Night Forbidden (11 page)

Suddenly, Elliott looked up and saw her. Ana flushed and started, and began to duck back out of the room, but he said, “You can come in. I might need your help. Shut the door so we don’t have a whole crowd in here.”

Wondering what sort of help she could provide that the others couldn’t—or wouldn’t—she nevertheless accepted his offer and did as he requested as Elliott turned back to the bed.

Fence had looked up at his friend’s words, along with the other man and woman. His eyes met hers, and there was neither apology nor humor in them. It was almost . . . suspicion?

Ana straightened her shoulders and turned away from Fence’s penetrating look, focusing on the figure for the first time. It was all she could do to hold back a gasp.

No, it wasn’t Darian, as she’d feared.

But she knew him anyway, despite the damage to his face and the mud and blood streaking it. His name was Kaddick, and, like her former lover, he was from Atlantis.

From the amount of blood and the deep slashes across his torso and abdomen, she knew he was dead—and likely so before he even came out of the ocean. Fear and unpleasantness gripped her belly. If he’d been following Darian, had he been discovered and a fight ensued? Or had he attacked Darian first?

Was Darian injured or dead too?

Or had some slashing stingray or whip-tail fish sliced into Kaddick and killed him?

The latter was the least likely, for there weren’t many dangerous sea creatures that attacked without cause.

Ana moved closer to the bed as thoughts and questions raced through her mind. As soon as Elliott examined Kaddick, or even removed his clothing—which already was different than anything seen on land—he’d know the victim was not merely a man.

“Do you know him?” Elliott asked, and Ana realized with a start that he was looking at her.

Why would he think
she
knew him?

Her heart lodged in her throat as she tried to decide how to respond.

“There’s a lot of blood,” Fence said. “Are you all right, Ana?” He was watching her closely.

She latched onto that excuse and clapped a hand over her mouth as if about to be sick, turning her face away and trying to look pale and wan. Evading an answer was her best option right now.

“She needs air,” Elliott said, and the other woman moved quickly to open the door. Ana gratefully walked out as she heard Elliott continue, “He’s not from Envy. I thought she might recognize him if he happened to be from Glenway.”

“What the hell is he wearing? What’s that made out of?” asked the third man. “We could tell right away that he wasn’t from around here. But I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ana leaned against the corridor wall as the door closed behind her. She could have told him that the fabric was made from the white seaworm’s threads woven with a milkweed-type plant that grew in Atlantis. Together, they created cloth that was lightweight, shiny, and warm, as well as one that didn’t swell and absorb water. It also carried a scent that repelled electric eels—most of the time—and the little sea scorpions that could kill with one small sting.

She knew all about the clothing, and more. But what should she tell them? Anything or nothing?

Nothing.

George had always cautioned her—needlessly—not to tell anyone about her parentage, but also not to even acknowledge the existence of Atlantis and her mother’s people. Although all humans had descended from the same race more than two millennia ago, the Atlanteans were very different from those who’d continued to build their civilization on land. Her father was afraid that Ana would be ostracized, blamed, or even hurt and killed if the truth about the Atlanteans became known to those who lived on the land.

His words were unnecessary anyway, because Ana, no matter how much she’d loved her mother, had neither respect or affection for her mother’s race. She knew who they were and what they’d done, and she wanted no part of them. She was ashamed to have the blood of Atlantis running in her veins.

If anyone learned she was Atlantean, and word got back to them . . . if they found her, they’d take her back there. Make her stay. Make her live with them.

She drew in deep, slow breaths. She wasn’t going back there. No one was going to take her back. She and Dad had risked their lives to escape.

But if there was something happening, something threatening Envy—or anywhere else on land—because of what was occurring beneath the sea, didn’t she have a responsibility to tell someone what she knew?

In case they could prevent it?

Of course she did. But she didn’t have to tell them who she was. Or how she knew.

Ana turned resolutely from the small room and realized that at least one decision had been made for her: she was going to have to respond to Darian’s message.

“W
ill you look at this?” Fence said, helping Elliott tear away the rest of the smooth, shiny fabric of the dead man’s clothing. “Dude’s got more piercings than the guy from
Hellraiser
.”

Even through the ribbons of flesh and the shine of white rib bones, he could see that a dozen or more pea-sized crystals had been embedded in the man’s skin. Fence hadn’t ever seen one of the Strangers and their crystals up close, but he knew Elliott had—and that the Strangers only had one or at most two glowing stones. And instead of being in the torso, between and around the ribs as they were in this guy, the immortalizing crystals the Strangers wore were always set into the soft flesh just south of the collarbone.

Dude looks like a fucking disco dancer. Saturday Night Sea-ver.

Damn, he cracked himself up.

Fence looked up at his companion, keeping the joke to himself this time. “Damn good thing you sent Wendy and Herb out of here before they saw this,” he added.

Elliott nodded briefly. “I had a feeling . . . and we don’t need stories being passed around until we figure out what’s going on and just who—or what—this man is.” He wasn’t scanning the man yet, using his hands like a full-color human MRI machine. Instead, he just looked down at the body, wearing a pensive expression.

Other than the crystals, the man appeared completely normal—at least from outward appearances—once he was fully stripped.

Fence was acutely aware of the irony that he had no problem digging in and taking care of a body fairly shredded into ribbons, but that the very whisper of an ocean wave against his feet was enough to send him into a full-blown panic attack. He merely dismissed the knowledge, because it pissed him the hell off, and tried to conjure up a joke about the guy’s junk . . . but even Fence couldn’t find any more humor in the situation. The guy just looked pitiful and pathetic.

Probably just how he would look after he drowned: all floppy and wet and gray.

Not a happy thought, bro, for God’s sake.

So he said, “Why did you really invite Ana to come in here? There’s no damn way you thought she’d recognize this guy.”

Even though she had.

Elliott looked up at him, and Fence saw that his friend had noticed Ana’s reaction as well. “She was too curious. And there’s something odd about her father. When I scanned him, I found some weird markings in his lungs . . . as if they’d been altered or something. They seem to work fine, but there’s something different . . .”

“She practically lives in the ocean,” Fence told him. “And I’ve been wanting to tell you and Vaughn that when I was at their place, I got a look at George’s lab. Dude’s got some of that gray sparkly stuff there. I don’t know where he got it from, but I’m fixing to find out.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Fence opened it to admit Quent and Zoë, as well as Vaughn Rogan.

“Jade went to find Marley,” Vaughn said as he closed the door behind him.

Fence nodded. That was good. If anyone knew what these types and placement of crystals meant, it would be Marley.

“He looks like fucking Elvis in that white suit,” said Zoë, who must have seen the iconic photo once upon a time. “What the hell’s with all those damned crystals? He afraid of losing his way in the dark?”

“Maybe he’s like my father,” Quent replied. “He kept adding crystals because he thought they’d keep him alive.”

“Those are much smaller than the ones the Elites wear,” Zoë reminded him.

“I’m going to scan him now,” Elliott said, positioning his hands over the man’s head.

As they watched, he slid them down over the inert body, from head to toe and up and down each limb, his eyes closed in concentration.

When he opened them, he drew in a deep breath. A little furrow between his brows disappeared as the door opened to Jade and Marley.

“Everything all right?” Jade asked, moving to stand right next to Elliott. Her face was tight with concern, and Fence knew it had to do with worry about the doctor more than anything. She was always trying to make certain he didn’t injure himself while caring for others—something that had happened more than once. He’d almost died saving Vaughn’s life when Elliott, Fence, and the others first arrived in Envy.

“He’s already dead,” Elliott told her, and Jade’s expression eased as she slid her hand around his arm. Fence noticed their easy affection, the silent support and connection between them, and was reminded sharply, sadly, of his parents. “But not for very long. Maybe an hour or so, but not much longer.”

“It looks like a horrible way to go,” said Jade, transferring her attention to the bloody body.

“He’s not an Elite,” Marley said, her voice low and tight.

Fence saw that she’d turned pale and was gripping the edge of a nearby table. “Hey, sugar, better sit down. Now’s really not the time to be fallin’ to your knees around me,” he said, giving her a grin. “We’ve got an audience.” He pulled a chair around and helped her ease into it.

“How do you know he isn’t an Elite?” asked Vaughn, his voice cool. “He’s got crystals all over him.”

“Too many, too small, and in the wrong place,” Marley said in a rush, confirming Fence and Elliott’s previous conversation. Her gaze was averted and her knuckles white.

“She’s right,” Elliott said, and all eyes turned to him. “These crystals are different—aside from all the other reasons Marley gave, they’re also set into the body differently. In the Elites, the crystals have little fiber-optic-like threads that burrow through the whole body like the roots of a plant . . . or like the circulatory system, but originating from the crystal instead of a heart. But these crystals are like tiny cones fixed in the lungs, and there are—or were—at least a dozen of them. They do have small roots, but they’re much shorter than the other type. And these merge with the bronchioles in the lungs. It’s as if they’re part of the organ itself, as if they’ve taken over their function. Perhaps even changing the lungs’ functionality.”

Everyone was silent, looking at him. Fence could almost feel the massive churning in the room as everyone’s brains chewed on this new information.

“My guess,” Elliott continued, “is that these crystals help his lungs to convert water to oxygen.”

“So what in the hell are you saying? That the guy is a fucking fish? Or was,” Zoë added, her voice going mildly softer as she looked down at the corpse.

“He’s from Atlantis,” Quent said quietly.

Fence saw that he was holding a piece of the man’s clothing. “Atlantis? Can you see it?” he asked, his pulse bumping up. “What it looks like?”

Zoë edged closer to Quent, and Fence saw her link fingers with him. She was his lifeline, holding him in the present or bringing him back when the blur of memories threatened to drag him into unconsciousness.

“I just saw impressions of the place,” Quent replied. He’d dropped the fabric and his face was pale under its tan. “It’s wavery and bright, and contained. I’ll get more later.”

“You’re hot damn right it’ll be later, genius,” Zoë said firmly. “Not fucking now. I’m not gonna be dragging your sorry ass—or arse—or what-the-fuck-ever you call it all the way the hell back up to our damned room when your knees give out and you conk your hard-ass head on the floor.”

“And here we have the softer side of Zoë,” Fence said with a grin, relieved to shove away his dark thoughts. And weren’t pregnant women supposed to be more . . . fluffy and motherly and—what did you call it? Burrowing? No, nesting?

Zoë whipped her face around to give him a glare that would have shaved his head if he wasn’t already bald. Her brows furrowed in a shut-your-fucking-trap look, and Fence realized he might have somehow stepped squarely in something. And he did
not
want to be on Zoë’s bad side.

Especially if she was all hormonal. Uneasiness crawled up his spine when he remembered his sister and her pregnancy.
Ugly.

From the expression on Zoë’s face, and the suddenly pop-eyed warning look Elliott was giving him as well, Fence realized that Quent didn’t yet know he was going to be a father.
Oops.

How the hell had that happened? Everyone else knew except for Quent? Fence glanced at Elliott, who shrugged and gave a brief eye roll toward Zoë. Apparently she didn’t want him to know. Fence had learned the news from Lou Waxnicki, who’d found out from Zoë herself before he left Envy to visit Theo. She’d been bitching about how Quent wasn’t going to let her hunt zombies anymore as soon as he found out she had a bun in the oven.

That
was
going to be interesting: Quent trying to keep the type-A, athletic, stubborn as the day was long Zoë from riding around shooting at zombies all the time. Not that Fence would blame the guy . . . he’d want his own wife to be careful with his baby.

If he ever had one.

Fence’s light mood dampened and he turned his attention back to the matter at hand . . . including his own women problems.

Now that they’d come to the conclusion that Mr. Disco here was indeed from Atlantis, the next thing to find out was just how Ana had known it—or known him.

“I’m outta here,” Fence said, slipping behind Jade to get to the door. “Got some stuff to take care of.”

He wasted no time getting out of the infirmary and back out to the beach. The tracks from Herb and Wendy’s—and his—footprints were still there, but the spot where Mr. Disco had been found wedged between a rock and an old car was washed over by the waves.