Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition) (20 page)

“Well was it?”

“We don’t know. We have no idea what makes her strong enough to survive when the others couldn’t.”

“All right,” I say levelly, swallowing down all the violent rage pounding through my body. “So you’ll have to develop the antidote now.”

Ben frowns. “Luke, I’m seventy-two years old. I’ve been retired for years. I haven’t been to a lab. I haven’t thought about science or cures in just as long.”

“Are you honestly going to sit there, after a story like that, and then announce that you won’t help save Josephine’s life?”

“Luke, I don’t believe it’s possible,” he tells me gently. “Her body will have been shutting down dramatically in the last few years. I fear that if she goes through one more change, it will be the end of her.”

“Then she won’t have one more change!” I snarl. “We’ll fix her before September—it’s ten months away!”

He shakes his head helplessly. “It took me years to develop Zemetaphine, and then several more years to develop the strand of it we use as a cure, but you want me to come up with a reversal in
months
?”

“Yes.”

Ben shakes his head again.

I’m starting to panic. This isn’t what I wanted to hear—not from this man. He is my last hope. He’s the only person on the planet who has any chance at saving Josi, and he won’t even try.

I stand up, trying to gain control of my emotions. I suck in a breath, but it doesn’t help, and before I know it there are words pouring out of my mouth, desperate, aching words. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” I say. “She has this insane desire for knowledge, and she never forgets a single thing she reads. She didn’t go to school, because she couldn’t, but she’s taught herself more than most people learn in a lifetime of study. She’s funny as hell, too. She’s got this really wry, sarcastic sense of humour, and she laughs at herself, most of all. When you can get her to let her guard down, she’s sweet. Sweet and kind and generous. She plays the cello with more heart than I’ve heard in any music.”

“Luke—”

“She has this funny dance that she does when she’s trying to distract me, and she has a terrible singing voice that you can’t help but laugh at. She’s so compassionate. And
brave
. Fuck she’s brave. She carries around all this shit that
you
did to her, and she never complains, even when it all gets really bad.”

“Luke, I don’t—”

“She’s going to make the best mother,” I exclaim. “She needs to have children, and a family. She deserves a life, Ben.
Please
. You’re the only one who can help us, and I—”

“All right!” he interrupts loudly. “All right, Luke. I’ll try.”

I stop, sagging back into the chair. I close my eyes, faint with relief.

Before I leave, I tell him the rest of the story. About how no one knows I’ve come to him, and if they did find out, Ben could be killed too. And I leave him with the date. The 16th of September.

“Where is she now?” he asks as I step out the door. The sun is starting to peek its head over the horizon.

“She’s waiting for you to save her.”

I’m shaking with nerves as I walk to Josephine’s room. Inside the cell Josi is curled up in bed and I’m surprised to see Maria sitting over her, stroking her hair.

Maria glances vaguely at me and says, “You might have to put her down. We did that with our cat when it was sick.”

Repulsed, I move to look at Josephine. She opens her eyes and looks at me, and I’ve never seen her so tired. “Did you get me another room?” she asks, voice rasping and faint.

I nod, moving to help her stand. She trembles, but manages to stay on her feet. Before I can lead her out, she turns back to Maria. “You’ll be okay now, honey.”

Maria nods solemnly. Josi reaches out a hand to brush over the other woman’s cheek, and then she follows me into the hall. We walk past Doyle, who doesn’t say anything, but watches us with hawk eyes.

“Where’s the room?” Josi asks through a wince. I wonder which part of her is hurting so badly.

“We’re stopping by my office first.”

I think about bypassing the office and taking her to the room I had planned for her. I could exclude Luke from this whole thing. But one look at Josephine tells me I have underestimated what is happening to her. Only Luke has been through this before—I’m loath to admit it, but he will know how to help her.

We reach my office and I place my thumb on the scanner. I realize I’m holding my breath as we walk inside.

Luke’s back beside the window, but he turns quickly this time. Josephine spots him and freezes. I’m still supporting her, and I feel the jerk of shock in her pulse as it starts to race. Surely this can’t be good for her?

But that’s the last conscious thought I have, because Josephine drops my hand and then they are moving toward each other, and all I can do is watch as they meet in the middle of the room like magnets that have been drawn undeniably together. Luke wraps her up in his arms, and her hands are on his face, his neck, in his hair, and her lips are against his and on his cheek, his jaw and his ear and he’s whispering things to her over and over again, and it isn’t Josephine who cries—it is on Luke’s face that I see a tear slide, but then it’s gone because she has kissed it away.

I feel dizzy and overwhelmed, but I don’t look away, and I’m ashamed of myself. It is now, in this moment, that I realize what I am, and what I have been my whole life. I am a voyeur. I watch people and listen to their secrets, and I live my life through theirs. I’ve even fallen in love with another man’s life.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” I hear Luke murmur against Josi’s ear.

“You’re right on time,” she tells him.

“Christ, I’ve missed you.”

She kisses him again, long and slow. I watch their lips and the way their hands are so tender as they hold each other. Have I ever had an embrace as intense as this one? Once in my entire life?

“I’ve worked a lot of stuff out,” he tells her. “I have a plan.”

Josephine smiles. “Of course you do. You’re an overachiever just like Anthony is. He worked a lot of stuff out too.”

Luke meets my eyes. “I know he did.” He turns back to Josephine. His girlfriend. “Okay, time to go.”

“Where?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Anthony, we’ll need you to get past the guards.”

I swallow, standing up. “Josephine, leaving might not be the best thing for you.”

She smiles again. “Come on, Doc. Live a little.”

Luke smiles slightly too, and for a moment I hate them both. “Fine,” I sigh. “Let’s go.”

I think I’ve spent the last year convincing myself that I don’t miss Luke, which seems rather ridiculous now that he’s here. It’s possible I do have some serious mental problems, because even though my body feels like it’s being pulled apart piece by piece and I’m terrified of the looming moon, I can’t stop smiling.

He looks leaner than when I last saw him—closer to how he was when I first met him. Stress makes him lose weight and sleep. But he’s just as handsome as I remember—even more so. His hair is short and he hasn’t shaved in weeks. He’s holding my hand in his large grip, and we can’t stop looking at each other as we follow Anthony toward the exit of the asylum.

I stumble a couple of times, and Luke rights me quickly, murmuring, “Easy, darling.”

We reach the front entrance. Doyle is blocking the way, with two other security guards right behind him. “Stop,” he orders almost lazily.

Luke gives a sigh of long suffering. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered as he gestures for Anthony to take my arm. “Don’t let go of her,” he orders, then steps in front of us.

“What’s your name?”

Doyle’s lip curls. “Leave the girl or I’ll arrest you.”

“Citizen’s arrest?” Luke asks with a grin. “You’re making me sad, big guy. How many times have you applied to be a Blood? But they just won’t let you, will they? Unfortunately I think it’s ’cause they require their agents not to be total fucking morons.”

Doyle starts to reach for his gun, but Luke makes a sharp noise. “Uh uh. You reach any further for your gun and you’ll be dead before you touch it.”

He opens his jacket to show Doyle the gun holster over his shoulder and the black weapon sitting against his ribs. “Quick draw. You want to play?”

Jesus Christ—where did Luke get a
gun
? And why is he smiling like this is an everyday occurrence?

Doyle hesitates, clearly unsure.

He reaches for his gun, but Luke is quicker. He has it out of his holster and pointed straight at the security guard. “Hold it,” he orders calmly. Doyle stops. “Drop it on the ground.” Doyle drops the gun on the ground. The security guards behind him have no idea what to do, so Luke orders them to drop their weapons too. Pretty soon we’re through the doors and heading for Anthony’s car.

“We need to borrow your Porsche, man,” Luke says, looking rather pleased about it.

“It won’t run without my print.”

“Well then open her up and start the engine for us.”

Anthony shakes his head. “I’ll drive.”

Luke clearly doesn’t like the idea of this, but after some deliberation he rolls his eyes and hops in beside me. “Step on it, Doc. Head north toward the highway.”

“What’s the plan?” I ask.

Luke looks at me across the back seat. “I’ve made a new friend. His name is Ben Collingsworth.”

My mouth falls open and Anthony snorts in disbelief up front. “Bullshit,” he says. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard him swear. I like it.

Luke grins. “It seems our favorite scientist has a case of remorse, and wouldn’t mind setting a few things right. You know about the tests and the cure and all that?”

I nod. “Anthony worked it out yesterday.” I can’t help but smile. “So I’m not crazy after all.”

“Well,” Luke concedes, “You’re not
overly
crazy.”

I shoot him a look, making him laugh, and he slides over the seat and plants a kiss on my lips. He tastes delicious, like freedom, as he always has. For a minute as he kisses me I forget about how sore I am. I feel alive and tingling and full of desire. I want him so badly I’m in danger of losing my head and undressing him right here and now. Which would not be particularly ladylike, given poor Anthony is chauffeuring us around and might catch an eyeful of something he probably wouldn’t want to see. I almost start laughing at the thought.

“Pull in here,” Luke orders, pointing to a small roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. When the car is turned off, Luke starts hacking into its central security systems and overriding them so that we can’t be traced. Anthony is standing in the parking lot, looking nervous. I walk around the car to stand beside him.

“Thanks, Doc. Really.”

He nods.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you, Josephine?”

I smile. “I’m good, actually. I bet you didn’t think he was real, did you?” Anthony flushes and I laugh. “It’s okay. I know I sounded like a loon all year. I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.”

“We’ve still got a lot of therapy to get through with you, Josephine,” he tells me sternly. “You’re by no means healthy yet.”

“Well don’t bowl me over with the vote of confidence,” I mutter, giving him a shove. This seems to confuse him, and I wonder, not for the first time, what he was like before he was cured.

“Okay folks,” Luke announces, climbing out and locking the car. “We’ll spend the night here.”

“Why?” I ask worriedly. “We’re still so close to the asylum, and tomorrow I’ll be starting to change …”

“I know, baby. I’m hoping that by then this will all be over. But if not, I have a contingency plan, and we need the asylum nearby. Come with me and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Anthony and I follow Luke past the reception desk and up a few flights of stairs. He uses a funny little secret knock before he enters one of the rooms. I enter curiously and am instantly stunned. The dingy motel room has been transformed into some kind of science lab. There are technical-looking instruments everywhere, and boiling liquids in bizarre colors on every surface. There’s barely enough room to stand, and in among it all is an old man tinkering away with something under a microscope.

He looks up as we enter. “Did you get her?”

“Josephine Luquet, this is Ben Collingsworth,” Luke introduces us. I stare at the man, who is underwhelming, to say the least. He’s aged a lot since he retired a few years ago and they stopped splashing his photos everywhere. He looks a lot smaller, a lot frailer. This is the man who ruined my life. A man I don’t remember one bit.

We stare at each other, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not angry. Not as much as I expected to be, anyway. He’s too pathetic looking to elicit anything from me other than a bit of pity and maybe some disdain.

“Hello, dear,” he says. “You’ve certainly grown up a lot since I last saw you.”

“As I am to understand it, that was over ten years ago,” I point out.

Ben nods slowly, looking tired.

“Why did you do it?” I ask.

“To try and help you.” He goes on a bit more, talking about adrenalin and brains and anger, about a drug that was supposed to help instead of destroy, and it all makes sense, but I’m not so quick to believe his motivations were entirely pure.

I search his weathered face. “Did you diagnose me with rage?”

“No, that wasn’t my job. Your parents informed me of your condition.”

“My parents?” I give a cold laugh and lift up my gross hospital shirt. There on my hip are the deep scars gouged into my skin, Lachlan’s brand. “The parents who let a cruel little boy do this? The parents who punished me for it?” I shake my head, letting the shirt drop. “You probably should have checked your facts before you rushed in to dose a child up with mind-altering psychostimulants.”

All three men are staring at me. Ben and Anthony look horrified, but Luke wears an odd expression, almost like he’s proud of me. I keep looking at him until the memory of Lachlan is well and truly out of my head, and when my face clears Luke gives me a small nod.

“I don’t know how to apologize,” Ben tells me.

“You just say the words.”

He hesitates, takes a breath and then says simply, “I’m sorry, Josephine. You are the greatest regret of my life.”

And it’s such a sudden relief to be given an apology, to be given an answer to the question that has plagued most of my life—for someone to simply take
responsibility
for this mess—that I find myself nodding. “Okay.”

Ben seems so startled by my reaction that his eyes fill with tears. He quickly wipes them away and ducks his head back to his work.

“Any progress?” Luke asks. He flings himself onto the bed, which is only partially covered in scientific chaos. I climb over a bunch of instruments on the floor to join him on the mattress. Anthony stays standing right near the door, as though he’s going to make a run for it at any moment.

“I need some samples of Josephine’s blood before I can give you any answers,” Ben says. “Who is that small man by the door?”

Luke tries to cover a laugh, like the childish idiot he is. Anthony blushes.

“This is Doctor Harwood,” I offer. “My therapist at the institute.”

“Anthony,” the Doc says, trying to offer a hand to Ben, but the old man doesn’t even look at him.

“Well then Doctor Harwood, can you be trusted to take some of Josephine’s blood?”

Anthony nods, looking around for the right equipment. Once he has the tools, he sits on the edge of the bed and rolls up my sleeve. With capable, slender hands, he taps my skin until he finds a vein, and then inserts the needle. Even this tiny prick is enough to make my teeth clench in pain. My skin is so sensitive at the moment that a mere touch makes it ache. The needle feels like a knife.

“Careful!” Luke snaps.

“I am!” Anthony replies indignantly.

“It’s not you,” I tell Anthony. “It’s me. My skin.”

Ben takes the vials of blood and smears a few drops onto a clear slide, which he then slots into the microscope. “Would you like to see what’s happening to your blood, dear?” he asks me.

I climb over to him and peer into the eyepiece. There are lots of little shapes. They’re moving and dividing as I watch. “Should they be changing like that?”

“No. They’re mutating as we speak. That’s why you’re in so much pain. This is a drop of my blood—can you see the difference?”

Ben’s blood looks well-behaved compared to mine.

“I’m going to test out a few different things,” he mutters distractedly. “It will take me all night, so you three can please yourselves until morning.”

“Let us know if you need anything else,” Luke reminds him, picking his way through the mess. Once the three of us are outside the locked door, Luke looks at Anthony.

“Up to this point, you could say that I forced you to drive us away. They’d believe you, Doc. But if you stay with us any longer it’s going to be hard to avoid getting implicated.”

“You should go home,” I tell him gently. “You’ve risked yourself enough.”

Anthony meets my eyes. I can’t read his expression because it’s slightly off. He says, “I’m staying. I won’t leave until I know you’re safe. And you’re going to need as much help as you can get.”