Spellbound (39 page)

I grabbed the nearest object I could find—a bedpan—and prepared to swing it at her head as Bryce dove out of bed and snatched the needle from the floor. Then he glanced at me, and frowned at the raised bedpan.

“Cast a binding spell,” he said.

“I can't.”

“Why? Because she's a witch?”

“No,” I said. “I—” I glanced at Anita. If she hadn't heard the rumor already, there was no sense letting her know I was the spellcasting equivalent of a twelve-year-old. Not when she'd seen what I
could
do—the guy I killed.

“I'm good,” I said, hefting the bedpan.

Bryce nodded and advanced on Anita. I could see him straining to keep himself upright, his face flushed with fever.

He lifted the syringe. “Why would you want to waste this on Savannah? This is your chance to use it on yourself.”

“No,” she said.

“But it's a gift, isn't it? A reward. That's why I got it. A reward for services rendered.”

“I don't want it.”

He stepped closer. “That's okay. I didn't either.”

She jumped up, surprisingly agile for her age and size. She smacked him in the leg as I ran forward. Bryce fell. She grabbed the syringe.

“No!” Bryce shouted as I ran at Anita, bedpan raised. “Stay back. You don't want that shot, Savannah.”

I stopped short. “What's in there?” I asked Anita.

“Why don't you ask Bryce? Our prize subject. His
reward
for his
assistance
.” The grandmotherly façade shattered as she sneered at Bryce. “Did you really think we wouldn't know what you were up to? Giving us the child so you could worm your way in and report back to your Cabal? Did you think we wouldn't wonder why you asked so many questions? Why you insisted on seeing the facilities? A word of advice, boy? Next time your Cabal decides to send a spy, make sure they pick someone a little brighter.”

“No one sent—” Bryce stopped.

“Was this your master plan for impressing your family? Proving big brother isn't the only Nast with initiative? Oh, you showed them, boy. You showed them you're as inept as they always thought.”

Bryce lunged at her.

“Don't,” I said. “She's baiting you because she knows she's screwed. Notice she's not even trying to escape? She's trapped.”

“I'm not the only one who's trapped,” Anita said. “You're in a solid room behind a locked steel door, children. The only way you're getting out is when my colleagues come to let you out. And it will go much better for you if I'm alive when they get here. You both know I'm very important to this group.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I'm not sure my colleagues will agree when they get in here. And they're a lot closer than yours.”

I phoned Adam. “Hey. Turns out we had someone in here—Anita Barrington was cowering under a cover spell. Bryce and I have her cornered, but the sooner you get that door open, the happier we'll all be.”

“We're working on it,” Adam said. “I found the switch, but the door won't open. Jeremy's working on it now. A little show of werewolf force should get the thing moving.”

I hung up.

“Jeremy Danvers,” Anita said, having obviously overheard. “I would enjoy making his acquaintance again. If only his werewolf strength could break that door. The designers took all precautions. The patients in here are very valuable. We can't let them fall into the wrong hands. The only way that door is opening is when we open it.”

The door clanged once. Then twice. The walls quavered.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Not many werewolves on your team to test that theory, were there?”

She backed into the corner. “I'll tell you anything you need to know. Just tell them to spare me.”

“Witches,” Bryce sneered. Then he glanced at me. “Sorry.”

“In some cases, the insult is warranted. Now lie down before you keel over. I can keep watch on this—”

Anita reached under the counter and pushed something. I smacked her with the bedpan and sent her flying, then stomped on her arm and grabbed the syringe.

“Sounding the alarm isn't going to help unless you've got a squadron of fighters on standby.”

“Help won't get here in time to stop you from leaving. So I did something that will.”

I went very still and looked around, listening for any telltale ticking. The pipes overhead groaned and whistled. Then a
whoosh
, like someone had flipped on the air conditioner.

When I turned back to Anita, she'd grabbed a gas mask from a cupboard. Bryce tried to snatch it from her, but she scuttled out of reach. I flung open the cupboard.

“Don't bother looking for more,” she said, her voice muffled as she pulled it on. “This is the only one and—” She stopped. Pulled it away from her face. Let it snap back again.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

“Someone skip the routine inspections?” I said. “Guess you'd better tell us how to turn it off.”

“You can't,” she whispered as she pulled off the mask. “Once it starts, the room will fill with gas, killing the subjects and everyone—”

I didn't hear the rest. I ran into the next room as I called Adam.

“Gas,” I said when he answered. “The fail-safe released lethal gas. Forget breaking down the door. Can you incinerate it?”

“That was my next step. Hold on.”

Gas was filling the room now. I could smell it, could feel the chill of it. Bryce handed me a wet towel. “Put it over your nose and mouth.”

I did. Jeremy took the phone and told me to hold on. After a moment, I heard Adam cursing in the background.

“It's not working,” he called. “Just give me a second.” He inhaled and exhaled loud enough for me to hear him. Then, “Fuck, why isn't it working?”

“Just relax,” Jeremy murmured. “Try incinerating something else.”

A pause then Adam said, “Okay, it's not me, it's the goddamned door. It's fireproof.” His voice rose. “Savannah? Cover your nose and mouth and find out where the gas is coming from. Try blocking the vent. I'm going to get in there if I have to incinerate the whole damned wall. Just—”

My phone went dead. I shook it. Tried turning it on. Nothing.

“Forget that,” Bryce said. “We need to stop the gas.”

I looked around for the source, but couldn't even see vents. Bryce hacked so hard he doubled over. One of the machines began blipping frantically. Then it stopped and an alarm started instead.

Another machine began to blip.

“They're dying,” Bryce said between coughs. “And there's not a damned thing we can do about it, so don't try. That probably means the gas is coming up from the floor. Get back in the other room and we'll stand on the bed—”

He staggered. I grabbed his arm. His eyes rolled back as his mouth worked, trying to talk. I dragged him back to his room. It was empty.

I pushed Bryce onto the bed and spun around, waiting for Anita to attack from a cover spell. But she didn't. Why would she? Fighting us would only make her use more energy, kill her faster.

So would a cover spell, though.

I looked around the empty room. She'd escaped. Somehow, she'd escaped.

I glanced up. The ceiling was solid and twelve feet overhead. To my left,
the window was bricked over,
as my father said.

A door. There had to be a—

I came to on the floor without realizing I'd even blacked out. I looked around, dazed. I could smell the gas and see it shimmering in the air.

I started pushing to my feet. Then I saw it—a partly open hatch under the third bed. Covering my mouth, I bent and yanked it open. The hole descended into darkness. As I felt around inside for a ladder, Bryce bent beside me.

“I can't find a way down,” I said. “But obviously there is one if she used it.”

Bryce reached inside.

“There's something over here,” he said.

He leaned in farther.

“Don't—”

He lost his balance. I managed to catch his sleeve, but the sudden jolt sent me sailing over the edge with him.

I
clawed and kicked, desperately trying to stop myself from falling. When I realized it was too late, I tried to twist in midair, to get my head up so it wasn't the first thing to hit—

My skull slammed into something and there was a momentary flash of “Oh, my God, I'm dead” before I realized I'd plunged into water.

My hands shot over my head to break that final impact with the bottom. I hit hard enough to send pain jolting through my arms.

I felt around. Thick mud over rock or cement. I managed to get my footing and pushed off and up.

By the time my head broke through the surface, my feet had left the bottom. I treaded water and squinted around. Above I could make out the rectangle of the hatch, but it was so high it barely gave off any illumination. I was in a deep pit, with at least ten feet of water. From the sounds of it, I was alone.

“Bryce?” I called.

No answer.

“Bryce!”

I dove, got a mouthful of foul water, and shot back up again, gagging and spitting. Another deep breath and I went under.

If I couldn't see above water, I sure as hell wasn't going to be able to see under it. I swam around, praying my fingers or toes would brush against Bryce.

He'd float, wouldn't he? No, that was only after you drowned. A live body would sink.

I had to find him. He was already weak. It wouldn't take long before—

Something tickled the back of my head. I reached up and felt fabric, and let out a whoosh of relief that sent more disgusting water into my mouth. I ignored it and grabbed Bryce around the torso. I hauled him up until we finally broke through.

I could only dimly see him, his skin and light hair glowing pale in the near dark. His head lolled back. Unconscious.

I remembered Paige giving us a first aid class back when the agency opened, and I know she'd covered CPR and I know I'd been there . . . sulking because it would be a long time before I was in the field, meaning I had no use for first aid so I damned well wasn't going to listen . . .

Shit.

I looked down at the lifeless body of my brother, already going cold. I could do this. I'd seen it on TV often enough.

I pulled him to the wall, where I could brace him up as I treaded water. I cleared my nose and mouth as best I could—my nose was running from the chilly water and I couldn't smell much, which was probably good because when I lowered my mouth toward Bryce's, I could smell the water, and it stunk like rotting fish.

My lips touched down on ice-cold skin. Ice-cold and spongy with teeth jutting through and—

I let out a shriek and yanked up. Fingers trembling, I cast a light ball. It took two tries, but finally, a penlight-sized ball of illumination appeared, just enough for me to see that I was holding the bloated and eyeless corpse of a middle-aged man.

I shrieked again.

I dropped the corpse and swung the light ball, searching for Bryce, but the water was so murky, I couldn't see my own hands a few inches below the surface. I dove.

I swam straight to the bottom and started feeling around. It only took a moment to find another body . . . and a cursory touch to its skin to know I'd located another corpse.

As I pushed away, my foot kicked a third body. I twisted around, reached out, and found an arm—with a warm hand and fingers.

I grabbed it and had started up when I had a mental flash of myself saving Anita, and leaving my brother lying on the bottom, dying. I touched the body's hair. Fine, short hair. Bryce? God, I hoped so.

I dragged him to the surface. My light ball was still there, waiting, and when I looked down, I saw Bryce's face. His pale and still face, no pulse of life.

I was bringing my mouth down to his when I heard Paige's distant voice. “Make sure the airway is clear first.”

I pried open Bryce's mouth . . . and he convulsed suddenly, and his teeth chomped down on my fingers.

I yanked my hand away and held him steady as he came to, coughing and gasping.

“Where—?” he began. “Who—?”

“It's me,” I said. “Savannah.”

“Sav . . . What are you doing?”

“Trying to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in a waterfilled pit. And sadly, it's not just a nightmare. You were sick and for whatever reason—probably delirium—I was the one you called.”

He started treading water on his own, nodding as he remembered. Then he stopped and shook his head. “I called you on purpose. I wanted you and the council to see what they were . . .” He trailed off and looked up at the hatch, twenty feet overhead, then around at the black pit, then at me, treading water beside him. “Shit.”

“Kind of.”

“I'm sorry. I never would have gotten you involved if I'd known . . .”

“Well, you didn't like me that much anyway.”

I said it lightly, joking, but the look on his face made me wish I hadn't.

“I don't know you enough to like you or not,” he said finally. “That's my fault. Doesn't matter much right now. If I get out of this . . .” He coughed.

“We'll get out. Just don't try to bite me again.”

“Bite?”

I lifted my fingers. “That's what I get for attempting CPR when I don't have a clue how to do it.”

“I bit you? Did I break the skin?”

“Nah.”

“Good.” He exhaled, eyes closing.