by Rob Cornell
So the bitch had given up her phony decorum to play snide with Jessie. Good. Jessie hated people who didn’t say what they meant.
“That’s the point of secret cameras, right? Key word being secret.”
Kinga-Roo’s tiny smirk grew a little. “Nice to see your…adventure…hasn’t dampened your attitude problem.”
“It’s your problem, not mine.”
“Cute.” Then, as if their bitter exchange had never happened, Kinga-Roo brought out her massive file and offered it between the bars.
Jessie stared at it as if Kinga was handing over a bag of dog shit. “What’s that?”
“Take it.”
“I appreciate you offering some reading material while I waste away in here, but how about some lunch instead? Or is that part of your plan to get me to cooperate? Starve me?”
“Take the file and I will get you something to eat while you read.”
That offered trade made Jessie all the more skeptical. She stepped back, shaking her head. “I’ll pass.”
Kinga pushed the file halfway between the bars. “It’s just a file. It can’t hurt you.”
“I’m not an idiot.” Jessie nodded at the folder. “If that’s coming from you, it’s not anything I’ll want.”
Instead of getting mad, Kinga broke into a full smile, showing a row of bright teeth with too sharp canines. For a second, Jessie wondered if Kinga was another undercover werewolf like her stepdad had been. Then she tossed the idea. The new regime showed too much contempt for supernaturals to let one rise in their ranks.
“What if I told you this is your file?” Kinga asked.
Jessie’s gut tightened, which made her hunger pains hurt. She wanted to yak, but all she’d bring up was bile-flavored air. “The Agency kept a file on me? Of course they did. I’ll bet it’s a real page-turner.”
“It’s definitely illuminating.”
“Here’s the thing,” Jessie said. She felt her lip curl as if it had a mind of its own. “I’ve lived that file. There’s nothing in there it can tell me that I don’t already know.”
Kinga sniffed. It was probably supposed to be a laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
When Jessie tried to swallow, she couldn’t work up enough spit, though she could still taste the rust from her last drink from the cell’s faucet. She glared at the file which had turned from dog shit into a pipe bomb ready to blow the second Jessie touched it. The bomb’s shards would shred her.
Kinga must have seen Jessie’s fear. Her lips morphed into yet a different kind of smile, the kind of satisfied smirk a person gets right before scoring a winning point. “I suppose you realize I lied. The file just might hurt a little. But it won’t kill you.”
“Comforting.” One word, but it still came out scratchy and weak. She was shoveling a lot of coal into Kinga’s self-righteous furnace by letting herself look meek. But the bitch had done a good job of freaking Jessie out about what sat between the covers of that bland folder.
“I have a number of appointments,” Kinga said, her voice going all corporate. “Please don’t force me to read it to you.”
Despite her nerves, it was Jessie’s turn to grin. The general’s whore wasn’t going to let Jessie out of this. If so, Jessie would try to make it as inconvenient on her as possible. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“I bet you wouldn’t.” She waited a moment, maybe hoping Jessie would give in and take the file. The folder started to tremble slightly. The thick file was getting too heavy for her to hold out much longer.
Jessie didn’t budge. She kept out of Kinga’s reach. If she wanted Jessie to have it, she would have to drop it on the cell floor. That, of course, would go against Kinga’s organizational ethics. The sight of all those papers fluttering every which way would drive her insane and make her shriek like a banshee. (And Jessie had heard a real banshee shriek. Mortal ears were never meant to hear such a racket.)
Kinga had to give in. She pulled the folder back and rested it on her forearm. “Very well.” She flipped open the file and cut the stack of papers like a deck of cards to a page marked with a neon pink sticky note Jessie hadn’t noticed when Kinga had held the file out for her.
The knot in Jessie’s gut doubled and tripled. Her stomach growled. The sensation nearly doubled her over. Her throat narrowed, making it hard to breathe. Her heart pounded hard enough that Jessie could feel its pulse in her ears.
Was this what a panic attack felt like?
The girl who once fought monsters single-handedly, who used to be a monster herself, was now reduced to a twitching tangle of nerves over a fucking stack of paper.
Pathetic.
Kinga scanned the page before her, then looked up at Jessie. “Are you ready?”
Jessie waved a dismissive hand and turned away to strut to the cot as if nothing in the world could bother her. She just hoped Kinga hadn’t noticed the hand she’d waved was trembling. “Whatever.”
She sat on the cot’s edge, crossed her arms, sweaty hands tucked into her armpits to hide their shaking, and gave Kinga the kind of look she used to give her mom right before a lecture on Jessie’s “unacceptable behavior.”
Kinga cleared her throat and returned her attention to the marked page. “Subject’s biological father reports his concerns of subject’s sanity. Feels condition could make her dangerous to Agency allies.”
Jessie snorted. “Give me a break. My dad worried I might go batshit because I’d been turned into a vampire. That’s so shocking. However will I go on?”
“Are you going to let me finish, or do you intend to interrupt me after every sentence?”
The knots came apart. Some moisture returned to her mouth. If Kinga thought reading about her dad badmouthing her behind her back would bother her, she didn’t have a clue. After all, Craig didn’t have a habit of keeping his concerns to himself. Jessie knew all about them. She also knew that his doubts never changed his love for her. In the end, he had given his life to save hers. Crap from the past wouldn’t contradict that sacrifice and its meaning.
“You may continue,” Jessie said. “This could be entertaining. But answer something for me first. Who’s writing this? Kress?”
“You don’t know the man. You were never introduced.”
Jessie cocked an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a little strange, don’t you think? He’s writing up reports about me but he’s never met me?”
“He observed you quite closely. You were just never aware of it.”
Jessie scooted closer to the edge of the cot, ignoring the frame gouging into her ass. “Bullshit.”
Kinga lifted the folder in her arms. “Would you like me to keep reading?”
A secret observer? That Craig knew about? Would he really keep something like that from her? No way. This had to be some kind a ruse on Kinga’s part.
But to what end?
“Go for it,” Jessie said.
Kinga found her place with a finger and slid it across the page as she read.
“Further study during subject’s recent examinations show a marked determination in psychological stability. Brain scans also show an altered brainwave pattern. However, I don’t believe these issues are correlated. Altered brainwaves were apparent during earliest scans. It’s my estimation that this unique brain activity is related to her condition. Perhaps she holds the key to the cognitive functioning of vampires. Could lead to improved methods of disposing of the creatures.”
While Kinga read in a monotone as clinical as the report itself, Jessie felt her whole body begin to tremor as if she stood out in the cold. But she wasn’t cold at all. Sweat ran like tears from her hairline. The coarse fabric of her prison uniform stuck to her wet skin. The pain in her jaw made her realize she had been clenching her teeth and she couldn’t get herself to stop. When she spoke, she had to do it through her teeth.
“What does he mean by examinations? No one ever examined me.”
Kinga stared at her, face straight, and said nothing.
&n
bsp; Her lack of an answer gave Jessie all the answer she needed. These reports were written long before she and Wertz had tuned up the Agency’s ethics. This was back in the Kress days. He had once gone as far as locking Jessie in the equivalent of a dog cage.
“Was it drugs or mojo?” Jessie asked.
“According to the file, your examinations took place under the influence of fairy dust. This substance apparently can make a subject quite docile and open to suggestion.” She visibly swallowed. Was even cold-hearted Kinga a little disturbed by this? “It also makes the memory…pliable.”
Fairy dust? Jessie couldn’t help but think about the guy she met at the club. He had been a fairy. Had he used it on her like a paranormal roofie? No. He’d seemed too genuinely nice. But remembering that trip to the club also reminded her that her carelessness had led to an attack by one of the thousands of people and things that wanted her dead. But instead of her dying, they had killed Wertz.
All because of her.
In the whirlwind of shit over the course of the last few days, Jessie had forgotten that.
She didn’t dwell on it, though. This new wrinkle Kinga was sharing had won Jessie’s attention over all else.
“They conducted studies on me in my sleep?” she asked.
“More of a trance state. But essentially, yes. It was an altered state of consciousness akin to that of a sleepwalker.”
“I sleepwalked into a lab and let them do experiments on me.” Jessie shot off the cot and paced the width of the cell. A gust of energy threatened to carry her away until she started clawing at the walls to get free. “Fuck. Motherfucking fuck.” She pounded her fists against her thighs while she paced.
“It’s difficult to accept. I under—”
Jessie whirled on her. “Don’t you even. You don’t understand shit. My dad. He knew about this. And he let it happen without ever telling me.”
“To be fair, based on what I’ve read in the file, it was your father’s concern for your well-being that motivated him to allow—”
“Oh, shut up. That’s just another way of saying it was all for the greater good. I’m so tired of that line of bullshit.”
Kinga nodded slightly and kept quiet, gaze on the file, though she didn’t look like she was reading.
“Any other good news you got for me?”
Kinga looked up. “As a matter of fact, I have legitimate good news.”
Jessie stopped pacing. “Yeah, right.”
“Jessie, we don’t wish to be at odds with you. We need you. We must put our differences aside and move forward.”
“Rubbing my nose in my father’s betrayal is moving forward?” Jessie charged Kinga. Despite the bars between them, Kinga shuffled back. “Torturing me with that information is putting our differences aside?”
Kinga slapped the file closed and held up a hand. “Please, listen. The reason I shared this with you was for comparison sake.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like Kinga’s new tone. She sounded nice. Jessie didn’t trust nice Kinga.
“You have an impression of General Borscht that is extremely mistaken. We haven’t come here to dismantle the good work you’ve been doing here. We honestly want to help.”
“Good. I can use the pain in my ass from Ree’s tranq dart as a reminder of how much you want to help me.”
Kinga frowned. “Are you without sin?”
When had Kinga gone biblical? “Say what?”
“A woman is dead because of your actions.”
Jessie wandered away from the bars. A lump caught in her throat. She didn’t have a responding quip. For once, Kinga had spoken one hundred percent truth.
“I said I brought this file to your attention for comparison sake. Despite our response to your abandonment, we have not done anything like what was done to you back then. And we never will. You are not an experiment or an object to be studied. You are the Chosen One.”
Jessie had her back to Kinga, but she could hear her step up to the bars.
“We need you, Jessie.”
Jessie turned. For fuck’s sake, the woman looked sincere. Or maybe Jessie wanted to believe Kinga because she—Jessie—would do anything to feel like life had returned to the way things were before losing Wertz.
Kinga must have gathered Jessie’s remaining doubts. “As a sign of good will, the general has organized a benign mission.”
“What does that mean?”
“A group of supernaturals, a peaceful tribe of yeti, want to return to their home plane. We’ve set up a meet for you to do them that favor. Assuming you are willing to work with us, of course.”
A straight-up Return. No attack formations. No military agenda. Just a poor family of creatures who were never meant to live in this world and wanted nothing more than to go home.
Jessie nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
EARL SAT BEFORE THE ALTAR, tears streaming down his face, his nose clogged with snot, some of it dripping over his upper lip. He let it all flow, trying desperately to sink into the meditative state that would allow him to speak with his master.
They had constructed the altar in a room deep into the seemingly unending network of tunnels in the underground compound. The room already hosted a number of magical items, from dusty artifacts to thick, leather-bound tomes, and a full shelf of vials of blood that had long since gone bad, dried and clotted in their glass shells.
Unlike in the basement of the old house, Earl didn’t have to sit on the hard floor. A thick meditation pillow had come with the room that he had dusted off and set before the altar.
But the discomfort in his tailbone would have gone unnoticed if he hadn’t had the pillow. He was drowning in a deeper pain than he could ever imagine. His little Kit, gone.
He clenched his teeth. The tension not at all conducive to the meditative state. He would never reach his master unless he could gain control of his emotions.
Kit must have tried working Elka with her powers, just like her momma did with the string of men she whored with. And just like their momma, who had charmed one too many folks, and it had cost her her life.
It wasn’t fair.
Not for Momma and not for Kit. They couldn’t help who they were. Not of this world, lost in a place they didn’t belong. Earl, a mortal stepson, couldn’t pretend to understand how it felt for Momma to walk in this world in fear, forced into a secret life because mortals were too afraid, too ignorant, to accept them. But he knew the results of that fear. Saw it firsthand when they had strung Momma up and beat her like a Mexican piñata.
After that, Earl had made a promise. He would wake up the world. Like Martin Luther King Jr. did for the blacks, Earl would lead a civil rights movement in the name of all things supernatural, from the largest beasts lurking in the shadows to the smallest practitioners of magic. They all deserved to live out in the open, free to be who they really were. Supernaturals no longer pretending to be human; no human’s pretending to be powerless when so much magic was out there for them to wield.
Years of study and searching had brought him to this place, had led him to his master, had formed his very being.
Kit shouldn’t have provoked Elka by trying to charm her, but it was in Kit’s nature. She was young. She hadn’t deserved to die.
Earl opened his eyes.
The skull at the top of the altar stared down at him. Its eye sockets looked angry, its grin menacing. He couldn’t let Kit’s death be in vain. He needed his master to guide him.
He closed his eyes and refocused his attention to his deep breathing. As hard as it was, he let thoughts of Kit drift off every time they rose up. At some point he had entered the meditative state without noticing and found himself back in the Inbetween.
The blank whiteness had changed to a storm cloud gray. It even smelled like rain.
His master materialized out of the gray. He was dressed all in black, suit and slacks and tie. His button-up shirt too. Black on black. As dark as his eyes, which ha
d filled with darkness, the whites and irises blacked out.
“Earl, you’ve made me wait.” His voice rumbled like a gravel truck. Earl felt vibrations in his chest at the drop of each word.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dolan. I—”
“I prefer Master. You’ve lost the privilege of my name.”
Earl bent his head. If he’d had a hat, it would have been clutched in his hands. “I’m sorry. There’s been a few hitches.”
Glowing red dots, like from those laser pointers, sparked in the center of his blacked-out eyes. “You had started to come to me, then turned away. It takes great effort to pull you to me. Every time I make the slightest touch to the living world, I sacrifice a piece of my soul. I’ll only last so long at this rate. I’ll either waste away or go insane in this place.”
The master strode up to Earl and grabbed him by the lapels, shook him. “What you see? It isn’t what is really here. You cannot imagine the horrors I must elude to keep from turning into one of them. You must get me out of here. Now.”
Earl nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir. We’ve moved into your complex. We’ve gathered the items you told me about. It was all there, just like you said.”
The master’s face broke into a grin a lot like the skull’s on the altar. The red glow in his eyes winked out. “Then we are nearly ready. One last ingredient is necessary for the ritual. The most powerful of the lot.”
Earl wanted to talk to him about Kit, but knew better than to change the subject now. He would have time enough. “Tell me, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”
The master let go of Earl’s lapels and patted his cheek. “You already have it.”
A stone dropped in Earl’s stomach. All at once, he knew what his master meant. Not the specifics, but enough to know Earl was about to face a terrible wrath.
“The woman I told you to befriend,” the master said. “She is a unicorn. And let me tell you, the dust ground from a unicorn’s horn is one of the most powerful substances in existence. It’s why they are so hunted.”
Though the Inbetween, for Earl, was not a physical place, his body only a projection of his soul, he felt his mouth go dry. “I…I’m afraid we ran into some trouble with her.”
