Tainted (The Soul Chronicles Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

Kat stepped back, her hand against her chest. Then it wasn’t a dream. Stephen really . . . really . . . She swallowed and stumbled toward the bed and collapsed across the mattress, bile filling her throat. The one person she had trusted after Ms. Stuart’s death, the one person she thought would help her.

  Instead, he had turned her in.

  “What do I do?” she whispered. Her hands shook and a cold sweat spread across her body. The familiar icy tingle spread across her fingers as her blood began to pound through her veins. The air grew still, until she could see each particle of dust hanging in the light from the window.

  Kat gasped.

  The world lurched back into motion. The dust fluttered around like glitter in a snow globe. With each breath, she forced her body to calm down. Can’t lose control. Never lose control.

  The thought of Ms. Stuart reminding her of this helped calm her.

  Now . . .

  Kat stood again and walked toward the window. She pressed her hands against the panes and looked out, counting. She was only on the fifth floor, not in the actual tower, so she wasn’t in her father’s laboratories. Perhaps this was an exam room, or a recovery room.

  She let out her breath and pressed a hand to her middle. Thank God. Her eyes widened. Perhaps she still had time to get away.

  The door opened behind her.

  Kat spun around, her body back in flight mode.

  Her father stood in the doorway, dressed in trousers and a white lab coat. His gray hair was combed back, each strand in place. His face always reminded her of a hawk, that long narrow nose, thin lips, and glinting hazel eyes. Those eyes were now on her, studying her. “You’re finally awake.”

  Her mouth went dry and the room spun for a moment.

  Father didn’t seem to notice. He walked in and shut the door behind him.

  “Father,” Kat finally said, breathless.

  “You gave me quite a scare, running off like that after Ms. Stuart’s demise.”

  “Running . . . off?”

  “Yes, I looked everywhere for you.” He ran his fingers along the metal bed frame. “I was afraid that whoever broke into our home and murdered Ms. Stuart had taken you, too. Until the police identified you leaving World City by train to Covenshire, apparently under your own volition. Tell me, Kathryn, why did you run?”

  Not for as long as she could remember had her father said so many words to her at one time. She searched his face for any trace of sympathy. Was there even a remote possibility he had feared for her well-being? “You were worried about me?”

  “Of course I was. You are my only daughter. What would I do if I lost you?”

  Kat mentally shook her head. It wasn’t possible. She was having some kind of strange hallucination. There was no way her father had just said that.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead and crossed the room. She sat down on the bed and stared at her father’s pants, at the way each pleat was perfectly ironed, and every scuffmark removed from his shoes. Perfect, always perfect. “Do you know what happened to Ms. Stuart?”

  “The police are looking into her case.” No tinge to his voice, no wavering.

  Kat sucked in her lip, the deep sorrow rushing back.

  “I also offered to cover her burial expenses.”

  Was that supposed to comfort her? She clenched her hands, then loosened them. No, she could not afford to lose control in front of her father. “So why did you bring me here, to the Tower?”

  Her father looked down on her, that same impassive look on his face. “I thought you would be safer here.”

  He said everything right, so why did she feel so defensive? Because I don’t trust him.

  Maybe she couldn’t trust anyone. “So you sent a couple of thugs to bring me back?”

  “Not thugs. Professional men to bring you back safely.”

  The three men from the inn flashed across her mind: the tattooed brawler, the dandy, and the brute with the strange prosthetic arm that shot like a cannon. Did her father actually think they would bring her back in one piece? Did he know they shot at her? Or was he lying? She crossed her arms, her thoughts buzzing around inside her head like a hive of angry bees. “So how long do I have to stay here?”

  Her father moved for the first time since he had stepped into her room. He came around and stood in front of her. “Until I know you are safe. And I want you checked out. Rumors have reached my ears . . .”

  His face changed. A glow entered his eyes, and his entire being seemed to tremble, like an eager dog.

  Kat shrank back.

  “I have heard you can do things, impossible things. Is that true?”

  Your father must never know what you can do. Ms. Stuart’s warning rang in her ears.

  With a will stronger than she had ever employed before, Kat forced every emotion deep, deep down until she felt nothing. She smoothed her skirt, aware again of her missing corset and how stained her shirt had become. “I was afraid.” Her voice sounded so normal, so even. “That is why I ran. I thought whoever was after Ms. Stuart would come after me as well.”

  Her father paused. He folded his hands together, his face smoothing back into impassivity. “I see. Are you afraid now?”

  Yes!

  “A little. May I go home?”

  Her father slowly shook his head. “No. I don’t think so, not until the killer is caught. And I want you checked out. I want to make sure nothing happened to you.” That same gleam jumped back into his eyes.

  “I’m fine, Father. I just need to rest.”

  “Then rest here, at the Tower. I insist.”

  Why had Stephen brought her here? Was he in league with her father as well? The thought made her sick. All she wanted to do was lie down and curl up into a ball. But the longer she stayed here, the greater the chances were that her father would find out what she had done to those men he had sent to retrieve her. Or maybe Stephen had already told him.

  Her stomach clenched at the thought. “I’ll stay here, for now.” At least it would buy her time so she could find a way to escape. And this time she would do it alone. But she needed to rest first. Already she felt dizzy from the array of thoughts and feelings, and the side effects from whatever the men had used last night to put her under.

  Her father knelt down in front of her. Kat drew her hands back and stared at him wide-eyed.

  “Kathryn, you are precious to me. That is why I insist that you be checked. I want to make sure everything is fine.”

  What the—? Precious? Since when?

  “Now, rest. You are safe here.” He patted her knee with that same eager look again on his face.

  She sat still, frozen there on the bed.

  Her father stood and walked toward the door, straightening his lab coat as he left.

  The moment the door shut, Kat collapsed on her side and stared out the window across from her. A hole expanded inside her middle. A gaping, black hole that seemed to suck everything away until she lay there numb.

  I wish I could believe him. I wish Father really did care about me.

  She grasped the blanket between her cold fingers and pulled it to her chin. And Stephen . . .

  Why? Why did you leave me here?

  Fatigue weighed down on her, settling across her head, her chest, and her legs. Clouds rolled across the window, obscuring the sun.

  The door opened and Kat sat up. Two men walked in, one heavyset with a thick, black mustache, the other tall and thin. They both wore white lab coats over button up shirts and trousers.

  The taller one spoke to her. “Miss Bloodmayne, if you would please come with us. Your father has instructed us to escort you upstairs.”

  Upstairs? “Are you taking me to my father’s laboratory?”

  “Yes.”

  The blood drained from her face. She slowly rose, her gaze darting between the men
and the door. Could she make it?

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss Bloodmayne. We hope you will come willingly. But if not . . .”

  The burly man stepped forward.

  Kat dashed for the door. She made it through the doorway and out into the hall, where she skittered to a stop. About a dozen people stood in the lit hallway, all wearing white lab coats. Every face turned in her direction. One very familiar.

  “Marianne!”

  Marianne stood next to the wall, dressed in the same lab coat as the other scientists in the hall.

  Kat started in her direction. “Marianne! Oh, thank God! Please help me! They’re trying to take m—”

  A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  “So you’ve chosen the hard way, eh?” a deep voice said behind her.

  Kat screamed and tore away from the grip. She stumbled forward, hands out.

  Marianne and the other scientists took a couple of steps back. Kat caught herself and shook her head. “Please, Marianne.” She sought her friend’s gaze, wishing for the familiar green sparkle, but she found only fear and resolve.

  Her hand fell. But . . . why?

  Without meeting her eyes, Marianne slipped through a door and disappeared. Kat stared after her, frozen.

  An ugly chuckle sounded behind her as the tough approached.

  The black fire inside her ignited.

  Oh no! Kat gripped her throat. She reached for the man closest to her. “Please, you have to help me. I can’t stay here!”

  He jerked away.

  “You don’t understand, I can’t control—” She gasped and fell to her knees, both arms wrapped across her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut. Can’t lose control. Can’t lose control.

  Air began to whip around her and red filled her vision. The monster was awakening.

  She curled into a ball and rocked back and forth. I . . . need . . . to focus—

  Burn them. Burn them all!

  “No!” she screamed.

  It’s the only way you can escape.

  No! I won’t hurt any more people.

  A small sting pierced her neck. Kat stopped rocking and looked up, mouth open. The hallway was empty. “Just . . . let me go,” she whispered. The tiled floor met her face: cold, hard, unyielding.

  A voice spoke above her, but she barely caught the words as she sped toward the darkness.

  “Strip her down and prepare her for Dr. Bloodmayne.”

  31

  “Kathryn, you are a stubborn woman. Just like your mother.”

  Kat slowly opened her eyes. Dim green light filled her vision. A second later the smell hit her: a combination of rotting meat and incense. She coughed and tried to sit up.

  Her wrists would not move.

  Breathing fast, she looked to her right, then to her left. Both of her hands were trapped by thick metal bands welded to the table where she lay spread out. Her ankles were bound too. Only a thin white gown covered her body and ended at her knees. A strange, faint whirring noise resonated to her right. The green light came from a miner’s lamp that sat just beyond her head.

  Cold air seeped through the gown and across her exposed skin, causing her to shiver. She pulled at the bands and coughed as another wave of the foul scent filled her nose.

  “Where am I?” Her voice echoed across the room. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see tables lined up along the middle of the room, each with dark colored lumps scattered across their metallic surfaces. Steel rods and tubes hung from the ceiling above her. A metal cylinder the size of a footstool sat on a workbench nearby with arcs of electricity flashing around it.

  The awful smell seemed to be coming from the other tables. Wait . . .

  A scream filled her mouth. That smell, those lumps . . . they were body parts. And the dark pools beneath them . . .

  God, help me!

  She yanked at the metal bands and arched her back, yelling and pulling with all her might. She had to get out of here!

  “You’re going to damage yourself, Kathryn.”

  Kat sucked in a breath and glanced up. Her father emerged from the shadows, wiping his hands on a long piece of white cloth. The green light cast by the miner’s lamps made his face look sickly. He dropped the cloth on the nearest table beside the remains of a hand and came to stand beside her.

  “I had hoped our little chat in the recovery room downstairs would have made things easier for all of us. Instead, you made things difficult.” He sighed and brushed her hair back.

  Kat flinched and looked away. Another cold breeze blew across her body and she shivered.

  “So much like your mother,” he murmured.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and her mouth fell open. Father never talked about Mother, not once in all the years she could remember.

  He took a step back and cocked his head to the side, the soft look from moments before morphing into something stern and cold. “For years I worked on this project, extensively testing every theory I came up with. But nothing came of it. To think that all this time, the answer’s been under my very nose.” He placed a hand across his middle and tapped his chin with the other. “Maybe if I had spent more time with you, I would have seen the evidence.”

  “See—seen what?”

  “That you are the culmination of my life’s work.”

  His declaration seemed to hang in the air before it rushed through her ears and lodged its way into her mind. The culmination of his life’s work? Coming from any other father, it would have sounded like high praise to a child. But that wasn’t what her father meant, and the words twisted inside her like metal shards, tearing and shredding her heart.

  He had made her this way.

  And he was proud of it.

  “Yes.” He stepped to her side and peered down at her. “I want to know how you did it. How did you set that hallway on fire? And throw those men against the wall? The young woman said you did it with your hands, like witchcraft. What else can you do? How long have you had this power?”

  The questions came pelting down from her father’s lips.

  Kat stared up at him and cringed. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you are different, Kathryn.” Her father stepped back and ran a hand along the top of his head. “But when did it happen? When did you change?” He started walking around the laboratory, seemingly in thought. “And can I replicate it?”

  He knew. He knew all of it.

  “That fire—” He turned around and pointed at her. “That fire in the nursery years ago. That was you.” He shook his head. “Yes, yes, right there in front of me. And Ms. Stuart never told me!” He clenched his hand, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his hand relaxing as he did. He smoothed the front of his lab coat and walked back toward Kat.

  She couldn’t feel her fingers; they were frozen. And her feet were numb too. The hairs along her arms and legs rose with each chilly breeze that moved through the laboratory. She was exposed, spread out on the table like a specimen ready to be dissected.

  A wave of dizziness swept over her, leaving her weak and trembling. Wait, her father wasn’t going to do that, was he? Would he—she swallowed—would he really dissect her?

  Yes, he would.

  The laboratory seemed to be closing in on her. She couldn’t breathe! Cold sweat drenched her body, and she shook uncontrollably. The lump inside her chest began to beat. Thump, thump.

  Do it. Show him what you can do!

  Kat twisted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut. She pictured the park near the Tower, the same one Ms. Stuart had taken her to after graduation. She watched the couples walking by, hand in hand, and the bright array of flowers that lined the path. Sunlight poured through the trees.

  She breathed. In. Out. Until the lump sank back down into her chest. />
  Cool fingers brushed her cheek.

  Kat gasped and opened her eyes.

  Her father’s face filled her vision, his hazel eyes darting back and forth as he examined her face. Silence filled the laboratory. After a moment he straightened and tapped his chin with his finger. “I owe you an explanation. From one scientist to another. Perhaps it will help you understand how remarkable you are.”

  Kat gave him a small nod and stared up at him, wide eyed. The scent of decay filled her nostrils. Anything to keep him talking and not experimenting on her.

  “For years I studied our physical world, tested everything I could find, and pushed beyond the knowledge we already possessed. But I knew there was more, more than what we could see. So I reached beyond that. I proved that everything is made of matter. And matter is not only the substance of everything, it is power too. Whoever can control matter can control everything.”

  Kat swallowed. She knew exactly what her father was talking about. Back at the inn in Covenshire, she had not only been able to suspend matter, she had been able to control it. Everything. The air, the chairs, even people. She could see each particle and do whatever she wanted with it. All with just her mind.

  But at what price?

  “. . . we can control matter now, to a certain extent.” Her father walked around the table as if giving a lecture to a classroom full of students. “I can create a fire and ignite matter. I can use my hand and throw matter in the form of an object. But what if a person could control all matter, with no physical intermediary?” He stopped and looked at her. “That was my goal: to unlock that power.”

  He started walking again. “I began experimenting on matter shortly after I married your mother, with no results. After a couple of years I recognized I needed to explore more unorthodox methods. So I started researching, looking into other means than science. I slowly realized that if I wished to unlock the power of the unseen, I needed to look into those areas of study that specialized in the unseen. I hoped that by combining my understanding of science and certain aspects of the mystical, I could finally discover the secret to unlocking the power of the life that binds us all. Still my experiments remained inconclusive. And then I realized something: what is more powerful than death?”