The Rising (15 page)

“That's called stress, young lady,” Nast said. “And guilt.”

“No,” I said. “It's called a double-dose of tranquilizers. You made me sick.”

“You made yourself sick by forcing us to tranquilize you. Just like your friend Daniel may have gotten himself killed—”

I flew at Nast. Just flew at him, howling, nails slashing like claws, raking down his cheek as he fell back, me on top of him. I dimly heard Antone shouting. Dimly felt him pulling at me. Dimly felt a surge of panic, something deep within me telling me to stop, stop now. But rage filled me, the smell of Nast's blood filled me, feeding the rage—

Antone pinned me to the floor and it was like a switch snapped off. I lay there, dazed.

“Maya?” he said.

“Wh-what . . . ?”

I looked up to see Nast swiping a handkerchief across his cheek. Deep furrows oozed blood. I looked down at my hand to see skin under my nails. I knew I'd scratched him. I remembered doing it. But I still stared at that skin, unbelieving, and then . . .

Shame. I felt shame.

As Antone released me, I pushed him away, ran to the bowl on the bed, and threw up. As I retched, he patted my back and told me it would be okay.

“No,” Nast said. “It will not be okay. It's starting. She's had her first shift and now she's beginning to revert. Just like Annabella.”

Annabella?

Annie. He meant Annie.

I clutched the bowl and retched again.

“This isn't like Annabella,” Antone said. “Maya's still woozy and confused from the drugs. You just showed her photos of her best friend being hit by a car. You suggested he's dead. Combine that with everything she's gone through and she overreacted. That's all.”

“No, she's reverting. This isn't like Annabella because your daughter isn't like Annabella. Those scientists predicted that the effects of the reversion would depend on the base personality. According to Annabella's brother, she was a sweet, quiet girl. Your daughter is not.”

Before Antone could answer, Nast started out the door. “You need to control her, Calvin. We have two other skin-walkers in custody and another nearby. We don't need four of them.”

A
NTONE TRIED TO CALM
me down after that, to convince me Nast's threat was empty. But that threat was the last thing on my mind. I
was
freaked out about what I'd just done—that rage-blind attack on Nast. Was it a sign that I was reverting? Of course Nast would say that—another reason for me to need his Cabal. I couldn't put too much stock in his diagnosis.

My real worry was the guys. For now, I had to trust Ash was long gone, out of danger. I had to trust Daniel could look after himself. I had to believe he was fine, just battered and bruised and holed up somewhere with Corey. The alternative? I couldn't even think of the alternative.

When Antone finally left, I didn't really notice. The next thing I knew, I was being bowled over by a furry cannonball.

I looked up to see a German shepherd looming over me.

“Kenjii!”

I hugged her so tight she wriggled until I let go, then she bathed my face with her tongue, shoving me back on the bed every time I tried to get up. Finally I pushed her away, laughing.

“Now that's a sound I like to hear,” said a voice. “I just hope I get the same reception as the dog.”

I looked up to see a guy my age, with straight dark hair down to his collar, amber eyes dancing with a grin that turned an ordinary face gorgeous. Nast had said they had two other skin-walkers in custody, but I'd been too shocked over Daniel to process what that meant.

I launched myself at Rafe. He caught me and hugged me as tightly as I'd hugged Kenjii.

“You okay?” he whispered as he let me go.

I thought of Daniel and could only nod, gaze dropping. He lifted my chin and I knew he was going to kiss me but I backed off, still holding his hands, struggling to smile.

“Maya?”

Rafe stepped toward me. I retreated to the bed and collapsed there. Kenjii lay down with her head on my lap. Rafe reached to move the papers on the bed aside. Then he saw what they were. The photos. He leafed through them, once quickly, then slower, before he sucked in breath and swore.

“That's . . .”

I nodded.

“He was . . .”

I nodded again.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Is he . . . okay?”

“I don't know,” I said. “They haven't found him.”

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed with me.

Rafe set the photos aside, facedown. “They're lying. They doctored photos to spook you.”

“I don't think so.”

“Well, I do.” He straightened. “I'm sure of it.”

I shook my head. “We were separated. Daniel didn't meet up with us. The only reason he'd do that is if he . . . couldn't.”

“Temporarily. He'd have found you as soon as he could.”

Rafe drew my gaze up to the vent. A microphone or camera, I was guessing. Rafe was warning me not to say anything that could lead them to Daniel. I nodded and leaned against his shoulder.

He put his arm around me. “Daniel's fine. You know he is.”

I nodded, closed my eyes, and tried to believe it.

When I felt a little better, I looked around. I'd known I was in a bedroom. Now I noticed the double bed, closet, desk, and dresser. It looked—

I fought back a chill.

It looked like my room. Not exactly—there were no photos or mementos. The furniture was different. But it was the same kind of pieces in the same configuration. I hadn't recognized it because the most important part of my bedroom had not been duplicated. I had huge windows along two walls that opened onto the wraparound second-story balcony. Mom's design, one that let me feel like I was outdoors even when I wasn't.

There was, to my surprise, a window here. Just a normal-sized one. It looked out onto what seemed like an empty blue sky, but when I walked over to it, I could see the glass was opaque. It let in light, but wouldn't let me look out. I rapped the pane.

“Shatterproof,” Rafe said. “Believe me, I've tried. Broke my desk chair throwing it at mine.”

“What'd they do?”

“Gave me a stern talking-to about damaging property, while letting me know that they understood the urge to act out.” He rolled his eyes. “It's like being in a group home. No one ever gets mad about anything. They take away privileges, but they don't get angry—they just want to talk about it.”

“They don't want us feeling like we're in a prison.”

“Sometimes I'd prefer a prison. This is just creepy.” He walked over to stand beside me at the window. “They say that when we accept the situation, they'll replace these with glass we can actually see through.”

“Really? And they'll make them breakable, too?”

He laughed and put his arm around my waist. “Not a chance. But we will get field trips. To the mall and stuff. Because I know you love going to the mall.”

I shuddered. He laughed again and pulled me against him, our hips bumping, his fingers warm, his smell washing over me, a familiar musky scent, skin-walker scent. I relaxed a little, then stiffened.

“Field trips? So we're . . . stuck indoors. All the time?”

He rubbed down the goose bumps rising on my arm. “There's a yard. With a twelve-foot wood fence and guards with tranq guns. There's a rooftop exercise area, too. More walls that we can't see past or climb over. Like a big kitty playground, with huge balls of yarn and wind-up mice to chase.”

I stared at him.

“I'm kidding. Kind of. They have a boxing ring and weights for the benandanti and balance beams and hurdles for us. It sounds awful, and I've been really tempted to ignore it, but the fresh air and the exercise . . . ?” He shrugged. “It helps keep me from going nuts while I figure out a way . . .”

He glanced at the vent and didn't finish.

“Any luck with that?” I murmured.

“Not really. Scoping the situation for now.”

“So we're in . . . a lab? A compound of some sort?”

He shook his head. “A house. Huge mansion of a place. It doesn't smell like city, so I think we're outside Vancouver. They're still working on the house, but it was pretty much ready to go when we arrived, which makes me think the St. Clouds had been working on it for a while.”

“A contingency plan in case we decided we didn't want to stay in Salmon Creek after we found out about the experiments. The Nasts must have bought it along with us. The lab rats and their habitat.”

“Yeah. So for now I'm just taking stock and—”

A rap at the door. I waited for someone to enter, but Rafe had to call a “Come in” before it opened. He rolled his eyes at me.

In walked a woman I'd known for almost my entire life. Dr. Inglis. Head of the lab in Salmon Creek. She'd been in charge of our medical care since I moved there. She hadn't always been our personal doctor, but she'd been a fixture in town and in our lives. Last time she'd seen me, I'd been in cat form—pinning her to the ground.

When she stepped in, her gaze went straight to me, and she started to smile. She caught herself and turned to Rafe instead.

“Is it time?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It went well?”

She nodded. Again she looked at me. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something. Whatever it was, she just murmured it under her breath, gaze dropping, and withdrew.

“What's she doing here?” I asked.

“The Nasts hired her,” Rafe said. “Seems she wanted to stay and ‘help' us. Which I've suggested she could do a lot better by opening a door and letting us out. But apparently, that's not the plan.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. There's someone I want you to meet.”

He walked to the door and turned the knob. I expected a security escort on the other side. The hall was empty.

I peered out.

“Yeah, we pretty much have the run of the place. Not much damage we can do. Shatterproof glass. Cameras everywhere. Only two exits—both with alarms and guarded by multiple guys with tranq guns. Patrolling guards, too, both on foot and in cars.”

He really had done his research. Not that I expected any less.

I started to step out, Kenjii at my heels, but Rafe waved her back.

“Better leave her here,” he said. “She doesn't like some of our jailers, not surprisingly. They've threatened to kennel her.”

I nodded and urged her back inside. She obeyed with a sigh, as if she was expecting it.

As he closed my bedroom door, I said, “So that wasn't locked?”

He shook his head. “They never are.
This isn't a jail, kiddies. Any security is for your own good. We all care about you. We all want you to be comfortable. We know you won't be happy—yet—but that is our goal, someday
.”

I made gagging noises.

He grinned. “Exactly. Prepare to be treated like a rebellious twelve-year-old.”

There were stairs right outside my door. Behind us, the hall stretched for at least twenty meters, flanked by a half-dozen doors.

“My room's the third down from yours. Just in case you were interested. Did I mention they don't lock the doors?”

“I believe you did.”

He grinned. “Good. And we don't have roommates.”

“Duly noted.”

I looked at those bedroom doors. Who else was here? I wanted to ask, but part of me was afraid of the answer. Was anyone still with the St. Clouds? Had anyone . . . not made it? At any other time, those questions would have been the first words out of my mouth, but I was feeling . . . not myself. Still off from the drugs, I guess. Dazed and bruised, physically and emotionally.

As we walked down the steps, voices downstairs broke the hush. I strained to hear familiar ones, but they all sounded like adults and no one I knew.

We passed at least a half-dozen people, a few obviously security, a couple who looked like medical personnel, and some who might have been house staff. Some stopped what they were doing, as if expecting Rafe to introduce us.

“Kitchen's through there,” he said, gesturing down a hall. “We've got free run of it. There's a list on the fridge where you can add anything you want. Meals are cooked and we eat”—he motioned right past someone—“in the dining room there.”

He continued on, giving me the tour as if no one else was there. Treating them like furniture. It worked for me.

Finally, he led me down another flight of stairs. “All the rec stuff is down here. An indoor gym for bad weather. Home theater. Game room.” He glanced over as we reached the bottom step. “Yeah, it's like they consulted a stack of teen life magazines, trying to build the ultimate hangout.”

“Ignoring the fact that our idea of playtime involves kayaks, rock-climbing, dirt bikes . . .”

“Exactly.” He opened the first door. “Here's the game room, complete with every console known to man, plus a prototype of a new kinetic one, just for us, 'cause we're so special.”