"The Better Part of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gay Kelly)

CHAPTER 6

“Charlie?” My partner’s voice filtered through the haze, sounding like the distant echo of a bank teller at a drive-through window. But that couldn’t be right, because I felt his warm hand around my upper arm.

Sludge filled my mind.

“Damn it, wake up,” Hank ground out, shaking me a little.

“Does she need a doctor?” another voice asked. Had to be the cute one.

In The Bath House. Upstairs. Veritas. Oh, God! I was still here with them! I sat up, gasping.

Hank knelt back, his face scrunched with concern. “You all right?”

I swallowed the giant-sized lump in my throat and nodded, standing with his help and then straightening my gown with trembling hands.

The monster still sat behind the desk, eyeing me with avid speculation. He was middle-aged and aging gracefully, which, for a Charbydon noble, should put him somewhere around four or five thousand years old. His white hair was swept back from his face. The widow’s peak over his forehead made him look sinister and accentuated his patrician nose, causing it to appear more hooked than it really was. The white of his dress shirt set off dark olive skin, and with slanted black eyes and a cruel mouth, he looked like malice in a stylish gray suit.

I knew this being, but I didn’t know him. And I began to wonder if some of my dream stemmed from my time in the hospital. How did he know my name? Did he visit me in the hospital? I just couldn’t remember.

I backed from the room, grabbing Hank’s arm and mumbling something about how we should get back. My smile was tight, but I kept my shoulders back and my chin up. Being weak in a room full of men wasn’t my idea of a good time. And right now I was seriously vulnerable and confused.

The good-looking noble slid a questioning glance to the monster behind the desk. But he shook his head slightly. They were letting us go.

Hank supported most of my weight as we backed out of the room and into the hallway. As soon as we were out of earshot, he asked, “Charlie, what happened?”

“Out of here,” I gasped. “Let’s just get out of here.”

I stumbled down the hall, gaining speed and strength. By the time we made it to the locked door, I was breathing hard, but feeling a whole lot better by putting some distance between me and my nightmare.

Hank punched in the key code and we hurried down the winding stairs. He hadn’t let go of my hand, afraid I’d fall, or worse, faint again. But I leaned on him less and less. Once we hit the mosaic tile on the first floor, he dropped my hand, and we continued to the locker room at a fast walk.

“You recognize the other two?” I asked, knowing he knew Otorius’s face as well as I did.

“No.” He gave me an odd glance. “But the one behind the desk … Seemed like you knew him. He sure as hell knew you.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. The ITF database might help with identifying them.”

We broke apart, Hank heading to the left and me veering to the right. Once I was in the locker room, I retrieved the key from the nymph and then took my things into an empty stall. The gown came off quickly and fell in a heap in the corner of the stall. The urge to get out of there was so fierce; my hands still shook as I jerked on my clothes and slipped my arms through my weapon harness. Only then did a relieved sigh break the silence and calm my nerves. Never had I felt so grateful and more relaxed than when I slid my firearms into their holsters.

Now, I was prepared. Now, I had leverage. This was my magic.

Hank waited for me by the door. Together, we left The Bath House and headed up Helios Alley toward the parking lot, neither one of us speaking.

The nightlife had peaked. It was way beyond the witching hour and groups of inebriated pub crawlers blocked our way. We veered around a few Georgia Tech students making their way across the street. All I wanted was to get as far away from Veritas and the man behind the desk as I could. If it wasn’t for Hank next to me, I would have run.

We snaked around a Wiccan couple holding hands and finally found ourselves free from the throng of people. A street lamp buzzed on and off. The next one had completely died out. The heels of my boots clicked loudly on the asphalt as we drew away from the revelers and the sounds of music spilling from the pubs and dance clubs. The sudden passing from the loud and boisterous to the dim, eerie quiet sent a shiver along my spine and gave me that creepy sensation of someone lurking behind me. You’re freaking yourself out, I thought, glancing over my shoulder, but there was no one there.

“That guy, the older one,” Hank said, breaking the quiet. “You sure you’ve never met him?”

“I don’t think so. I guess I could have at some point …” I shook my head, feeling bad and embarrassed since lately it seemed like Hank was always pulling me out of sticky situations. I was stronger than this. “I’m sorry for breaking down on you like that.” I wanted to say more, to try and explain, but what could I say? I didn’t even know myself. “It doesn’t make sense. Charbydon nobles in Elysian territory. That alone is a major red flag. If Veritas is some exclusive club where nobles and Elysians meet, it can’t be for bake sales and charity events. They’re up to something.”

Hank dug out his car keys as we approached the car. “Charlie, I want you to be extra careful. This investigation, everything today, nothing is making sense.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Hank’s profile was seriously grim. He knew something wasn’t quite right. And I trusted his instincts. Hell, many times I’d banked my life on his intuition. But this time I felt the same. It was like a huge satellite sat atop my head, blaring the signals—warning, dread, suspicion … They were drowning me, but at the same time pushing me to figure it all out.

At the car, he beeped the alarm system off. “You sure you’re okay? ’Cause you look like a ghost.”

“Gee, thanks.” I opened the door.

“You can confide in me, you know,” he said over the roof of the car, his deep tone going deeper. “I’m not human. I might understand a hell of a lot better than Berkowitz.”

Yes, his super senses had saved my butt a gazillion times, but they could also be a pain in my butt. Like now, when I didn’t want to talk about it. I let out a big sigh and rested my elbows on the roof. “Hank, please don’t read into me. I know, all right? I know something’s off with me. But there’s no point in talking about it when I haven’t even figured out what the hell’s wrong.”

He bit back his reply, jaw flexing, and stared off into the dark parking deck. “One of these days, Charlie, you’ll need to rely on somebody. Somebody who could have answers. Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, then talk to Bryn or Doctor Berk. Someone. You healed yourself today.” He paused to let that statement sink in. “And now you’re passing out. What’s next, morphing into a werewolf and howling at the full moon?”

I slid into the passenger seat and waited for Hank to get in. His words echoed in my mind. What was next? If only I knew.

He started the car and then glanced over at me with a warning. “I’m serious, Charlie. Talk to someone, go to see a doctor. ’Cause if you don’t I’ll make you.”

My gaze snapped to the thick voice-mod around his neck. He could make me do whatever he wanted, and the jerk was holding it over my head. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. I happen to value my life, and the next time we’re in the thick of things, I don’t want my partner wigging out. If you don’t think you owe it to yourself, then think of the rest of us.” With that, he hit the radio, obviously done talking to me, and pulled out of the parking space.

Guess he told me.

Hank Williams Jr. blared from the custom speakers as we drove down Alabama Street. The down-to-earth, whiskey-rich voice soothed some of the physical symptoms of the stress and anxiety that plagued me, but my mind remained on overdrive. All I could think about was the noble’s face, the familiar voice, and the surge of fear and realization that momentarily froze me solid. For eight months I’d dreamt of that shadowy figure. To find out he was a real, living being … I was in way over my head.

Something had happened to me the night I died. Something I didn’t want to remember or acknowledge. Until now.

Hank remained silent, allowing me my thoughts and no doubt drifting into his own. Worry, stress, and frustration poured off him in waves. I rolled the window down, the car becoming stuffy and overheated with his emotions. He wanted so badly to have me confide in him. Hell, I wished I knew what to tell him.

After we parked and headed inside the station, we took the stairs to the second floor where it opened into a loft-style space with desks for the detectives in the center of the room and enclosed offices for the higher-ups along the perimeter. The first floor we used for booking and containment.

Hank and I shared a large desk. Our flat-screen monitors backed into one another, making a nice barrier and giving us some private space in which to work. We had to lean sideways and crane our heads over the mounds of files on either side of the monitors in order to make eye contact.

Tonight, we both settled into serious work mode, Hank writing a report and then in his notebook, jotting down conversations and his own gut feelings about the encounter, while I logged on to the ITF database of known felons, suspects, and immigrants, looking for a match. I sipped on the hot coffee I’d made in the break room before we sat down, sighing at the comforting taste of coffee bean, half-and-half, and Splenda. I didn’t like it overly sweet, but just sweet enough to cut the harsh nicotine taste of straight black. Most of the detectives and officers drank it black whether they liked it that way or not. But then, I’d never been a conformist, and they still made fun of me. Oh, well. Black tasted like tar and made my tongue fuzzy.

I’d had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t find the two Charbydon nobles under felons or suspects, so I did a search on legally registered nobles aged five hundred years plus, male, living in Atlanta.

Bingo.

“Found you, you bastard,” I muttered, refusing to be fearful of a JPEG.

“Which one?” Hank came around the desk to hover over my shoulder. He let out a low whistle. “Damn.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and then rested his hand on the back of my chair. “Can you say roadblock?”

We were looking at one of the most influential Charbydons on the planet. I let out a heavy sigh. It would make our investigation a heck of a lot harder. But at least now we had a name. Mynogan, High Elder of the House of Abaddon. I tapped my pencil against my chin. Mynogan. The monster finally had a name.

“So,” I began, thinking out loud more than anything, “what were three nobles doing in Veritas?”

Hank returned to his side of the desk. “Well they sure as hell weren’t knitting booties for needy babies.”

I decided to start with Otorius and did a Google search on the Charbydon Political Party in Atlanta. In the last year, the party had tried to move away from the stereotypical unlawfulness that had at first characterized most of the Charbydons. While they wanted entry into our world along with the Elysians, they had a difficult time conforming to the rules put in place to guard us and them, and they really had a difficult time coming to accept peace with the Elysians. They still didn’t follow all of the Federation’s policies. But, lately, many of the nobles had been trying to rectify this, and they’d started by forming their own political party, getting the message out that they wanted to be part of a law-abiding society and to contribute as law-abiding residents.

“Says here, there’s a political rally tomorrow morning at Centennial Olympic Park.” I clicked through a few more pages, looking for any information on the other noble. But there was nothing. Easing back in my chair, I let out a tired sigh. “We’ll need to get a member list of everyone in Veritas. Auggie’s death and the ash point straight to that place. He wouldn’t have given me those matches otherwise. If the CPP isn’t involved, then someone on the roster is, or at least knows something.”

“I’ll talk to Zara, see if she can dig up the names.”

On a hunch, I pulled the names of the jinn who’d attacked me in Underground. There wasn’t much in their file, but the employment listing confirmed my suspicion. At one time or another, two of the three jinn had worked as bodyguards to members of the CPP. I printed out the records and handed them to Hank over the monitor. “Take a look at this.”

Hank scanned the records. “None of them were working for the CPP when they attacked you, though,” he said, echoing my own thoughts.

If we took this to the chief now, he’d say the same thing. It didn’t prove anything. But to me it was like a big neon sign. The CPP wasn’t as law-abiding as it pretended to be.

Hank’s gaze met mine. “Says two of them were members of the local tribe.”

I nodded, knowing my look was as somber as his, but then I offered him a small smile and a shrug. Nothing I could do about that now.

We both knew it was only a matter of time before Grigori Tennin, the jinn boss, leader of the Atlanta tribe, issued a summons. A debt would have to be paid. And if I couldn’t afford the monetary value attributed to those two jinn, to reimburse the tribe for their loss, I’d be required to pay a blood debt.

I stood, stretching my arms over my head and yawning, too tired to think of jinn retribution. “Let’s go home. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And, before my head hit the pillow tonight, I had decided to pay a little visit to the doctor who’d saved my life.

After Hank dropped me off at the house, I paused briefly on the porch steps, waiting until the taillights of his Mercedes disappeared around the corner before getting into my old Chevy Tahoe. Mott Technologies owned a massive research facility just off I-85 outside of Atlanta. It was way late, but common knowledge said Titus Mott kept late hours working in his lab.

The guy was Albert Einstein smart, and he was something of a celebrity here in Atlanta and beyond. Many thought he’d hightail it to DC once he and his team discovered the other dimensions, but he’d elected to stay and, with massive government funding, he’d built a research empire. I was also privy to some juicy family gossip, courtesy of Marti when she’d sit at my kitchen table and chat on days when she dropped Amanda off to babysit Emma.

After thirty-five minutes behind the wheel, my headlights illuminated the large gatehouse and landscaped grounds of Mott Technologies’ headquarters. Two guards stepped out of the gatehouse as I came to a stop in front of the yellow-and-black barrier. One of the guards walked around the back of the SUV and shined his flashlight into the backseat and then into the passenger side window as the other one approached my side and shined his light rudely in my face. Jerk.

“The facility is closed, ma’am,” he said. Lucky I didn’t snag said flashlight and clock him over the head with it.

“Yeah, unfortunately crime doesn’t take the night off, fellas.” I propped my elbow on the window ledge and showed him my badge. “I need to speak with Doctor Mott.”

The guy’s expression didn’t waver, my badge having little effect on him. He was probably Atlanta PD or ex-military moonlighting for a few extra bucks. “Sorry, no visitors.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I leaned closer, too tired to deal with this crap right now. “Number one, I’m not a visitor, and number two, just tell him I’m here. He’ll want to see me.”

Lines wrinkled his forehead, but he took my ID and told me to wait—like I was going anywhere with the other guard at my passenger window holding a semi-automatic and a gate in front of me.

Fingers tapping the steering wheel, I waited as the guard went into the small gatehouse and picked up the phone. Finally, the gate began to lift, and he waved me through as I snagged my ID from his outstretched hand. “Just drive on to the visitor entrance. Someone will meet you there.”

Honestly, I hadn’t really expected to get in, and I wasn’t even sure Mott remembered me. The last time I’d seen him was a chance encounter at the station when he’d unveiled the new and improved Nitro-gun to the chief. Mott had remembered me then. He’d even asked how I was getting along after my ordeal.

By chance, he’d been at the hospital the night they brought me in. And when the emergency room doctor pronounced me dead, Mott had stepped in, claiming a person could be brought back to life much longer after having been dead than traditionally thought. He’d worked on me until he proved himself right, after all the others had left him alone in that dim, sterile room, thinking it was a lost cause.

The dead cop and the wacky doctor. Imagine their surprise when my heart started beating again.

Thinking of Titus Mott made my blood pressure rise as I drove down the long, winding blacktop road framed by mature live oaks. The guy had saved my life. And we’d never spoken about what had happened in that room.

Mist had settled on the park-like grounds, and to my left, the moonlight reflected off the surface of a small lake. I’d left the window down to allow the crisp night air inside. The tangy smell of grass and leaves came with it. Bullfrogs echoed over the soft hum of the engine and the press of the tires on asphalt. It was beautiful out here; the kind of night that made me want to run, to leave all my troubles behind, race through the mist, and become part of the beauty all around me.

The road forked, drawing my attention back to the drive. I followed the visitor sign to the large, glass front entrance and parked in the reserved space closest to the main entrance. I hit the lights and turned off the ignition, the empty, dimly lit lot giving me the willies. Deep breath, Charlie.

The night air was cooler here in the woods surrounding the facility, refreshing and clean. I drew it inside of me in long inhalations, letting it calm me before moving to the door.

A circular reception desk and small lamp, still turned on, were visible through the glass front. There was no one waiting, and the door was locked. I stepped back, feeling like a moron. The security cameras caught my eye, and I turned in their direction, motioning toward the door. The bastards knew I was there. I resisted the urge to flip them the bird.

Keys finally jingled in the door. A short young man in a white lab coat slipped every key on the ring into the lock before finally getting the right one. Successful, he gave me a quick victory smile and shoved his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry about that, Detective,” he mumbled as I entered the sterile lobby. He fell in step beside me, directing me across the polished wood floor to the executive elevator. “Doctor Mott is in his lab, but” —he slid a card key into the elevator slot—“he’s looking forward to speaking with you.”

Relief surged through me as I stepped into the elevator. “I wasn’t sure he’d remember me,” I confessed.

“Oh, no worries there. He never forgets a face or a name. Genius and all …” He pressed the sixth button.

Instinctively, I braced for the lift, but gasped as the elevator went down instead.

“Should’ve warned you about that. All the labs are underground.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Andy Myers, Doctor Mott’s assistant. Well, one of them. He has a herd of us.”

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

We faced the doors, waiting in that polite yet awkward silence. I caught Andy staring intermittently at me and each time our eyes met, he smiled quickly and then looked away. It didn’t make an ounce of sense, but I had the feeling he was particularly excited to see me, like a kid with a juicy secret just itching to tell all his friends. His reaction made me more self-conscious than I already was.

Get over it, Charlie. Nothing to be nervous about.

I squared my shoulders and focused on the steel door in front of me, using the moment to tuck my hair behind my ears, scolding myself for not remembering to grab a clip before I’d left for The Bath House earlier. I rarely wore it down for work and was so used to having it up and out of my line of sight that when it was down, it became one of those incredibly irritating distractions. I should cut it all off; I just never could bring myself to actually do it.

The elevator came to a stop, gravity pulling me and my queasy stomach down for a fraction of a second before the doors slid open to reveal a long, white-tiled hallway. As soon as the opening was large enough, I darted between the doors. Being underground, being here, about to speak to Mott … I’d avoided this for so long. And now the walls closed in on me.

Andy joined me a second later. “This way,” he said, walking ahead of me.

I fell in step behind him, struck by the complete stillness and hush, like we had stepped into a vacuum of space. A faint chemical scent, similar to rubbing alcohol, hung in the air. Lab doors were evenly spaced, all with keypads and no windows. It suddenly seemed more like Fort Knox than a lab.

“Here we are.” Andy slid his key card into the slot attached to a door.

It was now or never. And I’d come too far to back out now. With a deep breath, I entered the lab as Andy clicked the door closed behind me.

He was here somewhere, lost in the cavernous space of stainless steel, lab tables, cabinets, and beakers. One corner of the lab looked like a hospital room, complete with a wall of one-way viewing glass. But what stunned me into stillness was the god-like being lying on the hospital bed secured in a series of straps. He was male, a red-haired throwback to the time of Viking warriors. A being so perfect he could be none other than Adonai, an Elysian divinity. He wore a white T-shirt and blue-and-white-striped pajama pants. His feet were bare. IVs stuck into the veins in his arm and the top of his right hand. Equipment monitored his breathing and brain patterns.

What the hell was this?

Abruptly, the Adonai turned his head and opened his eyes, staring directly at me. My heart stopped. His gaze bored into mine like twin heat-seeking missiles fueled by intense blue flame. An arched brow cocked. “Like what you see?” he asked in a husky voice ripped with contained rage.

A bang made me jump. Jesus! The metallic echo sent a shot of adrenaline through my nerves as someone ground out, “Mother—”

“Ahem!” Andy cleared his throat.

Shuffling. Another bang.

Titus Mott poked his head from behind one of the lab tables opposite the mock hospital room, slapped his hands on the table, and pushed to his feet. He grimaced as he rubbed a spot on the back of his head, messing his thick brown hair so that some of it stood up straight. It made him look like he’d just gotten out of bed.

“She’s here, Doctor,” Andy said.

“What?”

Andy motioned to me. “Detective Madigan.”

And just like that, I suddenly became the kid introduced to class mid-year. Standing in front of twenty faces and praying to be accepted and liked.

Mott adjusted his glasses. The frames were made of light wire and gave him an edgy, hip look. He was young for what he’d accomplished so far in his life. An interview he’d done with Forbes magazine said he was forty-eight. There was just the faintest hint of graying at his left temple. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day, maybe two.

He adjusted his lab coat, slipped something in his pocket, and then approached me with his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Detective. Really good.” He shook my hand warmly, his smile genuine.

This was going a long way toward relieving my anxiety. Now if the Adonai would stop his creepy ogling, I’d actually feel somewhat normal. “I’m glad you still remember me.”

He motioned to Andy. “You can go, Andy. Thank you.” Andy nodded and quietly left the room. “How about we go into my office?”

With a quick glance at the Adonai, I followed Mott. I wanted to like the man who had saved my life, but the lab rat on the table was making it really difficult.

Mott’s office wasn’t the room behind the glass, but a far corner with a small rug, well-worn couch, and leather chair. An old, scratched-up coffee table sat in the center of the rug. “This is my home away from home,” he said, sitting on the couch with a sigh as the cushion gave in to his weight. “Please sit. You want coffee, tea, bottled water, soda?”

“No, thanks.” I sat on the leather chair and waited for him to lean over the arm of the couch, open the small fridge, and grab a can of soda for himself. Granted, the reason for coming was to talk about me, but I found myself asking, “Who’s the Adonai on the table?”

Mott popped the tab and the can hissed. “His name is Llyran.”

“And is Llyran volunteering to be your lab rat?” Nosy question, but I had to ask. Something felt very wrong about the situation.

“Llyran is a Level Ten felon, Detective. It was either this or execution under Federation Law. He chose this.”

His words stunned me into silence. A Level Ten felon was as bad as they came. Serial killer. Beyond help, beyond reformation, and unable to live a life sentence among others because he’d kill whoever came close enough. Stunned didn’t even begin to cover it. Looks were deceiving, and I was the first person who should know that.

Our ancestors may have thought Elysia was heaven, but in reality it didn’t come close to our pristine ideals and beliefs. It was a world just as diverse as our own. And just like Earth and Charbydon, Elysia had its good and its evil, and all the gray matter in between. But, damn, it was hard to get past the looks sometimes. It was easier to believe a goblin like Auggie was evil than an angelic-looking being like Llyran.