by Keri Arthur
“Nothing else of note here,” Jackson said. “It doesn’t actually look as if the lab has been used much.”
“Check the rest of them,” Sam said. “There has to be something more, if only because Rinaldo wanted you two to retrieve it.”
“He might just want the laptop,” I said.
Jackson glanced at me. “He could have taken that when he took the scientists.”
“That’s presuming he has the scientists,” Sam said. “There’s no proof that either of them are even alive.”
“Well, Baltimore did walk out of the morgue.” My tone was dry. “If that’s not proof of life, I’m not sure what is.”
“Maybe I should have said there’s no proof that either of them are still alive.” Sam paused. “Heads up—something is coming your way.”
That heavy sense of wrongness sharpened abruptly. It might simply have been a reaction to his warning, but I doubted it.
“Care to get a little more descriptive than ‘something’?” Jackson said.
“I would if I could,” Sam said. “Whatever it is, it’s moving in a mass and coming at you from two sides.”
“Two? How?” I said. “There’s only one stairwell.”
“It’s coming from both the street level and from the roof.”
“Leaving us the meat in the sandwich. Lovely.” Jackson glanced at me. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”
“You keep searching the labs. Fire still drains your strength too fast.”
He grunted and headed down to the next doorway. I ran back to the stairwell and carefully opened the door. The thick stench of decay hit like a slap in the face and made me gag. We’d obviously left the ground-floor door open for the smell to be this bad. But other than that, there was no sound and nothing that would indicate anything else had changed.
“Sam, are you sure they’re coming up the stairwell?”
“I didn’t mention the stairwell. I said it was coming at you from top and bottom.”
“Then how—” I stopped as an odd sound echoed up from the emptiness below. It was little more than the soft bounce of a stone down concrete steps, but it nevertheless sent a chill down my spine. Sam might not have mentioned the stairwell, but there was definitely something in here.
I sent the sphere in, making it bright enough to light the entire stairwell, then walked over to the metal railings and peered down.
And saw faces looking up at me.
The decaying dead had come back to life.
I swore and called fire to my fingertips. Even as I did, the cloaks roared—the sound oddly garbled and barely resembling anything human—then surged up the stairs toward me, moving so fast that bits of flesh and god knows what else sprayed across the concrete walls.
“Em, report.” Sam’s voice was sharp. “What’s going on? What’s that sound?”
“The dead are screaming,” I said, “so shut up and let me deal with them.”
Which probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say to the man who was technically my boss—at least for this mission—but hey, what was the worst he could do? Sack me?
I flung several streams of fire at the nearest cloaks. The flames leapt from one rotting carcass to another, until the entire stairwell was lit by a moving mass of burning flesh.
It didn’t stop them.
Maybe they couldn’t stop. Maybe Luke’s very last order had been to protect the labs at all costs.
I drew in a breath and called to the mother. Her power tore through me, almost seeming intent on tearing me apart as she erupted from my flesh and arrowed undirected toward the burning cloaks. In an instant, they were ash. I sighed in relief and released her, but she didn’t retreat. Rainbows of light pulsed across the darkness, and my heart momentarily beat in time.
And that scared the hell out of me.
If I became too in tune, I would become one with her. Everything I was, and everything I could be—all my hopes and dreams and energy—would become a part of her. There was no escape from such a fate, no rebirth.
And while that was the eventual fate of all phoenixes, it was not yet my time to fade into her sweet embrace. I was not yet tired of life, however much I might wish our ill-fated path to love would, just once, end differently.
I backed away from the rainbow flare, and the connection between us snapped, the force strong enough that it sent me staggering backward. I flung a hand against the wall and briefly closed my eyes, battling the lethargy that washed through my limbs, though it stemmed as much from relief as weakness.
One thing was very obvious—I’d have to stop relying so much on the mother to get me out of tough situations. Her grip—and the temptation that came with it—was becoming a little too strong.
I pushed away from the wall and sent my sphere of flame spiraling upward. Thankfully, no more rotting, broken faces were revealed.
“One stairwell clear of cloaks,” I said. “Are the sensors still catching movement, Sam?”
“At the moment, no. I’ve called in the military to guard the perimeter of the shielded area, though, just in case they try to escape.”
I doubted they were trying to escape, but it was nevertheless a good idea. If the cloaks were all contained within the area—for whatever reason—then it was better to keep it that way.
Even if it wasn’t exactly better for us.
“Heading back to finish checking the labs, then.”
I stepped back into the hallway, then hesitated. While the stench of decay should give ample enough warning that there were cloaks on the move, I wasn’t about to risk anything else sneaking up on us. I directed my sphere back to the doorway and fanned the energy out until it covered the entire exit. It didn’t contain much heat and certainly wouldn’t damage either the door frame or the walls around it, but if anything went through it, I’d feel it.
I found Jackson in the third lab. “Anything?”
He shook his head. “Another laptop, but that’s it.”
I frowned. “No notes? Because Baltimore preferred to jot his findings down as he was going, and he hated using computers during that stage of the process.”
“Not a one.” Jackson touched my back and ushered me out the door. “We’ll check the final one, then head up to the next floor. Hopefully we’ll have more luck there.”
“Sensing movement again,” Sam said. “Coming solely from the rooftop this time.”
“I’m guessing the damn cloaks are the reason Rinaldo and his witch didn’t want—”
“No,” I said before Jackson had finished. “Frederick was surprised by the cloaks’ actions in the Carlton Gardens. He wouldn’t have been if he’d already clashed with them.”
“Sensors indicate they’re almost on you,” Sam said.
“Your sensors must be copping interference again,” Jackson said, “because there’s no sign of them.”
“Then something odd is happening, because there’s no interference, and we’re reading them as being right on top of you.”
I wasn’t sure how much odder it could get than the decaying dead finding life, but I sure as hell didn’t want to find out.
“I’ve got the door alarmed, Sam, so they must be waiting in the stairwell.”
“That’s not what I’m reading.” Tension filled Sam’s voice. “Be careful when you enter that last lab.”
I’m thinking I’m not included in that “you.” Jackson pressed his back against the wall and reached for the door handle.
I doubt he wants you dead, Jackson. Too much paperwork involved.
I waited as Jackson pushed the door open. Nothing moved in the darkness beyond, and the air was free from the putrid smell of rotting cloaks. Jackson sent his sphere in, and I flared it brighter. Aside from a couple of metal tables, the place was empty. We nevertheless entered cautiously. The only thing that stirred was dust. The room had
n’t been used in a very long time.
“Well, this is a bust. Onward and upward.” Jackson spun around and headed back out.
I started to follow him, then paused as I spotted something small and white sitting near the second table’s leg.
“Hang on.” I walked across and picked the item up. It was a torn bit of lined paper—the same sort of paper that came from the notebooks Baltimore had used. Heart hammering, I quickly unfolded the tiny scrap. CH3COOH, it read. Though I had no idea what it meant, I’d worked long enough with Baltimore to know it was some kind of chemical formula.
“Found something.” I read it out. “It might be a clue; it might not.”
“We’ll check.” Sam paused. “Are you sure there’s no activity in your vicinity? We’re still seeing movement right above you.”
“No—” I paused as something hit my shoulder. I frowned and flicked it off. Dust. Why would dust be hitting my shoulder? We hadn’t stirred it up that much . . . The thought died.
Above us, Sam had said.
Oh fuck.
As I looked up, the ceiling collapsed.
CHAPTER 6
It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I collapsed under its weight. But it wasn’t just plasterwork and metal, but also flesh, blood, and decay. The cloaks were all around me—even on top of me—and they used hands and teeth and god only knows what else to tear at my body, until the sharp scent of blood overrode even the stench of their rotting bodies. Pain was a wave that threatened to toss me into unconsciousness, and reflex and self-preservation rather than any conscious thought swept me from flesh to spirit.
The nearest cloaks erupted into flame, but it didn’t stop their attack. They continued to slash at me even as my flames ate at their flesh, their actions filled with an odd sort of desperation.
For the first time since I’d first come across them, pity stirred. Most of them would not have invited this fate. Most of them would have done nothing more than cross the path of a madman intent on using the virus to do what he would never have been able to on his own—become a leader. A major player.
“Emberly!” Jackson’s desperate shout was both verbal and telepathic, and it cut through my drifting, still-hazy thoughts. “Where are you?”
Here. I’m okay. But I was in fire form and still dazed, and I had no idea if he’d understand me. I couldn’t speak any form of English when in this form, but maybe sending thoughts was different.
“Not sure what language that was,” he said, “but at least you’re alive and aware enough to reply.”
The fire burning the cloaks around me suddenly ramped up several notches. Jackson was feeding the fire I’d created, trying to eradicate the cloaks as quickly as possible. As they screamed and raged and fell apart around me, I started making my way up through the pile of debris and bodies. When I was finally free, I gasped in relief and, for several seconds, moved no farther. I simply hovered above the flames devouring both flesh and rubble with equal ferocity, and sucked in the strength and heat of it. It wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough—to completely refuel me, but it at least knocked the edge of weariness away.
I turned around and spotted Jackson standing in the hall—or rather, spotted the very top part of his head. The ceiling’s collapse had blocked all but a foot or so of the doorway, which certainly wasn’t enough space for a man of Jackson’s size to crawl through. And while he could undoubtedly use the force of his flames to blast enough of a gap to get in, he’d feared to do so until he knew where I was and whether I was in human or spirit form.
Our connection, I noted, was definitely getting stronger if I was now sensing such information without his telepathically sending it.
I gave him two fiery thumbs-up to indicate I was okay, then glanced at the ceiling. Three-quarters of it had come down, and not by accident. The metal struts that remained—poking out like fingers across the now-empty space—had been cut. And not recently. The trap had been prepared long before, but why would Luke set it over an empty, unused lab?
I glanced back to Jackson and motioned upward.
“I’ll head up the stairs and join you,” he immediately said.
I spun several fingers of fire out from my body and quickly wrote, No, wait here.
“Damn it, Em, be sensible.”
Wait, I repeated in fire. Trust me.
“I do. I just don’t trust the bastard who used to run this area.”
Safer, I signed. Report to Sam.
I rose without waiting for his answer. A growl of frustration followed me, but a quick look back revealed he was doing as I asked and talking into the com unit.
The room above looked to have been some sort of storeroom. Metal shelving still lined three of the walls, and what little remained of the floor bore markings that indicated there had been other units as well—they were probably down below, in among the rubble and the dead. Dust sprinkled across my flames, and I glanced up at the ceiling. Only it wasn’t there.
It wasn’t one ceiling that had come down on top of me, but two. Which really didn’t make much sense.
I resisted the urge to go through the second hole to see what lay above, and moved to the storeroom’s door instead. It was locked, but a quick burst from fiery fingers soon fixed that. The next room was vast and seemingly empty. I flared brighter, fanning the orange-yellow glow of my flames out farther. There were no more gaping holes in either the floor or the ceiling on this level, but a quick check revealed both had been weakened in several spots. There was also some sort of black, almost oily-looking moisture dripping from the ceiling.
Trepidation stirred, though I had no idea why. If it were in any way dangerous or explosive, my flames would have set it off. I turned around and saw, down at the very end, a rather ornate door. I blasted it open with flames and headed in. It was an office—a huge one—that stretched the entire width of the building. A rather expensive-looking teak desk that had to be at least twelve feet long dominated the central area of the room, and there was a no-less-impressive executive chair behind it. Several smaller chairs sat in front of the desk and, to the right, there was a seating area complete with a coffee machine, its size rivaling that of the one Jackson had installed in our office. To the left of the desk there was, rather surprisingly, a sleeping area. Behind that was an exit, somewhat oddly positioned given that the bed made access difficult.
I did a quick check of the entire room, looking for anything out of place, or anything that suggested there might be another trap waiting. I didn’t see anything, so I shifted back to human form and walked around the bed to inspect the oddly placed door. It was locked, but a quick spurt of heat took care of it. Behind it was a six-foot corridor and a second door. But this wasn’t any old door—it was a heavy-duty metal one, and it rather resembled an air lock.
Answers, that inner part of me whispered again.
Hoping the whisper was right but partly suspecting it was merely delusional, I stepped forward and tried to open the second door. The handle didn’t budge and, after a quick search, I discovered why. There was a key-coded lock and scanner behind a cleverly hidden panel on the right—and it was the sort that required not only the right number sequence but also the appropriate fingerprint scan.
If it required Luke’s fingerprints, we were well and truly up that proverbial creek.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
“I’m on my way up,” Jackson said at the same time as Sam asked, “What sort?”
“A big fucking air-lock-armed-with-a-scanner sort of problem. I can try shorting out the control box with fire, but—”
“Don’t!” Sam’s voice was urgent. “We have no idea how the air lock is protecting or what reaction breaking it might set off.”
“Which is exactly what I was about to say before you jumped in. Jackson,” I added, “be careful coming up here. The floor above the other labs and near the stairwell has be
en tampered with, and it might be primed to collapse.”
“No prob.” He paused. “Is there any more activity on your monitors, Turner? Because the stench in this stairwell seems to be getting worse the nearer we get to the roof.”
I hadn’t felt him pass through the net I’d placed across the exit on the floor below, so it had obviously faded when the ceiling had collapsed on me.
“There’s nothing showing, but these scanners are primed for human life,” Sam said. “If it’s inhuman—spirit—then we wouldn’t pick it up.”
Meaning they wouldn’t pick me up when I was in spirit form—a very handy thing to know. “So what do you want me to do about this air lock?”
“Nothing. We’ll deal with it.”
“After all the shit we’ve gone through to uncover the thing, I’m not happy about walking away without knowing what it fucking contains.” Frustration filled my voice.
“Unless you can find a secondary entry point into the area, we have no other option.”
“And is there a secondary entrance?”
“There’s nothing indicated on the plans we have.”
“What about the old police files?” I asked.
“No mention there, either.”
Jackson strode into the office and stopped just behind me. “It’s a rather sturdy-looking mother, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” I placed my fingers against the wall to the right of the scanner. The plaster burned away from my touch, the white dust puffing outward as I pressed deeper into it. I was expecting it hit either a wood or metal frame, but instead I discovered a sheet of thick metal. I grabbed the edge of the plaster and tugged it away. Not just metal, but an entire wall of one. The plasterboard was little more than camouflage.
“Why would he even bother?” Jackson had repeated the process on the other side to reveal more of the metal wall. “It doesn’t make any sense when he controlled the entire area.”
