Wrong Side of Dead

Chapter Twelve

Saturday, July 26

6:20 A.M.

Watchtower

Voices drew me out of a nice, quiet place, and I wanted to tell them to shut the hell up, only I couldn’t. My mouth felt dry, stuffed with cotton, and getting it moving took way too much effort. I considered going back to sleep for a while and ignoring whatever urgent crisis was likely unfolding around me, but someone squeezed my hand and said my name.

No one ever let me sleep.

I peeled one eye open, then the other, blinking up at Milo’s concerned face. He leaned down, staring so intently that I croaked out a “What?”

“Just checking,” he said.

“For?”

“You were, uh, drenched, Evy.” He blanched, a little green around the edges. This close, I saw the red lines webbing his eyes and their general puffiness. “We had to make sure it didn’t infect you.”

Drenched in what? I tried to sit up, only to find my wrists restrained. Panic hit like a cold slap, and I lunged, nearly clipping Milo’s chin with my head. I was on a cot somewhere, handcuffed to the frame, my clothes soaked, and I had no idea what … Felix. He exploded in our jail.

“Get these damned things off me,” I said.

“Calm down, I’ve got the key.” Milo unlocked my wrists, then scurried back away.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the cot. The room tilted. My head spun a little and I gripped it in both hands.

“Sorry, but we had to,” he said.

“I know.” My back ached, probably from being thrown by the explosion I only vaguely remembered. And I was moderately grateful that I’d been hosed down. I’d never seen a person explode from the inside out and did not want to see the gore left behind in the interrogation room.

We were in one of the infirmary patient rooms, and the sounds of nearby voices hadn’t diminished. People were talking, lots of them, but too far away and too many at once to distinguish individuals or actual words.

“Was anyone hurt?” I asked.

“You and Marcus took the brunt of it,” Milo said. His voice was cold, emotionless, like he was trying his damnedest to not lose his shit. “Dr. Vansis pulled some shrapnel out of your back, and Marcus took a big chunk in his left ankle.”

“Shrapnel?”

“Mostly wood from the chair. Some, uh, bone.”

I twisted my arm backward, poking at the source of the ache, and found a taped-down square of gauze. “Marcus is okay?”

“Stitched up and grumpy as ever. He saved your life.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him. How are you?”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I was in the outer office. I wasn’t hit.”

“Not what I meant.”

His expression cracked and a flash of grief and horror made it through. Then he blinked, and a perfect mask of anger settled back into place. “A half-Blood exploded in front of me. Not an image I’ll soon forget, but we’ve got way worse problems now.”

“Such as?” Hey, wait a minute—“How’s Wyatt?”

Milo frowned. “Sedated, I think. You were out for only about twenty minutes, so I don’t think Dr. Vansis knows anything about his condition that you don’t already know.”

“Condition? What’s that mean?”

Dr. Vansis stepped into the cubicle, his customary scowl in place. “It means I still don’t understand the reason for Mr. Truman’s rather violent reaction to the Lupa blood and/or saliva,” he said. “I’ve made a formal request to the Assembly for information. Hopefully, they’ll have something more useful for me than speculation and hearsay.”

“So he’s still sick?”

“Extremely sick, unlike you.” He took a penlight from his lab coat pocket and flashed it in my eyes as he spoke. “He’s running a one-hundred-and-four-degree fever, has the shakes, complains of flulike aches all over his body, and both wound sites show signs of serious infection. I have him on IV fluids and a broad-spectrum antibiotic, but I don’t know that the antibiotic is helping.”

I followed his finger with my eyes, feeling like an idiot but understanding the reason for the little tests. I’d taken yet another blow to the head and, healing ability or not, he was a studious doctor. “All that from werewolf bites,” I said, once he seemed satisfied with my condition.

“The bites or the blood, I’m not sure yet,” Vansis said. “All of our knowledge of the Lupa is carefully guarded by the Elders. Hopefully, I’ll hear from them soon.”

“What about the vampires? They’re old. Isleen is centuries old. Maybe they know something.… What?”

The look Milo and Dr. Vansis exchanged set my teeth on edge.

“All the vampires in the Watchtower are being quarantined in their quarters,” Dr. Vansis said.

I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d said they were staging a musical production in the cafeteria. “Why?”

“Because the purpose of detonating that half-Blood you captured wasn’t to cause internal structural damage to the facilities, or to necessarily try to kill whoever was standing closest to him at the time.”

“So why, then?”

“The half-Blood was used as a delivery system for some sort of pathogen,” Dr. Vansis said. “It was aerosolized during the explosion, and many of the vampires have become infected.”

“How many were exposed?”

“All of them.”

Oh God. The sun rises around 5:45 in the summer, and the majority of our vampires patrol at night. Even the vampires who used that fancy UV-blocking sunscreen preferred nighttime, as it enhanced their vision. They were always back by 5:30. Felix had known that. He’d known exactly when the most vampires would be in the Watchtower because he’d once been part of this, which meant that Thackery would have known the perfect time to blow his little present.

Walter Thackery and his hatred of all vampires strikes again. “Isleen?”

“She’s sick, as is Eleri and at least twenty more.” At least twenty out of the forty-five or so who worked here on any given day.

No, no, no, no! “Quince?”

“Fine, so far,” Milo said. “It’s affecting them randomly. So far there’s no way to know if they’ll all get sick, or if some of them are immune.”

“I’ve taken blood samples from a dozen, both sick and healthy,” Dr. Vansis said, “but contagious diseases is not my area of expertise. And seeing as how you’re fine, I need to get back to work.”

He left without further information. I hauled ass to my feet, and my very wet shoes squished on the floor. Pink water oozed out.

“Have any humans or Therians been affected by this pathogen?” I asked.

“Not so far,” Milo replied.

“What’s it doing to the vampires?”

“Hypersensitivity to light and sound, shooting pains in the extremities, and they bruise if you touch them too hard.”

Sounded like the vampire version of a migraine—except for the bruising thing. “And these are just the early symptoms?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s only been about twenty minutes, but the first ones infected got sick fast.”

“If they aren’t all sick, is putting them in one confined space a good idea?”

Milo shrugged. “It was Isleen’s decision. She called her Family’s royal Father and he agreed with her. I guess they don’t want to risk exposing any vampires outside the Watchtower until they know what this is.”

The choice was understandable, from the vampire’s point of view. We didn’t know what was affecting them, what else it would do, or how far it would spread un-contained. Still … “Are we allowed to leave, or are we confined, too?”

“I really don’t know, Evy.” A flash of distress creased his forehead, and he looked lost. Young. “I mean, I just saw Felix blow up and I’m really not sure … I don’t …”

“I’m sorry.” I took a step toward him, then stopped when he flinched away. “It’s not easy to reconcile the thing you saw die with the person you knew.”

“Yeah. He seemed surprised.”

“That he’d been rigged to blow?”

“Yeah.”

“I think he was. He said something about his tracker not being a tracker. And I don’t think he expected to be caught last night.”

“Thackery sure did. He had to know we’d be at the rave.”

“Well, Thackery likes to have backup plans in place.” Hell, he could have the Lupa set to explode somehow, too, and the thought made me doubly glad we hadn’t brought our prisoner back to the Watchtower.

Milo ran a hand through his short hair. “How do you not know someone’s planted a bomb on you? Or in you?”

I had no answer.

“I just …” Milo sighed. “I can’t believe so much has gone so wrong so fast.”

No kidding. In just the last six hours, we’d captured Felix, had half a dozen Therians kidnapped, Wyatt was attacked by a werewolf, Felix exploded, and now the vampires were getting sick. Somehow everything connected back to Thackery, but I hadn’t yet drawn all the lines between the crazy dots.

“Did we save any samples of Felix’s blood?” I asked.

“I think so. Why?”

“Because something besides willpower was helping Felix, and we might find a hint in his blood.”

Determined to do something, I circled past Milo and stepped into the short hall. My room was at the end of the row of four, with all the noise activity happening farther down in the main infirmary area. The next door down was half-shut, and Marcus was arguing with someone about being allowed to use a cane. I made a mental note to thank him later.

The third room was empty. Wyatt was in the fourth. The conversation just a few yards away had my attention, but I went into Wyatt’s room anyway. He looked awful, like someone fighting a losing battle with a deadly disease—all fevered, blotchy skin and labored breathing. The bandages on his neck and arm were stained red and yellow, hinting at the infection raging below the surface.

Frail came to mind, and I despised using that word to describe Wyatt Truman. Once again, the people I cared about were at the mercy of Walter-fucking-Thackery and his diseased whims.

I stepped toward the bed. Froze. I wanted to find a chair and sit next to Wyatt, hold his hand until he woke up. Be there so he wasn’t alone if he died from whatever ravaged his body. I needed to be there for him, like he’d been there for me countless times in the very recent past.

Only I couldn’t. There was too much to do, and if I could get to Thackery, maybe I could beat an antidote out of him. As much as my heart wanted me to stay with Wyatt, logic told me I’d help him best by being out in the city. Doing something.

I brushed his cheek with my knuckles, noting how the damp skin radiated heat. The last time I’d seen him in a bed like this, he’d just shielded me from another exploding Halfie and taken a piece of shrapnel in the back for it. The perfect alignment of it made me smile in spite of the situation.

“You keep fighting, hear me?” I said. “Fight for me.”

He slept on.

Milo trailed me into the main part of the infirmary, where I nearly walked into Astrid.

She gave me a quick, assessing glance. “Nothing keeps you down long, does it?”

“I’m contrary. What can I say?”

“Did Milo bring you up to speed?”

“Yes. Have we heard from Phin?”

“They’re having trouble questioning the werewolf. It’s got some sort of tracer. They’ve switched locations twice and are still being trailed.”

“By?”

“The other wolves. They seem to want their brother back. If this continues, Phineas may have no choice but to kill the werewolf and return.”

“Can’t they trap the pursuing wolves?” As soon as I asked the question, I saw its logical fallacy. “Guess it wouldn’t matter, since Thackery could just trace them, too.”

“Correct.” Her attention shifted to something behind me. “What are you doing up?”

Marcus shuffled down the hall using Kyle for a crutch. His left foot and ankle were wrapped in gauze and one of those walking boot things, but if the pain bothered him he gave no sign of it. “Walking,” he said. “Okay, limping, but you need me on this.”

Astrid glared. “Fine. But if you pull stitches, you’re answering to Dr. Vansis.”

“Noted.”

“Do we know anything new?” I asked, impatience growing.

“No,” Astrid replied.

“Is everyone quarantined here, or just the vampires?”

“Everyone,” Dr. Vansis said from across the room, where he was hunched over a microscope. “Until I’m certain it isn’t communicable via Therian or human, no one leaves the premises.”

Not the answer I wanted to hear. “Who’s out in the field?”

“Phineas. Baylor is out with his team. Jackson took Leah’s squad out looking for her several hours ago.”

“That’s not many.”

“It’s what we have.” Astrid’s phone rang. She checked the display. “What?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, send it to the infirmary computer.”

“Send what?” Marcus asked.

Astrid plunked down in the desk chair and tapped away at the keyboard. “Incoming video conference call with Elder Macario Rojay of Cania and Elder Marcellus Dane of Felia.”

Dane? Milo and I turned to stare at Marcus, likely wearing the same curious expression. I knew the Felia were something of an anomaly, because they had both a Pride Alpha and a Clan Elder. The former was a position of authority that had been in place for centuries before the Assembly formed; the latter was their voice on the Assembly. I’d just never connected the Felia Elder to Marcus or Astrid before today.

“What?” Marcus snapped. “The Elder is our grandfather.”

From what little I knew of Assembly politics, the majority of Elder positions were inherited from parent to child. Marcus and Astrid were already at the half points of their lives and had no mates or children. Judging by the steely glare coming my way, it was a touchy subject. One I wasn’t about to broach with either of them.

I’m not a huge fan of computers, but the fact that Astrid could bring up two different screens with two different men’s faces impressed me. Even more so that we could all apparently talk to one another via a little camera and microphone already embedded in the infirmary’s laptop.

Elder Rojay was the younger of the pair, with a ruddy complexion and wild brown hair. Even across the desk, I could see that his eyes were the same striking brown as Kyle’s—as dark as a mug of black coffee. He had a large mug of something steamy on the desk in front of him, and just visible on the corner of the screen was a silver flask. Elder Dane, on the other hand, had more wrinkles and folds than a shar-pei dog. His hair was white, and his demeanor sullen, but life sparkled in those sharp copper eyes that all of his people possessed. Identical eye color was a consistent characteristic among many of the Clans. At least, it was in the Clans I’d met so far, which was only half of them.

Dr. Vansis circled to stand behind Astrid. Marcus and I hung to the side, Milo behind us.

“Who is witness to this call?” Elder Dane asked.

“Astrid and Marcus Dane of Felia,” she replied. “Reid Vansis of Ursia. Humans Evangeline Stone and Milo Gant.”

“Stone may stay. The other human must leave.”

Milo rolled his eyes—politics, he seemed to say—and left the infirmary. I considered protesting on the grounds that I’d probably just tell him everything anyway, but I held my tongue. Back-talking an Elder was a good way to get on their bad side, and I had enough enemies.

“Where is Phineas el Chimal?” Elder Rojay asked.

“He is in the city, completing a task for us,” Astrid said. “He will be briefed on our conversation as soon as possible.”

“We have no time for formalities, Elders,” Dr. Vansis said. “Have you approved my request for further information on the Lupa?”

“We have,” Elder Rojay said. “We realize that with recent events, what we know will soon become common knowledge amongst our people—something we have tried to prevent for a variety of reasons. All of our compiled medical data, sparse though it is, is being emailed to you now.”

“Good.”

“Did the Coni hunt and kill off the Lupa?” I asked. The question earned me an elbow in the ribs from Marcus.

“Yes,” Elder Dane replied. “Humans were spreading rapidly across the globe, settling in the wildernesses that had once been our sanctuaries. The Lupa were out of control, attacking humans and creating fear throughout Europe. There were cries of witchcraft. Innocents were accused and murdered. Our ancestors decided that integration with humans was the safest course for the future, which meant concealing our true natures.”

“The Lupa disagreed,” Elder Rojay said when Dane faltered. “A pack destroyed a village in Tuscany out of spite for our decision. As protectors of our kind, the Coni were tasked with hunting and executing the Lupa.”

I recalled the open hostility between Phineas and Teen Wolf, and now understood it more than ever.

“We had thought they succeeded,” Rojay continued, “but it appears we were wrong.”

“Or simply deceived,” Astrid said. “The Fey are adept at that.”

“Yes, we have heard the admission that the Fey are responsible for the survival of the Lupa. It’s their motivation that baffles us.”

“The motivation of the Fey is the least of my worries right now,” Dr. Vansis said. “Is Lupa blood poisonous to humans?”

“Their saliva can be quite toxic if it enters the blood through a bite or other wound,” Dane said.

My heart pounded harder, even as my stomach soured. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“Historically, bites caused the human to go quite mad. It affects them not unlike rabies would, without the period of dormancy. The toxin causes neural inflammation, and in those early days before proper virology studies, humans didn’t understand why this happened.”

“The bites never caused a transformation among the infected humans?” Dr. Vansis asked.

“Of course not.” Dane’s tone told us exactly how daft he thought that question was. “Such a notion is pure fiction. A human cannot become Therian any more than a vampire can become a goblin.”

Wyatt isn’t just any human. The thought did little to comfort me.

Dane continued. “The Lupa bites are not mystical. They cause a violent fever, madness, and eventually death.”

“There’s no cure?” I blurted out.

Elder Dane shook his head. “There has never been a need for one. Those early infected humans were killed by their own. Your infected human is the first in centuries.”

My infected human. It sounded so cold when put like that, but Elder Dane didn’t know Wyatt. He had no stake in Wyatt’s survival. His only major loyalties were to the Pride and the Assembly. But Wyatt was strong. He was Gifted, dammit. He could beat this.

“Is there anything else about the Lupa that you can tell us?” Astrid asked.

“They are an old race, second only to the Coni, and strong.”

“And bi-shifters,” I said, thinking back to my Boot Camp battle with Wolf Boy in his half-wolf form. He’d been one scary son of a bitch.

Both Elders glanced at separate corners of their screens, probably where each saw the other, and shared a look I couldn’t decipher. They had to know I’d been told about the bi-shifters in general; I just didn’t know which Clans had the ability. Only my own guesses, based on an old clue from Michael Jenner.

“Yes, they are also bi-shifters,” Elder Dane said.

Fabulous.

“The medical information should have arrived,” Elder Rojay said. “Best of luck.” He signed off.

The monitor expanded the angry visage of Elder Dane. “Astrid,” he said.

She stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

“You have three very serious problems, and as the chief security liaison to the Assembly, need I remind you of your priority?”

“No, Elder Dane, you needn’t do that.”

Dane’s gaze flickered up and past me to Marcus. “Do not disappoint.” The three words fell like anvils, and then the screen went blue.

Marcus growled, deep and low.

Dr. Vansis snatched up the laptop.

“What’s your priority, exactly?” I asked Astrid.

“Protecting the Clans,” she said in a flat tone. “Which means my first priority is finding and destroying the Lupa, and then finding our missing people.”

I bristled, hands balling into fists. “So Wyatt and the sick vampires come in a distant third?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize that all of these things are connected, right?”

She stood up, my height, but somehow impossibly taller. Fury flashed in her eyes, and her true form prowled just beneath the surface. I’d seen Astrid shift several times in the last month, but her leopard was nowhere near as intimidating as the woman. “Yes, I realize all these things are connected, and I also realize that you aren’t used to taking orders and following the commands of your superiors, so let me make something clear. Isleen is sick. Baylor is in the field. Right now, I am in charge of the Watchtower, and if you wish to continue working with us, you will follow my fucking orders.”

Hot damn, I’d never heard her cuss before. The cold delivery of her mini-rant didn’t cow me, but it did make one thing perfectly clear—she wasn’t happy about the ordering of her priorities. Good. It meant she cared about more than just her Clans.

“Understood,” I said.

She blinked hard, as though surprised by my sudden acquiescence. “Good.”

“I need permission to leave the Watchtower.”

“Stone, we still don’t know—”

“I know what we don’t know, Astrid.” I was toeing the line with her, but had the faintest outline of a plan forming in my head. I just couldn’t do anything about it stuck here. “We don’t know a hell of a lot, including what this disease will eventually do to the vampires here, or if Wyatt’s going to die from that werewolf bite. But Thackery does know, and I can at least get us a few more werewolves.”

She gave me a dubious frown. “How?”

“I need to know Phin’s current location, and I need two tranq guns with the strongest local anesthetic we have.”

“For?”

“I used to be a Hunter, right?” I smiled. “I’m going hunting.”