Blood Rules (26 page)

He'd known that she'd already left.

Here and now, they were still watching 562 with a keen eye when he realized that Hana, Pucci, and the oldster had arrived, lingering far back as they, too, checked out their guest. From their beast breathing, Gabriel could tell they hadn't switched back to human form yet. Why would they, with 562 sitting there so weirdlike?

The thing had come out of its trance long enough to notice the other were-creatures. Gabriel heard it whimper in greeting, then pant, before it went back to staring at the ground.

It was almost as if . . .

No, it couldn't be. But Gabriel couldn't stop thinking that this 562 was somehow on comfortable terms with the other Badlanders, too.

He kept his hands curved at his sides, though he wasn't wearing firearms. “Why did you bring it back here, Mariah?”

“Because . . .” Her voice was human again, and he could hear . . .
feel
. . . the post-change agony in it. “Because the only person and monster I talked to in the asylum said there wasn't a cure on the premises. But an employee told me 562 is powerful, so I went to it. I thought I'd find out more information from 562, because . . .”

“Because what?”

She came forward, into his line of sight, clutching her torn clothing around her. “I couldn't leave that place without anything to show for it.”

Chaplin nodded while never taking his sight off 562, who, in Gabriel's mind, resembled a monument to imminent danger. He could hear its vital signs, which were so slow that they barely even existed.

What kind of creature was it? It had eyes like a vampire, teeth like a werewolf, the body and skin of a human, and the sounds of something he'd never heard before, though they harkened back to the familiar wild cadence of a were-creature.

Now that matters were less dicey, he could hear the others shifting back to their human forms, then shuffling around for their clothing, groaning every so often at their aches.

The oldster, who was revitalized by the experience rather than tired by it, said, “I'll assume that those beast dogs persuaded you and Chaplin to get out of the asylum, Mariah. We beat down a few of their butts near the wall, too.”

Hana wasn't quite as sprightly. “I would not be surprised if the surviving ones came for us within a few days by tracking our scents.”

Chaplin barked and growled, and Mariah translated.

“If they do, Chaplin's going to hear and smell them long before they get here. But we've used tawnyvale in here, so we just might fool their noses.”

The oldster sighed, and Gabriel thought that it might be because, like all of them, he hated the idea of having to run away from yet another shelter.

The others had donned their clothes by now, and the oldster was wearing a pair of Hana's extra robes; they'd destroyed all his other clothing back at the GBVille cave.

All of them stayed in back of the vigilant Chaplin as the old man said, “Just so long as more angels don't come with those beast dogs, I think we can take the heat.”

The sentinels. Idly, Gabriel glanced at 562, seeing that its hair-filtered eyes were focused on him.

Its gaze caught his and, for an inexplicable moment, something like an image combined with thought flashed over Gabriel's consciousness: the sentinels, white and graceful as they attacked with those peace signs branded into their foreheads.

Then he heard words, though they hardly sounded like words at all. More like . . . hauntings.

Witches.
The specterlike sounds whispered in his head.
That is what the other monsters called the new Shredders who kept us inside the asylum.

Gabriel took himself out of his daze just in time to see that 562 was staring at the ground as if it'd never been doing anything else.

Something had gone down with this creature, and he wasn't sure what it'd been about.

“Okay,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I just had an experience.”

“What?” Pucci asked.

“562. It was sort of . . . talking to me. I heard . . . saw . . .” Gabriel shrugged. “I'm not sure, but our guest may have the ability to communicate mind-to-mind.”

“Like a vampire?” Mariah asked. “Were-creatures don't have psychic abilities. Or maybe 562's a demon or . . . Well, let's just say that I saw creatures I never thought existed outside of fiction.”

“Whatever it is,” Gabriel said, “it was trying to tell me something about those sentinels. ‘New Shredders,' it said. ‘Witches.' And their job was to keep the preters inside.”

Hana's voice lowered. “Witches?”

Had she really been expecting angels? Maybe. The government was so full of hubris that, like the Christian God, Gabriel wouldn't have put it past them to create a version of their own pseudocelestial beings.

Pucci wandered off, laughing to himself. “Because life really needed to get more complicated than it was.”

“Whatever they're called,” Mariah said, “there were probably more Witches inside the asylum than what we encountered outside. I think they might've been trying to keep the monsters from fleeing. I wonder how successful they were, especially when those weapons Jo designed were rendered useless by the blast.”

Weapons that Jo had unknowingly designed to imprison monsters.

Hana asked, “Are these Witch Shredders monsters? If they are, why would the government be employing monsters to kill monsters? Would that not be a conflict of interest if we are so unworthy of their trust in the first place?”

The oldster held up a finger. “Correction. The purpose of a Shredder
used to be
to kill monsters.”

“But we're supposedly not a problem now,” Gabriel said.

So the government had lied—they knew that certain, select monsters were still around because they had them inside asylums. For what purpose, though?

A swatch of thought came to him before he let it float past.

His maker. Supposedly, she'd been taken by a Shredder, not killed. That was why Gabriel was still a vampire, because she was as alive as could be somewhere.... In an asylum?

Mariah's tone was smooth, as if she didn't want to scare 562 with any volume. “Gabriel, when you fought those sentinels, did they exhibit any bloodlust?”

“Nothing aside from an ordinary Shredder.” He tried not to recall his own frenzied hunger while fighting. He still couldn't believe he'd acted so out of character. Or too much in it.

“Then if the sentinels didn't have bloodlust,” she continued, “they wouldn't be your garden-variety monsters or water robbers.”

Gabriel nodded, seeing where she was going with this. “They were only humans with enhanced mind skills. One mark of a monster is that it's harder to kill, but the Witches weren't. And they wouldn't be banned like rogue psychics, either, because the Witches weren't doing any intrusive mind-reading as far as I could tell. With mere psychokinesis, they wouldn't be able to dig into any government minds.”

He looked at 562. It was slyly checking out the other Badlanders, as if hoping they'd glance over at it again. So far, there hadn't been any takers, but much to Gabriel's vampire chagrin, it caught his gaze another time.

In its mental hold, Gabriel received an image/thought of one of those Witch Shredders lounging in a chair inside what looked to be a sterile government lab.

Turn on . . . turn off,
562's mind relayed to him.

Gabriel took a moment. Was it saying that the Witches were products of the state, and their mental powers could be activated and deactivated? Freakin' warriors who were being programmed?

Stories about how the CIA had experimented with psychic powers had been around for years, even Before. Maybe the government's projects had come to fruition now that they had finances to play around with again.

562 gave him one more thing to gnaw on.
Original Shredders . . . not good enough.

Shee-it.

Gabriel told the others what he'd just seen and heard from 562, and everyone's gazes slid over to the creature.

Mariah had been right. It
did
know some things of value.

Too brave by far, she moved a little closer to 562, as if either inspecting it or baiting it.

“I wouldn't do that,” Gabriel said.

Chaplin barked in agreement, and when Mariah gave her dog a warning look, he took a step back, as if . . .

Chastised? Surprised?

“I won't hurt 562.” Mariah wasn't talking to Gabriel or Chaplin as much as she was to the creature. “I only want to express how much help we still need. I want 562 to see it in my gaze.”

But the monster didn't look at her. Its red eyes didn't even blink. Gabriel noticed that they never blinked.

Pucci was rolling his shoulders and kneading the back of his neck, as if his antlers had felt extra heavy on his head this time out. “So what do we do with it?”

“First off,” Mariah said, “we stop calling 562 an
it
.”

The big man snorted. “I can't tell if this 562 is a he or she. Why don't you pull up its gown to find out, Mariah?”

“Always full of good ideas, Pucci.” Mariah tucked a strand of her short red hair behind her ear, then addressed 562, her voice soft, just as if she were talking to a wayward child. “Do you have a real name?”

562 stared at the ground.

Pucci chuckled, then found a spot where he could slump down against the rock wall.

Mariah tried again. “As I said, I'm sorry for taking you out of that asylum. Did you want to stay?”

This time, 562 glanced up, looking straight at Gabriel again. There was no use avoiding its eyes since he wanted to see into the creature's head, anyway.

562's gaze seemed to root right into him, and at the same time, Gabriel heard an emphatic
Wanted to leave
echo through him.

Like before, the sound wasn't really a voice. It was just . . . there.

“Mariah,” Gabriel said, “why don't you talk to 562 some more?”

She went right ahead. “Why were you in the asylum?”

The mental connection came again from 562, like vague ghosts flying around the room of Gabriel's mind: He saw dwellings built into mountains, heard the wind moaning through the hills, one of which had an ash tree. He saw and felt the heat from the fires surrounding that tree, saw the people with dirt-smeared faces wearing nothing more than rags and bowing on the dirt.

And they were bowing before 562.

The people rose to their feet, revealing one old woman with a dagger. She walked like someone who'd been sick, and her other arm hung at her side, withered and limp. A desperate gleam filled her eyes as she slashed into her palm, offering her blood to 562, who leaned forward eagerly to suck at the female's wound. 562 was hungry. Blood hungry. And when it was done, a pair of fangs thrust out of 562's mouth while the old woman offered her neck....

562 . . . just a vampire, but unlike any they'd ever seen before?

As if excited about Gabriel's receptiveness, 562 assaulted him with another image/thought: a man with vampire fangs, drinking from 562's extended wrist until letting go, slumping to the ground, looking up with the most peaceful expression on his relaxed face . . .

562 gave Gabriel another: It was bending over a dead woman in a fetid room. A stillborn baby was being taken away to be buried, and the woman's family was pleading with 562 until it finally bit the corpse, something it had never tried before. It took a bit of blood from the body, which made 562 sick, but it carried on for the sake of experimentation and pity for the dead woman. It extended its hand, scratching enough blood out so that drops fell into the corpse's mouth.

Then, a blink from the dead woman. A cry as she sprang up in bed . . .

And another image/thought: 562 alone in the woods, curious about what else it could do. Finding the carcass of what looked to be a rabbit, then biting it, too, feeling ill again as it tasted what was left of the animal's corpse blood. Then, just as with the dead woman, 562 fed the rabbit with its blood. This corpse also came alive, its body shooting out every which way into arms, legs, sickly yellow fur, black eyes with thorn-long lashes, and slabby teeth as it pounced on 562, sniffing wildly for more blood and snorfling it in through its nose....

562 was getting braver, and the next image/thought spiraled into Gabriel, obliterating everything that'd come before.

This one featured the same people he'd seen originally—the vampires—except on a different night.

The same old woman, healthy now, her arm clearly mended through her blood exchange with 562. With gloved hands, she yanked 562's hands behind its back, binding it to that ash tree, whose bark weakened 562. Through its silver hair, it could see clouds rolling over the sky, tumbling away from a full moon.

562's body violently shook, then started to split apart—

With every ounce of strength Gabriel had, he forced his eyes closed, pulling himself out of the image/thoughts because he didn't want to experience what he believed might happen next.

Did it change with a full moon, like were-creatures? But what about those other things it'd created, the strange blood-sniffing animal, the woman risen from the dead. Was 562 all of those, too? Most important, did it have the capacity to bring peace, as Gabriel had seen it do with that male vampire?

It came to Gabriel that 562 hadn't even changed into its full form when he'd seen it attacking Chaplin earlier. Unlike in these image/thoughts, it'd probably learned how to bite back when it felt cornered nowadays.

“Can't you speak to us?” Gabriel asked.