Another Kind of Dead

by Kelly Meding

  I glanced at Token, curled up in the far corner of the seat. His brown eyes watched me intently from behind crossed arms. I thought of the stone boy in that lab, dead on a gurney, and Token’s words. Had the stone boy been subjected to terrible torture at the hands of Erickson’s science team? Probably. The hybrids were new to all of us—none had existed in our lifetimes, and in the course of a month, we’d seen a dozen different kinds. Thackery had created the hounds that had nearly killed me—all claws and teeth and long, muscled torsos. What if he was making more? And this time it wasn’t just a power-crazed elf who set them loose on the city?

  No matter what it meant for my future and the weird new blood pumping through my veins, I couldn’t let nonhumans have Thackery’s research. Even the ones I considered allies.

  “Once we know it’s not a trap, we call in the Triads,” I said, speaking with confidence I didn’t feel. I turned back around. “They’re best equipped to go in and clean up the place. We’ve been cleaning up Dreg messes for years. This shouldn’t be that hard.”

  Phin made an indeterminate noise. Less than a growl, more than a grunt.

  I ignored Phin’s annoyance. “We’ll tell Kismet first, so she can put her game face on and act surprised when she sees me. Then report it to Baylor or Morgan.”

  Wyatt nodded.

  I watched the city streets course by, bringing us closer to the park. The whole plan hinged on Token actually finding his old nesting grounds, as promised—a result I started doubting when I looked up. The western sky was darkening on the horizon, thick with navy clouds. An early-summer storm was coming, and if it hit before Token reached his destination, we were screwed.

  Despite its name, Grove Park wasn’t very green. A few years ago, a team of kids from the local university branch came up with a community outreach program that involved bringing the joy of gardening to the poorer folk of Mercy’s Lot. Someone donated an empty lot sandwiched among several blocks of crumbling, run-down brick row houses, and those students worked over a weekend. The trees they planted had died and been replaced several times, and spring flowers managed to bloom in the tended beds on the north border, but the rest of it had been overtaken by the local kids.

  Grass was beaten down to packed earth around a makeshift basketball hoop, at least two feet lower than regulation. Two wooden benches sat near an old bird-bath someone had filled with fake flowers, now faded with age and weather. A dirt pit had been dug out and lined with cement blocks—the poor man’s version of a sandbox.

  We parked a block away on the south-bordering street. Without immediate access to—and with no real time to locate—any sort of tracking device, we’d agreed to follow Phin visually as best we could. If we lost him, we’d hang back and wait for a phone call.

  Residents strolled down the uneven sidewalks but paid us little attention. It was easy to be anonymous in the Lot. No one minded your business until you tried minding theirs. Dregs loved it for that simple reason.

  “Don’t go inside when you get there,” I said to Token, repeating myself for at least the third time in as many minutes. “Just wait for us.”

  “Token understands,” he replied. He nodded sagely, but his small frame trembled like an autumn leaf on a dying branch.

  “We should begin,” Phin said. “The storm is approaching quickly.”

  He wasn’t kidding. In the last ten minutes of our trip, it had crept across a quarter of the western sky, hiding the sun and casting a murky shadow over the city. The energy in the storm made the air around us heavy, thick—like nothing I’d ever felt before. Wyatt had always seemed restless during thunderstorms, and he’d once told me it messed with control of his Gift. Now that I felt it, too, I understood why.

  “Get going, then,” I said.

  Phin nodded. He’d left his shirt off and had already removed his shoes. When he unzipped his jeans, I turned back around to face front. Seconds later came a familiar sound, not unlike Velcro when it’s pulled apart slowly. Then the flap of wings and his osprey form jumped into the front seat between us. He ruffled his brown-and-white feathers and waited.

  I opened my door and climbed out. Phin flew up and over to the roof of a neighboring house. Token came next, slower, still trembling. He’d be hard to disguise, with his strange skin and fangs, but most folks wouldn’t look. Or they’d convince themselves they hadn’t seen him.

  Token scampered across the street and ducked behind a parked car. I caught glimpses as he raced down the sidewalk toward Grove Park, intent on his new task. Or eager to escape and be free. With Phin watching, we’d know soon if Token intended to betray us.

  I slid back into my seat and slammed the door, antsy now, static tickling the deep corners of my mind. Even parked in the middle of an urban street, it occurred to me that I was alone with Wyatt for the first time since the bedroom. Not that it was the time or place for any real conversation, so I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and watched the sky near the park.

  “How do you feel?” Wyatt asked.

  “Fine. The headache’s mostly gone, and my wrist is definitely on the mend. Probably take a few hours to fully heal, though.”

  “I knew those teleports would be hard on you—”

  “Can we not talk about it? It hurt like a fucking bitch, but I did it. Moving on.”

  “Fine.” He should have just said, “I’m letting this go for now, but we’re talking about it later.”

  “I admit, Evy, I didn’t think you’d want the Triads involved in this.”

  Still no movement above the park. “I don’t, but they’re really the lesser of all evils, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t mean about Thackery. I mean you. Let’s look past the fact that you’re supposed to be twice-dead. What if Thackery tells them what he did to you? They may want to turn you over to Erickson.”

  “As if I’d let them. I’d rather die a third death than become anyone’s guinea pig, and you can quote me.”

  He didn’t reply. Several minutes had passed without our seeing Phin in the ever-darkening sky. Either Token had been unable to pick up his own scent, or something was wrong. Neither possibility thrilled me.

  “Storm’s close. Do you feel it, Evy? Like a live current running along your tap to the Break?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t suppose this means our Gifts will work extra good during the storm?”

  “The storm can give you more power, but it also messes like hell with your control. You may accidentally use your Gift without tapping into your emotional trigger.”

  “Good to know.”

  Another minute and nothing. A young couple scurried down the street on the opposite side, holding hands and laughing. Probably trying to get home before the bottom fell out. Even the few robins I’d seen earlier were gone, hiding from what was coming. My anxiety level tipped the scales, souring my stomach and ratcheting up my heart rate.

  “It’s going to rain soon,” Wyatt said. “It’ll wash away any trail left.”

  Come on, Phin, where are you? “I’m going to check out the roof nearest the park.”

  “Evy—”

  “Save it. I’m going.”

  His hand circled my left wrist, a gentle pressure. The touch sent my pulse racing, spurred as much by him as the storm. “I was going to say concentrate. The storm’s going to play with your Gift. Don’t let the power unfocus you.”

  “I won’t.”

  He let go. I pulled the roofie-ammo gun out of my jeans with my left hand. The steady ache-itch in my right was a frustrating distraction, but one I could live with for now. I eyed the farthest house on the block, trying to recall anything I knew about the roofs of these houses. Usually flat, some with access from below.

  I closed my eyes. My tap into the Break flared like a lighthouse beacon, flashing through my mind and body in a current of live energy. I flew apart faster than ever and zinged toward the roof. My direction shifted, spinning toward the west, drawn by the power of the thunderstorm. I yanked away from it. Grasped for the roof
. Back again, then forward. Pulled in one direction but desperate to go in the other.

  No! Another mental jerk got me over the house, and I let go of my tap. I spilled onto the tarred roof in a tumble of limbs, banging my wounded wrist hard enough to send flares of white-hot pain through my arm and shoulder. Not my most graceful landing ever.

  I scrambled to my feet, heedless of the new headache pounding behind my eyes. It would go away, just like the others. A quick scan of the rooftop revealed no one, osprey or otherwise. I crabbed toward the edge of the roof overlooking the park and peered down. Four teens were gathering their shirts, done with their basketball game, but that was it. No Token, and no Phin.

  Spinning around, I sat hard on the tar-paper roof, back to the short wall, gun loose in my hand. A light splattering of raindrops plinked off the roof and left dark spots on my jeans. Could I have missed seeing Phin fly off? No, he would have made sure we’d spotted him before tailing Token.

  Music tinkled nearby, a muffled orchestral tune I didn’t know. I stuffed the gun into the back of my jeans and crept down the length of the roof, toward the northern end of the house, until I found the source. A black case blended into the ground, the perfect size for a pair of glasses. I picked up the case and pried it open.

  It wasn’t the ringing cell phone—identical to the phone we’d found with Willemy’s body—that made my stomach wrench. It was the careless wad of brown-and-white feathers stuffed into the case next to it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I plucked out the phone, snapped the case shut, and slipped it into my back pocket, determined to shove the whole thing right up Thackery’s ass the next time we met.

  Secured line, private number, just like before. “Are the chicken feathers supposed to scare me?” I snarled into the phone.

  Thackery’s deep, rumbling laugh made me want to reach through the line and throttle him. “You know whose feathers they are, Ms. Stone. Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Why don’t you come out so we can chat in person?”

  “I don’t like the rain and despise getting wet.”

  The rain was growing heavier, a steady drizzle that soaked my thin T-shirt and weighed down my jeans. I shielded the phone with my bandaged hand. “So what? You just wanted your hybrid back and thought you’d kidnap a member of the Assembly of Clan Elders while you were at it?”

  “That particular hybrid is of no use to me. He’s yours to do with as you wish.”

  Telling him that I didn’t have Token seemed kind of stupid, so I kept it to myself. Token was probably wandering the streets in the rain, hoping to sniff his way back home, with no idea we’d lost him. Shit.

  “As for the shape-shifter,” Thackery continued, “his position as an Elder is an unfortunate circumstance. I’m more interested in the fact that he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Fuck you” died on my lips. I had to keep calm, even though my temper had reached its boiling point. Thackery knew we’d be here. He knew we’d be tracking Token somehow, and he’d taken Phin to use against me. “I don’t respond well to threats.”

  “So I’ve heard. Think of this as a negotiation, then, not a threat, because you have a decision to make.”

  “Let me guess? Me and my special blood for Phin’s life?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “Which means what?”

  “Very soon your loyalties will be put to the ultimate test, and you will have to make a decision about where you stand.”

  I snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that before. I don’t suppose you want to save me a little time and effort and tell me who betrayed me to you?”

  “ ‘Betrayed’ is such a strong word in this particular case, as their loyalty was never to you.”

  Not helpful. Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, reminding me I hadn’t seen the start of the real storm. My insides vibrated with its power. “When do we do this?”

  “Are you injured?”

  “What does it matter?” If my betrayer was as close as I assumed, Thackery should know I was hurt.

  “It matters to Phineas.”

  Bastard. “I have a broken wrist.”

  “How long will it take to heal?”

  “Completely heal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe twelve hours.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Do you want it partially healed or completely? And why the hell do you care if I’m injured?”

  “Because I prefer my test subjects to be in the best possible shape when they come to me. I had only intended to take samples of your blood, Ms. Stone, but you couldn’t let it happen, so now this has to. I need those samples.”

  “I couldn’t let it happen?” I was on my feet pacing, sneakers slapping against the wet roof with each step. Rage tore through me like an electric shock. “Do you have any fucking clue what that trickster you sent did to me?”

  Something I said surprised him, because several long beats preceded his reply. “I underestimated the trickster’s need to follow its instincts. For whatever it did to you, I am sorry.”

  “Shove it up your ass, Thackery! You aren’t worried about what I’ll do in the next twelve hours? That I could still find you? Maybe even get myself killed before you get your precious blood?”

  “I think you’ll take care not to do anything that will force me to kill your shape-shifting friend. I have no qualms about angering the Assembly, so please do not assume my threat is empty.”

  The image of Rhys Willemy, bled dry and impaled on a wall, flashed in my brain. “Trust me, I’m done assuming things about you.”

  “Good. We’ll speak again in twelve hours.”

  I fought hard for control as I put the phone in the pocket opposite the case. The rain beat down harder, ice-cold, stinging the bare skin on my arms and face. I shivered, gooseflesh breaking out over my neck and down the backs of my legs. I’d been played for a fucking fool by someone today, and I was determined to have that person’s head on a pike before the end of my twelve hours.

  * * *

  Wyatt practically flew out of the car when he spotted me jogging down the street toward him. I’d found a fire escape on the back of the building and saved myself another topsy-turvy teleporting trip. He stopped a few steps in front of the car, alert, probably checking to see if I was being followed. I waved him back into the car and piled in moments later, panting and dripping rainwater.

  “Christ, Evy, you were gone so long—what’s wrong?” He saw it in my face and went very still.

  “Thackery knew we’d be here. He has Phin.” I used his stunned silence to elaborate on the phone conversation, Token’s MIA status, and Thackery’s demands. By the time I finished, my anger had tempered into determination: find the person who’d betrayed me and rip their goddamned head off. After I got every possible answer that head had to offer, of course.

  “Twelve hours,” Wyatt whispered. “That’s not a lot of time.”

  “It’s what we’ve got. Thackery knows I’ll try to find him before the time is up, and he also knows I won’t let Phin die if I can stop it.”

  “If you trade yourself for Phin, you give Thackery exactly what he wants. He’ll have the components of a biological weapon capable of devastating this city. Hell, the world if he wants.”

  “So what do you expect me to do, Wyatt? Tell Thackery to go fuck himself when he calls back? Let him murder Phin, probably after he tortures him for fun?”

  His silence was my answer.

  “Screw that, Truman. Phin’s my friend, and I’m supposed to be the good guy here. The good guy doesn’t sacrifice her friends.”

  “She does when she’s protecting the greater good.”

  I snorted. “Don’t feed me that clichéd bull—”

  “Thackery’s a pragmatist, Evy. He won’t use his weapon until he’s got his antidote, and he doesn’t have that yet. We can keep him from getting it, which means keeping you away from him.” He inhaled, held it, exhaled. “Phineas care
s about you. He’d understand.”

  An angry bark—not a sob, not a growl—tore from my throat. “Why not? Everyone I care about eventually gets taken away. I guess it’s just Phin’s turn, right?”

  Wyatt flinched back as if struck. I didn’t care. Time hadn’t run out yet. The clock had only just been set. I still had options, and until the clock ticked down to its final seconds, sacrificing Phin’s life wasn’t one of them.

  “We need to find David and Kismet,” I said, done with the argument. Wyatt fumbled for his cell as I continued. “David is the only person not in this car or being held hostage who knew the plan.”

  “You think David’s playing the other side?”

  “It was either him or Kismet, if he gave her the details when I asked him not to, or anyone she—”

  “This entire fiasco with Thackery’s been off the books. I can’t imagine she’s brought any other teams in.”

  “But you don’t know.” The glare I shot in his general direction went unnoticed—he was concentrating on his phone. Waiting for the call to connect.

  He frowned, cleared it, then tried another number. The frown deepened. “She’s not answering her cell.” He snapped his phone shut. It fell into his lap as he turned the key, revving the engine. “The landline at the cabin is disconnected. Keep trying her cell.”

  I plucked the phone from between his legs and hit Redial every couple of minutes. It rang and rang, then jumped to voice mail. The phone wasn’t off, so she was either ignoring our call or out of cell range. The latter meant she was at the cabin, which had lost its phone connection.

  The city passed in a silent blur. A dozen different scenarios played out in my head—what we might find at the cabin, who might have ratted us out and why, and what I’d do to that person when I got a confession out of him or her. It had been close to two hours since we left David at the cabin, but only one hour since we told him to call Kismet. One hour or two, it was enough time to set us up.

  We turned onto the two-track driveway with the full force of the storm beating down on us. Rain swept through the trees, driving water, leaves, and small branches against the car like shrapnel. Thunder and lightning came almost simultaneously, brightening the twilight sky every few seconds. Even with the headlights and the wipers on high, navigation was slow.