Wrong Side of Dead dc-4

by Kelly Meding

“Thackery sure did. He had to know we’d be at the rave.”

  “Well, Thackery likes to have backup plans in place.” Hell, he could have the Lupa set to explode somehow, too, and the thought made me doubly glad we hadn’t brought our prisoner back to the Watchtower.

  Milo ran a hand through his short hair. “How do you not know someone’s planted a bomb on you? Or in you?”

  I had no answer.

  “I just …” Milo sighed. “I can’t believe so much has gone so wrong so fast.”

  No kidding. In just the last six hours, we’d captured Felix, had half a dozen Therians kidnapped, Wyatt was attacked by a werewolf, Felix exploded, and now the vampires were getting sick. Somehow everything connected back to Thackery, but I hadn’t yet drawn all the lines between the crazy dots.

  “Did we save any samples of Felix’s blood?” I asked.

  “I think so. Why?”

  “Because something besides willpower was helping Felix, and we might find a hint in his blood.”

  Determined to do something, I circled past Milo and stepped into the short hall. My room was at the end of the row of four, with all the noise activity happening farther down in the main infirmary area. The next door down was half-shut, and Marcus was arguing with someone about being allowed to use a cane. I made a mental note to thank him later.

  The third room was empty. Wyatt was in the fourth. The conversation just a few yards away had my attention, but I went into Wyatt’s room anyway. He looked awful, like someone fighting a losing battle with a deadly disease—all fevered, blotchy skin and labored breathing. The bandages on his neck and arm were stained red and yellow, hinting at the infection raging below the surface.

  Frail came to mind, and I despised using that word to describe Wyatt Truman. Once again, the people I cared about were at the mercy of Walter-fucking-Thackery and his diseased whims.

  I stepped toward the bed. Froze. I wanted to find a chair and sit next to Wyatt, hold his hand until he woke up. Be there so he wasn’t alone if he died from whatever ravaged his body. I needed to be there for him, like he’d been there for me countless times in the very recent past.

  Only I couldn’t. There was too much to do, and if I could get to Thackery, maybe I could beat an antidote out of him. As much as my heart wanted me to stay with Wyatt, logic told me I’d help him best by being out in the city. Doing something.

  I brushed his cheek with my knuckles, noting how the damp skin radiated heat. The last time I’d seen him in a bed like this, he’d just shielded me from another exploding Halfie and taken a piece of shrapnel in the back for it. The perfect alignment of it made me smile in spite of the situation.

  “You keep fighting, hear me?” I said. “Fight for me.”

  He slept on.

  Milo trailed me into the main part of the infirmary, where I nearly walked into Astrid.

  She gave me a quick, assessing glance. “Nothing keeps you down long, does it?”

  “I’m contrary. What can I say?”

  “Did Milo bring you up to speed?”

  “Yes. Have we heard from Phin?”

  “They’re having trouble questioning the werewolf. It’s got some sort of tracer. They’ve switched locations twice and are still being trailed.”

  “By?”

  “The other wolves. They seem to want their brother back. If this continues, Phineas may have no choice but to kill the werewolf and return.”

  “Can’t they trap the pursuing wolves?” As soon as I asked the question, I saw its logical fallacy. “Guess it wouldn’t matter, since Thackery could just trace them, too.”

  “Correct.” Her attention shifted to something behind me. “What are you doing up?”

  Marcus shuffled down the hall using Kyle for a crutch. His left foot and ankle were wrapped in gauze and one of those walking boot things, but if the pain bothered him he gave no sign of it. “Walking,” he said. “Okay, limping, but you need me on this.”

  Astrid glared. “Fine. But if you pull stitches, you’re answering to Dr. Vansis.”

  “Noted.”

  “Do we know anything new?” I asked, impatience growing.

  “No,” Astrid replied.

  “Is everyone quarantined here, or just the vampires?”

  “Everyone,” Dr. Vansis said from across the room, where he was hunched over a microscope. “Until I’m certain it isn’t communicable via Therian or human, no one leaves the premises.”

  Not the answer I wanted to hear. “Who’s out in the field?”

  “Phineas. Baylor is out with his team. Jackson took Leah’s squad out looking for her several hours ago.”

  “That’s not many.”

  “It’s what we have.” Astrid’s phone rang. She checked the display. “What?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, send it to the infirmary computer.”

  “Send what?” Marcus asked.

  Astrid plunked down in the desk chair and tapped away at the keyboard. “Incoming video conference call with Elder Macario Rojay of Cania and Elder Marcellus Dane of Felia.”

  Dane? Milo and I turned to stare at Marcus, likely wearing the same curious expression. I knew the Felia were something of an anomaly, because they had both a Pride Alpha and a Clan Elder. The former was a position of authority that had been in place for centuries before the Assembly formed; the latter was their voice on the Assembly. I’d just never connected the Felia Elder to Marcus or Astrid before today.

  “What?” Marcus snapped. “The Elder is our grandfather.”

  From what little I knew of Assembly politics, the majority of Elder positions were inherited from parent to child. Marcus and Astrid were already at the half points of their lives and had no mates or children. Judging by the steely glare coming my way, it was a touchy subject. One I wasn’t about to broach with either of them.

  I’m not a huge fan of computers, but the fact that Astrid could bring up two different screens with two different men’s faces impressed me. Even more so that we could all apparently talk to one another via a little camera and microphone already embedded in the infirmary’s laptop.

  Elder Rojay was the younger of the pair, with a ruddy complexion and wild brown hair. Even across the desk, I could see that his eyes were the same striking brown as Kyle’s—as dark as a mug of black coffee. He had a large mug of something steamy on the desk in front of him, and just visible on the corner of the screen was a silver flask. Elder Dane, on the other hand, had more wrinkles and folds than a shar-pei dog. His hair was white, and his demeanor sullen, but life sparkled in those sharp copper eyes that all of his people possessed. Identical eye color was a consistent characteristic among many of the Clans. At least, it was in the Clans I’d met so far, which was only half of them.

  Dr. Vansis circled to stand behind Astrid. Marcus and I hung to the side, Milo behind us.

  “Who is witness to this call?” Elder Dane asked.

  “Astrid and Marcus Dane of Felia,” she replied. “Reid Vansis of Ursia. Humans Evangeline Stone and Milo Gant.”

  “Stone may stay. The other human must leave.”

  Milo rolled his eyes—politics, he seemed to say—and left the infirmary. I considered protesting on the grounds that I’d probably just tell him everything anyway, but I held my tongue. Back-talking an Elder was a good way to get on their bad side, and I had enough enemies.

  “Where is Phineas el Chimal?” Elder Rojay asked.

  “He is in the city, completing a task for us,” Astrid said. “He will be briefed on our conversation as soon as possible.”

  “We have no time for formalities, Elders,” Dr. Vansis said. “Have you approved my request for further information on the Lupa?”

  “We have,” Elder Rojay said. “We realize that with recent events, what we know will soon become common knowledge amongst our people—something we have tried to prevent for a variety of reasons. All of our compiled medical data, sparse though it is, is being emailed to you now.”

  “Good.”

  “Did the Coni hunt
and kill off the Lupa?” I asked. The question earned me an elbow in the ribs from Marcus.

  “Yes,” Elder Dane replied. “Humans were spreading rapidly across the globe, settling in the wildernesses that had once been our sanctuaries. The Lupa were out of control, attacking humans and creating fear throughout Europe. There were cries of witchcraft. Innocents were accused and murdered. Our ancestors decided that integration with humans was the safest course for the future, which meant concealing our true natures.”

  “The Lupa disagreed,” Elder Rojay said when Dane faltered. “A pack destroyed a village in Tuscany out of spite for our decision. As protectors of our kind, the Coni were tasked with hunting and executing the Lupa.”

  I recalled the open hostility between Phineas and Teen Wolf, and now understood it more than ever.

  “We had thought they succeeded,” Rojay continued, “but it appears we were wrong.”

  “Or simply deceived,” Astrid said. “The Fey are adept at that.”

  “Yes, we have heard the admission that the Fey are responsible for the survival of the Lupa. It’s their motivation that baffles us.”

  “The motivation of the Fey is the least of my worries right now,” Dr. Vansis said. “Is Lupa blood poisonous to humans?”

  “Their saliva can be quite toxic if it enters the blood through a bite or other wound,” Dane said.

  My heart pounded harder, even as my stomach soured. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  “Historically, bites caused the human to go quite mad. It affects them not unlike rabies would, without the period of dormancy. The toxin causes neural inflammation, and in those early days before proper virology studies, humans didn’t understand why this happened.”

  “The bites never caused a transformation among the infected humans?” Dr. Vansis asked.

  “Of course not.” Dane’s tone told us exactly how daft he thought that question was. “Such a notion is pure fiction. A human cannot become Therian any more than a vampire can become a goblin.”

  Wyatt isn’t just any human. The thought did little to comfort me.

  Dane continued. “The Lupa bites are not mystical. They cause a violent fever, madness, and eventually death.”

  “There’s no cure?” I blurted out.

  Elder Dane shook his head. “There has never been a need for one. Those early infected humans were killed by their own. Your infected human is the first in centuries.”

  My infected human. It sounded so cold when put like that, but Elder Dane didn’t know Wyatt. He had no stake in Wyatt’s survival. His only major loyalties were to the Pride and the Assembly. But Wyatt was strong. He was Gifted, dammit. He could beat this.

  “Is there anything else about the Lupa that you can tell us?” Astrid asked.

  “They are an old race, second only to the Coni, and strong.”

  “And bi-shifters,” I said, thinking back to my Boot Camp battle with Wolf Boy in his half-wolf form. He’d been one scary son of a bitch.

  Both Elders glanced at separate corners of their screens, probably where each saw the other, and shared a look I couldn’t decipher. They had to know I’d been told about the bi-shifters in general; I just didn’t know which Clans had the ability. Only my own guesses, based on an old clue from Michael Jenner.

  “Yes, they are also bi-shifters,” Elder Dane said.

  Fabulous.

  “The medical information should have arrived,” Elder Rojay said. “Best of luck.” He signed off.

  The monitor expanded the angry visage of Elder Dane. “Astrid,” he said.

  She stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

  “You have three very serious problems, and as the chief security liaison to the Assembly, need I remind you of your priority?”

  “No, Elder Dane, you needn’t do that.”

  Dane’s gaze flickered up and past me to Marcus. “Do not disappoint.” The three words fell like anvils, and then the screen went blue.

  Marcus growled, deep and low.

  Dr. Vansis snatched up the laptop.

  “What’s your priority, exactly?” I asked Astrid.

  “Protecting the Clans,” she said in a flat tone. “Which means my first priority is finding and destroying the Lupa, and then finding our missing people.”

  I bristled, hands balling into fists. “So Wyatt and the sick vampires come in a distant third?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do realize that all of these things are connected, right?”

  She stood up, my height, but somehow impossibly taller. Fury flashed in her eyes, and her true form prowled just beneath the surface. I’d seen Astrid shift several times in the last month, but her leopard was nowhere near as intimidating as the woman. “Yes, I realize all these things are connected, and I also realize that you aren’t used to taking orders and following the commands of your superiors, so let me make something clear. Isleen is sick. Baylor is in the field. Right now, I am in charge of the Watchtower, and if you wish to continue working with us, you will follow my fucking orders.”

  Hot damn, I’d never heard her cuss before. The cold delivery of her mini-rant didn’t cow me, but it did make one thing perfectly clear—she wasn’t happy about the ordering of her priorities. Good. It meant she cared about more than just her Clans.

  “Understood,” I said.

  She blinked hard, as though surprised by my sudden acquiescence. “Good.”

  “I need permission to leave the Watchtower.”

  “Stone, we still don’t know—”

  “I know what we don’t know, Astrid.” I was toeing the line with her, but had the faintest outline of a plan forming in my head. I just couldn’t do anything about it stuck here. “We don’t know a hell of a lot, including what this disease will eventually do to the vampires here, or if Wyatt’s going to die from that werewolf bite. But Thackery does know, and I can at least get us a few more werewolves.”

  She gave me a dubious frown. “How?”

  “I need to know Phin’s current location, and I need two tranq guns with the strongest local anesthetic we have.”

  “For?”

  “I used to be a Hunter, right?” I smiled. “I’m going hunting.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  6:50 A.M.

  Ten minutes later, I met Baylor’s van in the parking lot of a discount grocery store in upper downtown. I climbed in, armed with my requested guns and a cell phone set to speed-dial Astrid. Baylor wore the same concerned, pinched expression I’d seen on everyone in the last few hours.

  “Squad’s in position,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

  “Good,” I said. “Phin?”

  “Construction site across the street, just like you said.”

  “What’s our lead time?”

  “Ten minutes, max.”

  Cool. I hated waiting. My plan was simple—bait and shoot. The wounded werewolf had died a few minutes ago from blood loss—which may or may not have been helped along, but I wasn’t going to question a good thing—so the body had been dumped at the construction site. Phin was watching downwind in osprey form, and the rest of Baylor’s team had taken surveillance positions nearby. As soon as the other werewolves tracked their dead buddy, I’d get a signal and teleport in with my tranq guns ready to blast the bastards. We’d have twenty, maybe thirty minutes to interrogate them before anyone tracking realized they hadn’t moved locations in a while.

  A very simple plan.

  With so many chances to go terribly wrong.

  Less than three minutes of tense silence passed before Baylor’s phone beeped. He checked the message. “They’re coming up the street, about a hundred yards to the north, human form.”

  Even better, if they were tracking as teenagers. “Okay, good, see you in a few.” I reached for the door handle.

  “Watch your back, Stone.”

  I winked, then bounded out of the van. The guns were tucked in the waist of my jeans, hidden by a loose T-shirt I’d changed into after a quick shower; no sense in coming to
an ambush smelling like Halfie blood. The wound on my back had been rebandaged, and the itch-ache of it healing kept me company as I jogged across the street south of the construction site. It was still early, the city not fully awake. Cars zipped past, but the foot traffic was minimal—good for our purposes.

  A tall construction wall created a fairly solid barrier between the sidewalk and the stalled project inside. I’d hunted Halfies here a few times and knew the lay of the land pretty well. Financing on a hotel had fallen through nearly two years ago, and all work on the site stopped. It had yet to restart.

  I was near the empty and rusting trailer housing the site office. The frame of the hotel was in place, creating an iron maze with only the barest sense of structure. Tarps had been draped over large sections to protect equipment from the weather. Phin should have put the dead werewolf in the center of one of these tarps. The logic: open placement screamed bait, but covering him theoretically limited our ability to ambush the other werewolves from a distance. That’s where my teleporting ability would come into play.

  I could appear out of nowhere, far enough to prevent them from smelling me first, and shoot them before they could react to my presence. Theoretically. Everything hinged on my ability to not teleport into one of them or, worse, into an unexpected support beam.

  The fence had half a dozen different weak spots, and with the werewolves approaching from the north, they’d stumble across at least three of those before they got close to my position. So I waited. Waited for a very simple signal: Phin landing on the roof of Baylor’s van.

  I leaned casually against a telephone pole, pretending to bite my nails, glancing around as if waiting for someone, all the while facing the van. Minutes ticked by. My anxiety grew exponentially, sending a gaggle of butterflies loose in my guts. This had to work. I didn’t have another plan, couldn’t think of another way to learn if there was an antidote for wolf bites.

  A shadow drifted across the sidewalk, and then a bird that had no business living in a city perched gracefully on top of our van. I swallowed hard, mouth dry, and pulled my guns. Checked for potential witnesses and saw none.

  Here goes nothing.