Red Queen

by Christopher Pike

  I smiled. “That’s perfect. Good job, Whip.”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak.

  A faint gasp came out, followed by a dry cough.

  But he was trying—he was trying to talk to us.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ON THE ROAD BACK TO Las Vegas, I asked jimmy if I could have some time alone. I explained how I owed Alex an explanation, and I couldn’t put it off any longer. He was fine with that. He said he would give my father a break and take care of Whip for a while.

  “As long as you promise you’re not going to do anything dangerous while you’re gone,” he said.

  He knew me too well. I smiled and gave him a kiss.

  “Trust me, I’ve never had more reason to stay alive in my life,” I said.

  “Lara?”

  “Yes. And you, always you,” I said.

  He seemed touched. “I like the ‘always’ part.”

  “That’s possible now. We are witches. Eventually you’re going to get your genes turned on. And even if you don’t have the healing one, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep your parts in excellent working condition.”

  “I bet you focus on one part in particular.”

  I stroked his leg. “You’re a mind reader.”

  He kissed me harder, neither of us caring that Whip was watching. Yet, when we parted, Jimmy looked sad.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I should never have left you.”

  “You did what you had to do. You were trying to do the right thing.”

  “I was a fool to get her pregnant in the first place.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that point.”

  Jimmy opened the door and climbed out of the car, taking Whip with him. “Be careful you’re not followed,” he warned.

  “It’s becoming second nature. Bye, Jimmy. Bye, Whip. Love ya both.”

  Whip pressed his right palm to his heart and then pointed the fingers at me. I couldn’t be sure but I thought he was trying to tell me he loved me. Right then, I couldn’t think of two guys in the whole world that I cared for more. It was weird, I had just met Whip.

  Yet, driving toward the MGM, and Alex, thoughts of Russ returned to haunt me. There was no denying the fact that I’d had a crush on Russ, and that did not mean I loved Jimmy any less. I believed Russ’s feelings for me went equally deep. His willingness to accompany me to meet the Lapras had been so brave. He had done it for Lara and me. Remembering his anxiety when we were waiting for Frank outside the Mirage, I realized he must have known the danger he was about to face. But who could’ve guessed that I would be the one to kill him?

  Of course, Susan had murdered him. My hatred for her was like a living thing that kept growing inside. I knew I was not going to rest until she was dead.

  I was about to park at the MGM when I recalled the sound of woe I had heard underground just before the redhead with the Taser had picked me up. In reality the sound had never left me. During idle moments, I had watched my mind constantly turning back to it. There was a reason the cry drew me, but I didn’t know what it was.

  Nor did I know the name of the street where I had heard the sound. I had only a vague idea which direction the cab driver had taken me. But I suspected if I drove around for a while, I might spot something familiar. It had definitely been an industrial area.

  Plus I was in no hurry to confront Alex.

  I had no idea what I was going to say to her.

  The afternoon was wearing on as I headed away from the Strip, relying on intuition more than memory. I stopped in a pawnshop when I got in the area but the owner was no help. I drove in circles. My intuitive gene was working at best at 10 percent capacity, and although I appeared to find the area where I had leaped from the taxi, I could not find the exact street.

  Until I decided to give up and turned back toward the hotel and I ran into the right block. Then I understood. Only when I stopped trying did my intuition work.

  Once again the area appeared deserted. None of the factories were working and the local warehouses appeared empty. The place had a witch-world feel to it. The area seemed dead.

  I parked beside the sewer cover from where the oppressive wail had seemed to originate. The covering plate was made of steel and the hot sun had heated it to the point where it stung my fingers to touch it. Fortunately, while searching the trunk of my new rental, I was lucky to find a toolbox equipped with a large screwdriver and rubber-coated flashlight. Both tools were essential if I was to climb down the manhole.

  And I was going down. The painful moan had not ceased. It sounded as if there were a thousand souls trapped beneath my feet.

  The sewer lid popped free with the help of the screwdriver. But the rungs leading into the ground appeared to be a much more difficult proposition. For one thing they looked like they had not been used since the sewer had been created. They were coated in a heavy layer of dust, and they were awfully short.

  Because the sewer was in the center of the street, I felt a responsibility to replace the covering over my head in case another car swung by and got stuck with a wheel in the hole. But I had to wonder how I could manage that while holding on to the flashlight.

  Then I thought of how all the cool spies on TV carried their flashlights in their mouths when they were going into danger, so they could keep their fingers on the triggers of their Glocks. Not that I had a gun but the point was my mouth was big enough to accommodate the light.

  Turning the flashlight on and sticking the back tip in my mouth, I scooted to the edge of the sewer, rolled over, stuck out a foot, and prayed I’d be able to find the third or fourth rung. The truth was, once I had my feet and hands on the rungs, I felt pretty secure. The sewer cap was still pretty hot but I grabbed it quickly and gave it a few yanks until it settled overhead.

  I started down, keeping both hands on the rungs, breathing around the flashlight. I was glad for the rubber coating. I assumed it would keep my saliva from seeping into the casing and shorting out the batteries. What a way to go, I thought. If my tongue got electrocuted, I wouldn’t even be able to scream as I fell.

  The narrow shaft was deep. I went down a long way before I reached the bottom, which turned out to be a concrete sewer more than eight feet high. It was not circular, as I expected, but more rectangular in shape, its width greater than its generous height. The air was damper than the desert above but the floor of the sewer was bone-dry.

  It made me wonder if the underground aqueduct system only came to life if the city was hit with a storm. From living in Apple Valley, I knew such storms were rare but they could be intense. I recalled how Las Vegas had looked when we had driven in on the freeway. It had seemed as if the city had been built in a relatively depressed area, compared to rows of distant hills. If there were a flash flood, the sewer I was standing in might fill to the ceiling. The fact that there was no dust on the floor or the walls led me to believe this was likely.

  But what about the people who were supposed to live down here? It was weird but it was only when I had finished my descent and was inspecting my immediate surroundings that I realized the moaning sound had stopped. Yet I had been sure it was coming from beneath me. It should have been ten times louder.

  “Maybe they heard me coming,” I whispered aloud, wanting to hear my voice, any sound. The wail might have departed but the creepy vibes had not. I didn’t need to be a witch to sense that there was something strange about this sewer. I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t hear anything, but I knew I wasn’t entirely alone.

  Yet I wasn’t sure what was watching me.

  Something old, perhaps. Something sad.

  I wanted to call out. My gut told me that would be a mistake. Indeed my common sense was screaming at me to get out of there immediately. But I had come for a reason, even if I wasn’t sure what it was anymore.

  I realized how easy it would be to get lost in such a labyrinth. For that reason, before leaving the shaft that had taken me down to th
is sewer, I etched a clear mark on the wall with my screwdriver. I planned to make a series of such markings if I ended up turning corners.

  I started hiking in the direction that I believed led toward the Strip. I kept expecting the moan to return but there was only silence. I wished I had brought a water bottle. I had drunk just before getting out of the car but my thirst soon returned, the damp air notwithstanding. The small light was powerful; I had a clear view of my surroundings. But I worried about its batteries as well. It would be a mistake to hike more than a mile from where my car was parked.

  After ten minutes, I came to a fork. I could go left, right, or straight ahead. For some reason I opted to go to the right. I was guessing but I thought that direction would lead me to downtown, where the hospital stood that had employed Dr. Susan Wheeler up until two days ago.

  Before making the turn, I was careful to etch another mark on the wall that pointed toward my original entrance.

  The new sewer was more square, a tighter fit. The ceiling was barely six feet high. I detected a musky odor. More important, I noticed markings on the wall. Initially they looked like faded graffiti but the farther I walked, the more I realized I was looking at washed-out words that had been written in a foreign language.

  German. I’d had three years in high school. My teacher, Mr. Barnes, had been superb; he’d drilled a thousand-word vocabulary into our brains. Pausing, focusing the light on a clear portion, I was able to decipher one sentence that chilled me to the bone: Schmerz wird zum Vergnügen wenn die Macht Schmerzen schafft.

  Pain becomes a pleasure when power creates pain.

  I walked farther and saw a faded swastika painted in red and black. On the wall, on either side of it, were the Star of David and the Christian cross. It was as if the latter two symbols had been placed there to contain the evil influence of the Nazis’ sign.

  A short distance later the sewer suddenly opened into a concrete cavern. I assumed that was what it was. My light struggled in vain to give a clear view of the room’s proportions. The beam seemed to shoot out and die. The humidity increased dramatically. I could have stumbled into an Amazon jungle, only there were no trees. But there was a distinct smell of decay. I had never smelled it before and yet I recognized it.

  Bodies decomposing. Dead bodies, hopefully.

  I was suddenly afraid they were not entirely dead.

  I heard steps at my back and turned and saw Frank. Or Frankie—that was probably what he was called in this world. It was what Whip had called him. He didn’t carry a flashlight but a burning torch. I didn’t know how he had managed to sneak up on me. He stood at the end of the sewer that had led me to this horrible place, and from his expression I didn’t think he was going to let me go back the way I had come.

  “Jessie,” he said in a somber tone. “You should never have come here.”

  He was an important Lapra, the assistant to their leader. From what I knew of their group, they recognized only power and control. For that reason, I knew it would be a mistake to show fear.

  “I go where I please,” I said.

  He took a step toward me and gestured to the darkness with his free hand. “You’ll never understand the history of this place, and others like it, although they’re all the same, all one. I told Susan that after your visit the other night. She agreed with me but still feels there’s hope for you.” He paused and waved his torch slowly in my direction so that I felt its heat. “Is there any hope?”

  “Drop the riddles,” I said. “If you have something to ask, ask it.”

  Frankie came so near he towered over me. “What do you feel behind you?” he asked.

  “Death,” I said. “Suffering.”

  “Death ends suffering. You can’t have both. You need life to have pain. But only at the end of life is there enough pain to create enough pleasure to make life worth living. That’s the paradox, and the purpose of this place.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  He nodded. “If you were to die here, slowly, horribly, you could give pleasure to many.”

  Again, I cautioned myself to show no fear.

  I poked him in the gut with my flashlight. “Your master wants me alive. I’m the mother of the superchild. Are you sure you want to kill me?”

  He brushed away my light. “I don’t like the power your position gives you. You did nothing to earn it. And that child—I think she’s a menace.”

  “Then maybe you should kill me. You can always lie to your boss. Just tell her I disappeared. But you know I’m stronger than I look. You saw what I did to Russ. It might be that I end up killing you.”

  Frankie smiled without mirth. “I have had this thought, that you should simply vanish. Only I don’t fear you or anyone else. Russ was a pawn I could have taken down with one blow. You barely survived your duel with him. Does that tell you something, Jessie?”

  “Not really. Except you’re beginning to bore me. Step aside now, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Frankie took a step back, but not aside. He still blocked my exit. “I promise you a slow death. And I promise it will please me.” He raised his torch over his head. “Prepare yourself.”

  I reached for my screwdriver. It was tucked in my belt, at my back. At the same time I wedged my flashlight in my front pocket so that I’d be able to see but wouldn’t have to hold it.

  I sensed Frankie’s boast wasn’t idle. He could have killed Russ easily and that meant he probably had a significant advantage over me.

  Yet he was lying when he said he didn’t fear anyone. Lara had gotten to him when he had plucked her from my hands. The wave she had created had made him grimace and choke, and he had to be thinking, Why, she’s only a month old. What will she be like as a teenager? I suspected he wasn’t the least bit intrigued with her potential. For sure he was willing to risk Susan’s wrath to dispose of Lara’s mother.

  I needed to strike a single death blow. Failing that, I had to invoke my fire and hope it overwhelmed his. Yet I feared his hidden powers. For the heat of his torch was suddenly growing in leaps and bounds, its flames being fed by magic. I didn’t want to think how many witch genes he possessed.

  I pulled back my screwdriver as an archer would his bow. The tool was my arrow. If I failed to sink it in his chest, I was probably screwed, no pun intended.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I forced a smile. “Always.”

  “Stop!” a voice called from the depths of the sewer.

  The voice was commanding.

  Frankie lowered his torch.

  I did likewise with my screwdriver.

  Out of the sewer walked a tall figure clothed in black leather. In his right hand he held a sword. There was blood on it, red drops dripped off the steel onto the dark floor.

  “Kendor,” I whispered, as my heart beat hard in my chest. God, it was good to see him. He just had to walk into the cavern and Frankie seemed to shrink two feet in height. Definitely, the flames bursting from his torch calmed down. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the damn thing went out. Frankie couldn’t help himself, he instinctively backed off. For his part, Kendor seemed amused to see the two of us together. He gestured to Frankie with his sword.

  “Your master is anxious to make a deal with this young woman,” Kendor said. “How did you plan on explaining to her that Jessie was dead?”

  Frankie sneered but his expression lacked conviction. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said.

  Kendor stared at him. “No?”

  Frankie shook his head. “This is our place. She has no right coming here. But I’m willing to overlook this transgression if she agrees to leave now and never return.”

  “No,” Kendor said.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Frankie demanded.

  Kendor raised his sword a foot. It was enough.

  “You know,” Kendor said.

  Frankie backpedaled another step. “This is sacred ground. We have a right to protect
it.”

  Kendor twisted his blade slightly so more of the accumulated blood on the blade flowed free. “You could consult with those you put in place to guard this ground about your rights. But I’m afraid none of them would have much to say.”

  Frankie acted offended. “You dare to play your barbaric games here? I’d strike you dead myself if Susan would allow it.”

  “No,” Kendor said again.

  “ ‘No, no’—you sound like a bloody parrot. What is it that you want?”

  Kendor smiled. “Nothing.” In a move almost too swift for my witch eyes to follow, he sprang toward Frankie. High in the air, Kendor sliced Frankie’s head off at the neck. The massive skull fell like a bowling ball, landing with a thud.

  It was horrible to watch—and fascinating—as Frankie’s long body slowly bent at the knees and waist, sitting down and leaning forward without a head. It took almost a minute before the blood stopped spurting from the main artery in the stump of his neck.

  Kendor paid the body no heed. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his sword before returning the blade to its sheath, which hung behind his right side. He gestured for me to reenter the sewer, where he took a seat not far from the opening to the cavern. Sitting across from him, I rested the back of my head on the concrete wall.

  “Thanks for saving my life,” I said.

  Kendor shook his head. “It was I who allowed your daughter to be taken,” he said.

  “You can’t blame yourself. This power that Susan has, this bafflement—the whole Council seems helpless against it. Even Cleo doesn’t know what it is.”

  Kendor sighed and pulled up a knee to rest his arm on. “That’s true, she doesn’t understand it. Unfortunately, I do, to some extent.”

  “But you said at the Council meeting you had never seen anything like it before.”

  “I lied.” He paused. “I’ve known Susan since the day Caesar returned victorious to Rome and proclaimed himself emperor. I was with him that day, and that was the day I first spied Syn in the crowd.”

  I trembled. “Are you saying that Syn and Susan are the same person?” I whispered.