by Tricia Owens
“Sure,” I said, barely able to hold back my contempt.
He eyed me but then moved slowly through the RV to join his partner in front of the display.
“Look at this, Jared. These clippings are high-quality. They’d fool anyone into believing they’re really from a newspaper. How dangerous is that?”
“They are real,” Wolfgang barked. “The newspapers used to print facts before the government took over and began censoring everything and spreading false news.”
Redhead stabbed his finger at us again. “Shut your mouth and stand quietly! You and your girlfriend are in a heap of trouble, fatso.”
I nudged Wolfgang with an elbow. “I’ll make a break for it,” I whispered to him. “I can meddle my bike off the back. Or I’ll mess with their patrol car so it won’t run. Once they leave, you need to get out of here and hole up somewhere.”
“You’re not sacrificing yourself for me. And I’m not running from these two cretins.”
“Wolfie, we’ll both get away if I meddle their—”
“What the hell is this?”
The question, spoken in shock by Jared the redhead, killed the words on my tongue. At the back of the RV, my worst fear was realized. The two officers were staring at the surveillance camera photo of the demon. The so-called ice demon that wouldn’t have survived an hour at the poles.
“Is that supposed to be one of them?” Jared demanded as he reached up and pulled the entire display off the wall. He turned and held it up for Wolfgang and me to see. “This is a goddamn lie. My uncle died in the Drowning War. He fought ice demons that were twenty feet tall with vicious horns in their heads. Not this skinny little monkey, you lying dirtbags! How dare you try to diminish what he did. He gave his life to protect Deniers like you who are better off dead!”
“The ice demons weren’t twenty feet tall,” I said calmly.
“You’re saying my mother lied to me?” he hissed.
“I’m saying the government lied to her.”
“Don’t listen to them, Jared. They’re trying to instigate a coup,” his brown-haired partner said, looking stunned and a little bit sick, as though the idea of it turned his world on its head. “That’s what all this is. Propaganda to get people to rise up against authority. Against us.”
“The government lied to us,” Wolfgang growled, moving in front of me so he stood between me and the policemen. “You want to uphold the law? Start by arresting the oligarchs who fed you lies about the war. Every display in here shows the truth, a truth we’ve been denied and punished for knowing. The government is nothing but a machine crushing truth and justice beneath its wheels, and those steering it don’t see us as humans but as votes to be manipulated for—”
“Put your hands up,” Jared ordered. He threw the display to the ground, where the glass shattered. He pulled his gun from his holster and aimed it at us. “I said, put your damn hands up where I can see them, you traitor!”
“Afraid of the truth?” Wolfgang asked, apparently sensing blood in the water. Or maybe he was determined to have his say no matter what. “What would it mean if we all learned that the demons didn’t come from the ice but were manufactured by humans? What would you think of the government if I told you they were willing to slaughter innocent people like your uncle in order to make people so frightened they’d willingly give up independence and freedom for safety?”
“You’re a maniac,” declared the redhaired cop. He was younger than Wolfgang and only a few years older than me, which meant he was a member of the generation that had grown up being taught the government’s version of the Drowning War. This officer had never known another truth, just as so many others in Victory City never had.
“Peace for this city will only come when you traitors accept that the government is working in our best interests, because they are,” Jared insisted. “All of you Deniers need to be locked up and kept out of the general population.”
“Yeah, hide the truth,” Wolfgang said, sounding eager, like he’d cornered a rabbit. “Close your eyes and plug your ears. None of that will help you when the day of reckoning comes and all the government’s lies are exposed.”
I winced. His use of the word ‘reckoning’ was the pin in the hand grenade, and it had just been pulled. The second cop drew his gun. By the wild expressions on their faces, both men believed they’d stumbled upon a potential terrorist. I clenched my hand into a fist, stressed, and then winced at the pain that radiated up my hand. Shocked, I cast a quick look down at my fingertips. My eyes widened. My fingers looked as torn up as they had when I’d first brushed them along the road. Even the blood hadn’t fully clotted; drops of it were puddling on the carpet beside my foot.
I’d never felt this type of alarm. My healing factor should have kicked in well before now. This was the first time in my life that it hadn’t. What was going on?
But though my fear grew, I couldn’t deal with it while these officers were hounding Wolfgang and me. From my belt hung more carabiners. I unhooked one and clutched it. With my other hand, I quickly snatched up Wolfgang’s favorite bobbing head alien ornament that had been sitting between the front seats.
I meddled the carabiner into a knife, took one step to the side, and thrust the blade at the side of Wolfgang’s neck. He gasped as the pointed tip pierced his flesh. The two officers’ eyes bulged.
“Back off!” I yelled at them maniacally. “I’ve had enough out of you. You’re the traitors! You’re selling out my city for lies!”
“Put down the knife!” the brown-haired officer ordered.
“Shut up!” I pricked Wolfgang with it. He yelped loudly and in a girlish voice as a bead of blood ran down his neck. The officers cursed when they saw it. “You dare to come into my truck and wreck the place and insult me?” I screamed at the officers. “And you—” I snarled at Wolfgang, who looked genuinely petrified. “You come in here and try to convince me that UFOs and aliens are real? You’re no revolutionary! You’re nothing but an alien-loving loser!”
“Put down the knife,” said Jared. He held out one hand, as though approaching a wild animal. “No one wants anyone to be hurt, miss. What’s your name? My name’s Jared and this is—”
“You’re Government Lackey Number One and he’s Number Two,” I shot back. “Get out of my truck before I chop this idiot’s head off.” When they still didn’t move, I yelled, “Don’t make me prove myself to you!”
“Okay, okay,” Jared said, trying to sound soothing. “We’re leaving the vehicle. See? There’s no reason to be upset. We’re all friends here.”
I kept the psychotic expression on my face as the officers slowly sidestepped to the door and then, one by one, backed down the stairs to the pavement.
“Now release the hostage,” Jared said. “We did what you wanted so fair is fair.”
I growled like I didn’t want to do it, still keeping up the act.
“The table,” Wolfgang muttered from the side of his mouth. “Move us to the table.”
Keeping my knife at his throat, I shifted us a few feet while the policemen watched us warily from the opened doorway. Wolfgang reached back and fumbled for something without looking. A moment later I felt his hand groping my hips until his fingers finally found my jeans pocket. He shoved something in there.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Corner of Market and Willow,” I whispered back. Then, in a loud voice, I said, “And you next, you alien-loving freak!”
I shoved Wolfgang at the door. He stumbled down with a cry, arms flailing, and crashed into the officers so the three of them went down in a heap. I quickly meddled the bobble head ornament, turning it to white powder, and chucked it at the three men, yelling as I did so, “Enjoy the anthrax!”
The policemen’s yelling took on a new, panicked tone. As I slammed the door shut, I glimpsed Wolfgang, whom Jared had shoved off, hiding his snickers behind one hand.
After I jumped behind the wheel of the RV—which of course still had the keys in the ig
nition since Wolfgang was always prepared for a quick getaway like this—I gunned the big vehicle down the alley. As I hit the street, I saw in the rearview mirror that Wolfgang had run away to disappear into the pedestrian mall. The two officers, Jared and his partner, had apparently let him go and were tugging at the collars of their uniforms and fanning themselves with their hands as though they were burning up with fever from the anthrax. As the government had shown, people believed anything you told them if they were gullible enough.
Market and Willow was about a mile away. When I arrived, I parked in the lot in front of a furniture store at the south end, where it was partly shielded from passing traffic. Wolfgang wasn’t the most athletic of people, so I figured it’d take him a half hour to arrive. I left the keys in the ignition and climbed out of the RV, shutting the door behind me.
A quick meddling job and my yellow bicycle disengaged from the back of the RV. I couldn’t meddle it back into a working scooter because I lacked gas and oil, so I kept the bicycle in this form and hopped on.
Before I began peddling, though, I remembered that Wolfgang had shoved something in my pocket. I pulled out the folded sheet of paper. It contained Wolfgang’s sloppy scrawled writing:
Dr. Liam Rose. Dr. Anders Blackmore. Project Veil.
I gripped the handlebars of my bike only to wince. Remembering what I’d seen in the RV, I quickly raised my injured hand. My heart clenched at the sight of my bloodied, mangled fingertips. Panic tried to claw its way into my chest.
Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.
I didn’t have time to deal with whatever this was. I meddled a strip off my shirt and used it make bandages for my fingers. It was the first time I’d ever had to care for my body this way and for a moment, I stared at the bandages with despair.
Later. Deal with it later.
Wolfgang had written down an address. Swallowing down my fear, I peddled out.
Chapter 10
Sheridan entered the employee dining room and smiled upon seeing Elliott there, halfway through a burger. He waved at her and she waved back before approaching the ordering station which was connected to the backside of the hotel’s kitchen.
“What’ll it be today, Sheri?” asked the older woman who was taking orders. “Chef’s Special is chicken pot pie, though you know I can get him to make whatever you want.” She winked at Sheridan. “You’re our best employee, after all.”
Sheridan smiled warmly. “I appreciate that, but I hardly think it’s true when the real work is performed back of the house. The pot pie sounds good. I remember enjoying it the last time Chef featured it. I’ll take that, please.”
“You got it, honey. I’ll have it out to you in a few.”
After pouring herself a soda from the fountain machine, Sheridan joined Elliott at the four-top table.
“No pot pie?” she teased.
He swallowed his mouthful. “Not a fan of chicken, really. I know it’s weird to be that way, but…” He shrugged and dragged a French fry through the ketchup on his plate. “Reminds me too much of squirrels.”
“Ah. I’m very sorry.” Sheridan had been the one who’d called Housekeeping to clean up the cage and the bodies of Elliott’s pets after Calia had killed them.
“It’s okay.” Elliott pointed to up to the ceiling. “I’ve got new friends now.”
Sheridan tilted her head back to look at the light fixture he was pointing at. “Oh! How did birds get inside the hotel?”
“They’re sparrows, so they can slip in easily through doors and open windows. Could’ve been when they’re cleaning the conservatory or when deliveries are made in the kitchen. Dunno. I think there are quite a few of them throughout the floors. I’m gradually rounding them up to let them all loose at once.”
Sheridan smiled at the image of Elliott as a pied piper of sparrows. “It’s too bad they can’t stay. I imagine the cleaning staff would take issue with that, however.”
“I wouldn’t blame them. Hey, you didn’t get in trouble from when Arrow snuck into the managers’ office, did you?”
Sheridan smirked. “No, no trouble. Although I think Nova suspected something was amiss. She remained at the desk with me for most of the night, as though she thought something might happen.”
Elliott visibly brightened. “Great. I don’t know how we would have explained that.”
“And what did you learn from the footage?” Sheridan asked lightly. She had numerous opportunities to check for herself, but the thought had never crossed her mind to go behind her boss’ back. Her loyalty to Tower ran too deep. Though not so deep that she couldn’t assist a friend in breaking the rules.
“Arrow says Peerage didn’t kill Dr. Day. Something else did, though she doesn’t know what it is.” His expression grew pinched. “She thinks it might be vampire-related, though.”
Sheridan’s heart skipped a beat. “As in the Count is responsible just as everyone initially assumed?” She kept her expression bland but apparently she hadn’t done a good enough job concealing her feelings.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He took a bite out of his burger and chewed moodily. “You think the Count is a monster, and this would seal his guilt.”
“If you think I’m pleased that the Count apparently killed Dr. Day, you’re mistaken, Elliott. It’s an awful thing.”
“But something did it. And even Arrow…” He trailed off with an angry shake of the head.
The delivery of her pot pie couldn’t distract Sheridan.
“Even Arrow, what?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s wrong. You’re all wrong.”
“You don’t trust me,” she said softly, “do you, Elliott?”
He swallowed loudly. “I do. But…maybe not so much when it comes to the Count.” He picked up a fry. Dropped it back on his plate. “I saw inside your locker once, Sheridan. I wasn’t sneaking around,” he added quickly. “You were getting something out of it and I was going to see Mr. Tower in his office for more inhalants. I just happened to turn my head and see it.”
She nodded calmly and broke the crust of her pie with her fork. “You saw my stake.”
“Tower hired you to kill the Count, didn’t he?”
“No, Elliott. He didn’t.” Her usual ease with finding a smile to hide her true feelings was absent, so she stopped trying. “I was the one who went to Mr. Tower and asked permission to do the deed.”
Elliott’s jaw dropped. “But, why? You’re not…”
“A killer?” The professional smile was back in place again. It was sort of comforting, like a hat she’d grown used to wearing. She felt naked without it, and a part of her wondered what that said about her that she felt more normal when she was suppressing herself. “Everyone can find a reason to want someone dead, Elliott. Most of us are simply fortunate enough to never go through with it. I’m afraid that isn’t the case for me, however.”
“I didn’t think you were like that,” he confessed. Then, as if realizing what he’d implied, he blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”
“By many definitions, I am. I accept that, though of course, I’m not happy about it.”
She had to look away from him, unable to bear the betrayal and disappointment she saw on his face. Once upon a time she had been as innocent as he. It felt like that was a long time ago, though. Long enough for her to feel like a stranger to herself. Long enough for her to struggle to recall when she’d shown anger and unhappiness freely, and not simply covered it with politeness. Acceptance.
“The Count is not a man,” she said. “I know you’re aware of this, Elliott, but I worry that you don’t see him for who and what he truly is.”
“I know he’s not a man,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed again. “How could I not know this? Having a simple conversation with him is like, I don’t know, like trying to communicate with an electro-magnetic shark. And I’m not talking about Calia.”
“He snuck into the Sinistera one night,” Sheri
dan told him. “He did it like a thief. Like a virus. Had he left soon after, we would not be in this situation. But the Count remained in the hotel and he has been a source of conflict ever since.” She glanced at him. “You’re aware that he kills.”
“I know that he feeds. He has no choice. He doesn’t do it for pleasure.”
“Perhaps not. But he does kill for malice.” She took a bite of her pie. It had gone cold and was gummy in her mouth. “That’s what matters to me, at least.”
“Who did he kill who was important to you?” Elliott turned sideways in his chair to face her. His jaw was set, as though he’d braced himself for an ugly truth.
“My father.”
Elliott gasped, his defenses shattered. “Sheridan—I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” He gripped the table with whitened fingers. “Are you sure the Count did it deliberately? Was it maybe—”
“I saw the body. He didn’t drink from my father. He only tore him apart to ensure that he died.”
Sheridan waited for rage to flood her. Even grief. But she hadn’t felt those things in a while. All that was left was a deep regret. And a sense of responsibility. If it hadn’t been for her, her father would never have crossed paths with the vampire.
“My duty to my father is to stake the Count,” she went on calmly. “This has nothing to do with you, Elliott, so I hope you and I will remain friends.”
His forehead rippled with wrinkles. “Of course we will, Sheridan.”
“But things will be awkward sometimes, knowing what you and I know about my intentions.” She smiled sympathetically at him. “I won’t hold it against you if you decide one day that you hate me. Especially when I eventually complete my duty. I just hope that you will eventually forgive me.”
“What if I got him to apologize?” he asked meekly. “Would that help?”
Would that make you spare him? is what Sheridan knew he really meant.
“I’ve never questioned why you’re attracted to him,” she said kindly. “No one understands what motivates the heart. But I hope you’re not projecting qualities onto him that don’t exist. You will never get an apology from him, and it worries me that you believe you could. Remorse is a human emotion, and he is far from that.”