Fields of Blood (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 2) (24 page)

I’d planned as best I could between bouts of mind-numbing torment. Everything relied on my magic still working. I knew my spark wasn’t exhausted, but I didn’t know if the mandrake would affect it. Taeral hadn’t mentioned that one way or the other.

I hoped it was because there was nothing to mention.

Keeping an eye on the closed door to the lab across the room, I got an awkward grip on the cuff around my left wrist, the one opposite the arm with the IV needle. “
Oscaihl
,” I whispered.

The click of the lock letting go almost made me cry with relief.

Moving introduced new worlds of pain. I forced through it, reached over and peeled the surgical tape over the needle away so I could pull it out. Not surprisingly, the mandrake failed to stop enhancing all sensations immediately. But I could only afford to give it a few minutes before I kept going.

The implement-laden crash cart was halfway across the room. That was my next goal—a weapon. It took longer than I wanted to unlock the rest of my bonds, and I had to spend another few minutes collapsed on the floor, willing my shaking limbs to support me.

I finally made my way to the cart, leaning on various cabinets and tables for support, and palmed a scalpel.

The rest of what I needed wouldn’t be so easy to get. It was a complicated list—my pendant, Taeral’s metal arm, the locations of all the captives. And Compound 23…the human suppressor. There was a glass cabinet against the right-hand wall with a bunch of tubes and vials, and I figured it was in there somewhere. But nothing had been labeled.

Fortunately, I knew how to find all that out.

I limped my way back to the table. It was possible that I’d started to feel slightly better, but everything hurt so much that I couldn’t really tell. Right now I had to be patient again. I might not be able to take the next step until they’d already forced Taeral into the arena, and that was going to hurt more than anything.

But I didn’t have a choice. Without the right timing, I’d screw us all.

I wasn’t especially thrilled at the prospect of getting back on that table. It was part of the plan, though. The doctor was just as heavily armed as the soldiers. If he came back and I was loose in the room, he’d just shoot me until I dropped. I had to get him close to me without suspicion.

So I refastened all but the left cuff, taped the IV line back into place without inserting the needle, and kept the last restraint loose at my wrist with the scalpel blade pinched between thumb and finger, and the rest hidden behind my arm.

The minutes dragged by. The world lost a few shades of intensity and my body relaxed by fractions, but I was still nowhere near recovered when the lab door opened and Dr. Romero came in. With two soldiers behind him.

Well. This complicated things.

Dr. Romero headed straight for me as one of the soldiers closed the door. “Mr. Reese prefers that you’re somewhat functional for the arena testing,” he said. “I’ll start a saline flush to clear some of the alkaloids from your system. Then you should be able to stand.”

He went to my right side.

I moved the scalpel incrementally to get a better grip as the doctor peeled the tape off. When it came away with the needle attached, he started blinking. “Subject appears to have rejected—”

“My name is Gideon, you sick fuck,” I growled.

And sliced the scalpel across his throat.

Knowing the soldiers would go for their weapons, I gestured sharply at them and shouted, “
Beith na cohdal.
” They dropped quickly, and I turned my attention back to the doctor.

True shock registered in his bulging eyes. He’d clamped a hand to his throat, but blood gushed between his fingers and poured down the front of his lab coat. He staggered back, crashed into the IV pole and thudded abruptly to the floor. There was a long, gurgling sound, and then still silence.

I unlocked the restraints and shuffled over to the body. Time for a question-and-answer session with the recently deceased Dr. Wesley Romero.

C
HAPTER 36

T
he dead doctor reacted remarkably fast when I laid a hand on him. I didn’t feel any struggle from him. Just a sterile sense of intrigue as he said,
You are the one. The DeathSpeaker. How fascinating.

That was when I discovered an unexpected benefit to torture. I hardly felt the pain in my head, compared to the pain in the rest of me.

I’d still rather not have been in a position to learn that.

“Yeah, I am,” I said. “You found me. Good job. Where is my pendant?”

In the XRF. Subject seems to generate a compulsive response pattern. It may be possible to resist—

“What the hell’s an XRF?” I said, trying to ignore the rest of the blathering. The bastard was dead and still trying to take me apart.

X-ray florescence analyzer. It looks like a black toaster oven. False answers can’t be verbalized. Wait. That word is incorrect, because verbalization is not occurring. Perhaps some type of sound wave or resonance manipulation.

Christ, he was never going to shut up. “Where is Taeral’s arm?”

Taeral’s arm. I’m not familiar with this. The compulsion to respond is not present when subject asks a question that can’t be answered.

“Taeral. The other Fae. He had a metal arm, and Reese took it. Where is it?”

I don’t know. Interesting. Questions unknown to the respondent allow for freedom of expression, including speculation that can be assumed false. It’s on the moon. Mr. Reese is using it as a sexual enhancement tool to sodomize himself.

I would’ve been happy going my entire life without that image. “Okay, moving on,” I said. “Where are the rest of the captives, the subjects? All of them.”

The test subjects from Elk Heights are in Wing A. The young werewolves and the second Fae are in Wing B. The mature werewolves and Subject Two Six Two are in the sublevel containment unit. Responses can be conveyed without sufficient detail, provided they are factually correct.

Now I was starting to feel the pain of his long-winded babbling, the needles in my head. And I needed those details he’d left out. The wings I could find, but not the rest of it. “Where is the sublevel containment unit? How do I get there?”

The stairs between the wings lead to the sublevel. The containment unit is behind the door at the end of the hall. When subject poses two questions, they can be answered in any order. There is a potential to exploit this situation.

“Duly noted, you son of a bitch,” I said. “Which one of those little bottles of stuff in your cabinet is Compound 23?”

This time, he struggled. A lot. The pressure in my head spiked until it felt like someone had poured quick-drying concrete in my skull. Blood poured from my nose and trickled from my ears.

Finally, he said,
Clear liquid. Glass vials…red caps. Label on bottom. Resistance to compulsive response produces an increasingly unpleasant sensation. Response formation is not controllable, and only the release of response can be resisted. I cannot tell a lie. Gideon, you’re going to die.

The last two sentences were delivered in a chilling singsong. “Why did you say that I’m going to die?”

Because it rhymed. And it’s true…everyone dies. I can’t lie.

Crazed laughter exploded in my head. I snatched my hand away before the fishhooks could tear my brain apart, and stared at the corpse of Dr. Romero like he might get up and start talking again.

Being dead must’ve flipped his logic switch at the end, there.

My condition still hadn’t improved much, and the brand new headache negated the small steps I’d taken toward healing. But I didn’t have time to wait for the mandrake to wear off. I had to get moving, now.

Just as I thought that, the CB unit on the doctor’s belt squawked. “Romero, I want a report.” It was Reese, his voice drifting from the speaker like a tin shadow. “Is our guest prepped for viewing tonight’s test?”

Damn. If no one answered, he’d know something wasn’t right. I still needed more time. I grabbed the handheld, trying to decide what the clinical bastard might say in response. I’d have to hope the poor quality sound kept him from being suspicious about Romero’s ’voice.’

Or maybe I wouldn’t. I’d used a glamour to mimic Nigel Foley and get into the New York branch of Milus Dei—his appearance and his voice. This time my appearance wouldn’t even have to pass.

I thought about the doctor, about being him. The idea made me shudder with revulsion.

“Romero? What’s going on down there?”

“Affirmative,” I said out loud to make sure I sounded right. Close enough. I pushed the unit call button and said, “Affirmative. Subject is prepared.”

The pause was long enough to worry me. Finally, Reese said, “You still need to work on your response times, Doctor. I expect answers quickly. And make sure he’s conscious and mobile, because the test is worthless if he’s not functional.”

My lip curled as I pressed the button. “The subject will be ready.”

A hell of a lot more ready than he expected.

I waited another minute, but Reese seemed to be done talking. I’d take the CB unit with me just in case.

Freedom was still a long way from here.

C
HAPTER 37

O
ne of the sleeping soldiers had been roughly my size. I left the lab dressed in SWAT gear and wearing glamour that looked like him. I’d stuffed the belt and pockets with all of their weapons, two scalpels, some empty syringes, and five vials of Compound 23. It wasn’t time to use that yet. The moonstone was once again safely around my neck, tucked beneath the body armor.

Just before I’d headed out, the two monitors had flashed to life with images of the arena, one side on each screen. My heart sank when I watched them shove Taeral into view on the right-hand screen, looking sick and furious.

At least I didn’t have to worry about finding his arm. Reese had followed through on giving it back to him.

It was probably important for the test, or some bullshit like that.

I wanted to bust out the people first. If I could get them out of here, make them safe, everything else would be a little easier. They were at the most risk for becoming collateral damage. Hopefully, Chester could lead them down the mountain and back to the town.

I’d mostly avoided thinking too hard about everyone else. I had to, or I’d never have been able to get through what Romero did to me. Now I couldn’t help wondering what they’d been subjected to all this time. If they’d left them alone, or came up with more cruel ‘tests.’ Whether Sadie had recovered from the fire she’d taken in the arena.

Whether the not-right-yet L39 they injected Chester with had screwed him forever.

Finding Wing A was easier than I expected. I took the stairs up at the end of the lab hallway, since Reese had said ‘down there’ when he thought he was talking to Romero. The floor they led to had windows that looked out on level ground and the lighted perimeter fence around the compound. Which meant I was at the back of the research building. From here, Wing A would be forward and left, since Wing B had emptied into the right of the stadium.

I passed two or three soldiers on the way through the building. None of them looked twice at me.

The doors to Wing A were closed. There were no guards on this side, but I assumed there would be on the other. I’d have to move fast when I got in. As I stood there for a moment deciding how to proceed, something stirred inside me. A vague, cool sensation seeping into my blood and clearing my head. Somehow, I knew what it was.

The moon was rising. I could feel it, even through the building.

I drew a long breath, moved forward and knocked on the double doors. After a minute, one of them cracked open and the puzzled face of a soldier appeared. “Howard?” he said. “I didn’t think you were posted here.”

“I’m looking for Kevin,” I said, tossing out the first name that came to mind.

“Who?”