Wrong Side Of Dead (12 page)

“Probably not, but if he isn’t talking, then Astrid won’t keep him alive much longer. I just want a minute before his neck gets snapped.”

“Why?”

“Because he never finished answering a question I asked him on the roof.”

The shower felt wonderful. A little bit of steamy, wet heaven after a nightmarish few hours. I almost felt normal
again as I left the bathrooms in fresh jeans, a navy blue tank top, and the latest in heavy-duty sneakers. My hair was left to dry in whichever manner it chose.

Wyatt was lingering outside of the jail. “Astrid said you could have five minutes.”

“Generous of her.”

“Play nice, Evy.”

“With Astrid or Felix?”

“Astrid. She’s taking these disappearances more personally than you are. Clan protection is her job.”

True, and a great point. Except for Phineas (and, to an extent, Kyle), I hadn’t given consideration to the feelings of the Therians we worked with. Before creating the Watch, Astrid had headed up an elite security team for the Assembly of Clan Elders. Losing so many people at once had to hurt.

“Okay,” I said. “Five minutes.”

We went inside. The first room was large, with a center desk and three observation windows, one on each wall. The rooms to the immediate left and center were both specialty jail cells—the walls created with alternating strips of silver bars (anti-Therian) and raw pine (anti-vampire) to keep the majority of potential prisoners from staging a breakout. To the right was the interrogation room, its walls a similar composition. Two different chairs were bolted to the floor at intervals, also of different materials depending on who was being questioned. A rack of tools hung on the back wall of that room next to an industrial sink.

Seth Nevada stood behind the desk, arms crossed over his chest. I didn’t know him well; he’d been a Handler in a different part of the city and had volunteered here as the equivalent of town sheriff. Three others worked under him, and the quartet manned the jail. Humans were chosen because of the wall materials—to prevent
accidental injury. Nevada was smart, fair, and fond of snacking on hard-boiled eggs.

“Truman. Stone,” he said.

I gave an impolite half nod in his general direction, too horrified by what I saw in the interrogation room. Felix was slumped over in the wooden chair, bare arms and thighs bearing weeping blisters at every point of contact. Blood oozed from several parts of his body, and he was having trouble breathing. It took me a moment to spot the reason—a small head of garlic was hanging around his neck. Vampires and Halfies are allergic to all plants in the allium family, but garlic and onions had the worst effect.

And we knew all the tricks.

My stomach twisted.
He’s not your friend, Felix died, he’s not your friend, Felix is dead
. Seeing him like that made it harder to remember.

It also made it impossible to forget Alex Forrester. A kind young man who was once the best friend of Chalice, my new body, he’d volunteered to help me after my resurrection. He lost his life for his generosity, ending up in a position very similar to the one Felix was in now—a half-Blood tied to a wooden chair, tortured for information.

A warm hand squeezed my shoulder. I knew it was Wyatt without looking. “You sure you want to do this?” he whispered.

“Yes.”
No. Fuck
.

Nevada punched a code into the digital lock, and the interrogation door clicked. I pulled it open, stepped inside, and pulled it shut.

The odors of garlic and blood stung my nose and watered my eyes. Felix didn’t move, head down, arms and ankles shackled to the chair. He seemed to have passed out, but I knew better.

“I hear you haven’t been very cooperative,” I said.

His head snapped up, iridescent eyes blinking through a sheen of tears. “You brought me here and assumed I’d trade info for good-byes,” he said, voice hoarse, bitter.

“Not interested?”

“Anything I agree to ends with me being executed anyway, so what’s the point?”

I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, struggling to keep an air of nonchalance when all I wanted to do was look away. “One final good deed before you die? For old time’s sake?”

Felix snorted, then winced. “What the hell do I owe the Triads?”

“I don’t know. Most of us were heading toward early death, jail, or a pretty fucked-up adult life before we were recruited. You think you’d have lasted this long without the Triads?”

He looked away, as if actually considering the question. I was barely eighteen and on my way to jail for assault and B&E when the Triads made me an offer. In some ways, Boot Camp was like jail, but I have no doubts that a prison full of women who were a lot tougher than I’d been back then would have killed me. Or at least broken my spirit. Four years as a Triad Hunter had broken a lot of my bones, but so far my spirit was intact and still fighting.

I didn’t know Felix’s story. Hell, I barely knew anyone’s story—even Tybalt’s and Milo’s, who were the closest Hunter friends I had now. Talking about the past wasn’t a particularly favorite subject of conversation for anyone.

“I was a street hustler,” Felix said.

It took me a moment to process that. I was afraid to interrupt or react in any way, just in case I shut him up.

“It was fast money, and it kept me from starving and freezing in the streets. Hated it, though, every fucking second. I guess Gina knew, because our Handlers got all
the dirt on us, right? But if so, she never said anything. When the guys found out, no one cared. I hated it so much that I couldn’t believe they didn’t care.” He was babbling a bit, saying whatever his muddled memory pulled out of storage.

“They were your partners,” I said. “They loved you.”

Felix hung his head. A tear splashed into the leg of his jeans. When he looked up again, his face was a mask of misery and fear. “I just want it all to stop hurting, like before.”

My heart beat a little faster. “Soon.” Damn, I hated to play this card. “Felix, if you ever cared about Milo, or Tybalt, or Gina, you’ll be honest with us.”

He snarled, baring his fangs, and lunged. He didn’t get far enough to make me jump—the restraints were too tight. “Fuck you, Stone. Don’t tell me who I care about.”

“You’re a half-Blood, Felix. The depth of your feelings now means shit to me, but the man you were? The Hunter who died on that bus? He’d help us. You wanna die a monster or a man?”

He settled back in the chair, miserable. And also potentially pondering my words. He flexed his fingers, weeping palms leaving damp streaks on the wood arms, then curled his hands around the ends, as though he enjoyed the agony of the blisters.

“It’s for them,” I said, repeating the words he’d said to Wyatt. “You meant Kismet, Tybalt, and Milo, didn’t you?”

Felix dropped his chin to his chest, shoulders tensing. It was as good as a verbal confirmation.

“Someone’s threatening them if you don’t keep your mouth shut about this Halfie collection. Am I right?”

“He promised they’d be safe.”

Ding! “Who did?”

“I can’t—”

“They’re here in the Watchtower, Felix. We can protect
them, but you have to tell me from who.” He was so close to giving me the confirmation I needed but didn’t want to hear. He just had to say Thackery’s name. “Please, Felix.”

A tear splashed onto his shirt, adding another damp spot to the muddle of fluids already present. “Two conditions?” he finally said.

“Ask.”

“You finish what you started on the bus.”

I jerked, startled by the request. Angry, agonized eyes met mine, and I could only stare back at him.

“I want
you
to kill me,” he said.

My mouth felt like sand, and my stomach dropped to the floor. Son of a bitch. It was Alex’s death all over again. He’d begged me to set him free and I put a bullet in the back of his head.
Fuck!

“Fine. What’s the other condition?”

“I’ll only talk to you and Milo.”

I balled my right hand into a fist and pressed it hard against my thigh to stave off an irrational need to punch something. “Has Milo come to see you?”

“No, none of them have.”

“You think there’s a good reason for that?”

“Yeah, but I … I need to say good-bye. I owe Milo that.”

There it was—the reason we’d brought him back here in the first place. And now that he’d caught on, I was uncertain if the others would follow through. Milo had been incredibly hurt by Felix’s infection for very personal reasons. Seeing him earlier in the corridor must have ripped the scab off a healing wound—if it had even scabbed over in the first place.

“I can’t promise Milo,” I said.

“Then anything I know about Walter Thackery dies with me.”

Ding ding ding! We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen!
It was almost too easy, and now that Felix was talking, I needed to tread carefully. “What do you know about Thackery?” I asked.

“He’s the one organizing us.”

Cold fingers crept up my spine. “He threatened to kill Gina, Milo, and Tybalt so you wouldn’t run to us and spill your guts?”

“Yes.”

It made sense, but it also … didn’t. We had the resources to keep them safe from Thackery, and yet the recent Therian kidnappings seemed to prove otherwise. I just couldn’t help thinking there was more to it. A second, more powerful reason that Felix would be Thackery’s lapdog. “What else does Thackery have on you?”

He glared. “Don’t forget the price of admission.”

Dammit
.

The door clicked open. “Evy?” Wyatt asked. “Outside a minute?”

I followed him out, my mind reeling with the confirmation of Thackery’s involvement in this. In the outer office, I asked, “Did either you or Marcus mention Thackery or the missing Therians to him?”

“No, we didn’t,” Wyatt said. “He knew on his own.”

“Which means he was at the rave on purpose, as a distraction.”

“Almost definitely, but that’s not why—”

“Phineas is missing,” Astrid said as she stormed into the jail’s office. Every muscle rippled with annoyance. She looked like a prowling cat ready to pounce on the first prey that moved.

“Missing?” My heart nearly burst out of my chest. “How—?”

“He left the Watchtower without informing anyone. We’ve been watching his heat signature since his return from the country house, and not five minutes ago he flew off the grid.”

“He left?”

“I just said that.”

“Where the hell would he go?”

“Would he search on his own?” Wyatt asked.

“Maybe,” I said, “but he’d tell someone first.”

“Are you certain?” Astrid asked.

I threw my hands up, exasperated. “No, I’m not, Astrid. I’m his friend, not a telepath. He’s angry and he feels responsible, and even Phineas isn’t above doing something stupid when his emotions are running high.” I glanced at Wyatt. “Would he go back to the condo?”

Phin owned a condo in Uptown. It was a lovely three-bedroom place in a private community. For a time, he’d shared it with Wyatt and Rufus St. James. Rufus was wounded badly several months ago, and those injuries left him with a great deal of pain and unable to walk without assistance, so he opted to use a wheelchair for ease of mobility. He’d also turned down several offers to join the Watch, so he continued living at the condo. Wyatt now lived here at the Watchtower, and Phin shuttled between the two.

“Maybe,” Wyatt replied. “But if he did, I’m sure Rufus would—” As if on cue, Wyatt’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, then showed me the I.D. Rufus. He flipped it open. “Is he there?”

I almost pinched Wyatt for not putting the call on speaker.

He nodded an affirmation—Phin was at the condo. “What’s he doing?” A pause. “Try to keep him there. His family has been kidnapped and I don’t—” He fell silent, listening. “Walter Thackery’s involved, but we don’t know why yet. Just try to keep him—Rufus?”

“What?” I asked, unable to stay silent any longer. This was a ridiculous way to manage a conversation.

Wyatt held up a shushing hand. “Rufus, what just
happened?” I was nearly reduced to tapping my foot by the time Wyatt said, “Okay, thanks” and hung up.

“Well?” Astrid and I said in stereo.

“He showed up on the condo balcony,” Wyatt said. “Rufus let him in, and he went straight to his room, didn’t say a word. Rufus called when he heard a lot of noise, like he was shoving stuff around, searching for something. Said Phin came out with a wooden box about the size of a loaf of bread, went back to the balcony, opened up the box, shifted back into an osprey, and flew off clutching whatever was inside the box in his talons.”

“Rufus didn’t see what he took out of the box?” I asked, shocked by the described actions.

Wyatt shook his head. “Said it was long and shiny. The inside of the box was lined with satin, and he said the construction looked old. No nails, just wooden joints. Could have held a knife or something similar.”

We both looked at Astrid, who shrugged. “If that box’s contents hold significance for Phineas or his Clan, I’m not aware of it,” she said.

“Awesome.” Wait. Significance for his Clan? It could very well be a waste of time, but … “I think I know where Phin went.”

Wyatt insisted I not go alone or without weapons, so it was a good ten minutes later before we were in a Jeep and driving north. It was less than an hour until dawn, the streets quiet and thick with summer heat. We’d taken a real Jeep with the removable plastic roof and windows, and the hot air blasted us. I twisted my hair around one hand, wishing I’d thought to grab a rubber band or something.

We were crossing the Lincoln Street Bridge toward downtown when Wyatt asked, “Did you get to ask your question?”

“Huh?”

“Felix. You said you had to ask him something.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t.” The conversation had abruptly changed when he brought Thackery into it. The kidnapped Therians and the Halfie army had to be connected somehow, and knowing Thackery’s hatred of vampires and penchant for scientific experimentation, it probably wasn’t good. We also knew that Thackery had been threatening Felix’s loved ones to ensure his cooperation. In some ways, that spoke to Felix’s level of sanity and control, but there had to be more.