Chapter 13
13
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
May 29, Year 1, Emergence Era
We’ve hit a wall. Both with the samples and with the usual processes we use to analyze blood. I’ve been thinking too conventionally. We all have. Today, I started a new course of research. My lab mates probably think I’m insane, but we can’t keep trying old methods on an entirely new species. I have a plan for the next sample. It’s desperate and dangerous, verging on idiotic. But it’s the only way I can see forward, no matter what it might cost me. Trailblazing science can’t be done carefully, not in this brave new world. If I don’t have skin in the game, then I shouldn’t be playing.
“ H ow does this place have no wire hangers?” I’m in my closet, digging through the clothes for any hint of metal. Nothing. “Shit!”
I walk back into my bedroom and stare around for what has to be the tenth time in the last hour. Creating a lockpick is turning out to be far harder than kid detective novels made it seem. I have to think more broadly here, though I’ve already considered trying to rip wire from the walls or even asking Gorsky. That’s how desperate I’ve become.
When my breakfast arrives outside my door—Melody nowhere to be seen—I pull it in and snatch the fork from the tray. Testing the tines, I discover they aren’t the least bit bendable. I’d probably need to heat the metal somehow for it to be useful.
Still, I tuck it into my makeshift bag. It’s all I have.
Foregoing the food, I move into the hallway and study everything with new eyes. What could be used to pick a lock? Not marble, not canvas, not the bits of statuary. I keep going down to the piano level, then pause at the piano itself. Peeking under the hood, I stare at the strings. They’re wire, but not strong enough to turn a lock. Damn.
I keep going, checking in rooms here and there. When I spot a decorative urn, I pause. The handles are golden, maybe brass. They swivel, making it easy to lift the pottery, and give a slight clink sound when I let them go. I know nothing about antiques, but the blue flower motif on the jar coupled with the level of extravagance throughout this hellish place tells me it’s likely priceless.
With zero fanfare, I lift the vase and drop it onto the cold marble floor. It shatters, the sound like the boom of a shotgun in the silent estate. I flinch and wait for Melody or maybe Gorsky to show up and scold me for being clumsy, but no one comes.
I hastily kneel and grab the two handles, shards of porcelain falling away as I tuck them into my bag. I don’t bother cleaning up the mess. Somehow, this place is perennially spotless. I used to think Melody snuck in at all hours and made my bed or freshened my laundry, but now I don’t know. It’s too much work for one person, or even ten, to take care of this endless mansion. It gives me the shivers to think there are other servants, invisible workers who move silently, seeing everything yet never being seen. It’s not possible, is it? I know better than to ask that question. In this upside-down castle, every nightmare thought could easily become a reality.
The sun is up now. I can’t see it, but my internal clock is ticking away. I have to get out soon, or else I won’t be far enough away by the time it gets dark. That’s if I can get the door open.
With new urgency, I hurry down the stairs to the door, keeping an eye out for anyone on my way there. I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t surprise me. Gorsky has snuck up on me more than once, and Melody seems to appear out of thin air half the time.
Crouching in front of the tiled door, I feel around until my fingers catch on the keyhole. My heart sinks when I realize the hole is even smaller than I remembered. The brass handles might be too thick to be of any use.
I curse under my breath and dig out one of the handles. Pressing it against the keyhole, I barely get it more than a few centimeters inside. Not enough. It’s too rounded to catch on any sort of mechanism, and too thick to reach it in the first place.
“Fuck.” I doggedly push the lockpick harder, trying to force the keyhole wider from the sheer heft of the brass. That doesn’t happen. What does happen is that the door moves.
I let go of the now-stuck handle and push against the panel. It swings open. I know it was locked just yesterday. Why is it open now? Could this truly be a stroke of luck? I glance around again, my skin prickling with worry that someone is watching me. Is this a trick? Is Gorsky lying in wait for me? I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, even if he is, I have to get to the elevator.
Feeling around in my bag, I find the knife handle and palm it, gripping it tightly as I push the door the rest of the way open. Nothing moves inside, no hint of anyone lurking. Even so, I move slowly, looking closely at every shadow, every darkened corner. I listen for footsteps or anything that could indicate I’m not alone. The weapons room is wide open, so I grab two more knives and stuff them into my bag. The other weapons are too unwieldly for me, and I’d probably just end up injuring myself. I test a vicious-looking morning star in my palm, just to see. When I can barely lift it, I let it go and move on.
By the time I make it through the rooms, I find the elevator grate just as before. But the carriage isn’t on this level. The shaft is open, a gaping maw of black that might fall ten feet or forever. I don’t want to find out.
When I press the elevator call button, I half expect alarms to go off or for the elevator to stay silent. Instead, the cables shake, the carriage descending at its usual pace until it appears before me. No one’s inside, though I wonder if someone is up top. It couldn’t be Melody, not in the day, and Valen isn’t here. He’s occupied in Atlanta, tearing apart as many human lives as he can. That thought alone strengthens my resolve. I open the grate, step inside, and move the lever for the top floor.
The ride is without incident, though I white knuckle my blade the entire time. When I step out, I see sunlight streaming through the cracks of the doors that open to the outside. It stings my eyes, but I don’t stop. Pushing through, I meet the daylight, the cool air, the smell of green grass and musty plants. My heart stampedes, my entire body coming alive as I take first one step, then another, and then more out beneath the yawning sky.
This can’t be real. Eyes watering, I scan the landscape, looking for someone, for anyone who might try to stop me. The garden is still, only a light wind blowing past in faint swirls of falling leaves and petals.
I breathe in deep, tasting the air and relishing the warmth on my upturned face. A voice in my head grows louder, the beat of one word thrumming through my veins. Run. Run . RUN . I heed it, taking off from the open doors of the mausoleum at my back, tearing off through the grass. I don’t know which way to go, which way safety lies, but I head toward the ridge where the trees grow thick, their branches offering a shadowy refuge where I can hide.
My pace is hectic at first, adrenaline coursing through me. I sprint past the statue, past one grove of dead fruit trees, then to another where I choose a center row to follow. Slowing, I have to wind around a fallen tree and jump over limbs here and there, but I pick my way toward freedom. Careful to avoid turning an ankle, I force myself to move methodically, to search the ground and keep scanning ahead of me for danger.
When I reach the edge of the orchard, I pause and catch my breath. My body isn’t used to exertion. My muscles withered away in the cell, and other than combing the castle and climbing its infernal stairs, I haven’t gotten much muscle back. An oversight. I should’ve been working on getting stronger.
Once my blood stops pounding in my ears, I step from the grove, run across an open area, then enter another orchard. Some of the trees here are still alive, and a few even have slightly moldy pears hanging from their limbs. I reach up and grab a few, stuffing them into my bag for later. A cluster of three draws my eye, and I strain to get them. My fingers brush across their leathery skin, and I manage to get my grip on one. Right as I yank them down, a light breeze blows by.
I freeze, my body going cold as the wind carries voices to my ears.
Eyes wide, I creep around the tree and stand still. Unsure of where the voices are coming from, I listen, barely breathing, for the sound.
I wait for what feels like an excruciatingly long time. Each second that ticks by while I’m standing still is distance lost. But no matter how I strain to listen, it’s silent again. No voices. Nothing except the occasional creak of branches against each other. I wait for longer than seems prudent, even though the sun is still high overhead. I need to make it to the far tree line before nightfall. I have no doubt Melody will come searching for me, and she likely won’t be alone. This is my only chance. Maybe I imagined the voices. I can’t be sure. And I haven’t heard them again.
Swallowing hard, I begin to move, creeping from tree to tree slowly as I keep my head on a swivel. The effort is getting to me, my adrenaline draining as a trickle of cold sweat rolls down my spine. I hold onto the tree trunks as I pass, the small weight of my bag becoming heavier with each step. Still, I keep going.
I’m almost at the far end of the grove when I catch movement ahead. My heart stops, my entire body seizing as I watch two people walking toward me.
“ Fuck !” I ease behind the nearest tree, thankful it still has leaves, and hold still.
“—isn’t for you to decide.”
“Wrong again, Captain. Everything about her is for me to decide.” Valen’s voice, low and almost feral. I don’t know who he’s speaking to, but there’s no love lost between them.
“You should turn her over to me now. Before Gregor?—”
“I will never willingly give her up. She’s mine.”
“She’s not safe here. Her wellbeing is vital to everything the—” That voice. I know it.
“Her wellbeing has been entrusted to me by Gregor himself. I will ensure her survival.”
The man scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
I close my eyes and see a flash of red hair and laughing eyes, followed by the opening salvo of a headache. I know him. He’s … The headache increases as I try to put a name to the voice.
“She’s safer here than anywhere else, and her situation isn’t up for discussion.”
Are they talking about me?
“She is human. One of us. That makes her?—”
“Your next words will concern Atlanta, Captain, or I will remove your godforsaken tongue.” The ice in Valen’s tone makes me grit my teeth.
The approaching footsteps stop nearby, perhaps 50 paces away at maximum. I can’t see them, but I feel them. I have to hope Valen is too preoccupied to sense my presence. Even so, I stay as still as I can, so much so that one of my thigh muscles begins to twitch.
“Atlanta is your goddamn mess, vampire. Not mine.” The man speaks with vehemence and a tinge of hatred. “We had an arrangement.”
“Your failure to protect your own people is not my cross to bear, Captain.” Valen’s derisive tone is like the work of a scalpel, succinct and precise.
These two are clearly at odds, and I’m not sure what they’re getting by meeting clandestinely, especially if the second man is human. He must be, given the time of day.
A long pause passes between them, one that seems to charge the air with tension. Like the tickle of electricity before a direct lightning strike. “Atlanta is a complete clusterfuck as you well know.” The redhead’s tone is grim. “Tantun destroyed infrastructure. Your own forces have decimated entire sections of the downtown grid.”
“Yes, yes, poor defenseless humans slaughtered. How terrible. Such a shame.” Valen’s haughty reply. “My heart bleeds. Now, the scientists , Captain. What of them?”
“Such a fucking—” The man stops short, silence reigning for a short while, then he says with a tense, even tone, “The two who survived the attack on their way from DC are in a safehouse. That’s all I know. The CDC has been leveled,” he says bitterly. “Your forces made sure of that. No one survived the blast, and the fire ensured the research will never be put to use. Fucking bastards,” the redhead practically spits.
I’m glad I’m leaning against the tree. The idea of the CDC being gone is a sucker punch. It was our only hope of combating the plague. The resources, the scientists, the knowledge—everything within that one building served as the crux of our epidemiological knowledge. For America and for the world. If it’s gone … If it’s gone, we don’t have a chance. All my work—all everyone’s work—on finding a cure, gone. Obliterated. The sheer magnitude of it brings tears to my eyes.
“Where’s the safehouse?” Valen asks.
“That’s classified.”
Valen gives a short, hateful laugh. “Classified by whom, the defunct US government or your hardscrabble little band of doomed humans?”
“You aren’t getting that information. Ever.” Now the redhead has a chill in his voice. “They’re all we have left. The only chance to fight the plague.”
“Gregor is no longer interested in a cure,” Valen says airily. “I can’t say I am, either.”
I fist my hands, anger rising despite the layer of fear covering me, like ice over rapids. Valen will kill every last one of us on Gregor’s orders. He’s made that clear. But he’s also actively destroying any chance humanity has at finding a cure for the plague. And the scientists from DC, the ones he said were attacked? Are they the faces I’ve drawn again and again in my sketchbook? The people whose features I can barely see, whose names I don’t know? I can’t begin to understand what Whitbine has stolen from me, the memories he’s scraped away at until even I can’t reach them. The headache intensifies, but so does my rage. My helpless fucking rage that’s gotten me nowhere, and if I’m not careful, will get me caught.
“We’re going to beat this plague, and then we’re going to kill every last one of you vicious motherfuckers.” The red-haired man says it with such ire that I wonder why Valen doesn’t snap his neck. I know he could do it.
“Ah, two of humanity’s favorite things: blind faith and indiscriminate violence,” Valen sneers.
“We’re done here.” The man, muttering creative curses under his breath, strides past me.
I stare at his back, at the green of his uniform and the small emblem on his sleeve—it’s a ring or perhaps a halo. Do I know him? I feel like I must, but no name comes to mind, no memory.
He takes a sharp left and eventually disappears amongst the trees.
I stay frozen, afraid to move, to breathe. Listening, I wait for Valen to leave. The moments seem to stretch out more and more, elastic and terrifying. Is he still there? He must be gone by now, but I can’t risk it. Can’t move until I know for certain he’s long gone.
I wait.
Another bead of cold sweat runs down my back, tickling my skin in a particularly malicious way. My nose begins to itch. I feel the sudden, urgent need to pee. It’s the same things that would happen when Juno and I would play hide and seek. I could hide perfectly well, it was the staying hidden part I couldn’t manage. I’d invariably give myself up so that I could either use the bathroom, scratch my nose, or both. The stakes here are a lot higher than losing a game of hide and seek, so I force myself to remain still, to barely breathe. God, does he know I’m here? Maybe he does. His hearing and sense of smell might have already given me away.
Suddenly, I hear quiet footsteps, and he walks past. Eyes forward, walking with purpose, he doesn’t so much as glance at the tree where I’m hiding. He keeps going, his strides long and even as he recedes down the row of trees.
When he’s finally almost out of sight through the trees, I breathe deeply and press a hand over my thumping heart. He didn’t find me. Maybe the redhead distracted him, gave me an opening to escape. I could kiss that guy.
I’m about to edge around the tree and continue away from the castle when Valen stops. He’s so far away, his back still to me—but he’s standing utterly still.
I stare at him, willing him to keep walking.
Then he turns his head to the side.
His voice carries back to me. “Are you coming, little rabbit?”
Icy fear grips me like a skeletal hand, and for the briefest second, I can’t move. All the hope I’d had roots me to the ground, as forlorn and earthbound as the dying trees all around me. And then I’m running from him, hurtling through the trees as fast as I can go. Stumbling forward, I scrape my palm against a tree trunk, then vault forward, my shins aching as if they’re splintering as I pound ahead. It’s not logical, nothing but instinct. Instinct chose flight, and I’m soaring across the ground, the tree line no closer, salvation outside my reach, damnation likely already on my heels.
I dodge a downed tree limb and shoot out of the grove, the ground rising as my muscles burn, my lungs underperforming right along with the rest of my body. I have to make it out of here. I have to.
I almost trip, then right myself and keep pushing up the hill. My pace slows as a shape emerges ahead of me. The sun is at my back, bathing him in golden light. His hair, black as a raven’s wing, his eyes the same blue of the icebergs that sink old-timey ships. He strolls toward me, a smirk on his face, his hands in his pockets. Casual. Utterly, effortlessly evil.
Breathing hard, I stop, my chest heaving, my eyes wide as he approaches. I’ve long since let go of the thought “this isn’t possible” when it comes to the world around me. But seeing him like this, laughing at me while doing circles around me—it breaks off a part of me. The part that dared to hope.
“You simply must wear more appropriate clothes when you go on little outings like this,” he chides, his eyes taunting as he stops right in front of me. “You could catch a cold.”
“I heard what you said,” I gasp out. “You’re working with Gregor’s enemies.”
“Oh?” he asks, feigning interest. “Is that so?”
“Yes. And W-Whitbine will see,” I finish, lungs burning, face hot. Easing my hand to my side, I slip it into my bag.
He leans down, his eyes almost level with mine. “Looking forward to your next meeting with Whitbine, are you?”
I wince.
“Didn’t think so.” He straightens again. “Come along, little rabbit.” He glances around. “Too many hawks out here. You could get plucked away.”
“What did you do in Atlanta?” I put my hands on my hips as I struggle to catch my breath and glare up at him. “What did you do?”
“I thought you already heard everything?” he mocks.
“Tell me!” I yell.
He steps to me, looming over me like a beast in a nightmare. “I killed and killed and killed. More humans than I can count. My forces wiped out entire communities, drenched the ground with blood. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Why?” The bridge of my nose burns with tears. “Do you hate us that much?”
“It isn’t hate that drives the wolf to hunt down the rabbit. It’s in his nature to destroy. If anything, it’s indifference. Indifferent to the lives of other beings if it means his own survival.”
“You don’t have to massacre people to survive!”
His scowl returns, the coldness in his eyes like a slap to the face. “Agree to disagree, little rabbit. Now, come along.”
“I won’t go back.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I won’t.” My chin trembles, and I hate myself for it.
“Must I drag you?” He tsks. “Or shall I wait for this tantrum to end?”
“You could let me go.”
He gives me a withering look.
“Why are you doing this?” I yell. “You don’t have to follow orders. You don’t have to kill us. Or me , for that matter. We could?—”
“This is getting tiresome.” He sighs.
“One thing we can agree on.” I lunge forward, burying my knife in his side. Then I’m running again, tearing away from him and up the hill.
I’m almost to the crest when I feel his hands on my shoulders, dragging me to a stop that’s so quick it knocks the wind out of me.
“At least you made our little game fun.” He pulls my hair away from the nape of my neck, his bite so fast I barely feel it.
I cry out as he wraps one of his arms around my middle, holding me against him as he drinks. My knees go weak, my body succumbing to whatever power lives in this horrible exchange between us. His blood. My blood.
My eyes fall closed, and I’m lax as he holds me up, his hard body pressed to mine, clutching me like a lover as he forces his way into my veins, his will consuming my fight. Heat blooms between my legs, my nipples going hard and sensitive.
“There it is.” He growls against my throat, one of his hands cupping my breast.
I moan as he kneads me, his hard cock pressing against my back. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. When he pinches my nipple, I cry out, my body curling tighter and tighter around my need for him to take me. All of me. Every last bit until there’s nothing left. I’m dying. My life draining into desire for the devil. Turning from breath and heartbeats into lust and despair. I can’t keep going like this, hating and wanting.
“I know what you want.” His voice is feral, his tone coated in my blood. “On your knees in the dirt. My fangs in your shoulder. Fucking you as you scream for me. You want me to hurt you, little rabbit. To devour you.”
I shudder with hatred and pleasure.
“Soon,” he promises on a dark whisper. Pulling back and spinning me to face him, he cups my cheek. My blood stains his lips, a rivulet running down his chin. “What happened to Theo Dragonis?”
I stare into the tumultuous sea of his eyes. “I don’t know.” An ache sets up in my temples.
“Who killed Theo Dragonis?” he practically purrs the question, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
“I don’t know.” The ache intensifies into a stabbing pain.
He smirks. “Humans are so weak, so utterly pathetic. If you’re to be believed, a trauma caused you to forget. What trauma, little rabbit? Did the hoot of an owl frighten you so badly that your memories disappeared?”
“No.” I answer mechanically, his compulsion forcing the word from me. Still burning for him, still aching in ways that make me loathe myself.
“I will have the answers the High Lord seeks.” He strokes my cheek, his touch soft, his voice violent. “You will give them to me.”
He drops his hand, the compulsion still swirling through my mind.
In that moment, I realize I’ll never escape him. There’s no way out of here. I can’t kill him. I simply have to wait until he kills me. Or, if I can find the courage, I’ll end it myself. That, in itself, is a revelation, one that’s lurked in the recesses of my mind. One I’ve never wanted to fully face. But knowing that I can’t get away is also knowing that I have one remaining option.
In a daze, I stare up at him and realize he’s carrying me. I don’t remember him picking me up. The trees pass overhead, the sun peeking from behind wispy clouds. I stare at his sharp profile, the line of his jaw, the pale skin, the dark hair. His scent, sandalwood and soap and something smoky, mixes with the smell of green grass and honeysuckle.
“I hate you.” The words fall from my lips unbidden.
“I know.”
“I wish I could kill you.”
“I know that, too.” He sighs and carries me into the elevator, the door behind us closing, shutting out the brilliant sun. Cutting off my chance at freedom.
He looks down at me, something in his eyes that I can’t read, can’t name, can’t know. With a voice softer than silk, he whispers. “Sleep.”