Legacy of the Demon (6 page)

Zack Garner was back. Without a word to me. No phone call, no email, nothing.

I followed Gallagher out of the near-deserted neighborhood, past shaggy yards and boarded up houses, while my confusion rose along with my anger. Clearly, Zack's return from his “leave of absence” hadn't been in just the last day or two. No, he'd been back at work long enough to be well-established at Fed Central. But what about the others? Szerain and Zack had taken Ashava then fled—with Xharbek in hot pursuit. Sonny Hernandez, Zack's caretaker, was also missing, and I could only assume that he'd gone with them. Yet if Zack had returned, did that mean the others were still in hiding? Or had something happened to them?

Not long after I met Zack, he and my best friend, Jill Faciane, became an item, and then he'd failed to tell her that he was a demon before he “accidentally” got her pregnant. And not just any old demon. Zakaar was one of only eleven demahnk: mind-reading, shape-shifting, power-wielding, secretive beings who were oathbound to the demonic lords—and, as I recently discovered, were the nonhuman “daddies” of the half-human lords. Which meant Jill's baby was a
demonic lord
.

But had Zack prepared any of us for that little surprise? Hell no. It didn't help that I had a really tough time believing he'd knocked up Jill by accident. I
wanted
to, but . . . damn, that dog just didn't hunt, especially since Jill had been using protection, and Zack was—to put it bluntly—a super-being. I also wanted oh-so-badly to believe that his original intentions were nice and benign and involved everyone being happy and in the know, and certainly not at all like the godawful shocking way we found out
about Ashava's true nature. Jill had given birth to her mere minutes before the valve explosion. Except, instead of wasting time with actually getting born the old fashioned way, the kid had
teleported
herself out of Jill's body . . . in baby dragon form. Then again, Ashava had good reason to be in a hurry. It was her efforts that kept the valve explosion from being about a thousand times worse.

Yet after Ashava saved the world, Jill had barely a minute to hold her before Zakaar and Szerain appeared and stole her away—ostensibly to keep her from Xharbek. And I
wanted
to believe that stealing Ashava was in her best interest. But now Zack was out of hiding? Just like that?

Yeah, I had a few trust issues where the various demahnk were concerned. I
liked
Zack, but he and the other demahnk were playing deeper games, with rules and stakes they refused to share.

And we're all players—or pawns—whether we like it or not
.

Adrenaline surged, and I slammed on the brakes, managing to avoid plowing the Humvee into Gallagher's car by at
least
a whole millimeter. When my brain caught up with my reflexes, I realized he'd stopped at the ID checkpoint into the restricted area. For security and public safety reasons, no unauthorized personnel were allowed within a two-mile radius of Beaulac's former police department building.

The guard scowled my way. I mouthed “sorry” as my heart lurched its way back to a semblance of a reasonable pace. After Gallagher was cleared through, I pulled up to the checkpoint and submitted to the ID/fingerprint scan/smile-for-surveillance routine.

A block away, the Federal Command Center loomed—formerly the top-ranked Southern States Heart Hospital. It had been a logical choice for the command center since a) no heart patient in their right mind wanted to be in a hospital that was a mile and a half from ground zero, and b) being in the restricted zone gave Fed Central yet another layer of security. The hospital building and grounds had been converted into a compound that served as local headquarters for several agencies, including DHS, NSA, CIA, and others, with the FBI task force supposedly taking the lead. Joint occupation of the building gave the illusion of hand-holding cooperation, but with each organization in its own wing, the reality fell short.

I passed through a second checkpoint at the facility's perimeter fence and into the shadow of the monstrosity that had once
been a sleek, modern building. The ground level windows had been bricked over, with no consideration for aesthetics, and the upper level ones barred, giving the place an overall grim prison effect.

Gallagher parked and headed for the door with only the barest of glances my way. I parked a few spaces away then followed. I had no clue what his plan was to facilitate this unauthorized consult, but apparently he trusted me to follow his lead when the time came. Gallagher was sharp and dedicated. He'd never have been recruited into Zack and Ryan's task force otherwise. And though he and I butted heads constantly, I was confident he'd come up with a way to get me past the “no arcane specialists” order and into the medical wing.

Security had increased in the two weeks since I'd last been here. Substantially. Not only had two machine gun turrets been added on the mezzanine overlooking the entrance, but the checkpoint at the door included a blood test, for additional identification. In the lobby, a handful of agents and support personnel passed through as they went about their business. Gallagher was nowhere to be seen, but I figured he'd find me when the time came.

Since my cover purpose was to file my report on the Piggly Wiggly incident, I made my way down the corridor to the communication room. The computer station nearest the door was empty, so I snagged it, logged in, and pretended to be absorbed in the details of the morning. And waited. The wall clock—like all the Fed Central clocks—had a sharp and annoying
tick tick t-t-tock
at the top of every minute, emphasizing how much time I wasn't spending helping Cory. I had faith that Gallagher wouldn't leave me hanging, and he clearly had the same sort of faith in me, but it would've been nice to know the basics of his plan. Should I be bracing for a distraction? And if so, what? Fire alarm? Inexplicable swarm of ferrets?

Ten years later—or about five minutes, if the clock was to be believed—I heard Gallagher's voice down the hall, coming closer.

“We'll get the logistics sorted,” he was saying. “Will allocation of another twelve rooms be adequate for today?”

A woman's voice replied. “I can only hope. We barely have the resources for the victims brought in this morning, let alone a dozen more cases. But best to have space ready.”

“Medical personnel screenings for Level 1 clearance are underway,” Gallagher said as he and a petite older woman wearing
a white lab coat passed the doorway. “You'll have more support by tonight.”

Good, no ferrets or fire alarms. High level security clearance for standard medical conditions wasn't the norm, which meant that was my cue. I stepped into the corridor behind them.

“Excuse me, y'all,” I said amiably. When they turned, I smiled at the woman then peered at her name badge. “Dr. Patel is it? I'm Kara Gillian, Arcane Commander. I couldn't help but overhear you mention victims and Level 1 clearance in the same context?” I gave her the gently perplexed look of an authority figure who expects nothing short of a full explanation.

Dr. Patel's expression was one of surprise and, oddly, what seemed like awe. “Yes. But . . .” She glanced at Gallagher, then back to me.

“I had a busy morning at the rifts and haven't had time to check my interagency updates yet,” I continued, trusting the grimy condition of my uniform fatigues to back me up. I made my smile friendly and full of understanding. “But for important matters like arcane medical conditions, I'd rather get the info firsthand.”

Gallagher stepped forward. “Sorry, Gillian. You're not on the list for—”

My smile went to full glare at light speed. “Don't give me the bureaucratic bullshit runaround, Gallagher. I have clearance, and I'm not afraid to use it.”

Dr. Patel shouldered past him with her hand extended and relief on her face. “Dr. Aja Patel. A
pleasure
to meet you.”

I shook her hand, but she kept hold of it when I released my grip.

“I can't wait to tell my daughter I met
the
Kara Gillian,” she gushed, eyes wide with unfeigned delight. “We read
every
blog post and article about you. I just love what you said about the ethical impact of demon incursions on civil rights. It was
so
insightful.”

I managed to disengage from her hand without seeming rude. “As much as I'd like to take credit for an insightful comment, I'm afraid that one's not mine. Either someone misattributed it or made it up.” I'd stopped trying to keep up with all of the crap about me on the Internet—love, hate, glory, blame. Who had time for that?

Her face fell. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“Oh, it's all right. It happens all the time.” I added a warm
chuckle since I didn't want to put her off. Gallagher had obviously known that her awe would work in my favor. “There's plenty of insightful and plain old brilliant stuff I've really said. You're probably thinking of the commentary I made about the efficacy of martial law and the need for compassionate population distribution.”

That seemed to take the edge off of her embarrassment. “Yes! The
Arcane for Humanity
documentary was awesome. The way you dealt with those two kehza had me on the edge of my seat. And then you were so cool and calm afterward when you talked to the reporter!”

Right. I'd been calm because the sudden appearance of the demons had startled the shit out of me, and I'd done a triple pygah tracing so I could function at all. “Experience, I guess,” I said with a smile. “And I very much appreciate the compliments.” I straightened as if I suddenly had a great idea and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Would you mind if I took a picture with you? It's always a thrill to know that I have supporters.” While Dr. Patel smiled in delight, I looped an arm around her and did a quick selfie. In my periphery I caught Gallagher's pained look. “After we get done with the briefing on the victims, I'd be happy to personalize a photo for your daughter,” I added, tucking my phone away. “I mean, if you think she'd like that sort of thing.”

“She'll be over the moon.” Dr. Patel beamed. “We'll get that briefing taken care of in a snap. Right this way.” She headed toward the elevator, bounce in her step.

“Dr. Patel,” Gallagher said, expression back to stern. “This is highly irregular. I'll have to notify—”

“Do whatever you need to do to ease your conscience, Agent Gallagher,” she announced without turning. “I'm doing what I must to ease mine.”

A twinge of guilt plagued me as Gallagher and I followed her into the elevator. It didn't feel right for us to play her, but then again she seemed genuinely relieved that I was here. Everything balanced out. I hoped.

The elevator disgorged us onto the third and top level. Unlike the others, this floor remained very hospital-like, except for the agents—armed and in tactical gear—posted by the nursing station and corridor entrances.

A nurse in dark blue scrubs pulled Dr. Patel aside for a quiet but visibly urgent conversation.

Gallagher ushered me to the nursing station then folded his arms over his chest. “Sign in unless your high and mighty clearance can't handle the bureaucratic bullshit.”

I smiled sweetly at him. “Aw, Gallagher, if you want my autograph, you only have to ask.”

He growled something incoherent. I signed a messy scrawl that looked nothing like my actual signature. No sense making it obvious that I'd been here. “Does Zack have an office in this building?”

“Second floor. North wing.”

“Cool,” I said lightly. “I'll swing by and give him a wave before I leave.”
And shake him until he tells me what the fuck is going on and where Szerain, Sonny, and Ashava are.

Dr. Patel hurried over to us. “The good news is that the recent arrivals are stable. We learned from earlier patients not to disturb them.” She shook her head. “The rest is a mystery. I need an arcane opinion.”

So why hadn't Zack given her one? He was a demahnk, with more arcane knowledge at his disposal than I'd ever have. And sure,
Special Agent Zack Garner
wasn't supposed to have all the arcane skillz, but I found it hard to believe he'd let people die just to maintain his cover. “Show me.”

She gave me the rundown as we walked to the far corridor. The first six cases had been brought in late last night: Three men disoriented and covered in red slime, one woman in stasis and coated in a rubbery gel, and two others who Dr. Patel said it would be easiest to just show me. The medical personnel attempted to wash the slime off one of the victims, but when he died screaming, that treatment plan was quickly abandoned. A second slime-victim died during the prep for surgery to remove a fist-sized growth in his abdomen. The third went from slimy to gel-covered in a matter of seconds and was currently in stasis. Less than an hour ago, a tech tried to collect a small sample of gel for analysis from the woman who'd arrived in stasis, and she died within minutes. Then four new cases were brought in, all in a gel-stasis condition.

No pathogens or toxins had been found, and there was still no known cause, but the common denominator was that all had been within a half mile of the PD when the valve blew.

And I'd been
literally
right on top of it. Lovely.

Dr. Patel stopped outside a room with a handwritten sign on
the door:
Chrysalis Project, Phase 3
. “This is one of last night's arrivals,” she told me as we entered.

The instant I stepped into the room, a weird smell of spice and burned hair hit me. It was the same odor that came over Cory when he went all gummy, though much more bearable without the barf and Pine-Sol mixed in, and far less cloying than the decaying roses stench of the slime phase. Resting on the bed before me was a large red lump of smooth, dry gel shaped like a slightly flattened egg, completely unrecognizable as human. Lead wires for a heart monitor were stuck to it, looking as absurd as wires jammed into a tomato. Yet the screen showed a heart rate of twenty-four, so obviously something was going on in there.