Another Kind of Dead

Chapter Twelve

The furious pounding in my head, coupled with the cool stream of air against my face, woke me. I was still in Phin’s arms, high above the trees, with the reservoir looming in the distance. I didn’t look down, but the heavy weight dragging on my legs told me Token hadn’t panicked and let go. Cold wetness covered my upper lip, and some had dribbled onto my chin.

Final transport was a blur, but it was obviously a successful blur.

My stomach flipped. I groaned.

“You’re awake,” Phin said in my ear.

“Gonna hurl. Fly faster.”

We were at his maximum speed with two passengers. I breathed deeply, concentrating on the persistent spear of pain between my eyes as the parking lot appeared over the tree line. Wyatt was sitting on the hood of his car, and he launched to his feet when he saw us. Phin set down with an unsettling thud, not his usual graceful stop, and let me go, anticipating the regurgitation. Token, however, didn’t uncurl from my legs.

I toppled sideways and skinned my palms on the gravel even as I puked all over it. I barely felt the shock of jarring my wrapped wrist. Token released me and scrambled away. Not much came out, but it left my stomach sore and ribs aching. I spat out the taste of bile. My arms trembled, and I nearly collapsed into my own vomit.

Strong arms slid around my waist and hauled me back to safety. I let him pull me against his chest, nearly cradled in his lap, and it took several deep breaths to realize it wasn’t Phin. “I’ve got you,” Wyatt said. “Phin, there’s bottled water in the backseat.”

I closed my eyes, drawing on the familiar heat of Wyatt’s chest, the steady thu-dump of his heartbeat, for strength. The nausea was gone, but the headache hadn’t dimmed. Something cold and wet dabbed at my lips and chin, then hard plastic pressed to my mouth. I drank a few sips.

“She passed out during the final teleport,” Phin said.

“Lotta walls,” I said. “Fucking walls hurt.”

“Did anyone see you?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Phin replied. “I heard no alarms raised. The mission, it seems, was successful.”

I peeled my eyelids open and winced against the sunlight. Phin was crouched next to us, Token shadowing him on the right. Wyatt’s hold was loose, and he didn’t protest when I sat up. It felt good—more than good; right—being in his arms like that.

“We shouldn’t hang around,” I said. “Phin heard voices coming toward the lab, so they might realize Token’s gone and start looking.”

Gravel crunched as Wyatt stood. He circled around and offered me his hand. I took it, grateful, and used his support to pull unsteadily to my feet. The ground tilted a bit. I squeezed his hand until the dizziness subsided, then let go. We took our previous places in the car, with Token tucked into the backseat with Phin. Good thing Token was the size of a fifth grader or they wouldn’t have had much room back there.

I relaxed against the seat, eyes closed, willing away the headache. It would take time. It always did when I teleported too much at once. Even with my healing ability, it took its toll, and I couldn’t image how much damage the teleporting would cause if I couldn’t heal quickly. Then again, without the healing, I’d have been dead long ago.

The road smoothed out, and we began a steady descent out of the mountains, back toward the city. I listened to the hum of the engine and tried to ignore the new, itchy pressure in my right wrist. Finally the bones were starting to mend.

“Let’s assume that Token successfully leads us to Thackery’s location,” Phin said sometime into the trip. “Do you have a plan in mind?”

“Surveillance,” Wyatt replied. “We can’t go in until we know what to expect. Who’s there, who’s not, and where the trickster’s enisi is being held.”

“And once we know these things?”

Silence. I listed my head to the side and squinted at Wyatt through half-closed lids. He chewed on his lower lip, brow furrowed. Thinking. I asked, “Your first response wasn’t calling in the Triads, so what’s up? Having trust issues again?”

“Bringing them in to clean this up exposes you.”

He wasn’t wrong. Even if I hid during whatever operation breached the hideout and apprehended Thackery and his latest menagerie of monsters, there was nothing to stop Thackery from flapping his yap about me. He wanted my blood. Would the Triads turn down a deal from Thackery? Me for whatever new weapons or defenses he’d devised against the Dregs? Hell, what if he offered them a vaccine against vampire bites? The idea of such a thing, its base components likely coursing through my veins, horrified me as much as it thrilled me. No more Hunters lost to accidental bites.

Was Thackery good enough to develop a cure for existing Halfies as well?

“What about the Bloods?” I asked.

“They’re just as risky, Evy. They’re a very logical species and will likely see the potential in the science Thackery has to offer in exchange for his life. I don’t know if I trust them not to turn on us if a reason presents itself.”

Good point. Vampires preferred logic to emotions and had no apparent qualms about sacrificing their own in order to achieve a greater goal. Their MO of late was to observe and lend a hand when necessary. I’d received help from Isleen, a daughter of the royal family of Bloods, and I trusted her with my life. (Easy to do when she’d saved it once.) I didn’t trust any of the others. Not as far as I could throw their skinny, pale, white-haired asses.

“Well, the three of us aren’t going to be much good on our own,” I said. “We know Thackery’s not working alone. He at least has that blond kid, and who knows how many other people?”

“You have a point, and the fewer people we tell about this little operation, the fewer birdies can fly over and warn him.”

“Still doesn’t mean we don’t need backup.”

“Makes quite the predicament.”

“I admit,” Phin said, “this conversation surprises me.”

I twisted around in my seat. He was behind Wyatt, hands folded in his lap, pensive. “What do you mean?”

“You can imagine the benefits of Thackery’s work for your people, and yet you hesitate to allow the Triads access to it?”

“I can’t say I automatically trust it in their hands, no.”

“Would you risk it falling into the hands of another race? My people, for example? The vampires? Or, worse, the goblins?”

My stomach clenched. “The goblins haven’t been much of a threat since Olsmill. They aren’t exactly known for their higher thinking skills, so they’d have little use for vaccines and hybrids.”

“And yet the risk remains. Will the technology fall into the hands of humans or Dregs?” His use of the derogatory word—one he’d made no bones about hating—was deliberate. It drove his point home good and hard.

I glanced at Token, curled up in the far corner of the seat. His brown eyes watched me intently from behind crossed arms. I thought of the stone boy in that lab, dead on a gurney, and Token’s words. Had the stone boy been subjected to terrible torture at the hands of Erickson’s science team? Probably. The hybrids were new to all of us—none had existed in our lifetimes, and in the course of a month, we’d seen a dozen different kinds. Thackery had created the hounds that had nearly killed me—all claws and teeth and long, muscled torsos. What if he was making more? And this time it wasn’t just a power-crazed elf who set them loose on the city?

No matter what it meant for my future and the weird new blood pumping through my veins, I couldn’t let nonhumans have Thackery’s research. Even the ones I considered allies.

“Once we know it’s not a trap, we call in the Triads,” I said, speaking with confidence I didn’t feel. I turned back around. “They’re best equipped to go in and clean up the place. We’ve been cleaning up Dreg messes for years. This shouldn’t be that hard.”

Phin made an indeterminate noise. Less than a growl, more than a grunt.

I ignored Phin’s annoyance. “We’ll tell Kismet first, so she can put her game face on and act surprised when she sees me. Then report it to Baylor or Morgan.”

Wyatt nodded.

I watched the city streets course by, bringing us closer to the park. The whole plan hinged on Token actually finding his old nesting grounds, as promised—a result I started doubting when I looked up. The western sky was darkening on the horizon, thick with navy clouds. An early-summer storm was coming, and if it hit before Token reached his destination, we were screwed.

Despite its name, Grove Park wasn’t very green. A few years ago, a team of kids from the local university branch came up with a community outreach program that involved bringing the joy of gardening to the poorer folk of Mercy’s Lot. Someone donated an empty lot sandwiched among several blocks of crumbling, run-down brick row houses, and those students worked over a weekend. The trees they planted had died and been replaced several times, and spring flowers managed to bloom in the tended beds on the north border, but the rest of it had been overtaken by the local kids.

Grass was beaten down to packed earth around a makeshift basketball hoop, at least two feet lower than regulation. Two wooden benches sat near an old bird-bath someone had filled with fake flowers, now faded with age and weather. A dirt pit had been dug out and lined with cement blocks—the poor man’s version of a sandbox.

We parked a block away on the south-bordering street. Without immediate access to—and with no real time to locate—any sort of tracking device, we’d agreed to follow Phin visually as best we could. If we lost him, we’d hang back and wait for a phone call.

Residents strolled down the uneven sidewalks but paid us little attention. It was easy to be anonymous in the Lot. No one minded your business until you tried minding theirs. Dregs loved it for that simple reason.

“Don’t go inside when you get there,” I said to Token, repeating myself for at least the third time in as many minutes. “Just wait for us.”

“Token understands,” he replied. He nodded sagely, but his small frame trembled like an autumn leaf on a dying branch.

“We should begin,” Phin said. “The storm is approaching quickly.”

He wasn’t kidding. In the last ten minutes of our trip, it had crept across a quarter of the western sky, hiding the sun and casting a murky shadow over the city. The energy in the storm made the air around us heavy, thick—like nothing I’d ever felt before. Wyatt had always seemed restless during thunderstorms, and he’d once told me it messed with control of his Gift. Now that I felt it, too, I understood why.

“Get going, then,” I said.

Phin nodded. He’d left his shirt off and had already removed his shoes. When he unzipped his jeans, I turned back around to face front. Seconds later came a familiar sound, not unlike Velcro when it’s pulled apart slowly. Then the flap of wings and his osprey form jumped into the front seat between us. He ruffled his brown-and-white feathers and waited.

I opened my door and climbed out. Phin flew up and over to the roof of a neighboring house. Token came next, slower, still trembling. He’d be hard to disguise, with his strange skin and fangs, but most folks wouldn’t look. Or they’d convince themselves they hadn’t seen him.

Token scampered across the street and ducked behind a parked car. I caught glimpses as he raced down the sidewalk toward Grove Park, intent on his new task. Or eager to escape and be free. With Phin watching, we’d know soon if Token intended to betray us.

I slid back into my seat and slammed the door, antsy now, static tickling the deep corners of my mind. Even parked in the middle of an urban street, it occurred to me that I was alone with Wyatt for the first time since the bedroom. Not that it was the time or place for any real conversation, so I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and watched the sky near the park.

“How do you feel?” Wyatt asked.

“Fine. The headache’s mostly gone, and my wrist is definitely on the mend. Probably take a few hours to fully heal, though.”

“I knew those teleports would be hard on you—”

“Can we not talk about it? It hurt like a fucking bitch, but I did it. Moving on.”

“Fine.” He should have just said, “I’m letting this go for now, but we’re talking about it later.”

“I admit, Evy, I didn’t think you’d want the Triads involved in this.”

Still no movement above the park. “I don’t, but they’re really the lesser of all evils, aren’t they?”

“I don’t mean about Thackery. I mean you. Let’s look past the fact that you’re supposed to be twice-dead. What if Thackery tells them what he did to you? They may want to turn you over to Erickson.”

“As if I’d let them. I’d rather die a third death than become anyone’s guinea pig, and you can quote me.”

He didn’t reply. Several minutes had passed without our seeing Phin in the ever-darkening sky. Either Token had been unable to pick up his own scent, or something was wrong. Neither possibility thrilled me.

“Storm’s close. Do you feel it, Evy? Like a live current running along your tap to the Break?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t suppose this means our Gifts will work extra good during the storm?”

“The storm can give you more power, but it also messes like hell with your control. You may accidentally use your Gift without tapping into your emotional trigger.”

“Good to know.”

Another minute and nothing. A young couple scurried down the street on the opposite side, holding hands and laughing. Probably trying to get home before the bottom fell out. Even the few robins I’d seen earlier were gone, hiding from what was coming. My anxiety level tipped the scales, souring my stomach and ratcheting up my heart rate.

“It’s going to rain soon,” Wyatt said. “It’ll wash away any trail left.”

Come on, Phin, where are you? “I’m going to check out the roof nearest the park.”

“Evy—”

“Save it. I’m going.”

His hand circled my left wrist, a gentle pressure. The touch sent my pulse racing, spurred as much by him as the storm. “I was going to say concentrate. The storm’s going to play with your Gift. Don’t let the power unfocus you.”

“I won’t.”

He let go. I pulled the roofie-ammo gun out of my jeans with my left hand. The steady ache-itch in my right was a frustrating distraction, but one I could live with for now. I eyed the farthest house on the block, trying to recall anything I knew about the roofs of these houses. Usually flat, some with access from below.

I closed my eyes. My tap into the Break flared like a lighthouse beacon, flashing through my mind and body in a current of live energy. I flew apart faster than ever and zinged toward the roof. My direction shifted, spinning toward the west, drawn by the power of the thunderstorm. I yanked away from it. Grasped for the roof. Back again, then forward. Pulled in one direction but desperate to go in the other.

No! Another mental jerk got me over the house, and I let go of my tap. I spilled onto the tarred roof in a tumble of limbs, banging my wounded wrist hard enough to send flares of white-hot pain through my arm and shoulder. Not my most graceful landing ever.

I scrambled to my feet, heedless of the new headache pounding behind my eyes. It would go away, just like the others. A quick scan of the rooftop revealed no one, osprey or otherwise. I crabbed toward the edge of the roof overlooking the park and peered down. Four teens were gathering their shirts, done with their basketball game, but that was it. No Token, and no Phin.

Spinning around, I sat hard on the tar-paper roof, back to the short wall, gun loose in my hand. A light splattering of raindrops plinked off the roof and left dark spots on my jeans. Could I have missed seeing Phin fly off? No, he would have made sure we’d spotted him before tailing Token.

Music tinkled nearby, a muffled orchestral tune I didn’t know. I stuffed the gun into the back of my jeans and crept down the length of the roof, toward the northern end of the house, until I found the source. A black case blended into the ground, the perfect size for a pair of glasses. I picked up the case and pried it open.

It wasn’t the ringing cell phone—identical to the phone we’d found with Willemy’s body—that made my stomach wrench. It was the careless wad of brown-and-white feathers stuffed into the case next to it.