Labyrinth g-5

by Kat Richardson

  “I know.” Yes, I knew, like I’d been split in two: one half looking only at the numbers, the other burning in the wreckage.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It took some time to get settled in Edward’s hideout. First I had to find the magical odds and ends that might cause Quinton trouble and mark them or cover them in some way. The seals Edward had had installed at two corners of the conference room area were easy: one was shattered and the other I simply toppled a chair into upside down. There weren’t a lot more problems but I still had to spend the time searching to be sure. We also ruled out spending any time in one of the small rooms near the elevator shaft which seemed to be Edward’s sleeping space. I felt uncomfortable anywhere in or near it.

  The suite had a small kitchen that didn’t seem to get much use, even though it had everything and the fridge held several bottles and containers that argued that someone—I was guessing Goodall or Carol—needed to eat once in a while. Aside from that, one would think only alcoholics ever came into the basement, but I’d noted long ago that vampires have no problem drinking alcohol. The extensive facilities in the bathroom made me think there might be things about vampire habits and hygiene I didn’t know and really didn’t want to. Quinton found it all rather unsettling, but he had no complaints about the security or the speed of the computer and communications equipment. He looked at it with speculative avarice while he settled me on a couch with a blanket we found in a closet.

  “You look like you never took that nap,” he commented.

  “I feel like I’ve been trampled by elephants wearing electrified cleats.”

  He looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I should have asked how you were sooner.”

  “Stupid to ask when you can just see it.”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s . . . graceless of me.”

  “I can skip grace. I like practical. Though I could stand to hear a little less of whatever’s bugging the Grey world at the moment.”

  “Is it getting worse?”

  “It’s . . . different.”

  He knew I didn’t want to discuss how it had changed. Instead, he just said, “I need to work on that. . . .”

  “I’m doubtful there’s much you can do.”

  “I can try though. Electric shock seems to knock it down. . . .”

  “You can’t keep on zapping me.” And I wasn’t sure that the zap hadn’t somehow facilitated the sudden shift in my connection to the grid. The ordinariness—for us at least—of the conversation was odd after my experience with the Grey a few hours earlier, but welcome.

  “No. That would kill you. Eventually, maybe, but no thank you all the same.”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll skip that option.”

  “Still, it’s a datum and that’s a start. I wonder if it’s a field effect, like the Grey detector flux. . . .”

  “Maybe I just need hearing aids that turn the volume down instead of up,” I joked.

  “Noise canceling, maybe. Have to find the right frequencies though....”

  “Have I mentioned that you’re cute when you’re obsessing?”

  He smiled at me, but it wasn’t quite the irrepressible grin he usually used. “So are you. You bite your lip. It’s very Marilyn Monroe.”

  I couldn’t say that comforted me since she was dead, so I didn’t say anything except, “I’ll have to call Carlos before this gets worse.”

  “About what?”

  “How to get him off Edward’s hook.” Not to mention figuring out a few other angles on this thing. . . .

  Contacting Carlos proved easier than usual and he returned my call himself about nine o’clock. Quinton had been poking at me with weird implements and taking various electronic measurements whenever I said that the noises in my head were louder or more distinct. I wasn’t sure he was getting anywhere with the research, but at least it kept him busy and both our minds off the problems ahead.

  “Blaine,” Carlos acknowledged me. I’d never heard him on the phone before and his voice did odd things to the line, causing strange echoes and screeches I wasn’t certain were coming from my head alone.

  “I can do it. I found the back door.”

  “Resourceful. Are you certain of the other?”

  “Not really. But I . . . have warped the fabric. Reluctant as I am, I think it can be done.”

  He was silent a moment. It came off brooding, even over a phone connection. “Even so, assurances of our alignment will be needed. Of our . . . helplessness,” he spat. “And a diversion from what we do. His eyes must look elsewhere.”

  “On that account I’m afraid I have no ideas,” I said. I could barely keep my mind on track enough to think of how to remove the knife tip from Carlos’s heart and catch up to my father long enough to ask him what had become of his old receptionist, Christelle, and then get him free of Wygan. And I had to free Simondson, too. I’d made a promise, after all.

  “I do. My protégé troubles me. . . .”

  “Cameron?” I was aghast. Cameron was nothing if not loyal to Carlos. He’d spit in Edward’s eye before he’d go against his mentor, so far as I could tell.

  “He may require some talking to. And more than that. See to it. Tonight he goes to visit his sister.”

  “Sarah? In Bellevue?”

  “I believe she has moved to this side of the water. A condo in Belltown. Call him. He will see you.” As if he wouldn’t see Carlos. Something odd was afoot and I wasn’t going to ask: The whole conversation felt like something from a spy movie in which we knew we were being bugged.

  “I will,” I agreed, and cut the connection.

  I plucked at the collection of wires and sensors Quinton had decorated me with. “I have to go soon.”

  “I had that impression. Why?”

  “Honestly, I’m a little confused by it, but I suppose Carlos feared someone eavesdropping on him. I can’t imagine any other reason for that obtuse conversation. I’m to meet with Cameron at his sister’s condo in Belltown. I assume he’ll somehow know what’s going on. But I have to call him first: I don’t know which building she moved to.”

  Quinton made a sage face. “Ah, the politics of vampires.”

  “I think it’s more the maneuvering of a double cross. And as long as I’m not the victim, I’m fine with that.”

  “I wish you weren’t going anywhere. I’m worried about you and, much as I hate to say it, this place gives me the willies.”

  I laughed. “You’re not the only one. But it’s safe. The biggest threats to us are never going to come here, nor will they be sending any little minions to do their dirty work.”

  “Still . . . it’s a vampire’s lair—damned nice one with some really terrific toys, but all the same. . . .”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I understand. But you can’t come along. It wouldn’t be safe for either of us.”

  “What if you have another problem . . . with the voices?”

  “I think I can manage for as long as this will take.”

  I held his further comments at bay while I called Cameron. He answered the phone as if he’d been waiting for it.

  “Hi, Harper.”

  “Hi, Cameron. Look, I need to talk to you right away.”

  “We’re on our way to Sarah’s.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Gwen.”

  “Skinny Gwen?” Lady Gwendolyn of Anorexia she’d called herself the first time we’d met. The only vampire I’d ever seen fading away from lack of giving a damn. Though the last time I’d seen her, she’d seemed much scarier, back in Edward’s fold and becoming sharper and more predatory in his care. “You’re taking Gwen to Sarah’s?”

  “They get on all right. Sarah understands Gwen, and with Edward missing, Gwen needs friends.” He sounded a little defensive.

  I found myself puzzling over that one. Vampires needing friends?

  “Well. If you’re coming,” he continued, “you can meet us at Sarah’s.” He rattled off an address—a rather swank building on Second Avenue that had originally
been a fancy public bath, and then a synagogue before the developers tore down the old building, preserving only the historic terra-cotta facade.

  Surprised, I agreed. “All right. Fifteen minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  Quinton disliked my leaving, but he watched me call for a cab and leave via the elevator to TPM’s lobby. It was safer that walking back to my truck, which we’d moved off-site on the assumption that Goodall still had some moles on the building staff.

  As I was crossing the lobby, the security man on the night desk called out to me. “Ms. Blaine. You expecting any visitors?”

  “No, why?”

  “Been someone lurking around outside since you got here. Not making any moves but persistent. Figured he’s watching you.”

  “Really? What’s he look like?”

  The guard waved me to his monitor and flipped through several screens until he got to a camera that pointed to the far northern corner across the street from TPM’s lobby. The guard froze the frame and zoomed in, pointing to a pale blob that resolved into a familiar face.

  “This guy.”

  Will. I shook my head in exasperation and didn’t even mind the chorus of annoyed little voices in my head. “Ex-boyfriend.”

  “You want we should run him off? Call the cops?”

  I sighed, closing my eyes against the vision of Will arrested again by Seattle’s finest. “No. . . . I’ll handle it. Hold my cab.”

  I walked out of the lobby and straight toward him, straight for the uncontrolled flashes of wild color and chaos that surrounded him, only taking time to scan for traps and other watchers. What the hell was Will thinking? Whatever it was, I had to warn him off for both our sakes. I stopped less than a foot in front of him, glaring up into his unbalanced smile.

  “Stop it, Will. Go away. I can’t help you.”

  “It’s all right. I know I upset you last time. I can be patient.”

  “Apparently you can’t. And that’s not the problem anyhow. You think I can do something for you, but I can’t. Not won’t. Can’t. You have to stop thinking that way. How did you even find me here?”

  “I knew you’d go to Leavenworth. I just drove there and looked for you.”

  It hurt me to be so cruel to him, but nothing seemed to get past his insane belief that I could save him. I glanced at him with his damaged limbs and avid eyes. I shook my head, appalled at the implication of what he’d pushed himself to do after the ghastly things that had been done to him by vampires in London—and those were my fault: his beautiful hands smashed into permanent claws, his feet slashed and crippled, and his mind shattered into disjointed fantasy and fury. Why would he want anything to do with me? To even think of me anymore? And how could he hold the steering wheel or work the pedals of a car without suffering? “You drove yourself . . . ?”

  He raised his eyebrows in an encouraging smile, nodding. “Michael wouldn’t. It’s all right. It was hard to catch up to you, but I did and I followed you home. I don’t mind the pain: It’s real; it’s like a friend. It only hurts me to help me. But it’s not enough. I need you.”

  He started to reach for my shoulders, but I drew back with a warning look and he stopped, his broken hands still in the space between us, supplicating. “There’s so much darkness here. You’re my light. I need you to banish the darkness. I need you to keep them away.”

  My heart was wrung like a rag. “Oh, Will. I can’t. I can’t even keep them away from me.” I brushed his cheek with my fingertips and felt a frisson of jagged cold and terror leap from him and rime my skin in goose bumps. “I’m not the solution to the problem: I’m the source. You need to stay away from me or something worse will happen to you. Go home. Go back to Michael and let him help you.”

  “No. He won’t help me. He only wants me to take pills and go back to the hospital, but they don’t help. They only make it worse; they only let the darkness come closer. They want me to sleep, but that’s when it’s worst. They want to banish the pain, but they don’t understand: I can’t feel anything but this.” He wrung his hands together and I could hear the half-healed bone and tissues pop and tear. The energy around his hands flashed dark red and the freakish void in his aura momentarily illuminated with white sparks. He let out a shaking gasp mixed of suffering and perverse satisfaction.

  Horror nauseated me and sent trembles through my body. I grabbed his hands, forcing them together, palm to palm, between mine, letting the chorus of the Grey cry for compassion. “No, Will. No. Don’t do that. Don’t fall in love with the pain.” I wished I could make him better. I wished I could push away his torment and confusion, repair him, restore his elegant hands and make him forget monsters and terrors in the endless night. “That’s something they gave you—something from the darkness. It’s not good for you. Don’t embrace that. Don’t let them have you.”

  Touching him ached and the voices of the grid bound into a single cry as sharp and clear as breaking crystal. His hands were cold but mine were warm around them, and I held on tight for the few seconds’ paltry comfort I could give. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the tension in his muscles slackened, the riotous energy around him easing down to a small halo of blue and red and green. It wasn’t my doing: I was only grounding him enough to let him do it himself.

  He let out a little sigh, just an ordinary one this time, followed by a longer, slower breath. “That doesn’t hurt.”

  “No. You shouldn’t hurt. Remember this feeling. When the dark things come, reach for this, not for the pain. Breathe just like you’re breathing now—”

  “Blue.”

  “What?”

  “It’s blue.”

  I was startled. I saw the gentle, neutral energy as blue, too—the clean, clearing breath taught in Yoga classes and meditation. I didn’t think Will had any ability to see the paranormal, but maybe things were a bit . . . different now. “Yes. Blue,” I agreed.

  He opened his eyes, his gaze steadier but still disturbed in its depths. “Harper . . .”

  I backed off slowly, letting his hands slip out of mine. “That’s all I can do for you, Will. Take that home, now. Please, go home.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t move away. He just stood still and watched me go back to the TPM building and get into my waiting cab. He was still standing there when we pulled away.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I’m late. I apologize.” I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, contrary to my usual habit. And here I was doing it again in the doorway of Sarah Shadley’s condo. It was after ten. Sarah shrugged and let me in. “Cam and Gwen are in the living room.”

  I touched her on the arm, stopping her. “Why did you move?” Last time I’d been in touch with Cameron’s older sister, she’d been living with their mother in a middle-class suburb of Bellevue and trying to patch up their strained relationship.

  “Oh. Mom’s doing OK and . . . I needed some space of my own. I sold the house. Lucky timing: The market collapsed right afterward, but I did all right. And Cam . . . well, I missed him.”

  She looked remarkable, a complete change from the defiant, confused girl I’d first met: hair badly dyed and growing out, clothes in-your-face instant Goth with an aesthetic meant more to appall than engender any community with her fellows. Now she stood up straight, her light-brown hair shining and smooth. Her makeup was still pale, her clothes still a touch Goth but in a subtler, softer style that owed more to the romantic side of the movement than the punk. She seemed happy, content with herself, and confident.

  “You know vampires aren’t the healthiest friends to have,” I said.

  She gave me a half smile filled with secrets and clasped her hands without thinking, rubbing one thumb against her inner wrist under the long, fluttering cuff of her blouse. “Yeah. But he’s my brother. And . . . I guess I don’t really mind some things. With the right person. I’ve always been a freak, anyway. At least now I’m a useful, happy freak.”

  I followed her into the living room, feeling a little il
l from more than the presence of vampires. When she sat down next to Gwen on the long, chocolate velvet sofa that faced the view of Seattle’s lights tumbling down to Elliott Bay, I felt only slightly less squicked. Yes, I knew vampires needed blood and they had to get it from a living human—preferably someone they had an ongoing relationship with and could trust, or at least control—but since Sarah had been through that before and escaped, I hadn’t expected her to voluntarily return to it. At least it didn’t look like the same abused-pet situation she’d been in with Edward. Gwen leaned against Sarah with casual intimacy. So, maybe not lovers, but extraordinary friends. It could be worse, though from my feeling about vampires in general, it wasn’t exactly good. I just wasn’t sure that being a milk cow was something to be pleased with.

  The roiling red miasma wasn’t as bad as usual, or maybe I was getting used to it after all this time. I couldn’t deny I was drawing closer to the Grey. I repressed the desire to swear at the smug little voices in my head.

  Cameron was at the other end of the couch. I’d met him as a frightened boy who was trying to come to grips with his transition to vampire and his problems with Edward over it. I’d helped him and it was through my mediation he’d ended up under Carlos’s protection. Gone were the long angelic curls, the hint of a mustache, and the artfully ragged sweaters of his university student days. Now he lounged like a blond leopard, sleek and dangerous, all coiled energy and patient knowledge of terrible things. He didn’t project any of the anxiety I’d caught in our phone call before I went to Leavenworth, only power that hung around him as a bright nimbus of red and black. He gazed at me, studying me as if I’d changed since the last time we’d met. I suppose that was true since it had been more than a year since we’d had any in-person contact. Something about me brought out a crease between his eyebrows. He wasn’t quite as good at keeping his emotions off his face as his teacher was.

  “So,” he drawled, “what is Carlos up to?”

  “That depends on where you stand,” I replied, taking a seat at right angles to the sofa on Cameron’s end.