Then I blinked in surprise. On the lowest shelf were an assortment of paranormal fiction books that included Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy and Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight” series.
The sight of all of those paranorm fiction books on Johnson’s shelves was puzzling. A man who believed non-humans should be eradicated, reading books involving paranorms? A man who believed in God, keeping the books by Pullman, who killed God in the trilogy, the author also being a self-proclaimed atheist?
Maybe that had something to do with Johnson’s hate of the paranormal.
To my left was a wall and large glass-fronted case containing shelves of what might be considered collector’s items. For a white supremacist. The things inside it made my body hot with fury. I wanted to take the dagger and stab at it, shatter the glass and destroy everything inside.
An American Patriotic Christians, or APC, red hood perched on top of a red folded robe. Next to it was a plaque with a picture of Hitler and a Nazi swastika in black beside it. A shield with a cross and other markings, a symbol of Aryan Racial Purity Now, or ARPN—a white supremacist organization—was next to the plaque. I cursed in Drow at the doctor and those who had the same beliefs. My curses were far more potent than earthbound sayings.
On another shelf was a yellowed magazine with Aryan Racial Purity Now printed across it. Below the organization name, my gaze settled on the name of an article that was included inside the magazine.
In smaller letters below the article’s title, “In the Service of God,” was printed in italics by Dr. Joseph A. Johnson. The magazine was dated decades past, 1988.
A more recent copy of Aryan Racial Purity Now, the cover glossy with newness, was printed only a month ago. On the cover an article proclaimed the title “Ungodly” with a byline of Dr. Joseph A. Johnson.
I ground my teeth and clenched my fists at the memory of what Johnson had said to me in the stone room: “God has given me this task, to destroy what does not belong in this world.”
Beside the magazine was a plain wooden cross in front of a black and white photograph of three burning crosses. The picture looked like it could have been taken back in the 1960s when APC had burned several African-Americans alive.
The anger surging through me magnified with everything I saw, including old and more recent framed photos of Johnson with known modern-day white supremacists. APC had been a suit-and-tie organization, where the men were considered professional businessmen from a variety of careers. APC had gone underground and was replaced by ARPN, which was almost entirely opposite, with few professional businessmen publicly supporting the organization.
In my studies of American history, I had found these practices beyond appalling. They were sickening, and it sometimes made me wonder why I liked living in the Earth Otherworld.
But in my heart I knew most of the earth Otherworld’s people were not anything like Johnson and those he associated with. They were the minority.
On the fourth wall beside the door were all of Johnson’s framed certificates proclaiming his doctoral degrees.
My body burned with anger as I walked to the spotless glass-topped desk. Near the eight-inch-tall, four-inch-wide paperweight in the shape of a shield was the richly designed nameplate with Joseph A. Johnson, Ph.D. in script across it.
Considering Johnson’s intention of eradicating paranorms, as well as what he kept in his display cases, Joseph might be for Stalin and the A. could stand for Adolf. The thoughts of those men made my stomach churn with disgust. Anger.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen a single human in the facility who would be considered a minority on earth. Everyone as white as white can be with very Anglo names.
Behind the desk were two lower shelves I hadn’t seen from anywhere I’d been standing previously. I squatted beside the shelves and examined the materials on them. When I saw what they were, I wasn’t about to touch them. It was like they would contaminate me just by contact.
Of the two bookshelves, one entire shelf was devoted to tomes on biochemical and biological warfare, neurogenetics, genetics, and genetic atlases. Books on social engineering and theories of intelligence seemed odd next to the other books. I muttered more Drow curse words that sliced the air.
I swallowed at the thought again of Johnson being able to manufacture a virus that would wipe out all paranorms.
The bottom shelf was filled with more books and bound newsletter collections, but these were all devoted to white supremacy. Sick.
Both concerned and disgusted, I looked away from the shelf and stood to face the desk. I studied the paperweight and saw that it was the Aryan Racial Purity Now shield in bronze with an engraved gold plate at its base that read:
DR. JOSEPH A. JOHNSON
FOR OUTSTANDING CONTRIBUTIONS
TO ARYAN RACIAL PURITY NOW
A shudder traveled down my spine and I almost backed away because of the negative energy surrounding the paperweight. But the shield pinned down a memo on yellow paper along with the edges of a couple of photographs. With such negative energy, no way was I going to touch the paperweight with my hands, but I wanted to see what was under it.
I took the dagger I was holding and pushed at the bronze shield. I’d only intended to move it off the paper and photos, but it tipped over and landed hard with a cracking sound. It splintered the glass on Johnson’s desktop. So much for stealth.
The memo had slid away, revealing a photo with another picture under it. The corner of the memo was still tucked under the paperweight. I set the dagger on the desk. My fingers trembled as I ignored the memo and picked up the two photographs. They were recent and taken with a high-quality camera. So recent my stomach churned.
The top photo was of the Werewolf camp, as it had looked the day Olivia and I had arrived. The same six pups that had been playing nearby were in the picture, as were the two Werewolf males eating a haunch of raw venison and the other Weres we had seen.
The second was a photo of Olivia.
My blood ran cold.
Olivia. Why Olivia?
The reason why it was her hit me hard in my belly and my fingers trembled enough that the photos almost slipped from my grasp.
It was because she was the only individual in the camp who could clearly be considered a minority by her exotic appearance and her golden-brown skin. If they were human, all of the Werewolves in Beketov’s camp would be considered Anglo because of where they had emigrated from. As it was, they were being experimented on.
Heart pounding, I dropped the photos on the desktop and snatched the yellow memo. The corner pinned beneath the paperweight ripped away and remained under the toppled bronze shield. I didn’t care. All that mattered was the one line on the paper, written in a messy scrawl:
The Black will be disposed of immediately.
I crushed the paper in my fist and held my arm to my cramping stomach, almost bending over double. Dear Goddess, had they done anything to Olivia?
A sense of frantic urgency rushed through me like I might fly to her. I had to find Olivia. Make sure she was all right. Protect her. She might think she could protect herself in any situation, but I wasn’t taking the chance of something happening to my friend.
The transference. If I could do it from the examination room, maybe I could do it from here. I closed my eyes and focused on moving my body and soul through the rock and dirt above the former NORAD facility.
I focused so intently that my head hurt, pain shooting through it as if a knife was jabbed into my skull. It wasn’t the transference I was feeling, it was the power I was using to focus on my goal.
When I knew it was hopeless, I opened my eyes and my body sagged from the exertion. But fear for Olivia charged me almost immediately.
How had they managed to get pictures, and the Weres not know the cameras were there? The spray, of course.
I took a step to start running out of the room.
Just as I was turning, I saw again the neat stack of papers on the table�
��s cherrywood extension, next to the printer.
The papers drew me. Called to me. And not in a good way.
Stomach still cramping, I hurried and snatched the pile of papers from where they rested. My fingers shook as I saw the first printout.
It was a basic drawing showing the outline of a Werewolf in wolf form cut into quarters. It wasn’t an adult. It was a pup.
I thought my heart might explode. I put the top paper under the others and saw another page with the pup being dissected down to its bowels. The sick feeling inside me balled with so many things it hurt. Fury at everything Johnson was doing and what he stood for; the need to get to Olivia; getting Angel out of here along with the pregnant Were; and the dire necessity to find and save the three pups.
I shoved that paper behind the first and scanned a typed memo.
From: Joseph A. Johnson, Ph.D., M.D.
To: Beatrice Harkins, Head Intern
With the newly acquired information that additional paranormal beings exist, and the possible discovery of our location, we no longer have the luxury of time.
My team and I will leave for Manhattan immediately to test the final samples on the three smallest beasts as well as the three other subjects we selected.
While I am gone, I expect you and your team to handle the two beasts most recently acquired. You and your team are to thoroughly experiment on them as we have all of the other beasts we have gathered. I expect extensive documentation.
This task is to be completed by the time I return.
Attached to this memo is a list of additional experiments you are to perform on the subjects.
Joseph A. Johnson, Ph.D., M.D.
I hadn’t thought the sickness in my belly could get any worse, but I had been wrong. I put the memo behind the others and scanned the next papers. The following page discussed the serums he and the other scientists had developed. Most of it was technical jargon, not clear to me, but I got the overall impression that they were close to finding the virus they’d been working to develop.
The last two pages showed experiments divided into two categories. The first was a list of what was to be performed on a live pup. The second half was a list of things to be done to the dissected pup.
My body trembled. Too many emotions to identify anymore.
I made sure Redhead’s gun was still secure in the waistband of my pants. A maelstrom of emotions in my core and my desire to get to the pregnant Were, Angel, Olivia, and to find the pups churned within me. Not to mention the fact that we had to stop Johnson.
Had to hurry. I bolted toward the door.
I didn’t realize I’d left the dagger on the desk until it was too late.
SIXTEEN
I yanked open the door of the study—
And came face to face with one of the biggest humans I’d ever seen. He wore no mask, had no suit. Just wore jeans, boots, and T-shirt. Close to seven feet tall, every part of his body down to his forearms was so muscular he looked like he could crush stone with his bare hands.
His features were blocky, Neanderthal in appearance, a scraggly beard on his jaws. Black eyes pierced me with his intention to rip my head off.
And he was ready for me.
I wasn’t ready for him.
Before I could drop and roll away from him, his big hands grasped me around the neck, above my Drow collar.
I gave a wheezing, impotent cry as he swung me by my neck and slammed me against the stone wall behind him.
My skull cracked. Pain exploded in my head and back. Blood immediately gushed from the wound and down my neck, hot and sticky, into my fighting suit.
Through the growing fog of being unable to breathe, and the pain, I fought to think of a way out of this. Could I reach the gun still stuffed at the waistband of my pants? Normally a human would never have been able to harm me. But I’d been stupid, and the injuries too extensive.
Neanderthal jammed his boot on one of my knees and I screamed as bone splintered.
Thoughts of reaching for my weapons flew away as pain took its place.
He swung me to the opposite wall, this time smashing my face and side against stone. My cheekbone splintered. The gun dug into my hip and my fading thoughts were of the fact that the weapon would be useless in my slackening grip.
My vision was going black from lack of oxygen and pain. Then Neanderthal grabbed my hand and twisted, snapping small bones. I screamed again and again.
He started to swing me by my neck toward the other wall again.
“Stop.” Harkins’s cold voice came through her suit’s microphone. It sounded like she was beside the man bent on killing me. “We need it alive.”
Neanderthal’s swing came to an abrupt halt. He dropped me on the floor. My already damaged head hit the stone.
As I fought to breathe and tried to ignore all of the pain, I almost wished I would black out.
I couldn’t. I had to remain conscious. Who else was there to help us get out of here?
“Put it in one of the cages by the others.” Harkins looked down at me and my mind spun as I looked up and tried to focus on her face. Hard to see through her mask.
“Any particular one, Harkins?” Neanderthal surprised me with a voice that sounded intelligent rather than like a big, stupid mass of muscle with a brain the size and consistency of a raindrop. “Do you want her shackled?”
I choked and wheezed as he spoke, and couldn’t help a groan of pain.
“It, Sanderson.” Harkins scowled. “Not a she.” Then she gave me a satisfied smile. “I don’t think it is going anywhere after your attention.”
“Whatever you want.” Sanderson leaned down, this time grabbing me by the waist. “But it murdered my friends and three other techs.” He slung me over his shoulder. My face slammed against his muscular back and bones in my cheek ground together. My wrist hung down, limp and useless. My shattered knee hit his chest and there was no holding back another scream.
I closed my eyes as I almost lost consciousness. Everything seemed to spin, and pain in my cheek, head, knee, wrist, and every other injury threatened to rip me apart, too. I would have vomited if anything had been in my stomach, but after the transference I’d lost what little had been inside.
Harkins disappeared from what functioned of my peripheral vision. “Oh, it won’t be alive much longer. We have our task and then we can dispose of it.”
Sanderson started moving in the direction Harkins had disappeared in. “Give it to me,” Sanderson said.
“It will be in pieces when we finish working on it.” Harkins’s voice came from ahead. “Dr. Johnson’s orders.”
One couldn’t even be able to call this a mess I’d gotten myself into. No, it was a situation that I had no idea how to escape from, or if I physically would be able to.
Even if I had my elemental magic. I thought about the waterfall and knew at that moment I didn’t have the strength to call to it. I didn’t know how to use so much water with so much magic in it in this condition.
I think Sanderson ensured his steps were rough enough to cause me to bounce against his back like a rubber ball. Human curses seemed appropriate for the moment.
Like, What the fuck am I going to do now? And, I’m going to beat the shit out of Sanderson before I kill him.
As if that was going to happen for a while.
With the extent of my injuries, there was no way I’d be able to do a transference. I’d been lucky before at nearly full strength. Really lucky. And who knew where I’d end up?
A creak of metal sounded distant. My eyes were still shut tight and I realized we were at a cage when Sanderson flung me into one. Not set me into one. Flung. I screamed as I hit the back bars, then collapsed onto the floor of it. The cage was so small there was no way to land but curled up with my knees to my chest on my side. My shattered knee was beneath me, throbbing and shrieking with pain.
I didn’t open my eyes. Thankfully I wasn’t lying on my crushed cheekbone or broken wrist. The uninjured part of my f
ace rested on my arm that also hadn’t been injured.
My body started to feel numb and I was almost beyond pain. Unfortunately, not completely. Passing out would really have been nice right then. Still, I fought slipping out of consciousness and managed to remain awake.
Sanderson slammed the cage door shut and bars hit my bare feet. The sound jarred my eardrums. I would have ground my teeth together if my cheekbone wasn’t shattered. The click of a lock was loud in the room. I heard low voices. My brain was too addled to make out words.
It wouldn’t be long until I shifted back to my human form. I could sense dawn coming soon. I would heal a little, but unfortunately I wouldn’t heal like I do when I shift to Drow. I don’t know why that is. But when I’m severely injured, I have to wait another twelve hours to fully return to normal—when I’m Drow again.
What was I going to do?
“Nyx.” Angel’s concerned voice was somewhere around me and echoed in my head. I was too disoriented and dizzy to tell what direction she was talking from. “How badly are you injured?”
My words came out raspy from my windpipe almost being crushed by Sanderson. “I’ll live.” I almost couldn’t speak with my crushed cheekbone.
“Until they experiment on you,” came a terrified female voice that shook as she spoke. She had a heavy Slavic accent. “I heard them speak. They may start with you while you are injured.” Her words were loud enough to make my head hurt and I winced.
“Kveta, please be calm for Nyx’s sake.” Angel’s voice was soothing. “She has injuries to her head that may cause her pain if we talk too loud.”
“My apologies.” Kveta spoke in a whisper this time, for which I was very thankful. “What have they done to you?”
The only thing I could do at that moment was respond with a groan.
Blood dripped down the side of my face from my head injury. It trickled into my eyes as I opened them. I blinked several times. I didn’t even have the strength to use the small amount of magic needed to use Avanna to cleanse myself of blood, especially what slid across my eyelids and into my eyes. My blue hair was matted with blood, too, and a lock of it lay in a clump across my cheek.
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