Darkening Dawn (The Lockman Chronicles Book 5) (21 page)

She didn’t want to piss him off, so she kept that last thought to herself. A hundred other questions presented themselves instead. Including the biggest.

“Are you ever going to tell me how I fit into all of this?”

Earl shook his head and looked at her. His eyes were wet as if he was about to cry. He pointed at the portrait. “He knows. But he hasn’t told me yet.”

Apparently Earl did not know his beloved leader was dead. She would have to break it to him after all. “Earl, Gabriel Dolan’s been dead for almost two decades.”

Earl grinned, which made him look crazy with the tears still in his eyes. “True heroes never die.”

Something about his tone gave Elka the feeling of insects crawling under her skin. “I don’t understand.”

“He is our master. The one who gives me the dreams.”

A good six or seven feet of dusty shag stretched between them, but Elka took a step back anyway. Earl was either crazy or…or he really could communicate with Dolan from beyond the grave. She didn’t much like either option. As much as Dolan had touted his mission to reveal the paranormal world to all, he had also been known to exploit the very beings in that world. Vampire assassins whom he would leave to burn in the sun or melt under a spray of holy water when they had served their purpose—a trick Gabriel’s brother, Otto, had copied, according to rumors. Or tearing the wings off of fairies to use the precious flesh for spells. Or shaking the dust out of pixies to weaponize it by packing it into in pipe bombs.

Dust.

Elka’s heart turned into a rock of ice.

What a fool. What a complete fool she had been, trusting a mortal who had found her through instructions in a dream.

A damn, damn fool.

Earl might not yet know what his master had planned for her, but Elka did.

Which meant she had to get away from these people before Earl found out.

But what about the girl? She took your family. She defiled your father’s body. You need these people to get to her.

You are so close to vengeance.

Elka forced the hardest smile she had ever had to put on. Usually, pretending came so easy.

“Maybe he’ll tell you how I can help when you sleep tonight.”

Had her voice quivered? The last thing she needed was to give away her fear and tip Earl off about what she knew was coming. That could lead him to worry she might try to leave. Which would guarantee he made sure she couldn’t.

Earl puffed his chest out like a proud bantam. “Won’t have to wait even that long. I’m fixin’ to travel back into the Inbetween and ask him myself. Soon as the boys set up the altar, anyhow.”

Mortals had odd names for all manner of things mystical. She wasn’t familiar with the term
Inbetween
. But obviously he meant some place beyond death, some place where he had a direct link to Gabriel Dolan’s lost soul.

Was that possible? Or was Earl deluded? Elka knew a lot about the supernatural. What mortals called magic was science to her people, and many others from outside this plane. Communicating with the dead—a rare event, no matter the foolish lies of mortal lore, yet still possible—was one thing. But actually visiting a dead soul in whatever dimension it haunted?

She had never heard of such a thing.

If it was true, Elka’s window to find out where the girl was and escape had narrowed to a mere sliver.

“How long until the altar’s ready?” she asked, this time certain her voice had hitched.

Not seeming to notice, Earl turned to look back at his idol’s portrait. “A couple hours. And don’t you worry. Once I understand your place with us, you’ll be the next to know.”

She could hear the sound of her uncle or father shaving one of the horns from the collection they had inherited from those they had lost in their home world. It sounded as clear in her mind as when she had heard it last for real. It set her teeth on edge.

“Now, ladies, not to be rude,” Earl said, still gazing up at the painting. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to find some other room to sleep in. I’m taking this one.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

T
HE HEADACHE KNOCKING A RACKET
in Jessie’s head kept her from piecing together how she had ended up on the most uncomfortable mattress in existence while she stared up at a cracked concrete ceiling.

Something about that ceiling felt familiar.

She pressed the heels of each hand against either side of her head as if she could squeeze out the throbbing pain. A dry, chalky smell in the air confused her. Shouldn’t it smell like river water and wet earth?

Memories from the other side of the darkness clicked together like psychic puzzle pieces.

The woods.

The river.

Ree with his tranquilizer rifle.

The bite in her ass as the dart struck her.

She groaned and moved her hands to cover her eyes. The rest of her memories piled back into place, from her escape in the trash bin to her idiotic attempt to bury herself like John Rambo to allude the agents creeping through the woods looking for her.

Her face flushed under the cover of her hands.

You blew that harder than a porn queen, dude.

Besides the chalky scent, Jessie smelled a fake floweriness coming off of her body. A stark contrast to the garbage stink that had permeated her clothes. And speaking of clothes…

The pants she wore were made of a soft but scratchy fabric. Her shirt made of the same material. And she wasn’t wearing a bra or underwear.

Oh, ewe!

She uncovered her face and sat up—too fast, the blood rushing to her head and feeding her headache.

She sat on the edge of a metal-framed cot. The thin mattress didn’t keep the frame from cutting into the bottom of her thighs. She was dressed in what looked like scrubs except made from bright orange fabric.

Like a fucking prison uniform.

A quick look around told her why the ceiling had seemed familiar. She had been here before, or a place just like it.

A cell.

The grey walls pressed in on her, stirring up an uncharacteristic bout of claustrophobia. Even with one of the four walls made of bars, she might as well have been lying in a buried coffin.

She patted at her chest, touching her breasts through the thin shirt that did nothing to quell her feeling of nakedness. She sniffed herself, taking in the faux lilac that they had used to wash her with.

They had washed her.

Stripped her in her sleep, touched her,
seen
her.

Not since the vampire king of New Orleans had regurgitated her own blood back into her mouth as part of the ritual for turning her into one of them had Jessie felt so violated.

This was almost worse.

These were humans, not monsters.

Only they
were
monsters.

Ignoring the pounding in her head, Jessie shot off the cot and charged the cell bars. She gripped a bars in either hand and shook as if she could tear them free, but she only managed to shake herself. Her clean, soft hair flew in her face. Had the bastards actually used
conditioner
?

“Let me out of here, you sons of bitches.”

Her voice echoed down the hall outside her cell that had the same concrete walls as inside.

Emptiness swallowed her shout.

The silence that followed pressed against Jessie like a solid fourth wall in her cell.

The cell shrunk around her. Any second and it would crush her.

Tears ran hot down her cheeks.

She couldn’t do this. Not again. She had honestly thought her days of imprisonment were over. She had earned the Agency’s trust. No matter their occasional spats, they had come to work together.

At least, that had been the case with Wertz in charge.

But everything had changed.

And she had totally screwed up her last chance at freedom.

She pressed her face between the bars and screamed until she ran out of breath. The lack of oxygen made her head spin and darkened the edges of her vision. She staggered away from the bars toward the cot, thought better of it, and crossed to the sink by the toilet in the opposite corner.

The sink had rust stains down the back of it and around the drain. The sight made her queasy, which was all she freaking needed on top of her headache. She turned the single metal knob on the faucet. It squeaked as granules of brown rust crackled off the pipe it spun on. Brown water coughed out in a splutter before simmering into a crooked stream.

Jessie waited for the water to clear, but it never did. Cocksuckers probably designed the cell this way, from the rust stains to the cracked seat on the toilet to the barely there mattress on the cot. She knew the Agency could provide a more comfortable prison, but they didn’t want contented prisoners. They wanted them tired, disgusted, and all around desperate enough to do anything to get out, including divulge any information the Agency wanted to drag out of them.

Under Wertz’s command—and with a whole bunch of nagging from Jessie—some of the Agency’s historically dark and cruel practices had been retired.

Looked like General Horseradish meant to bring back the good old days.

To hell with it. Jessie splashed her face with the ice cold, brown water. It smelled a lot like the river had, only with a stronger mineral tang. Some of it slipped between her lips. It tasted like a penny in her mouth.

She spat into the sink, then wrenched the faucet off, the sharp squeak from the rusted knob buzzing against the close walls. It sounded like a scream.

A glance at the toilet tripped her bladder like a switch. All of a sudden Jessie had to pee something fierce. The last thing she wanted to do was stick her bare ass on that cracked and soot-colored toilet seat. She also felt pretty confident the cell had a hidden camera somewhere to keep an eye on her. She could imagine Kinga-Roo staring at the monitor, her perky little nose tipped up so that she stared down in all her superior glory.

A pinch low in her gut nearly doubled her over.

When was the last time she’d peed? Not since before riding out of headquarters in the trash bin. Or maybe she had pissed herself while she was knocked out from the dart. Wouldn’t that be a nice topper to her already humiliating sleepy-time bath?

Whenever she peed last didn’t mean a thing right now. She had to go or risk piddling like an excited puppy.

She stared at the toilet, lip curled.

She looked up and scanned the ceiling for any sign of the camera (or cameras). Even with the plain cement walls, they had hidden them well. Maybe some of those cracks in the corners weren’t as natural as they looked.

Fine. They wanted to continue to degrade her, Jessie would do it her own way.

She raised her middle finger in the air and yelled, “Enjoy the show, motherfuckers.”

Then she dropped her pants and hoisted herself up onto the sink and, legs dangling like a kid on a too-tall chair, she relieved herself down the sink’s drain.

But the last laugh was on her.

They hadn’t left her with anything to wipe with.

Chapter Thirty-Four

E
LKA AND
K
IT FOUND ANOTHER
suitable room for them to sleep in—though Elka no longer planned to stay long enough for sleep—only a couple doors down from the one Earl had taken claim on. Fine by her. If she had planned staying, there was no way she could have fallen asleep under the creepy gaze of that portrait of Gabriel Dolan. She was pretty sure Kit felt the same.

This room had two sets of bunks with a single pressboard dresser between them. Just as much dust as everywhere else in the underground complex covered all surfaces. Only this room didn’t have the shag rug, just a tile floor matching the floor out in the corridors.

Kit frowned the second they walked in the door. “How…utilitarian.”

Elka was on too much of a time crunch to banter with Kit on the lacking merits of her sleeping quarters. She gripped Kit’s arm—too tightly based on the grimace on Kit’s face.

“I need to find Whisper.”

Kit drew back. “First off, easy on the arm. Secondly, what in tarnation would you want with that prick?” She raised her eyebrows. “Unless you’re planning to kick his ass for me.”

That was as good an excuse as any. She hated lying to Kit, but she hadn’t known her long enough to trust her. Besides, she didn’t want to implicate Kit in Earl’s eyes if he found out she knew Elka’s plans to leave.

“I want to have a talk with him, yes.”

“And by talk, you mean rip him a new one for putting the moves on a minor?” Before Elka could respond, Kit held up a hand to stop her. “Look, I appreciate the momma bear instincts. And I can tell you’ve got your own issues with creepers like Whisper. But Uncle Eee already had his way with the freak. Your best bet is to keep clear of him.”

Freak or not, Elka needed to get to him before Earl and his boys put together their bone altar. She didn’t have time to dance with Kit. Sometimes, Elka had learned the hard way, the best lie held a piece of the truth.

“It’s more than that,” Elka said. “I need him for something else.”

Until now, Kit had let Elka keep her hold on her arm. But now she jerked free and stared at Elka, her eyebrows knit together, lip curled. For a girl so young, she sure could conjure up a look of darkness in her stare.

“What do you mean, you need him for something else?” Her words came slow and in an angry monotone.

“I don’t really want to get into it. It’s personal.”

Kit tilted her head as if listening to a faraway sound. Her bleak stare seemed to push into Elka’s eyes and chill her brain with its touch. “I thought we were friends, Elka. Remember?”

The coolness from Kit’s gaze seeped down into Elka’s throat and into her chest where it curled icy fingers around her heart. When she tried to speak, she gasped, finding herself out of breath. What she felt wasn’t exactly fear, though fear played a part. An unexplainable sorrow filled her, a sorrow she had only once before felt so deeply.

The blood against his white flank.

The electric blue mist.

“Talk to me, Elka,” Kit whispered and closed in. She touched Elka’s arm. Elka’s skin prickled and felt like the hairs on her arm under Kit’s touch had turned to ice crystals. “Tell me what you’re really after.”