Sabotaged (The Sundance Series Book 3)

by C. P. Rider

I had no idea what I was doing. I was a baker, not a secret agent or an assassin, but it made me feel safer.

  Although I'd read the warden when he was in my room and knew he hadn't poisoned or drugged the food or water, I hadn't eaten the meal. Telepathy was limited by context. He might not have drugged the food, but someone in the kitchen might have on his orders, so, to his way of thinking, he hadn't drugged the food. In order to get the whole truth, I'd have had to spike him.

  It wasn't important anyway. I wasn't hungry. My stomach growled, but I didn't have any hunger pangs. Was this another aspect of what I suspected was trancer-induced apathy? Sampson claimed he had nothing to do with my emotionlessness, and I was sure I could totally trust him since he'd been super aboveboard with everything else so far, the jackass.

  First chance I got, I was going to spike that guy dead.

  "I may be talking through a speaker, but I'm not the one who took a dart to the chest."

  He had a point. I reclined on the cot, crossed my ankles, and tossed the empty, crumpled plastic bottle in the air and caught it. It reminded me of something Lucas would do in a similar situation.

  Lucas. The bottle hit the floor and rolled across the room as a sudden rush of pain tightened my chest. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth to stave off panic. In the span of a heartbeat, I went from feeling nothing to feeling everything times ten. Even the insertion point of the tranq dart throbbed.

  Damn that trancer.

  The warden's staticky voice filled the room. "Neely, I would appreciate your cooperation."

  I stared up at the ceiling, wishing there were cracks so I could count them. At least it would give me something to do. "I'm sure you would. Listen, how's Julio—"

  "—He's fine. Fully recovered."

  "—involved in all of this?" I finished.

  "That's what you were wondering?" The warden squawked. "One would think you didn't care one way or the other about him."

  "Bingo, Warden. All I want to know is why he screwed me over. What's in it for him?"

  "For the tenth time, I am not your warden," he snapped, and the speaker buzz-crackled. "I was led to believe that you and Julio Roso were engaged to be married."

  "A couple of years ago, but after he betrayed me to his brother, I left him. As you can see, ratting me out is Julio's specialty."

  Another crackly sniff. "So, you aren't engaged then? You aren't mated to him?"

  Mated? A creeping sensation between my shoulder blades told me I was walking into a trap no matter how I answered those questions.

  "What exactly am I doing here?"

  "This is a sanctuary," he replied. "The United States federal government funds places like this all over the country. It's a protection. A place where your kind can live out your lives protected from people who would harm you."

  Bullshit, since as far as I was aware, the U.S. government had never confirmed or denied our existence. Hard to protect what you don't even admit draws breath. "Thanks, but I was doing pretty well with that on my own."

  "I heard differently."

  "Yeah, well, I'd rather take my chances with random alphas. I bet the abused shifters outside my room would say the same."

  There was a pause, another crackle, and then: "You'll be kept safe here as long as you cooperate."

  The bolts on my cell door snicked to the unlocked position. Two medics in full hazmat gear entered the room. One carried a tray with glass tubes and rubber stoppers. The other carried a large white bag and a gun. A guard pulled the heavy door shut from the outside and the bolts slid back into place.

  The warden's voice blasted out of the loudspeaker. "This is Hunt and Gina. They will be taking blood, saliva, and urine samples. You are to receive a full medical evaluation—for your own health, of course."

  I stink-eyed the glass tubes. "You should tell Hansel and Gretel here to back out of the room. No one's taking anything of mine."

  "It's for your health," he repeated.

  "Right. If this was really about health, you'd be giving it to the dying shapeshifters in the next room. This is about experimentation and you can all fuck right off." I looked at the one I was pretty sure was Gina. "FYI, I can spike you through that mask."

  That was when I noticed tendrils of white smoke drifting down from the air-conditioning vents in the ceiling. The gas masks weren't to prevent me from spiking. It was to prevent the medics from passing out from whatever they were pumping into the room to subdue me.

  I couldn't help but think that Chandra would have seen this coming.

  I didn't, but I wasn't entirely unprepared, either. I'd done my best to hold onto the energy I'd drained out of Julio, which left me more than enough to deal with a couple of humans. It occurred to me that this would be a good time to practice control. See how hard I could spike without killing. Walk the razor's edge between taking life and cheating death. I mean, if the warden was going to be generous send me victims, the least I could do was use them.

  A niggling little voice in the back of my mind warned me that something was wrong with my reasoning, that perhaps I found it a little too easy to hurt people, that perhaps I should reconsider my plan.

  Thankfully, the voice was quiet, and I had no trouble ignoring it.

  I locked onto the brains of both medics and pushed enough to get their attention. I watched for the right time to spike deep. It was like waiting for the perfect moment to leap into a fast-moving jump rope. I needed to be precise.

  I spiked. They screamed.

  My precision needed practice.

  The female dropped against the wall and slid down. The male stumbled backward, tripped over his own big feet, and slumped to the floor.

  Holding the pillow from my cot over my mouth and nose, I removed the unconscious man's mask. I tossed the pillow aside, slipped on the plastic mask and tightened the straps. It connected via tubing to air tanks contained in a pack on his back. I stripped him of the pack, briefly searched the uninteresting white bag he'd brought in, then decided it would be a good idea to grab his gun.

  While I was doing this, the woman—Greta, or whatever her name was—clutched her belly and screamed. Her mask was halfway off and there was terror in her eyes.

  "Gina?" The warden's voice was tooth-rattlingly loud over the speaker. "Neely, don't harm her."

  The medic whimpered, though I had no idea why. I wasn't in her head anymore, hadn't used enough energy on her to spike a gnat. I hadn't killed Hunt, either, just scrambled his eggs, as Dolores would say.

  Gina whimpered again.

  A trick to bring me closer so she could attack? Something didn't feel right.

  I approached her and she curled into a ball, still clutching her middle, panting into her mask. I brushed over her mind and was surprised to find more than one there.

  Knowing what I was capable of, the warden had sent a pregnant woman into my cell. What an asshole.

  Upon closer examination, I saw that Gina's air tube had torn loose when she went down. I took off my own mask and pressed it to her face. At first, she reared away from me, but then she accepted the mask and sucked in a deep breath. I let her take two more, then took the mask back. Breathed. Pressed it to her face again.

  Her terrified blue gaze relaxed. Her brow dropped, and she kept staring at me as if she were trying to figure out exactly what she was looking at.

  We did this for about two minutes, which was how long it took for the inept guards to get the door unlocked. They'd probably sealed it to keep all the sleepy-time gas inside. I assumed this was why they'd sent the medics into my cell before they released the gas, which was just about the stupidest thing they could have possibly done.

  I pressed the mask to her face one last time. When the door cracked open, I put it on myself, grabbed the oxygen pack and the gun, and backed up all the way to my cot.

  "What are we going to do with you, Neely?" Warden Harris said through the speaker as two bobblehead guards dragged the medics out of the room. "You're completely unc
ooperative."

  God, not this again. I was tempted to let the gas put me out so I didn't have to listen to the jackass blather on about cooperation.

  "You only have so much oxygen in that container. You're not eating, so how much energy can you produce? Can you fight forever? Can you kill us all?"

  I glanced down at the gun in my hand and realized I had the perfect solution to at least one of my problems. I pointed the gun at the speaker and blew it off the wall.

  At eight p.m. the second night I was there, the massive door opened again, and a woman entered. I'd been dozing, thinking about Lucas and trying not to sink into despair. I hadn't felt much, save the occasional flare of anger and a vindictive sort of amusement, but whenever my brain conjured up a memory of Lucas, it all flooded back for a little while. I missed him so much that it had become its own basic emotion in my brain. Anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness, surprise, and missing Lucas.

  "Hello, Cornelia."

  The woman had brilliant red hair, the palest white skin I'd seen on any living being, and she was petite. Five foot, a hundred pounds, tops. The corners of her almond-shaped green eyes were tipped slightly up, her nose was sharp, her mouth a tiny elfish bow. She was a pretty little doll of a person.

  Around her slender neck she wore a long silver chain, and on the end of the chain was a charm. A familiar style of charm. It was solid silver instead of starred filigree, but the shape was similar.

  Damn.

  I supposed it was only a matter of time before the people here found out about the anti-spiker witch charms. They were human and shouldn't know about these things at all. Unfortunately, there seemed to be plenty of paranormals around willing to fill them in on weapons that were effective against us.

  The despair I'd felt while thinking about Lucas drained out of me and I was left with nothing inside. "Go away."

  "When someone greets you, it's only polite to respond in kind." Her voice was airy and melodic, like an animated princess.

  "Leave." I waved at her with the gun I'd taken from the medic. The writing on one side told me it was a Beretta. The writing on the other side was a number and letter: 92X. That was pretty much all I knew about it … except that it was loaded.

  "It costs you nothing to be courteous."

  With zero hesitation, I sat up on the cot and shot the wall to the right of her pretty red head. The gun jumped in my hands as it fired, and a chunk of plaster fell out of the wall.

  The redhead didn't so much as flinch. She spoke, but I couldn't hear anything but a persistent buzzing. Thinking about it, I shouldn't have fired the gun in this room without earplugs again. Apparently, I hadn't learned my lesson when I shot out the speaker yesterday. I was now at a disadvantage and would need to proceed with caution.

  As she approached me, I toyed with her brainwaves, checking to see if that little silver globe around her throat really was an anti-me charm. Easing into her head, I had a moment where I was able to touch them, but before I could get a good hold I was suddenly, forcibly, expelled. It wasn't a brick-wall, as it had been with Sampson, but a rubbery, bouncy sort of nuh-uh feeling.

  Drawing closer, she stuck both hands out in front of her, palms up. Unarmed. Good. This would work even better if I was the only one with a weapon. I stuck the gun in her face. She scowled at it, staring hard at the barrel.

  Should I have pulled the trigger? I had no emotional compunction about it, but I was curious. Even with the charm, I was able to glean a few stray thoughts from her mind via telepathy. She meant me no harm. For now.

  She did not like the gun, though.

  One red brow shot up, and the weapon heated in my hand, going from cold to molten in seconds. I dropped it and she caught it. A tiny smile playing on her lips, she manipulated the gun as if it were made of clay, twisting it around, compressing it into a ball. She blew on it, all over, and then dropped the wad of hot steel into my lap. I scooted out of the way to avoid being burned, but I needn't have. The balled-up gun rolled against my leg and was as cold as it had been before she touched it.

  As I stared dumbfounded at the thing, the woman clapped her hands over my ears. An itchy heat moved through my head and I began to hear sounds, at first low and fuzzy, and then crisp and clear. She removed her hands from my ears and placed one on my face where the guard had smacked me. Heat pulsed through her fingertips.

  "This will go faster if you can hear. Also, you really need target practice." She moved to my knees then, cupping her palms over the bruises and scrapes there.

  "I wasn't trying to kill you. I only wanted you to leave."

  "Well, that failed miserably, didn't it? I'm still here." She released me and thrust her hands behind her back. My knees weren't perfectly healed, but they looked better.

  "Who are you and why did you just heal me?"

  "I'm Fiera Kennith, the resident witch. And I didn't heal you—I helped a bit is all. Healing takes a lot longer." She rose and did a shallow curtsy. In a gossamer fabric skirt, the overall effect would have been magical, otherworldly. Unfortunately, she was wearing a blue cotton shorts set with brown lace-up Grecian sandals, and the effect was just plain weird.

  I recalled what Dolores had said about a fire witch possibly destroying the windows in my bakery. "What kind of witch are you?"

  Fiera smiled. "Fire, of course. My name should have—"

  I slapped her. Reached up and smacked my palm across the right side of her pretty doll face.

  Her head snapped back and she grabbed her cheek. The witch might have expected the bullet, but she hadn't expected a slap. "What did you do that for?"

  "You broke the windows in my bakery."

  She frowned, appeared to calculate something internally, and then a lightbulb-over-the-head smile tilted her mouth. She stared me in the eyes, again putting her face close to mine. "The Fairfield witches figured it out, didn't they?"

  "They said it was most likely a fire witch. Was it you?"

  "Yes."

  I slapped her again. Got her across the mouth this time. It was only the third time in my life I'd ever slapped anyone, the second being the slap right before. The first time I slapped someone was in the sixth grade when Joseph Jenkins sneaked up behind me and snapped my bra strap. He'd cried. Fiera just hopped back a few steps.

  "Ouch." Blood drooled from her lower lip. "Wasn't once enough?"

  "Don't worry, I'm all done." I gave her a syrupy smile. "Come over here and let me give you a big hug."

  The witch cupped a hand over her mouth. Shook her head. "No, I'll keep my distance until you're calmer."

  "I'm totally calm." I sat up straighter on the cot and beckoned her with my index finger. "Come here. Promise I'll be good."

  She scowled, and the look made her appear even more elfin. "Really, I can't comprehend why you're so upset. Who cares about that bakery? You won't be going back to it."

  "Strange how you all seem so sure of that."

  "Because it's true. Listen, I understand. When I was brought to the sanctuary, I did the rebellion thing, too. Set a few guards on fire, burned down the parking garage… But, in time, I found it was much better to do as they ask. I got what I wanted that way."

  "And what was it you wanted, Fiera the Fire Witch?" I leaned against the wall behind the cot, stretched out my legs.

  "Peace." She smiled, and there was so much bleakness in it that I recoiled.

  "So, you get all the peace you want? As long as you give them a little blood, a little urine, a little fire. Maybe a few tears?"

  "Tears? I haven't cried in ages." She went inside herself for a few seconds before emerging with a frown. "Not since I was first brought here."

  "When was that?"

  "Three years ago. I think."

  My God. I'd been here two days and I wanted to burn the place down. I couldn't imagine what three years in this prison would do to a person.

  Fiera flounced to the door, evidently fully recovered from our fight and ready to move on with life. "Come on. If you promis
e to stop slapping me, you can take a shower at my place and change into clean clothes. It must have been a while since your last one. You smell bad." She waved her hand in front of her face.

  She was right, but there had been little I could do about it.

  "No one will bother you in my bathroom. It's the one room where they don't have cameras." She smiled, and her swollen lip stretched over her bottom teeth. "Well, they do, it's only that, for some odd reason, they don't work properly."

  Chapter Eighteen

  I grabbed my gas mask and air container backpack and trailed her down the hall.

  There wasn't a guard in sight. No humans at all, only the shifters in their silver-barred cells looking haggard and sad. Some were stretched out on their cots; some sprawled on the floor. One male hybrid wolf hung his arms on the bars, even though it seared his skin. He looked to be in his early twenties, well-built, with ash brown hair, tanned olive skin, and dark brown eyes.

  Fiera clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Tellis, stop it. You're making the whole room stink like burned flesh."

  The shifter pantomimed biting her. His teeth were sharp and white. "Come here and make me, traitor witch."

  "Some people are so uncouth." Fiera stomped past the cell.

  "He's being held here against his will. Uncouth is about the nicest thing he can be," I muttered.

  Two shifters, male and female hybrid tigers, were curled up together against the wall. Through the orange and black striped fur, I saw that the woman was white, though not as pale as Fiera. The man had skin like blue-tinted obsidian. They were a little older than me—mid-thirties was my best guess. Both watched Fiera, as did all the other shifters, but these were the only ones that Fiera carefully avoided watching back.

  "Is your peace worth letting people suffer?" I asked quietly.

  Instead of responding, she sped up, leading me through the corridor I'd been dragged down the previous day, and punched in a code on a keypad in the middle of a flat wall. I'd paid attention to the codes the guards used, but they weren't helpful as they changed throughout the day. A panel slid open and she went through the doorway into another corridor. This one smelled cleaner.