Spellbound

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Distraction," he said finally. "There's only a single point of entry for us--the stairs. I heard three voices, but there may be more than three people so trying to sneak up on them individually is risky." He turned to Adam. "How well do you know Bryce?"

  "We've met a couple of times."

  "So he may not recognize you. There won't be time for introductions, and we can't risk him raising an alarm. You and I will clear the way and let Savannah search for Bryce once it's safe."

  I agreed and we ironed out the details, then found the stairs down.

  While the building's origins as a house were evident from the top two floors, the main level had been gutted and redesigned. There were actually two sets of stairs going down. A narrow rear set must have been for servants at one time. The door at the top was heavily locked--with the locks on our side luckily. When Jeremy and Adam descended, I got a message from my father through Jaime saying we were going the wrong way.

  "The steps lead to a few rooms at the back, including the rear door," Jeremy said as they returned. "There's no other point of access. Except here."

  "In other words," Adam said, "to get to where we want to go, you need to come in the rear door, up these stairs, and down the front ones."

  "Huh?" I said.

  "It's a false back," Jeremy explained. "Come in the front door, where the workman is, and I suspect you can't get any farther. Come in the back, and you'll get a small area of access, plus these stairs."

  "And the hospital rooms are hidden between the two."

  "The central part also seems to be heavily soundproofed," Jeremy said. "I can hear better from the upper level than I can down there."

  "Someone's gone to a lot of work to hide something," I said.

  "Fortunately, it's in a relatively small area, if my calculations of the house are correct. I'm going to take another listen at the grates and see if I can't figure out the layout."

  Jeremy determined that the warded area was one narrow section across the center of the house. My father checked the exterior, and reported that there were two main-floor windows on each end of that section, both covered with plywood. Under those panels the windows had been bricked up. A fortified and soundproofed section within an otherwise normal-looking building. For someone accustomed to finding the bad guys in remote warehouses and subterranean lairs, I had to admit this was clever.

  Voices came from an eastern room--maybe an office or lab. To the west, Jeremy caught the sound of coughing and the occasional moan. More than one patient? He couldn't tell. He hoped so, though, because he was catching at least eight distinct human scents, and we really didn't want to be dealing with seven people guarding Bryce.

  The main stairs opened into the upper hall. From there, we could see into the lower hall, meaning it wasn't the easiest place to sneak down. Or the easiest place for me to lurk while Jeremy and Adam snuck down. I followed them at a distance, then crouched behind the massive banister and listened.

  I could see a closed door to the west, leading into the hospital area. Adam checked the door, then gave me a thumbs-up, letting me know it was unlocked.

  To the east, I could make out a desk through the open doorway. Then, with a squeak, a chair wheeled back from the desk and I caught sight of a man in a lab coat . . . at the same time he caught sight of Adam.

  A shout. Then a thump. A woman yelled, "The door. Get the door!" Another thump, this one from the direction of the hospital. Then a metallic clang. I leaned out to see a mechanical steel door sliding closed over the door into the west wing. Sealing off the hospital.

  I raced down the stairs. I grabbed the steel door and wrenched, but it was like a solid elevator door, and it wasn't stopping. I managed to squeeze through.

  I swung around, my back slapping against the now closed steel door. A knockback spell flew to my lips. And just as fast, I flipped open the switchblade I'd grabbed at headquarters.

  I was in a small area cut off from the rest of the room by a hospital curtain. To my right was a sink and medical supplies. A handwritten sign hanging off the curtain warned FULL PROTECTION REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT. Disposable gloves and masks were piled on a trolley, with a bin for discards.

  I tugged back the curtain and found three hospital beds, a sleeping form in each of them. The lights were dimmed. Monitors bleeped and blipped beside each patient.

  Across the way was a closed door. There was no sign of anyone except the patients. I was about to step out when my phone vibrated. I quickly texted Adam to say I was searching and couldn't talk yet.

  I slid from the curtained area and crept over to the sleeping forms. The first was a woman, lying on her back, rasping as she breathed, deep in sleep. The last in the row was dark-haired--male or female, I couldn't tell, especially since there was something draped over the patient's face. The dark hair told me it wasn't Bryce, though.

  The middle patient was a young, light-haired man. The dim lights meant I couldn't see more than that, so I tiptoed over to the beds. I started slipping between the two and knocked into a bucket on the floor. The stink of vomit wafted up. I covered my nose, retreated, and circled to the other side of the bed.

  I was all the way up near the top before I was sure it wasn't Bryce. I started to back out, then stopped. Something was wrong with the patient. He looked better than the sickly pale woman on his other side. No wheezing or rasping or coughing . . . No sounds at all. That was the problem--the patient lay perfectly still, sheets tucked around his body with hospital precision, as if he hadn't even twitched since he'd been put there.

  Yet there were machines hooked up to him. I couldn't tell what they were--I can only recognize heart monitors and there didn't seem to be one with the familiar mountain-range display. But lines on the machines were moving and numbers were changing.

  Comatose? I looked back at the woman in the first bed. Was this an infirmary for sick group members? That made sense--when you're planning a huge movement, you're going to need facilities for illness, especially if they're supernatural and can't be shipped off to the nearest hospital.

  It seemed like a lot of secrecy for an infirmary, though. I remembered what the man in the alley said.

  A war is coming.

  Was the hospital a preparation for war? For the casualties of war?

  The bigger question right now was: Where's Bryce? I looked at the door across the room and took a step toward it.

  Something touched my arm.

  "Help me," a voice rasped.

  I stumbled back as the dark-haired figure in the last bed sat up. It was a woman. Gauze covered the top of her face, and what I'd thought was a white shirt or gown was more gauze, crisscrossing her body like a half-wrapped mummy.

  She pawed at the bandage on her face with hands so thickly bandaged they were like clubs. She managed to catch the bandage and yanked it down enough for me to see one eye, swollen and leaking, surrounded by scrapes and cuts.

  As if she had tried to scratch her eyes out.

  I shivered and tried to yank my gaze away, but instead saw the other scratches now, the ones radiating out from the hastily wrapped gauze on her body. Scratches and gouges everywhere.

  "It burns," she rasped. "It always burns. Please help me. Make it stop."

  She started pawing at her body, her thickly wrapped hands desperately trying to scratch, to rip, to tear. I glanced toward the closed door as she mewled in frustration. I pushed her back down on the bed and assured her I'd get the nurse, that we'd get something for her, just relax. But she shoved me, flailing and grunting until a liquidfilled tube overhead clicked and beeped and discharged a dose of something and, after a moment, she went still again.

  I waited until I was sure she wasn't moving again, then I headed for the closed door to the next room to continue my search for Bryce. I paused at the door. If there was a nurse in here, that's where he or she would be. I readied my switchblade and eased the door open. From within, I could hear the sigh and whir of machines, and the steady beep-beep-beep of a heart
monitor.

  It looked like a mirror image of the room I was in. Three beds against the far wall. Only one patient, though. Bryce lay in the first bed, eyes closed.

  thirty-six

  I walked to Bryce and leaned over, whispering, "Wake up. It's--"

  He leapt up so fast I knew he hadn't been asleep at all, and when his hands flew up in a spell, I realized I'd walked into a trap.

  As his eyes widened though, I saw that his gaze wasn't fixed on me . . . and his outstretched hands weren't aimed at me either.

  I spun as Anita Barrington lunged, hypodermic raised. I hit her with everything I had--in a knockback that barely made her stumble. But that stumble gave Bryce time to cast an energy bolt. Anita convulsed and dropped the needle.

  I grabbed the nearest object I could find--a bedpan--and prepared to swing it at her head as Bryce dove out of bed and snatched the needle from the floor. Then he glanced at me, and frowned at the raised bedpan.

  "Cast a binding spell," he said.

  "I can't."

  "Why? Because she's a witch?"

  "No," I said. "I--" I glanced at Anita. If she hadn't heard the rumor already, there was no sense letting her know I was the spellcasting equivalent of a twelve-year-old. Not when she'd seen what I could do--the guy I killed.

  "I'm good," I said, hefting the bedpan.

  Bryce nodded and advanced on Anita. I could see him straining to keep himself upright, his face flushed with fever.

  He lifted the syringe. "Why would you want to waste this on Savannah? This is your chance to use it on yourself."

  "No," she said.

  "But it's a gift, isn't it? A reward. That's why I got it. A reward for services rendered."

  "I don't want it."

  He stepped closer. "That's okay. I didn't either."

  She jumped up, surprisingly agile for her age and size. She smacked him in the leg as I ran forward. Bryce fell. She grabbed the syringe.

  "No!" Bryce shouted as I ran at Anita, bedpan raised. "Stay back. You don't want that shot, Savannah."

  I stopped short. "What's in there?" I asked Anita.

  "Why don't you ask Bryce? Our prize subject. His reward for his assistance." The grandmotherly facade shattered as she sneered at Bryce. "Did you really think we wouldn't know what you were up to? Giving us the child so you could worm your way in and report back to your Cabal? Did you think we wouldn't wonder why you asked so many questions? Why you insisted on seeing the facilities? A word of advice, boy? Next time your Cabal decides to send a spy, make sure they pick someone a little brighter."

  "No one sent--" Bryce stopped.

  "Was this your master plan for impressing your family? Proving big brother isn't the only Nast with initiative? Oh, you showed them, boy. You showed them you're as inept as they always thought."

  Bryce lunged at her.

  "Don't," I said. "She's baiting you because she knows she's screwed. Notice she's not even trying to escape? She's trapped."

  "I'm not the only one who's trapped," Anita said. "You're in a solid room behind a locked steel door, children. The only way you're getting out is when my colleagues come to let you out. And it will go much better for you if I'm alive when they get here. You both know I'm very important to this group."

  "Maybe," I said. "But I'm not sure my colleagues will agree when they get in here. And they're a lot closer than yours."

  I phoned Adam. "Hey. Turns out we had someone in here--Anita Barrington was cowering under a cover spell. Bryce and I have her cornered, but the sooner you get that door open, the happier we'll all be."

  "We're working on it," Adam said. "I found the switch, but the door won't open. Jeremy's working on it now. A little show of werewolf force should get the thing moving."

  I hung up.

  "Jeremy Danvers," Anita said, having obviously overheard. "I would enjoy making his acquaintance again. If only his werewolf strength could break that door. The designers took all precautions. The patients in here are very valuable. We can't let them fall into the wrong hands. The only way that door is opening is when we open it."

  The door clanged once. Then twice. The walls quavered.

  "Let me guess," I said. "Not many werewolves on your team to test that theory, were there?"

  She backed into the corner. "I'll tell you anything you need to know. Just tell them to spare me."

  "Witches," Bryce sneered. Then he glanced at me. "Sorry."

  "In some cases, the insult is warranted. Now lie down before you keel over. I can keep watch on this--"

  Anita reached under the counter and pushed something. I smacked her with the bedpan and sent her flying, then stomped on her arm and grabbed the syringe.

  "Sounding the alarm isn't going to help unless you've got a squadron of fighters on standby."

  "Help won't get here in time to stop you from leaving. So I did something that will."

  I went very still and looked around, listening for any telltale ticking. The pipes overhead groaned and whistled. Then a whoosh, like someone had flipped on the air conditioner.

  When I turned back to Anita, she'd grabbed a gas mask from a cupboard. Bryce tried to snatch it from her, but she scuttled out of reach. I flung open the cupboard.

  "Don't bother looking for more," she said, her voice muffled as she pulled it on. "This is the only one and--" She stopped. Pulled it away from her face. Let it snap back again.

  "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."

  "Someone skip the routine inspections?" I said. "Guess you'd better tell us how to turn it off."

  "You can't," she whispered as she pulled off the mask. "Once it starts, the room will fill with gas, killing the subjects and everyone--"

  I didn't hear the rest. I ran into the next room as I called Adam.

  "Gas," I said when he answered. "The fail-safe released lethal gas. Forget breaking down the door. Can you incinerate it?"

  "That was my next step. Hold on."

  Gas was filling the room now. I could smell it, could feel the chill of it. Bryce handed me a wet towel. "Put it over your nose and mouth."

  I did. Jeremy took the phone and told me to hold on. After a moment, I heard Adam cursing in the background.

  "It's not working," he called. "Just give me a second." He inhaled and exhaled loud enough for me to hear him. Then, "Fuck, why isn't it working?"

  "Just relax," Jeremy murmured. "Try incinerating something else."

  A pause then Adam said, "Okay, it's not me, it's the goddamned door. It's fireproof." His voice rose. "Savannah? Cover your nose and mouth and find out where the gas is coming from. Try blocking the vent. I'm going to get in there if I have to incinerate the whole damned wall. Just--"

  My phone went dead. I shook it. Tried turning it on. Nothing.

  "Forget that," Bryce said. "We need to stop the gas."

  I looked around for the source, but couldn't even see vents. Bryce hacked so hard he doubled over. One of the machines began blipping frantically. Then it stopped and an alarm started instead.

  Another machine began to blip.

  "They're dying," Bryce said between coughs. "And there's not a damned thing we can do about it, so don't try. That probably means the gas is coming up from the floor. Get back in the other room and we'll stand on the bed--"

  He staggered. I grabbed his arm. His eyes rolled back as his mouth worked, trying to talk. I dragged him back to his room. It was empty.

  I pushed Bryce onto the bed and spun around, waiting for Anita to attack from a cover spell. But she didn't. Why would she? Fighting us would only make her use more energy, kill her faster.

  So would a cover spell, though.

  I looked around the empty room. She'd escaped. Somehow, she'd escaped.

  I glanced up. The ceiling was solid and twelve feet overhead. To my left, the window was bricked over, as my father said.

  A door. There had to be a--

  I came to on the floor without realizing I'd even blacked out. I looked around, dazed. I could smell the
gas and see it shimmering in the air.

  I started pushing to my feet. Then I saw it--a partly open hatch under the third bed. Covering my mouth, I bent and yanked it open. The hole descended into darkness. As I felt around inside for a ladder, Bryce bent beside me.

  "I can't find a way down," I said. "But obviously there is one if she used it."

  Bryce reached inside.

  "There's something over here," he said.

  He leaned in farther.

  "Don't--"

  He lost his balance. I managed to catch his sleeve, but the sudden jolt sent me sailing over the edge with him.

  thirty-seven

  I clawed and kicked, desperately trying to stop myself from falling. When I realized it was too late, I tried to twist in midair, to get my head up so it wasn't the first thing to hit--

  My skull slammed into something and there was a momentary flash of "Oh, my God, I'm dead" before I realized I'd plunged into water.

  My hands shot over my head to break that final impact with the bottom. I hit hard enough to send pain jolting through my arms.

  I felt around. Thick mud over rock or cement. I managed to get my footing and pushed off and up.

  By the time my head broke through the surface, my feet had left the bottom. I treaded water and squinted around. Above I could make out the rectangle of the hatch, but it was so high it barely gave off any illumination. I was in a deep pit, with at least ten feet of water. From the sounds of it, I was alone.

  "Bryce?" I called.

  No answer.

  "Bryce!"

  I dove, got a mouthful of foul water, and shot back up again, gagging and spitting. Another deep breath and I went under.

  If I couldn't see above water, I sure as hell wasn't going to be able to see under it. I swam around, praying my fingers or toes would brush against Bryce.

  He'd float, wouldn't he? No, that was only after you drowned. A live body would sink.

  I had to find him. He was already weak. It wouldn't take long before--

  Something tickled the back of my head. I reached up and felt fabric, and let out a whoosh of relief that sent more disgusting water into my mouth. I ignored it and grabbed Bryce around the torso. I hauled him up until we finally broke through.