Angelbound THRAX

by Christina Bauer

I start to rush over, but Felton grabs my elbow. “What are you doing?”

  “Inspecting the subject.” The words come out as more of a question, though.

  “You want to kill him? I’m in the middle of the transfer round. Your soul energy could throw off all my calibrations.”

  “Right. That’s what I was testing you for.” I step backward, but each movement feels like moving through cold water. “Well done. Finish out the round.”

  “Thank you.” I can almost hear the gears of Felton’s mind working underneath his plastic helmet and binocular headgear. I screwed up by starting to walk over. Felton turns to stare at me, which is super-weird with those binoculars on. “What division do you work for anyway?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Asking questions only makes my inspection last longer.”

  Felton focuses on his ledger once again. I resist the urge to cheer. He twists a few more dials on the binoculars that are stuck to his face. “Round seven finalizing.” He starts typing onto the black ledger’s page with his free hand. “Looking for soul energy transfer in three…two…one.”

  The black tubes sprouting from the curved glass all stiffen as the dark canister machine makes odd whirring noises. A sinking feeling tumbles through my belly. I don’t like this. At all.

  A second later, arcs of electricity jet out of the black tubes and into the prone form. I can’t see what’s happening, but a sickly sweet smell fills the air. The man moans something.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. A note of hysteria is creeping into my voice, and I can’t stop it.

  “Trying to take his soul energy. This is a soul transfer, after all. But the subject is fighting it. That’s why everything’s becoming painful for him.” He taps his ledger again. “Second attempt to finish round seven transfer starts now.”

  More electricity arcs through the patient. His body convulses as he mumbles another word. The foul-sweet scent grows stronger. My hands ball into fists. It takes everything in me not to freak out, break the glass, and free whoever is inside. Every corner of my soul wants to free this subject now, but I know it would kill the poor person who’s in there. I can’t take that risk.

  After all, it could be Lincoln.

  “How much longer are you going to do that?” I ask.

  “As long as it takes,” explains Felton calmly. “It always slows things down when they fight. Last round lasted two days.”

  The electric jolt stops, and I round on Felton. “Do not run the test again.”

  “Why? The subject isn’t dead yet.”

  Fear and rage churn through me. “Isn’t dead yet? I thought I couldn’t approach the subject, or he’d prematurely terminate.”

  “Right, I said prematurely terminate. That’s the whole point of this. We need soul energy from this subject, and we take it until he’s dead. This subject has lasted seven rounds, which is fairly typical. He won’t make it another round, though. Still, this one will take a while because he’s fighting too hard. Either way, the man is dead. But he’ll definitely die early if you throw off my calibrations.”

  “But he’ll die without pain.”

  Felton tilts his head, which makes his Hazmat suit crinkle. “I don’t gather data on pain.”

  In other words, yes, if I release the subject now, he’ll die without pain versus in agony. No question what happens next, then.

  “I want him out of that case, now.”

  “What?” Felton’s voice quivers with disbelief. “I have a power quota to hit. This is the only living subject left in the entire lab building.”

  “That’s all this guy is to you? A power source?”

  “Of course. How do you think the world is now running? Soul power is the secret that makes all our machines go. We only drain criminals, though.”

  “Criminals.” I can’t believe this guy.

  “That’s only a stop gap. Soon, we’ll have a fresh set of power sources. We need that soul energy.”

  I can’t believe this guy, part deux. “Need?”

  “For that.”

  Felton gestures toward a large window that’s set into the right-hand wall. Beyond the plane of glass, I see a room filled with seven-foot-tall glass canisters. Each clear tube is filled with black mist, which swirls around the outline of a man.

  “Cloning tanks.” I glare at Felton. “You’re cloning people?”

  “We’re cloning Razor Guards.” Felton sighs. “We use thrax to power the process. Young adults work best. We tried some children, but the optimum time for draining is somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two.”

  I nod, not trusting my voice. Lincoln is twenty years old.

  Felton shrugs. “Honestly, children really aren’t worth my time to drain.”

  My hands clench into fists. How can he talk so casually about pulling the souls out of kids? Enough is enough. I round on Felton. “Turn off whatever you are doing. I need to approach the subject.”

  “The subject is almost dead.” Felton is whining now. “We might as well finish out this round. Like I said, I don’t have any other subjects here in the facility today…and the Touch The Tech event is sucking up an unbelievable amount of power.”

  “Open it!”

  “Whatever you say.” Felton adjusts some dials on his binoculars. The glass coffin splits in two lengthwise, with both curved sides sliding into the table. I race over to the dying man. “Lincoln?” I rush to stand on the opposite side of the table and for the first time, I get a good look at his face.

  It takes everything in me not to sob out loud.

  This isn’t Lincoln.

  It’s Williamson. No wonder Cissy didn’t get any report of him when I escaped Antrum. Ethan and Evil Lincoln must have arrested Williamson and sent him up here. My heart cracks. That’s why he looked so much like Lincoln from the back. He’s from the same house.

  Williamson opens his eyes a crack. “Queen Myla.” His voice is a hoarse whisper that makes my eyes sting.

  “They took you after you helped me and Cissy, didn’t they?”

  “Ethan and the false King did, yes.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I glance over to Felton, who’s busy typing data into his ledger. “And your family?”

  “They’re safe. Queen Octavia insisted they be spared, as they knew nothing of my so-called treachery. She also said they’d be cared for as if I’d died in battle defending the palace. It was most gracious of her.” He wheezes out a breath. Blood begins to pool in his mouth. “She thought I’d helped you kill yourself.”

  “No, you saved me.” Everything in me wants to scream with rage and dismay. This is all so wrong. I brush the backs of my fingers gently against his cheek. “You’re a hero, Williamson.”

  “Hero.” He forces out a ragged breath. “They have the King.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “No.” Williamson raises his fist. “I stopped a guard back in the Black Forest. He had a bow and arrow.” He moves the fist closer to me. “This may help our King.” His eyes roll into his head as he exhales a rattling breath. For a moment, the world seems to still.

  I’ve seen enough battles to know when someone’s dead.

  Still, I check his throat. No pulse. My eyes bead with tears. This warrior gave his life for me and mine. He deserved a warrior’s death at the least, not cooped up in some glass coffin.

  Williamson’s body falls slack. His hand opens, revealing the fact that he was clasping a small black arrowhead. This is the same weapon that was used to drag my Lincoln away from me. Evil Lincoln had warned me that Ethan’s Razor Guards had bows and arrows. Before he died, Williamson said he took an arrowhead from a Razor Guard.

  Leaning in, I take a closer look at the arrowhead in question. The projectile is made from the same black metal as all of Ethan’s creations, only this one looks like it got crushed a bit in Williamson’s hand. I turn it over and ponder.

  Why did Williamson think this would help Lincoln? I shake my head. The man was dying. Who knows what he
was thinking? And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Williamson was a faithful guard, and he didn’t deserve to end like this. I set the arrowhead under my Scala robes and by my collarbone. Since I don’t have pockets, it’s the safest place to keep it for now. The arrowhead seemed so important to him. It feels wrong to toss it away.

  I pat the arrowhead in its resting place beneath my robes. My throat constricts with worry. How many more will die like Williamson, if I don’t succeed? Yes, I’ve worried about Lincoln, but the risk goes much further.

  The reality of being a ruler begins to weigh so heavily on my back, it’s as if my bones could snap. It was one thing to fight evil souls in the arena, or to down an attacking demon while on patrol. But this is something else entirely. I essentially sent a man to his death. His poor wife and children.

  My hand slides to my stomach as I think about the life inside me. Williamson may be gone, but I can ensure that my baby grows up with his father…and that the thrax have their leader back.

  I rise, turn toward Felton, and force my voice into some semblance of calm. “He’s dead.”

  Felton sniffs. “And I missed the last set of data and power. Don’t think I won’t put that in my report.”

  “Right.” I keep glaring at Felton. Based on the heat behind my eyes, I know my irises are gleaming demon red at this point. Rage courses unchecked through my bloodstream. I march over to the senior researcher with one thought on my mind. Well, three actually.

  First, take Felton down.

  Second, get those binoculars and that ledger.

  Third, find and free my Lincoln.

  And not just for me and my baby, but for Williamson and all the thrax.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the last twenty seconds, the laboratory room seems to have gotten much hotter. It’s probably just my temper at seeing how callous Felton was about Williamson’s death. Part of me would love to just conk old Felton on the head and grab his stuff, but he isn’t attacking me. Plus, I’m still trying to avoid physical confrontation, so I try to use my words this time.

  “I have another question for you,” I say. I hadn’t noticed before, but there are loudspeakers in each corner of the room. They crackle to life with a low hum. For a moment, I wonder if someone’s going to make an announcement, but when nothing happens, I turn back to the task at hand. I tap Felton on the shoulder. “Question. You. Now.”

  Felton doesn’t look up from his black ledger. “Shoot.”

  “The black smoke… What does it do?”

  Felton keeps typing away without so much as a glance in my direction. “Is this another quiz of my knowledge?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Our black smoke sedates the subject.”

  My tail flicks behind me in a predatory rhythm, not that the very human Felton can see that. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  “Good.” Twisting about, I turn to face the long coil of tubing that snakes from the black canister into the examination table. With a single swipe of my tail, I slice through one of the tubes. Black smoke pours out from the severed end.

  At last, Felton looks up. “What are you doing?” Felton can’t see my tail, but he sure can see the newly-sliced tubing.

  “This.”

  My tail jabs into Felton’s white hazmat suit, creating an opening that’s large enough for—you guessed it—the freshly cut tube-o-black smoke. I jam the open end into Felton’s suit. A dark haze quickly appears behind the clear plastic visor of Felton’s helmet. The dude coughs a few times before falling over onto the floor, unconscious.

  Couldn’t happen to a nicer senior researcher.

  I scoop up Felton’s ledger from the floor and remove the binoculars from around his neck. All the while, I make sure that the smoke tube is still safely jammed inside his hazmat suit because, well, that’s the least this guy has coming to him.

  At this point, I’m feeling pretty good about my bad self when the loudspeaker roars to life.

  “Miss G. Scala to reception. Miss G. Scala to—” The loudspeaker goes silent. Still, I heard enough to know one thing.

  That was Cissy’s voice. And the way her tone was shaking? She’s in big trouble.

  Crap. In all my interactions with Felton and Williamson, I forgot all about Cissy, Zeke, and Albinia. I rush out the door and head toward the lobby at a run.

  I’ve no sooner set foot in the outer hallway than the building goes berserk. Lights flash. Sirens sound. Razor Guards and researchers run in all directions. The soothing all-white passageways become the equivalent of a mosh pit at a Bullet For My Valentine show.

  Here’s one situation where having a tail comes in handy. It’s a double bonus that no humans can see it. As a march along, my dragonscale tail juts out left and right, shoving anyone and everyone out of my path. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of light. It’s such a shock I almost trip over my own feet.

  Was that? Could it be?

  No way.

  I didn’t actually see the little glowing dude again. Not possible.

  Shaking my head, I refocus on sprinting back to the lobby. It isn’t a long journey; all Albinia did was walk me down to the end of a hall and say, “Turn right.” Within seconds, I’m stepping back into the lobby.

  The place is packed with Razor Guards. Cissy and Zeke stand against one wall. All the guards are arrayed around them in concentric circles, like some crazy version of planetary rings around a pair of moons. Only in this case, the rings have guns. And they’re all pointed at Cissy and Zeke.

  A knot of worry forms in my throat. These are my friends. They came here to help me, not be target practice for Ethan’s goons.

  Once again, Albinia stands behind her pod-like reception desk. She wags her pale finger at Zeke. “He took over my mind!”

  I scan the scene, smooth out the front crinkles in my hazmat suit, and saunter up to the guards. Hey, the inspection thing worked before. It’s just got to work again. “Who’s in charge here?”

  All the guards head over in unison to stare at me. It’s a really creepy effect. One of the Razor Guards closest to me steps forward. “I’m Ethan Unit 437-Q. I’m the lead warrior in this building.”

  “You did a wonderful job, Mister Q.” I set my fists on my hips and nod in what I hope is an authoritarian way. “This was an excellent test of your abilities in a crisis.” I raise my hand. “Especially impressive considering how we’re short-staffed today. Well done.”

  Mister Q doesn’t say anything. I hope that’s because he’s appreciating the new name I gave him (Mister Q is a much better name than Ethan Unit 437-Q, after all). Doubtful, but a girl can hope.

  I saunter over to my friends and shake their hands in turn. “Agent Frederickson, Agent Ryder. So well done. Any suggestions for our guard team?”

  Cissy lifts her chin. “I’ll put my suggestions in the report.”

  “As will I,” adds Zeke.

  I turn back toward Mister Q and cup my hand by my mouth. “What part of ‘these are Hunter Enterprises employees’ do you not understand? Order your men to lower their firearms.” Under my breath, I mutter to Zeke. “That’s what they call guns, right?”

  Zeke nods. “You’re doing great.”

  Mister Q slowly lowers his own gun. The rest of the Razor Guards follow. My body feels light as a feather. This is really working.

  I address the guards with my best Queenly voice. “Really well done, men.” I raise the ledger in my right hand. “I’ll be sure to make a note of your performance for CHUCK. But now, we must take our leave.”

  Cissy, Zeke, and I start walking toward the revolving front door. Trouble is, none of the guards are getting out of our way. I refocus on Mister Q again. “Do you mind? We’d like to leave some time this century. The three of us have a very important meeting with the Supreme Leader.”

  Mister Q rubs his chin. Or rather, he scratches at the black bandages there. “W
hat’s your name?”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Senior Researcher Felton Weiner. I was recruited for this special assignment.” I adjust the binoculars at my neck. “Can’t wait to see these two off, so I can return to killing people.”

  “You,” says Mister Q. “You’re Felton Weiner?”

  “Don’t be judgy. It’s a family name.”

  “I suppose that’s fine,” says Mister Q slowly. “Carry on.”

  At those words, it’s as if someone loosened a vise on my body. I can breathe again, move again. And there’s only one place I’m going: out the damned front door.

  Cissy, Zeke, and I step through the knot of Razor Guards. They don’t make a path for us, but at least they aren’t actively moving to block us anymore. Hey, I’ll take it.

  We’re in the middle of the pack of guards when the back door to the lobby is thrown open. The real Felton Weiner bursts into the room. He’s got his helmet off, and yeah, the guy looks like a Felton Weiner: he’s tall and thin like a hotdog with a neck-head combo that doesn’t really have a distinct separation point. And he’s mostly bald with a few stray clumps of hair combed over his head.

  The second he enters the lobby, Felton starts screaming his head off. “Stop her! She tried to kill me.”

  There’s a moment where Cissy, Zeke, and I share questioning looks. We’re all thinking the same thing: do we keep playing the charade, or do we run for it?

  I turn toward the revolving door. “Run!”

  If I thought the hallways were a mob scene, then the lobby becomes even worse. We get a few yards closer to our exit before the guards close in. Now, I didn’t want to get into hand-to-hand combat, but this moment leaves me no choice. My tail wraps around the neck of one Razor Guard and slams that dude’s cranium into the ground. He slumps to the floor, unconscious.

  One down, about fifty to go.

  This is not going to end well.

  From the corner of my eye, I see that glowing form again. And then things get even stranger. Childlike laughter echoes through the lobby. For a second, I see a small humanoid form. Fire drips from its hands.

  “Bigga boom,” it says.