Redlisted (19 page)

“I got a
sending from Aya,” he says, frowning. “A vision. She lost
track of Gabriel. He went out of her radius, I guess...”

Aya
has sensing powers too?
I ask.

“She has
clairsentience,” Adam explains. “She can see and hear
things up to almost a mile away.”

“Well, what
do you want to do about it?” Haruko asks.

“There’s
not really anything we can do, I guess,” Adam says. “Let’s
go back to the car.”

///

We stop at a drug
store on the way back to Tara’s house. Haruko and I walk inside
together; Adam stays in the car. Haruko grabs a basket and we walk to
the hair care section. “Why don’t you pick out a color,”
she says.

I point to a box
with a smiling blond model on the front.

“If you want
to go lighter we’ll need to bleach your hair first,” she
says. She starts pulling supplies off the shelf: hydrogen peroxide,
some plastic combs and hair clips, a shower cap, a spray bottle, and
a tub of deep conditioner. I grab some toothpaste as we head towards
checkout.

Haruko pays for
our stuff and we walk back out to the car. Adam has taken over the
driver’s seat and is staring into space with a grave
expression. I get in the seat next to him. Haruko climbs in the back
seat, pushes some keys on her smartphone and holds it to her ear.

“Who are you
calling?” Adam asks.

“Desmond.”

“Aren’t
we supposed to avoid using the phone?”

“Shit. I
didn’t tell you,” she says. “Well, he’s not
picking up anyway. There’s been a rash of random killings in
the DC area. More than thirty people are dead. The bodies are going
missing.”

“What does
that have to do with us?”

“I guess I
thought maybe he could answer that question.”

Adam rolls his
eyes and puts the car in reverse.

When we reach
Tara’s estate, Vincent is waiting for us outside, looking weary
and unsteady. He approaches Adam as he climbs out of the driver’s
seat.

“Are you
ready?” he asks. “We should hurry.”

“What’s
the rush?” asks Adam.

“We believe
Gabriel went out to make contact with Claire,” Vincent says.
“Probably to tell her about you and your red-haired friend.
There’s no cell reception out here, and he’s missing.”

“All right,”
Adam says. “I’ll go down right now. Haruko—“

“I’ve
got things under control,” she says. “You go.”

Vincent leads Adam
into the house. Haruko grabs the bag from the drug store and follows
them inside; I follow her, looking behind myself into the darkness
before I shut the front door.

We walk straight
back to the guest rooms. Haruko dumps the bag out onto the double
bed. I give her a look, like
is
this really the time?
but she nods.

“Might as
well do it now,” she says.

I shrug and start
brushing out my hair. She walks to the sink and carefully transfers
most of the hydrogen peroxide into the spray bottle.

I’m starting
to feel lightheaded with the need for blood, but I don’t expect
any from Haruko. I tell myself I’ll be fine. Adam said I only
needed it daily, and my chest wound is almost gone. Besides, I can’t
ask him to give me more when he’s about to let Tara bleed him
dry.

Haruko twists the
tub faucet on. “Let’s wet your hair down.”

I take off my
shirt and stick my head under the water. I recoil in surprise, nearly
hitting my head on the faucet—it’s freezing cold—but
I force myself to soak the rest of my hair before standing up.

Haruko turns off
the water. She takes a comb and begins spraying hydrogen peroxide on
my hair in sections. I stand with my arms at my sides, shivering.
Once she’s done, she grabs a towel from the cabinet and hands
it to me. I pull it over my shoulders.

“You’ll
need to leave the peroxide on for about an hour and a half,”
she says. She picks up the shower cap on the bed and pulls it over my
wet hair.

I nod.

“You look
exhausted. Maybe you should lie down for a little while.”

I shake my head
no.

“It’s
fine. Aya can watch the back door, and I’ll be right in the
guest room. I’ll come get you when it’s time to rinse
your hair out.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Get some
rest, okay?”

I nod, too weak
and too mute to argue.

She smiles at me
and closes the door behind her as she leaves.

I shove the stuff
on the bed towards the wall and slide under the covers. The faint
sound of talk radio comes in from the guest room—more news, I
guess.

Before long I’ve
fallen asleep with the lights on.

{Adam}

I woke up to a
knock at the door.

I climbed out of
bed and turned on the lights, my head floating. There were two of
everything in the room, and nothing had proper edges. I retrieved my
glasses from the bedside table, but even after putting them on my
vision was still blurry.

I went to the
door. Aya was on the other side, wearing a ridiculous-looking, frilly
red party dress. At her side was a stranger, a tall, pale Asian girl
with shoulder-length hair and an athletic build, wearing a tank top
and jeans.

“There you
are, Dr. Fletcher,” Aya said. “This is my friend, Warden
Haruko Schuster of Atlanta.”

I smiled and
extended my hand to Haruko. She grinned and shook it heartily.
Suddenly it seemed easier to focus.

“I’m
Adam Fletcher,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,”
she said.

“Dr.
Fletcher, I’m supposed to help Julian with the preparations for
tonight,” Aya said, “but perhaps you could show Haruko to
the seraglio?”

“The what?”

She tilted her
head to the side. “You haven’t been there yet? Didn’t
he give you the cards?”

I forced myself to
focus on her thoughts. She meant the gallery. The harem.

“Of course,”
I said. “Yes. Sorry.”

“I’ll
leave you two alone,” Aya said. “If you will, meet us at
the ballroom when you've finished.”

“Right,”
I said, looking at Haruko, not Aya. I went to step out into the hall,
but then realized I was barefoot, wearing the same clothes I’d
worn the day prior. “Uh... do you want to come in for a second?
I guess I should put on some shoes, and...” The thought came
out unfiltered, unconsidered.

“Sure,”
Haruko said, smiling.

I let her into the
sitting room. Her eyes went instantly to the diplomas. “You’re
a neurologist?”

“Yeah, I
was. Am. Stay here, okay? I should probably put on a suit or
something for the party.”

She laughed. “All
right. Can I look at your stuff?”

“Knock
yourself out.”

I retreated into
the bedroom and stumbled into a bedpost. Was I still drugged? Had I
taken too much? But I’d taken the number of pills as always,
and without any gin to chase them down. What was wrong with me?

I opened the
wardrobe and looked through my clothing, trying to find something
appropriate to wear to meet Julian’s guests. My focus
scattered, thoughts colliding like marbles. What did that dream mean,
anyway? I hadn’t learned anything more about the “others”
Aya had referred to in the garden—people like Markus, those
that Julian had resurrected with his blood.

It all seemed
connected to blood. He’d taken blood from that headless corpse
in the tomb. Mnemosyne’s body. What was he hoping to accomplish
with Mnemosyne’s blood?

I pulled out a
black business suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. I stripped off
my clothes and put the new ones on, fumbling with the tie for minutes
before tying it correctly. I picked up my pants from yesterday; as I
pulled the deck out of the back pocket, the image on the last card
caught my eye. I paused for a moment, considering. It showed the
stone doors to the forest—the doors to the sepulcher from the
vision.

I placed the deck
in the pocket of my jacket and went out to get Haruko.

We went out into
the hallways. Although I’d never been to the seraglio before,
simply thinking about its card activated a magnetic pull in its
direction. My apprehension built as we grew closer, penetrating
through the haze of the sleeping pills.

“So how the
hell do you get around down here?” Haruko asked. “The
hallways shift around every time someone goes into the basement,
don’t they? Or am I just imagining things?”

“They do,
yes. I actually couldn’t get anywhere on my own until
yesterday,” I admitted. “I still wouldn’t be able
to find my way without these.” I took out the deck of cards and
handed them to her. The pulling sensation instantly subsided.

She flipped
through them as we walked. “These are spectacular! Did Julian
draw the images himself?”

“I don’t
know, maybe. Is he an artist or something?”

“Of course
he is. Didn’t you know?”

I shook my head.

“He must
have done these. They look like his work.”

“I don’t
really know that much about him.”

“I guess he
doesn’t talk about himself much.” She handed the deck
back to me. “But yeah. He’s famous for his portraits.
He’s painted hundreds of Wardens and other American cousins
throughout the years. He’s very precise, maybe because of his
memory being what it is. His work used to serve a practical purpose,
actually, before photography was invented.”

We reached the
entrance to the seraglio: a pair of elaborately carved wooden doors
set with equally ornate golden handles. I pulled one open for Haruko.
Inside was a long hall lined with semi-transparent screens and
draperies. The idle occupants conversed in low voices. There were
perhaps twenty people scattered throughout the room.

I took a step
back. My teeth were already sharpening in reaction to the chorus of
human pulses, my gums already retracting. I closed my eyes, inhaled,
and tried to calm myself. I couldn’t do it. I would lose it. I
would kill someone if I went inside.

“Aren’t
you coming?” Haruko asked.

“I’m
not hungry,” I lied. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

“All right,
well, I’ll try not to take too long, then.”

I nodded and
closed the door behind her, desperately fighting the urges I wasn’t
sure I’d ever be ready to face. I sat down on the floor and
prepared to wait.

{Kate}

I wake up as a
hand clamps over my mouth. The lights are off. I can just barely make
out a pale figure with dark hair looming over my bed. It’s
Adam. Where are his glasses?

What
is it?
I
ask.

He doesn’t
respond.

I thrash my head
to the side. He grabs both of my wrists, puts them in one of his
hands, squeezes hard. “Look at that face. Fucking uncanny.”

The fuck are
you doing?

“This is
nothing personal,” he says in a low hiss. “If you keep
quiet I’ll make it quick.”

You’ll
make
what
quick?

He leans over me,
smiling slightly.

I try to pull
away, but I can’t—his hands are too strong. He pins my
chest down with his shin, bearing down right against my chest wound.
It hurts so badly that tears well up in my eyes.

“If you
don’t stop fighting me, I’m going to crush your ribcage,”
he whispers.

I lie still for a
moment, stunned. He moves his leg and straddles my waist. I panic and
try to scream as he wrenches my jaw to the side with his free hand,
exposing my neck. I try to throw him off me, but, rail-thin as he is,
he’s ridiculously strong—impossibly strong.