Shadow Touch (14 page)

Rictor gazed down into Elena’s eyes, and she saw something in his face—something that looked like hope—and he grabbed her arms and hauled her up. It was hard to stand—she felt dizzy, hot—but Rictor’s hands tightened on her arms, and he looked at the doctor. “We need her down there. She can save his life.”

“It’s too early,” protested the doctor, his concern striking Elena as unnatural. “She’s not ready.”

“What is more important?” Rictor tugged on Elena; she staggered against him, but he kept pulling and she got her balance back. The bewildered doctor tried to stop them, but Rictor marched her past and hit the corridor at a run.

“What is going on?” Elena tried to ask, but she was running so hard the words came out in a garbled mush. She grappled with his hand, trying to keep up. Her legs felt weak; she was certain that at any moment she would fall flat on her face.

“I just decided to die a little earlier,” he said. “But at this point, one week or two will make no difference at all.”

“Rictor.”

“I am forbidden to break the rules,” he said. “
Forbidden
. But I can bend them. I should have started doing it a long time ago, but I didn’t see a reason or an opportunity. I let her make me weak. I let things go too far.”

Which made no sense at all, but Elena was willing to roll with whatever he had in mind. She was running too fast to do anything else. Fast, fast—she had never been forced to run so fast in her life—and when Rictor suddenly dug in his heels and staggered to a stop, she ran hard into his shoulder, bounced several steps, and almost fell to her knees. She began to protest—her gut ached; her lungs burned like a dry furnace—but Rictor pulled her backward, silent and quick. Elena did not hear anything behind them, but he whispered, “
L’araignée
is coming for you.”

“You told me that would happen.”

“But now she’s angry.”

“Can she sense us?” Elena had no idea what the woman was capable of, but if she could rein in someone like the Quiet Man, anything was possible.

“Only me, but she won’t think of tracking my movements.
L’araignée
has perfect faith in my obedience. She hasn’t bound you to her yet, so she’ll look for you the old-fashioned way. The lab, first. The doctor will tell her there was an accident, but she won’t go down to level one herself. She’ll send a nurse to find you. That will buy us time.”

“Can’t she read your mind? With that… that worm?”

He gave her a hard look. “She’s not controlling me like that. Which is why I am less free than Charles Darling, but have more loopholes than he’ll ever dream of seeing.”

“Nothing you’re saying makes sense, Rictor. Why are you different?”

“Blood,” he said, and then made her run. They pounded down the twisting corridors with terrifying abandon. Elena did not know how they could travel so fast without being detected, but Rictor moved with utter confidence. Elena did not share his bravado, but then again, she was no mind reader.

He slowed, finally; Elena heard male voices.

“Pretend,” he whispered, and then they turned a corner and came face-to-face with two large men in white. Between them walked Artur.

Tricky bastard
, she thought at Rictor.
You planned this
.

Artur was no longer naked. He wore a black jumpsuit that was partially unzipped down his chest. Black gloves covered his hands, which were bound together by plastic restraints. He wore socks. He looked tired, but healthy. Alive. Elena met his gaze and it was like coming home.

“Come on,” Rictor said, pulling her slowly past the men. Too slowly. She did not miss the way he tilted his chin at Artur, or how the Russian stared back with narrowed, knowing eyes.

The hall was not that wide. The nurses stepped sideways to accommodate Rictor’s passage. For one brief instant Elena felt the men watch her instead of Artur. A stupid mistake.

Elena turned her back; she heard the hard thump of flesh, a startled grunt. She whirled and saw one nurse slumped against the wall, unconscious. The other doubled over as Artur slammed a knee into his groin and then delivered one last kick into his face. The man stopped whimpering. Artur’s hands were still bound.

“What took you so long to make your break?” Rictor moved quickly to the fallen men. Calm, quiet. There was no fear in his voice or face. He had known this would happen—Elena was certain of it. She watched him sling a man over his shoulder. Artur grabbed the other nurse’s ankles. Elena helped him.

“I was waiting for her,” Artur said, looking at Elena with such intensity her breath caught. “It is good to see you, Elena. I cannot tell you how good.”

“Ditto,” she said.

“Hurry.” Rictor led them a short distance to a green unmarked door. It was unlocked; the inside looked remarkably like a broom closet.

“Yes, Elena. Even evil keeps itself clean.” Rictor dumped his man in the corner; Artur and Elena did the same. “There’s nothing to tie them up with, but I think they’ll stay out for a while. You hit them good.” He grabbed Elena’s hand, said, “Pretend you’re my prisoners if we see anyone,” and pulled her back out into the corridor. She dug in her heels, but Rictor was inexorable. Nothing made him lose his stride, until Artur slipped in front of him. His gloves were off and stuffed in his jumper pocket. He extended his bound hands and Rictor hesitated.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t touch me.”

“Let her go,” Artur said. “Let her go and you can keep your secrets.”

“I would kill you first.”

“All it takes is one touch. Just one. I am a man of my word, Rictor. You know this.” Artur touched his own forehead. “How much are your secrets worth?”

“How much are your shape-shifters worth?” Rictor’s voice was hard. “Because the longer we stand here talking, the sooner one of them will die. And when that happens, I won’t be able to help you. You’ll have lost your only ticket out of this shithole.”

“I do not trust you,” Artur said.

“Talk to
her
about it.” Rictor gestured at Elena. “She doesn’t stop thinking about that, ever.”

“You can’t possibly be surprised by that,” she said. “And besides, mind… dropping… is totally rude.”

“Totally,” he drawled, sarcastic. “Now get the fuck moving.”

Artur, for whatever reason, let that slide. He stepped aside. As Rictor passed him, hauling Elena, Artur reached out and grabbed her other wrist. His hands were warm. Something coiled around her heart, gentle and strong, and she heard,
I am here, Elena. I am here
.

Rictor released her. He did not look at them. “Someone’s coming,” he said, and they began moving again, fast. Artur ran easily, with a loose-limbed grace that was utterly natural and effortless. Elena felt him glance at her throat. She wondered what it looked like.

“Where is Charles Darling?” Artur asked. His voice was low, furious.

“You don’t have time,” Rictor said. “He’s in another part of the facility. Forget about him.”

“She will send him after us.”

“For fuck’s sake. Can’t you just handle one problem at a time? Elena’s alive. She almost killed him. Just leave it at that until you get the hell out of here.”

Artur did not want to leave it, but Elena shook her head. Now was not the time. She wondered, though, if there were any other prisoners they could help. It did not seem right to leave anyone down here.

“There are only four, including yourselves,” Rictor said, still apparently unconcerned by his rampant mental invasions. “The doctor dispatched his low-level subjects a week ago in preparation for your arrivals. He did not want any more people here than were necessary. He doesn’t believe in diverting resources.”

“Dispatched them?” she echoed. “You mean he killed them?”

“Put them down like dogs,” he agreed. “Their lives were worthless compared to yours. Why study the stars on paper when you can hold one in your hand?”

“Because then you get burned,” Artur said. Rictor smiled, grim. They ran down an adjoining corridor. At the end of it was an elevator. Rictor put his hand on a wide plastic panel and the doors slid open. As Elena ran on, she thought of Charles Darling, the doctor, the mysterious l’
araignée
, and incredulity swept through her.

I think we are escaping
. Maybe, with a little luck. With a miracle.

The doors closed. Elena’s stomach lurched.

“Down to level one?” Artur asked. Rictor nodded. He stared at Elena. His eyes glowed.

“Why are you here?” she asked him, unable to look away from that unnatural, inhuman gaze.
What are you, Rictor? Why the hell are you looking at me like that
?

“Stupidity,” he said, which was impossibly vague. “I said yes to something when I should have said no.”

“The worm?” Artur asked.

Rictor shook his head. “Worse. Something that binds me to this place. At least for a while longer. My time is running out. A man like me can take chains for only so long.”

“A man like you?” Elena said, and then, “Wait. You’re coming with us, aren’t you? Aren’t you helping us escape so you can leave, too?”

“I would have left a long time ago if I could,” he said, and looked away at the digital panel above the elevator doors.

“You can’t stay here,” she argued. Rictor might confuse the hell out of her—had proven to be an asshole of gargantuan proportions—but he did not deserve to die or spend his last days in this facility. No one deserved that.

“Elena,” he began, but then stopped, giving Artur such a sharp look, she was afraid they would come to blows.

“You know,” he said, and in his voice was surprise, horror.

“Just a glimpse. I was inside her head.”

Rictor’s jaw tightened. “Then you also know it’s hopeless. I have no way of entering that room, and even if I could, I’m not allowed to break the circle.”

“One of
us
could do that,” Artur said quietly. The elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened. There was no one in the hall, but Rictor did not move. He stared at Artur, still and unblinking. Elena caught the doors as they began to close again.

“Guys,” she said. “Are we coming or going?”

“I do not trust you. I do not even like you. But I do owe you the same effort you are showing us,” Artur said.

“No,” Rictor said. “You don’t know what I am. She caught me because of my stupidity, but she found me because of my nature.”

“Right now, I concern myself only with debts,” Artur said, and Elena knew she had never been in the presence of two men more suited for a game of poker. Their faces gave nothing away. Which might be fun to watch, another time, but not now.

“Hey!” she snapped. “We’re trying to escape here, right? I don’t see your asses moving.”

Silence. Rictor said, somewhat mildly: “Are you sure you really want to keep her? Her temper is only going to get worse. She nearly killed a man today.”

“My kind of woman,” Artur said. “I like them dangerous.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Elena stopped holding the elevator doors and stepped out into the corridor. She felt Artur and Rictor follow her.

“The shape-shifters first,” Rictor said. Elena had no idea what he meant by that term. “One of them is hurt. If you have time, then me.”

They ran. This time they passed people in the hall, but Rictor did not seem to care if they were seen. The people down here looked pale and anemic. Scientists, Elena thought. The men and women gave them a wide berth as they came pounding down the hall; Elena wondered if they were expected. She also wondered if Rictor trotted around with all his prisoners.

She heard the screaming before they reached the room—human screams, the screams of an animal. Rictor slowed, turning to look at Artur and Elena.

“If there’s trouble, I won’t be able to help you. I am forbidden to strike anyone in this facility, unless it is for the purpose of protecting Elena. Those were my commands. I can’t disobey.”

“I have heard of something similar,” Artur said.

“Think some more,” Rictor said. “The similarities run deeper than you can imagine.”

Elena did not wait for them to finish their conversation; people sounded like they were dying. She pulled her hand away from Artur and ran past Rictor—slipped through his fingertips as he reached for her—and headed through the open doorway just ahead on her left. Stopped in her tracks.

It was like looking at the lab of some freakish animal-fetished Dr. Frankenstein. The first thing she saw was the remains of a shattered tank—huge, at least eight feet long, glass and wires and thick black straps scattered in a bowel-like tangle across the floor. A dolphin lay unmoving in the midst of that mess. A true, honest-to-God dolphin. It was covered in blood. On the other side of the room was a cage on a wheeled platform. A cheetah screamed from within, battering itself against the bars. Several men surrounded the platform, trying to keep it from turning over. The room was filled with men and women in lab coats, all of whom were in various states of injury, complete meltdown, and utter helpless indecision.

“
Shit
,” Elena said. “Oh, shit. Where do I start?”

Rictor stood beside her in the doorway. “The dolphin. Heal the dolphin.”

“What the fuck do you mean, heal the dolphin?”