by Mel Odom
When Simon knelt, a puff of black soot leaped into the air and temporarily obscured his vision. He wiped the soot from the broken skull.
“Looks like someone clubbed him to death, mate,” Nathan said from his position at the doorway. “Maybe set the fire afterward to cover it up.”
“Probably.” Simon checked the rest of the body looking for clues about the victim’s identity. “But why?”
“These people, the jailers and the patients, weren’t the best of people, mate. We may never find out.”
“And where did the extra ash come from?” Simon drew a forefinger through it and found it almost a half-inch thick.
Danielle knelt down and picked something up that was under the bars and partially in the passageway. She held up her prize. “Looks like part of a sheet. Whoever burned this person might have shoved laundry in here.”
Leah joined Simon. “Let me see the skull,” she said.
Simon slid back to allow her better access to the skeleton. When Leah tried to turn the skull, the spine snapped and it came off in her hands.
“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
“I don’t think he’s going to mind,” Nathan said.
Leah held the skull in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked.
“Capturing images of the skull. We have programs capable of rebuilding faces from the bone up. Do the Templar have anything similar?”
“No.” Simon knew the Templar would never need anything like that. But it raised several questions about Leah’s “we” and what “we” did with information like that.
“How are you going to match that face?” Nathan asked.
“Through a database search.” Leah gently returned the skull to the small skeleton.
“You people have everybody in your database?”
“I can check to see if there’s a match here.” Leah stood and gazed around the room. “There has to be a reason why he was killed. When did you say this part of the sanitarium was shut down?”
“I didn’t. It was in the 1920s.”
“No one’s been here for a hundred years. Seems like someone would have wanted to bury these people.”
“These people were put here to be forgotten,” Leah said. “The fire just gave them a good excuse.”
“The demon and the Cabalist were here tonight,” Simon said. “Others could have been here before that.”
Leah looked down at the small skeleton. “Whoever this was, he was killed down here and buried when the underground floors were sealed off.” She paused. “And he was killed under mysterious circumstances in a location we’re interested in.”
“Your we or our we?” Danielle asked with only a hint of sarcasm.
“The database I’ll be using is restricted. I’m going to share whatever I find out with you.”
“Without trying to sound overtly suspicious, why would you do that?” Nathan asked.
“Because you can do more with the information than we can,” Leah said. “For the same reason we turned Ma-comber over to you.”
“Only to lose him to Booth’s men,” Danielle added.
Leah was silent for a moment. “I—we—didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“You could be playing both sides against each other.”
“We’re not.”
“Did it ever cross your mind that whoever you’re with might not be telling you everything?” Nathan asked.
Leah didn’t reply.
“Something else I have to ask you,” Nathan said. “What makes you think you’re going to get the chance to return to whoever it is you work with?”
“We’re going to let her go,” Simon said. He didn’t need to turn around to see them look at him in surprise. He saw their reactions on the HUD. More than that, he felt them looking at him.
No one said anything.
* * * *
A moment later, Simon spotted a hairline crack revealed through the HUD. “Magnify.”
The HUD’s perspective changed as he focused on the fissure. It outlined a rough oblong near the bottom of the cell.
Simon leaned forward and formed “claws” at the ends of his gloves. He thinned them so they slid into the fissure easily.
“What is that?” Nathan asked.
Leah knelt down beside Simon.
“A hiding place.” Simon popped the cover off. The piece of rock didn’t fit exactly. It touched the outer perimeter of the hole hidden behind it in five places.
“The hole was dug out,” Leah said. She dragged her gloved fingertips over the nearby stone surfaces. “Then the cover was chipped from another surface to make the cover.”
Simon had guessed the same thing.
“Considering that such a feat took a lot of time because whoever did it didn’t have proper tools, he must have been extremely determined.”
“Or desperate,” Simon added. He leaned down and looked into the hole behind the opening. His HUD cycled and increased his night vision.
A metal tube as thick as his wrist and as long as his forearm lay inside. Soot covered the tube and the inside of the secret vault.
“The soot drifted in through the cracks between the wall and the false front,” Leah said. “It wasn’t airtight. That means the flames could have gotten in as well.”
Simon hoped not. Gingerly, he reached inside and removed the tube.
“It’s metal,” Nathan said.
“That doesn’t mean it was protected,” Leah said. “Paper has a low flash point. I don’t remember what it is, but I know it’s highly combustible once it’s exposed to enough heat. Judging from the condition of this cell, I’d say there was enough heat.”
The tube was cast iron, not steel. It sagged at one end as though the fire had gotten almost hot enough almost long enough to melt it. A cap screwed on one end.
Excitement flared in Simon as he examined the tube. It looked old, even older than a hundred years. Markings scored one side but Simon couldn’t read them. He’d studied a variety of languages, most of them orally but a few of them written. The markings in no way looked familiar.
He offered it to Danielle. “Do you recognize it?” She’d had more linguistics than he had.
Danielle studied it for a moment without taking it. “No.”
Carefully, Simon gripped the cap and twisted. The wrenching shriek filled the cell. His audio dampers kicked in automatically to protect his hearing.
“Easy,” Leah said.
Four full rotations later, the cap came off. Visions of the illuminated manuscript filled Simon’s mind as he peered inside. Then those vanished as disappointment, and outrage filled him.
“They’re burnt,” he whispered.
Thin curls of vellum had turned black. The sheets remained whole, but they weren’t legible.
Simon started to toss the tube aside. He’d captured the image of the tube’s inscription. It was possible that they could uncover something about it in the Templar files he had access to.
“Don’t.” Leah grabbed the tube. “Be careful.”
“It’s no use,” Simon growled. “The manuscript is ruined.” He didn’t let Leah take the tube, though.
“Maybe not,” Leah said. “This isn’t regular paper or it would have been gone. Some of the people I work with are artists at recovering lost documents.” Her faceplate opened and she looked at Simon. “Please. Let me try to help you with this.”
Silence filled the cell.
Simon didn’t know what to do. Nothing the Templar had could recover the documents. But do you want Leah and whoever she’s working with to see these documents before you do?
There was no easy answer.
“Simon,” Danielle said.
“What?”
“Either you trust her or you don’t.” Danielle’s voice was soft and easy.
Simon never took his eyes from Leah’s face. She was beautiful and brave, and she’d placed her life on the line to save his. That doesn’t mean that every
thing she’s done for you hasn’t also served her.
“Do you trust her?” Simon asked.
“It’s not my decision,” Danielle said. “You’re the one that has the history with her.”
“Nathan?” Simon asked.
“Like Danielle said, mate: if you trust her a little, you’ve got to trust her all the way. If you ask me, I think those papers are burnt beyond recognition. Anybody gets anything out of them, it’ll be bloody magic. I don’t see you got anything to lose.”
Simon pulled the tube back and placed the cap back on it “Let me think about it.”
Leah’s face didn’t show anything, but her faceplate closed and sealed. “It’s your decision, Simon.” Her voice held no emotion.
Simon nodded toward the cell door. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * * *
Leah accompanied the Templar back up to the surface. She remained aware of being an outsider the whole way. It’s your own fault, she chided herself. You need to pick one side or the other. You can exist in two camps, a good double-agent always can, but you can only swear loyalty to one.
That was one of the first rules she’d learned in the deadly game she’d played since she’d turned twenty-one. Even back at university she’d been apart. Her family had taught her to live that way, alone and apart and whole on her own.
Simon didn’t speak to her, and she was decidedly conscious of the fact that she wasn’t going to talk to him. She was angry at him for holding back and not talking his feelings out. She didn’t blame him for that; she didn’t want to talk about her feelings either. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Everything was mixed up. And that was stupid because it wasn’t like any of them had a future.
A few minutes later, they stood once more outside Akehurst Sanitarium. The wounded Templar still rode the back of another. Simon checked on the wounded man, and Leah liked that he did that. But it reminded her how open the Templar armor was to attack from within. All of their armor was designed to support the unit so that subsystems overlapped. Leah’s wasn’t like that.
Simon turned to her and his faceplate irised open. She was immediately struck by how tired he looked. He also looked uncertain.
Leah thought about the hidden fortress he’d established outside London. So many people, civilians and Templar, depended on him to be right. And he was so young, only a year or two older than her.
If the roles were reversed, would you be able to handle everything this life has asked him to deal with?
Leah didn’t know the answer to that. She only hoped she’d never be in the situation Simon Cross had found himself in. Given her circumstances, she never expected to be.
“Where can we leave you?” Simon asked as they stood there in the overgrown grounds of the sanitarium.
An uncomfortable feeling of loss squirmed through Leah’s stomach. She’d wanted to be released from the Templar, but she didn’t know where the separation would leave them. If Simon told her to never come back or be in touch with him, she didn’t know what she’d say. She only knew that she didn’t want him to do that.
But her alliance to him—to whatever degree—was going to be a problem with the people she’d sworn her allegiance to. She cursed herself for getting into the position she was in. It was her fault.
“I can make my way from here,” she told him.
He frowned in annoyance at that.
Leah knew he felt responsible for her. That was his nature, and it was partly why she had gone out of her way to help him when she had. Simon Cross was one of those individuals who could be given to, then counted on to give back at the appropriate time.
That made dealing with him difficult as well.
“I’m not comfortable with that,” he said.
“Comfortable or not, that’s how it’s going to be.” Leah knew she was deliberately being stubborn. She could have allowed him to accompany her close to where she needed to go to rejoin her group. At the very least she could have pretended that.
Except that she had the distinct feeling that he would know if she were lying to him. She sighed in frustration. Dealing with him was hard.
“I want you to be safe,” he told her.
“I’ve been taking care of myself in London by myself a lot more than you have,” Leah pointed out. “I don’t travel with a group as a general rule.” Both of them knew that was true. Every time they had met up she’d been on her own. “What I’m able to do, I’m best able to do on my own.”
“All right.” Simon reached into his shoulder bag and took out the tube. There was no hesitation in him when he handed it to her. “If you get anything from this, you’ll let me know.”
“Immediately.” Leah knew that she wasn’t just accepting a task. She was accepting a responsibility that came along with a lot of strings. And she was accepting his trust in her.
She was also walking on the knife-edge of compromising herself with one side or the other. She put the tube in a rucksack on her back.
“It would be best if we got whatever information you might recover first,” Simon said.
“I know,” Leah said. But she was aware that both of them knew she hadn’t agreed to his terms. She wasn’t that free with her commitment.
“Be careful,” Simon said. His faceplate irised shut. Then he turned and walked away into the shadows.
For a moment, Leah watched him go. Apprehension vibrated inside her as she wondered if she would see him alive again. She knew she would miss him if something happened to him. The world would be a lot colder place without him in it.
When she could no longer see him, Leah turned to go. She amped up her suit’s camouflage capability and faded into the darkness.
Thirty-Five
Warren sat in front of the book and flipped through the pages. Images stirred on them, but none caught his interest. He tried talking to the voice, but it was silent. He didn’t know if that was because the voice didn’t want to talk to him or because it had been more exhausted than it had let on.
Naomi slept in his bed. She’d been too worn to do much more than walk up the steps and lie down. Warren didn’t know if her fatigue was from the energy she’d used from helping him or from his healing her heart valve.
The fact that he’d done so amazed him. He’d read about power like that. Eastern medicine gave the healing power several different names, but they’d all claimed it had existed.
He raised his human hand and flexed it. On impulse, he closed the book and got up. He walked to the bathroom and stood there for a moment.
With his enhanced vision, he saw the curtain draped over the full-length mirror on one side of the room. When he’d first moved in, he’d covered the mirror immediately because he could no longer face the monstrosity he’d become because of the patchwork demon skin stretched across his features. That alien skin had grown back in the areas where the burns had ravaged him worst four years ago.
He steeled himself, then stepped forward and waved—his human hand—at a row of candles on the edge of the sunken tub. Flames sparked on the candle wicks and grew stronger as they burned. Then he pulled the curtain from the full-length mirror and gazed in numb horror at the ghastly sight of himself.
Even after four years of seeing himself, inadvertently at times, he still wasn’t inured to the sight. These days there were other Cabalists who actually looked worse, but they did so by design and reveled in their appearance. Warren never would.
You’re a monster, he told himself. As foul-looking as any demon you’ve ever seen.
Fearing the results, Warren raised his human hand to his face. He held his hand within inches of the demon’s scales that covered his cheek. Then he willed himself to be healed.
Shimmering force passed from his hand to his face. But nothing happened. He tried again with the same result. Cursing, he gathered his power and blasted the mirror into a million gleaming shards that dropped to the floor and shattered again.
“What are you doing?” the voice asked.
/> “Nothing,” Warren answered. “I was a fool. I did a foolish thing.”
“Tell me.”
“No.” Warren figured that if the voice didn’t know what was wrong with him, it wouldn’t understand anyway. “It was a private matter. I’ll be better served trying to figure out how to find Fulaghar or his remaining lieutenants.”
“You’re displeased with your appearance,” the voice said.
Warren started to deny that, but he knew his feelings were so strong that he wouldn’t be able to get away with that lie. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m horrid-looking and I can’t bear it.”
“Are you?”
A bitter laugh erupted from Warren. “Can you not see me?”
“Of course I can see you. You look a lot like most of the Cabalists. More fearsome than most.”
“I’m not a Cabalist.”
“You spend most of your time with them.”
“Only because no one else would accept me.” And because of Merihim.
“The Cabalists respect your appearance.”
“That’s not how I want to look.”
“I thought your appearance was very unique.”
“I don’t want to look unique.”
“Then how do you want to look?”
Warren looked down at the myriad images of himself looking back. “I want to look like me. Like the way I used to look.”
“Show me.”
“I don’t have any pictures.” Over the last four years, everything Warren had owned that was personal had been lost. After living in foster care, there hadn’t been much of it anyway.
“Show me in your mind,” the voice coaxed.
Quietly, Warren took a deep breath and pictured himself as he’d been. He saw his face as smooth, unblemished ebony. He’d been handsome, he knew that. Women and girls had told him that. He’d kept his hair cut short, not shaving his head until after he’d lost a third of his scalp in the fire. He’d always wanted to grow a mustache and goatee, but four years ago when he’d been twenty-three, he hadn’t been able to.
“You prefer this appearance?” the voice asked.
“Yes.”
“It isn’t so different from the face you wear now.”