by S T Branton
“And you always will.” She turned her head away from the phone, and I heard her curse softly. “Damn it. These frigging cops keep looking this way. I think I’ve got to get back in there.”
“Okay. Hang tough. I’ll try to do the same. Can’t wait to see you.” It felt weird as hell saying that to her and knowing her next visit was going to be in the visiting room, during visiting hours, and I might still be wearing handcuffs.
“I can’t wait to see you either. Promise me you won’t worry, Vic. I’m a great lawyer. We can do this.”
I smiled. “Yes you are, and yes we can. I won’t worry if you don’t worry about me. It’s about time I had some peace and quiet anyway.”
“Right.” She cursed again. “Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”
Click. The line went dead. I placed the phone back into its box and stood up, my eyes on my prison guard. As soon as she saw me watching her, she slipped her phone into her pocket and ambled over to escort me back to my cell. As the door slid shut behind me, I stood at the tiny window in the thick cement wall and stared at a lovely view of an empty back lot. Talking to Jules had been both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because it restored some of my sanity, and a curse because the restored sanity gave me a fresh perspective on how much life in jail was going to absolutely blow.
“Shit,” I muttered into my hands, scrubbing my palms across my face. No matter how I sliced it, I couldn’t even imagine a scenario in which I emerged with less than twenty-five years. Even if I somehow managed to dodge the murder charge, I still had Silas Monk to contend with, and that incident included grand theft auto. All the questionable decisions I’d ever made in life were finally catching up to me all at once—and punching me in the face. Though my faith in Jules as a person remained unwavering, the most she could do was hope to cut me a deal.
I told myself that killing a god was worth it. But I couldn’t seem to make it stick.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I’d been in my holding cell for at least six hours when the agents finally came to get me. The grate slid open to reveal two almost comically mismatched men: one slender and mild-looking, the other tough and hard-bodied. The tough one had a jawline that looked like it could cut diamonds, and he displayed it prominently as he stared at me.
“So, you’re the little lady that’s got all of New York going nuts,” he said. “Huh.”
I already hated him.
They took me out of the detention center, put me in the back of a car, and brought me to a separate location to be interrogated. The whole process struck me as more than a little weird, but I didn’t know much about real police work, and I was already in enough trouble as it was, so I kept my mouth shut. We went in through a back entrance, down some bleak, unmarked hallways, and into a room that reminded me of those old pictures of sanitariums. Bare floor, bare bulb in the ceiling, one wall made of one-way glass.
“You want anything?” the mild guy asked. “Coffee? Water? Soda?”
I licked my chapped lips. “Water would be good.”
He nodded, and then he left to get it. I sat handcuffed to the edge of the table, pointedly not meeting the raking gaze of Mr. Tough Guy. Tough Guy didn’t say anything, just sat in his office chair and watched me from across the tabletop. Maybe he thought he could psych me out, force out a confession before the tapes even really began.
He didn’t know who the hell he was dealing with. I hadn’t been in the room for more than five minutes, and we were already stubbornly at odds. By the time the other guy got back with my water, the atmosphere in the room had been tacitly charged with negativity. Nice Guy looked between us as he took his seat, raised an eyebrow, and started the tape.
Nice Guy informed me of my rights, which I already knew. Tough Guy sat back with his bulging arms folded, still staring at me. A younger, more impulsive Vic might have lost her patience, gone over the table at him, and ended up in prison anyway for assaulting an agent. As it was, I did my best to match his silence with a sullen one of my own.
“Now, listen, Victoria,” said Nice Guy. “We—”
“Call me Vic,” I said. “That’s it.”
Tough Guy scowled, but his partner nodded graciously. “All right then,” he said in his soothing voice. “We know you were in City Hall when the mayor was killed, Vic. You’re on a lot of the footage we pulled from those cameras in his office, okay? I mean, you’re on a lot of it.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there.” I’d already made up my mind not to bullshit about things they knew about. That was childish, and it wouldn’t help my case if I ever did have to bring it to court. I couldn’t bring myself to be a shitty client if Jules was my lawyer.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened? Take your time, in your own words. We’re not going anywhere.”
“But if you start lying, we’ll know,” Tough Guy chimed in. He sat forward a bit, resting his massive forearms on the table. The shoulders of his suit jacket bulged.
I looked at him evenly. “If you’ll know when I’m lying, why do I need to tell you what happened?” For anyone else in any other circumstances, this kind of thing would have been an awful idea. But I had nothing left to lose. I figured I might as well have a little fun at their expense. Especially if Tough Guy was going to act like a royal meathead the whole time.
He was not amused. “You wanna know why?” he asked. “Because Davis and I know you’re type. Lying comes second nature, and we need that shit on tape, so start singing.”
“Easy, Harrigan,” the mild guy said.
He scooted his chair closer to me and crossed his legs, giving me an excellent view of the perfect crease in his pressed pants. I side-eyed him. They were a majorly odd couple, these two, but they must have been great at bringing in results.
“We just want to know the truth,” Mild Guy continued. “And we know you know the truth, and you want to tell us what that is.” An encouraging smile passed over his lips. “So, here’s an excellent opportunity for all of us to get what we want.”
I rolled my eyes. “The only way I’m getting what I want is if I spontaneously decide I want to go to jail.” I fiddled with the chain on my handcuffs, filling the room with the clink of metal on metal. “You can’t grant me immunity for all of this. What’s more, you wouldn’t even if you could.”
Mild Guy looked as regretful as his bland face could manage. “The camera doesn’t lie, Vic. It’s the perfect witness.”
“Can I see those tapes?” I asked. “Like, can I watch them? Because if you’re drawing your conclusions mainly from those tapes, I guarantee there’s something missing.”
“The tapes are currently still under review by a team of forensic specialists.” Mild Guy turned his expression into an approximation of sadness. “But I promise you, Vic, there can’t be anything in that footage that completely exonerates you of the crime. The evidence against you is extremely definitive.”
“He’s saying you don’t have room to bargain,” Tough Guy chimed in. “So, your only choice is to square up with us.” He clicked the end of a pen in and out with one giant thumb.
I released a protracted, long-suffering sigh. “Looking to catch me in a lie. Damn, that’s heavy shit, isn’t it? And here I was thinking the murder of the mayor of New York was bad enough.”
Harrigan glared at me, completely stone-faced. The pad of paper that went with his clicky pen remained empty. He was only concerned with intimidating me until I talked.
I took that as a challenge.
“I think it would be good for you to take these charges with all the seriousness they merit,” Mild Guy said. “The resulting sentences could potentially affect the rest of your life.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I haven’t spent the last eight hours thinking about that at all. What do you think the chances are that they’ll give me the death penalty? At least that way, I’ll know where I’m supposed to be going.”
The pen clicking stopped. Harrigan’s fist practically swallowed the writing instrument. I c
ould tell by the way he looked that he would have loved nothing more than to hit me. That would’ve been fine. A good fight would hurt, but it would also let off some steam.
“The death penalty is limited in New York,” he said, his icy eyes never leaving my face. “But you will be tried as a traitor to the U.S., and treason is considered a capital offense. If you’re found guilty of domestic terrorism, they’ll ship you off to GITMO. How would you like that?”
“Not ideal,” I said. “What about Alcatraz? I’ve always wanted to see that place in person.”
Harrigan smirked. “Two days in GITMO, you’ll be wishing you were dead. You talk a tough game now, but I know your type. Soon as they put your feet to the fire, you’ll be crying for your mom.”
It was my turn to glower. He’d hit the hot button, whether he knew it or not. “Maybe if you bend over far enough,” I said slowly, “you can fit all of Guantanamo up your steroid-padded ass. I want my lawyer. Now.”
Davis’s mild face suddenly didn’t look so mild. A cruel little smirk tilted his mouth. “We’ve tried to play nice, Victoria—”
“Don’t call me that,” I spat, thinking of Marcus and wishing he were with me.
The agent ignored me. “But you’re making this difficult,” he said. “If you don’t help me out, I’m going to turn off the camera and let Harrigan here have some fun.” He glanced at his grinning, bastard partner. “And he doesn’t have much for bedside manners.”
I looked Davis in the eyes and then Harrigan. “Fuck off. Both of you. I know my rights.”
Just as the douchebag stood, the steel door across the room swung open. I can’t say if I was relieved or excited.
“St. Clare?” Harrigan said, eyes narrowed. “The hell you—”
But before Bad Cop could finish the sentence, Deacon had drawn and put a bullet between his eyes. His partner dropped immediately after.
“Hey.” Deacon pulled a handcuff key from his pocket and freed me. “Not to state the obvious, but we gotta get the hell out of here. Think I might have just broken protocal.”
I glanced between him and the bodies on the floor which had now disappeared into piles of fine ash.
“Holy shit,” I said. “They’re vampires? But how’d you know.”
“Our friend from the park. He came and found me, told me everything. I guess right about the time you were saving your friend. I’m sorry Vic, I should have trusted you.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I told you I’d protect the Mayor and I failed.”
“Yeah, but only because his assistant was dirty. Along with these agents, and half of New York’s finest. The gods got to them all,” Deacon said grimly. He beckoned urgently. “Let’s go. We’re gonna have to fight our way out of this mess.”
“Uh, Deacon?” I showed him my empty hands, my pocketless orange jumpsuit. “Fight with what? My fists? I’ve only got two, and this is a huge building.”
He smiled slightly. “Little did you know, I brought you a gift. Consider it part one of my grand apology.” With that, he reached into his jacket and produced the Gladius Solis. “Incidentally, this is the other reason we need to haul ass up out of here. I am definitely not supposed to have this thing.”
I grinned. “Neither am I.” The sword felt good in my hands again, like I’d just had a limb restored. “Okay, now I’m a hundred percent down for this.”
“I didn’t expect I would be,” Deacon said, “but actually, I kind of am, too.” He paused one more time at the door. “This is the point of no return, Vic. For real this time.”
I laughed. “Deacon, I passed that point a long time ago. This is a one-way trip.”
He nodded. “Yeah. For both of us, now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Quick question,” I said, as we dashed through long, dark, winding halls. The thunder of approaching footsteps seemed to be closing in from all sides, and I had no idea where we were going. “Where the hell are we, and why is it so damn dark?”
“That’s two questions!” Deacon called. “I’ll answer them in a minute. Looks like we’re about to have company.” The hallway ahead looked like it was seething, crowded with a mass of dark shapes. “Try not to kill them if you can help it,” Deacon said. “We’re in enough trouble as-is without padding our body count, and I won’t know who’s with the enemy and who is just trying to do their jobs.” An agent rushed him, dark suit flapping, and Deacon landed a mean punch right across the guy’s jaw. I watched the runner drop like a sack of bricks.
But I didn’t have time to admire Deacon’s fighting form, impressive as it was. A crush of sharply dressed agents converged around us like a swarm of locusts, trying to pull us down into their depths. I kept the blade of the Gladius Solis dormant, but the heavy edge of the hilt served me well. It reminded me intensely of being in the pit with Marcus, only instead of yelling advice and encouragement, Deacon was busy showing me up.
Agents dropped around him like flies. He waded forward, pushing toward the edge and motioning for me to follow. “We’re going left and then right!” he shouted, simultaneously felling another agent with a well-placed hit to the side of the neck. He’d lost his jacket at some point while I wasn’t looking, and his crisp white shirt stood out like an inverse bloodstain. I plunged after him, sword hilt carving the way forward.
It took a few minutes, but I eventually caught back up to Deacon. We fled the horde along a more dimly lit, meandering hall. He grabbed my arm. “Okay. Pretty soon I’m gonna say run, and when I say that, we flat-out sprint. Got it?”
“What are we sprinting toward?” I asked skeptically. “A blind curve?” The place was full of them, and there seemed to be more baddies around every corner.
“No. You’ll see.” We rounded a normal corner, and Deacon bellowed, “Run!”
This corridor was a straight shot with a smooth, polished floor. Our pounding footsteps rang out like a flurry of gunshots. A huge, heavy door loomed at the end of the passage. That, I guessed, was what we were aiming for.
Deacon started out ahead, but my nectar and I gained on him quickly, and soon, I’d blown by without a second thought. I was also the one who pulled the doors open just enough for the two of us to slip through ahead of our zealous pursuers.
“Damn, girl.” Deacon leaned on the door to catch his breath. “What are you, an Ironman veteran? You got some serious athletic chops.”
I grinned at him. “Jealous?”
“A little bit, yeah! I’ve seen these doors require two separate people to open.” Abruptly, he pulled in his breath, held it, and put a finger to his lips. I followed suit, ears open. There was someone walking somewhere nearby, their footfalls echoing. We waited tensely until the sound faded away.
Then I said, “Seriously, where were we? And where are we?” We’d emerged on what looked more like a normal floor, with an open section butting up against walled offices. Deacon wound his way around the outer edge of the open office, checking every corner with the neurotic thoroughness of a man who’d paid the price for negligence once before. “Standard FBI facility,” he said, eyes sweeping our surroundings. “On the surface, anyway. This one’s a little special because it’s got an underground section. A section that’s ‘dark,’ if you will.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I furrowed my brow. “Seems like they took it a little too literally.”
“Just means it’s buried deep and hard to track. The stuff that goes on in there is much less likely to make it out into the public eye, barring a planned informational release.”
“So that’s why they brought me down there.” I frowned hard. “What a couple of doucheboats.”
“Who, Harrigan and Davis?” A cloud moved across Deacon’s face. “They’ve always been a couple of assholes, but I didn’t expect this.”
“I’ve seen a lot I didn’t expect.” We continued down the hall. “How far up does the compromise go?”
“All the way, maybe.” Deacon did half a shrug. “I don’t know. I was trying to fin
d more information on my way here, but it just seems like everything’s chaos. I’m not sure what happened.”
“Maybe if we ever find our way out of this place, we’ll figure it out.”
“Relax.” Deacon put his hand on my arm. “I’ve been through this place a hundred times. I got your back.”
I glanced around the creepy half-darkness, searching the low-lighted places for more dark suits. The whole office area seemed completely deserted, the same way Lorcan had cleaned out his operation at the top of the One World Trade Center.
“Where is everyone?” I whispered. “Did they all come down to try and keep us from reaching the surface?”
“Doesn’t seem possible. This is a huge facility.” No sooner had he said that than a furious pattering sound caught our attention. I turned just in time to see a blurred shape launch through the air toward Deacon, striking him square in the chest. He grunted and stumbled backward. “What the hell, man?”
Reaching out to help him, I realized that the projectile was actually a person, a small man clinging onto Deacon’s shoulders and snarling into his face. His teeth looked like they were half-formed fangs grown in at strange angles. I grabbed him by the back of his once-respectable dark suit and flung him into a distant corner.
Shaking my head, I shouted, “Man I hate these things.”
We took two more turns, and I could feel the anticipation building in Deacon. We were almost out, had to be.
“Stairwell’s right over there.” He pointed. “We go up, then straight out. There are faster ways to do it, but you have to go through more of the main building, and I didn’t want us to get mobbed.” He paused. “Ready?”
“As ever.” I braced the hilt in my hand. We ran for the stairs, and at the top, Deacon kicked open the door. He froze. I almost ran straight into him.
“Steph?” Deacon said. A beat of silence passed. “Put your gun down. You don’t understand how big this is.”