Into Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel)

by J. T. Geissinger

  The room she was in was pleasantly warm, so though naked, she wasn’t chilled. The restraints on her wrists and ankles, however, were too tight, and chafed. Thick and unyielding, they might have been steel, or something even harder, because they gave not an inch when she tried her strength against them.

  Her head throbbed. Weak and disoriented, she simply breathed for a moment, trying to center herself, and think.

  She assumed it would be torture first. They’d want to know what she knew, if she had information about the whereabouts of other Aberrants, and who had helped her escape the city the day she’d burned down the Hospice. They’d undoubtedly want to know other things, too, would undoubtedly have extremely unpleasant ways of making her talk.

  Magnus wouldn’t talk, she thought, her heart wrenching. Magnus would—

  LUMINA!

  He burst into her mind with a roar that made her entire body jerk. She inhaled a sharp breath, then relaxed, trying to appear calm; she didn’t know who was watching, but surely someone was. Probably many someones.

  I’m here. It took so much effort to concentrate. To speak without speaking.

  Where are you? You sound strange! What’s happened?

  He was panicked, frantic. She felt the enormity of his worry and his love, and behind her closed lids, her eyes filled with tears.

  I don’t know where I am . . . they took me . . . the Peace Guard . . . Gregor set us up.

  Another roar of pure rage, unearthly loud inside her skull. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut.

  Wait. Let me . . .

  Lumina concentrated, recalling with as much detail as she could the images she’d seen when she’d briefly awoken earlier. The cross and checkered floor, the paintings of gilt, the sculptures. That’s all I saw, on the way here. Wherever here is.

  I know where it is, he answered in a snarl. His voice was a terrible, dark presence inside her head. Lu had never imagined a man could sound so . . . unhinged.

  I’m coming! I’ll find you! Just stay alive!

  Lu stiffened against the restraints. Her breath hitched. No! Magnus, don’t come! I know what Demetrius saw in his Dream—don’t come!

  There was an awful silence. Then his voice, still so dark, still so mad with rage. You’re my destiny, Lumina. I. AM. COMING!

  He was abruptly gone.

  She moaned, and a voice spoke.

  “Subject, are you unwell?”

  It was a male voice, perversely solicitous, emanating from directly overhead. Through a speaker, she assumed.

  “Subject? Please respond to the question: Are you unwell?”

  Lu ascertained several things quickly. One: This speaker was concerned with her health. Which meant he wanted her alive and probably comfortable, at least for the time being. Two: He had little, if any, idea what her current state of health actually was. Which meant that either he wasn’t entirely certain of the efficacy or power of the drug that had been used to take her down, or what its effect on her might be. And three: He was being polite, which hinted that she had value. Like the owners of expensive pets, the owners of valuable property tended to treat their possessions well.

  And expend a great deal of effort making sure those costly possessions stayed in good repair.

  Lu moistened her lips, trying to look as weak and pathetic as possible. In her best frightened school girl’s voice, she said, “I’m very thirsty, and disoriented. My head really hurts. Sir.”

  She threw in the “sir” at the end on a whim, and was rewarded by the unmistakable sound of a man grunting in satisfaction. There was a prolonged silence, then the man spoke again.

  “Subject, we are sending in water. Any attempt to harm the associate who brings it to you will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  The air vibrated with that satisfaction again. Lu remembered how Lars, the Hospice head cook, used to preen when she called him herrchen. She’d just learned a valuable lesson about insecure men.

  A door, hissing open then closed on a gust of pressurized air. Footsteps, drawing near. The feeling of a presence beside her, then a voice, so familiar she froze in disbelieving astonishment.

  “I’m going to bring the cup to your mouth,” said Dieter Gerhardt, leutnant of the Peace Guard, the man who’d warned her about the Grand Minister the day she burned down the Hospice.

  Thank you, God.

  Lu knew they were being watched, knew their every word was being listened to, and recorded. Though her heart thrummed like a hummingbird inside her chest, she merely nodded, and parted her lips.

  He lifted the cup to her mouth. She drank deeply. It was clean, pure water, some of the best she’d ever tasted in her life. When she was finished, she turned her head and Dieter took the cup away. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  Dieter—listen to me.

  Beside her, he jumped as if electrocuted. The voice, now fraught, shouted over the speakers.

  “Lieutenant! Report!”

  “Excuse me, sir, it’s nothing,” lied Dieter smoothly, controlling his voice. “I just wasn’t expecting it to speak.”

  It? Thanks a lot.

  You scared the scheisse out of me, Lumina! How is this even possible?

  Lumina ignored that, cutting to the chase. Are we at IF headquarters? What floor am I on? Picture it in your head. I need to get to the control center, the computers! I need access to the—

  Dieter cut in, frantic. Listen—Thorne is on his way. We’ve never been able to get close to him, he only allows Enforcement near, but if you can distract him long enough to—

  “Lieutenant, please remove Subject’s blindfold.” The voice over the speakers was mild, satisfied with Dieter’s explanation, but Lumina wasn’t listening, because everything inside her had ground to a halt.

  Thorne is coming.

  Thorne is coming.

  Lu fell motionless on the table. Everything became perfectly clear.

  She felt Dieter’s fingers, fumbling with the knot on the blindfold near the back of her head. She felt the fabric slide away. She opened her eyes and saw Dieter standing there above her, looking down, his own eyes widening as he looked into hers. He wore the white bio suit, but the shield on his helmet was flipped up, his face exposed.

  Not brown—green, he thought to himself, distracted. Lucent. Like an emerald held up to the light.

  Show me where I am, Dieter. That’s all you have to do. I’ll take care of everything else.

  They stared at each other. The voice on the speaker interrupted again.

  “Lieutenant, are you experiencing any kind of discomfort?”

  Dieter’s mouth pinched. “No, sir. None at all. It appears the subject is quite weak, sir. I don’t believe it poses any immediate threat. The collar, in combination with the drug, seems to have rendered it quite harmless.”

  So she was wearing a collar. Lu shouted into his mind, Dieter, show me!

  His eyes fluttered closed. Lu received a mental picture, startlingly clear, of her exact location.

  She began, weakly, to laugh.

  “Thank you, lieutenant. Return to command.”

  Dieter thought hurriedly, The Peace Guard don’t have access into the main facility; you’re in processing. You’re to be transferred as soon as Thorne arrives. Once you’re in, I won’t be able to get you out—

  Thank you, Dieter, Lu thought, smiling up at him calmly. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a good friend. In fact, you might be the best friend I ever had.

  Dieter’s expression registered confusion, surprise, but most of all, gratitude. To cover his emotions, he blustered, I’m not all that great; I didn’t do such a good job of keeping my eyes on your face on my way in the room. He glanced down at her bare chest, then reddening, looked away.

  “Lieutenant,” repeated the
disembodied voice, harder, “return to command.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tried to tell her something else, but Lu had withdrawn. All was silent. With a final, pleading look, Dieter turned and left the room.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Sebastian Thorne hadn’t felt this much excitement since the day of the Flash, when all his plans had finally come to fruition, and he’d taken over the world.

  Watching the thing that called itself Lumina Bohn through the one-way glass of the interrogation room where she sat calmly with crossed legs in a metal chair, reading, he admitted to himself that she was beautiful. It was beautiful. Whatever; the monster was attractive. Perhaps more so than any other living thing he’d ever seen.

  Which was saying a lot. Thorne had been everywhere, seen everything. God’s own miracle, he thought, allowing himself an uncharacteristic moment of sarcasm. Thorne knew God had nothing to do with anything, and never had.

  “I don’t recommend it, sir. It’s far too dangerous.”

  Three, glowering beside him at the glass, stared at Lumina. In the room around him, murmurs of assent came from the gathering of his top people who’d come to witness the event.

  “She’s perfectly docile,” countered Thorne, pointing out with his usual impeccable logic that she’d been compliant since awakening, she hadn’t harmed anyone who’d come into contact with her so far, and had even expressed the quite charming desire to read a book while her vitals were recorded, her blood drawn, her body examined. From her attitude, Thorne felt almost certain that she was relieved to have been finally apprehended. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been doing since fleeing, but it surely was unpleasant. Running, hiding . . . what kind of life was that?

  Better to be here, safe with her own kind. Or unsafe, as it were, seeing how they were all scheduled to be exterminated. But she didn’t have to know that.

  “Its mother was perfectly docile for years, and look what that one recently did to her doctor,” said Three.

  “The mother is insane,” said Thorne flatly. “I’m told just a few hours ago it leapt from its bed and began screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason.”

  No one had a good answer for that.

  “I’m going in,” he announced, and went to the door, ignoring the howls of protest his decision produced. “Open it!” he ordered into the ceiling camera. Obediently, the door slid open, and he stepped into the room. The door slid closed behind him, and Thorne felt the collective held breath.

  Lumina looked up at him, surprised, blinking. She closed the book, and hesitantly rose to her feet. “Um, hello?” she said softly in greeting.

  Perfectly docile. And collared, to boot. Thorne smiled, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced into the room. He made a slow circle around her, looking her up and down, noting the tattoos on her ankle and wrists. Kinky. She wore the standard-issue white knee-length gown, and nothing else. For the briefest of moments, Thorne allowed himself to remember what delights were hidden beneath.

  He’d already reviewed the recorded footage of her processing. Spectacular. He’d definitely be reviewing that again soon.

  Thorne made a full circle, then stopped an arm’s length in front of her, still smiling. “Miss Bohn. How lovely to meet you at last.” To her obvious shock, he extended his hand.

  She stared at it for a beat, then took it, shaking his hand with a firm, if tentative, grip. He released her hand and imagined the relieved exhalation from the glass behind him.

  Lumina demurely lowered her lashes, clasping the book against her chest. “I-I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she stammered, “and I-I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I have to admit I’m a bit embarrassed. I’m not used to so much attention.”

  Was that a blush on its cheeks? And it was apologizing? Charming creature! Thorne beamed at her, intensely pleased. He was expecting anything but this. Perhaps he’d keep one of them alive, after all. She—it—was just so . . . delightful.

  In his best stern, fatherly voice, Thorne said, “Well, you’ve certainly led us on a merry chase, Miss Bohn.”

  She ducked her head, murmuring, “Lumina.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Please, call me Lumina.” She glanced up at him, shy and lovely, and his heart missed a beat.

  But no. This was getting out of hand. He drew himself up and said, “I only refer to my friends by their given names, Miss Bohn. While you reside in this facility I’ll—”

  “Oh, but I do hope we can be friends, sir,” she interrupted earnestly, her brows drawn together. “I’m . . . I . . . I don’t have any friends.” She took her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at him, looking a little lost.

  His mouth fell open. He was astonished at his response to her, a heady mix of paternal concern and rampant lust, and he had to make a quarter turn away to manage it, hiding his face. He coughed into his hand. “Yes. Well. You’ve led an unusual life.”

  When he turned back to her, she’d sunk into the chair and was gazing at the floor. She crossed her legs at the ankle and drew them in, and he couldn’t help but notice the high arches of her bare feet, the long, slender line of her calves. On his forehead, dots of perspiration broke out.

  “May I please . . . if I might be frank with you, sir?”

  So polite! Such perfect submission! The lowered eyes, the respectful voice, that exquisite deference! Thorne didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment, so he simply made a vague noise of assent.

  Lumina said quietly, “The Grand Minister . . .” her head snapped up and her eyes went wide, as if she’d just remembered something. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh! Sir! How is he?”

  Thorne was puzzled. “He was seriously burned—as you of course know—but he’s recovering nicely. Why do you ask?”

  She seemed genuinely distraught. Swallowing hard, she whispered, “It was just such a shock, sir. I-I never meant to hurt him, or anyone. He just scared me so much, and I-I reacted . . . I don’t even know how I did it, really, I just . . . but I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him. He was just very . . . scary. I’m so sorry. Will you please tell him I’m sorry?”

  It was at that moment that Sebastian Thorne, for the first time in fifty years, fell in love.

  “My dear child,” he said, deeply moved, “I will. And please don’t concern yourself with such things. From now on, all you have to worry about is your life here.”

  She exhaled a quiet, relieved breath, then nodded, as if what he’d said had made her happy. He drew nearer to her, a moth to a flame.

  “What were you going to say, before you remembered to ask about the Grand Minister’s health?” he asked, coming closer still.

  Lumina looked up at him. He would have sworn he saw a glimmer of hope deep in her eyes. “He . . . at the Hospice the Grand Minister told me I could meet my mother. My birth mother. He said if I didn’t resist, I could be with her.” She moistened her lips, blinking rapidly. Her voice lowered to near a whisper. “And I would like that so much, sir. That’s why . . . I don’t want to be a bother to you, of course, but I thought if perhaps I was good you might let me see her? Or just . . . maybe talk to her? Even if it’s one time. You see, I-I never really had a mother. The woman who raised me died when I was young . . .”

  She trailed off into silence, biting her lip again, looking down, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to reach out his hand and stroke her hair.

  “If you give me your word you will continue to be as cooperative as you’ve been so far, I will take you to your mother, Lumina.”

  She looked up at him then, moisture welling in her eyes, and reached out and grabbed his hand. He nearly recoiled, shocked, but she pressed her soft, warm cheek to his hand, and whispered fervently, “Oh, thank you! Thank you, sir! I’m so grateful to you!”

  The door slid open. Half a dozen armed men burst into the room. Thorne held them all of
f with a lifted hand, staring down in awe at the supplicant clutching him as if her life depended on it. She slid her cheek along his knuckles, pressed the softest kiss to his skin, then lifted her head and gazed at him in wonder as if the sun were shining right out of his head.

  Dazed, thrilled, imagining in lurid detail just how grateful she might turn out to be, he said, “In fact, I’ll take you to see her right now.”

  He followed behind her. They all did. Handcuffed, barefoot, silent, Lumina walked down a long, sterile corridor. She plainly heard the one called Three trying to quietly urge Thorne to put this off, to interrogate her before rewarding her, but Thorne wasn’t having it.

  “Time enough for that later,” he said, and that was the end of that.

  Lu wished she’d learned the craft of stroking a man’s ego years ago. How much easier life might have been.

  She’d left the book behind in the interrogation room. It was a laughably poor choice by the guard who’d given it to her, and she could only wonder at his motives. She didn’t think he was on Dieter’s side, judging by the way he smirked at her, but then again, she’d learned how appearances can truly deceive.

  The book was The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. It contained a quote near the beginning that made Lu think long and hard.

  Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.

  Much like a sheathed knife, her true power lay in concealment.

  Thorne watched placidly as the doors to the suite swung slowly open, and mother and daughter saw one another for the first time.

  He’d arranged to have Jenna transferred to the suite he’d built in anticipation of her acquiescence to giving him the information he’d wanted about the whereabouts of the rest of her people. She hadn’t given him that information yet, unfortunately, in spite of his best efforts with the Breast Ripper and similar unpleasantries. Because she was what she was, she healed uncommonly fast, and so when her daughter first laid eyes on her, she looked relatively healthy.

  If you weren’t looking into her eyes, that is. Then you could really see what she was all about.