Cara Mia - Book One of the Immortyl Revolution (3 page)

“Ready?”

A shiver passed down Joe’s vertebrae. He flashed the blue security card at the sensor and then deftly punched in the code. A series of beeps, reminding him of some old girl-group song from the early sixties, issued from the keypad. A small green light blinked. He placed his palm on the reader. A white painted door made of heavy steel, slid open. They passed through quickly as it closed behind with a whoosh and preceded to the next with its thick glass window. He saw nothing. The room was dark. It was below ground and there were no windows. Joe ran his palm over the smooth, cold surface of the glass. “Obviously she didn’t have any luck here.”

“That’s three inch bulletproof glass— even so— she’s not that big. Neither is
he
. I’d hate to run into a really big guy. If there’s two there’s bound to be more. Like roaches, for every one you see there’s ten thousand more crawling around in the walls.”

Joe chose to ignore the analogy. “Where is she?”

“On the bed— tied up in a neat little package. Flipped out the minute we put her in without him. Lerner tried to talk sense. When we finally pulled her off him, Dr. Loy gave her the shot to calm her down. Took five of us to hold her. Knocked her flat in a second. Slept a long time, but when she woke up she started cussin’ everyone out.”

“And him?”

“The Docs took ‘em for check-ups when they got here, and then we brought ‘em separately to their cells. The boy’s pissed but he just stares when we look in, real creepy-like. There’s an intercom button on the wall to talk to her.”

Joe took a deep breath then buzzed the intercom. Not really sure how to address her he called out cautiously, “Good evening, Ms. Disantini.”

“Fuck you,” a voice snarled back. “I’ll pull your balls over your head if you touch me.”

Joe wasn’t unaccustomed to being cursed at. In his residency he’d dealt with his share of Tourette’s cases and got over shouted obscenities pretty quick, besides he’d known the sound of hatred aimed at him ever since he’d come to this country. Joe answered breezily, even though he was scared shitless, “I’m Doctor Ansari, chief of neuroscience.”

“Another god-damned nerd coming to prod at me? Go fuck yourself, unless you have a key to this dump. What have you done with Kurt? I want to see him!”

“We’ll have to speak with Doctor Loy about that.”

“Tight-assed bitch gave the orders to lock us up.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “You don’t sound like a nerd.” She paused again, as if weighing whether or not to let him in. Suddenly, she called out. “Let’s have a look at you, Doctor Asshole. Leave the baboon outside.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The sergeant, I can
smell
him out there.”

Joe eyeballed the rifle. The sergeant was just a little too eager to plug the subject, and scared or not, this was Joe’s opportunity of a lifetime. He released the intercom button. “I’m going in. Please wait here.”

The sergeant scratched his buzz-cut head, his face wrinkling up like confused Pekinese pup. “Can’t let you do that Doc.’’

“I don’t need you.”

“Doc, that thing’s not human. Hey, I was fooled too.” The sergeant leaned over to him and spoke confidentially, “She’s hot.”

Joe wasn’t really sure what that bit of information mattered. “Wait outside.”

“Doctor Loy said no one goes in there without an armed escort.”

“I’ll deal with Doctor Loy.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Whatever you say. Hit the buzzer if you need help. I’m right outside if she gives you any trouble.”

Joe opened the observation doors, stepping inside quickly as they slid closed behind him, snapping on the overhead fluorescents.

“Shut them, damn it!”

He snapped them off. “I can’t see in the dark.”

“Neither can I, asshole. There’s a lamp next to the door.”

He felt around for the lamp, nearly knocking it over with his shaking hands, and clicked it on. The room filled with soft, pinkish light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a surprisingly small figure lying hunched up by the restraints on a low bed in the center of the small cell.

“I can’t see you. They have my head restrained. Stand over here.”

Joe walked over to the bed, every muscle tense, just in case this was a trick. A scent perfumed the air, like musk, a hint of sex in the bouquet
. Bizarre.
She was on her side, straight jacketed and strapped securely in a fetal position. He relaxed slightly. They’d put a leather mask over her face, like a muzzle, obviously to prevent biting. A pair of glittering, dark, almond-shaped eyes swept over him.

“Well, this is definitely more like it. You’re the prettiest nerd I’ve ever seen— Dr.
Asshole
.”

“Ansari. My… ” he faltered, “My name is Ansari.”

“Mmm, love a little
taste
of you.”

The room grew hotter, his skin clammier. He loosened buttons on his polo shirt. Insistent pounding started in his head. Ignoring the comment, he set down his bag on the bed. “Dr. Rider was in?”

She replied in a breathy whisper. “He left rather abruptly. Aren’t you
afraid
?”

He chose his words carefully. “I’d rather not end up like Dr. Rider.”

“You’re already points ahead of that myopic toad. I like the way
you
look.”

He pulled a pen out of his pocket. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Get me out of the S&M gear and we’ll see.”

His shirt was drenched now. A chill passed over him as the air conditioning kicked on. He weighed the probabilities. She wouldn’t cooperate with the restraints. But could he trust her if he released her? Panic gripped his chest. She might kill him. If he didn’t release her, the interview was at an end.

“At least take off this mask,” she breathed. “I promise I don’t look as horrible as I sound.”

He made his decision and began unfastening the strap holding her neck down, hands trembling. The buckle caught in her thick, dark hair. He worked to unsnarl it as if it was one of his twin daughters’ barrettes. Who knew if she felt pain? It was the most nerve-wracking task he’d ever performed— like a cop on the bomb squad felt sent in to disarm an explosive. He kept expecting her to break free of the straps and strangle him. Finally he worked the metal free from her hair and removed the mask. He wasn’t prepared for the sight.

How could something so foul look so… well…
pure?
Her face was pretty, but not in the conventional, All-American way but in the timeless fashion of a renaissance Madonna, a Leonardo, disturbing in its apparent youth and innocence. Its porcelain skin was smooth, framed by the somewhat short, dark hair. Her cheeks were round and pinkish, and the smallish mouth like an absurd little rosebud. Her arresting hazel eyes cut him to the quick: deep, sharply intelligent, looking straight into his, glittering enigmatically. Shards of broken mirror. They’d seen a hell of a lot more than the innocence of her countenance suggested.

Her voice dropped somewhere deep in her chest, rich and resonant, screen sirenish, “Not quite what you expected Doctor?”

“Sorry?”

“The girlish phiz.” A smile gelled and set on her face as she stared back.

Disturbed, he looked away and down to his clipboard. “I’ve been sent to do a basic assessment— I have a few simple questions.”

“Never said I’d answer any questions. Where’s Kurt?”

He looked up. She regarded him like the proverbial cat. He turned away again. The probing eyes spooked him too much. He covered by jotting down bogus notes on his clipboard. The only thing he’d really observed so far was that she was as intimidating as hell. “He’s right next-door.”

“If he was I could hear him.”

“These walls are at least a foot-thick.”

“I can hear better than
you
.”

“He hasn’t said much.”

“No, he wouldn’t. How is he?”

“He hasn’t attacked anyone, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t been to see him.”

“Get me out of this thing.”

“I’ve been advised not to.”

“But you have the authority?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“You think for an instant I’d treat
you
like those baboons? You’re obviously evolved a notch or two above them.” Her voice grew husky again, “To a gentleman I can be a lady.”

His gut told him she was telling the truth. Still, if he pissed her off somehow, he could end up a mangled mess like the chair in the corridor. He was dealing with a large, dangerous animal, only this animal was equipped with an intellect and from what he saw, a pretty sharp one. He was uncertain how to treat her— even if he’d addressed her properly. Were there certain cultural mores they observed? A social ranking? She spoke to him with certain arrogance. Racism perhaps? He could deal with that. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Taking out a small light, he said, “Look into the light, follow it with your eyes.”

“Ooh, how commanding.”

Despite her mocking, she complied without protest. Was she playing some kind of game? He jotted down his observations on the clipboard, and then followed with some simple tests of response to visual and aural stimuli. The tests were crude compared to the precise laboratory instruments. Her responses were extremely rapid. He longed to test her reflexes and muscle control but that would involve releasing her from the restraints and he wasn’t quite ready to take that leap of faith. All he wanted to do was to get this over with and escape in one piece. He didn’t trust her and doubted if she trusted him.

But his mission was to
win
that trust. At the last moment Lydia thrust these grimy little notebooks into his hands and ordered him to read them to see what he could make of them. They were found when they’d ransacked her backpack, the only thing she’d brought with her. Both of them had arrived bedraggled, with the clothes on their back, he with a laptop computer in a case and she with the small leather bag. He wondered why Lydia had found it necessary to search it.

He rubbed his eyes in agitation. Too much was left unsaid on both sides. Lydia obviously had nefarious motives in sending him in here, but his distaste couldn’t outweigh his desire to get to the bottom of the situation.

He already had too much on his plate. But now that Rider was laid up, Lydia explained, someone had to work with them. Find out what made them tick, she said. Why him? Because, he was the only one left on the staff with any expertise in treating mental disorders she told him. But only from a neurological standpoint, he argued. Besides, he’d wasted very little time in clinical, moving quickly into research. He wasn’t exactly noted for his bedside manner. Yes, he was very interested in what secrets her brain would reveal, but he didn’t care to hear them coming out of her mouth.

He’d glanced over the first few pages then thrown them down in disgust. Now here he was, trying to maneuver his way around the over-inflated ego of a monster that looked like a Madonna. But one detail nagged him ever since he’d talked with Lydia;
why didn’t she try to run away after she’d clobbered Rider?
Any captive animal would have, given the chance. Instead she remained. That made no sense. She could have easily killed the guards and released her companion. Something kept her in check and made her stay. Maybe the key to gaining her cooperation was figuring out what. Was there some thorn he could remove to win her trust? A gesture, which might appease her? The notebook Lydia had ordered him to read lay on top of his bag. Maybe, just maybe…

Thinking he was crazy, he started to loosen the straps around the vampire’s arms. Probably be killed for his pains, he reflected. She looked up, not bothering to quash her surprise. “To test your reflexes,” he explained. Unfastening the heavy leather restraints from her legs, he held his breath, terrified one of the small, black-booted feet would crush his sternum. He tried not to tremble, sensing she’d pounce on his fear but she just stayed there watching him. Sizing him up perhaps? Evaluating him as an adversary… or a potential meal?

She didn’t bother to thank him when he finally freed her, accepting it perhaps as if it were her due. Rolling onto her side she pushed herself to her feet, languidly stretching her muscles like a sated leopard. He couldn’t help looking. Her small body was compact, but lushly curved, tits and ass filling out the black denim jeans and semi-sheer lacy top nicely. It telegraphed youth and fertility to his unwary libido.

She turned and caught his confounded stare. “Should I undress, Doctor?”

He steered his mind off the pictures her body prompted. “No. I’m only testing your reflexes.”

She looked pointedly at his crotch. “Yours seem to be in good working order.”

She stretched again then took a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the cell, closing in a small circle as she moved toward him. Joe tensed for potential attack, calculating just how quickly he could go for the buzzer if she pounced. The odds didn’t look good.

A girlish giggle rippled from her. “Weird isn’t it? To know a woman could rip you to pieces? Don’t be frightened. I have better ways of vanquishing enemies.”

She shook out her thick hair as she moved toward him. Musky perfume grew strong in the air. His eyes strayed to her breasts again. He wanted to touch. Touch her? Shit, he wanted to
fuck
her. The thought horrified him but his body was in disagreement. Jean would laugh and say men would have sex with anything that moved.

But the way she moved… like something fluid, rippling around the small cell as if she had no bone or sinew, only one great long undulation of curve. It was inhuman. No human female no matter how graceful or seductive could move like this.

He had to look away or he was a dead man. Reaching down, he came up with the notebooks and held them out to her. Her kittenish attitude instantly evaporated. Now, she stood motionless, which was somehow much more inhuman and frightening than before. The texture of her skin was like smooth and lustrous stone, her eyes reflective brown-green gems. Only her hair retained its softness.

“How did you get these?”

“They were found in your knapsack.”

Pure malice twisted her features. “Surprised they didn’t check our mouths for gold.”