Revelations: Book One of the Lalassu (26 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Eric sneaked through Dalhard’s stark halls with more care than he’d ever taken sneaking out of his parents’ house. Vincent was off with Dalhard for another experiment and Eric intended to take advantage of the opportunity. The laboratory was off limits with armed guards protecting it, ditto the lower levels. He hoped he might find a phone or computer somewhere, a way to communicate with his family or Vapor. They needed to know about Dalhard’s ability to cloud other people’s minds through touch since the evidence suggested they weren’t taking his advice to run.

The sound of sniffling caught his attention. He tilted his head, closing his eyes to track the sound. It came from one of the rooms nearby, and Eric feared he knew who it was.

The unlocked door opened easily. Clearly Dalhard wasn’t worried about his acquisitions moving around on this floor. Bernie huddled on the simple mass-produced bed, a bright rag doll and a tiny bear clutched under her chin. Her breath hissed in, obviously preparing to scream.

“Hey, it’s me, Eric. We met this morning.” Eric immediately dropped to one knee, all too aware of her fear and despair filling the air. He made himself as small as possible, trying not to intimidate her further. He scanned the room, spotting the camera mounted on the wall. No toys littered the tiny room, and there was none of the luxury of his and Vincent’s suite. It both sickened and soothed him to see her so ignored. On the one hand, no child should be treated this way. On the other, it meant Dalhard still didn’t understand her true potential.

“I re-remember,” Bernie sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“I heard you crying. What’s wrong?” Eric asked. If he could get her to cooperate, this would be an even better link than a phone or computer. It would be absolutely untraceable.

“Chuck says he can’t talk to Gwen anymore,” Bernie wailed, breaking into fresh tears. “He says the bad men are going to hurt us and the pretty lady is going to die and Michael will be too sad to help me.”

Eric’s hopes sank so rapidly that he could feel them leaving exit wounds on the bottoms of his feet. “He told you all that, huh?”

Bernie nodded, still curled miserably on the bed.

Ghosts did make the best reconnaissance scouts, provided someone could hear what they had to report. They went everywhere and listened to everything. Eric glanced at the camera, conscious that it likely recorded every word.

“You know, we have a TV in our room. Do you want to come with me and watch? We could keep each other company.” More importantly, he hadn’t found any cameras in there. Eric hoped her parents hadn’t drilled her on stranger-danger as thoroughly as his own had.

Bernie nodded and crawled awkwardly off the bed, her toys still clutched in her hands. Eric offered his hand and to his surprise, she curled her sticky little fingers around his. It made her seem so much younger than she must be.

“Chuck said I could talk to you. But not the other one. He’s been following the bad guys around to see what they do. They’re getting ready to take us away tomorrow,” Bernie said as they walked down the hall.

“Tomorrow!” Eric stopped in his tracks. There wasn’t time to search for an opportunity anymore. He’d have to make one. He hoped there wasn’t an audio along with the visual in the hall cameras. Dalhard couldn’t be allowed to suspect Eric still operated outside of the man’s influence.

He settled Bernie in the lounge, finding something colorful, loud, and kid-friendly to play on TV while he brought her some cookies. Then he settled himself in a nearby chair. “Bernie, is Chuck here?”

Bernie nodded, her eyes flicking to an apparently empty chair.

“Can he tell you why he can’t talk to Gwen anymore?” Eric asked, keeping his voice low.

Bernie frowned, answering slowly as if she didn’t quite understand. “They sealed her up with salt to keep her safe.”

“So he can’t get in to see her, but he can still talk to her,” Eric pressed, trying to keep his body language as casual as possible. His tensed arms and hands still betrayed his urgency.

“He says they’re all shouting to try and get her to hear them. Like they do with me, sometimes.” Bernie shuddered.

Her gift must be lesser than Gwen’s. The stronger the medium, the more they attracted ghosts. In Gwen’s case, strongly enough to draw in spirits who weren’t even searching for a medium. “I need to get a message to Gwen. Will Chuck try to pass it on?”

Bernie looked at the empty chair and nodded.

“Tell them that Dalhard is gifted. If he touches you, he can get inside your head, make you do things you don’t want to do.” Eric heard the distant tapping of approaching footsteps. He hated pushing the little girl but his only opportunity was about to vanish.

“He’s gone. He’ll do it. He’s trying hard to be good.” Fresh tears threatened to spill from Bernie’s eyes. “I miss my mommy. I want to go home.”

“I know. I’ll figure something out. I promise.” Eric cursed himself for a complete fraud. He couldn’t even figure out how to get Vincent and himself free, but he couldn’t stand to see the little girl so upset.

“That means I have two heroes helping me. You and Michael. And the pretty lady, I guess. If she doesn’t die,” Bernie said as the door to the lounge opened.

“Who’s going to die, Bernadette?” Dalhard swept into the room, his face narrowing in disapproval. Vincent rolled in behind, heading straight for the bar.

Bernie shrank into herself, and Eric smelled the acrid fear tainting her cotton and chocolate scent. “No one. We were just watching cartoons on TV,” he answered quickly.

Dalhard immediately dismissed the matter, waving his hand to brush it aside. “Your brother and I have had quite the afternoon.”

“Should have seen it, bro,” Vincent crowed, beer in hand. “One hit and, bam, the heavy bag splits open, spraying sand everywhere. It was awesome. New guy was impressed.”

Eric stared at the brown bottle in Vincent’s hand. His brother had been drinking heavily since their disastrous “job interview” yesterday. He hoped it was a sign that some part of Vincent recognized how screwed up things were. Suddenly he realized what Vincent had said. “What new guy?”

“Corporal Ronald McBride. You saw him earlier.” Dalhard’s granite eyes locked onto Eric, studying him.

“He woke up, then?” Eric forced himself to shrug as if he didn’t really care about the answer.

“He did, with an extra two inches and seventy-five pounds of muscle. His physical strength has increased almost eight hundred percent after the treatment. But he is nothing compared to the two of you.” A proprietary smile smugly broadened Dalhard’s features.

“Guess I don’t have to worry about losing the job, then. When’s dinner?” Eric caught himself squirming under Dalhard’s study and forced himself to stay still. If the man touched him again, this time he might end up like Vincent. He had no idea why he’d been able to resist and Vincent hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to count on it with less than a day to escape.

“I’ll have something sent up. And someone will escort Bernadette back to her room.” Dalhard finally lifted his gaze.

Bernie shot a panicked glance at Eric.

“She can stay. I don’t mind,” Eric said quickly.

Dalhard left them, eager to focus on other matters. Eric waited until Vincent got up to get another beer. Then he whispered to Bernie. “I’m going to get us out of here. Tonight.” If he had to, he’d leave Vincent behind.

“I don’t want to get shot.” Bernie’s wide eyes stared at him. “Tomorrow the men with guns will be gone.”

“Chuck told you that?” Eric hesitated. If the ghost knew something…

Bernie nodded. “It’s part of a trap tomorrow. The bad man will send them all away.”

If Dalhard was distracted by someone springing his trap and the guards would be gone, it might be his best chance to get himself, Vincent, and Bernie out of there. He could knock Vincent out and carry him.
Mom and Dad must know someone who can fix whatever was done to his mind.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it beat grabbing Bernie now and hoping he could outrun the guards and their bullets. If only he didn’t have the sickening certainty that they were all playing into Dalhard’s plans.

This was not how he’d planned for things to go, André fumed as he stalked toward his isolated office. McBride’s test results were disappointing. Yes, he was stronger than even the strongest human, but he still performed far behind the ferals. It was like settling for a cheap knock-off instead of the proper designer. But he couldn’t hope to build a fortune on the few ferals that Nature stingily provided.

Perhaps I’m thinking of this the wrong way.
Enhanced humans like McBride would certainly satisfy any number of his clients—military juntas struggling for control, insurrectionists and terrorist groups, and even the major world militaries would be eager to acquire a few samples for covert operations. He began to pace, his heels leaving dents in the thick hand-woven carpet.

If he kept the ferals for himself, he could eliminate the major challenge in selling powerful weapons—that his clients would choose to use those weapons against him and his interests. Keeping the true power for his personal use appealed to him. All sorts of ambitions became possible with enough power.

But he needed to make certain they were actually under his control. He wasn’t worried about Vincent, but Eric showed alarming flashes of independence. Of course, Eric had killed Roberts, or was it Rogers? André frowned, trying to remember the name before dismissing it as unimportant. Willingness to commit murder was always a significant proof of loyalty.

But both brothers refused to give them any further information about their family or other families like them. He didn’t have their highest loyalty; their family obviously did. But if he pushed their minds much further, he risked destroying their ability to think independently, making them useless as bodyguards or assassins. At its full level, his gift would leave an empty shell that needed to be directed in every single step. He would have to keep coaxing, searching for a crack to get what he needed.

“I need a drink,” André muttered, swiveling on his heel to head for the gleaming steel liquor cabinet.

“Sir?” Karan prompted discreetly from the corner.

André frowned. He hadn’t noticed when the man had come in. Discretion was a good tool in an aide, but no one should have an advantage over him. “What is it?”

“I came to speak to you about McBride’s test results—” Karan began.

“I’ve seen them. We will proceed with mass production when we get back to Europe.” André noted the faint smile of satisfaction on Karan’s face. He poured himself a generous glass of amber-colored scotch.

“I will let the lab know. However, there was something else.” Karan paused, his fingers tightening around his tablet. “I’ve been monitoring various sites and information sources on the Internet, and I think we may have a problem.”

“You think or you know?” André recognized Karan’s nerves about delivering bad news. His aide’s fingers kept caressing the smooth edge of his tablet and his left foot kept creeping askew to point at the door. Dalhard had no desire to cushion his blows or reassure Karan’s fears. Instead he drained the glass, welcoming the harsh bite of alcohol down his throat.

“If I’ve interpreted the data correctly, I’m seeing signs of a mass exodus. Hundreds of people worldwide are beginning to vanish from their ordinary patterns. More significantly, in some cases, their information is also vanishing. Their entire digital backgrounds, erased as if they had never been. Someone, most likely an organized group, is actively trying to hide from us. I suspect they must be supernaturals,” Karan finished.

His aide looked far too impressed by what he’d found. Could the little weasel be preparing to jump ship to someone more powerful? He’d quickly discover his mistake if he did. When André buried his competition, it wasn’t a metaphor. “Find out who it is.”

“Perhaps we should move the assets tonight instead of tomorrow,” Karan suggested. “Make certain they’re safe.”

“I need them here to lure the sister in. We’ll go tomorrow, once we’ve acquired her.” André wasn’t interested in his aide’s fears, but he wasn’t stupid either. “Keep a car ready to get to the airport quickly. We can put McBride and Bernadette into another car and send them on ahead.”