by A K Blake
Deadwire
The Laemia Chronicles: Book One
A.K. Blake
To Kyle, who is braver than Kaius,
and to Carson, for helping Iona find her anger.
Copyright © 2019 by A.K. Blake
Cover design by Shannon Pynes
Self-published
[email protected]
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part II
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part III
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part IV
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part V
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part VI
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgements
More by A.K. Blake
Part I
Chapter 1
The world was groggy and dark, and there was a roaring in her ears. Iona blinked, trying to clear the film from her eyes. She was on the ground, though she didn’t remember getting there, and something hard and broad was smacking her in the side. A boot. That would make sense.
“—up now, on your feet. Lazy southie...I’m not spending all night here.”
She lurched to her feet, ears ringing. It was night, the sky black like pitch. She was in a packed-dirt space, enclosed by a fence with a crackling blue energy field atop it. Towering foliage loomed all around. At least, wherever this was, she hadn’t been taken out of the woods. People in handcuffs formed a line toward a squat building, though others milled about unshackled, eating and talking in low voices. Attempting to brush her unruly mop of curls from her face, Iona realized she too was bound by pressure-sealed cuffs, a battery light blinking on them every few seconds. Stupidly, she tried to break free, but there was no give. A shard of fear, like ice, began to burrow its way into her stomach.
The guard who had been kicking her loomed over her in bulky armor, gesturing with his shockstick. “Move over there with the others.”
She stood her ground, more from fear she would topple over than from pure obstinance. “What is this place?”
“Somewhere I do the talking and you do as you’re told.”
“Then who do you work for? Is this—"
He growled and pulled back to hit her, the stick emitting a high-pitched whine as the kinetic energy built up. Quickly, Iona shied away, raising her cuffed hands above her head and shuffling to the end of the line.
Her memory of how she’d gotten here was starting to return, hazy but getting clearer. She’d been outside the village after dark, foolishly ignored the time. All her life, she’d been warned about things like this, free humans being rounded up by blood-suckers and forced to take citizenship. The way the villagers told it, if you wound up in indentured hard labor, you were one of the lucky ones. The rest got sent to the arena.
Cursing, she squeezed her fists until her nails made indents in her skin. Her whole life, she’d never actually seen a leech, had begun to think they might not even exist, at least not as the godlike monsters in the stories. Creatures of unnatural speed and strength, matched only by their lust for blood, had started to fade into the realm of childhood bogeymen. But clearly that had been a mistake. The details of her capture were still murky, but one thing she did remember: nothing moved that fast.
“Next!”
The line lurched forward. Iona scanned the enclosure for familiar faces. Most prisoners were dirty and malnourished. You could always tell if someone had run away from the cities instead of being born off the grid. They were fresher, at least at first. There was one such man who didn’t seem to belong. He had a healthy glow about him, and his clothes looked industrial-sewn. Molded metal gleamed on his belt buckle and from a ring on one finger.
She noticed him and several other prisoners eyeing her. It was possible they recognized her, but it was more likely because she was the only person in all the freedman camps with skin like deep mahogany. The kids in her village had called her “mudbeast” and “nightwalker,” as if spoiled milk were a better color to be. That is until she salvaged the right scrap to make a taser. Then they’d been polite, at least while she was in lunging distance.
“Next!”
A boy two places ahead of her reached the desk. Iona heard him give his name and basic information to someone, though the woman between them blocked her view. His thin voice clashed with the velveteen timbre of the man behind the desk.
“Do you have any particular skills?”
“I’m pretty good with a pickaxe.”
“A miner then. We don’t use manual tools, they’re dangerous and unpredictable. You will have an electronic sledgehammer. We will file your citizenship application now, and you will begin tomorrow night. Place your finger here. This may sting.”
“Ow! Dieda take it, that more than just—”
“ Blood type effusus simplex 2, as is to be expected. You may go. There is food over there for your enjoyment.”
“But will I be able to see my family? I was with my—"
“Now, you don’t want to waste a good meal, do you? Be a good boy and eat up before it runs out.”
The boy was herded toward the other line by a guard, who encouraged him with the threat of his shockstick. Then the woman stepped up to the desk, and Iona could see the person sitting behind it. She did not hear the rest of their conversation.
The thing at the desk looked human, the same shape, same basic movements. But there was something different about him, slight hiccups in her brain’s recognition that warned her she was in the vicinity of a predator. There was a bonelessness to the way he moved, too much liquidity in the turn of his head and the flick of his wrist. It lent him a deadly kind of grace. He was like a machine that had been sanded down and given too much oil, like a monster ripped from stories told to scare children.
And he was staring at her.
“I would not like to repeat myself.”
The woman was gone, and Iona automatically moved forward but stayed just out of arm's reach. Not that it would matter. If the stories were true, he could destroy the desk and rip her throat out in seconds. The freezing, sinking feeling that had begun when she’d awoken began to spread.
“Name?”
She stared, waiting for her mind to stop churning and the words to come. He had pale, clear skin and pupils much larger than a human’s. There was only a thin ring of color where his irises should be, so that his eyes looked almost entirely black. The vampire sat up in his chair, his shoulders rotating backward in a way that brought to mind a large cat.
“This line is quite long, and I do not plan to repeat myself for a third time. What is your name?”
“I-Iona Meranto.”
His shoulders receded as he sat back down. His hand flickered across the tablet screen quicker than her eyes could keep up.
“My information says you were apprehended in an area of the forest roughly 53.7 north by 3.81 west, a settlement known locally as Aequus. Where are you from originally?”
“Aequus, yes.”
“I mean before that. Do you have other citizenship?”
“No, I was born in here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “One would have thought by your skin tone—"
“I’ve lived in this forest my entire life.” It was an old argument, one of the reasons she so rarely left the village.
“Well. You certainly don’t look Laemian. I would have guessed somewhere on the Ur-Nungal Peninsula, like His Majesty. And your parents?”
“Dead. I don’t know where they were from.”
He looked at her with increased curiosity, his pupils widening until they consumed nearly all of his visible eye. It gave his face a strange cast, at once terrifying and somehow seductive. She had a sudden flash of memory: black eyes like that as strong arms grabbed her, kicking futilely against a body that was hard like rock. Her fingernails dug harder into the grooves she’d traced in her palms.
The vampire sighed, looking down at his tablet as his pupils shrank to almost normal.
“Well, no matter. I suppose you will be Laemian either way once we’ve processed your citizenship. Do you have any particular skills?”
“I’m good with computers.”
“Fine. Place your finger here.”
Turning to fit her finger in the device he indicated, she winced as a needle pricked her. The vampire scanned the output on his tablet and flicked his head to look at her in a movement so quick she might have imagined it. Then, in one sleek motion, like a sheet of silk unfurling, he locked the screen of the tablet and stood up.
“Wait here.” He nodded to a guard. “Watch her.” He disappeared into the building at a human pace, though his gait was still eerily smooth.
Iona heard a commotion and then a voice behind her.
“Where has he gone? What did you do?”
The man with the nice clothing had forced his way to the front of the line and now leaned over her intently. He was a good foot taller than her, though she was lanky for a woman. Up close, she could see he had a sharp nose, and his beard hid a sloping chin.
“I don’t know, he just left. Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others. I sense that we are much alike, you and I, enterprising one might say. Have you also heard the stories of—"
He was cut short by the sound of yelling from the direction of the building into which the vampire had disappeared. Iona turned toward the sound, and a woman flickered in the doorway, then appeared in front of her, too quickly for her eyes to track. She had dark hair that snapped in the breeze she had created, and she was wearing mottled green and brown armor, presumably to blend in with the forest. Forests like the one from which Iona had just been abducted.
“I gave specific orders for this one to be separated! This is coming straight from Eris himself. We can’t afford for her to catch something, you imbecile.”
The male was behind her, having walked the distance at a human pace. “Citra, that’s hardly necessary. I wasn’t told. By all means, take the girl off my hands! It’s less for me to do.”
The one called Citra growled, and Iona thought her canines looked sharper than before, though the male appeared unconcerned. He had arrived at the desk, having moved more slowly, and now stood with his fingers arched against the metal surface.
“Oh, and on your way out, kindly don’t run at full speed in here. It frightens the humans.” He nodded toward the line, which had moved back almost twelve feet. “I would have thought you knew better as Chief Head Hunter, but then, I suppose all the humans you deal with are unconscious.”
Iona drew a quick breath. Citra looked around, her lip twitching.
“Well, not all of us can walk everywhere at a snail’s pace, Selben. But you are so good at it. I suppose that’s what qualifies you to be head of Human Resources!”
Grabbing Iona by the arm, the vampire propelled her toward the building, seeming not to notice her attempts at resistance. The touch of her hands was hot, like a brand, and she smelled of heat as well, like something akin to molten metal. Iona tried to dig in her feet, lurching sideways with her full weight, but Citra’s grip was like iron. She heard the vampire mumble under her breath, “Full speed, hah!’
They entered a dimly lit set of tunnels and turned right, then left. Iona tried to make a note of the directions in her head but soon gave up when she realized everything looked the same. Citra stopped, placing her hand on a square pad in the wall, and a door panel slid open. Unlocking the cuffs, she hooked them through her belt loop and prodded Iona into the tiny room.
“Sit tight until someone comes for you.”
“And then what? You’re not going to tell me what I’m doing here?”
Citra turned back, her head snapping instantaneously in that too-quick way. “Bold little thing, aren’t you?”
She turned around fully, crossing her arms. “Let me explain something to you. Call it a favor, one brash female to another. I would’ve thought you already knew this, looking like you do, but society likes to order people. Maybe you were a good hunter or your daddy was important, maybe somehow you clawed your way to the top in that village of yours. Could be that’s how you got so impertinent.”
The vampire leaned in, her eyes like dark pools. Looking into those strange pupils, Iona felt another cold stab of fear. “But here, you are a not a threat to anyone. Soon you’ll be a citizen, sure, so you’ve got some rights. But you’re still weak and slow, still so very young. No matter how tough you were before, now you’re the bottom rung of every social ladder, and the sooner you get used to it, the better.”
Citra straightened up, turning back to the hallway. “In answer to your question, here’s your first lesson in this new world. Get used to waiting.” Swiping her hand across the door pad, the vampire shut Iona in the room.
Suddenly overcome by rage, Iona pounded her fist against the door, only stopping when pain began to shoot through her hand. Clutching her fingers to her chest, she evaluated her situation. There wasn’t much to the room, just a bed and a sink. The lights were dim, like everywhere here, from what she had seen. Not dark enough to trip or get lost, but enough to make her squint.
Feeling a headache brewing, Iona wriggled her nose and forced herself to look at every inch. She had to make sure there was nothing she had missed, no sharp objects that could be stowed away as weapons, no loose, heavy things she could break off to hit someone over the head with. But all she found was a small camera in the corner farthest from the bed. She considered trying to block its vision, but decided against it, at least until she had a plan.
As her anger dissipated, it was replaced by a dull weariness. Iona had no idea how long she’d been unconscious or what they’d used to knock her out, but it seemed to be catching up with her. Finally giving in, as her eyes began to close of their own accord, she reasoned she could try again when she had a clearer head. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she turned her face away from the camera’s prying eye and sank into a fitful sleep.
***
It was the nightmare again. Iona stood in the doorway to Jedrick’s house, leaning against the rough wooden frame. His door had once been painted a cheery yellow, but now the paint was dull and peeling. The inner circle of the village was packed dirt, but here on the outskirts, the grass was untouched. It was brilliant and green, blades glistening like wax as they rustled in the wind. The sky was seared with streaks of color. Jedrick’s cat lazed on the ground, yawning to reveal its tiny, sharp teeth. It was the perfect day. Perfect, except that inside, Jedrick was dying.
Iona heard his labored breathing in the next room over. She could smell the stench of vomit and unwashed flesh even this far away and turned at the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps. What was he doing out of bed?
“Io? Why are you out here? I woke up, and you had left me.”
“I didn’t leave you, I...went to get medicine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Io. Not afte
r I’m already dead.”
Now Jedrick was standing in front of her, though she didn’t remember him getting there. The sky had gone dark, the stars hidden by storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Jedrick’s stomach was distended, his normally shining, flame-red hair dull and matted against his cheeks. There were dark bags under his eyes.
“You couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
***
Iona was jolted awake by a deafening noise, like a gun going off. Reflexively, she threw the blanket off, jumping to the center of the room. Throwing up her fists, she bent her knees into a fighting stance. Though she didn’t have any formal training, she supposed vampires were only another kind of bully.
When nothing happened, and the walls became more familiar, she unclenched her hands, letting her arms fall to her sides. There was a plastic box on the floor, lying beneath a square outline in the door panel. The top was misted over with steam. This was the noise she had been fighting: a packed lunch, ricocheting off of a cement floor.
Scooping up the box and popping the lid off, she began ravenously devouring the contents. It felt like eons since she’d eaten. She wondered vaguely, between bites, just how long it had been. Was this the same night she had been out in the forest too late, or had she been unconscious even longer? At least the food was good. It was too late to worry about what might be in it. Then again, she was already locked up, surveilled, and surrounded by natural predators. It would seem overkill to drug her food.
Citra was right, she didn’t have to wait long. Shortly after finishing, licking her fingers to get the last vestiges of gravy, Iona heard the door slide open with a hiss.
In the hallway stood two vampires she hadn’t seen before. One was dark haired, with bright, black eyes that she might have thought friendly if he hadn’t been wearing the same kidnapper armor as the female from before. He looked about her age, though she realized this meant he was likely several times older. Built like a runner—tall, with lean muscles and sharp shoulders—he was hardly the bruiser type she would have expected from a human trafficker. But then, so much was deceptive about this place.