As Lie the Dead

Chapter Fourteen

6:08 A.M.

“Shit, she’s already waking up.”

“Dose her, then.”

“And here I thought I hit her too hard.”

The voices swirled through a haze of pain. I pushed against the brain fog, trying to swim out of the darkness shrouding my mind. I was lying on something hard and cold and uncomfortable. Something sharp pricked my shoulder. My hands instinctively reached out for anything familiar and solid … only they didn’t move right.

Metal dug into my wrists. More around my ankles. Old fear as sharp as flint and chilling as frost settled into my stomach. Squeezed my heart and set it pounding impossibly loud.

Trapped. Bound. In the dark.

No! I thrashed, terrified of hearing the clank of chains and squeak of an opening door. Positive the torture would come within minutes and cast me back into that dark place I hadn’t survived the first time.

The bindings on my wrists and ankles held. I couldn’t get up, couldn’t see, didn’t know where I was.

“What the hell’s wrong with her?”

I knew the voice, but I didn’t care. I was on a hardwood floor, not a sweat-soaked mattress, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t naked, and I wasn’t in the closet at the old train station, but I didn’t fucking care. Nothing mattered except getting loose.

“Let me go!” I hit a wall with my right shoulder, aware of shuffling feet and whispering clothing. I felt them nearby, closing in. My stomach turned inside out. Bile scorched the back of my throat. I tried to use the wall as leverage to sit up but had lost all sense of balance.

“Stone, calm down!”

Tears dampened the fabric across my eyes. Unspent sobs hitched my breath in my lungs and closed my throat. I gasped and choked, repeating my plea for release. The blindfold was removed, and I blinked against the sudden light. Snapped my teeth at the hand still close to my face.

“Christ,” the hand’s owner said. “Is she nuts?”

“Get these damned things off me,” I snarled, yanking my wrists and ankles apart. Metal sliced flesh. Blood slicked my skin. The brain fog remained, settling in a little deeper. I couldn’t seem to think, just react.

“Ty, unlock the cuffs.”

“Kis—”

“Do it. Stone, we’re going to uncuff you, but you need to calm down.”

Something in Kismet’s voice cut through my haze of terror. I stopped thrashing and closed my eyes, coiled like a spring, certain of attack. I felt hands on my ankles, and then the cuffs were gone. The warmth of a body moved closer to mine; it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep still. The instant the cuffs were off my wrists, I lurched forward. Scurried along the wall until I felt nothing but empty air around me.

“Settle down,” Kismet ordered.

I pressed against the wall, eyes still shut, just trying to calm my racing heart and stop the unwanted tears. Adrenaline shook my hands and pumped blood through my throbbing wrists and ankles. My head still felt swimmy, like I’d just downed four beers. No one came near me. No one spoke.

“She gonna be okay?”

“I think so, Milo,” Kismet said. “Stone?”

I looked up, letting my vision bring the room into focus. Empty office, glass-plate window that overlooked one of the production lines. Three people with me, familiar faces matched to familiar voices—Kismet, Tybalt, and Milo, the third and youngest member of her Triad. I glared at all of them.

“Don’t ever cuff me like that,” I said.

Kismet crouched in front of me, still two lengths away. “I’m sorry.” Genuine concern sparkled in her green eyes, barely overtaking annoyance. At least, I thought so. My swimmy head could be misinterpreting.

“What did you dose me with?” I asked, surprised by the slight slur to my words.

“Sodium pentothal. Although if your concussion recovery is any indication, it’ll be out of your system pretty fast.”

Good. I despised the loose-lipped feeling of being drugged. “How’s Felix?”

“Angry.”

“And sporting a wicked black eye,” Milo added with a funny hitch in his voice. And cold fury boiling behind his eyes.

I looked past him at Tybalt, who gazed at me like a predator sizing up a meal. Waiting for me to attempt an escape. Well, he’d have to wait a bit for that. Brain fuzzies were bad for concentration. Not to mention balance.

“We need to have a chat, Stone,” Kismet said.

“No, we don’t.”

She blinked. Had I really said that out loud? People called sodium pentothal a truth serum, and that was sure as hell what she was getting from me. I needed to do a lot of things, but sitting down for a Hunter/Handler chat wasn’t on the list.

“Where’re the gremlins?” I asked.

“We made them an offer,” she said. “A new, larger factory down by the Black River docks, as well as a tractor-trailer full of baked goods, in exchange for immediate vacancy of this location.”

Terrific. “Where?”

“Doesn’t matter now, although one of them said that this belongs to you.” She stood up and pulled a flash drive from her pocket. “Made me promise that you’d see it before he agreed to the move. So, you see it?” She held it up between forefinger and thumb, then dropped it. Before I could reach out, she smashed her boot heel down and crushed it.

“Dammit, Kismet!” My heart sank. “Do you know what was on that?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Hadn’t expected that one. “How?”

Tybalt tossed something on the floor near Kismet’s feet. It hit with a gentle clank, no larger than a quarter with a slim wire the length of my pinkie. My addled mind took a moment to identify it.

“Holy shit,” I said, understanding sinking in. “You bugged Wyatt’s room.”

“And your apartment,” Kismet said. I wanted to rage at her; instead, I felt exceedingly stupid. “I don’t like being kept in the dark, Stone, and neither do the other Handlers. Since yesterday morning, you’ve been acting like an out-of-control rogue. Not reporting in, not keeping us in the loop, and then I find out you’re going after our bosses.”

“They gave the order—”

“It doesn’t matter! We get the hard orders, Stone; that’s our job. And it’s their job to make the hard decisions and hand those orders down to us, so we can pass them along to you. Rufus is my friend, and I don’t want to see him die any more than you do, but he knew the risks.”

I shook my head. The fog was starting to lift. “It’s not just about the Owlkin slaughter anymore, Kismet. The shit I keep digging up points to something a hell of a lot scarier than annihilating one Clan. Something fucking huge is about to go down.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, scornful and sad. “You’re seeing conspiracies where they don’t exist. I know you want payback for what the brass did to you, I understand that—”

“Jesus, will someone please send out a memo! It’s not about me.” I sat up a little straighter while maintaining a relaxed position. No sense in alerting them to the fact that their drug was wearing off. “Maybe at first, yes, I wanted to find out who the brass was so I could shove my foot up their collective asses.” I shocked myself with the disclosure—something I hadn’t wanted to admit out loud. That I had started this new mission with a very selfish goal in mind, disguised as good intentions toward not only Rufus but also the last three surviving Coni.

Now I wanted to sandblast that smug look off Kismet’s face. “Not anymore, though,” I said. “After everything I’ve seen and heard today, I’m convinced the Owlkins were targeted for execution. I was just a convenient excuse to go in and do it.”

“Where’s your proof?” When I didn’t answer, she snorted. “Didn’t think so.”

“I need to get out of here. I have to find Aurora and Joseph. I promised Phin I’d protect them.”

“Yeah. Speaking of Phineas,” Tybalt said, taking a step closer. “If he suspects the Clans are being targeted, shouldn’t he be out there doing something about it?”

“He is.” Of that, I had no doubt. All of my doubts related to not knowing what he was up to or where he was. Part of me wanted to think he’d allowed Belle’s friends to take Aurora and Joseph, but Belle’s words told me otherwise. She had taken them by force because she didn’t think they were safe with me. She was doing everything in her power to protect her fellow Clans-people.

“Where is he?” Tybalt asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

I shrugged and made a show of gazing around the room, eyes a little too wide. One door to the work area outside, one door to the hallway. One glass window. Not ideal exits. No weapons or furniture of any kind lying around. They were good.

“We got separated,” I said.

“How?”

The words danced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. Bad sodium pentothal. I was not about to slip on that little tidbit. The last thing I needed was a bounty on Phin’s head for attempted murder. But I had to give them something. “Leonard Call,” I said.

Kismet frowned. “Who’s that?”

“A new problem we wouldn’t have known about without my going off all rogue and not taking my orders directly from you.”

My sarcasm rolled right off her. “What does he have to do with any of this?” she asked.

I told her about my conversation with Isleen, leaving out the details of my Dumpster rescue. “If you were listening to the whole conversation I had with Wyatt, you know about Park Place,” I said.

“Yes, and we’ve had people watching it all night. Thanks for bothering to share that tidbit, by the way. If you were one of my Hunters—”

“I’m no one’s Hunter anymore. Why does nobody understand that? It killed me once. I don’t want that life anymore, but everything around me keeps sucking me back into it.”

“This isn’t a job you get to quit, Stone,” Tybalt said, coming shoulder to shoulder with his boss. Anger blazed in his cheeks. “We all signed up for life when we went to Boot Camp. Every single day, we work to keep the innocents safe and to honor everyone who died trying to become what we are. You can’t quit and shit on all that.”

“I’m not shitting on anyone.” I vaulted to my feet. The world tilted, and I didn’t have to fake leaning on the wall for support. When I looked up, both Hunters had drawn their respective weapons. Milo’s gun was pointed at my chest. Tybalt had produced his butterfly swords. It looked like a single weapon, the blade about the length of his forearm, until he split them into a pair. Tall as he was and with one sword in each hand, he almost looked scary.

I stood up straight and squared my shoulders and glared at Tybalt, fury rising. “You think I don’t remember the name and face of the trainee I killed to graduate Boot Camp? I honored her every time I went out and killed a Halfie or gutted a goblin, or spilled blood to defend this city, and I think I really fucking honored her and all the others who died when I was raped and tortured to death last week. How about you?”

No one spoke. Tybalt had been there the day they found my dying body in the old train station. He’d seen what the goblins had done to me, and he had the gall to question what I’d sacrificed? Asshole!

Tired, hungry, and sick of not knowing who to trust, I held my ground. I’d done my duty by living and dying a Hunter. So why was everyone else so keen on pretending nothing had changed?

“Tell me something,” I said, directing my question at Kismet. “When you look at me, do you still see Evy Stone? Or do you see someone new, who’s no longer part of your world, and who you perceive as a threat?”

Her cheek muscles twitched, unable to hide her thoughts. I’d struck damn close to home. I wasn’t the Hunter I’d been, irrevocably changed by my death and my habitation of Chalice Frost. I was something very new—a stranger with the memory and training of a seasoned Hunter and with two bizarre powers that gave her a distinct advantage over every other human she used to work with. Kismet couldn’t control me. Baylor, Willemy, Morgan—none of the other Handlers had even tried.

The brass could no longer control me. I was done being their bitch.

Kismet considered my words for several long minutes, her eyes the only part of her that moved. Up and down, across my face, searching. Reaching some sort of conclusion. A conclusion that came with an annoying amount of open pity. “We don’t blame you, Stone,” she said. “The changes aren’t your fault.”

I raised both hands in a “stop” gesture. “Don’t give me the whole ‘You’d have been better off staying dead’ line, because that ship has sailed.”

“No, I wasn’t going to say that.” She reached out her right hand, and, without being told, Milo handed her his gun. She held it loosely, felt its weight. I watched every movement, dread sinking in. Icy fingers clutched my heart and squeezed tight.

I swallowed. “Then what—?”

“You’re a threat, Stone. Without the brass, the system crumbles into chaos. We can’t protect the city if we’re arguing among ourselves. Fighting one another, chasing one another. I’d hoped to talk some sense into you.”

A tremor ripped down my spine. “So you’re going to kill me.”

She winced. “Are you going to give up this obsession with the brass and come back to work?”

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. I also tested for the Break and found its power easily. No spark of blue or sense of disruption. Good. “Not until I find out who Leonard Call is. Not until I know the other Clans are safe from whoever’s targeting them.” Something else struck me without warning, and a small cry escaped my lips.

Kismet tilted her head and frowned. “What?”

“You were listening.” Cold fury washed through me. Not at her but at my own damned self. For utterly failing to keep Phin’s most precious secret about the Clans. “You know.”

For a moment, she stared, head shaking lightly. Then understanding dawned. Her lips parted, but the gun never fell. “About the bi-shifters? I know what you told Wyatt, about their special status and abilities. But one coincidence does not a conspiracy make, Stone. You need more proof.”

“I can get proof.”

“Through proper channels, with the help of the Triads, and approval of the brass? Going by our book?”

“If I get the proof I think I will, then the brass will be out of a fucking job.”

“What could they possibly gain by murdering the Clans?”

“I probably could have asked them if you hadn’t smashed that flash drive.”

Another standoff ensued. She didn’t want to kill me; that much was evident in her hesitation. She also didn’t want to believe me. As a Handler, she was duty bound to the Triads and to protecting the city’s innocents. She had to weigh the potential truth in my words with what she believed to be best for everyone. She couldn’t believe me without proof. I couldn’t get the proof for her without breaking every rule of conduct and exposing the heart of the Triads to outside forces.

Even if I was convinced that heart was diseased.

“What’s the move, boss?” Tybalt asked.

Kismet flinched. I had my answer.

“Leonard Call,” I said. “He’s the key to Park Place. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Kismet said, raising the gun.

Holy shit, she’s going to do it. I latched on to the Break, ready to slip into it with a thought. “Tell Wyatt something for me?”

She nodded sadly. “Anything.”

“Tell him I’ll see him soon.”

Confusion twisted her mouth. I focused on the main floor of the factory—what I recalled of it, at least—and let the Break tear me apart. I heard Kismet cry out, and then the roar of the gun. Didn’t feel a gunshot, only the scattered floating of teleportation.

The eye-watering stink of gremlin piss greeted me when I materialized on the factory floor, adding to the ache between my eyes. Evidence of its recently vacated residents littered the floor. Bits of nesting material were scattered around. Fumes wafted from the tops of the open vats, as potent as a bottle of one-hundred-fifty-proof Jack.

Four levels above me, a door opened and voices shouted. I ducked behind one of the vats, with no idea how to get out of there. Teleporting again was dangerous, and my headache wasn’t going away. A maze of broken-down conveyor belts fed into and out of the main room, past the vats to other rusty machines. Any one of those holes was a potential exit.

A loud splash above surprised me. Gremlin piss sloshed over the edge and hit the floor near my feet, toxic in its sweetness. I held my breath, listening. The voices were gone. No footsteps. No whisper of clothing or squeak of footsteps. I wasn’t being chased.

That was … bad.

The image of rats fleeing a burning apartment complex came unbidden. When your quarry goes to ground … Shit.

I ran. Two of the conveyor belts emerged from squares in the far wall, each at least four feet wide. I concentrated on them, on closing the distance of thirty feet as quickly as possible. My heart hammered in my chest, my ears, my throat. I leapt onto the nearest conveyor, scraped both arms on the twisted metal, and dove through to the other side.

Behind me, the vat of alcoholic gremlin piss exploded in fire, odor, heat, with enough force to shove me forward into something hard. My head cracked against it. Lights sparkled. Heat and pressure swirled all around, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Probably minutes, because the fire hadn’t spread all the way to my side of the separating wall. The heat surrounded me like a blanket, suffocating and thick. Seared fumes filled the air, mixed with smoke, and made it almost impossible to breathe.

I’d landed on my back. Bent and fractured equipment loomed above me in gloomy darkness, threatening to fall under its own weight. I rolled onto my right side, ribs aching, head throbbing, and searched for another exit. Anything that didn’t require braving the vat room and its spreading fires.

The fumes caught me, and I began to cough. Deep, wrenching coughs that turned my stomach inside out and left my throat raw.

A second explosion followed the first, shaking the ground with its force. Metal screeched and bent. Potential shrapnel loomed everywhere, no place safe. I scuttled forward on my hands and knees as a third blast toppled the wall inward. Scorched metal slammed into me and knocked me sideways.

Searing heat and agony mixed with intense pressure as the dying factory fell down around me. Burying me alive.