Daemon’s Mark

by Caitlin Kittredge

  “You can’t run from me!” Mikel howled, but a door rolled shut and we began to descend, lights blinking past to show floors as the elevator dropped us into the belly of the lab.

  “Where does this go?” I demanded.

  “No idea,” Masha said. “The lower floors are closed off because they’re, like, a safety hazard. No one goes down here except Dr. Gorshkov. It’s where the file room is.”

  “You figured out a lot in two weeks,” I said.

  “Not much else to do.” She shrugged. “Except think about how my mother was probably going insane thinking I’d run off with my boyfriend.”

  “Your mother was worried sick,” I said. Masha snorted.

  “Whatever.”

  “You know, Masha…” I started, and then sighed. She coughed, a wet sound that indicated a deep infection, then shrugged at me in the dimness.

  “What?”

  “I was a lot like you,” I said. “And believe me, there’s plenty of time to make stupid fuckups about men and partying and your life in general when you’re out of the house.”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving me a stern pep talk in a condemned elevator while we escape from some freak with a machine gun,” she muttered.

  “Blow me off if you want,” I said. “But if I’d given my mother a little less stress, I wouldn’t be a were, and I wouldn’t be here, and believe me, sweetie, neither would you.”

  The elevator ground to a stop and Masha pulled herself to her feet. “Finally.”

  The door rolled back to dampness, darkness, a slow dripping far in the distance. I felt along the wall and found a panel of switches, which I flipped at random until the lights hissed on. One fizzed and went out immediately, water causing a shower of sparks.

  “Comforting,” I said. “Reminds me of my office at home.”

  “Your office is in the basement?” Masha snorted. “Who’d you piss off?”

  “Bomb shelter,” I corrected. “And too many people to count.”

  The elevator started to go up again, and I cursed. “Mikel. Come on, we need a place to hide.”

  We followed the precarious light trail through a maze of corridors, each danker and mustier than the last.

  “My dad talked about you,” Masha said. “When he came back. Said you were a real bitch and broke his heart over stupid reasons.”

  “Your dad always did have a way with words,” I muttered. My calf was sticky with blood and I stopped to examine it.

  “Are you okay?” Masha said anxiously, bending close. I gave her a look and she backed away, the tough teenager face back in place. “I mean, if you croak, who’s going to take on that freak with the assault rifle?”

  “It’s only a flesh wound,” I said, giving her a smile. She didn’t react. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” I sighed. “Never mind. Sometimes I forget that you grew up in a country devoid of decadent Western ideas.”

  “What’s next, an ‘in Soviet Russia’ joke?” she said. “You Americans seem to love those.”

  “Not bad,” I said. “You’ve got a real mouth on you. I did, too, at your age. Still do. Don’t lose it. A big mouth can be your best weapon.”

  “My mom and dad both tell me I talk too much,” Masha said tightly, and clammed up.

  I heard the elevator bell sound far behind us, and footsteps. Blood drifted to my nose, along with metal sweat and copper fear. At least now, I had the upper hand even if Mikel had the gun. “In here,” I said, gesturing her through a door marked with bright red lettering.

  “I dunno,” Masha said. “I can’t read Kazakh but in Russian it says danger—do not enter and some other crap I can’t make out ’cause it’s all faded. That doesn’t look promising.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “Come on.”

  The door led us into a long room, empty of anything at all. I tried the switch and only darkness responded.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Stay behind the door, and stay quiet.”

  Mikel was calling something out in Ukrainian as he paced down the hallways toward us, singsong and highpitched.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Masha whispered in translation. Mikel’s footsteps stopped outside the door, and everything was quiet for a moment except for my heartbeat and Masha’s.

  And a third, far away in the shadows, thumping strong. A heartbeat that belonged to something I hadn’t seen or scented.

  Oh, Hex me.

  “Masha,” I hissed. She goggled at me. “Stay calm,” I said. “But you need to know there’s someone else in here.”

  “What?” she squeaked.

  “I hear you, bitch,” Mikel caroled from outside the door. “You think I wouldn’t find you? I’ll find you and I’ll…” He shoved the door open and the dim light from the hall barred across the scarred cement floor, laced with creeping mold.

  It captured the body in ragged green hiking shorts and a safari vest, crouched in the corner, and it highlighted the needlelike, inch-long fangs rimming the man’s mouth when he opened it and let out a snarl that could curdle milk.

  Mikel cursed, jumping backward, but it was too late. In a streak, the thing leaped, out the door and onto Mikel’s chest, going for the blood on his face from my blow.

  There was a crunch. A scream. A sound of tearing ligament and bone.

  “Masha,” I said. “Move. Now.”

  “But I don’t want to go near that thing!” she wailed.

  I grabbed her by the arm and shook her. “Listen! Now is not the time to panic. Stay by me and do what I say and stop crying!”

  I was being a real bitch, but we didn’t have time to hang around playing with whatever that thing was. I’d seen those fangs before, long as shark’s teeth and reaching for my throat. Anton and his strange strength, his eerie movements, his scentless silence as he came upon me, terrified and hiding like prey.

  Anton and the thing in the hallway mauling Mikel were the same, except that this one seemed a lot hungrier and a lot more pissed.

  “Okay,” I said to Masha. “We’re going to step out and we’re going to run for the elevator. Got it?”

  She nodded numbly. “It’s too busy feeding on Mikel to worry about us,” I reassured her, and prayed to the bright lady it was true. “Just run, and don’t look back.”

  “O-okay,” she stuttered.

  “Go!” I shouted, and shoved her through the door. Masha skidded in the blood, righted herself and took off running. I followed her, careful not to trip on Mikel’s twitching legs, and thought that I’d managed to evade this latest nightmare when crushing weight landed on my back.

  My legs buckled and I went down under the were’s weight. He snarled, raking claws through my hair, trying to expose my neck. I drove my elbow backward into his face and rolled out from under him when he reared in pain.

  “Luna?” Masha had stopped and was peering around the corner.

  “Masha, go!” I screamed. “Your father is in the village! Run!”

  The were caught me again and I turned around and hit him in the face, hard. That was my job now, my one goal in life. Keep myself between the monster and Masha.

  He shook off the blow and returned it, making my jaws snap together and my head ring. He was impossibly strong for his short, squat frame and his eyes were red with burst blood vessels, where they weren’t black from pupils dilated in territorial rage.

  This was his kingdom, and I was a trespasser. The only way I was getting out alive was to beat him, to be the stronger, dominant were.

  Easy, right? He had claws that were obsidian black and sharper than razors. They caught the front of my gown, went through to flesh, scraped red on my sternum.

  My feet slicked on Mikel’s blood, and I fell, hitting the back of my head hard on the cement. The monster crouched above me, and I knew a death strike when I saw one. I wasn’t strong enough as a plain human to put a dent in him, and the decision came easily to me, with none of the overwhelming sense of failure that had accompanied my last partial phase, in Grigorii�
��s brothel.

  My fangs grew, my claws sprouted and my spine rippled, giving me the crouch of a predator. I rolled over, coming up in a lunge, feeling my thickened leg muscles launch me to meet the other were in midair. The color bled out of my vision and I snapped at the were’s throat, tasting blood.

  He pulled me off him like I was a small, annoying toy dog, and threw me. I caught air, and slammed into the wall with a thud that cracked my ribs on the impact side.

  I cried out and lost the phase, felt the were slipping away to lick its wounds.

  Cracked ribs aren’t serious, but they hurt like you’re on fire. I curled into the fetal position, struggling to draw breath, to not scream, hot, silent tears soaking my face as the pain blackened my vision.

  CHAPTER 23

  The thought that I might be dying came through with curious clarity. It didn’t bother me too much. Between getting my bell rung by the wall and the blood loss, I was going into shock.

  That didn’t bother me much, either.

  I watched the thing’s shadow advance on me, step by step, lips pulling back and nostrils going wide. It was taking its time with the kill. Scenting it.

  Then it crouched, and leaped.

  I braced myself for a strike that never came. Another shadow intercepted the were in midair, a red wolf the size of a horse that locked its teeth around the creature’s throat and slammed it into the ground.

  The creature let out a squeal, and then its massive paw came up and raked down the wolf’s side, flaying the flesh along its ribs. The wolf let go, and they tangled together for a moment.

  Masha screamed from a long way off. “Daddy! ”

  I managed to sit up, ignoring the pain and the dizziness, the cool dampness of my own blood soaking the gown. Dmitri was here. He’d come for me.

  Not me. Masha. Who was running at the creature, ready to help her father.

  I caught her around the waist before she could get her head taken off, and she screamed and thrashed against me, which didn’t do my ribs any favors. “Let me go! We gotta help him!”

  “I will!” I shouted. “Getting killed is not gonna do him any favors!”

  She went limp at that, and I let her go as a horrible snarl rose from the creature’s throat. It was hurt badly—Dmitri’s wolf teeth had found a mark in its throat, and its front was a mess of gore.

  Dmitri wasn’t doing so hot either, though. As they circled and swiped at one another, his back legs tangled and he caught claws across his snout.

  “Hey!” I shouted at the creature, clapping my hands. I needed to distract it. Had to. It snarled, but didn’t take its eyes off Dmitri, and this time its teeth closed on Dmitri’s front leg, pulling him off balance and exposing his belly, claws digging into the soft area behind Dmitri’s ribs. Dmitiri howled, and the sound hurt me more than any of the creature’s punishment. It was pure animal pain and rage, the last sound something made before it was beaten.

  My bare foot came down on a chunk of cement the creature had knocked out of the wall, and I scooped it up and hurled it with all the strength I had left at the thing’s head. It cracked against the creature’s skull and drew blood, and it turned on me.

  “Come on,” I growled, spreading my arms. “Try it.”

  All in all, it looked away for a split second, but it was enough.

  Dmitri twisted his spine, his jaws closing on the creature and, with a shake and an echoing crack, its neck snapped.

  The thing landed bonelessly on top of Dmitri and went still. Blood stained the floor, scent filling the air, and I tried not to choke as I went to my knees in the pool and shoved the thing off Dmitri.

  He was phasing back, slowly, unconsciousness or pain turning him from wolf back to man. Masha knelt on his other side, hand pressed over her mouth and eyes enormous. “Is he…”

  Dmitri groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. “Shit. That could’ve gone better.”

  I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady. “You got that right.”

  “I…” He tried to sit up and failed. “I don’t want to alarm you here, Luna, but I can’t really feel my legs.”

  I looked down. I’d seen plenty of broken bodies, so it wasn’t as bad a shock as it otherwise could have been.

  I also couldn’t lie to myself about what I was seeing.

  A massive set of gashes worked their way across Dmitri’s ribs. His abdomen was a mess—I couldn’t even say what had been there. The claws had gone in deep, probably down to the spine. Everywhere else was bloody and beaten. Dmitri’s arm was sitting at an odd angle, a compound fracture from where the creature had grabbed him. My mind cataloged all this while I felt the blood go out of my head and saw my vision tunnel down.

  Dmitri picked up the look on my face. “That bad, huh?”

  “Dad…” Masha’s voice was thin and rattling as paper.

  “You’re…” I gulped. “You’re gonna be fine.”

  Dmitri put his good hand on my arm. His palm was slicked with the creature’s blood. Or his own. It didn’t matter. “Don’t lie, Luna.”

  “I…” I couldn’t make any more words come. This couldn’t be happening. He had to be all right. Were healing would come, and he’d be all right. I’d get him out of here, save him like he’d saved me, and he’d still be alive in the morning.

  “When you didn’t come back I followed you,” Dmitri rasped. “And it’s a good thing I did. Now you two need to get up and get out of here before anything else comes for you.” He squeezed with his good hand. “This is all right, Luna. Don’t you think different.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” I managed. I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t my ribs. Dmitri had to be all right. He couldn’t die because of me.

  Dmitri’s face softened. “I want you to. Maybe it wasn’t true an hour ago, but I want you to leave, Luna. Go. And take care of Masha.”

  At her name, Masha’s eyes spilled over and she sobbed, putting her face against his. “Dad, I don’t want you to go.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t work out that way,” he murmured. His voice was getting distant, dreamy. He was slipping. “I love you, baby. All right? You go on now.”

  Dmitri looked me in the eye as Masha sat back, sobbing. “It was a hell of a ride, Luna. I’m glad … I got to see you.” A little blood trickled from between his lips, and he coughed. “Now go. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  I held on for just a second longer. “I’m sorry, Dmitri,” I said. Sorry for more than this. Sorry it had ever come to this. Just gods-damn sorry for everything.

  “Me, too,” he whispered, and tried to say something else, but the last of his air went gently out of him, and Dmitri stilled.

  “Luna?” Masha swallowed a sob. “What do we do?”

  I got to my feet, and for her sake tried to hide the fact I was shaking. Dmitri was gone.

  The fact sat in my belly like a stone. Like the creature had reached into my chest, too, and taken something vital away.

  I wasn’t in love with Dmitri anymore, but he was gone. And he’d done it for me, and for Masha.

  I’d been wrong about him. That hurt most of all.

  “I don’t want to stay here…” Masha said, louder. She was panicking. She should be.

  Dmitri wanted me to take care of her. He’d let us get away. It was up to me to make sure we did.

  “I know,” I said. My mind was already compartmentalizing, my cop-brain, my trauma-brain, shoving what had just happened down under layers of numbness that anyone who works in my profession has to develop, or go crazy. “Neither do I.” I reached out and pulled her away from Dmitri’s body. His eyes were open, and I crouched and shut them.

  Then I stood up and turned my back. “We have to do something before we leave, Masha. Can you handle that?”

  She nodded. Too slow, dopey. The shock would keep her moving, I hoped, and get us out of here before the full horror of what had happened came back. I hoped it would work for me, too.

  “You said there was a file room,” I sa
id. “Take me to it.” I wasn’t shaking anymore. I felt cold, singular, driven in my purpose.

  “What’s the point?” Masha muttered. “Couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop them from…”

  “Belikov and his gang made this happen,” I said. “We’re getting the evidence of what they were up to before we leave here.”

  I took Masha’s hand again. “Come on. Show me where the doctor took you.”

  She shook her head, trying to sit back down near her father’s body.

  “Masha,” I said. “I know you’re strong. You shouldn’t have to see this, or remember this, but I need you. You’ve got to keep it together just a little longer. I’m sorry to ask, but we need these files if we’re going to make your dad doing what he did mean anything.”

  After a moment, she jerked her head at a nearby door. “Here,” Masha said, pushing through to the file room, which was an Indiana Jones-esque maze of file cabinets, some on their sides, set at odd angles like slumbering sharp-cornered beasts. Papers blew around my bare ankles in the air stirred by our passage, and dust hung like sunbeams in the stale air.

  Only one file drawer had handprints in the layer of grime that coated everything, and I opened the drawer. There were stacks of files, the results of blood tests and DNA typing, which were gibberish to me but that I was sure Dr. Kronen would be very interested in.

  “Photographs,” Masha said. “Grigorii had pictures that he liked to look at, during. He showed me one.”

  I dug deeper into the files and found a stack of pictures, each neatly labeled with the date and the code for the subject of the photo.

  They were horrific. I worked Homicide for five years and saw plenty of crap that would send a normal person to therapy for the next decade, but these—there was a malice to them, the photographer glorying in the monster he had made. “And what monsters they are,” I murmured. I shoved the litany of deformed limbs, lesions, the marks of torture and pain, the fusion of were and human gone wrong, back into a folder. “Let’s get out of here,” I said to Masha. “And get you home.”

  CHAPTER 24