From the little I could see with my head firmly clutched, we were running into the open desert and the sky was full of stars. There wasn't any sign of civilization as far as I could see. No twinkles of artificial light on the far horizon, no sounds of humanity. I could hear the bear-like beast's heartbeat under my ear, steady and even, hypnotizing.
I listened for a moment, then jerked with the sudden realization that he was about to deliver me asleep to Remo. I broke from the hypnotizing siren song of his heart and started struggling again in earnest. I kicked, I screamed, I even bribed.
Then I bit him.
It was awkward since only my canines caught flesh, but if his sudden howl of pain was any indication, it was—well—it was painful.
I tasted the metallic bitter liquid that spurted in my mouth before the beast jerked me—and a small piece of furry flesh—away from his chest. He held me at arm's length, (all four of them), glowering his yellow eyes at me. I flinched, afraid of the anger in his too intelligent yellow eyes. Then, inexplicably, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Someone slapped me. I opened my eyes and wanted to howl in pain when thousands of tiny mad men armed with hammers began beating their way out of my skull. My eyes watered with the agony and I pressed clutched fists to them. There was a roar inside my head, like the insistent buzz of angry wasps. My stomach churned and roiled, protesting with every shallow breath I took.
Relax, I told myself. Get a grip. Long breaths, slow exhalations.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A few moments later my stomach began to settle, and the madmen began to quiet.
The roar though, took longer.
I lowered my fists slowly, and to my surprise, it was Logan's—not Remo's—face I saw above mine. His eyes were dark with anger and worry.
“Can you hear me?” he shouted.
I winced and croaked, “Don't.”
He nodded, and then shouted again, “What happened?”
I closed my eyes for an instance, concentrating my breathing, relaxing my muscles, trying to keep the pain at bay.
When I opened my eyes again, I winced just a little at the brief painful flare.
“What happened?” his voice was soft and low.
Still disoriented, I looked around us, registering the smell of rotten and spoiled food, along with human waste and God knew what else. The full, brimming dumpsters and the tiny noise of scurrying rodent feet all around. There was also the noise of traffic nearby. I tried to remember how I had gotten there but couldn't remember past being clutched to an eight-foot bear-like monster, running in the dark desert night as if he'd just gotten the prize of his life. I looked past Logan's head, and yes, it was still dark.
The bitter taste of the beast's blood still lingered on my tongue.
Where was Remo Drammen? I looked around again, expecting to find him waiting nearby.
“Roxanne. Can you hear me?” Logan shook my shoulders again. The mad men went wild with cheers, ready to be released. I winced and tried again to isolate them.
I saw Logan tense to shake me again and said through gritted teeth, “Don't.”
There was a flash of relief mixed with worry, and he asked again, “Where are you hurt? What happened?”
I tried again to remember to no avail. “Don't know,” I croaked. My throat felt scratchy and I remembered all the screaming I had done.
“Alright, one step at a time. Are you hurt?”
I took inventory, wiggling toes and stretching muscles but, aside from my pounding headache, there was only some stiffness.
“No, I don't think so.”
“Alright then, what happened? What can you remember?” he asked.
I remembered the bear-like beast glaring at me, the taste of his blood in my mouth before everything blacked out. I remembered its large paws and massive body and how he'd clutched me to his body while he ran. I remembered the shouts in the bus before everything had gone quiet. The stray bullet that might have been intentional. The fact that the general/lieutenant had shot me after all. Too much, and yet not enough. And that's exactly what I told him.
I saw some strange emotion on his face, quickly gone, felt the anger he was trying to hide.
“What about your mother?” he asked, his eyes dark with worry. “Did they take her too?”
“She's human.”
“But did they take her too?” he demanded, no doubt not putting it past the PSS to kidnap a human being. Maybe if she had tried to help me…
I stalled, not knowing how to reply to the genuine concern in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked instead, looking around at the smelly dumpsters, still half expecting to find Remo lurking about. “Where is here?”
“I received a call telling me that I'd find you here,” he answered, leaning back on his haunches. I extended my hand, and he helped me sit up. The world turned once, then settled down. There was garbage everywhere. I didn't check if I had been lying on something disgusting. I smelled. That was answer enough.
“Who?”
“Don't know.” He helped me get up, and I leaned on him for support. Then I leaned back, not wanting to disgust him with my smelly state. He still looked worried.
“How about the number?”
“Blocked.” He stayed close enough to catch me if I fell, and we made our way out of the alley, passing dark doorways, more brimming dumpsters, and skipping suspicious puddles.
“What happened to you?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Start from the beginning, after I left you at your mother's. Is she alright?” He paused, then added, “Did you even get inside?” He led me away from the alley, and I realized how farfetched the concept of my own mother delivering me away to the PSS was to him. He thought I was taken before I got to her. I searched for words to best explain things to him in a business-like way, without giving much away. Maybe a concise, straight answer was the best one.
“She isn't my mother,” I stated and was surprised the truth didn't affect me as much as I thought it would. The betrayal, the deceit sure hurt.
But the knowledge that the person who had raised and cared for me didn't love me didn't hurt as much as I had thought it should. The flames that had once blazed high inside me for her desertion were now only left-over ambers.
She had given up twelve years of her life to raise me, so I wouldn't grow up inside a research facility. She'd given me a chance of normalcy that I wouldn't have otherwise gotten if I had been raised from the beginning by the PSS.
And considering the fact she was human and didn't have centuries to spare…
Could I blame her? Or better yet, should I?
Could she have done better?
Would it have ruined her life if she'd refused to hand me over? If she had smuggled me out of the country?
I don't know.
I told Logan my whole conversation with my mother as we made our way, from the moment I had left him until the moment I bit the six-legged daemon and lost conscious.
He listened. Sometimes with anger, other times with surprise, but mostly devoid of any expression. Never once though, during the fifteen-minute recount, did he interrupt.
I recognized where we were the moment I finished talking.
We were a couple of blocks down Arden fair.
“Wow,” he said. His tone was flippant, but the anger I had glimpsed not long ago was now banked in his eyes.
“Yeah.”
He stopped abruptly, then turned to face me, his eyes sweeping every inch of my face. “How do you feel about it?”
It took me a second to think about an honest answer. “I guess it hurts less to know that my mother never deserted me.” After a moment I added, “And I suppose I should be thankful the PSS didn't get custody of me before then.”
He searched my face a second more, his jaw and fists clenched, then he shook his head and resumed walking. I don't know what exactly riled Logan that much, what he w
as thinking, but I was picturing all sorts of things the PSS could have done to me if I had been raised in the PSS. I would have never known life outside the headquarters, or what life truly meant. I would have never had friendship or known its true meaning, or been a part of something, had a home (because even if Elizabeth had been faking all these years, she did give me a good home, a sense of security and self), or even known any form of real education whatsoever. I'd never have thought it weird or questioned all the blood tests and experiments the PSS ran on me if they told me that's how life was meant to be. I guess I should be thankful that I got to have those twelve years as a normal kid after all.
We walked in silence for a few minutes and I smelled so bad that even the street bums gave me a wide berth.
A sudden thought struck me, and I stopped in my tracks and stared at Logan.
“What?”
“It was him.” I held up a hand to cut off Logan before he could say anything and let the idea crystallize, recalling the fractured dialogue and connecting the dots before I voiced it out loud.
The incessant glances at his watch, the comments that made more sense now, even some of the orders.
“It had to be him.”
“Who?” Logan asked. “What are you talking about?” He was giving me a funny look, as if the stink indeed was messing with my head.
“I think I know who called you,” I said triumphantly. Finally, something was making sense. Logan stared at me in silence, and I hurried to explain. “The general or lieutenant—he was too calm during the whole ordeal. I think he knew what was happening. He helped me.” I nodded at that. His last comment made more sense now. It was clear the general/lieutenant was the one who had called Logan.
He had been angry with the idea of being forced to escort me, and he was acquainted, if not friendly, with preternaturals. He had even admitted as much.
It had to be him. Who else?
Logan looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe,” he said at last, but I think he was just indulging me. Something told me he knew something he wasn't saying.
“What aren't you telling me?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “I don't think this man was the same person who called me. For one, if he wanted me to help, he'd have called me before they'd gotten that far. I mean, why go through all that trouble to bring you back?”
“No, no. You see, he knew about you. He even mentioned you helping me back in Vegas.”
That got Logan's attention. “He mentioned me by name?”
“Well,” I said, flustered, “he didn't say your name, but he mentioned one of my kind helping me back in Vegas.”
“Oh?” he said with interest, and I saw a gleam of calculation enter his eyes.
“Even if no one saw you, the PSS caught us together. They put two and two together.”
“What did you say this general's name was? What division is he from?”
Frustration had me snapping sarcastically, “Well, we didn't get to exchange business cards.”
“Alright, what about a name tag?”
“He didn't have one.”
Logan's eyebrows went up a fraction.
I glared at him. “I was too preoccupied to pay attention to such small things.”
He nodded, then turned and resumed walking.
Well, I had some questions of my own, but I thought it made sense. Although where the general got a bear-like demon to help him, that was beyond me. And it had run all the way back from wherever we had been, which was no easy feat considering we had driven at least two hours away from Sacramento.
“When did you get the phone call?”
“A few minutes before you woke up, why?”
“Where were you?”
“A few blocks away.” He looked at me. “You think whoever called me knew where I was? You think I'm being followed?” He looked behind us when he asked, scanned the streets and rooftops.
“I don't know. But that thing carried me all the way from wherever we were, and conveniently dropped me somewhere close to you.”
He grunted. “The possibility crossed my mind when the caller gave me your location.” He shifted a little so he was half shielding me from behind. I was annoyed, but let it drop for the moment. “You said a bear-like animal with six legs and yellow eyes? And you've never heard about it or seen one before?”
I shook my head. “No. I first thought it was one of Remo Drammen's minions.”
He grunted, and we let the topic drop, both of us falling silent after that.
I had more important things to consider. Now that I had scratched my mother—or Elizabeth—from my to-do list, all that was left was to disappear from the radar. Piece of cake. Logan was supposed to be leaving for Seattle in the morning, where he would be meeting his friend. That is, if his friend ever showed up. I considered my options, weighed them and made a decision.
“Hey, your friend ever call back?”
“Not yet.”
I chewed my lower lip for a moment more, then blurted, “I'll go with you. In exchange for your assistance in helping me disappear afterwards.”
Logan stopped walking to face me. “Why? I will help you disappear without you coming with me but I need Archer for that, so it has to be afterwards. I can get you to some safe place meanwhile, all you have to do is stay down.”
“No, I pay my debts. I come with you, and after that, you help me disappear. Tit for tat.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” I countered.
“Because it's dangerous. You're afraid of them. You've never done this before and you don't know how to fight, and if they get hold of me I won't be able to protect you.”
“Ok. I didn't mean that quite literally,” I muttered and took a deep breath. “I come with you, you help me. I don't come with you, I don't want the help. Simple as that,” I said, raising my chin in defiance. I had stubbornness in abundance. It was one of my very few traits the PSS couldn't beat out of me.
Logan seemed to be considering what I said, then a determined gleam entered his grey eyes. “No.”
“No?”
“No. You're not going. And that's it. I'll put you somewhere safe until I'm back, then I'll help you disappear, but you're not going.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Excuse me! What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”
“I am telling you how it's going to be,” he said mildly.
Wrong thing to say.
I stiffened and narrowed my eyes at him.
“Don't think that because you've helped me a few times and we've exchanged some kisses that you have the authority to tell me what I can or cannot do.” I clenched my fists. “No one, and I mean no one, gives me orders.” I've been dictated to enough times in my life to last a small eternity.
A punk with green and orange spiked hair passed by and began gagging instantly. We both ignored him.
“I wasn't giving you an order.”
“Eew, man, how'd ya kiss that trash without pukin' in her mouth?” sneered the punk. “Is dat toilet paper in her hair?” He squinted at me. “Ha-ha, she's totally trashed.”
I glared at him, but he only jeered and stumbled away, no doubt half drunk.
“It sounded like one from this end,” I returned to Logan.
“Look. When I asked you to help, I didn't know what went on in that place—what happened to you while you were there. I understood your reluctance once you explained things and, besides, after we went over the prints I realized that going in and out won't be as easy as I had envisioned it to be. I don't want to risk you getting captured again because of me.”
“So, it was ok to have risked my life before when you didn't know what I'd been through? God, you're so full of shit.”
“Excuse me?” His anger was beginning to surface. A couple of days ago it might have shut me up—the fury of a vampire werewolf aimed solely at me—but today it fueled my own.
“Tell me something,” I said, my voice dripping icicles, “Would it have mattered to you
if I got captured if we hadn't gotten personal?”
He pursed his lips and his eyes flashed with anger. That was answer enough for me.
I shook my head in disgust. “So, it's ok to risk someone else's life as long as you don't know her? An insignificant life in exchange for a good cause?”
His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. But I wasn't done yet. “And then you heard how dearly she suffered, felt sorry for her, gave her some charity, and now you think you can order her around?” I was now standing in his face, with my finger jabbed into his chest, our boots touching.
Logan's eyes had narrowed to thin slits and his anger swirled between us as he inhaled and exhaled big gushes of air. I wanted to reach for that anger and taste it, but I had enough sense to hold back.
“Maybe at first I didn't care about what could have happened as much as I did after you told me what you went through, who your father was, but I would never have left you behind. Archer is my main goal, but a team is worth nothing if we don't have each other's back.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration, then added, “Look, Roxanne, if I don't want you to accompany me in my rescue attempt, it's only because I don't want you hurt any more than you already have been, or face the guilt if you happen to be captured in the process.”
“If I get hurt, it's my decision to make. I won't hold you responsible for it. Besides, I know the place better than any other place in the world. You won't need to stop every now and then to check if you're going in the right direction or concentrate on things like guard posts and such things. I can save you a lot of time, and that might mean the difference between success and failure.”
I saw the beginning of doubt on his face and pressed, “Your friend might not even show up. You said yourself you need someone. I'll do everything you tell me to do. Even if your friend shows up, Archer might be hurt and may need support. I can provide that. Plus, I can detour to another exit if we find our paths blocked without losing unnecessary time.”
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