Hellbender (The Fangborn Series Book 3) (21 page)

It was like being called into the principal’s office times a hundred thousand. I remembered one or two trips home in the back of a police car causing less concern than this, and because I was out of my head with fear both those times, I was now recalling them fondly.

This wasn’t good, but . . . it was familiar. If I hadn’t gotten into trouble as a kid, I wouldn’t know what I know about getting into trouble. Meaning, yes, there might be bad things about to go down, but at least I knew from experience that the anticipation wouldn’t kill me. My fear was unpleasant but manageable.

Still didn’t mean I wanted to be here. The outer office was a hubbub of assistants trying to clean up and repair the damage that had been done by the dragons. Several of them were limping, and I saw black eyes and broken arms.

In the inner sanctum, the Administrator was not pleased. “The incident with the elder beings,” the Administrator said. “The ones you call dragons. Most regrettable.”

“Yes.” I decided I wasn’t going to say anything more than politeness dictated.

“A great deal of damage done, resources expended, and, well, general unpleasantness.”

“Yes.”

“It’s shown me several things, however.”

“Yes?”

“Clearly, those dragons were acting on their own. They were not part of any . . . plan of yours.”

Like I was incapable of a plan,
I thought. I was planning the same thing; it was just that the dragons were far more direct. But now, anything that might have stuck to me, artifact-wise, would be blamed on them.

He turned, distracted, and hit a few keys on a computer keyboard. “You also got them under control, if in a rather . . . self-interested manner.”

“Yes. They won’t be any more trouble. You have my word.”

“So it is also apparent that while you were not in control of them, you are now.”

“I suppose so.”

“Then you’ll be held responsible for them from now on.”

“I understand. But I must ask you . . . The way you called me? It has a terrible effect on my kind. My kin. Some have been killed or injured when you . . . possess their minds so.”

“But it got you here?” The Administrator was annoyed; the dragons’ rampage had caused an upset and he craved order. “It reinforces the idea that they must look to you and obey you. It is a lesson to you as well, not to be distracted by their petty business. You answer to us.”

“Yes, but perhaps you could—”

“We shall do what is necessary. That’s all.”

Back in my here and now, the sidewalk outside the Boston safe house was a mirror image of the outer office at the meta-Castle: It looked like moving day gone wrong. Boxes were scattered where they’d been dropped, causing a snarl in the traffic and a mess on the sidewalk. Family members were dazed, a few sitting down on the ground, trying to figure out what had just happened. This time it was everyone: oracles, vampires, werewolves.

The Normals going about their business in that part of the city had no idea what was going on. Adam, Danny, and Will had been the only ones in our crew left unaffected, wondering what the hell had just happened to the Fangborn around them.

As they recovered, I yanked Gerry aside and told him what had happened. He told Claudia, and she organized the vampires to tell any onlookers that they’d felt a tremor in the ground, a minor earthquake that had caused the mess. When I asked Jason what he’d picked up from the other oracles, he said there had been casualties. More had been hurt or killed, distracted or dismayed by the Makers’ call.

That did it. I headed to Flock Island with the latest shipment. My team said they’d join me later, but for now, I needed to be alone to think the unthinkable.

Whatever else happened, I had to make sure that disruption didn’t happen again, especially with I-Day around the corner. We couldn’t have anything that would make that worse than it was going to be already. I can’t have the Makers yanking the leash of the Family.

Flock Island had been my first choice. It was off the coast of Massachusetts, just beyond sight of the Graves Light. Its use by Europeans had started in the seventeenth century; through the centuries its use had changed. It had been a fishing station, a fort, a whale-processing station, a prison. In the twentieth century, it housed a lighthouse, a fort in both World Wars, and a boy’s work camp. Then it was abandoned and avoided because it was also rumored to have been a hazardous chemical-waste storage depot. This was a rumor spread by the government, because it was always handy to have a strategically located island off the coast near your major cities. The name may have come from when there were lots of seagulls attracted to the fishing processing or it may have referred to a former owner. Once upon a time that would have been the first thing I looked up. Now there just wasn’t time.

In other words, it was remote, yet close to Boston, New York, and Washington by boat and helicopter and small plane. There would be no problem keeping day sailors and adventurers off the island, because not only would I have navy protection, but marines and coast guard as well. A correctional facility, a slaughtering place, a fort.

Sounded about right for me.

There was a patch of garden land, oddly enough, a relic of its days as a work farm. I can’t imagine how much manure or seaweed had been hauled out there, because there were boundaries still visible and a riot of bird-picked squashes and matted corn stalks. Clearing that out would give me something to do, because basically, I was now a prisoner of my own making, as securely defended from the outside world as they were from me.

I didn’t like it, but I could live with it. I would camp out on the island with my army of honorable werewolves and vampires and dishonorable humans who’d sworn to obey me because their real boss Dmitri was paying them a lot and he was much scarier to them than I was. A handful of them knew better, but for the moment, I was glad to have the air cover of Dmitri’s bad reputation.

True to his word, the senator had found me a cat. I took the carrier to my room at the building at the bottom of the lighthouse and, making sure the space was closed in, let him out. A streak of gray-blue, a flash of coppery, panicked eyes, and the cat found its way under my camp bed.

I didn’t blame him—her? It was an attractive idea to me, too. I needed peace, I needed quiet, and I needed a big dose of inspiration. The assault on Carolina’s to rescue the Family was tomorrow, and I-Day would follow shortly after. There was pressure on all sides, and too many variables. I unpacked a box of books and papers and began to pace.

I had on a table in front of me a pile of, well, scraps. Copies of every written and recorded Fangborn prophecy and prediction going back to the beginning of Fangborn recorded history, and the list of my own information, gathered directly and indirectly from the Makers.

I had one chance to please the Makers, and I had to pick from a long list of potential global catastrophes to do that. Could I use that borrowed artifact to create a vampiric suggestion that would make the entire world forget they’d ever heard anything about the Fangborn? Probably too many factors involved in doing that, never mind the scope of reaching out to six billion minds. I was bound to screw that up. It had to be a smaller population. What about the Order? Could something be done there?

It was remotely possible I could remove all Fangborn powers everywhere. That would be one way of resolving the issue with the Normals. Everyone the same, all over again. But I couldn’t just save the Fangborn from Carolina and then leave them powerless to face the Makers. Or maybe I could download all of my abilities to the Fangborn. That would be another way to resolve things, but I didn’t think that adding a load of superpowers to the mix would help.

No. Too radical, too visible a change. It had to be something no one, or virtually no one, knew about. I knew it had to be something I did to the Fangborn. Something to help, something small. I’d been making the most of small things all my life. Crumbs—of information, of kindness—can take you a very long way if you know what to do with them.

This was worse than the hypothetical question, “If you had five seconds to change the world, what would you do?”

I suddenly hated hypotheticals—the people who asked and answered them were just fooling around, toying with what was now my real responsibility.

I walked over to the window and looked out. Quarrel was there, soaking up the sun and sleeping. I could see wisps of steam—I hoped it was steam, and not acid vapor—rising from his mouth, which I supposed meant he was snoring. Naserian was helping out, rooting out a bunch of stones and moving them. We would have to bring over heavy equipment to do more of the construction, but for now, Naserian was happy to assist, or so she said. Until I could find them a place of their own—I was officially responsible for them now—I’d have to let them do pretty much what they wanted to keep from getting bored. A bored dragon was a dangerous dragon.

Seeing the copy of the Orleans tapestry prophecy, the one I’d learned about in Venice that said whoever claimed the golden disc hidden there would “unchain” the Fangborn, got me thinking about the nature of prophecies. Everyone always described oracles as tricky: They gave predictions that were either unintelligible or so vague as to be generalities. No one in any book I’d ever read ever had any luck with prophecies, either. Just thinking about examples of unhappy prophecies didn’t give me much more confidence or more of a clue. Predictions are usually described as obscure, almost legalistic, so that they were riddles. A play of words, a loophole, and the fabric of prophecy was undone.

I figured that something, some bit of memory or information, had been passed down through the ages, and been transformed into a prophecy. I had to consider whether it was a garbled message from the Makers. Someone was trying to tell me something, and I had to figure out what it was.

I had choices. I could “fix” the Fangborn, make them over into what the Makers intended. I could make them into something else. I could subjugate the human race, which is what I assumed the Administrator meant by “my people.” I couldn’t do nothing.

What about the Makers? Could I banish them from our collective psychic and/or physical presence? Right. That would be like trying to push a grizzly bear out of your way—not realistic and truly unwise. Should I attack them, maybe bite them so hard they would think twice about coming back to haunt us? I had no idea about the scope of their power; what they’d shown me should be warning enough.

It was a horrible idea—the repercussions would be ghastly—but I could not scratch it off my too-short list.

I prepared for my meeting with the Adirondack Free Pack.

Chapter Fifteen

Our goal was to request the Free Pack’s permission to enter their territory when we attacked Carolina’s compound and to ask for their help in the assault. I wasn’t convinced we’d get either, from what I’d learned from Gerry. They were so conservative that they were actually in favor of taking over custodianship of humanity.

They requested three of us in the envoy: vampire, werewolf, and oracle. Senator Knight was the vampire—the Pack knew and respected him. They would have been very pleased if he’d been the one to open Pandora’s Box. They had asked for me personally, Knight said, because they were curious about me. The oracle, it was decided, would be Jason, the plan being for the raven Jill to observe Carolina’s property while we were so close by. It was fitting: In many cultural traditions, ravens and crows lead wolves to prey. We had maps, and we had intelligence—the senator’s informant on the inside—but no one would ever suspect Jill was working for us.

We took a small plane to the nearest airport, then coptered from there. I was getting used to traveling in helicopters and it was a wonderful way to get a close bird’s-eye view of the world. But the noise . . . It would always remind me of Fatima’s murder by the Order. We set Jill loose, Jason giving her specific directions, he claimed, and promised to meet her back at the landing site shortly.

We hiked in through the woods, coming to a clearing. A number of roughly organized structures, in no way uniform, were clustered around a central open area. We were greeted by a number of Family, who were eager to meet Senator Knight but eyed me and Jason Jordan with suspicion.

A tall werewolf stepped forward. “I’m Eli Passey, and I speak for the Adirondack Pack.” Blond hair and blue eyes and his flannel shirt and jeans were normal enough, but Passey was a scary-looking bastard, whip thin with the kind of muscles that come from hard use and aren’t just for show. He must have been hurt badly as a child, as a human, before he could Change, because he had a long white scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw line and down to his neck. A scar that size meant that the wound should have taken off the side of his head; only being a werewolf had saved his life. Maybe that counted for his behavior now, the Fangborn-first chauvinism and the clannishness that went beyond Family ties.

“I know why you’re here,” he said. “Present your case.”

Senator Knight handed him a file folder. He flipped through it, his face contorting with anger. He handed it to his second, who looked at it and swore, throwing it to the ground. I picked it up when no one else went for it. One photo showed a large barn on what I assumed was Carolina’s property, covered with some kind of mushrooms.

Then I realized the things on the wall were ears.

There had been an orderly pattern, lined up neatly in rows. The oldest ones were now just blurs of weather-beaten flesh and rusty nails that punctuated the ancient wood of the barn.

I’d never really understood the notion of tacking animal hides or ears or tails to a fence to “scare off” would-be interlopers, but I got it, a little, when situated in the context of fear, superstition, and a struggle for survival. But these days, I was less sympathetic to the gesture, if not outright hostile to it, and I felt my blood boil over as I realized what these trophies were.

They were human ears, and the reason they’d been hung up next to the wolf ears and snakeskins was because they had been taken from Fangborn.

As much as I’d like to think we might some day as a species find our way out of the pits of hatred and ignorance, it wasn’t happening anywhere near here, anytime soon. It made me think twice about I-Day.

I was experiencing something I felt certain was very close to the hatred the Order felt for Fangborn. The killing impulse didn’t fade with that understanding, which distressed me for about a microsecond, and I knew I was heading into murky philosophical waters. The urge to do violence didn’t go away, but I could channel it to suit me: I wasn’t necessarily going to slaughter whoever’d done this, but I was going to give myself a lot of leeway in how I addressed the situation.

The senator and Passey shook hands on the deal. As the senator turned to go, Passey said, “Will you stay a moment longer, Zoe Miller?”

Not liking the feeling of danger that suddenly coursed through me, I looked to the senator, who nodded. “We’ll see you at the landing point,” he said as he and Jason left.

I expected to be asked about my unexpected trip to Japan, or introduced around as a courtesy, a stray to a new group. Instead, I was confronted with a picture of Fatima Breitbarth’s body in the snow.

“You left your friend, your Family, to die, while you escaped?” he demanded.

I gasped, shocked by his accusation. “No! The Makers—”

There were uneasy sounds in the rest of the group, as if I had invoked some holy name.

Eli held up a hand to quiet them. “I’ve heard about your powers, everyone has, and still you didn’t save her. What, were you trying to get some of her abilities for yourself? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Suck the power from other Fangborn. You’re some kind of vampire now? Or are you in league with the Order?”

Stunned by his accusations and total lack of understanding, I said, “What? No, I never—”

“What about Toshiharu Yamazaki-Campbell? Everyone knows that you assaulted him.”

Passey suddenly reminded me of a Fangborn version of Buell, and I was shocked at just how much that frightened me. Logic didn’t enter into addressing something as deep as a cultural bias. It was more dangerous than religion, because in this case, there was no higher power, no rules to temper his response. It was Passey’s ideas alone driving him, and it made him dangerous. Disagree with him, and he’d claim you were anti-Fangborn, which, with this crowd, was something you didn’t do.

“What? No! He and I were . . . competing for the power from an artifact. I won. He’s still Toshi; he’s still got all his vampire powers. That’s just a false rumor. He’s in Boston now! You can ask him!”

“We’re not in contact with him.”

“That doesn’t make
me
a liar.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m not convinced. In fact”—Passey glanced around at the crowd of angry Fangborn around me—“none of us are convinced. I’m calling for Examination.”

Whatever, if it would just get us moving. “Great. AP English or history? Trivial Pursuit?”

Passey looked aghast. “You take this very lightly. Too lightly. Call your Family together; let them stand with you.”

“I’m a stray, you know that. What am I supposed to be taking so seriously?”

“Examination is our justice. If you’re found guilty, you undergo a shedding.”

I shook my head at this sudden madness. “I don’t know what that is.”

He looked shocked. “How can you not? Stripped of your
powers
. A group of vampires drains the life from you, almost—and injects certain chemicals. It has the effect of permanently removing your powers, your ability to Change.” Passey smirked. “No more Miss Showboating Stray.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” I insisted. “And you’ll be able to tell I’m telling the truth. You bring those vampires in here right now!”

“We know you’re not lying. But if you’ve broken our laws, you pay the price.”

“I was trying to help!” I looked around desperately. “Ask them! Ask Toshi!”

“Not necessary. We ourselves have proof of your lawbreaking. Your image, your name is what was broadcast to all of our people, on two occasions now. That resulted in the death of several Family members, thus breaking the law.” He spat. “We abide by the law, even if you don’t. Resign yourself.”

I didn’t have time to waste with this. I knew I’d done nothing wrong, and I didn’t have the time to work it out by trial. But I couldn’t risk any ill will that might jeopardize our mission tomorrow.

I had to get out of here.

I could feel the antagonism toward me building, and knew that it wasn’t going to be talk that got me out of here.

I couldn’t kill or hurt them. We needed them in the fight against Carolina and the Order. I needed another way out.

The bracelet flared; I recalled the brightness of it underwater in the bath at Kanazawa. It was camouflage. I needed camouflage now . . .

The idea seemed to feed into the bracelet, making it alive, glowing brighter, and brighter, until the colors washed out and went to—

Blinding white light, as everything went online, burned
on
. I felt a thousand suns light up inside me, as if floodgates had been opened, a connection made, a damper removed.

If I thought I was the only one who could see it, that this was a private showing, I was wrong. The rest of the Pack could see it, too, and threw their hands up over their faces, threw themselves on the ground to keep from being blinded.

“Don’t lose her!” I heard Passey shout.

Five more seconds, and I could feel the light softening, going dim again. I cursed myself for not having the brains to run when I could have. I hurried as far over to the gateway as I could, trying not to step on too many people as I ran. I didn’t oppose squashed toes or crunched fingers, not at the moment. I was just trying to keep as inconspicuous as possible while I fled.

The light vanished, and I was face to face with three very angry werewolves and a vampire. I stopped short, wishing I’d thought to run along a wall, and at least be able to fight with my back to that.

“Who has her?” The vampire in front of me Changed, gone to gray scales with yellow streaks. He was so huge, I couldn’t imagine what kind of snake he resembled. Maybe he was the Loch Ness monster.

Then I realized he was staring right at me and still couldn’t see me. Couldn’t smell me. Maybe he was still blind, suffering the aftereffects of—

He turned and made eye contact with his equally confused partner. They could see each other . . .

No time for questions. Time to jam.

I started to tiptoe around the trio, when one of them, searching for me, whirled around, his arm out. I braced for the impact and the brawl that would follow.

It never came. His arm went straight through me. In fact, now he was standing exactly where I was.

I couldn’t feel him. He couldn’t feel me. So I needed to get the hell out of here while I could.

I ran while they were still hollering and groping for me. I ran until I was pretty sure I was safe, then ran some more to confuse my trail, and then ran a bit farther because I was scared to death.

I kept running, also, because at least it felt like I was alive. My heart pounded, my chest heaved, the sweat rolled off me. I was afraid if I stopped running, I wouldn’t be able to feel the ground, that I would be stuck otherwhere, out of sight forever. I was afraid I would learn I’d turned into a ghost.

It was tripping and measuring out my length on the pine needle duff that finally convinced me. Ghosts can’t stub their toes.

The bracelet went from living color to dull, so that it looked like an ordinary mortal accessory. I could see myself solid, again.

I raced for the landing site.

“What did they want?” the senator asked. His question was all innocence but with no surprise that I’d been running.

I eyed him, half wondering if he hadn’t offered me up to them on purpose, especially after the demonstration, when I’d seen him lose his cool. I caught my breath. “They wanted to subject me to Examination and shedding. I escaped.”

“Did you kill anyone?”

He didn’t ask why, I noticed. “No. I knew better. That would void their contract. Will my escape affect your deal?”

The senator leaned back and shook his head. “As long as no one is dead, they are allowed to fight with us, and if I-Day comes within the year, they are content.”

“Fine.”

We sat in silence, waiting for Jill the raven to return with her intelligence, and then left for the island.

I had been fast asleep that night when suddenly the alarms sounded in the lab. I materialized there immediately.

“What the hell is that?”

Sean stared at a screen flashing red, lighting up his face. “Intruder alert. They’re coming in from all over.”

“What? We don’t
have
an intruder alert. We can’t have intruders, because we’re . . . me?”

“Dude, I can only tell you what the screen says. Anything else, you have to figure out yourself. The software is only as good as the user.”

“Yeah, whatever, shut up a second.” I thought furiously. “Okay, Sean, stay with me.”

We were in the coffee room, the space where the men I’d killed—some from the Order, some mercenaries from Dmitri’s employ—hung out. Basically, if their blood was on my hands, they were here and I had access to their memories and knowledge. “Whatever you guys used to do back in the day, you’re doing it for me now. We have intruders, and we can’t afford that. If I go, you go. We’ve got to get them out of here, ASAP.”

“Zo, are you sure that is a good idea?” Sean asked. “What if they belong here, came in with the other artifacts? New abilities, new minds, like Dr. Osborne?”

“I wondered about that, but it was the fact that
you
called them intruders, Sean. New rule: anyone who wants to be in here has to introduce themselves to me, shake my hand. Got it? No skulking in around through the lab without a pass, which . . .” Suddenly badges appeared on everyone around me, including me. “Which you all have. We’ll sort out levels of access later. Sean, where we got them?”