I shook my head at him, knowing Vincent really wanted me to belong. “I've read the book. I'm a hunter member, will be for the next ten years. Until then, I belong here.”
“Ten years will pass in a blink. What then? What will you do after that?”
“I'll think about that time when it arrives. For now, I want these ten years of freedom, free of all the strings this clan has around my neck.” I waved in Archer's general direction. I took a step toward Vincent, took his callused, broad hand in mine and squeezed, wanting him to understand. “What has it given me? Look at me. I'm the first person they go to when something goes wrong. I've been that person since I was born. If I make through this time, I want to make sure I am no longer bound to all the rules and none of the privileges.”
“Well?” archer interrupted.
“Wait,” Vincent said with an urgent tone, clearly casting for a solution. “Give her some time to think. Don't officialize it yet.”
“I'm firm on it,” I said, my stomach fluttering with anxiety.
Archer studied me for a moment longer before nodding once, just an incline of his arrogant head. “Then so be it, Roxanne, daughter of Fosch. When and if you return in a fortnight with proof of your innocence, then we will, in front of the clan you so renounce freely, go through the abjuration ritual as you wish.” With that said, he pivoted and left without another word, and after one desperate glance at me, Vincent followed, not bothering to change or put on his shoes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I stayed in that same position – back straight, head held high – for a few minutes until the full weight of my situation brought me down to my knees, head bowed, fighting back useless tears.
My hands shook out of control, my inside quivered from a sundry of emotions: anger, resentment, bitterness, fear, grief… fury. I pressed my clenched fists to my eyes until I saw red – the color of my raging emotion. A scream began to build inside my chest, a pressure that grew and grew until I could no longer contain it.
“They did it again!” The words burst out of me as I pounded a fist hard on the mat.
I pounded and pounded with both fists, over and over again, but it wasn't enough. I jumped and whirled at the punching bag, taking my fury out on it with punches and kicks. Once I kicked so hard, it slapped the ceiling with a resounding boom. They had done it again.
My breaths came in panting gasps, the injuries on my back and shoulders stretching and spasming. Just when I thought I was getting my life on track, they had to come back to ruin everything.
“Just leave me be!” With a roar of fury, I slashed the bag with my talons, then fell down on my knees, covering my aching face with the palms of my hands, while sand fell through the slashes of the bag and formed a small dune in front of me. Like the sands of time in an hourglass, marking the near ending of my life.
They had done it again.
A hesitant throat clearing had me jumping to my feet and whirling around, talons bared, a savage snarl escaping my lips.
Diggy, dressed in his usual attire of jeans and leather, stood at the edge of the mat. A small frown creased his forehead. Concern or disapproval?
I bared him my teeth. “What? Come to gloat? You're finally getting rid of the abomination.”
Diggy's eyes hardened, his lips thinned. “I came to inform you that Roland is giving you the next two weeks off so that you can focus all your time and strength on the search.”
I scoffed, my tears threatening to break free. “I won't come back. I'm not going to find her.” Opening my arms wide, I raised my voice, “Everyone! In two weeks the world will finally be free of this abomination! It's time to celebrate!”
“Simmer down, Roxanne,” Diggy snapped, stomping onto the mat with his boots on.
“Or what? Are you going to punch and kick me until I go home unable to walk or sit without crying out? Because, oh yeah, been there, done that already.” Diggy's eyes went flat, but I didn't care. “I'm no longer your punching bag,” I told him, “And in two weeks, I won't be anyone's,”
“You'll never win if you believe you already lost before you start.”
“Bravo!” I clapped twice. “A philosopher. Was that lesson number five million?”
Diggy pursed his lips, pausing just a few feet away from me.
“News flash for you, pal. If I believe I lost so early in the game, it's because I have nothing, no clue, no hint, no experience whatsoever to help me find her. It means I'm realistic and am facing the truth.”
Diggy cocked his head. “What's this,” he mocked, “pitying yourself for the tragic life you have? Or is it a bid for sympathy? Because you'll get none here.”
I slashed at him, but he'd seen it coming, dodging the attack and closing in, punching me in the abdomen and not holding anything back. I doubled over in pain, my vision dimming, my back injuries stretching. They felt like they were tearing open.
“Get up. Fight back.” He jerked his arms, motioned me forward.
I straightened, ignoring pain, feinted right, then kicked Diggy so hard he skidded backward. He jumped up, but I didn't give him time to recover. I went for his back, opening three long gashes in the buttery leather of his jacket. I was fighting dirty, like Logan had once told me to. With a crazed chuckle, I felt the satisfaction of ruining his favorite jacket. “How does that feel, Instructor?”
Diggy unzipped the jacket and let it fall to the ground, his eyes narrowed. Then he attacked. A left jab that would have put out the lights if he had hit home, then a right one, then a left, and another left. I parried, blocked, jumped back. He was forcing me on the defensive, but I had learned my moves from him. So I parried, fainted left, which he knew I would follow with a right, but I didn't. Instead I followed with another left, catching him square on his side, letting some of that otherness inside me out with the punch for better effect. When he stumbled, I followed it with a kick to his kneecap. I was fighting an enemy, not a colleague, not my trainer, certainly not a friend. We punched and kicked, blocked and parried, parted and returned. On and on we went.
Finally, with a growl Diggy stepped forward, entering my private space when I thought he'd pull back, and with an upper jab, punched me on my solar plexus with such force, he lifted me off my feet. I fell on my back with a strangled cry, some of the fragile gashes on my back tearing open with the impact. The ceiling above me dimmed, then cleared again.
Diggy's face appeared above mine, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his lips, a bruise following the line of his jaw, but I didn't remember punching him on the face.
He gave me a once over, I guess to make sure I was still alive and in one piece, before turning and limping his way out of the gym.
* * *
After peeling off my bloody tank top, I slipped on a smelly shirt I found stuffed in the bottom of my locker, threw on a short wool jacket, and left to go home. I guess word was out about my impending doom, because even Barbara didn't make any snarky comments or offer any of her condescending smiles. Chris, a shifter I saw around but never talked to, nodded curtly as he made room for me in the elevator. I heard him sniff once; no doubt smelling fresh blood, but he didn't say anything. I considered going down to Roland's office, telling him what happened, maybe ask for assistance or advice, but remembered that Diggy had said Roland had given me the following weeks off so I could concentrate on the hunt.
So I went home, soaked in warm sudsy water until it was no longer pink, and asked Frizz to help bandage me. After a hot meal and a tall glass of orange juice, I sat down with my laptop and booked a trip to Seattle. This time, I'd be taking Frizz with me. As a matter of fact, from here on in, I was going to take Frizz with me everywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The cab stopped in front of the PSS front gates at 11:35 a.m. It was one of those days where clouds covered the sun, and rain drizzled with annoying frequency. A light wind blew leaves back and forth, and snow covered patches of smooth ground here and there, slowly melting onto drab brown puddles.
It was a gloomy and forlorn morning, the kind where people huddled by fireplaces with hot cups of chocolate. And watched horror movies.
The fortress walls of the PSS loomed above, guardhouses full of guards. To the outside world this was a penitentiary, a place for monsters, though not the kind they imagined.
Melancholic thoughts circled inside my head, things I had no answer for. Was Mwara in there, getting ready for “experiment day”? Why did I keep ending up here? Was this a twisted joke of fate? Would this be the last time?
“Would you like me to wait here, ma'am?” the cabby asked me.
I glanced back at the man, a forty-some-year-old balding black guy with square glasses and a goatee. “Yes, please. I won't be long.” I stepped out into the perpetual rain of the northwest, into the annoying, frigid drizzle of deep winter, even though we were weeks away from spring.
I approached the heavily-gated entrance, realizing this was the first time that I'd ever come in through the main entrance, even though I'd lived here for nine years.
A guard stepped out of a small cabin beside the gate and intercepted me when I was about ten feet away.
“That's close enough, miss,” he said. A beefy hand rested on the butt of his weapon, a point thirty-eight. Not what I was used to seeing, but I supposed tranquilizer guns would call attention. The man's aura was blue, the smudge faint. Elite. His name tag read Carson, E.
“I'm here to see Dr. Maxwell,” I announced clearly.
The guard was too well-trained to show any surprise. “This is a penitentiary, miss. We have no doctors here but the one who resides in the infirmary. His name is not Dr. Maxwell.”
“I know what kind of facility this is. Tell him Roxanne Fosch is here to see him on official Hunter business.” I hated to use the Hunters' name like this, not knowing what Roland would do when he heard. I was too much a coward, however, to walk into the PSS of my own free will with no guarantee of backup to ensure my walking out.
The guard narrowed his eyes, no doubt recognizing my name. He pressed a hand over his ear, listening to whoever was on the other side, his head lowering a fraction, his eyes fixed on me. The other hand stayed closed around the butt of his gun.
I stood with arms to both sides, hands opened and relaxed – a non-threatening gesture.
After a moment, the hand over his ear dropped, and he inclined his head for me to come forward.
My stomach tightened with nerves, but my face remained calm, my eyes cold. My steps were measured, evenly so.
The gates behind Carson opened enough for us to pass through, a tight fit for the guard's broad shoulders. Inside, we were met by three other elites, something I hadn't expected, though I should have. One of them stepped forward and politely asked me to enter the cabin, where he efficiently and thoroughly frisked for weapons before announcing that I was clear.
The courtyard looked familiar, a sterile place where I'd spent a lot of hours roaming, some alone, some with Dr. Maxwell, all of them being watched. I glanced to the right, at the wall beside the garage where we'd blown a path to escape through when we'd come for Archer all those months ago. The wall stood erect, the new construction outlined in lighter tones. Ahead, between Building A and Building C was a gaping hole in the ground, a destruction of my own making. I glanced down at my wrist, at the place Logan's bracelet had been until the night of the charity ball.
It was to Building C I was taken, a fact that caused my nerves to bundle and knot.
We found Dr. Maxwell on the second level, one floor down. It was a level I was seldom taken to. I could tell right away security was less strict on this floor, doors swishing open with a swish of air at our approach instead of keypads and thumb or retina scans. We stopped at the first doors to the right – wooden swinging doors with two glass windows and a plaque that read Laboratory 1, and Carson knocked twice before pushing them open. Here the similarities with the lower levels were stronger: a sterile room with two metal examination tables, a long desk, locked cabins, telescopes of varying sizes and shapes and, of course, the standard cage – two in this case. The familiar smell of disinfectant was strong here, one that brought back a terrible feeling of helplessness.
Dr. Maxwell sat by the desk, scribbling with a Bic pen in a small leather-bound notebook. It brought to mind the journal I'd stolen from him, one I'd burned before storming the facility with Logan and Rafael.
Against the far wall, both cages were occupied. The one closest held a white wolf with clear blue eyes. A thin green aura surrounded the animal, but the intelligence in his eyes alone would have told me this wasn't just an ordinary wolf. In the second cage was another wolf, a gray one. Where the white wolf sat patiently watching, the gray one stood on all fours, hackles raised, a feral snarl displaying its sharp upper canines. No aura surrounded this one, and the savage gleam in his yellow eyes was unnerving.
I stood, both guards flanking me, and waited for Dr. Maxwell to acknowledge our presence, acting like I had all the time of the world by studying the room, though I'd already taken in all I would.
“Blink twice if you're here against your will,” I said to the white wolf. It blinked once, but I wasn't sure if it was in surprise or a no. Dr. Maxwell's shoulder tightened, but he kept scribbling for a few seconds more before he looked up.
“Roxanne. What a delightful surprise,” He said, as if he hadn't known I was there.
“Is it?” I countered, forcing myself to keep my hands from fisting.
“Of course it is,” Dr. Maxwell said with a fake smile, “You were always one of my best subjects.”
Yeah, I bet so had been Zantry.
“Let's not bullshit each other. I cost you; you hate me for that, blah-blah-blah.” I waved a hand. “I'm here for the child. Give her back.”
Dr. Maxwell's left eyebrow arced high. “Child? Is this official Hunter business, then?”
“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.
Dr. Maxwell's lips pursed as his head shook. “I must be getting addled. No one mentioned there was a request.” He scratched a balding spot at the front of his head, his eyes lowering in thought. When he looked at me again, there was a chilling gleam of madness I'd never notice before. “Do you know that I can hold you here until I can confirm your official claim?”
My heart skipped a beat, but I knew nothing showed in my eyes.
“Of course,” he went on, “I've already sent an assistant to check on your claim. And while we wait, why don't we talk about this child you mentioned?” He leaned forward, feigning interest. “Is she like you? How old is she?”
I smirked. “You know I have an excellent olfactory sense. If I so much as sniff her in here—”
“You will do nothing about it,” he interrupted, his eyes hard. “There is no child here, believe it or not. It's up to you. Your… colleagues already came sniffing around, though I admit they weren't as bold as you.”
My colleagues? Did he mean the clan already came searching for Mwara? “I don't think you understand, Dr. Maxwell. It's in your best interest to give me back the child without a fuss. I'll walk out of here with her and you'll never hear or see me again.” A cell phone on the desk began buzzing and, without glancing over, Dr. Maxwell picked it up and grunted his hello. He listened a moment, then smiled coldly. At the same time he hung up my cell phone began ringing.
A chill skipped down my spine at the expectant look in his eyes. Removing my phone from my pocket, I read the Hunters' base name on the display. “Hello?”
“Miss Fosch,” began Valerie, Roland's assistant. “Per Mr. Mackenzie's order, you are to remove yourself from the premises of the Scientists' base this very instance. You've been ordered outside the walls and to refrain from assuming any authoritative role on behalf of the Hunters in the future. In exactly five minutes, you'll call me from outside the facility's wall, and will be transferred to Mr. Mackenzie. In the event you fail to do so, Mr. Mackenzie will be informed that you willingly volunteered to be subjected to the Scientists.”
“I see you still have a hard time obeying orders,” Dr. Maxwell commented wryly.
I gave him a mocking smile, portraying a nonchalant air, but inside my stomach felt hollow. “I'm claiming this child as mine. If I so much as sense her anywhere near this facility, Dr. Maxwell, I will burn this place to the ground, hunter or no.” I let him see the truth in my eyes.
“Is that a threat?” Dr. Maxwell asked with interest.
“Of course not. I wouldn't dare threaten you, Dr. Maxwell. It's a hypothetical consequence only, the end result if I ever discover this child here. I'm walking out now, per my superior's order.” I turned to leave and both guards stepped beside me.
We paused to wait for the elevator and the moment the doors parted, I nudged Frizz and stepped inside. The doors had already closed when unseen Frizz let loose the feral wolf and helped break things inside the lab.
The guards kept pace with me, postures stiff and tense, listening to the shouted orders in their earpiece.
I was back in the cab within the five minutes. With shaking fingers I called Roland and was informed he was on an important call with Johnson, head of PSS security.
At Sea-tac airport, a call came from a pissed-off Roland, ordering me to base at nine tomorrow morning, promising disciplinary actions when I returned to work. Seeing that the chance of me returning was slim to none, Roland's threats didn't scare me at all.
And I had accomplished nothing.
Mwara probably wasn't there, and there were no more leads for me to follow.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I arrived home late that evening, I found Logan waiting for me. He was the last person I wanted to see.
He watched me approach, eyes guarded, posture rigid.
“Hello,” he said, his tone cautious.
“Hello.” I fished my keys from my pocket, unlocked the door and stepped inside. I didn't invite him in, but he followed me anyway. I dropped the keys on the counter, and began the process of preparing coffee, aware I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday evening, save for a doughnut at the airport early dawn today.
Heir Of Doom Page 20
