Stormrise

by Knizley, Skye

  Francois smiled and sipped his own champagne. “I have heard about your cases, my Ravenel. I believe your last one involved a doppelganger, the one before was a were-rat of some description…do you ever solve human crimes?”

  “They are all human crimes, Francois,” Raven replied, blinking tired eyes. “Everyone is human, no matter what monster they portray on the outside. Everything boils down to human vice and malice.”

  Francois nodded and looked out the window, watching the city loom closer. “I suppose that is true, Ravenel. And what of this Strohm business?”

  Raven licked her lips and sipped the champagne again, feeling very tired.

  “I spoke with mother,” she said, her voice slurred with fatigue. “I’ll do my duty and defend her and the throne against him if it comes to that.”

  “Of course,” Francois said, his hand snaking forward to catch the champagne glass as it slipped from Raven’s fingers. “I would expect nothing less of you, Fürstin.”

  Raven smiled and slipped into a deep sleep, the last words in her waking mind being Francois’ soft, “I am so very sorry, my love. Forgive me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Time passed and lights flickered, leaving Raven in a state of sleep just at the edge of wakefulness. Half-heard voices echoed in her mind and she thought she heard Francois calling for her. She reached out to him, but grasped at nothing except empty air. She felt pain in her arms and then sank into a pit of darkness as black and empty as the mysterious soul of space.

  She rose from the darkness some time later, waking slowly and painfully. At first she was aware only of the beep of a heart monitor and that she was cold. So very cold. She concentrated on the feeling and, after a time, realized she was nude and could feel a breeze across her nipples and a slight pressure at her ankles, knees and wrists.

  Naked and tied down, her tired mind thought. That isn’t a good sign. I don’t remember playing any bondage games with Francois. I know he’s kinda kinky, but this isn’t what I had in mind.

  She flexed her arms and wiggled her feet, confirming that she was indeed tied to a table or bed of some kind. Not knowing who might be around, Raven cracked her eyelids only enough to see through her long lashes and looked around.

  She was in a large room with black-painted windows high up in the walls. The walls were white and the two doors she could see were made of brushed stainless steel.

  A bank of machines sat to her left. She recognized the heart monitor and electrocardiograph from visiting partners in the hospital, but the rest were a mystery. As she stared, the heart monitor began to speed up and beep more erratically in answer to the fear she felt rising inside her.

  To her right was what looked like some kind of pump, next to which stood several vials of what was unmistakably blood. Judging from how weak and sick she felt, it was likely hers. Another bad sign.

  Raven breathed deeply, letting the cold air clear her fogged mind and control the fear clenching at her belly. When she heard the beep of the heart monitor drop back down to a more normal pace, she opened her eyes fully and examined her situation.

  She was tied to an operating table, held in place with thick straps of black leather. A thin, white sheet covered her feet, but otherwise she was nude. She was also certain she had been that way for several days, as all of the wounds and cuts to her breasts and arms had healed, not even leaving a scar or blemish behind. She assumed her face was the same, as she could no longer feel the stinging pain under her eyes.

  A pair of surgical tubes trailed from her arms, each one leading to the strange pump apparatus to her right. The tubes carried a thin trail of blood inside them but her life fluid appeared to be no longer flowing freely to the machine. Someone had turned it off, which was probably why she was awake.

  Okay, Storm, think. You have been tied down, probably for several days, and someone has been draining your blood. It’s a good bet it wasn’t anyone friendly, so what the hell is going on?

  One word, one name, kept echoing in the back of her mind. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but it had to be the truth.

  “Francois,” she said aloud.

  She closed her eyes and blinked away tears. Francois had given her to her mother’s mortal enemy and the sanguinarch was draining her blood. Draining her blood didn’t make much sense; you couldn’t make a vampire or dhampyr with blood. You had to swap blood and share the vampiric disease.

  Regardless of what Francois and Strohm were up to, Raven knew she had to escape and get back to her mother. When she was free and back with the Court, they could figure out how best to deal with Strohm and his lying, heart-stealing minion.

  Raven growled under her breath and flexed her arms, trying to break the straps holding her. The leather groaned under the pressure, but held, giving less than a millimeter of space before she was exhausted and seeing fireworks behind her eyes.

  She lay back and breathed deeply again, fighting not to let her fear control her. Again she waited until her heart and emotions were back under control; she was preparing to try again when she heard footsteps and a strange squeaking sound. A door opened with a loud creak somewhere behind her and the footsteps got closer. She kept her eyes gently closed and waited, not wanting whoever was nearby to know she was awake.

  The squeaking stopped and rough, but gentle hands caressed her breasts and slid down her body, at first simply groping her, feeling her, before checking that she was properly tied down, taking her pulse and thumbing open each eyelid in succession. It was all Raven could do not to flinch at the face she glimpsed when her eyes were opened. Looming above her was what could only be described as a monster of the sort Dr. Frankenstein employed as his assistant. The face was crisscrossed with scars, the eyes were uneven and the emaciated scalp was nearly burned bald and covered in scabs. The creature leered at the nude woman, his yellowed teeth standing out like tombstones against lips like grave worms.

  “Ah, still sleeping, little pretty?” he rasped. “The machines say it is so, but my instincts are not so sure.”

  The monstrous man again ran his fingers over Raven’s bare body, pinching at her nipples in an effort to make her gasp and then roughly running over her womanly folds. Throughout it all, Raven made not a sound, her will an unbreakable iron bar.

  “Mm, my instincts must be wrong, little pretty,” he said. “You sleep still. When you are strong, again will the machines drain more of your blood. Until then, I’ll paint and enjoy dreaming of your body beneath me. It has been such a long time.”

  Raven felt the large man move away and cracked her eyes again, watching as the foul creature dragged a stool up to an easel and, with another glance at her generous breasts, began painting. Raven waited and rested, watching the man as he painted a bizarre portrait of her tied-down form beneath a dark sky.

  Time passed and Raven continued to feel stronger. She could feel her body regenerating and she knew the hideous man would soon know it, too. Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it before he turned the machines back on. She was certain that when the machines came on, the darkness would reclaim her.

  Raven pulled on her restraints again and again they flexed, but did not break. The monitor next to her detected her increased heart rate and began to beep more insistently. The creature at his easel stood and approached, puzzled by the increased activity.

  “Waking, little pretty?” he asked, studying the monitors. “Frightened, maybe? There is much to be frightened of, little pretty. Are you awake? Maybe you are playing at being the possum.”

  Raven did not respond, her eyes still barely open as she watched the man check the machines and record the results in a notebook on his cart.

  “I know a test to see if you are awake or asleep, daughter of Strohm,” the man said with a giggle.

  He picked up a tool from the tray by his side and approached. A moment later Raven felt the stinging pain of a scalpel as it bit into her arm just above the cuff around her wrist. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at the man abov
e her, blood streaming down her arm.

  “Where am I; what are you doing to me?” she growled.

  The man ignored the question and smiled. “Ah, Ravenel, what a pleasure to see you awake. I was worried you would simply drain away and I would never get to see life behind those beautiful emerald eyes before I cut them out.”

  “I asked you a question!” Raven snarled, her wet left wrist working back and forth under the cuff. “Where am I and what is going on here?”

  “Quite rude, Ravenel, quite rude,” the man said. “Is it not traditional to introduce yourself to your host before asking something of him?”

  Buying time, Raven said “Fine…fine! I am Fürstin Ravenel Tempeste of the House Valentina, daughter of the Mistress of the City of Chicago and a police detective. Who are you?”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Fürstin Ravenel,” the man said. “I am Ichabod, the Arztin of the House Strohm.”

  “Well, Arztin Ichabod, where am I and what are you doing to me?” Raven asked.

  “Much better, Ravenel, much better,” Ichabod replied. “And I answer in kind, you are in my laboratory and I am, at the request of Lord Strohm, testing your limits and draining your blood.”

  “Testing my limits? What for?” Raven asked.

  “What for? Why, to please the master and keep you out of the way, Fürstin. You are your mother’s champion. Without you, there is no one to defend your mother. House Valentina will fall and Lord Strohm will resume his rightful place as Master of the City.”

  “That will never happen,” Raven said. “I won’t allow it.”

  The man laughed, a terrible rumble that echoed off the distant walls. “What are you going to do to stop it, little pretty? Bleed on me?”

  “I am going to kill you,” Raven replied simply.

  Ichabod laughed at that and leaned down to plant a leathery kiss on Raven’s lips. “I doubt that, my pretty little toy, but thank you for making me laugh,” he said when he was through. “When my painting is done, the machines will continue to work. Enjoy your moment awake; it will very likely be your last.”

  He turned and moved away toward his easel, leaving Raven alone on the table, his back to her. She watched him with her head cocked to one side and continued to work her wrist inside the cuff, keeping the wound open and making the cuff as slick as possible.

  She gave a few experimental tugs and pulled her hand free of the cuff, ignoring the pain that flared in her hand and wrist. She flexed her fingers and lay her hand on the table, letting the bones knit and the skin heal, all the while keeping her heartbeat in a perfect, calm rhythm.

  At his easel, Ichabod leaned around his painting and stared at Raven. His eyes flicked from Raven to the monitors and back again. He frowned and went back to his painting.

  Raven watched until she knew he was again lost in his work and then leaned over to release her right wrist. She rubbed it against the sheet, working circulation back into her fingers and hand. When it was no longer numb, she sat forward and, as quietly as possible, released her feet and repeated the process of massaging, forcing blood into the cold and tingling limbs until they felt normal again.

  When she could feel, she slid off the table and pulled all of the tubes and sensors from her body. Behind her the bank of machines went crazy, beeping and whining that the person in their care was no longer present.

  Ichabod stood and limped his way toward the bed. He registered that Raven was missing and began searching in all directions, his grey eyes probing every corner of the laboratory for any sign of her.

  Moving with silent grace, Raven dropped from the rafters behind him, grabbed his head and twisted, popping it free of his spine with the sound of a Popsicle stick breaking. She lowered him to the floor and looked into his eyes.

  “I told you I was going to kill you,” she whispered, watching the light leave his eyes. “Your sire is next.”

  Raven searched Ichabod’s body, retrieving keys, a pocketknife and a wristwatch. The calendar on the watch indicated that three days had passed since she had killed Anderson. Both the Chicago police and her family were likely looking for her by now, but they would be looking in the usual places. Wherever she was, she had a feeling it wasn’t on the beaten path.

  Not able to bring herself to cover her body with Ichabod’s foul lab coat, Raven wrapped the watch around her wrist, slid the knife under it for safekeeping, and padded towards the nearest door. A quick turn of the knob confirmed it was locked and she spent several seconds fumbling with the keys on the ring until she found one that fit. She unlocked the door and slipped through, sliding the key ring around her wrist like a charm bracelet.

  The corridor she found herself in was as spartan as the lab had been. The white-tiled walls and floor gave no hint as to where she might be, nor did the flickering fluorescent lights set in the ceiling. Halfway down the hall, however, was something that made her smile; a stainless-steel table laden with her neatly folded belongings was pressed against the wall.

  Raven dressed quickly, not surprised to find that her Automag and spare magazines were missing. She slipped her feet into her boots and pulled her jacket around herself, happy to at least be warm and fully dressed.

  Feeling almost human, Raven continued down the passage to another door, this one a sliding affair made of steel and set with a wheel like one might find on a battleship or submarine. Raven tested the wheel and found that it turned easily under her hand. She turned it until it stopped and then pulled. The door opened on counterweighted hinges and Raven stepped through into a large three-way intersection. The corridor here was carpeted and the walls covered in wood paneling. Something about the paneling was familiar, but Raven couldn’t quite place the somber wood.

  Still feeling the exposure of being alone and unarmed, she turned to the left and slunk down the hall, checking each door she passed. The third one opened at her touch and she stepped through into a well-appointed office. A mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room, flanked by a wide bookcase laden with books and awards, and a sofa had been placed against the far wall. Strangely, the office didn’t have any windows, but instead a wide mural of the Chicago skyline.

  Raven slid into the desk chair and wiggled the computer’s mouse back and forth. The computer screen flickered to life to reveal the slowly spinning image of the Whitehall Pharmaceuticals logo.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Raven asked.

  She tried halfheartedly to break the password on the computer, but failing that began a search of the desk. She found only the typical things one would expect to find in an office environment: pens, paper clips, notepads and thumbtacks filled the drawers. In the bottom one, however, she found an unopened box of wheat crackers. She took a few minutes to quiet the ravenous beast that had been screaming in her stomach and then, feeling stronger, stepped back into the hallway.

  The corridor emptied out into a lobby area, a wide octagonal chamber with a receptionist desk set at the heart and three more corridors going off in different directions. A polished brass elevator sat opposite the receptionist’s desk and a large map proudly proclaimed “you are here at Whitehall Pharmaceuticals.”

  Raven approached the map and ran a finger across the surface. According to the diagram, the lab she had been held in was called Laboratory C and the office was three levels below the Anderson, Richards and Symone building in Chicago.

  “Swell,” Raven said. “No wonder Strohm knew about the case I was working on. Anderson was one of his lackeys. I bet these kinds of things never happened to Daddy.”

  She pushed the button for the elevator and leaned back against the wall, waiting for the car. It arrived a moment later and a man of medium build wearing a beige raincoat stepped out. Raven lashed out with her right foot and kicked him in the stomach. She followed up with a spinning sweep that left the man lying on his face, the wind knocked out of him. As he crumpled to the ground, Raven began a search of his pockets. Her hands came away full of bright yellow cheeseburger wrappers.

 
Not sure if she should laugh or cry, Raven rolled the man over, happy to see the gasping face of Rupert Levac.

  “Rupert? I can’t say how excited and glad I am to see you, but what are you doing here? How did you find me?” she asked.

  “G-good to see you too, Storm,” Levac groaned. “Is this how you greet all your would-be rescuers?”

  Raven did laugh then, resisting the urge to kiss her partner and hugging him instead. “I’m sorry, partner. I didn’t expect to find anyone on my side in this place.”

  Levac nodded, rubbing his hand over his bruised abdomen. “No problem, Storm. When you didn’t show up at the hospital after you bagged Anderson, Frost knew you were in trouble. He had every district in the city looking for you until we got an anonymous tip that you might be here. I had Ryan’s boys do a record search and we confirmed that Anderson had built this place for Whitehall a few months ago. I put two and two together, Columbo style, and here I am.”

  “How did you get in?” Raven asked.

  Levac shrugged and spread his hands. “That part was easy. I snuck in through the back door. No one pays much attention to a guy chewing on a cheeseburger who looks like he knows where he’s going. Who breaks into someplace munching on dinner?”

  “I never thought those damn burgers would do anything but give you a heart attack,” Raven said. “I’m thrilled and glad you found a use for them, but I don’t think getting back out will be so easy. They brought me here for a reason and I doubt they’ll want to let me go. They’re going to be waiting for us.”

  Levac nodded again and pulled another cheeseburger from his pocket, offering it to Raven. “Any idea why?”

  Feeling awful at having to lie, Raven replied, “I think they were trying to hold me for ransom as revenge for killing Anderson.”

  “I guess that makes some sort of sense,” Levac said. “It isn’t exactly a secret that your mother is loaded.”