by L. L. Raand
“Have they shown any signs of shifting?” Veronica asked as the lab tech stepped up beside her.
“No, Dr. Standish. The only irregularity we’ve seen is in the basal temperature readouts, all of which are consistently four degrees higher than a human counterpart. Their metabolic rates are also substantially higher.”
“Growth rate and weight gain?”
“Ninetieth percentile for humans with an accelerated curve.”
“Yes, their physical maturity is enhanced.” Veronica moved to the second cubicle and regarded the other subject. Another female, fortunately. A male offspring would not have been as useful. The Were genes were transferred through the maternal mitochondria, and only the females carried what she was interested in working with. As to the adult donors, they had been of little use to her and had been disposed of shortly after delivery.
“Well,” she said with a sense of well-being she hadn’t experienced in days. “It seems that we are ready to begin Phase One.”
*
“You shouldn’t be here,” Niki said.
“Where else should I be?” Sophia got as close to the silver-impregnated bars as she could.
Niki crouched on a bare iron cot bolted to the wall in much the same position Tamara had been when Sophia had tended to her wounds. Tamara had been a prisoner then, accused of attacking the Prima and under sentence of death. Niki did not belong here. She belonged in a treatment room, not a jail cell. “I’m coming in. I want to look at your side.”
“No,” Niki snarled.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it,” Sophia said coolly and gestured to the sentrie who stood guard a little ways down the dim passageway. “Please open this.”
The sentrie hesitated, glancing at Niki.
“Do not open the door,” Niki said.
“The imperator requires medical attention, and seeing as she is the one in the cell and I outrank you, you will do as I order. Please do it now,” Sophia said calmly. “It’s all right.”
The sentrie nodded briskly and came forward with the key. He turned the key in the lock and stepped back. “I’ll stay right here, in case you need me.”
“That’s fine, but I don’t think that I will.” Sophia entered, closed the door behind her, and crossed to the bunk. “You are no risk to me. You know that. I am immune to the fever.”
“You don’t know what this is,” Niki said. “This isn’t Were fever, not as it occurs naturally.”
“I know that. But then, neither am I. Whatever was done to those girls was probably done to me. Now, please be quiet while I take a look at you.”
Niki sat on the edge of the cot and said to the sentrie, “If I show any signs of becoming violent, shoot me.”
The sentrie swallowed audibly. “Yes, Imperator.”
Sophia just shook her head and opened the medical bag she’d brought with her. She sorted through supplies and began to gently clean the wound on Niki’s side. Niki never moved, even when the blood began to flow again. “You should shift and heal this.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to be in pelt if there’s some kind of change going on inside me.”
“You should learn to listen to those who know more than you do about some things.” Sophia rested her hands on Niki’s thighs and caught her gaze. “There isn’t anything going on inside you. I would know. I would sense it. I’m connected to you now.”
Slowly, Niki cupped Sophia’s face and stroked her cheek with the pad of her thumb. “I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
Sophia rubbed her cheek against Niki’s palm. “Of course I know that. Just as I know that you are brave and strong and so, so stubborn. Now hush while I take care of this.”
Niki fell silent as Sophia disinfected and bandaged her side. “All your vital signs are normal. Your temperature is unchanged. This is a wound, like any other battle wound you’ve had before. I want you to come back to the infirmary so I can care for you properly.”
“Not yet. Not until we’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“You were sure those females weren’t dangerous too.”
Sophia caught her breath. “You’re right. You’re hurt and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Niki growled and grasped her hand. “No, I’m sorry. None of that was your fault. I’m just worried about you—I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Sophia whispered, remembering the horror that Angela had become. “It was as if she was trying to shift but only part of her body had actually transformed. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“It’s been decades since you were turned by whatever agent they had constructed in the laboratory. Maybe these recent experiments haven’t been as successful as they think. After all, they’ve been getting rid of their failures by trying to convince the humans they had Were fever.”
“But the Prima was infected by one of the lab subjects and turned, and she is perfectly fine.”
“Maybe it has something to do with who or what she was before she became infected. The Alpha recognized something in her right away. Maybe the recipient is a factor in how the mutagen acts in the system.”
Sophia smiled and, before Niki could protest, kissed her. “You like to pretend you are only a soldier, but that’s not true. And you’re right, we can’t forget that the host is as much a part of the equation as whatever mutagen they’re using.”
“What about the other one. Has she transformed like the one I killed?”
“Not yet. My parents are monitoring her.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.” Sophia drew a blood sample from Niki’s arm, labeled it with the time and date, and handed it carefully through the bars to the sentrie. “Take this to the infirmary and give it to my mother or father. They’ll know what to do.”
Niki said, “If they find anything—”
“They won’t.” Sophia repacked her medical supplies and sat on the metal grate next to Niki.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.” She checked her watch. “We’ll check your temperature every thirty minutes. If there’s been no spike in six hours, I want you to shift and heal your wound, and then we’re leaving.”
“I don’t want you in here with me.”
Sophia leaned against Niki’s uninjured side. “It’s too late for that. You’re mine now, and I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sylvan paced the perimeter of the garden, searching for an exit. The walls of the grove were not stone but masses of trees, growing so close together there was not even a hand’s-breadth between. A forest like none she had ever seen. The trunks were smooth as glass and the color of coal, the lowest branches twice as far from the ground as she was tall and covered with pale yellow fronds that ended in needle-like spikes. Vines entwined the bases of the trunks like strands of a tapestry, interweaving until they formed a dense barrier with cords as thick as her forearm. She tore at them with her claws but could not penetrate more than a few inches into the growth before new tendrils sprouted and covered the damage. As she probed the walls, the shape of the grove subtly changed, as if it was a living creature adjusting its camouflage. “Torren said everything in Faerie is alive. If that’s true, then there must be a way to kill it.”
“I haven’t been able to find any openings,” Drake said. “In the first place they kept us, I discovered narrow passageways through the undergrowth, but those paths always led to another garden. There’s nothing like that here.”
Misha finished a circuit of their forested prison and shook her head. “I thought I would be able to follow the path Torren took when she left, but I can’t. I can track her to the wall, but there’s nothing there now except tree trunks and underbrush.”
“We cannot stay here.” Sylvan rubbed her side where a burning pain had begun not long before. “The Pack is stirring. They sense danger.”
Drake pressed close, slipping her
arm around Sylvan’s waist. “I feel it too. Do you think it is just because we are absent? The Pack is anxious?”
Sylvan shook her head. “No, more than that. Something else is wrong. The Pack is unsettled, unsure. Cecilia is holding us captive, and the longer we are here, the greater the danger to the Pack.”
“When Torren comes back—” Misha began.
“Torren cannot be counted on,” Sylvan growled. “Look around. Even the guards are gone. This is a prison cell, and Torren knew what Cecilia planned when she led us here.”
“No,” Misha said, her chin lifting. “She would not betray us.”
“What did Torren say about us trying to escape?” Drake asked.
“That it would do no good.” Sylvan paced, frustrated and furious. The Pack needed her and she was helpless. Trapped by an enemy she could not fight. “That it was easy to get lost in Faerie.”
“Why warn us not to try escaping if escape wasn’t possible?”
Sylvan stilled by a small pool in the center of the garden where multicolored fish with long swirling fins and bright iridescent eyes circled lazily. “What do you mean?”
“What if the impenetrable walls are an illusion?” Drake said. “What if it’s glamour and we’re not actually imprisoned at all?”
“It’s possible.” Sylvan considered what she knew of the Fae and their love of secrets and subterfuge. “Anything Torren said to me would have been reported to Cecilia, but even if she was trying to tell me we could escape this place, that doesn’t tell us how.”
“We were drawn here by Misha’s connection to Torren,” Drake mused. “What if the way back is a similar connection? Only it’s our connection to the Pack.”
Sylvan almost laughed. “Torren reminded me I could still reach the Pack if I opened myself to them. We should shift and let our wolves guide us. They may not be as susceptible to glamour as we are in skin.”
Drake grasped Sylvan’s arm. “Your connection will be strongest. Let the Pack lead us home.”
“Stay close.” Sylvan called her wolf and shifted instantly, Drake following in another heartbeat, and Misha half a minute later. Sylvan peered at her surroundings, the brilliant colors morphing into shades of gray. Here and there, the foliage shimmered as if moving or drifting in a breeze she could not feel.
Follow me.
She trotted toward the largest area of motion and sniffed at what appeared to her eyes to be a dense wall. She caught the scent of honeysuckle and spice and felt the breeze waft over her tongue, a subtle call of life beyond their green prison. Here. Can you sense it?
Misha shook her head and whined softly.
Drake nudged her shoulder. Yes. A breeze must come from somewhere, but what if the opening is only a crevice or it closes behind us and never opens? We could be trapped.
We already are trapped. We must get free of this place before we can find a path out. Trusting her wolf, who had hunted prey for decades by scent and instinct, Sylvan stepped forward into darkness, Drake and Misha by her side. She seemed to be in a lightless tunnel, but she felt earth beneath her paws. Warm and…breathing.
Even the rocks beneath our feet are alive, Torren had said.
Sylvan trotted on, following the teasing scents that tickled across her nose, and in one step to the next emerged into twilight. She crouched, waiting for the guards to attack. Drake and Misha appeared by her side.
Take cover.
From the shadows, Sylvan surveyed her surroundings. The gilded, colonnaded corridor was gone. Cecilia’s court was gone. They stood in another garden, but this was no prison cell. Nighttime in Faerie was ablaze with fireworks. Above them, crimson clouds streamed across a magenta sky. The path beneath their feet sparkled with colors as if littered with gemstones. Shafts of light sifted through the leafy canopy and set the trees on fire. Subtle sounds of life teemed in the underbrush.
Where are we? Drake nudged her shoulder.
I don’t know, but I think we’re outside the Faerie Mound. And we need to get as far away as we can. They will know we have left.
Sylvan reached out for Pack and felt the call of the hearts and minds of those she led, those she loved. She set off at a fast run down one of the paths twisting through the trees with Drake and Misha at her heels. As Torren had warned, the trail branched and doubled back and turned in no logical direction, disappearing behind them almost as fast as they traveled, but she let her wolf have her head and trusted her to find the way out. She had no idea if she could locate a Gate or if they would simply travel in a circle and find themselves at the mouth of the Faerie Mound again, but she was running and breathing free, no longer a prisoner. They were wolves, and they would fight anything that tried to chain them.
Time was meaningless. Nothing around them changed. Everything changed. Only the call of the Pack was unchangeable. Sylvan emptied her mind and senses of everything except that distant call and pushed on under the bleeding sky.
Drake growled suddenly. Do you hear it?
Behind them…in front of them?…a horn blared.
They know we’ve escaped.
They’ll be coming. We will run until we are free or we will fight.
Yes, Drake replied. Misha howled and pressed close to Sylvan’s flank.
They leapt over rocks as smooth as glass and the color of rich wine, down a hillside under a glowing sky. The short grass beneath her paws quivered as she sped over it. The call of the Pack was stronger now. The veil was thinning. They would find a Gate if they could escape detection long enough. The sound of many horns resounded behind them, drawing closer, and the ground trembled.
Mounted riders approaching!
Horses or dogs or whatever hunters the Fae had unleashed were closing in. The call of the Pack was a constant pull now. They just needed a little more time.
The Gate is near.
It will be warded, Drake warned.
There are wolves waiting. We must follow their call.
Misha yipped, a danger alert. Behind us!
Prepare to turn and fight, Sylvan signaled. If they overtake us from the rear, we will have no chance.
She whipped around and faced the direction from which they had come, Drake on her left and Misha on her right. The path they had traveled was gone and in its place a glade ringed by spiraling trees with white bark and gnarled branches that reached to the sky like skeletal fingers, leafless and glowing silver. A dozen Fae guards on silver stallions burst into the clearing, and the sky turned black. Steam poured from the stallions’ gaping nostrils as they trumpeted a battle cry. Their forelegs were encased in silver gauntlets, their heaving chests in glowing armor plates. The guards astride their prancing backs were helmeted and armored and carried bows across their chests and spears in hand. The horses spread out in measured steps, their hooves striking earth like hammers on steel, and formed a semicircle around Sylvan and her wolves. The guards lowered their spears, a dozen gleaming, silver-bayoneted shafts of death.
The horses advanced in slow steps, closing the circle around them. The path behind them was their only escape route, and that would be gone in another few seconds. Sylvan edged out in front of Drake and Misha and howled, a battle challenge of an Alpha wolf. The horses shivered and snorted, prancing uneasily as the air cracked with fury. If she could unseat the riders, she would have a chance, but first she must secure the Pack. Sylvan took another step forward and the riders angled their spears down at her. She would draw the spears to her and give Drake and Misha a chance to reach the Gate. She prepared to leap.
No! Drake snarled.
From the dark grove behind the guards, a thunderous roar split the air. The horses split ranks, opening a pathway, and a Hound as large as the horses with flaming eyes and fire spewing from its gaping jaws bounded into the clearing. Cecilia’s Hunter had come at last.
Jump for the Gate, Sylvan commanded. It’s me they want.
No, Drake cried again.
The Pack is in danger. You must go. I will find a way out.
I won’t leave you.
Trust me! Do as I command. Our wolves and the lives of all the Pack to come depend on it. Go, if you love me. Go.
Drake shuddered, the choice an agony that shredded her heart.
The Hound breathed fire, its powerful forelegs pawing at the earth a dozen yards in front of Sylvan. Sylvan growled a challenge and the Hound raised its head and roared.
Torren’s voice filled Sylvan’s mind. You for them. They may pass. She roared again and a cold wind blew over Sylvan’s back. She turned as two arched trees appeared out of the gloom, their branches intertwined to form a gateway. Nothing was visible beyond. Would the portal just take them back to Cecilia’s prison, or nowhere at all?
Decide, Torren roared.
Sylvan rounded on the two by her side, snarling and snapping, forcing them away. Go!
Drake stared into Sylvan’s eyes, the only one who had ever dared. I love you. Return to me. She turned and jumped for the Gate. The blackness swallowed her.
Misha hesitated, her gaze on Torren. The Hound snarled and a funnel of fire struck the earth at Misha’s feet. Misha swerved and backed away but did not leave.
Torren’s voice rang in Sylvan’s mind. The next time she will die.
Sylvan rushed Misha, driving her to the Gate. She growled and lunged for Misha’s throat. Misha cried out, a howl of loss and pain, and leapt into the space between the two trees. The outline of the archway was already fading. The Gate was closing.
Sylvan spun to face Torren. Now at last it is you and I.
