Cursed fs-1 Page 19

  He’s moved in again. This time instead of trying to grab Isabella, he goes for the coffin. Its silver lining burns his hands. He pulls away with a hiss, shaking them both. Then his expression turns resolute and he grabs the side using only his left. I smell his flesh burn, watch as smoke curls up between his fingers.

  “Zack!”

  Sweat beads on his forehead. He grits his teeth and growls in rage, not backing down. Before I can reach him to help, the coffin tips. Zack is pinned beneath it along with Pierce and Isabella. I catch a glimpse of his blistered hand as I move to help lift the coffin. I needn’t have bothered. Isabella, now stronger from the blood, arches her back and throws it off, then turns her rage on Zack.

  With lightning-fast reflexes he’s on his feet, poised and ready. Isabella rushes toward him, pushing him through the open door, out into the lab, and they fall to the floor.

  I lower the shields and try to get into Isabella’s mind—to plant a calming seed. But she’s too far gone to listen to rational thought. Half mad from silver poisoning, her mind is broken. She’s capable only of acting on instinct, acting to ease the pain of starvation and to fight for survival.

  She’s forgotten Pierce now, turning her snapping jaws to Zack. Even with Zack’s damaged hand, he’s able to fend off her attacks, holding her at arm’s length. Under normal circumstances, a Were would be no match for a vampire’s strength. But Zack is powerful and Isabella is young, weak, and her need to feed is paramount.

  I grab a scalpel from a nearby tray and slice open one of the bag’s ports. At the smell of blood, Isabella whirls toward me. I hold it out and she snatches it from my hands, latching on to it like a babe sucking at its mother’s breast. By the time she’s finished with the first, I have another open and ready for her. “Get more, Zack,” I yell.

  When Isabella accepts the blood, there’s the dawning of recognition and wonder in her eyes. I catch a glimpse of myself in the window and am reminded that the shields are still down. I glance around for Zack. His back is to me, heading into the laboratory. I realize this may be my only chance to get into her head.

  “Isabella, listen to me. We’re here to help you, but you have to trust us. We’re friends of Michael’s.”

  “Michael?”

  “He’s never given up on you.” I hand her the third blood bag. “Cooperate with us.”

  Zack is coming back toward us, a handful of blood bags and a clean white sheet in his hands. I pull up the shields, wait for him to join us. Isabella is still looking at me, a puzzled frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. But she says nothing, accepting the sheet Zack holds out to her.

  She wraps the sheet around her nude body.

  “Trust us,” Zack says, offering her another blood bag. “We’ll get you home. Safe and sound.”

  He goes to Pierce, lying still under Isabella’s coffin, blood pooling beneath her head. He feels for a pulse, looks up at me, shakes his head.

  I sigh and look around the room. The five remaining coffins are closed. While Zack stays with Isabella, I open them, one by one, throwing off the silver blankets that cover the vampires trapped inside and pulling needles from arms, stopping the flow of anesthesia rendering them immobile.

  Only one opens his eyes immediately upon being freed.

  Evan.

  CHAPTER 21

  Evan sits up in the coffin, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He looks at me, narrows his eyes, and growls. “Emma? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?” He looks around. “Where am I?” He glances down. “Shit. Why the fuck am I naked?”

  Questions fired machine-gun-style, not pausing for reply or comment. Eyes now burrowing into my skull.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Emma.” Zack has pulled another sheet off the shelf and he tosses it to me.

  I hold it up and Evan climbs out of the coffin, still glaring at me. Once on his own two feet, he folds the sheet in two, then wraps it around his waist like a towel. He turns back to examine the tomb that held him prisoner, fingering the plastic coil and then yanking it from the canister. Where a drop of liquid touches his skin, a blister erupts. He peers at it. “Silver.”

  He glares at me. “What happened?”

  “You were kidnapped.”

  Alarm darkens Evan’s face as if he’s searching for the meaning of my words, searching for some memory of how he got here, searching for the clue that will snap the pieces of the puzzle together. He moves to peer into the coffins on either side of the one that held him. The vampires inside haven’t opened their eyes. Two men, their skin wrinkled and black, lie in a dark, viscous fluid that weeps from scars like Isabella’s. It pools at the bottom of the coffin. The smell is acrid and tinged with decay.

  When I join him, Evan’s head is bowed. “They’ve been exposed too long.” He says it softly and matter-of-factly. “Look at their skin. The silver poisoning is bone deep. Even if we could revive them, they would remain mad. We can’t bring them back.”

  “You’ve seen this kind of thing before?” I ask. My memory slips back to a terrible period when the Inquisition ran rampant and torture became an art.

  He nods. “Wrapping a vampire in silver was a favorite torment during the Middle Ages.”

  “Middle Ages?” Zack has joined us, catching Evan’s last remark. “How old are you?”

  Evan ignores the question, his eyes searching the room.

  I can guess what he’s looking for. What he intends to do. What he must do.

  There is a small desk in the back of the room with a wooden folding chair beside it. He crosses the room with quick strides, sweeps up the chair, and smashes it against the floor. He lifts a leg of the chair, broken off at the base and splintered into a sharp point.

  Then he’s back at the coffins. With no hesitation, he drives the stake through the hearts of the two vampires. First one, then the other. There is a long sigh from each, like a release of both breath and life. A cloud rises as their bodies disintegrate and then they are gone. Only a fine red ash remains, coating the bottom of the caskets, coagulating in the fluid like a grisly scab.

  Evan remains motionless for a moment, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped.

  Pierce may have thought vampires were inhuman, but this is a most human reaction. The reaction of having taken life . . . of coming face-to-face with the finality of real death.

  Evan straightens and turns to look at me again. “How long have I been gone?”

  “About two days.”

  He grimaces. “Liz must be frantic. I need to call her.”

  I hand him my cell and step away to allow him a moment of privacy. Zack has moved to the next coffin and freed Amy. I can’t help smiling. Although she’s weak, she’s able to stand on her own. She’s safe. Our case solved.

  Evan rejoins me, hands me back my cell with a smile of thanks. “I’ve got to get home. Preferably with my clothes.” He glances around again. “Then I’m going to have a lot of questions.”

  Zack has offered Amy a blood bag. Now he turns to Evan. “Do you need blood?”

  He shakes his head. “I can wait.”

  Isabella had been quietly listening to the exchange between Evan and me. Now she’s turned her attention to the bag in Zack’s hand. Minutes ago she would have killed for blood. I glance over at Pierce’s body, battered and broken. She did kill for it. Now that she’s fed, the transformation is astounding. Color and texture have returned to her skin and hair. She looks once again like the picture Dexter gave the police when she went missing. She joins Evan as he beats Zack to the last closed coffin, opens it, and peers inside.

  There’s a flick of recognition and something else—a shadow of guilt? Evan says gruffly, “This one’s got to have blood.”

  “I’ll get it.” Isabella plucks one from the pile Zack left on a nearby table and opens it.

  “You know him.” It’s not a question. Evan’s expression tells me it’s true.

  “His name is Owen Cooper.” Evan jerks the sheet wr
apped around his waist tighter. His expression is filled with both frustration and anger. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” His voice rises, giving vent to anger the only way he can.

  I lay a hand on his arm. “I’ll see if I can find them.” I head for the single closed door I haven’t yet opened. “Let’s see what’s behind door number four.” When I open it, there’s only an empty bed inside and a closet, also empty.

  On my way back to the lab, I notice a trash can marked HAZARDOUS WASTE pushed underneath the sink against the back wall. Incineration would be a neat and tidy way to dispose of evidence. I lift the lid. There’s a suit lying right on top. I pull it out and shake it. Shirt, tie, and shoes are bunched inside and fall to the floor. The suit is well tailored, looks to be the right size. Probably Evan’s. Under the suit in the trash can are other men’s clothing, black jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket. Owen’s maybe? I quickly gather them up. The women’s clothes are nowhere to be found. Pierce must have already disposed of them. I make a side trip into the lab and grab two sets of scrubs from the shelf. Not exactly designer duds, but somehow I don’t think the vampires will complain.

  “What were they going to do with us?” Evan asks when I reenter the room.

  I realize the others have all quieted, awaiting my response. “Dr. Pierce discovered that vampire organs could universally be transplanted into humans. And because a vampire’s organs regenerate—”

  “She could do it over and over again.” Isabella, still wrapped in a sheet, places a hand over her abdomen where I saw the web of scars.

  I wonder if even now the scars are becoming fainter, skin knitting itself whole.

  Zack is speaking. “Until the silver poisoning made it impossible.”

  Evan’s eyes are hard as he accepts his clothes from me. They are focused on Pierce’s body. “Is she the one who did this to us?”

  I nod.

  “Who killed her?”

  I gesture toward Isabella. She and Amy are standing together, talking softly. “When Isabella awoke, she was mad from starvation. It was pure reflex.”

  Evan looks me in the eye. “If she hadn’t killed the bitch, I would have.” He drops the sheet and quickly steps into his clothes.

  I approach the women and hand them the scrubs. Neither looks uncomfortable as they both drop their sheets, too, and slip them on. Vampires have low inhibitions. I’m the one who turns away. Accepting sheets to cover themselves was obviously for my benefit. Certainly not Zack’s. He’s quietly speaking with a naked Owen as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The only creature less modest than a vampire is a shifter.

  Zack’s handed Owen four bags of blood.

  “Thanks, man.”

  The vampire still hasn’t made an attempt to sit up. He gulps the offered blood eagerly, draining the first bag in seconds. He seems to be fumbling with the second, and without hesitation, Zack breaks it open and hands it to him. This time, he drinks more slowly. Within minutes of finishing the second bag, he’s able to climb out of the coffin. Some of the wounds on his body where the silver blanket came in contact with his flesh have already started to heal. Owen stretches. He looks to have been in his midtwenties when he was turned. He has light brown hair and a sinewy build, which at the moment is prominently on display.

  I toss the remaining clothes I have to Zack so he can give them to the vampire, then turn to Evan, who has been staring at Owen. “Does he need more blood?”

  Evan doesn’t answer. He’s fully dressed now, down to the knotted tie and polished shoes, clothes wrinkled but presentable.

  He heads toward Owen. “You still look like shit, my friend,” Evan tells him. Then to me, “He’s going to need one, maybe two more bags.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Zack asks.

  But Evan’s eyes don’t flicker from the younger vampire. “You were taken with me?”

  Owen nods.

  I leave to fetch more blood. When I return, Owen’s on his fourth. He finishes it off and tosses it to the side, wiping the blood from his chin with his forearm.

  Then he sees the clothes in Zack’s hand. He grins and reaches over to grab the leather jacket. “I thought for sure this was toast,” he says. He pulls on the jeans, ignores the T-shirt, zips on the jacket. “I feel better already.”

  Evan breaks into bag number five and offers it to him. His hand goes to Owen’s shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Zack looks from one to the other. “If you two were taken at the same time, why does he look so much worse?”

  Evan doesn’t answer, his expression calm, expectant. I get the impression he knows, but considers this Owen’s tale to tell.

  “I’d been detoxing . . . again . . . trying to kick drinking straight from the tap . . . again.” Owen tosses the empty blood bag onto the floor. “I hadn’t fed in seventy-two hours.”

  Evan holds up the last full bag, a questioning look on his face.

  Owen shakes his head. “I’m good.” Then to Zack, “Evan is my sponsor. He was going to take me to an Emporium. I was due to start back on the bagged stuff.” He turns back to Evan. “Dude, who the fuck did you piss off?”

  “You saw what happened? You tell me,” Evan says. “I don’t remember anything except leaving the office two nights ago. I was on my way out when you pulled up.” He passes a hand over his face. “I never sensed anyone near me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a coffin.”

  “You were walking. There was a pop and you dropped, like a fly. I got out of my car and headed toward you. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?” I ask.

  “Not a fucking soul,” Owen replies.

  “When did you last see Barbara Pierce?” I ask Evan.

  His eyes flick to her body. “At my office, when she visited the afternoon before the benefit. It was the only time I’d ever met her. I usually dealt with Alan directly. We had a lunch meeting scheduled and he was going to hand-deliver my tickets for the benefit. But he got stuck dealing with some last-minute details. So his mother stopped by to drop them off instead.”

  “That’s the day you disappeared.” From Zack.

  “Did you serve anything to eat or drink while she was there?” I ask.

  “We all had tea.”

  “Maybe she slipped some slow-working drug into your tea. Then waited for you to leave the building,” I suggest, saying it to calm Evan. To try to contain this. It’s Mager who brought the vampires down. I’m sure of it. But it’s not up to Evan or anyone else in the vampire community to exact justice upon him. Mager may be a despicable criminal, but he’s also human.

  Unfortunately, Evan isn’t buying it. “Too much left to chance. Based on what Owen saw, I’d say she had help.” Evan’s jaw tightens as he looks around. “An operation of this size? She had to have help. Is Barakov in on this? Or Alan?”

  He tone is sharp. He wants someone else to be involved. Someone alive on whom he can exact revenge.

  I can’t blame him. But I can’t let him.

  “No,” I reply. “Alan told us Barakov didn’t know anything about what his wife was doing. His only involvement was to give her the idea about silver’s effect on vampires.” I sweep my hand around. “This was all her own idea.”

  “And you believe him?” Isabella asks.

  “He couldn’t have lied,” I reply simply. “I know.”

  “And yet Alan knew something, because here you are,” Evan says.

  “He only recently found out what his mother was doing.”

  “And he sent you here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  My thoughts turn to Dexter. Is this the time to tell them, to tell Isabella, why she is here?

  “Wait a minute,” Amy interrupts before I can speak. “Barakov? I know that name.”

  “So do I,” adds Isabella. “And I know Alan Pierce. Are you sure they aren’t all in on this together?”

  Zack steps forwa
rd. “We’re positive. She had help, obviously.” He’s choosing his words carefully. “But her husband wasn’t involved in your kidnappings. Neither was Alan.”

  “You will find out who was, though, right?” Amy asks Zack, her green eyes flashing.

  “We’ll do what we can. Now that you’re safe, that’s the priority,” he replies. He hears the threat in Amy’s tone, too. And he’s already seen Isabella in action.

  Amy and Isabella seem to have recovered completely. Recovered enough in fact for Amy to fix Zack and me with a steely gaze and ask, “Who are you?”

  Zack extends a hand. “I’m Special Agent Zack Armstrong. This is Special Agent Emma Monroe. FBI.”

  She shakes both of our hands in turn, then looks at us from beneath lowered eyebrows. “What are you? Agents of the FBI’s X-Files Bureau?”

  “I didn’t know they let the furry into the Bureau these days,” snorts Owen.

  Zack glares at the vampire he’s just saved. “Even a young pup knows not to bite the hand that feeds it,” he growls.

  Owen looks appropriately contrite. “Sorry, Agent Armstrong. That was out of line. I owe you both. Big-time.”

  Evan looks around the lab. “Is anyone else here?”

  Zack and I exchange a quick look. His neutral expression and small shrug throw the question to me. He’s going to let me decide if we should tell them about Dexter. Tell Isabella that she was to be his donor. I don’t know if she was aware that he was sick. Or if Dexter is aware of anything that happened since Alan drugged him the night before. I don’t know how to begin.

  Zack picks up on my hesitation and comes to my rescue, smoothly waving away Evan’s question by a skillful change of subject.

  “Amy, Ms. Haskell is going to be very relieved to see you. She’s been worried sick.”

  Amy’s eyes widen in surprise. “How long have I been gone?”