All Things Wicked (22 page)

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Pleasant, masculine, and precise. Juliet grabbed Silas’s arm, her heart slamming. “What is this?”

He grabbed her hand. “Move to the wall.”

“What if—”

“Now!”

“Main systems offline. Generator damaged. Video playback malfunctioning,” the agreeable voice said. “Audio playback resuming. Case logs, December fiftee— December— Dec— teenth— Lab . . .”
Click!
“Lab assist . . . — Ia Pa— Nadia— Assistant . . .” It fell silent.

Juliet spun as the lights dimmed to a muted white glow. The grid faded away, lasers peeling off into green pinpricks arrayed along each wall. She turned again, met Silas’s eyes across the darkened room. “What do we do now?”

“This place looks abandoned,” he said quietly, turning to keep an eye on both exits. He backed up, holding out an arm to keep her behind him. “There’s no reason the system should still be— The hell?”

Hidden speakers whirred, clicking through several octaves before a high-pitched beep cut through them. Juliet clapped her hands over her ears, hunching as something shrieked stridently, like gears grinding against metal. “—latest batch of subjects have shown remarkable potential, especially given the rapid breakdown of thirty-six fifteen.”

A new voice?

Slowly, Juliet lowered her hands. She stared up at the ceiling, gaze flitting across the shadowed rafters as the woman’s youthful, level tones continued. “The leaps made in a single generation prove Dr. Lauderdale’s theories. There’s no chance that the committee will fail to reup the grant this year. We’ve made so much progress since incorporating stronger genomes from the Holy Order’s orphanage program—”
Kzzzt!

The sound shattered the woman’s dialogue, and Juliet dug her fingers into her temples. “I know that voice,” she said, half to herself.

But Silas’s head cocked. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” She knew he didn’t like that answer, but she could only shake her head as he turned.

“Playback resuming,” said the computer voice. “June— June— Lab assist . . .”
Click!

“—in a matter of
months
,” the faceless woman continued. Her voice, exuberantly youthful and polished to an educated gleam, thrummed with excitement.

It wrapped around Juliet’s senses, tugged alarmingly. How did she know it?

Why?

“Test case thirty-six forty will blow their minds.” The words echoed through the shadowed room. Eager. Confident. “We’ve already seen these subjects achieve remarkable test scores. The spread of ages falls between six months and five years. Thirty percent of the subjects are routinely scoring at the top of Krakowski’s Scale. That’s eighteen percent better than only ten years ago. Such a milestone! This latest batch of embryos is promising to be even more efficient. The new incubation racks seem to increase projected success.”

Test cases. Subjects.

Embryos.

Her hands fisted. “It’s true.” Silas slanted her a look caught between wariness and confusion. “It’s all true,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m just a . . . I’m a—”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said grimly. His features set into hard lines as the speakers fuzzed, voices overlapped in a sudden cacophony of recordings.

Suddenly, a man’s voice crackled to life over the line. “Dr. Laurence Lauderdale, log entry. October first of the same year,” he said, his voice low and soothing, somehow. Quiet.

Every hair on Juliet’s neck lifted. Her stomach knotted violently. “My God—”

“Whoa, easy!” Silas caught her as she swayed, lowering her to her knees and steadying her with both hands at her shoulders. Her skin prickled, as if a thousand spiders crawled across it.

“For the purposes of the committee’s review, I have included visual documentation.” He spoke gruffly, in that familiar halting tone of one who was painfully aware that he spoke into a machine. “Subject One-Three-Zero-Nine-Eight-Four has shown remarkable sensory capabilities that extend well beyond her physical location. Genetic composition includes”—papers ruffled—“an imported subject bearing an active witchcraft allele—for the purposes of this project, we have nicknamed it the Salem genome—and one of the specimens provided by the Holy Order.”

The air felt suddenly too . . . full. As if they weren’t alone anymore; as if it filled with bodies her eyes couldn’t see. Living bodies.

No, not living. Souls
.
Memories. Hers?

“Turn it off,” Juliet whispered.

Silas lunged to his feet, helplessly surveying the canvas-covered structures. “I don’t know how.”

“The subject in question appears to have an ability that mimics that of—well, in laymen’s terms, we shall call the donor her mother—however, extensive testing proves that the subject’s
visions
, as it were, are more readily apparent. In short, she is capable of what parapsychologists have termed
remote viewing
, although it lacks finesse or control. It’s worth noting at this point that all other subjects bearing the Salem donor’s genetic composition have atrophied.”

“Turn it off,” Juliet repeated, hysteria welling in her throat. Her head. It rode on the back of whispers suddenly clamoring to be heard.

From people she
knew
didn’t exist.

See us.

Clapping her hands over her ears, she groaned. “I don’t want to hear this, I don’t—”

Silas kicked the bank of computers. “Come on,” he rumbled, slamming both hands down on the various keys, knobs, buttons comprising the face. “I can’t!”

“It seems only by combining the stronger evolutionary composition of a Mission donor will the Salem genome stabilize under duress—”

“What the
fuck
,” Silas roared, face tilting to the ceiling.

Remember us.

Juliet shook her head. “No, no, no!”

“—which, until now, has been the obstacle resulting in the loss of eighty-six percent of our trials. That said, case study thirty-six forty-three is our most productive yet—”

Eve!

Silas’s fist crashed into the dashboard. Electricity arced in a blue stream, crawling up the metal plates as Juliet screamed.

The voice slowed to a crawling drone, each word stretched across an impossibly deep pitch. The speakers fuzzed loudly, clicked twice, and fell silent.

“Malfunction,” said the pleasant computerized voice. “Playback paused. Scanning damaged sectors.”

Juliet gasped for breath. Rocking back and forth, she struggled to breathe, to think through the sick knot in her chest.

She felt nauseous. Wrong. Her temples throbbed.

Silas clung to the edge of the computer desk, staring at it in blank disbelief.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, slowly, Juliet pulled herself to her feet. “I think  . . .” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again. “I think we found it.” Found them.

His head dropped. “Mission donors,” he repeated, almost as if he felt as numb as Juliet. As confused.

Betrayed.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” His gaze hardened. “I’m damn well going to find out. Embryos, incubation racks. How long has this gone on?”

“I wish—” Her eyes widened. “Silas!”

The figure moved out of the shadow, too fast. Too sudden. Silas straightened as a gunshot cracked, deafening in the metal-wrapped chamber. He staggered.

Juliet screamed.

Blood sprayed, a gory flower picked out by the fluorescent lights, spattering the bank of half-shattered computer screens.

“Silas!” Juliet sprinted for him, only to shriek out a ragged curse as Tobias hooked an arm across her chest.

The gun never wavered in his free hand, still pointed at Silas as he collapsed to the grimy floor.

Blood spread like a black stain beneath him.

Juliet squirmed frantically, fingers digging for purchase, for anything she could sink her nails into. Cloth, flesh, his eyes, anything. “No!” she sobbed. “No, Silas, get up . . .
Get up!
”

Tobias hauled her back toward one of the doors. She wrenched at his grip. Her flailing elbow slipped past his guard, slamming into his sternum.

His grip slipped.

Twisting free, she sprinted toward Silas’s inert body. He was so pale. Was he breathing?

Was he bleeding to death?

“Fuck, you’re a hassle,” Tobias bit out, seconds before he tackled her to the ground. She hit the unforgiving floor on her chest, wheezing as the air
whooshed
out of her in one painful squeeze. Briefly stunned, it was all she could do to fight back as he snagged her wrists in one hand, her waistband in the other, and bodily lifted her off the ground.

She watched Silas until tears blurred her vision. “Wake up,” she wheezed, panting with the effort. “Get up, oh, God . . .” Jessie. Jessie was going to be devastated.

She’d never forgive them.

A door creaked open. She squirmed hard, her knees slamming against the floor. Pain spiked her kneecaps, lanced through her arms as he forced her past the threshold.

“Stay fucking put,” Tobias growled, and shoved her.

She had no balance. No chance to gain any. Feet catching on each other, she sprawled, tripped hard on something, and dropped like a stone.

Her forehead bounced off the floor, and she saw stars.

The door slammed shut behind her.

“Jules.”

She shuddered, hot cheek pressed hard to the floor.

Caleb’s hands eased around her shoulders. “Juliet, it’s me,” he said. “Christ, talk to me.”

Oh, God, what had she done?

Silas was dead. Because of her?

Because she was a freak. Because she’d been mixed in an
incubation rack
, like some kind of genetic cocktail.

“I’m here,” Caleb whispered again, drawing her to his chest.

Shaking manically in his embrace, with her breath harsh in her ears, Juliet fisted her hands into his jacket, and sobbed.

Chapter Nineteen

H
e loved her.

The knowledge was like a fist to his gut, a sledgehammer to his skull. He loved her;
he
, Caleb Leigh, loved Juliet Carpenter. Just him.

And God
damn
if the memory of Cordelia in his head didn’t smile like a goddamned know-it-all at the admission.

Caleb clutched Juliet to his chest, rocked because he didn’t know what else to do as she cried. She pressed her face to his chest and he swore to God, to hell—swore to anything listening that he’d avenge everything they’d ever done to her.

GeneCorp. Experiments. He’d heard enough to get the idea.

Missionary DNA sequenced with the composition of known witches. To what end? Some kind of . . . witchy Church soldier? He didn’t know a lot about science, but he knew this much: Juliet was far from any kind of soldier.

As he stroked her hair, Caleb’s eyes remained fixed on the screen overhead. Narrowed as Tobias dragged Silas to the edge of the chamber, leaving behind a lurid red stain. He left the man—the body—sprawled awkwardly against the wall.

Rage bit deep enough to clench his fingers in her hair.

She sniffed hard, her slim back shaking.

Closing his eyes, Caleb forced himself to gentle his grip. Forced himself to breathe, to slow his heartbeat. His fury.

He had to be calm. He was
always
calm.

Liar.

Juliet straightened, and he looked down into her beautiful face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from crying, but they glittered with an intensity echoed in the set of her jaw. “Sorry.”

“No need.”

Her mouth curved down in a heart-wrenching line, and he hesitated. What should he do? Hug her?
Don’t be ridiculous.
Caleb had never been soft. That wasn’t his language.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled crookedly, disengaging from him as deliberately as if she’d pried him off with a crowbar. Even with her short black hair tangled over her forehead, with her face tear-streaked and set, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

Inside and out.

“Caleb, I—”

He laid his fingers over her lips, silencing her. They moved, brushing across his fingertips like a kiss. A caress. Despite everything, his crotch tightened. He winced.

She stepped away, turned her back.

It let him adjust his jeans, swearing silently. Not the time.

Was there ever a time?

No. Of course not.

“Okay,” she said briskly, her voice roughened by tears. Like velvet and smoke. “We’re stuck together. I get it.” She didn’t look at him. “I don’t like it, but this is what we have. So how do we get out?”

This he could focus on. “I didn’t get a chance to check everything,” he said, mimicking her professional tones. So much better than driving his hands into her hair again.

Under her shirt.

Between her— “God damn it,” he muttered.

She hated him, remember?

She doesn’t have to.

Yes, she fucking did.

Her hands shook as she pushed her hair back from her face, eyes settling on the screen. She bit her upper lip.

And realization dawned.

Juliet’s eyes flicked to him, still too damned wide. Her face closed, shuttered.

He closed the distance between them, seizing her arms. “Don’t you dare,” he said gruffly. “Yes, I heard everything.”

“Then you know I’m a— I’m . . .”

“A what?” he cut in. “A woman named Juliet? Raised by Cordelia Carpenter—no, you don’t look away from me.” Anger all but scorched the air between them. Her gaze collided with his.

Sparked.

“You were raised by Cordelia Carpenter. It doesn’t matter how you were born—”
Created
. “—or where you came from. You’re a woman, a witch, a pain in my ass,” he continued fiercely, “but you’re as human as I am.”

More so.

Her eyes filled with tears.

He couldn’t stand it. Not knowing what else to do, he jerked her toward him, captured her chin in one hand, and kissed her.

Her surprised sound flattened. Her braced hand at his chest turned into a sudden fist as she seized his jacket and held on.

Groaning, fingers tightening, Caleb dragged her closer. Kissed her harder, refusing to allow her the chance to give up. To give in.

He loved her, damn it. Fucking hell.

His tongue eased over her lower lip. Teased at the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Her lips opened under his and he was lost.

Tentatively, so seductive he thought he’d lose his mind, her tongue slid over his. Velvet and honey; hell, she even
tasted
like something good, something real and achingly vulnerable.

Her body melted into his, hips settling over the bulge throbbing in his jeans. Sucking in a breath, he raised his head, jaw clenched as she wriggled closer. Her lips gleamed in the dim light, damp from his kiss and half parted.

Struggling to keep his breathing even, to ignore the pointed ache of an erection desperate for her, Caleb smoothed his thumb along her lower lip.

Her eyes opened slowly. Hazily. Brilliant green.

“Now,” he said quietly.

“Now?”

“We get you the hell out of here.”

Her lashes swept over her cheeks, and he let her go as she leaned back. Edged away. Logic would set in just as soon as the shock wore off, he knew.

She’d remember that she hated him. That she needed to.

He had to keep that going. There was no other choice. It was too late for them.

For him, he corrected himself flatly. There had never been a
them
.

“Okay, is there anything we can use to— Oh, my God!” She froze, staring at the screen, her hand at her mouth. “Caleb!”

Her exclamation jerked his attention back to the feed.

All thoughts of logic fled.

“Son of a
bitch.
”

A tall, lean man strode into the chamber, angled features settled into a scowl. Blood soaked through the side of his button-up shirt; one hand clenched over it tightly.

The other curved over a lifeless body slung over his shoulder. He knelt, leaned down, and Caleb swore bloody and blue as Jessie rolled to the floor.

Juliet grabbed his arm as he took a step toward the television, fists clenched. “She won’t be dead!” she said quickly. “Caleb, she’s not dead.”

“How the fuck—”

The speakers compressed the man’s voice into something tight and canned. “I didn’t get the research material,” he said to someone out of the camera’s view. His eyes were shadowed.

“God damn it, Wells!” Tobias exploded from somewhere off screen. “What the hell were you doing all this time?”

Wells said nothing. He crouched by Jessie, feeling for a pulse.

“She’s not dead,” Juliet repeated. “They want us alive. God only knows why.”

“Fuck,” Tobias snarled. “Worthless—”

Another voice slid between them, graveled and worn. “Children, that’s enough.”

Juliet’s fingers clenched on Caleb’s arm. He glanced at her, saw the blood drain from her face, and narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Who is it?” he asked. “Jules, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her teeth suddenly flashing in a grimace. “I feel . . . I feel crowded,” she managed.

Crowded?

“Mr. Nelson, go retrieve our guests,” the voice said calmly. “We’ll meet you in the processing chamber. Mr. Wells?”

“He’s coming,” Caleb said, turning from the screen.

Juliet stared up at it, eyes huge.

“Juliet? Honey, we’ve got to—”

“They’re angry,” she whispered.

“Who?” What was she seeing behind her haunted gaze? Not the screen she watched. Caleb glanced at it again, saw the man named Wells step over Jessie’s inert body.

Wells’s finger jabbed toward the door he came out of. “What was I supposed to do?” he demanded. “She was dead when I got there!”

“Without that research, Mr. Wells, your life will be very,
very
short.”

“I get it,” he snarled, the sound creaky through the speakers. His expression screwed into lines so angry that it practically sizzled. “We’re all doomed to die young, trust me, I’m
well
aware. But the fucking research wasn’t there, and she was a corpse. There is no talking with a corpse.”

Caleb spun as the doorknob jiggled. “Jules, get in the corner.”

She balked. “But—”

“For God’s sake, girl, just do as I tell you!”

The door swung open. Caleb spun, lashed at the panel with a neat back kick, and leaped forward as it swung back on its hinges. Something heavy slammed into the far wall. He dove through the narrow gap, fist hauled back, and came up short as cold, relentless metal pressed into his forehead.

Tobias didn’t smile. He only pulled the hammer back on the pistol. Unnecessary for the model, but point loudly made.

Die here or stay alive long enough to figure something else out.

Juliet made it an easy choice.

Caleb backed up slowly. “No sudden movements,” he warned quietly.

Juliet froze, a length of cable strung between her hands. Her eyes pinned to the gun jammed against Caleb’s head. She licked her lips.

His twitched. “What were you planning to do, Jules? Garrote him with plastic?” Her chin lifted, and a warmth, a wave of radiance slid into his heart and filled it.

That’s my girl.

His gaze met Tobias’s. “You’re not going to shoot me.” The man’s eyes narrowed over the matte black barrel, and Caleb shrugged ever so faintly. “I won’t let you lay a finger on her, and your boss wants us alive, so—”

The cable hit the ground. “We’ll come quietly!”

He sighed. “God damn it, Juliet, shut up.” He loved her. Stubborn, naïve woman that she was.

“Just don’t hurt him,” she added. “Or else I swear I’ll find some way to make this difficult.”

“Move,” Tobias ordered. The gun shifted, ever so slightly.

Those light eyes turned to him. Narrowed. “Caleb,” she whispered. “Please.”

God damn it, Caleb.

He sidled toward the door.