Cursed

by S. J. Harper

  I have a very bad feeling nothing we do today is going to be reportable to our superiors. This may be the first time I’ve partnered with someone who has Zack’s “special” skills, but there are three missing vampires, people as far as the world knows, and I shake off my reservations. Human or not, the victims get my sympathies.

  Zack gets right to work. “Never met a lock I couldn’t pick.”

  “Get a lot of practice, do you?”

  “You should see my collection of chains and handcuffs.”

  “Kinky.”

  Within seconds, there’s a metallic click and he’s cracked it.

  We slip inside.

  This side entrance takes us to the private elevator that goes directly to Dr. Pierce’s suite.

  “Now what?” I whisper. This door requires a key card of some kind.

  He pulls something from his wallet, swipes it, and voilà—green light.

  “Do I even want to know where you got that thing?”

  “Probably not,” he mutters, pocketing the card, then drawing his weapon.

  Zack takes point. Since he’s the one with super-duper healing and I’m practical, I let him.

  The waiting and reception areas are empty. We quickly move into position by the entrance to the back office. Gun in hand, I pull the door open. Zack leads the way. We proceed cautiously down the hall of exam rooms. At the end, a door stands ajar. According to the placard, it’s what we’ve been looking for, the office of Dr. Barbara Pierce. And it’s empty. Once we’re inside, the real chore lies ahead of us. Finding the hidden entrance to the lab.

  There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases on all four walls.

  “I should have asked Alan which bookcase,” I whisper.

  “No need,” Zack answers, in a hushed tone. He crosses to the first bookcase, leans close. He straightens and moves to the second. Then the third. He gives me a thumbs-up. “This one.” Before I can ask how he determined it, he adds, “I hear the whine from a generator. It’s strongest here. Labs need power. A secret lab with its own operating suite needs its own power source.”

  “You are so clever.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Any idea where the catch or lock is that will open this puppy?”

  I’ve already holstered my gun. With both hands free, I begin to explore the bookcase, passing my hand under and over each shelf. Nothing. I reach behind the case as far as I can. Still nothing. On either side. I turn and look at Pierce’s desk. I remember Alan had the release for the front door of his office somewhere under the top of his desk.

  I take a seat in Pierce’s chair and let my hands explore. No catch. I open the file drawers to the left and right, shuffle papers around so I can see the entire insides of the drawers. My impatience is growing along with my fear that if this takes any longer, we’re going to lose Isabella.

  I sit back in the chair, sighing with frustration. The top of Pierce’s desk holds a blotter, a potted plant, a metal divider tray, a pen set.

  An elaborate pen set.

  I look up at Zack. “Couldn’t be . . .”

  He shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

  He reaches over my shoulder and his fingers tighten around the first pen in the rack. It lifts free. Then he tries the second. This one doesn’t. He tugs at it and it levers down.

  At the same time, there’s a gentle sliding sound. I spring from the chair to watch the bookcase swing forward on a well-oiled track.

  Zack and I move through the door, Glocks in hand.

  We find ourselves in what looks like a small laboratory. A long table holds an autoclave, a microscope, and a desktop computer, as well as racks of test tubes and blood samples. There are other machines I don’t recognize on a second table. The shelves above them are filled with supplies, including towels, sheets, and a stack of fresh scrubs. To my right are two closed doors. Directly across from us is a window. Through it, we have a clear view of the operating suite. On the other side of the glass are six coffins on stainless steel biers. Zack and I exchange glances. Pierce keeps the vampires in coffins? A macabre joke? Each casket has a large tank at the end of it. A coil of plastic tubing connecting them. I surmise that’s how the silver anesthesia Alan mentioned is administered. One coffin is open, but from this vantage point we can’t see inside. A woman dressed in scrubs stands in front of it, blocking our view. Her back is to us, but I know it’s Pierce. I recognize the upswept blond hair from last night.

  We move in tandem to the adjacent door. Zack stands to the right, I, to the left. With a sweeping motion, he cracks the door open. The sound of a Rogers and Hammerstein tune spills out. Pierce is cheerfully humming along. The door opens as soundlessly as the bookcase. Pierce doesn’t hear us enter, doesn’t even look up as we move behind her.

  She’s standing over a coffin, a syringe in her hand. The lid and sides of the coffin appear to be lined with silver. There’s a blanket that looks to be of spun silver pushed to the end and partially draped over the side. The coil of plastic tubing hangs disconnected from its tank at the end. From over Pierce’s shoulder, I can see inside.

  Isabella. It’s horrifying to get my first glimpse of what has become of her. The wispy woman with the radiant smile I’ve been searching for is stretched out, nude, her body withering away. Her long brown hair looks like straw. Her lips are drained of color and peeling, her skin pale and pruned. Across her abdomen is a series of ghastly-looking scars that have yet to completely heal. She’s moaning softly, her eyes closed.

  Pierce reaches inside the coffin and lifts Isabella’s arm. “This will put you to sleep for the final time. In a moment, it will all be over.”

  Just as she touches the syringe to Isabella’s arm, I step forward, chambering a round. Zack has moved to my left, his gun trained, too, on Pierce.

  “Drop the syringe,” I order, struggling to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Or don’t. I would love an excuse to shoot you.”

  I expect her to whirl around, be startled, yell.

  She does none of those things.

  To my great disappointment, Pierce obeys. The hand with the syringe drops to her side. “You don’t understand,” she says, still not moving, not turning around to see who has invaded her private lab. “If you did—”

  “Oh, but I do understand. Better than you imagine. We’ve just come from your son’s office.”

  “Alan? Is he all right?” She’s staring into the coffin.

  “He told us everything. Now, I want you to step away from the coffin and turn around, slowly.”

  “I need to give Isabella a shot,” she says, remaining motionless. “She is recovering from a powerful sedative. If she is allowed to become fully conscious—”

  She doesn’t get the chance to complete the sentence.

  Isabella’s hand flies up from the coffin and fastens on Pierce’s throat.

  “Isabella, no!” I shout.

  Zack moves to intervene.

  We’re both too late.

  With one strong flick of her wrist, she’s pulled Pierce into the coffin. The doctor flails, trying to break away, but the promise of sustenance seems to breathe life into Isabella. She sits up, pulling Pierce to her chest. She fastens her jaws on the doctor’s neck and begins to drink.

  I hate what Pierce has turned Isabella into, but there are strict laws in the vampire community about when and how a vampire feeds. And killing a well-known doctor and draining her blood might put Isabella in just as much danger from her own kind as she was from Pierce.

  Zack grabs hold of Isabella’s hair in an effort to pull her free from Pierce’s body.

  Isabella easily throws him off, jaws snapping at Zack’s throat.

  “Find blood,” he shouts. “There’s got to be some around here.”

  I’m already headed for the door across the way. When I push it open, there’s only one bed inside. It’s an
operating suite, complete with monitors and an oxygen supply. The table is empty. My heart is pounding as I run for the second door. It also leads to a patient room. Again with one bed. This time occupied. Dexter is still and pale under the blanket tucked around him. Intravenous tubes in his arms connect to two overhead infusion bags—one containing blood, the other a clear liquid that I assume is keeping Dexter hydrated—and sedated. In this room, there is a refrigerator. When I open it, I find the blood bags. I grab several and race back to Zack.

  He’s moved in again. This time instead of trying to grab Isabella, he goes for the coffin. Its silver lining burns his hands. He pulls away with a hiss, shaking them both. Then his expression turns resolute and he grabs the side using only his left. I smell his flesh burn, watch as smoke curls up between his fingers.

  “Zack!”

  Sweat beads on his forehead. He grits his teeth and growls in rage, not backing down. Before I can reach him to help, the coffin tips. Zack is pinned beneath it along with Pierce and Isabella. I catch a glimpse of his blistered hand as I move to help lift the coffin. I needn’t have bothered. Isabella, now stronger from the blood, arches her back and throws it off, then turns her rage on Zack.

  With lightning-fast reflexes he’s on his feet, poised and ready. Isabella rushes toward him, pushing him through the open door, out into the lab, and they fall to the floor.

  I lower the shields and try to get into Isabella’s mind—to plant a calming seed. But she’s too far gone to listen to rational thought. Half mad from silver poisoning, her mind is broken. She’s capable only of acting on instinct, acting to ease the pain of starvation and to fight for survival.

  She’s forgotten Pierce now, turning her snapping jaws to Zack. Even with Zack’s damaged hand, he’s able to fend off her attacks, holding her at arm’s length. Under normal circumstances, a Were would be no match for a vampire’s strength. But Zack is powerful and Isabella is young, weak, and her need to feed is paramount.

  I grab a scalpel from a nearby tray and slice open one of the bag’s ports. At the smell of blood, Isabella whirls toward me. I hold it out and she snatches it from my hands, latching on to it like a babe sucking at its mother’s breast. By the time she’s finished with the first, I have another open and ready for her. “Get more, Zack,” I yell.

  When Isabella accepts the blood, there’s the dawning of recognition and wonder in her eyes. I catch a glimpse of myself in the window and am reminded that the shields are still down. I glance around for Zack. His back is to me, heading into the laboratory. I realize this may be my only chance to get into her head.

  “Isabella, listen to me. We’re here to help you, but you have to trust us. We’re friends of Michael’s.”

  “Michael?”

  “He’s never given up on you.” I hand her the third blood bag. “Cooperate with us.”

  Zack is coming back toward us, a handful of blood bags and a clean white sheet in his hands. I pull up the shields, wait for him to join us. Isabella is still looking at me, a puzzled frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. But she says nothing, accepting the sheet Zack holds out to her.

  She wraps the sheet around her nude body.

  “Trust us,” Zack says, offering her another blood bag. “We’ll get you home. Safe and sound.”

  He goes to Pierce, lying still under Isabella’s coffin, blood pooling beneath her head. He feels for a pulse, looks up at me, shakes his head.

  I sigh and look around the room. The five remaining coffins are closed. While Zack stays with Isabella, I open them, one by one, throwing off the silver blankets that cover the vampires trapped inside and pulling needles from arms, stopping the flow of anesthesia rendering them immobile.

  Only one opens his eyes immediately upon being freed.

  Evan.

  CHAPTER 21

  Evan sits up in the coffin, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He looks at me, narrows his eyes, and growls. “Emma? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?” He looks around. “Where am I?” He glances down. “Shit. Why the fuck am I naked?”

  Questions fired machine-gun-style, not pausing for reply or comment. Eyes now burrowing into my skull.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Emma.” Zack has pulled another sheet off the shelf and he tosses it to me.

  I hold it up and Evan climbs out of the coffin, still glaring at me. Once on his own two feet, he folds the sheet in two, then wraps it around his waist like a towel. He turns back to examine the tomb that held him prisoner, fingering the plastic coil and then yanking it from the canister. Where a drop of liquid touches his skin, a blister erupts. He peers at it. “Silver.”

  He glares at me. “What happened?”

  “You were kidnapped.”

  Alarm darkens Evan’s face as if he’s searching for the meaning of my words, searching for some memory of how he got here, searching for the clue that will snap the pieces of the puzzle together. He moves to peer into the coffins on either side of the one that held him. The vampires inside haven’t opened their eyes. Two men, their skin wrinkled and black, lie in a dark, viscous fluid that weeps from scars like Isabella’s. It pools at the bottom of the coffin. The smell is acrid and tinged with decay.

  When I join him, Evan’s head is bowed. “They’ve been exposed too long.” He says it softly and matter-of-factly. “Look at their skin. The silver poisoning is bone deep. Even if we could revive them, they would remain mad. We can’t bring them back.”

  “You’ve seen this kind of thing before?” I ask. My memory slips back to a terrible period when the Inquisition ran rampant and torture became an art.

  He nods. “Wrapping a vampire in silver was a favorite torment during the Middle Ages.”

  “Middle Ages?” Zack has joined us, catching Evan’s last remark. “How old are you?”

  Evan ignores the question, his eyes searching the room.

  I can guess what he’s looking for. What he intends to do. What he must do.

  There is a small desk in the back of the room with a wooden folding chair beside it. He crosses the room with quick strides, sweeps up the chair, and smashes it against the floor. He lifts a leg of the chair, broken off at the base and splintered into a sharp point.

  Then he’s back at the coffins. With no hesitation, he drives the stake through the hearts of the two vampires. First one, then the other. There is a long sigh from each, like a release of both breath and life. A cloud rises as their bodies disintegrate and then they are gone. Only a fine red ash remains, coating the bottom of the caskets, coagulating in the fluid like a grisly scab.

  Evan remains motionless for a moment, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped.

  Pierce may have thought vampires were inhuman, but this is a most human reaction. The reaction of having taken life . . . of coming face-to-face with the finality of real death.

  Evan straightens and turns to look at me again. “How long have I been gone?”

  “About two days.”

  He grimaces. “Liz must be frantic. I need to call her.”

  I hand him my cell and step away to allow him a moment of privacy. Zack has moved to the next coffin and freed Amy. I can’t help smiling. Although she’s weak, she’s able to stand on her own. She’s safe. Our case solved.

  Evan rejoins me, hands me back my cell with a smile of thanks. “I’ve got to get home. Preferably with my clothes.” He glances around again. “Then I’m going to have a lot of questions.”

  Zack has offered Amy a blood bag. Now he turns to Evan. “Do you need blood?”

  He shakes his head. “I can wait.”

  Isabella had been quietly listening to the exchange between Evan and me. Now she’s turned her attention to the bag in Zack’s hand. Minutes ago she would have killed for blood. I glance over at Pierce’s body, battered and broken. She did kill for it. Now that she’s fed, the transform
ation is astounding. Color and texture have returned to her skin and hair. She looks once again like the picture Dexter gave the police when she went missing. She joins Evan as he beats Zack to the last closed coffin, opens it, and peers inside.

  There’s a flick of recognition and something else—a shadow of guilt? Evan says gruffly, “This one’s got to have blood.”

  “I’ll get it.” Isabella plucks one from the pile Zack left on a nearby table and opens it.

  “You know him.” It’s not a question. Evan’s expression tells me it’s true.

  “His name is Owen Cooper.” Evan jerks the sheet wrapped around his waist tighter. His expression is filled with both frustration and anger. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” His voice rises, giving vent to anger the only way he can.

  I lay a hand on his arm. “I’ll see if I can find them.” I head for the single closed door I haven’t yet opened. “Let’s see what’s behind door number four.” When I open it, there’s only an empty bed inside and a closet, also empty.

  On my way back to the lab, I notice a trash can marked HAZARDOUS WASTE pushed underneath the sink against the back wall. Incineration would be a neat and tidy way to dispose of evidence. I lift the lid. There’s a suit lying right on top. I pull it out and shake it. Shirt, tie, and shoes are bunched inside and fall to the floor. The suit is well tailored, looks to be the right size. Probably Evan’s. Under the suit in the trash can are other men’s clothing, black jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket. Owen’s maybe? I quickly gather them up. The women’s clothes are nowhere to be found. Pierce must have already disposed of them. I make a side trip into the lab and grab two sets of scrubs from the shelf. Not exactly designer duds, but somehow I don’t think the vampires will complain.

  “What were they going to do with us?” Evan asks when I reenter the room.

  I realize the others have all quieted, awaiting my response. “Dr. Pierce discovered that vampire organs could universally be transplanted into humans. And because a vampire’s organs regenerate—”