dr. Patel murmured, noting her hesitancy, “but I’ll have to note that in your medical exam records.”
Stas’s job was contingent
on acquiring her security clearance, which included passing her medical exam. If she denied the injections, would she technically fail? She read the paperwork carefully while gnawing on her lip. Hepatitis and Typhoid Fever were familiar to her, but the last one was new. “Nizari Fever?”
“It’s a recent development.” Dr. Patel’s eyes lit up with interest. “We’re seeing a lot of cases in Asia right now. Scary stuff.”
“Oh.” It all seemed a bit extreme, but this was the CRF. Dr. Fitzgerald created the organization; he knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t inject his future employees with anything life threatening. She signed the consent forms after reviewing all of the potential side effects and handed the clipboard back to the doctor. Stas never got sick. Even as a kid, she never had the flu or experienced the common cold. It was a quirk. A few shots wouldn’t kill her.
She removed her blouse and folded it into her lap. The tank top she wore beneath it did little to protect her from the cold air in the sterile room. Dr. Patel readied her right arm for the first prick. The first one was for Hepatitis. It went in with no problem so she moved onto the other arm to administer the second injection.
“This might sting a bit,” she warned as she inserted a needle with a peculiar looking green liquid. “This is for Typhoid.”
Sting was an understatement. It felt like she had inserted ice directly into her vein. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Nerves frayed as the medicine worked its way through her body. It took significant effort not to shiver when the coolness settled around her chest.
“What did you say that was for?” she asked, her voice higher than intended.
“Typhoid. And this last one is for the Nizari.” She was prepping the arm she received the Hepatitis in for the final vaccine. Another syringe filled with green. Odd. She opened her mouth to ask for more time when Dr. Patel injected her with a shot of liquid fire. She shook from the impact. Cold met heat and she started to feel faint. Her limbs shook from the invasion of foreign liquid. She was sure this wasn’t a normal reaction. Nor was the numbness in her tongue. She smacked her cold lips. That’s not normal either.
“All done.” Dr. Patel sounded like she was talking to her from another room. She squinted at the tiny woman. She hadn’t felt the third shot. Probably because she couldn’t feel her arm. It hung limp at her side. She thought that was a bad sign, but couldn’t articulate the concern out loud.
“How are you feeling?”
Terrible. Somehow she pushed the word “fine” past her dry lips.
“Good. I just need to chart a few things and then Agent Stark can escort you back upstairs.”
She welcomed the distraction. Walking right now was a no-go.
The tingling crawled down her arm as she tested the strength of her shoulders. They moved up and down with ease, but her left arm still hung heavily at her side. The last shot seemed to be helping her regain mobility, but her chest felt funny. She pulled in a deep breath, hoping to diminish the ache there. It didn’t help. Two inhales and exhales later the pain remained, but her fingers tingled. She flexed her left hand, closed it in a fist and repeated the action.
She slid from the table to test her ability to stand. Her hands locked onto the patient bed to keep her from swaying. Dots danced before her eyes, but she remained upright. A few blinks later and her wits returned, just in time for the doctor to face her.
“You’re a little pale. Are you feeling okay?” Frown lines marred her forehead, but her dark eyes lacked genuine concern.
Instinct prickled her insides. Dr. Patel’s pupils were dilated with intrigue, something that was uncharacteristic for a doctor and more in line with a researcher. It was almost as if she wanted her to have a bad reaction to the immunizations, but that couldn’t be right. Being underground always set off her nerves. That combined with all the vaccinations were bound to set her mind running with off-the-wall ideas.
“Just a little light headed.” It took more effort than it should to force her lips upwards at the edges. They were still unnaturally cool. She idly wondered if they were tinged purple. “It’s been a long day.”
Dr. Patel studied her a little longer than was comfortable. “Let me go get Agent Stark, okay?”
She nodded once, making the world spin. Whatever the doctor had given her wasn’t taking well, but there was no way in hell she was staying down here. Imagination or not, something wasn’t right about this place and it went well beyond being underground.
By the time Dr. Patel returned with Agent Stark, she was ready to walk and her blouse was back in place. Her limbs felt heavier than they should and her insides rippled with unease, but her mind was dead set on leaving. She wanted to go home, crawl into her bed and sleep this off. If that didn’t work, she would seek medical help from someone who didn’t creep her out as much as Dr. Patel.
She was thankful for Stark’s stoic nature on their journey aboveground. He hardly said a word other than to advise her when and where to scan her badge, then left her by the security desk in the main lobby. The four-story room was surrounded by glass windows and decorated in flags. She used to enjoy looking at them until the day she spotted the creepy black one. It had a decrepit-looking cross at the center and the words Memento Mori written beneath it. She had no idea where it was from, but it freaked her out every time and it seemed to be mocking her now. Remember that you must die. Why thank you, creepy flag.
“Here’s your purse.” Stark handed her the familiar black bag with a smile that was less than friendly. “Welcome to the CRF, Stas.”
“Thanks.”
Her commute home went by in a blur. Ten months of traveling back and forth between Lizzie’s condo and the CRF headquarters was her saving grace. It allowed her to move on autopilot while her insides revolted against the foreign elixirs. Her small breakfast of coffee and an egg stirred restlessly in her stomach as she turned the corner on 79th Street.
“Astasiya?”
Her gaze came up from the sidewalk to find Issac leaning against an expensive car parked outside of Lizzie’s building. He was dressed in one of those expensive suits again, but his shirt was a pretty blue. Like his eyes. She squinted at him, wondering if he was real. Maybe hallucinations were a side effect?
“Are you all right?”
She considered. “I don’t know.” Her tongue felt numb. She pushed it against her cheek a few times. That was concerning. So was the wobble in her legs. Now that she was almost home, her brain seemed to be shutting down. Not good.
Hands gripped her shoulders, causing her to stumble back a few steps. Damn he moved fast. She could have sworn he was ten feet away just a second ago.
“Your security interview was today. Did that include a medical exam?”
She blinked a few times to clear her vision. Black dots kept blocking her view of his handsome face. “Yup. Lotsa shots.” She tried to show him her arms then remembered they were covered by her blouse.
“Were any of them green?”
“Creepy green.” She shivered. “Cold green.”
Her eyes were feeling sensitive, so she closed them. A slap against her cheek had them reopening. “Ow.” She frowned at the handsome offender.
“I need you to stay awake.”
She wasn’t standing anymore, but she was moving. More like floating. Sandalwood and peppermint assaulted her senses, lulling her into comfort. She laid her head against a muscular shoulder only to be jolted awake and set on something leathery. His car.
“Talk to me,” he said from beside her. She thought maybe he was driving.
“I don’t feel right.”
“I can see that, darling. Tell me about the vaccinations.”
She yawned. “Cold. Fire.”
He said something back, but the pounding in her ears overshadowed his sexy accent. Black painted her vision as her head hit something soft. Her last thought as she drifted off was that she may never wake up again and she was oddly at peace with that.
*
He was studying the inj
ection sites closely when Lucian and Jacque appeared behind him. Lucian was muttering something about dinner when Issac spoke over him.
“I need to know what you think and quickly.” He lifted Astasiya’s arm to show the inky green lines crawling up her arm. “Is that what I think it is?”
Lucian knelt beside him and looked her over with a clinician’s detachment. The ancient Hydraian’s gift for intelligence and his familiarity with these cases made him useful. He bent his blond head to get a closer look at her veins. His green eyes widened. “Nizari poison.”
Jacque’s dark eyebrows went so high, they were hidden by his moppy hair. “A fledgling? In New York City?”
Issac ignored the teleporter and focused on the issue at hand. They could discuss her heritage later. “I think it’s a variant of the venom.” The Nizari assassins didn’t know she existed because Issac never reported her existence to the Conclave. Fledglings were rare these days; a result of the lethal Ichorians killing most of them before their immortal rebirth. It went against blood law to hide her, but he never was one for following rules.
“This wasn’t the Conclave.” Lucian had ample experience with the notorious Nizari assassins. They were known for making deaths look accidental. This was too obvious.
“It was Jonathan. The CRF gave her immunizations as part of her medical exam today. She said they were green.” He checked her vitals again. They were too slow for his liking.
Lucian studied him, arms folding over his broad chest. He was built like a linebacker and frequently used his size to intimidate others. “Who is this woman, Issac?”
“She’s a long story we don’t have time for right now.” His phone buzzed, security calling from the lobby. He answered and told them to let his physicians up. “I have two of my best infectious disease clinicians coming in to evaluate her. I need you to give them everything you know.” They specialized in orphan drugs and he had both on his payroll at Wakefield Pharmaceuticals. Between their skillset and Lucian’s familiarity with the Nizari antidote, they should be able to save her life.
