Otherworld 02 - Stolen (13 page)

Bauer reached for the intercom button on the half-demon's cage. Something in my gut tightened, and I opened my mouth to stop her, then bit back the protest. Why did I care if Bauer talked to this woman? Maybe I just didn't like the idea of my fellow captives knowing they were being watched and discussed like zoo animals.

"Leah?" Bauer said, leaning into the speaker.

"Hey Sondra," Leah said, rising from bed. "Did my appointment get bumped up again?"

"No, I'm just passing by. Showing a new guest around. She's very interested in your powers. How about a demonstration?"

"Sure." Leah turned to the small table. After a second, a coffee mug rose from the surface and spun around. "How's that?"

"Perfect. Thank you, Leah."

The woman smiled and nodded. If she had any objection to being treated like a trained monkey, she gave no sign of it, just stood there awaiting further commands.

"I'll see you later, Leah," Bauer said.

"I'm not going anywhere. Say hi to Xavier for me. Tell him to stop by some time. Bring a deck of cards."

"I'll do that."

Bauer clicked off the intercom.

"Xavier is our other half-demon," she said to me. "You've met him."

"Houdini."

Bauer smiled. "Yes, I suppose so. No bonds will hold that one, as we soon discovered. Lucky for us he was happy to cooperate with our questions and experiments for the right financial incentive. Quite the mercenary, our Xavier. A valuable asset to the team, though."

"Like the sorcerer," I said.

Bauer shot me a studiously blank look.

"I heard you hired a sorcerer, too," I said.

Bauer hesitated, as if pondering whether to lie, then said, "Yes, we have a sorcerer. He helps us find our supernaturals. You're not likely to encounter Mr. Katzen though, if that puts your mind at ease."

"Should it?"

"Sorcerers have an… unsavory reputation among some supernatural races. Not entirely unwarranted."

Matasumi coughed discreetly, but Bauer ignored him and rapped her nails against the Vodoun priest's cell wall. He glanced up, maybe sensing someone there, and cast a baleful glare at the mirrored glass.

"Untrustworthy egomaniacs, most of them," Bauer went on. "Our Mr. Katzen, I'm afraid, is no exception. As I said, though, you don't need to worry about him. He doesn't associate with what he considers the 'lower' races. Now Xavier is much more sociable."

"He keeps Leah entertained, I see."

"Actually no. He's not likely to take her up on her offer. Sad, really. When Leah found out we had another half-demon here she was thrilled. I don't think she's ever met another of her kind. But Xavier won't have anything to do with her. He met her once and has since refused to go near her. We've even tried bribes. Keeping our guests happy is very important to us. Leah is a very gregarious young woman. She needs social stimulation. Fortunately we've found other ways to accommodate her. She's taken quite an interest in two of our other guests."

"Curtis and Savannah," Tess said.

Bauer nodded. "Who are also our two guests most in need of companionship, someone to cheer them up. I think Leah has a knack for that. An innate sense of altruism. Curtis and Savannah both enjoy her company immensely. Which only makes Xavier's animosity all the more unfathomable. He won't even talk to her. It's causing some concern for us. We'd like to bring Leah on the team, but we can't afford the tension it would cause."

"Have a lot of cap-guests joined 'the team'?"

Bauer's eyes sparked as if I'd asked the million-dollar question. "Not many, but it's certainly possible. Particularly for our more honored guests, like yourself. Once we're assured of a guest's cooperation, we're quite happy to make an offer. It's something to strive for."

In other words, if I was a very, very good girl, I too could kidnap and torture my fellow supernatural beings. Oh, joy.

"Any idea why Xavier doesn't like Leah?" I asked.

"Jealousy," Matasumi said. "Within the half-demon hierarchy Leah has higher standing."

"Are they aware of this hierarchy?" I asked. "I thought half-demons didn't have much contact with one another. They don't have any central or ruling group, right? So how do they know who has what status?"

Silence.

After a moment Matasumi said, "At some level, I'm sure they're aware of their status."

"An Agito demon ranks over an Evanidus, Xavier's sire," Bauer said. "And an Exustio ranks over both. That's Adam Vasic's sire, right? An Exustio?"

"Never came up in conversation, surprisingly."

Disappointment flashed across her face, then vanished in another false-hearty smile. "We'll have Doctor Carmichael check those burns. I'm assuming Adam gave them to you."

She paused. I said nothing.

"An Exustio half-demon is very powerful," she continued. "Right at the top. He'd be a first-rate catch. Maybe you could help with that. I'm sure those burns don't tickle."

"They're healing," I said.

"Still, we'd be very grateful-"

Matasumi interrupted. "We don't even know if Adam Vasic's sire is an Exustio, Sondra. We only have one person's secondhand account on that."

"But it's a very good account." Bauer turned to me. "One of our early captives was a shaman who served on Ruth Winterbourne's council back when Adam's stepfather started bringing him to the meetings. He's a Tempestras half-demon. The stepfather, that is. He's also supposedly an expert on demonology, and he was convinced Adam's sire was an Exustio."

"Though he's never given any indication of having such an advanced degree of power," Matasumi said. "Skin burns are more likely the sign of an Igneus. An Exustio would have incinerated Ms. Michaels."

"Still, even an Igneus half-demon would be quite a coup. And I'd love to get his stepfather. There's very little data on Tempestras demons."

"I'd like to meet the mother," Tess said. "What's the chance that a woman is going to be chosen to bear a demon's offspring and end up marrying a half-demon? There must be something in her that attracts them. It could be very useful research. And interesting."

This was creeping me out. How much did these people know about us? It was bad enough that they knew what we were, but to have delved into our personal lives like this was downright disturbing. Did they do this a lot, stand around discussing us like we were characters in some modern
Dark Shadows
soap opera?

"Why didn't you grab Adam instead of me?" I asked.

"Don't underestimate your own importance to us, Elena," Bauer said. "We're thrilled to have you with us."

"And we couldn't find Adam," Tess added.

Gee, thanks.

Bauer continued, "And, beside Leah, our last, but certainly not least guest."

I turned. In the cell behind me was a girl. No, I don't mean a young woman. I mean a child, no more than twelve or thirteen. I assumed her youthful appearance was the manifestation of some unknown supernatural race.

"What is she?" I asked.

"A witch," Bauer said.

"Does a spell do that? Make her look young? Handy trick, but if it were me, I sure wouldn't want to return to that age. Either long before or long after puberty for me, thank you very much."

Bauer laughed. "No, it's not a spell. Savannah's twelve."

I stopped. If I'd been shivering before, I was frozen now, a block of ice lodged in my gut.

"Twelve?" I repeated, hoping I'd heard wrong. "You captured a twelve-year-old witch?"

"The absolute best age," Matasumi said. "Witches come into their full powers with the onset of their first menses. Being on the brink of puberty, Savannah presents us with the perfect opportunity to study mental and physiological changes that might explain a witch's ability to cast spells. We had a remarkable stroke of luck finding her. An accident really. Savannah is the daughter of a former Coven witch we targeted several weeks ago. When our men picked up the mother, the daughter was unexpectedly home from school, so they were forced to bring her as well."

I scanned the cell. "You don't keep her with her mother?"

"We had some trouble with her mother," Bauer said. "Her powers were stronger than our sorcerer led us to believe. Dark magic, you might call it, which would likely explain her split with the Coven. Eve was… well, we had to-"

"We removed her from the program," Matasumi cut in. "The best thing, really. She proved much too difficult to be a useful subject, and her presence distracted the child."

The ice expanded to fill my stomach. These people were holding a child in an underground cell, congratulating themselves on having found her, and extolling the advantages of killing her mother? I watched the girl. She was tall for her age, whip-thin, with a face that was all planes and sharp angles. Waist-length jet-black hair fell so straight it seemed weighted down. Huge dark blue eyes overpowered her thin face. An odd-looking child with the promise of great beauty. She stared intently at a crossword puzzle book, pencil poised above the page. After a moment she nodded and scribbled something. She held the book at arm's length, studied the completed puzzle, then tossed it aside, got up from the table, paced a few times, and finally settled for surveying the contents of a bookshelf behind the television set.

"She must get bored," I said.

"Oh, no," Bauer said. "This isn't easy for Savannah. We know that. But we do our best to accommodate her. Anything she wants. Chocolate bars, magazines… we even picked up some video games last week. She's quite…" Bauer paused, seeming to roll a word on her tongue, then discarded it and said quietly, "She's comfortable."

So she knew how bad it sounded. "Sorry we executed your mom, kid, but here's some
[47]
Tiger Beats
and a Game Boy to make up for it." Bauer tapped her manicured nails against the wall, then forced a smile.

"Well, that's it," she said. "You're probably wondering what all this is for."

"Perhaps later," Matasumi murmured. "Doctor Carmichael is waiting and this isn't really the place…"

"We've shown Elena around. Now I think it's only fair we offer some explanation."

Matasumi's lips tightened. So this wasn't usually part of the tour? Why now? A sudden need to justify herself after showing me Savannah? Why did Bauer care what I thought? Or was she defending it to herself?

Before Bauer continued, she led me out of the cell block. I studied the security procedures. Once through, we passed two armed guards stationed in a cubbyhole beyond the secured door. Their eyes passed over me as if I was the cleaning lady. One of the advantages to hiring guards with some form of military background: Curiosity had been drilled out of them. Follow orders and don't ask questions.

"Some sort of military connection?" I asked. As long as Bauer was in a mood to answer questions, I should ask them.

"Military?" She followed my gaze to the guards. "Using supernatural beings to build the perfect weapon? Intriguing idea."

"Not really," I said. "They did it on
Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
A sub-par season. I slept through half the episodes."

Bauer laughed, though I could tell she had no idea what I was talking about. I couldn't picture her lounging in front of a TV set, and even if she did, I was sure the only thing she watched was CNN.

"Don't worry," she said. "This is a completely private enterprise. Our choice of guards was merely practical. No governmental overtones intended."

We walked through another set of doors into a long corridor.

"In our post-industrial society, science is constantly pushing the boundaries of technology," Bauer said, still walking. I glanced overhead for speakers, half-certain I was hearing Bauer's voice on some prerecorded tour tape. "The human race has taken great strides in the field of technology. Massive strides. Our lives get easier with each passing day. Yet are we happy?"

She paused, but didn't look back at me, as if not expecting an answer. Rhetorical question, dramatic pause. Bauer knew her public-speaking tricks.

"We aren't," she said. "Everyone I know has a therapist and a shelf of self-help books. They go on spiritual retreats. They hire yogis and practice meditation. Does it do any good? No. They're miserable. And why?"

Another pause. I bit my lip to keep from answering. It wouldn't have been the sort of reply she wanted.

Bauer continued, "Because they feel powerless. Science does all the work. People are reduced to technological slaves, dutifully pumping data into computers and waiting for the great god of technology to honor them with results. When the computer age first arrived, people were thrilled. They dreamed of shorter work weeks, more time for self-improvement. It didn't happen. People today work as hard, if not harder, than they did thirty years ago. The only difference is the quality of the work they perform. They no longer accomplish anything of value. They only service the machines."

Pause number three.

"What we propose to do here is return a sense of power to humanity. A new wave of improvement. Not technological improvement. Improvement from within. Improvement of the mind and the body. Through studying the supernatural, we can affect those changes. Shamans, necromancers, witches, sorcerers-they can help us increase our mental capabilities. Other races can teach us how to make immense improvements in our physical lives. Strength and sensory acuteness from werewolves. Regeneration and longevity from vampires. Countless other advances from half-demons. A brave new world for humanity."

I waited for the music to swell. When it didn't, I managed to say with a straight face, "It sounds very… noble."

"It is," Matasumi said.

Bauer pressed a button and elevator doors opened. We stepped on.

The infirmary was exactly what one would expect from such a high-tech operation: antiseptic, white, and cold. Filled with gleaming stainless-steel instruments and digital machines. Not so much as a faded "symptoms of a heart attack" poster on the wall. All business, like its doctor, a heavyset middle-aged woman. Carmichael covered all opening pleasantries with a brusque hello. From there it was "open this, close that, lift this, turn that." Zero small talk. I appreciated that. Easier to swallow than Bauer's unwarranted chumminess.

The examination was less intrusive than the average physical. No needles or urine samples. Carmichael took my temperature, weight, height, and blood pressure. She checked my eyes, ears, and throat. Asked about nausea or other tranquilizer aftereffects. When she listened to my heart, I waited for the inevitable questions. My heart rate was well above normal. A typical werewolf "physiological anomaly," as Matasumi would say. Jeremy said it was because of our increased metabolism or adrenaline flow or something. I didn't remember the exact reason. Jeremy was the medical expert. I barely passed high school biology. Carmichael didn't comment on my heart rate, though. Just nodded and marked it on my chart. I guess they already expected that from examining the mutt.

After Carmichael finished with me, I rejoined my party in the waiting room. Only one of the three guards had accompanied me into the infirmary. He hadn't even sneaked a peek when I'd changed in and out of my medical gown. Serious ego blow. Not that I blamed him. There wasn't much to see.

Matasumi, Bauer, Tess, and the three guards led me down the hall away from the infirmary waiting room. Before we got to our destination, a guard's radio beeped. There was some kind of "minor incident" in the cell block, and someone named Tucker wanted to know if Matasumi still needed the guards. It was dinner hour and most of the off-duty guards had gone into town. Could Matasumi spare the three accompanying us? Matasumi told Tucker he'd send them down in five minutes. Then we all trooped into an area Bauer referred to as the "sitting room."

The sitting room was an interrogation chamber. Anyone who'd seen a single cop show wouldn't be fooled by the comfortable chairs and Art Deco prints on the walls. Four chairs were arranged around a wooden table. A pool-table-sized slab of one-way glass dominated the far wall. Video cameras and microphones hung from two ceiling corners. Bauer could call it a goddamned formal parlor if she wanted. It was an interrogation room.

My escort led me to the near side of the room, facing the one-way glass. Once I was seated, he opened flaps in either side of the chair and pulled out thick reinforced straps, which he fastened around my waist. Though my wrists were still cuffed, he used another set of straps to bind my elbows to the chair arms. Then from the floor he pulled a heavy buckle attached to chains that retracted under the carpet. This he affixed to my feet. All four chair legs were welded to the floor. Damn, we needed one of these for our sitting room at Stonehaven. Nothing like a steel-bonded restraint chair to make a guest feel at home.

Once I was secured, Matasumi released the guards. Wow, he was taking a big chance there. No armed guards? Who knew what havoc I could wreak. I could… Well, I could spit in his face and call him really nasty names.

As for the questioning, it was pretty boring. More of the same sort of questions Matasumi had fired at me in the cell. I continued to mix my truths and lies, and no one called me on it. About twenty minutes into the session, someone knocked at the door. A guard came in and told Matasumi and Bauer that this Tucker guy requested their presence in the cell block to advise on an "issue." Bauer balked, insisting Matasumi could handle it, but it involved some special project of hers, and after a moment's argument, she agreed to go. Tess followed Matasumi out, though no one had invited her. Guess she was afraid of being spit on. Bauer promised they'd be back as soon as possible, and they were gone. Leaving me alone. Hmmm.

My optimism faded fast. There was no way I was getting out of this chair. No adrenaline rush would give me the strength to break these bonds. With the way I was tied up, someone could perform open-heart surgery on me and I couldn't do more than scream. I couldn't even change into a wolf and hope to slip out. The straps and chains were tethered with a device that gobbled up slack like a seat belt. If I were to Change, I would only risk hurting myself.

As I examined my bonds, the door behind me opened. A man stumbled into the room, tripping over leg irons. Before I could see his face, a smell hit me and the hairs on my arms rose. A mutt. I twisted my neck to see the mutt from the cage downstairs. Patrick Lake. The name leapt to consciousness at the first whiff of his scent. I'd only met him once, and not a memorable meeting at that, but a werewolf's brain categorizes smells with the efficiency of a top-notch filing clerk. With a few molecules of scent, the accompanying information is at our mental fingertips.

Patrick Lake was a drifter and a man-eater. He wasn't a prolific killer-a body here, a body there, like most mutts, savvy enough to know each kill brought him closer to exposure, but unable or unwilling to quit. The Pack didn't bother much with mutts like Lake. Maybe that sounds bad, like we should be out there stopping every mutt who kills humans, but if we did that, we'd need to exterminate three-quarters of our race, and really, it wasn't our job. If humans were being killed, let other humans deal with it. Harsh but practical. We became concerned only when a mutt called attention to himself, thereby endangering the rest of us. Lake did that about four years ago by killing the daughter of a city official in Galveston, Texas. Clay and I had flown down to do our respective jobs. I'd investigated the status of the murder case. If Lake became a suspect, he had to die. Since it never got that far, Clay settled for beating the crap out of Lake as a warning, then making sure he caught the next plane out of Texas. Patrick Lake hadn't given us any trouble since.

When Lake staggered into the room, I jerked up in my seat, snapping the bonds tight. Houdini-Xavier-walked in behind him. Seeing me, he stopped and blinked, then looked around the room.

"All alone?" he asked.

I didn't reply. Unless there were half-demon guards with the power of invisibility, it was quite apparent I was alone. Still, Xavier leaned out the door to check the hall. Then, shoving Lake ahead of him, he crossed to the one-way glass, peered through, frowned, zapped into the next room, and returned.

"Alone," he said, shaking his head. "You gotta love this place. Military efficiency, high-tech security, the latest communication gadgetry. And for all that, as disorganized as my mother's kitchen cupboards. I can't believe they left you alone. It is eight o'clock, isn't it?"

"Let me check my watch," I said.

He chuckled. "Sorry. They sure have you tied down, don't they? Somebody's not taking any chances. But I'm sure it's eight, and I was supposed to bring Lake up here at eight. Now they can't even keep their scheduling straight. Someone's gotta hire a secretary."

Lake stared at me. He'd never met me before, not officially anyway. In Galveston, I'd come close enough to smell him, but I'd stayed upwind and out of sight. That was a complication Clay hadn't needed. Mutts got a little… excited the first time they met me. A hormone thing. I'd been told that I smelled like a bitch in heat-not the most flattering description, but it explained a lot. After a mutt got to know me, his human brain usually kicked in and overrode the signals, but the first few meetings were always dicey. Sometimes I could use the reaction to my advantage. Usually it was just a major pain in the ass.

"Like her?" Xavier asked.

Lake muttered something and tried to wrench his gaze away, but he didn't succeed in breaking visual contact. He walked behind my chair, leg chains sparking static against the carpet. I stared straight ahead. Get it over with, asshole. Lake circled the table twice. When Xavier snickered, Lake pause only a second before instinct impelled him forward again, circling, eyes shunting back to me.

"I'll admit, she's a good-looking girl," Xavier said. "But don't you think you're overdoing it, buddy?"

"Shut up," Lake growled and kept circling.

"Don't worry," Xavier said, turning to me. "If he tries to sniff your crotch, I'll snap a muzzle on him."

Lake turned on Xavier, tensed as if to lunge at him, then thought better of it and settled for growling a string of epithets. The spell was broken, though, and when he wheeled back to face me, his eyes were still blazing, but with fury, not lust.

"You were there, weren't you?" he said. "In Galveston. With
him.
When he did this to me." He lifted his cuffed hands and thrust them out. His left palm was permanently fixed in handshake position, the rest of the forearm gnarled and wasted, the result of too many breaks and insufficient setting.

"Who's 'he'?" Xavier asked.

"Clayton," Lake spat, gaze still skewering mine.

"Oh, the boyfriend." Xavier gave a mock sigh. "Did you have to mention the boyfriend? I saw him in Vermont, and I'm still feeling pretty inferior about the whole thing. Please tell me that guy's got some nasty habits. Body odor. Picks his nose. Give me something."

"He's a fucking psycho," Lake snarled.

"Perfect! That's exactly what I wanted. Thank you, Pat. I feel much better now. Whatever my questionable mental status, no one has ever accused
me
of being a psychopath."

Lake stepped closer and eyed my bonds.

"Don't be getting any uncivilized ideas," Xavier said. "You touch her and I'll have to let her touch you back. You don't want that. She's a strong girl."

Lake snorted.

"You don't believe me?" Xavier said. "She's been here a few hours and she already put a hole in her cell wall. You've been here two weeks and haven't even dented yours. Could be she's stronger than you."

"Not likely."

"No, maybe not. You're bigger. More muscle mass. Male advantage. But she's definitely smarter. Figured out how to knock me down on her second try. You and I went ten times as many rounds and you never laid a finger on me. The female of the species is more deadly than the male. Who sang that?"

"It's from Kipling," I said.

"See? She is smarter than us."

"Better educated," Lake said. "Not smarter."

"How about a bet then? A match. If she takes you, I get your diamond ring."

"Go to hell," Lake muttered.

"Sociable guy, isn't he? Brilliant conversationalist. No wonder you won't let him in your Pack."

"Go to hell," Lake enunciated more slowly now, turning his glare on Xavier.

"Touched a sore spot, did I? Oh, come on. Play my game. Show me what a big bad wolf you are. You want some comeuppance for that arm, don't you? How about it, Elena? Feel like a few rounds with Mr. Personality?"

"I don't fight on command," I said.

Xavier sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he strolled over to me and undid all the straps holding me to the seat, leaving only the handcuffs.

"Hey!" Lake said, striding toward us.

Xavier stopped him with an outstretched hand, knelt to undo Lake's leg irons, then unlocked his handcuffs. Lake shook the cuffs off and drew his arm back for swing at Xavier. But his fist connected with empty space. Xavier was gone.

I'd stayed in my seat. No point in facing off with this mutt. Better to sit here, refuse to play the game and hope Matasumi and Bauer returned soon.

Lake stepped back and surveyed me. A grin tickled the corners of his mouth.

"Don't bother," I said. "It's been tried before under far more advantageous circumstances. You know what'll happen if you even try. Clay will ensure you can't ever try again."

"Really?" Lake's eyes widened and he looked around. "I don't see him here. Maybe I'm willing to take the chance."

"Fine," I said. "Knock yourself out."

I didn't move. Werewolf fights were 70 percent bravado. These days, Clay won most of his battles simply by showing up. His reputation was enough. At least it worked for male werewolves. I wasn't so lucky. No matter how many bouts I won, mutts still figured I was helpless without Clay to protect me.

Lake circled the chair. I didn't move. He grabbed my hair, wrapping the long stands around his fist. I set my teeth and still didn't move. He yanked my head back. I only glared up at him. With a growl, he released my hair, grabbed my shoulders and shoved me forward out of the chair. I twisted, trying to brace myself against the table, but, unlike my chair, it wasn't bolted to the floor. When I hit the table edge, it skidded out of reach and I collapsed to my knees, my manacled hands shooting forward to break my fall. Lake slammed a foot into my ass and sent me crashing onto my face. I stayed still, face against the carpet.

"Whoa," Lake said. "That was hard."

"My hands are cuffed," I muttered against the carpet pile.

"Yeah? Well, my left hand doesn't work so good, thanks to lover boy. Maybe I should do the same to you. Nah. Not the arm. The face. Maybe then he won't find you quite so appealing."

"Face or arm, it doesn't matter. Touch me and you're a dead man,"

"I'm already a dead man, honey. With you here, these bastards don't want me anymore. Might as well get my kicks while I can."

While we traded volleys, I kept my arms tucked under me and concentrated. Sweat broke out across my forehead. Lake knelt in front of me and grinned.

"Looking a little pale there, honey. Not as tough as you pretend."

I shifted, pulling my weight off my arms. Lake leaped to his feet and stomped one foot into the center of my back. Something cracked. Pain arced through me. Stifling a cry, I closed my eyes and focused on my hands. I eased my belly off the carpet and twisted my palm up. I felt the weight of Lake's foot on my back, resting there. Without warning, he pushed down, grinding me into the carpet. Five needles drove through my shirt and into my stomach. I gasped and smelled blood.

"Does that hurt?" Lake said. "Geez, I feel sooo bad. Do you know how much this arm hurt? Do you have any idea? Unable to go to the hospital, to a doctor? Tracking down some quack who'd had his license revoked-"