by E. A. Copen
“We’ve done it,” Han whispered into the microphone. “Forced evolution, manifesting the powers of magic in mundane humans. If it can be done with human DNA, then we are only a breath away from taking the healing powers of the werewolves, the speed of the vampire, and combining them to make something entirely new.”
Ed paused the video with less than two seconds remaining.
Silence fell on the room. Blood rushed in my ears, and my palm ached from where I had dug my fingernails into the meat of it. “Human experimentation. Doctor Han is doing this? What did he mean by ‘liquidation?’”
Sal crossed his arms. “When the government uses words like liquidation, assets, and casualty, it usually means some politician is getting rich while someone else is getting dead.”
Ed shook his head. “But Han doesn’t work for the government. He works for Marcus Kelley.”
I dug my fingernails in harder. “Yeah, Marcus Kelley, who owns Fitz Pharmaceuticals, which has the largest government medical contract in history. Not only does Fitz get federal funding to develop and manufacture supernatural testing and medical supplies, but they get one hell of a block research grant.”
Ed’s eyes widened. “Shit, you’re right. Do you think Marcus knows?”
“If he doesn’t, he’s about to hear about it from me.” I took a deep breath and let it out. That was another problem, a big one, but a distraction from the issue at hand. “What does any of this have to do with Hector and Reed?”
Ed turned his chair back to the computer. “All answered in video number three.”
He queued the next video up. It was security footage from somewhere else, maybe another building entirely. The image was a grainy black and white sequence taken from the corner of a small room, showing a group of men standing in front of a large wall. They all had their backs to the camera, making it impossible to know who they were.
“We had an inspection today,” Han’s voice announced. “Those damned Sicarii showed up again to inspect the facility with a group from the BSI board of directors. As much as I would have liked to turn them all away to focus on the research, that’s impossible, considering they’re funding it.” He sighed. “I owe too much to the Sicarii. Without the rem, all my efforts would be fruitless. It really is the key to forcing the mutation, while extreme stress seems to be what causes the expression of the genetic mutation. It may be brutal to drug the subjects and then beat them, boil them, or freeze them until they show their true colors, but all scientific advancement comes at a cost. Today, thousands of lives are saved thanks to the advancements the Nazis made. Yet Hitler is remembered as a monster. He wasn’t. He was a man. Misguided perhaps, but a man of true vision. These Sicarii are much like him. They have a vision for how they wish to shape this world, but their execution is lacking. No matter. So long as I am free to learn, it is of no consequence to me.”
At the end of his speech, three of the men in the security footage turned, their faces captured by the camera.
“Pause it!”
Ed jammed his thumb down on the space bar and the image held, the tops and bottoms of the screen blurred by tracking marks.
“Is that…” Sal leaned forward.
I raised a shaky finger to point at the screen, first pointing to the man on the right. “Hector Demetrius.” My finger moved to the man on the left. “And that’s Gideon Reed.”
“And the man in the center is Senator Robert Grahm,” Ed finished, pointing to the man in the center. “He’s the Ohio state senator who’s credited for thinking up this whole reservation in some committee somewhere.”
I frowned. “I remember him. Dealt with him once in Ohio. My very last case. I’d hoped to never see him again.”
“Outspoken antisupernaturalist, pro-humanist, and suspected member of the Vanguard of Humanity,” Ed continued.
“I don’t get it.” Sal leaned back away from Ed. “What’s Reed doing with guys like that? He’s a nobody sitting on the ruling council of the reservation. A priest of some barely-attended church in the middle of nowhere. What’s he doing with a senator and…whatever the hell Hector Demetrius is?”
“I think the better question has to do with these Sicarii,” I said. “Han said they have a vision for the world. What does that mean?”
Ed spun his chair around and flashed his hands in the air. “Illuminati confirmed!” When I glared at him, he added, “What? That’s exactly what they sound like. Look, if you’re interested, I did do a quick Google search. The Sicarii were supposed to have been a group of assassins living in Ancient Rome. They opposed the Roman occupation of the province of Judea. Apparently killed a lot of Romans in crowds and were branded terrorists and enemies of the state. Judas Iscariot might have been one of these guys, but the last time they were mentioned in history was in like 70 A.D. There’s nothing else anywhere about them since then. They just kind of disappeared.”
I raised a finger in the air. “So, the million-dollar question is, what do a bigoted senator, a magick-using cult leader, a small-town priest, and a secret government experiment have in common?”
“To find that answer, you’ll have to talk to one of them,” Sal said.
Ed nodded. “And unfortunately, Hector’s not talking, and Reed is missing.”
“The senator isn’t going to talk to me.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But armed with this information, Hector just might.”
That meant keeping the footage to use as leverage, something that would put Ed in danger. I turned to look at Sal, who had probably concluded the same thing.
He stared hard at Ed. “How secure is this information? Any chance someone else is going to figure out we know what we know?”
“It’s always a possibility.” Ed shrugged. “But there are things I can do to reduce the likelihood of that happening. I’ll disconnect from the internet and pop the hard drive, store it in a safe place. Unless you want me to destroy it?”
Sal looked at me. “Your call.”
I chewed my bottom lip for a minute, imagining those paramilitary goons busting down Ed’s door and hauling him away. If that happened, there’d be nothing I could do to get him back. He’d be as good as dead.
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Not yet. Give me until tomorrow morning to think about it. Do what you can to protect the information. If you haven’t heard from me by tomorrow night, get rid of it. No one else knows about this, understand, Ed? Not Daphne, not Mara. This has to be a secret.”
Ed nodded once. “Got it. You stay safe, Judah.”
“You too, Ed,” I said and showed myself out.
I walked outside and stood under the cloud-covered sky, watching the silver crescent moon rise. It seemed peaceful, more peaceful than the world had any right to be. Everything felt like chaos.
All this time, I had been defending BSI. I knew they weren’t perfect—no branch of the government is—but it had always seemed better than the alternative. Without BSI, people would live in fear. The whole country might have risen up and killed the supernaturals soon after the Revelation, just like what had happened to Alex. Back then, BSI put a stop to it. Maybe they’d gotten too strict and let fear cloud their judgment, but the bare bones of the idea were still there. With the right people and enough time and effort, I had believed it could all be fixed from the inside.
I sank down to sit on the first stair outside of Ed’s house. Look where that belief got you, Judah. Sent out to Paint Rock, to what was supposed to be the end of your career. Beaten up by your partner. Case after case lands on your desk with no end in sight. No help. You’re too busy to make a difference, they’ve seen to that.
If BSI was experimenting on humans, torturing people and drugging them to try to force some perceived next evolutionary stage, then what could I do about it?
I put my head in my hands. LeDuc had known. All those years ago, when he boasted that I needed him to help stop what was coming, what if that wasn’t a lie? What if I had killed our only chance of destroying and exposing a corrupt gove
rnment? What if innocent people had died because of me?
The front door swung open, and Sal’s footsteps stopped behind me. His lighter clicked and I listened to the small whoosh of flame, the sizzle and burn of tar, tobacco and paper as he lit another cigarette. “Ed said he was able to pull dates from those files. The first one was from about six months after LeDuc would have blown up Han’s lab, long before you ever got here, babe.”
I clenched my fists against my eyes. “That doesn’t absolve me of some of the responsibility. I’ve spent all this time working for them, Sal. More than a decade. I’ve been part of the problem.”
He grunted and sat down next to me on the step, the cigarette hanging loosely in his fingers. “You can’t blame yourself for wanting everyone to be as good as you think they are. World’s an ugly place. That’s hard to come to grips with. People like me, we signed up to see that firsthand. War is the worst mankind has to offer. Once you’ve seen that, you learn to recognize a battle when it’s coming. The air changes, feels charged, like right before a lightning strike. The world feels unusually calm. It’s all wrong because you know, you just know, something’s not right. It’s like the world doesn’t know, though. Like it doesn’t give one goddamn.”
Sal put the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, lifting his face to the sky. Dark shadows passed over his sharp features, and he squinted at the moon as it broke through the clouds. “You walked into Paint Rock on the eve of a battle, babe. It’s going to be a while before the sun comes up, but when it does, and the smoke clears, nobody’s hands are going to be clean.”
I nodded.
Sal stood and offered me a hand. “But if you’re willing to work with a criminal and an outlaw, I think I might be able to help you with this case. Think you can ride?”
I shifted the shoulder of the broken arm, wincing. It’d be a pain, but I could hold onto his back with one arm. If he wanted to ride, though, that could mean only one thing. We were going to see the Kings. “If you keep it to a low speed, probably.”
I put my good hand in his, and he pulled me up. “Where are we going?”
“Chanter’s,” Sal said without missing a beat. “To meet a friend.”
I had been out to Chanter’s house only a handful of times since he’d passed away the previous November. The pack still held their monthly full-moon hunts out there, but I found it easier not to go most of the time. Going meant staying behind in the house with a dead man’s things, and that was still unsettling to me. It was as if I could still feel his presence. Every clink of dishes, the scoot of a chair across the floor, the low murmur of the television, the faded odor of old cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls, it all reminded me of how he had sacrificed himself to save my son and me.
The house itself wasn’t much. It was a three-bedroom with low ceilings and narrow hallways. Outside, there was a shed and a small patio where the pack kept a grill chained to the porch so no one stole it.
But the most important thing about Chanter’s property was that there were no fences, no barriers, and no walls. I was reminded of that as we came down the long driveway. Blue hills rose in the distance into sharp edges layered one on another. Stubby bushes and trees marched across the landscape in an uneven parade of brown and green. An old, rusty metal pole marked the property boundary a long way off, but that was the only unnatural thing I could see on the horizon between Chanter’s house and the hills. The desert was his back yard.
His driveway, however, was full of motorcycles and a single truck that I’d come to recognize as Bran’s. He drove it sometimes but kept his bike chained down in the back in case he needed it.
Sal parked behind them and waited for me to hop off before he did the same. He removed his goggles and hung them on the handlebar, running a hand over his hair to smooth it out from the ride.
“So, what are a bunch of Kings doing at Chanter’s place?” I tried to keep my voice down. Some of the Kings were werewolves and could probably still hear me. The ones that weren’t were all shifters of some kind. Who knew how good their hearing was?
“Remember, Chanter was an officer in the Kings. He was the vice president, Judah. The club probably spent as much time out here while he was alive as the pack did. Chanter wouldn’t begrudge us the use of the space, even if you do.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes, settling on a patch of grass in the backyard near the shed. A few months ago, Sal had shot two men there. They were members of the Vanguards of Humanity, and two of the three men who had gunned down Chanter. Even then, the kill hadn’t felt justified, but that was their code. A life for a life. I’d turned a blind eye to it because I’d been ordered to do so. Marcus and Istaqua both had made it clear doing anything else would be bad for my health. I wondered if I would have given them the same lenience if Sal and I hadn’t been sleeping together. The idea made me feel sick to my stomach. Was I really so different from the corrupt people I wanted so badly to stop?
Sal jogged to the porch, where he stopped and gestured for me to follow. I sucked in a deep breath and did as he bid. He put his hand on the doorknob, but it opened before he could turn it.
Bran’s huge form blocked our entry. He raised an eyebrow at me, then looked at Sal and said, “What has happened? Why is she here?”
“Because she needs to be,” Sal answered firmly. “It’s time to bring her in.”
Bran’s expression hardened as he scrutinized me. “Are you sure?”
Sal answered with a firm, singular nod of his head.
Bran opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Istaqua is not going to be happy.”
“Istaqua can kiss my—” Sal broke off whatever it was he was about to say when he saw Istaqua sitting in the blue corduroy armchair in the center of the living room. Chanter’s armchair.
I studied Sal’s face carefully, trying to gauge how he felt seeing Istaqua claim the chair. It had always been empty every time I had come over. Not even Sal dared to sit in Chanter’s chair.
Istaqua’s fingers gripped the armrests. “Don’t stop on my account. By all means, bring a cop in here and insult me to impress her. Or were you planning on making that a proper proposition, brother?”
Sal let out a low growl. “I’m not here to fight with you, not today.”
“Good.” Istaqua pushed himself out of the chair and strode forward several paces, focusing on me. “Because if she’s here, we have bigger problems.”
“If you’re tempted to distrust me just because I work for BSI, don’t.” I pushed past Sal to stand in front of Istaqua. “They might sign my paychecks, but I owe them no loyalty, especially after what I’ve just seen. If they’re involved in that…” I trailed off and shook my head. How was I going to continue to work for them if it turned out they were involved?
Istaqua laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “It’s not me you have to convince.” His hand trailed down to my back as he turned and ushered me down the hall to Chanter’s spare bedroom. “If you seek the truth, it comes at a price. Be sure you’re willing to pay the toll.”
I hesitated, then drew in another deep breath, nodding. “Show me.”
Istaqua ushered me down the hall and paused in front of the door to the spare bedroom. He said nothing before he opened it.
The room was almost exactly as I remembered it. Wire shelves lined one wall laden with books and artifacts, some of which I could never hope to identify. The headboard of a twin-sized bed butted against the outer wall of the house under a squat window with a blue curtain.
Lying on that bed was the beaten, battered, and burned body of Gideon Reed.
Chapter Nineteen
I stiffened at the sight of him and took a step back, expecting him to sit up and charge at me. Every time I’d seen Reed over the last few days, he’d attacked me. There was nowhere farther back to go since Istaqua blocked my path.
Reed’s eyes opened, and he lifted his head. “Judah? Is that—” He broke off whatever he was about to say to clutch at his side and wince.
I wanted to go to his side, to check him over and make sure his wounds weren’t fatal, but I also didn’t want to die. “Are you yourself, or are you going to attack me?”
A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get up out of this bed right now. I think you’re safe.”
“What are you doing here?” I turned to Istaqua for an explanation but found no answers there, so I turned back to Reed. “And what the hell’s been going on the last few days?”
Reed closed his eyes and drew a shallow, wheezing breath, the breath of a dying man. My feet carried me forward of their own accord until his eyes snapped back open again. “Mind the circle.”
I paused and looked down. A line of ash arced over the floor right in front of my feet. It traveled to the wall on either side of the bed, circling underneath to encompass it.
In magick, circles create small areas of power or small areas where a person on the inside is cut off from the energy on the outside. In short, it’s a metaphysical barrier that can either exponentially increase power on the inside, or cut the inside off from any power on the outside. It all depended on how it was crafted. This was a simple circle without any advanced runes, carvings, or symbols. A circle didn’t need all of those to be powerful. Sometimes, simple is best. A circle made of ash could mean anything, depending on what the ash was made of. One thing was for sure; breaking that circle would be bad.
I stepped over the circle, careful not to disturb it, and knelt next to the bed. “I saw the files on your laptop. Please, Reed, I need some answers. How did all this happen? Hell, how are you even still alive? Why does BSI want you?”