Labyrinth (Book 5) (28 page)

Standing up, I looked for a place well above the pad and eye, where the card reader’s line was exposed and found a tiny loop near the upper hinge plate. I could tear it all apart if I liked, but there was that other person, Quinton, to think of. He needed the pad to work without worrying about the teeth of the door’s guardian. I’d have to shunt the beast and its support aside but leave the rest, and the wards, intact.

I puzzled over it for a minute. I just needed to pull the unwanted bits away, as the mage had done to power her spell and much the same way I had teased Simondson’s thread up from the ground. It was convenient that I was tall and could reach the loop without standing in front of the spell itself. I pushed both hands into the wall, feeling invisible resistance from the material things that composed it, finding the action more difficult than I’d anticipated. It should have been easier . . . but I wasn’t familiar with this power yet. I knew I could do much more and with very little effort once I was truly part of the grid, but for now, I’d have to try something more limited.

I remembered the way the edges of the hole around the Hardy Tree in the old London churchyard had torn at my touch and whirled off into tiny vortices. I could tear the edges of something exposed and ragged. It seemed to me that the tap Cristoffer had pulled up must have a ragged edge to it somewhere, like a rough spot where it had come away from another feeder line.

I reached below the red color of the spell and closed my fingers on the blue line of magic. My seeming-distant body twitched involuntarily as the power line seared into my fingertips, sending pain and electrical shock into the nerves of my hand and up my arm. I bit my lips against an impulse to scream. I concentrated and pushed the feeling aside. The hot pain dropped down to a lower intensity, still burning and miserable but no longer of concern. I pulled steadily until a strand of cool blue energy spooled out from under my fingers, about two feet long.

I pinched the free end and stood, pulling a longer filament of energy free. I knew the loop wouldn’t last long once I pulled it away from the feeder line it came from. If it withered and died, I’d have to start again. I’d have to make the connection quickly so I could let go as soon as possible. The pain was growing, and holding two live ends simultaneously might be more than the body could bear.

I snapped the energetic thread off, like breaking the yarn on a raveling sleeve. For a moment, it pulsed; then it began fading. I knew I had very little time. I pinched the nearest end onto the lowest part of the card reader’s red thread. Then, from below the gaze of the disembodied eye, I shoved the fiery container of the dead dog aside a few feet with one hand before I rose and pinched the second end on at the loop above the hinge. The watchdog snapped at nothing as I passed its eye, reached, and turned the small, unblinking organ to see only the emptiness of the space inside the wall. Then the dog fell quiet.

The new strand slowly flushed red while the strand it bridged paled to lavender. I reached out and snapped off the original line just above the floor. Shock jolted through me as the line faded to pale blue, then withered and vanished.

I jerked backward, thrust away from the calm sea of the grid, dazed by the sudden return of normal pain and the ripping loss of knowledge.

The card reader was out of the magical circuit.

I breathed hard and stumbled back a few more feet, becoming more painfully normal with every difficult tread.

Quinton stepped up behind me but didn’t quite touch me. “Harper,” he breathed. “Are you all right?”

My breath shook in my chest and my limbs felt burned and leaden, but I nodded. “Good enough.” Remarkable in the Grey. A total wreck in the physical. My electrified mind gibbered and shrieked while the grid chuckled to itself at my expense. My spine had already begun buzzing, and the singing sound was swelling back up with the residual pain from handling the grid that I had ignored at the time—ignored, since human concerns such as pain and loss were outside my world. My gods, if this was anything like what Wygan expected me to do, there was no way I’d do it, even as a bluff. I could feel my muscles and joints stiffening from the sensation of electric shock still lingering on my nerves. I could never let myself be subsumed into the inhuman power of the Grey’s magical grid as I’d just come very close to doing. The potential had been awesome, but the divorce from feeling was too chilling. I wasn’t very good at emotional expression, but the sensation of removal was too terrible. Even so, I couldn’t fall into contemplating that now; there was still something to do.

“Just need to put the card on the reader,” I gasped, breathless, enervated, and ready to collapse.

I tried to retrieve it from my pocket, but my fingers were too senseless and burned to feel it. Quinton got the card for me and held it out toward the reader’s plate at arm’s length.

The spell throbbed brighter but the monstrosity stayed quiet behind the restraining bars of the casting, now out of line with the card plate. The door clicked and swung a few inches open. Quinton started to move forward.

“Don’t touch them,” I panted, crumpling to my knees, unable to stay upright any longer. “The wards on the doors are still active. They’re worse—even worse than the dog.”

Quinton glanced at me and started back to pick me up, but I waved him off. Scowling, he looked around the foyer searching for something to shove the doors wider open.

A pretty, spindly-legged console table stood under a painting on the wall to the right of the elevator, distracting the eye from the hidden door to the observation room on the opposite wall. A large vase of wilted flowers stood on the tabletop, and at first I thought he was going to snatch it up and throw it at the doors.

Quinton picked up the whole table instead and shoved it hard into the gap between the doors. The red-shining panels on the door surfaces let out a gonging sound loud enough to make us both flinch and cower as the table exploded into flame. The force pushed the doors back on their hinges as the burning bits of the table flew away, cutting through the air of the room with whistling sounds.

Quinton snatched me up and threw me through the gaping opening before the doors could rebound and snap closed. He didn’t follow and the heavy portal slammed shut again.

Inside the room the hush was intense and made the resurging babble of the grid in my head all the more noticeable as I fought it down. Still, I limped to the doors and tugged one open: Edward hadn’t warded the interior, and even though the malevolence of the wards seeped through, the discomfort of visions and the cold pain of touching the handle weren’t enough to stop me. Quinton dashed through the doorway and kicked the door closed again behind him.

Then he turned and grabbed me and hugged me so hard I squeaked with what little breath I had left—it hurt, but it was a pleasant ache. He was breathing very fast, sweat making his face and hands sticky.

“That—I don’t ever want to do that again. I don’t want to see you do it again. There was—ugh. It was like all those tapes from 9/11 going off in my head. Screaming and fire . . .” He shuddered.

“I know.” Yes, I knew, like I’d been split in two: one half looking only at the numbers, the other burning in the wreckage.

TWENTY-SIX

I
t took some time to get settled in Edward’s hideout. First I had to find the magical odds and ends that might cause Quinton trouble and mark them or cover them in some way. The seals Edward had had installed at two corners of the conference room area were easy: one was shattered and the other I simply toppled a chair into upside down. There weren’t a lot more problems but I still had to spend the time searching to be sure. We also ruled out spending any time in one of the small rooms near the elevator shaft which seemed to be Edward’s sleeping space. I felt uncomfortable anywhere in or near it.

The suite had a small kitchen that didn’t seem to get much use, even though it had everything and the fridge held several bottles and containers that argued that someone—I was guessing Goodall or Carol—needed to eat once in a while. Aside from that, one would think only alcoholics ever came into the basement, but I’d noted long ago that vampires have no problem drinking alcohol. The extensive facilities in the bathroom made me think there might be things about vampire habits and hygiene I didn’t know and really didn’t want to. Quinton found it all rather unsettling, but he had no complaints about the security or the speed of the computer and communications equipment. He looked at it with speculative avarice while he settled me on a couch with a blanket we found in a closet.

“You look like you never took that nap,” he commented.

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by elephants wearing electrified cleats.”

He looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I should have asked how you were sooner.”

“Stupid to ask when you can just see it.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s . . . graceless of me.”

“I can skip grace. I like practical. Though I could stand to hear a little less of whatever’s bugging the Grey world at the moment.”

“Is it getting worse?”

“It’s . . . different.”

He knew I didn’t want to discuss how it had changed. Instead, he just said, “I need to work on that. . . .”

“I’m doubtful there’s much you can do.”

“I can try though. Electric shock seems to knock it down. . . .”

“You can’t keep on zapping me.” And I wasn’t sure that the zap hadn’t somehow facilitated the sudden shift in my connection to the grid. The ordinariness—for us at least—of the conversation was odd after my experience with the Grey a few hours earlier, but welcome.

“No. That would kill you. Eventually, maybe, but no thank you all the same.”

“Yeah. I think I’ll skip that option.”

“Still, it’s a datum and that’s a start. I wonder if it’s a field effect, like the Grey detector flux. . . .”

“Maybe I just need hearing aids that turn the volume down instead of up,” I joked.

“Noise canceling, maybe. Have to find the right frequencies though....”

“Have I mentioned that you’re cute when you’re obsessing?”

He smiled at me, but it wasn’t quite the irrepressible grin he usually used. “So are you. You bite your lip. It’s very Marilyn Monroe.”

I couldn’t say that comforted me since she was dead, so I didn’t say anything except, “I’ll have to call Carlos before this gets worse.”

“About what?”

“How to get him off Edward’s hook.” Not to mention figuring out a few other angles on this thing. . . .

Contacting Carlos proved easier than usual and he returned my call himself about nine o’clock. Quinton had been poking at me with weird implements and taking various electronic measurements whenever I said that the noises in my head were louder or more distinct. I wasn’t sure he was getting anywhere with the research, but at least it kept him busy and both our minds off the problems ahead.

“Blaine,” Carlos acknowledged me. I’d never heard him on the phone before and his voice did odd things to the line, causing strange echoes and screeches I wasn’t certain were coming from my head alone.

“I can do it. I found the back door.”

“Resourceful. Are you certain of the other?”

“Not really. But I . . . have warped the fabric. Reluctant as I am, I think it can be done.”

He was silent a moment. It came off brooding, even over a phone connection. “Even so, assurances of our alignment will be needed. Of our . . . helplessness,” he spat. “And a diversion from what we do. His eyes must look elsewhere.”

“On that account I’m afraid I have no ideas,” I said. I could barely keep my mind on track enough to think of how to remove the knife tip from Carlos’s heart and catch up to my father long enough to ask him what had become of his old receptionist, Christelle, and then get him free of Wygan. And I had to free Simondson, too. I’d made a promise, after all.

“I do. My protégé troubles me. . . .”

“Cameron?” I was aghast. Cameron was nothing if not loyal to Carlos. He’d spit in Edward’s eye before he’d go against his mentor, so far as I could tell.

“He may require some talking to. And more than that. See to it. Tonight he goes to visit his sister.”

“Sarah? In Bellevue?”

“I believe she has moved to this side of the water. A condo in Belltown. Call him. He will see you.” As if he wouldn’t see Carlos. Something odd was afoot and I wasn’t going to ask: The whole conversation felt like something from a spy movie in which we knew we were being bugged.

“I will,” I agreed, and cut the connection.

I plucked at the collection of wires and sensors Quinton had decorated me with. “I have to go soon.”

“I had that impression. Why?”

“Honestly, I’m a little confused by it, but I suppose Carlos feared someone eavesdropping on him. I can’t imagine any other reason for that obtuse conversation. I’m to meet with Cameron at his sister’s condo in Belltown. I assume he’ll somehow know what’s going on. But I have to call him first: I don’t know which building she moved to.”

Quinton made a sage face. “Ah, the politics of vampires.”

“I think it’s more the maneuvering of a double cross. And as long as I’m not the victim, I’m fine with that.”

“I wish you weren’t going anywhere. I’m worried about you and, much as I hate to say it, this place gives me the willies.”

I laughed. “You’re not the only one. But it’s safe. The biggest threats to us are never going to come here, nor will they be sending any little minions to do their dirty work.”

“Still . . . it’s a vampire’s lair—damned nice one with some really terrific toys, but all the same. . . .”

I nodded. “Yeah, I understand. But you can’t come along. It wouldn’t be safe for either of us.”

“What if you have another problem . . . with the voices?”

“I think I can manage for as long as this will take.”

I held his further comments at bay while I called Cameron. He answered the phone as if he’d been waiting for it.

“Hi, Harper.”

“Hi, Cameron. Look, I need to talk to you right away.”

“We’re on our way to Sarah’s.”

“We?”

“Me and Gwen.”

“Skinny Gwen?” Lady Gwendolyn of Anorexia she’d called herself the first time we’d met. The only vampire I’d ever seen fading away from lack of giving a damn. Though the last time I’d seen her, she’d seemed much scarier, back in Edward’s fold and becoming sharper and more predatory in his care. “You’re taking Gwen to Sarah’s?”

“They get on all right. Sarah understands Gwen, and with Edward missing, Gwen needs friends.” He sounded a little defensive.

I found myself puzzling over that one. Vampires needing friends?

“Well. If you’re coming,” he continued, “you can meet us at Sarah’s.” He rattled off an address—a rather swank building on Second Avenue that had originally been a fancy public bath, and then a synagogue before the developers tore down the old building, preserving only the historic terra-cotta facade.

Surprised, I agreed. “All right. Fifteen minutes.”

“See you then.”

Quinton disliked my leaving, but he watched me call for a cab and leave via the elevator to TPM’s lobby. It was safer that walking back to my truck, which we’d moved off-site on the assumption that Goodall still had some moles on the building staff.

As I was crossing the lobby, the security man on the night desk called out to me. “Ms. Blaine. You expecting any visitors?”

“No, why?”

“Been someone lurking around outside since you got here. Not making any moves but persistent. Figured he’s watching you.”

“Really? What’s he look like?”

The guard waved me to his monitor and flipped through several screens until he got to a camera that pointed to the far northern corner across the street from TPM’s lobby. The guard froze the frame and zoomed in, pointing to a pale blob that resolved into a familiar face.

“This guy.”

Will. I shook my head in exasperation and didn’t even mind the chorus of annoyed little voices in my head. “Ex-boyfriend.”

“You want we should run him off? Call the cops?”

I sighed, closing my eyes against the vision of Will arrested again by Seattle’s finest. “No. . . . I’ll handle it. Hold my cab.”

I walked out of the lobby and straight toward him, straight for the uncontrolled flashes of wild color and chaos that surrounded him, only taking time to scan for traps and other watchers. What the hell was Will thinking? Whatever it was, I had to warn him off for both our sakes. I stopped less than a foot in front of him, glaring up into his unbalanced smile.

“Stop it, Will. Go away. I can’t help you.”

“It’s all right. I know I upset you last time. I can be patient.”

“Apparently you can’t. And that’s not the problem anyhow. You think I can do something for you, but I can’t. Not won’t.
Can’t.
You have to stop thinking that way. How did you even find me here?”

“I knew you’d go to Leavenworth. I just drove there and looked for you.”

It hurt me to be so cruel to him, but nothing seemed to get past his insane belief that I could save him. I glanced at him with his damaged limbs and avid eyes. I shook my head, appalled at the implication of what he’d pushed himself to do after the ghastly things that had been done to him by vampires in London—and those were my fault: his beautiful hands smashed into permanent claws, his feet slashed and crippled, and his mind shattered into disjointed fantasy and fury. Why would he want anything to do with me? To even think of me anymore? And how could he hold the steering wheel or work the pedals of a car without suffering? “You drove yourself . . . ?”

He raised his eyebrows in an encouraging smile, nodding. “Michael wouldn’t. It’s all right. It was hard to catch up to you, but I did and I followed you home. I don’t mind the pain: It’s real; it’s like a friend. It only hurts me to help me. But it’s not enough. I need you.”

He started to reach for my shoulders, but I drew back with a warning look and he stopped, his broken hands still in the space between us, supplicating. “There’s so much darkness here. You’re my light. I need you to banish the darkness. I need you to keep them away.”

My heart was wrung like a rag. “Oh, Will. I can’t. I can’t even keep them away from me.” I brushed his cheek with my fingertips and felt a frisson of jagged cold and terror leap from him and rime my skin in goose bumps. “I’m not the solution to the problem: I’m the source. You need to stay away from me or something worse will happen to you. Go home. Go back to Michael and let him help you.”

“No. He won’t help me. He only wants me to take pills and go back to the hospital, but they don’t help. They only make it worse; they only let the darkness come closer. They want me to sleep, but that’s when it’s worst. They want to banish the pain, but they don’t understand: I can’t
feel
anything but this.” He wrung his hands together and I could hear the half-healed bone and tissues pop and tear. The energy around his hands flashed dark red and the freakish void in his aura momentarily illuminated with white sparks. He let out a shaking gasp mixed of suffering and perverse satisfaction.

Horror nauseated me and sent trembles through my body. I grabbed his hands, forcing them together, palm to palm, between mine, letting the chorus of the Grey cry for compassion. “No, Will. No. Don’t do that. Don’t fall in love with the pain.” I wished I could make him better. I wished I could push away his torment and confusion, repair him, restore his elegant hands and make him forget monsters and terrors in the endless night. “That’s something they gave you—something from the darkness. It’s not good for you. Don’t embrace that. Don’t let them have you.”

Touching him ached and the voices of the grid bound into a single cry as sharp and clear as breaking crystal. His hands were cold but mine were warm around them, and I held on tight for the few seconds’ paltry comfort I could give. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the tension in his muscles slackened, the riotous energy around him easing down to a small halo of blue and red and green. It wasn’t my doing: I was only grounding him enough to let him do it himself.

He let out a little sigh, just an ordinary one this time, followed by a longer, slower breath. “That doesn’t hurt.”

“No. You shouldn’t hurt. Remember this feeling. When the dark things come, reach for this, not for the pain. Breathe just like you’re breathing now—”

“Blue.”

“What?”

“It’s blue.”

I was startled. I saw the gentle, neutral energy as blue, too—the clean, clearing breath taught in Yoga classes and meditation. I didn’t think Will had any ability to see the paranormal, but maybe things were a bit . . . different now. “Yes. Blue,” I agreed.

He opened his eyes, his gaze steadier but still disturbed in its depths. “Harper . . .”

I backed off slowly, letting his hands slip out of mine. “That’s all I can do for you, Will. Take that home, now. Please, go home.”

He nodded, but he didn’t move away. He just stood still and watched me go back to the TPM building and get into my waiting cab. He was still standing there when we pulled away.