Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4)

by J. Bryan

  He thought the tests were going well. He’d healed animals and human subjects with a variety of afflictions, and he’d even healed Dr. Wichtmann of a persistent bladder infection, though that wasn’t an official test. The scientists seemed pleased with the work but still clueless about how his touch actually worked, except that it put out a lot of heat and electromagnetic energy.

  The worst part was how rarely he saw Juliana—just meals and the occasional film night, no private time. He hoped he would be included in the girls’ activities more now that Willem had apparently returned home to Holland over the weekend. Niklaus was always on his official duties and still took his meals with the other S.S. officers, so Sebastian found himself spending hours alone on his hall at night. Not that he particularly wanted to spend more time with Niklaus—the guy had a strange, threatening way about him, but at least he always had beer or schnapps. The scientists had instructed Sebastian not to drink alcohol, but what else was he supposed to do with all his time?

  Sebastian took a platter of potatoes and beef from the open dumbwaiter, then sat at his usual place near the middle of the table. He greeted Roza and Vilja, who flanked the head of the table where Alise would inevitably sit. The blond girls waved back at him and whispered to each other, giggling.

  Mia, Juliana’s roommate, arrived and hurried over to sit next to Sebastian.

  “Hi, Mia. Where’s Juliana?” Sebastian asked.

  “She’ll come.” Mia leaned close to him and whispered. “She’s very upset today. I hope you can comfort her.”

  “They didn’t make her do more animal tests, did they?”

  “No, they just...” Mia frowned. “They wanted her to...kill a man. With her touch.” She placed her hand on Sebastian’s, as if to demonstrate.

  “Are you serious? What kind of sick people are these Nazis? Is she in her room?” Sebastian began to stand, but Mia grabbed his arm.

  “Alise is talking to her now,” Mia said quietly. “God knows what she’s saying. They should be here soon.”

  Sebastian pulled his arm free and started for the door, but then Juliana and Alise entered the room. Despite what Mia had said, Juliana had a broad, glowing smile and a drifting-on-a-cloud look in her eyes.

  Sebastian smiled and reached out to hug Juliana, but she looked right through him. She trotted after Alise like a loyal puppy and sat down next to Roza, on Alise’s end of the table. Roza gave Juliana a disgusted look and scooted her chair away, but Juliana didn’t seem to notice. She gazed droopy-eyed at Alise, with a drunken smile.

  “Alise touched her, didn’t she?” Sebastian asked, taking his seat again. “How could Alise touch Juliana without getting the plague?”

  “I don’t know, but it looks like she did.”

  Sebastian shook his head. Alise had only touched him a few brief times, but her power was clearly strong. Even those brief touches had made him feel intoxicated, and a couple of times, had left him with painfully swollen erections that wouldn’t go away for hours.

  “I have an announcement,” Alise said. “Now that both halls are together.”

  Sebastian tried to catch Juliana’s eye, but she hadn’t even looked his way since entering the room. Either Alise had dosed her pretty heavily, or Juliana was angry at Sebastian about something.

  “Orders have come down that we will no longer tolerate music, film, or literature corrupted by Jewish, homosexual, Communist, or liberal influences,” Alise continued. “No more degrading Hollywood filth, no more records of music by the lower races. We will enjoy only civilized film and music, promoting proper German virtues.”

  “No!” Mia said. “Please, Alise!”

  “Excuse me? Do you have a problem, Mia?” Alise stared at her, and Roza and Vilja copied her cold look. So did Juliana, as if she’d become part of their clique. The four girls seemed to be trying to intimidate Mia.

  “I have to agree with Mia on this one,” Sebastian said. “We really need our entertainment around here.”

  “You’re taking her side?” Juliana scowled at him.

  “It’s not about sides, it’s about not losing our music and movies,” Sebastian told her.

  “Juliana, I read there’s a new Mae West coming out,” Mia said. “Called I’m No Angel. Don’t you want to see that?”

  “It sounds exactly like the kind of degenerate film we’re trying to avoid,” Alise said. “We’ll be collecting all unsuitable records from the common rooms. You will still have the records of many fine German composers.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Sebastian said. “We should at least keep the records we have.”

  “We are not debating the new rule, I am simply telling you what it is,” Alise said. Juliana, Roza, and Vilja all nodded, as if Alise had made an excellent point.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sebastian asked.

  “I am responsible for guiding all of you toward healthy bodies and healthy morals, too,” Alise said. “This may shock you, Sebastian, but we caught Juliana and Mia together on Saturday night, drinking wine and dancing to Negro music in a very lewd manner.”

  “You did? Where was I?” Sebastian grinned at Juliana, but she was still imitating Alise’s withering glare. It was as if the Juliana he’d always known had vanished, and a new minion of Alise had taken her place.

  “The behavior was unacceptable and violated several dormitory rules,” Alise said. “Gruppenführer Kranzler and I agree that the corrupting influence of foreign, racially inferior music is to blame.”

  “American music isn’t foreign to us!” Sebastian said.

  “Sebastian, please don’t fight with Alise,” Juliana told him, her blue eyes frosty and hard. “She has a difficult job looking out for all of us. We should support her and listen to her. If she wants to remove corrupting influences, then we should help her instead of arguing.”

  “Hi, I’m not sure we’ve met,” he replied. “My name is Sebastian.”

  “You can’t be serious about this,” Mia said to Alise.

  “The new rule goes into effect immediately,” Alise said. “Roza, Vilja, and I will review the appropriateness of records and books in both common rooms. Juliana, would you like to help?”

  “I’ll be happy to,” Juliana said. “I’m sorry Sebastian is giving you problems.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s just a boy,” Alise said, and Juliana laughed, as did Alise’s other little followers. Sebastian cast a look of disbelief at Juliana, but she ignored him.

  “I think I’m done.” Sebastian stood and returned his slightly-eaten meal to the dumbwaiter. The little rope-powered elevator would return their dirty dishes up to the kitchen.

  “So am I.” Mia followed him out to the hallway, though she hadn’t eaten at all.

  “Have fun, you two,” Alise said, and the other blond girls snickered.

  “It’s like she’s under a spell,” Sebastian said quietly to Mia as they walked down the hall, away from the dining room and back toward the dormitories. “I mean, I’ve felt Alise’s power before, and I know it’s very...”

  “Sexy?” Mia asked, and he couldn’t help laughing.

  “Yeah. Strong. Like opium. It feels like Juliana’s completely out of touch with herself. And me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m still here.” Mia smiled. “I’ll talk to her. And she’ll come back to her senses...Alise has touched me before, and it does wear off eventually.”

  “It’s good you’re here, Mia,” Sebastian said. “Without you, I’d be going crazy.”

  “You might still be going crazy.” She smiled as they reached the double doors to the girls’ hall. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Don’t worry about Juliana.”

  “I’ll try.” Sebastian reached out and hugged her, without thinking about it. He’d never hugged her before. She leaned her face against his neck, wrapping her arms around him tightly and holding him much longer than he’d expected, while his healing energy seeped into her body. She gave him a dazed smile as she finally pulled herself away and stepped through the
door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Esmeralda stood in the high concrete room and stared at the dead body on the gurney in front of her. A sheet covered him to the chest, hiding the bullet wounds that had killed him. She’d been told nothing about him, but he looked Arabic to her, or maybe Pakistani.

  Two scientists, two U.S. military intelligence officers, and General Ward Kilpatrick watched her from across the room, as did a digital video camera.

  “Anytime, Miss Rios,” Ward said.

  Esmeralda sighed. She didn’t want to help this man, who’d had her drugged and kidnapped from her home. She had no idea where in the world they were, and there were no windows anywhere to give her any clues. The lack of windows made the place even more creepy and sinister. She had a constant bad feeling, as if the place were haunted by angry ghosts. At night, in the dark, she spent hours laying awake in terror, expecting something to grab her.

  Her kidnappers belonged to some kind of secret government agency, the same people who’d recruited Tommy. Ward had approached her in person a week after Tommy left, asking if she was ready to join him, but Esmeralda had turned him down. So he’d had men kidnap her instead.

  Now she was cooperating reluctantly, out of fear of what he might do if she didn’t. She kept asking him to let her see Tommy, but Ward just smirked and said she had to “earn” a visit with him. This involved reading bodies that Ward brought to her, while his researchers monitored her through sensors attached all over her body.

  Esmeralda took a deep breath, placed her hands on the corpse, and closed her eyes.

  Immediately, she saw flashes of life in a city of bombed-out and blackened buildings...Afghanistan. He was Pashtun, not Arab.

  “I see Kabul,” she told them. “Now, another city, Herat, full of ancient towers, not so destroyed...He traveled back and forth, buying and selling...Dishes? Dishes and teapots from Iran. He preferred Herat. He died in Kabul.”

  “He brought weapons from Iran to Afghanistan,” said one of the intelligence officers who’d brought the corpse to the base. “A gun dealer.”

  Esmeralda’s forehead wrinkled as she concentrated. “No...I don’t see anything like that.”

  “He has to be the guy. We worked hard to track him down. A paid informant assured us he was a gun runner.”

  “Maybe you should ask for your money back.” Esmeralda opened her eyes.

  “We were told he was involved in guns and heroin,” the officer told her.

  “No. He did make a sport of sleeping with the wives of other men. Perhaps that is why someone wants him dead.”

  The intelligence officers looked at each other.

  “This girl’s a fake,” one of them said to Ward. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Is she?” Ward asked. “Or are you trying to cover your own ass?”

  “We didn’t make a mistake,” he said. He looked at Esmeralda. “This is the right guy.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Your response is noted. I think we’re done here,” Ward told them.

  The dead Pashtun was wheeled away, and the two visiting intelligence officers left.

  “He sold teapots, huh?” Ward asked her.

  “Teapots.” Esmeralda shrugged.

  “Guess they aren’t sending the high-value targets for our tests.” Ward shook his head, chuckling as he left the lab. Guards in black uniforms escorted Esmeralda away, down the elevator, and back to her room in what they called the cellblock. She sat on her bed as the steel door of her cell clanged shut. She was cooperating now, but was still treated like a prisoner because they knew she didn’t want to be here.

  Esmeralda shuddered as the dark, fearful feeling washed over her again, more strongly ever before. Goosebumps rose all over her. Every shadow and shape in her concrete cell suddenly seemed threatening, as if it were all stage dressing concealing a dark, dangerous evil.

  She tried to push back the tide of dark feelings, but they overwhelmed her, drowning her. She felt a flood of memories of another life, like when she touched a person who had died, but somehow these were her own memories.

  She stood in the lab again, looking at a different body, a middle-aged man with a long beard. There were scientists in white coats again, as well as uniformed men with red patches and swastikas on their sleeves. She knew that she was terrified of them, especially their leader, a man with dark red and gray hair and evil green eyes. Kranzler.

  “Go ahead, Evelina,” said a balding, fat man with neck beard. Dr. Wichtmann. “Tell us what you see.”

  She took a breath and reached out, touching the dead man’s cold, stiff shoulder. She told Wichtmann about the last months of the man’s life—he was a rabbi who’d spoken against the National Socialists, and even published pamphlets against them. This was the reason he was dead.

  “He was involved in a plot against the state,” one of the men in black uniforms said. “We want to know details—time, place, the kind of bombs they will use. All you can tell us.”

  Evelina concentrated for several minutes, trying to find what they wanted. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

  “There is nothing,” she told them, in her hesitant German. “Writing and speaking, yes, bombs, no.”

  One of the uniformed men exploded, shouting at Kranzler, speaking too fast for Evelina to follow. Though she did catch the words “filthy Slav,” clearly referring to her.

  “Evelina,” Kranzler growled as he approached her. “You must tell us about any conspiracies. You cannot protect anyone.”

  “I am protecting no one, only telling the truth. If there was terrorism, he was not involved.”

  “We are talking about plots for the future!” shouted the S.S. officer who’d called her a filthy Slav. He must have been the one who’d captured the man. “Not events that have already passed.”

  Evelina shrugged. “This man was involved in no such plots.”

  “What about the larger Jewish conspiracy?” the officer asked. “The banks? The gold?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

  “Look again!”

  She sighed and touched the dead man for another minute. “I don’t see what you’re talking about. Gold? Banks?” She shook her head.

  “You lying dirty whore!” the officer shouted. “Kranzler, she is a fraud. She is of no use to us.”

  “Evelina, this is your last chance,” Kranzler said. “No more lying to protect the Jews.”

  “I am not lying!” This was the first time Evelina had raised her voice, or done anything but whisper, nod, and cooperate.

  “She is a dirty animal and should be tied up!” the S.S. man yelled. “She speaks nothing but lies.”

  “Evelina, tell us about the Jewish plots!” Kranzler said.

  “There are no plots! Why are you all too stupid to understand that?” Evelina shouted back at them. She immediately regretted her words—they were sure to get her in trouble—but it was too late to take them back.

  “Guards,” Kranzler snarled, “Let her spend a night in the cellblock. Perhaps that will convince her to stop protecting Jewish conspirators.”

  S.S. men seized her and carried her out of the lab. She didn’t struggle as they brought her down to the floor beneath the dormitory hall, to a guard station with two armed guards. One of them opened the steel door to the cellblock, and they escorted her to a concrete cell and locked her inside.

  She didn’t mind being in the cellblock—this was where the Germans had housed her first, after she’d refused to come with them and they’d responded by forcibly taking her. After cooperating for a time, she’d been allowed to move up to the residential dorm with other test subjects, provided she kept quiet and complained about nothing. She’d kept almost perfectly silent the entire time.

  While it was better to be upstairs with the others, a night or two alone in a cell would at least give her a respite from Alise’s cold, gray eyes boring into her, filled with suspicion each time they saw each other. In her own way, Evelina thought, Ali
se seemed almost as sinister as Kranzler himself, even if everybody else seemed to love her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ward remained seated as Mariella entered his office, but he smiled at her. He nodded at the Hale Security guard who’d escorted her, and the guard closed the door to wait outside.

  “Miss Visconti,” Ward said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  “Of course, sir. Is this about...” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “...spy work?”

  “It is. Have a seat. Coffee?” He reached for the button on his telephone.

  “No, thank you.” Mariella kept her posture perfectly straight as she sat. “What can I do for you?”

  Ward found Mariella to be a typical rich ditz, underneath her air of education and culture. She’d already ordered thousands of dollars in clothing, since she had almost none with her, as well as furnishings for her dormitory room, but that was a small price to pay keep her happy, considering the hellstorm her politically connected family could raise on her behalf. He was relieved to have her on his side, even enthusiastic to follow orders, but he still needed to test her loyalty and dedication.

  “I think you can help us streamline our operation,” Ward told her. “We now have five paranormals at this facility, and three are cooperating with us—you and the boy Tommy most of all. The Mexican girl, the one who can speak to the dead, she does what we say, though she clearly doesn’t share your enthusiasm or your understanding of the importance of our work.”

  “But Jenny and Seth are not cooperating, sir?” She looked puzzled, as if this news made no sense to her.

  “Exactly.”

  “Jenny is pregnant, sir, so she may not be entirely rational.” Mariella gave him a big smile. “You know how we women are—erratic, emotional, impulsive. When a woman’s pregnant, multiply that by a hundred. Let me speak to her, and I’ll help her understand what she needs to do.”