Wilder (23 page)

Chapter 43

A
s soon as the Chosen Ones arrived back at the mansion, Samuel said, “’Scuse me. Gotta go find Isabelle and tell her we’re okay. She worries.”

“Tell her we kicked some big gang booty!” Caleb lifted a fist.

“Tell her we’re all healthy!” Genny rubbed her ribs. “Mostly.”

Samuel watched everyone head for the stairs. “I’ll tell her you’re all sweaty and are going up for much-needed showers.”

He got a unanimous thumbs-up on that one and headed to the library. No Isabelle. He checked the kitchen and found McKenna, who sent him then to the gym.

There he found Isabelle dripping sweat, working out with the weights, her face frozen in that fixed expression that said she was determined to do better this time than last time.

He loved that look. She got that look whenever she took over their lovemaking and made him cry for mercy.

Everyone thought she was such a lady.

She was.

Except in the gym.

And in bed.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said. “We’re back.”

She leaped at him so fast he never saw her coming. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him deep and hard, then fiercely asked, “Are you all right?”

“We rescued those tourists from the stranded subway car, and exterminated an entire gang and half a dozen demons at the same time, and escaped relatively unscathed.” He grinned at her. “And my hip is fine.”

“Liar.”

“It’s good enough.”

“Liar.”

“I can get it on right here and now if you want me to prove it.”

“No.” She wrapped her fingers into his collar. “Listen. I’ve got a problem.”

“You started your period.” It was the only reason he could think of that she wouldn’t want to get it on.

She sighed. “You are such a simpleton. Not every problem I ever experience is related to my reproductive cycle.”

“I know, honey.” But when she was holding his collar like she wanted to choke him, there was a pretty good chance. “Would you like me to tell McKenna to rustle you up a steak for dinner?”

“No! Listen to me.” She thought. “That is, yes. A steak would be nice. Rare. Better have McKenna get out a steak for the other women, too.”

“Women in prison cycle at the same time. Of course the female Chosen Ones will do the same.”

“Would you listen to me?” Isabelle came as close to shouting as she ever did, and she backed him up against the wall.

He stood with his hands up. “I’m listening!”

“I think Charisma is pregnant.”

He dropped his hands onto Isabelle’s shoulders.
“What?”

“I think Charisma is pregnant!”

“I heard you.” He could scarcely collect his thoughts. “Why? Why do you think she’s pregnant? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Last night, when I tried to give her strength . . . I thought I would cure her of any lingering malaise. Then I realized . . .” Tears filled Isabelle’s eyes. She swallowed, but her voice wobbled as she continued. “I realized the venom in her system was still there waiting, and she couldn’t be cured. I realized she was doomed. And she’s my friend, you know.”

“I know. She’s my friend, too.”

“I . . .” Isabelle released him, turned away. “I got distracted. I have feelings, too!”

“You’re the most sensitive person I know. The most sensitive member of the Chosen Ones.” Stepping up behind her, he placed his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down, trying to convey his concern for her.

“I can’t fight a battle because when I inflict pain, it echoes back at me. So I have to stay home and wait to see whether you’re killed in combat.” She took a shaky breath. “It sucks. I hate it.”

He knew it was tough on her. But it was unavoidable, and not worrying that she would be hurt sure made his battles easier to fight. “Honey . . .”

“The thing is, last night I got distracted by the impending death of my friend. But this morning I started thinking. . . . I’d noticed a faint pulse of life in her womb.”

“But . . . how?”

Isabelle twisted out of his grasp and faced him.

“Okay, the usual way. Sorry. Dumb question. Who?” In a roaring burst of fury, Samuel shouted, “Was she raped?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Not raped?” He could see again. Breathe again. “That girl. She’s like the sister I never had—and always wanted to slap down.”

“I know, dear.”

“She’s such a smart-ass.”

“So are you.”

“She’s always getting in trouble.”

“She always gets out of it without any help.”

“She’s a bad influence.”

“On who?”

He shouldn’t have said that.

She wrapped his collar in her fists again. “On me? Really? On
me
?”

“She wears those clothes. And those shoes. And when you were mad at me, she encouraged you—”

“She told me you were the man for me.”

“Really?” He perked up. “In so many words?”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Can you focus on someone besides yourself for five minutes?”

“Right.”
Charisma. Going to have a baby.
“You’re sure she’s pregnant?”

“Yes. The life was faint and new, but it was there.”

“Who?”

“I guess . . . Guardian. Aleksandr Wilder, if that’s who it is.”

“Holy crap.” Samuel groped his way to the weight bench and sat. “None of you women have ever conceived.”

“We’re all careful not to. Right now it’s too dangerous, and we’re needed on the front lines.”

“Yes.” Samuel was a realist. “But in the heat of the moment, things happen that maybe shouldn’t, and us guys . . .”

“I can’t speak for the other men, but I know you’ve done your duty.”

“You make it easy.” His half smile faded. “So, Charisma, who hasn’t even looked at a man since that scuzzball Ronnie, went belowground, was chased by demons, bitten and almost killed, rescued by the beast that is probably Aleksandr Wilder . . . and had a grand time screwing her brains out with him?”

“Simplistic, I’m sure. But yes.”

“And got pregnant.” He tried to wrap his mind around the concept. “She’s expecting. Got a bun in the oven. She’s knocked up.”

“She’s with child,” Isabelle said softly.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah. This has to mean something significant. What?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to tell Jacqueline and see if she’s had a vision about this.”

“Good idea. And get Rosamund working on the research books.” He contemplated their next move. “How pregnant is she?”

Isabelle widened her eyes in pretend astonishment. “You can’t be a little bit pregnant, Samuel.”

“Smart-ass.” He rephrased: “Does she know?”

“Absolutely not. She has an IUD with only a one percent chance of conception. One percent, Samuel! For her fertility to have coincided with this meeting with Aleksandr Wilder, for implantation to have taken place in her uterus . . .” Isabelle seemed to have trouble finding the words. “It’s a miracle.”

“Go, Aleksandr!” Samuel cackled with joy. “This kid’s going to come out holding an IUD.”

“She’s not going to live long enough to have the baby!” Isabelle said angrily.

His brief burst of elation faded. “Right. I forgot. For a minute I felt hopeful, and I just . . . forgot.”

Isabelle eased herself into his lap, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, put her head against his, and looked into his eyes. “I keep seeing this as a good omen; then I realize what we’re facing, what will happen to Charisma, and . . .”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No. She’s still asleep.” Isabelle ran her fingers through the short hair at his forehead, stroking it back from his face. “And she was so exhausted I can’t bear to wake her up.”

“We have to talk to her.”

“I know.” Isabelle stood and straightened her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. “Come on.”

He followed her out the door and tried very hard not to concentrate on the sway of her ass in the tight-fitting workout clothes.

As they climbed the stairs out of the basement, Isabelle moved more and more quickly. They ran up the stairs to the second floor and headed to the women’s wing.

Seven years ago, when the Chosen Ones had first gathered together, all the women had slept over here. Now only Charisma kept a room there, and not that Samuel was sensitive or anything, but as he followed Isabelle along the corridor, he felt the loneliness of the empty rooms.

She stopped at one narrow door. She knocked.

No one answered.

She knocked again. She turned to Samuel. “I’m so worried about her. She’s been asleep more than twelve hours. We’re going to have to go in.”

“You go,” he said.

She nodded. She turned the knob, entered the room.

“Samuel!” Her voice was frantic enough to send him rushing in. “Samuel, she’s gone!”

He looked around the wildly messy, feminine space Charisma had created for herself and shouted, “Where can the girl have disappeared to this time?”

“She couldn’t have gone after Aleksandr by herself, could she?” Isabelle begged rather than asked.

“I don’t know. If she’s in love with him—”

“We’ve got to tell the Chosen.” Isabelle caught his hand and pulled him out the door and down the corridor.

Then Jacqueline’s scream sent them careening toward the men’s wing. They met the other Chosen in the corridor, ran in a discombobulated mass into Irving’s r
oom, and halted at the sight of the open box, the floating white feather . . . and the empty wheelchair where Jacqueline knelt, sobbing.

Chapter 44

S
lowly, stealthily, Aleksandr crept toward the Guardian cave, using his every human and animal perception to sense danger. Yet all was peaceful. Nothing was out of place. He could smell no new scent, see no nets or traps.

But he didn’t trust even his senses.

Because he had been sabotaged. Suckered. Betrayed.

Taurean had come to him, warning him that Charisma was fighting demons against impossible odds. He’d rushed to her aid . . . and there he’d found his nightmare waiting to seize him once more.

A trap had been laid, and by someone who knew him, and Charisma, and what had passed between them in the safety of the Guardian cave.

Who?

He lingered in the shadows, waiting, his mind coldly checking off suspects.

Amber. She loved him. Could bitter jealousy have driven her to fury?

Moises. His childlike mind feared change. Had he helped stage the trap, not understanding it was Aleksandr who would be captured, not Charisma?

Taurean . . . He couldn’t bear it if it was Taurean. She was the one person he trusted above all others.

Davidov. Aleksandr wanted it to be that handsome bastard Davidov. But he didn’t believe it.

And one name stood out above all others. . . .

Aleksandr crept closer to the entrance. Closer.

He sniffed the air. Yes, his people were in there. His people, and . . .

He heard the rumble of a man’s deep voice.

A grief-stricken wail rent the air. A burst of weeping and a groan of anguish.

The man spoke again.

Aleksandr knew that voice.

Dr. King. It was Dr. King.

Dr. King said, “I am so sorry. Guardian was betrayed. He was captured. He’s not coming back.”

Aleksandr crept inside and observed the scene at the table.

Dr. King stood on a chair looking kind and sorrowful.

Taurean was on the floor in the fetal position, rocking and weeping.

Moises scratched at his own face with his fingernails.

Amber stood shaking her head over and over, as if denial would change the facts.

No. Only the truth would change the facts that Dr. King presented.

In the shadowy places of the cave, the Belows stood weeping or staring in shock.

“I know how you all feel.” Dr. King wore the usual: his black suit, his white shirt, a blue tie. He looked and sounded like the man in charge. “This is a shock and a tragedy. No one can replace him, so we need to think about closing the Guardian cave—”

“We can’t give up on Guardian! He saved us. He cares for us.” Amber swung around to face the Belows. “We have to rescue him!”

Dr. King intervened at once, projecting his authority and dominating these sad souls whom life had treated so badly. “We can’t fight! These people have guns. They used a helicopter and a net to catch Guardian. They are all-powerful. We have to cooperate.”

“No,” Amber said. “I won’t cooperate with the devil!”

Sternly, Dr. King said, “Then you won’t survive.”

Taurean muttered something.

“What?” he snapped.

Moises spoke up. “She said if you haven’t met the devil face-to-face, maybe you are going the same way he is.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Dr. King’s tone softened. “But I understand your distress. I’m distressed, too, and I know that you are all upset—”

Aleksandr straightened to his full height. He stepped into the light. “
I’m
upset.”

Dr. King spun to face him, and for one moment his eyes lit with joy.

Taurean rushed at Aleksandr, mewling like a cat. She embraced him, quickly, loosely, and jumped back.

Amber fell to her knees and raised her hands to heaven.

Moises walked toward him slowly, holding out his hand and weeping loudly.

Aleksandr took his hand and shook it, then gently moved him aside and advanced on Dr. King. “I’m very upset. Who told you I was captured? Who told you I wouldn’t be coming back?”

Dr. King wet his lips. “Taurean . . .”

Taurean shook her head violently.

Moises said, “No, she didn’t.”

Amber caught on quickly, and leaned across the table. “Really, Dr. King, who told you?”

“I heard at my clinic.” Aleksandr could almost see Dr. King’s mind working. “A patient came in. . . .”

“You heard from a patient?” Aleksandr nodded as if he believed, then shook his head. “And you made it back to the Guardian cave before me? You’re three-foot-nothing, and you beat a running beast back here?”

“Your mind isn’t right,” Dr. King said. “You probably lost your way. You probably blacked out.”

“I know I didn’t.” Aleksandr stepped to the chair where Dr. King stood and, for the first time ever, deliberately towered over the tiny man.
“What have you done?”

Defiantly, Dr. King tilted his chin up. Then he collapsed onto the chair. He sat with his legs straight out, his fists clutched tightly in his lap. “After you first appeared down here, and I found you,
they
came to the clinic.
They
came to
me
. I didn’t go to them. I don’t know how, but they knew that I’d found you. And they offered me money.”

“You betrayed me for money?” Aleksandr hadn’t expected that.

“Not money for me. For the clinic.”

“Ah.” That made more sense.

Dr. King continued. “You have to realize—no one in the real world cares about the homeless. About the street people.”

Aleksandr stared coldly.

“Except you and me,” Dr. King added hastily. “Nobody official, I mean. Nobody with a checkbook. More important, no one believes it’s possible for a black dwarf to care for them. I can’t get government funding. I can’t get charities to take me seriously. I had no funds, but I was treating people for disease, for hypothermia, for injury. I didn’t have the most basic medical equipment. I was setting bones blindly, without an X-ray, using splints and rags. Treating disease with no medicines. Starving people came to me and I couldn’t feed them. The homeless were sleeping on the floor of my clinic and I had no blankets to cover them.”

“I got it. It was tough.”

“
They
came to me and said that if I kept an eye on you, they’d support the clinic.”

“They? Who are
they
?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know! I just know that for the past twenty months, I’ve had morphine and food and antibiotics whenever I needed them. I’ve done a lot of good. I stand by that.” Dr. King was passionate. He was persuasive.

The Belows all shuffled forward a few steps.

He glanced around at them, then appealingly up at Aleksandr.

Yeah, Dr. King. Who’s going to protect you now?
“You told them about me, told them enough that they knew exactly how to bait the trap. You sent Taurean to me with the report that Charisma was under attack, knowing I trusted her implicitly, and knowing perfectly well that Smith Bernhard intended to take me captive.”

“I was your friend!” Dr. King cried. “All this time, to the best of my ability, I have helped you!”

“Was the whole setup your plan? Did you tell them that the one foolproof lure to get me to the surface was knowing Charisma was under attack?” The beast in Aleksandr wanted to kill Dr. King. Or perhaps . . . Aleksandr himself wanted to kill him. “Did you ever think about Charisma? That she could have been killed?”

Dr. King began, “They promised—”

“And those people always keep their promises, do they?” Aleksandr saw before him a fool—and a future demon meal. “Did you really think that Charisma and I were such good
friends
of yours that we’d be willing to sacrifice ourselves so you’d have the cash to run your clinic?”

Dr. King hunched his shoulders.

“By the time you betrayed me, I knew what Bernhard had done to me, and you knew it, too. Operations without anesthesia. Torture and brainwashing.” Aleksandr looked at his hands, warped, deformed, hairy. “He made me a monster.”

Shaking with indignation, Dr. King got to his feet. “Get over it! I’ve always been a monster. I was born that way!”

“No. You made yourself a monster.” Like a bully with a puppy, Aleksandr picked up Dr. King by the collar. He picked up the medical bag. He carried the choking, kicking doctor to the entrance to the cave. He wanted to throw him. Throw him as hard as he could.

Instead, he set Dr. King on his feet. He placed the bag next to him. “Get out,” he said. “Go to your friends and tell them I’m back in the Guardian cave, and see what kind of support you get from them. And never, ever come underground again.”

Dr. King straightened his tie, his jacket, his cuff links. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Aleksandr snapped out a laugh. “You knew my story, you knew what had been done to me, and you double-crossed me anyway. Don’t deceive yourself. No matter how many starving people you feed. No matter how many homeless you help. No matter how many of the sick you heal. You allied yourself with the devil, and you are going to hell.” He turned and walked away.

“What difference does it make that you rescued Charisma?” Dr. King wasn’t loud, but Aleksandr heard him clearly. “She’s going to die anyway.”

Aleksandr kept walking. “Not if I can help it.”

“She’s beyond help already. She beat back the demon’s venom, but only temporarily. No one can escape the demon’s venom, and sooner or later she will die, blind and in agony.”

Aleksandr wheeled to face Dr. King.

With a small, spiteful smile, Dr. King concluded, “So even if you manage to escape Smith Bernhard, you’ll be alone. Enjoy your years in wretched solitude, Guardian.”