The Forever Drug (18 page)
I changed back into human form and shifted my vision away from astral space.
"Let's go this way," I whispered, jerking my head to the right. "There's a—"
Berthiaume shook his head before I could warn him that there was another smuggler on board and jerked a thumb authoritatively to the left.
I growled my frustration. The elf had already gone that way and come back again. Which meant that, if Jane was on the freighter, she wasn't in that direction. The elf wouldn't still be searching for her otherwise.
"We go right," I whispered angrily.
The helmet visor turned my way; Berthiaume was probably glaring at me. But then he turned his back, dismissing me. He didn't even ask me whether I'd smelled anything. His detection spell was still active, and I guess he wanted to rely on that, rather than on my sense of smell. Well, frig him.
Standard operating procedure would have been to stay together, since I didn't have a commlink. But as an irregular asset, I was used to working on my own. And I didn't like the smell of Berthiaume. Whenever I was around, his scent became faintly hostile.
I crept down the corridor and paused near the open door to smell what lay beyond it. Golden boy's scent was strong, but not so overpowering as to indicate that he was right behind the door. I opened the door wider—and cursed softly when I saw a ladder leading down to another door, about six meters down. I'd have to descend the ladder in human form, and I'd be vulnerable all the way down. The only way to do it was fast.
I gripped the ladder with my hands, and braced my feet lightly on either side. Then I slid, barely braking my fall. When I hit bottom I crouched, then changed in one swift motion. Then I shouldered open the bottom door, and leaped into the space beyond. If there was anyone on the other side of that door, they probably weren't expecting a wolf.
I laid my ears back when I saw what I'd jumped into. I was inside a large hold that was filled with dozens of glowing balls of light: corpselights. I tensed, and the fur on my back rose. But then I realized I couldn't
smell
them. They were here in the physical world, but somehow ... not here.
Then I realized that the balls of light weren't moving, and saw that they were inside cages made of woven wicker. Each was just big enough to hold the glowing ball that was the corpselight's "body" in the physical world.
I shifted to astral vision and confirmed my suspicions. The wicker was infused with a silver glow that was the astral imprint of the magical ward that held the corpselight firmly inside the cage. Somehow, the corpselights's tentacles were compressed inside that tiny space; the wards must have been powerful. All I could see of the corpselights themselves were their gigantic, weirdly irising eyes, staring malevolently out at me.
Each cage had a thread of magical energy snaking away from it; these magical threads passed out through the bulkheads of the ship as if the metal wasn't even there. Each thread was a link to astral space, to the energy that was sustaining the ward. It was also a link to the mage who had cast the ward in the first place.
Only a mage or a shaman could remove the wards on the cages. Which explained why the "drug" Halo was sold only to magically active users. Presumably, the cages could also be re-warded, trapping the corpse-light inside the cage again once the user had gotten a fix. But I pitied the spell chucker who had to try this while a corpselight was trying to suck the life essence out of them. They'd be dead meat—just like the "overdoses" Lone Star had been finding all over Halifax and other Maritime cities.
Golden boy's scent was fresh and strong. Even from where I crouched, I could tell it led across the hold to a door like the one I'd just come through. Galdenistal must have gone through that door, and recently, too.
I heard a clang then, from up above. Whirling around, I peered back up the ladder behind me. Someone had shut the door at the top of it. I could hear the sound of metal bolts sliding into place, as someone dogged the door shut.
Drek! I shifted into human form and climbed the ladder as quickly as I could. But I was too late—the door was shut. And there was no way to open it from this side.
I banged on the cold metal, even though I knew it was useless. "Berthiaume!" I shouted. "Open the frigging door!"
But the scent I smelled, lingering in the air, was that of an unfamiliar human. It had to have been a smuggler who'd locked me into the hold.
There was nothing to do but wait for Berthiaume to take the smuggler down; when he'd made the bust, the combat mage would come to free me.
Assuming that he hadn't been taken down himself— or been locked into another hold.
I climbed back down the ladder. Picking my way carefully between the cages filled with corpselights, I tried the door at the opposite end of the hold, only to find that it had been welded shut. Frustrated, I began searching the hold for another way out.
That was when three things happened, almost at once.
The lights went out.
Someone shot me.
And the threads of magical energy that had been sustaining the wards on the cages disappeared, releasing the corpselights from their cages.
The shot blazed out in the darkened hold, an angry gout of red fire. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils as a hot streak of pain tore across my hip. It stung worse than any wound I'd ever had before, as if the bullet that had torn the shallow crease in my flank were made of molten metal. I could feel the skin blistering around the wound and knew in an instant what had happened: I'd been shot with a silver bullet.
This was one wound I wouldn't regenerate from. It would be with me for weeks—assuming I lived that long. If another silver bullet found its mark, I'd be dead.
I threw myself to one side, dropping and shifting into wolf form as I did. I already knew who my adversary was—his scent was strong, even over the gunpowder. The elf Galdenistal must have been in the hold the whole time. Somehow he'd managed to stay hidden, and had lain in wait until I made the mistake of approaching too close to his hiding place. Now he was trying to kill me. If I'd been in wolf form, I suppose I would have smelled him sooner.
Another shot filled the hold with a crash of noise. The bullet smacked into a metal pipe beside my head with a heavy thunk, shattering as it struck. A tiny splinter of silver ricocheted into my ear with a hot sting that felt as if a thousand wasps had concentrated their venom, all in one needle-thin spot. I choked back a whimper. Had I still been in human form, that shot would have taken me through the heart.
The hold was dimly illuminated by the corpse-lights, which cast flickering shadows on the walls. Their foul stench was overpowering, now that they were escaping from their cages. The smugglers must have decided to abandon the corpselights because of the raid, like drug dealers tossing aside their stash during a bust. Whoever had warded the cages must have negated the magic that was holding the corpselights inside, so that the police couldn't track the threads of magical energy that led back to the mage in astral space.
Galdenistal was still invisible—I couldn't even see his shadow. But despite the rotten-meat reek of the corpselights, my sense of smell told me where the elf was, and I used my astral perception to pinpoint him. On the astral plane, his body appeared as it did in the physical world, down to the wetsuit he was wearing and the pistol in his hand.
I sprang at him, teeth bared. I aimed for his wrist, intending to clamp my teeth around it and shake the gun out of his hand. But he was too quick for me. He moved with the speed and grace of a martial artist, flowing with my attack. My teeth brushed against the spongy fabric of his wetsuit, and I tasted rubber. Then I was hurtling past him, the momentum of my leap carrying me into the wall.
I spun around and saw Galdenistal raising his pistol. But he wasn't aiming it at me. I was still using astral vision, and so I saw the danger that lay just behind him. The hold was rapidly filling with floating corpselights, their tentacles writhing as they fought to get past one another. One was closer than the rest; the tip of one of its tentacles was mere centimeters from the back of the elf's head.
Without astral perception, all Galdenistal would see when he looked at a corpselight was the glowing ball of light that was its eye. The tentacles were invisible to him. He fired at what he could see—the ball of light—and his bullet passed harmlessly through it. At the same instant, the tentacle connected with the back of his neck.
Galdenistal's eyes opened wide, his pupils dilating behind the gold lenses he wore. His mouth opened and his body drooped. Sagging at the knees, he fought to keep suddenly limp fingers wrapped around his pistol. Amazingly, he managed to shake off some of the corpselight's druglike effects enough to lash out with his hand. It was probably just luck, but when the elf's pistol struck it, the tentacle withdrew slightly. For just a second, Galdenistal was free. But then another corpselight fastened a tentacle to the back of his neck. The gun slid from Galdenistal's hand.
I dodged the tentacles that were snaking out toward me. The corpselights were bursting out of their cages and expanding like obscene balloons, and in another minute or so the hold would be so thick with them that there would be no escape. For the moment there was a clear space, low to the floor, that I could dash across if I were quick enough. If I could get to the door that I'd used to enter the hold, I could hole up behind it and wait in the shaft for another member of the Magical Task Force to find me. But I had to move quickly...
Galdenistal gave a shuddering groan and fought to keep his eyes open. I couldn't help but glance at him in horrified fascination. The elf knew he was about to die; I could see the awareness in his eyes. But the sloppy grin on his face told me his physical body was enjoying every moment of it and craving more.
"Tell..." He was struggling to get the words out. "TeU Mareth'riel that
I
..."
His eyes rolled back in his head. The whisper stopped.
That decided me. I had no interest in saving the life of someone who'd just tried to kill me, but I wanted to hear what Galdenistal had to say. Perhaps he could tell me things about Jane that might help me to rescue her from the smugglers, to give her back her memories.
All I had to do was fight off a creature that had a death grip on the back of the elf's neck, then drag the elf's hoop out through a cargo hold crowded with thrashing, life-sucking tentacles.
There was one slight chance. Bullets didn't seem to hurt a corpselight. Nor did a thrown weapon—back in the parking garage, when the troll had heaved his pistol at the thing, the weapon had passed right through the glowing ball of light without any effect. But when Galdenistal lashed out at the tentacle with his pistol, it had withdrawn. The corpselight had felt that blow. That meant that it had manifested at least in part on the physical plane—and that close-combat attacks which conveyed the attacker's force of will were effective against it.
All of this flashed through my mind in a heartbeat as I launched myself at the corpselight. I nearly gagged as my teeth sank into the tentacle at the back of Galdenistal's neck. It tasted like I'd taken a bite of putrid, oozing garbage. A piece of it tore off in my mouth, gagging me. I opened my jaws and shook my head to get it out of my mouth, cursing the fact that I couldn't spit in dog form.
My attack had been enough. The tentacle withdrew, snaking back toward the creature's bulbous body. I turned to Galdenistal, expecting him to get up. But he lay utterly limp on the cold metal floor. His eyes were open but he seemed unable to move.
I looked around. In a few seconds more, the corpselights would fill the hold entirely. The only thing that was saving my hoop at this point was the fact that the corpselights seemed sluggish; they must have gone without "food" for some time. They seemed to be fighting each other, tangling their tentacles together as each tried to prevent the others from being the first to reach the two juicy morsels that were trapped in the hold with them: us.
There was only one thing I could do. I shifted back into human form and heaved Galdenistal over my shoulder. Then I ran for the door, using my astral vision to spot the tentacles that were reaching out for me. Fortunately, they moved slowly, still sluggish.
But there was one thing I hadn't counted on: the corpselights's magical abilities. I should have known better, given my experience in containing paras. I was almost to the door when one of the wicker cages suddenly shifted into my path. There was no reason for it to have moved; the corpselights must have used psychokinetic energy to toss it against my shins. I tripped, landing in a heap on top of Galdenistal. The elf groaned as his head bounced off the metal floor.
A tentacle reached out for me. I rolled, dragging Galdenistal on top of me. The tentacle connected with the back of the elf's neck, instead. The corpselight drew itself closer as it fed, pulses flowing up the tentacle toward its bulbous body. Galdenistal sighed in my ear as a wave of pleasure washed over him, then slid in a limp heap to one side.
Hoping the thing hadn't killed the elf, I shifted into wolf form. For the second time, I sank my teeth into a tentacle, gagging at its foul taste. The thing released its grip on the elf and floated lazily back. Then the corpselight turned so that its eye was staring at me. It irised open and shut, as if focusing. Then another tentacle—an undamaged one—drifted out toward me.
