The Turn

by Kim Harrison

  “You okay?” Orchid said as she hovered beside him, her dust an ugly yellow-green.

  His couch scattered about his feet, Kal stood in the middle of his apartment, his plans ruined, stinking worse than Trisk’s decaying field. “We have to go,” he said flatly, too angry to think straight about the details yet. “Right now.”

  “No kidding.” Orchid darted to the window. “So much for riding it out here. Nothing like a master vampire wanting to come to you personally when his main food supply goes bad.”

  “That’s not it,” Kal said as he strode into his bedroom to pack a small bag. Most undead had a bevy of living vampires they fed upon, but if they all fell sick, there’d be a span of time when the undead might go ranging for the uninfected, and unwilling, blood of witches, Weres, and elves. Even so, he wasn’t running from Niles or Saladan.

  No, he had to find Trisk and prevent her from exposing the truth, for as Sa’han Ulbrine had said, if humanity was indeed on its way out, he couldn’t allow the elves to be the reason for it lest the rest of Inderland rise up and wipe them all out in turn.

  20

  Trisk lay on her cot, aching from having hit her truck’s dash and rolling over the hood and onto the road. One arm across her forehead, she stared at the ceiling, knowing exactly how many wads of gum were stuck to it and the exact rhythm of the faucet drip in the cell across the aisle. The smell of the cotton cot mixed with the oil and grime from the gas station on her clothes, making her ill. There were no windows, but she could tell by the utter silence that dusk had fallen. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it was close.

  And I’m alive. Stretching where she lay, she winced, a hand going to her middle. Alive, yes, but she didn’t feel well, hungry and ill at the same time. Lunch had been spaghetti, which Daniel had missed entirely since he had been at the hospital getting his possible concussion checked out. The thought that she’d caught Daniel’s virus flitted through her, easily dismissed. Even if Kal had made the virus more virulent, he wouldn’t allow it to infect elves, and not through spaghetti sauce canned a year ago.

  All afternoon, they’d listened to the sporadic talk coming from the front offices of possibly transferring them to Reno, but that apparently had fallen through. So had dinner, as lunch had been their last meal, Daniel getting someone’s meatloaf sandwich instead. The phone had rung a few times, going unanswered. That they hadn’t seen anyone since Daniel had been brought back didn’t bode well. It was utterly quiet, not even a radio anymore. Daniel was asleep on one of the benches in the cell across from her, but Quen, in the cell with him, stood at the bars, his head down as he listened.

  “Do you think anyone is out there?” she whispered, and his eyes flicked from the open door to the offices to her.

  “Alive? No.” Sighing heavily, he sat down right where he was, legs crossed and head thumping gently into the bars. He looked tired, his heavily stubbled face reminding her of their late-night study sessions.

  Tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders, she stood and hobbled closer on her sock feet. Everything complained as she stoically sat down as close as she could get to him. The cold from the cement floor seeped into her like an ache. Her hand, still raw from a burn, rasped against the rough wool, and she hid it behind the fabric before he could see in the dim light the officers had left on for them. “I don’t know about you, but there’s usually copious amounts of alcohol and loud music before I wake up in jail,” she said wryly.

  Quen’s head came up, and he showed her a smile before it vanished in worry. “I haven’t heard any movement in the front offices for hours. Not since someone threw up. I haven’t heard anyone leave, either. We might be in trouble.”

  “You think they’re dead?” she asked, not sure what horrified her more: that the cops might be dead, or that if they were, no one would know the three of them were in here.

  He didn’t answer as he looked toward the silent front offices. “We should probably start thinking about how we can get out.”

  Trisk watched Daniel, his face to the wall as he slept. It would be easier to escape if they were free to do magic. “Do you think he remembers?” she said softly.

  “That you can do magic?” Daniel said loudly, clearly not asleep as they had thought.

  Trisk froze, her lips parting as Quen turned to stare at the man as he sat up on the bench, tugging his blanket up against the cold and putting his stocking feet on the floor.

  “That you summoned a demon in your barn?” Daniel said, squinting. “That you wanted to kill me?” he added, scrubbing a hand over his face to feel the bristles. “Yeah. I remember.”

  His hair was a mess, and his dress slacks and shirt wrinkled and dirty. But he was alive, and Trisk closed her eyes in heartache. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and his gaze shifted to hers.

  Quen’s expression darkened, and Trisk’s pulse quickened. “Sit your butt down, Quen,” she barked out, angry at him, angry at the world, angry at being in jail. “You’re not killing him now. Besides, by the end of the year, I don’t think there are going to be any humans left.”

  Quen didn’t look convinced as much as willing to wait. “You think it’s going to take that long?” he muttered as Daniel shuffled to the washbasin and splashed water on his face. “How is it moving, Trisk? If it was airborne, he’d be sick,” he said, gesturing at Daniel, who now had his face in the sink and was running water over his hair.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. But she was willing to bet Kal was responsible.

  Finger-combing his wet hair, Daniel edged closer to Quen, his attention alternating between them. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

  His expression stoic, Quen stood and turned his back on them as if by ignoring the question, he could pretend she wasn’t about to break the most important rule of all, the one that had kept all of Inderland safe for two thousand years.

  Trisk bowed her head. “My family is from Europe,” she said as she tried to make him understand. “We lived on the same land for eight hundred years. Before that, I don’t know.”

  Quen went to the far end of the cell. “Hey! Anyone alive out there?” he shouted, but only silence came back.

  “Yeah, okay. But what are you?” Daniel asked, his hands going into his pockets.

  She tried to smile. “There was a problem with a girl. It escalated, and my great-great-something grandfather fled to America in the 1820s.”

  Anger crossed Daniel’s face, furrowing his brow. “You aren’t human,” he accused, his weight shifting to his other foot.

  “He started a farm,” she tried again. “And then went back to get the woman he loved.” Her smile turned real. “He stole her away in the night. I’m named after her, actually. My family has lived here ever since. I grew up in Cincinnati. My dad still lives there.”

  Daniel grasped the bars. “Trisk,” he prompted, and she stood, heart pounding.

  “Before I say, you have to understand. We’ve been here all the time,” she pleaded, and Quen sighed, his wide shoulders moving as he fiddled with the lock. “All of us. Your society is our society. We helped make it as much as you. We’ve died in the same wars, fought the same battles, suffered the same economic depressions. There is no them and us, and we don’t want things to change.”

  An angry light in his eye, Daniel waited, and she fidgeted, pulse hammering. “I’m, uh, an elf,” she said, feeling as if she had betrayed the entire world.

  Quen’s shoulders hunched as he reached through the bars to lay his hands atop the metal lock. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes,” he whispered, trying to break it.

  Who guards the guardians, she thought, but the common phrase to unlock doors probably wouldn’t work on the cold steel. Not because it was made of metal, but because the door itself had probably not been imbued with the spell to open it in an emergency.

  Daniel’s eyes slid to Quen, then back to Trisk. “He’s one, too?” he said, letting go of the bars and backing up in distrust. “And Kal, and Rick?” he guessed, and she s
hook her head, wishing they had let her keep her shoes. The cement was freezing, making the demon mark on her foot seem to burn.

  “Quod est ante pedes nemo spectat,” Quen said, the back of his neck red as he used magic in front of Daniel.

  No one sees what is before them, she thought, but that didn’t work, either. It was a more elaborate charm than the first. He was going the wrong direction. “Rick is a, uh, living vampire,” she said, deciding he might as well have it all. “It’s only the dead ones that have the long teeth and light restrictions. But he’s got a lot of charisma.” She hesitated. “Did. Niles was a dead one. You can see the difference.”

  Daniel frowned. “Vampires? If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

  She pressed into the bars, hating the distance between them. “But you have to admit you saw the difference, yes?” she insisted. “You don’t hear about vampires because the dead take the blood they need to stay undead from living vampires, who enjoy it. The living vampires don’t need blood at all, though I’ve heard they do practice a lot between themselves. Keep it in the family. It’s all very civilized.”

  And it had been for a long time, the infrequent lapses put down fast and hard by other vampires. But if the master vamps suddenly found themselves surrounded by fear and death, that might change.

  Worried, she paced the small space of her cell. The sundry hurts were easing with movement, and the need to get out was growing. “Try something to unlock, not open,” she suggested since Quen was still fiddling with the door.

  Quen took a tighter hold on the lock, a faint haze of green aura hovering over his hands. “Reserare,” he said softly, but that, too, failed. Slumping, Trisk grimaced. If it didn’t open with that, it wouldn’t. They’d have to find another way.

  Daniel edged closer. “An elf. Like Santa and the shoemaker?” he asked.

  “No, those are just stories. The reality is a lot more mundane. Daniel, we’re not that different from you,” she said, but he was watching Quen’s hands, the energy from the ley lines so thick his aura was visible. “We can even have children together, with some help.”

  “You mean magic,” Daniel said flatly.

  Quen pushed back from the locked door in frustration. “And now we have to kill you to keep it a secret.”

  “Knock it off!” Trisk shouted, fed up with his bloodlust, even if it had been a joke. Catching her anger, she glanced at the silent front office area, then back to Daniel. Five feet and a world of misunderstanding were between them. “We can’t let anyone know. That’s why we cursed you to forget and I had to leave, because eventually you’d remember if I stayed. I didn’t want to.” Her jaw clenched, and she looked away. “Still don’t,” she finished softly.

  Daniel seemed to lose his hard edge, but he was still angry. “You turned my virus into a killer,” he said, and Trisk shook her head.

  “I made it safe,” she insisted. “That’s why I came three years ago. To make it safe.”

  “Safe for vampires and elves, but not humans,” Daniel accused, and Quen eyed him.

  “Your goal was to make people sick,” Quen said dryly. “Trisk made it safe for elves, witches.” He sighed as he sat on the cot. “Weres, trolls, pixies, and fairies. Banshees. Gargoyles.” Stretching, he tapped his toe on the bars. “Do you have anything to melt metal, Trisk?”

  “Not that hot, no,” she said, thinking that talking about magic in front of Daniel was almost titillating. If caught, they could all be put to death for it. Not that it mattered anymore.

  “Gargoyles?” Daniel said, eyes wide. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “They are a minority, but they exist,” Quen said as he leaned back to put his head against the wall. “After this plague, you might be the minority.”

  That’d be a switch, she thought wryly. They could come out of the closet if humanity was the endangered species. Humans wouldn’t have the strength or organization to protest, much less mount an attack. Even the most backward would realize if the Inderlanders were wiped out, so would be their TV, cheap gas, and easy food supply.

  “No . . .” Daniel drawled, his head moving in denial. “How could an entire species, several species, exist without anyone knowing?”

  “Well, we knew.” Trisk went to sit on her cot and rub her cold feet. The bump of her demon mark was startling, and she tucked her feet under her. “We’ve had a couple thousand years to blend in. You changed to match us as much as we changed to match you. Most of us mimic you really well by now, but I’ll admit those who don’t are dying out. It’s not easy to make a living when you have to hide all the time.”

  Again, that hard look came over Daniel’s face. “Hence the plague,” he accused, and Quen’s eyes opened.

  “It wasn’t her, okay?” he muttered.

  “The plague is not my doing,” she said, frustrated. “I can’t even figure out why it’s affecting some more than others. I mean, look at you. You made the stuff. Why aren’t you sick?”

  Quen sat straighter. “Yes, why aren’t you sick, Dr. Plank?” he accused. “Been doing a little self-inoculating in your lab?”

  Daniel’s look of surprised shock melted into a sudden guilt. He hadn’t, at least not intentionally, but maybe multiple accidental exposures while it was in development had given him some resistance. God knew he wasn’t an Inderlander. She would’ve been able to smell it on him. He might look like an elf, but he wasn’t one.

  Head bowed, Daniel turned away. “I thought it was ready. This is my fault.”

  “It was ready,” she cajoled, wanting to reach through the bars to touch him, but she wasn’t sure he’d accept it even if she could. “We made that virus perfect. If you want to blame anyone, my money is on Kal. God knows he had the time to modify it. Why, though, is beyond me. He was the best genetic engineer in our class.”

  “Except for you,” Quen said. He had stood and was testing every bar. Giving up, he smacked at them.

  Trisk gave him a brief, mirthless smile. “If Kal did this, we can fix it. It will be harder without the sample in my truck, but if we can get out of here and reach Detroit, I imagine we can find an Angel tomato along the way.”

  Daniel glanced past Quen to the silent, unseen offices. “I’m sure we’ll run into someone sick with my virus as well,” he muttered. “Though I’d rather work with a sample from my lab. Unfortunately, that’s not an option anymore.”

  Quen turned, his face ashen. “Trisk,” he whispered. “Your virus is gone.”

  “My what?” she said. It was Daniel’s virus, not hers.

  “Your universal donor,” Quen said, coming right up to the bars. He looked scared in a way that he hadn’t been when telling Daniel about Inderlanders. “You had it in the lab’s computer system, right? The fire dropped the entire floor of your lab onto the computers. Everything in them is gone, along with your research. How are you going to pay Gally back for the forget curse?”

  “What virus?” Daniel asked, and Trisk’s flash of worry vanished.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, but Quen gripped the bars of the cell, clearly upset.

  “You have a demon scar!” Quen said, and she nervously flicked a look at Daniel. “I can see the smut on your aura, Trisk.”

  It sounded ugly when he said it like that. Grimacing, she hunched into herself, feeling filthy. “I said, don’t worry about it,” she repeated, louder.

  “Demons,” Daniel said dully. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to make me forget.”

  Trisk nodded, a sudden idea making her stand. “Yep. Maybe I should get my money back.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Quen demanded, clearly knowing why she was looking at the floor. “No. Trisk, it’s not worth it.”

  “Why not?” she said, embarrassed and resolute. She had no chalk, no salt, nothing. But she did have blood, and that would make a fine circle. “I want that mark off my foot. His curse didn’t stick. He owes me. He can get us out if nothing else.”

  “You’re not getting a secon
d mark for us.” Quen stood against the bars, his worry obvious. “Besides, you don’t have a sample of your virus to give him.”

  “What virus?” Daniel said again tiredly as Quen began to pace.

  “Trisk has developed a universal donor virus that has the potential to introduce healthy genetic code into failing elven infants. It will save our species. We’re in a catastrophic genetic meltdown. A parting gift from the demons when we left the ever-after two thousand years ago.”

  “Oh, well, if that’s all,” Daniel said flippantly as Trisk scanned the cell for something to cut herself with. It was intentionally sharps-free, but there was a burr of metal on one of the screws, and jaw tight, she gouged her finger. Blood slowly seeped out, and she crouched, pushing her blanket aside as she scribed a small circle. Her sock feet seemed small on the cement floor, making her feel as if she was being foolish.

  “That’s why you’re all geneticists,” Daniel said, and she looked down at the tiny circle. Gally wouldn’t like its size, but seeing her in jail would probably make up for it.

  “Or businessmen,” she said as she smeared the rest of the blood off her finger and backed up. Her pulse quickened. Summoning demons was a rush, and she hoped Quen never guessed how much she liked flirting with the danger.

  “I can get us out of here,” Quen insisted, expression twisted in worry as he gripped the bars between them. “We don’t need his help.”

  She stood well back from the circle. If Gally got out, he’d kill them all, the bars that held them meaning nothing to him. “If I’m going to die in a cell, I don’t want a demon mark on my foot.”

  “Trisk!” Quen reached through the bars of the cage, his arm dropping. “You don’t have a candle, ash. Nothing. I forbid it. Someone might see you!”

  We should be so lucky. “You forbid it?” she said, eyebrows high. “They’re all dead, Quen,” she said, pointing at the silent offices. “No one knows we’re in here. If we don’t get out, the entire human population is going to vanish. I don’t want to be responsible for that. Do you? We can stop it. I intend to.”