Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 (29 page)

Sam came to another door and opened it to find another set of stairs, this one leading down into a wide, dark room. A roller door dominated the wall opposite. A smaller door was beside it, padlocked and bolted from the inside rather than the outside. Briggs had no chance of getting through that without blasting her way in and telling the world of her presence in the process.

In the hallway behind her, a door opened. It wasn’t so much the sound she heard as the stale air stirring. Orrin hunted.

She descended the stairs and ran to the outer door. The sparks dancing across her fingertips leapt to the padlock the minute she picked it up. Within seconds, it was dust.

If she’d had the time to be frightened about this new ability, she would have been. But right now, Gabriel’s safety mattered more than anything else—including her fear.

She pulled open the bottom dead bolt and reached for the top lock, but it was too high and she couldn’t get anywhere near it. Cursing, she swung around, looking for something to stand on.

And saw the door near the top of the stairs open.

S
CENT STIRRED AROUND HIM.
S
AM’S
scent. Vanilla and cinnamon, such a warm and enticing mix. Like her. He opened his eyes, blinking several times before his vision swam into focus.

He was still in the office, still on the floor. His arm was numb. Sadly, that numbness didn’t extend to his back, where it felt as if every muscle was being torn apart. Even the mere act of blinking made his gut churn uneasily.

Sam wasn’t in the room. But she had been; otherwise he wouldn’t have smelled her.

Or was it merely wishful thinking?

No, he could feel her closeness, as surely as he could his heart. And she’d left him a laser. It clung like a limpet to his palm.

Where had she gone? And why?

Rose,
he thought. She was hunting Rose. He had to find her—and help if he could.

He rolled onto his back, and a dozen fresh aches assaulted his body. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down the side of his face. For an instant, darkness loomed. He would have welcomed the fall back to unconsciousness except for the sudden realization that if Sam was here, she would need his help. She couldn’t cope with the likes of Rose alone.

He grabbed the edge of the desk with his good hand and, gritting his teeth, slowly, carefully, eased himself upright. But his legs wouldn’t take his weight and buckled beneath him. His knees hit the floor, his back scraping against the desk as he fell sideways. A scream tore up his throat, but it came out as little more than a sharp hiss.

When the room stopped spinning, he tried again. This time he made it. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, then staggered across to the door, where he stood, trembling like a newborn just learning to walk. As much as he needed to change shape to repair his arm and stop the bleeding, he couldn’t. Not when he was in this sort of state. It was all he could do to remain conscious.

The door opened into a corridor. Two doors to choose from—the right one was closer. He didn’t have much strength left, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep going. So he headed right.

The door led into a deeper darkness, and he had the feeling of a vast emptiness. There were no sounds beyond the creak of loose roofing. He stepped out. Overhead, lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the room. He was in a factory of some kind. There were stairs directly in front of him, leading up.

He staggered across the emptiness and grabbed the banister—had to, because otherwise he would have fallen. His heart felt like it was ready to tear out of his chest, and the darkness whirled around him. He took several deep breaths and slowly, carefully, began to climb.

Footsteps whispered across the night. He stopped, listening. They were coming to the top of the stairs and heading directly toward him. It wasn’t Sam. He would have known if it were. So it was probably Rose.

He held his ground, simply because he had no other choice. He couldn’t move with any sort of speed, and Rose would hear him if he tried. It was better to remain where he was and hope for the element of surprise.

He clenched his fingers around the laser and waited. The steps drew close—a beat of violence that ricocheted across the night.

Rose appeared on the top step. She began to descend, then stopped abruptly. There was a click and light flooded across his face, momentarily blinding him.

“Well, well. Here I am expecting an intruder, and I find you instead. How did you escape the ropes?”

“Double-jointed.”

He squinted, trying to see her silhouette against the brightness of the flashlight. He dared not use the laser until he was certain of her position. Surprise would give him only one shot, so it had better be a good one.

“Why don’t you just turn around and head down the stairs? I can’t have my insurance policy running around injuring himself. Orrin wouldn’t be pleased.”

“You’re fuckin’ mad, do you know that?” Which probably wasn’t the sanest thing to say, given the situation.

“Why, thank you. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day. Now move.”

He pressed the safety off the laser. “And go meekly to my death? I don’t think so.”

“Assistant Director, don’t be a fool. I have a gun, and I’m not opposed to shooting a hole the size of a football field in your knee. Dragging you across the floor would be a pain, though, so I’d really prefer not to.”

From the hallway behind her came a second whisper of sound. A door creaking open. Her gaze hardened. “It appears we have a visitor after all, which leaves me with little choice. I can’t have you wandering around unattended, now, can I?”

He raised the laser and aimed for the flashlight. The bright beam went out. Rose yelped and then swore. He threw himself sideways. His back hit the banister and agony exploded. Laser fire bit through the night, burning into the step he’d just vacated. Another burst of laser fire lit the darkness, its source the hallway beyond Rose.

There was a thud, then Rose’s body fell past him, landing in a broken pile at the base of the stairs.

He looked up. Stephan, still in his Byrne disguise, appeared out of the darkness, a laser by his side.

“And the lesson from tonight is never to attack my brother without first looking over your shoulder for me.” He squatted next to Gabriel, eyes grim despite his half-smile. “The bitch didn’t deserve to die so quickly, of course. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. Help me up.”

“I don’t think that’s a—”

“Damn it, Stephan, don’t argue. Sam needs help.”

“Then let me and Jessie handle it.”

“The way you let the SIU handle this? This is not a responsibility the director should be handling.”

“I’m not here in my capacity as the director.”

“I realize that. Now help me up.”

Stephan gripped his arm and steadied him as he rose. Pain tore across his back. For a minute, it felt as if someone was shoving red-hot pokers into his backbone, clear through to his gut. He hissed and blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

“Brother, you’re useless to everyone like this. Let us handle it.”

“Would you, if it were Lyssa?”

Stephan regarded him steadily. “Lyssa’s my wife. We’re talking about your partner—a woman you’ve been trying to get rid of.”

A woman who was dead if he didn’t get moving. “Yeah. So just shut up and help me down the stairs.”

Orrin stepped onto the landing. Sam couldn’t see him; the night hid him as surely as it had hidden her earlier. But she could feel him, feel the stink of his evil.

“I knew you were one of us.” His voice jarred the night, edgy and somehow out of tune with the power that flowed through the darkness.

She backed away from the door. If she could get to the deeper shadows, maybe he’d lose her…

“I can see you, you know. I can see you as clear as day. It’s one of the advantages of our gift.”

“What gift is that, Orrin?” If he could see her, why couldn’t she see him? Why could she only sense him?

“The gift of darkness. The ability to ghost, to become one with the night.”

No mention of the power within the storm. No mention of the firefly dance of energy that could shatter locks as easily as she breathed.

Perhaps Orrin thought to keep it a surprise. Perhaps he didn’t even know about it. There was no way of knowing if her apparent ability to disappear into shadows was in any way linked to his. They might not even be talking about the same type of ability.

But Orrin had come from Hopeworth. The more she delved into her past, the more obvious it was that the military base was her birthplace. The gifts Orrin spoke of were a cousin to her own; of that she was sure.

“Vampires ghost, Orrin, and you’re no vampire.”

The giant walked down the stairs and she backed away, her gaze sweeping the large room, searching desperately for some sort of weapon. It was no use running. Orrin was almost twice her height and would catch her in no time.

“No,” he replied. “But their DNA runs through me. And I
will
taste your blood before this night is out.”

Like hell he would. Damn it, how close were Briggs and the others? Or Stephan? She still had the earphone on—maybe she should just shout for help. But that would warn Orrin and Rose that the others were out there, and if Orrin’s behavior was anything to go by, that was something they weren’t aware of yet. For Gabriel’s sake, she had to play this solo.

Besides, there was no guarantee that even with the help of Briggs and the others, they’d be able to take the giant out. Not when he had the night as his ally. To be able to shoot someone, you had to be able to see him.

Orrin reached the bottom step and stopped. Though she couldn’t see his smile, she could feel it.

“Nowhere to run here, little girl. Just one big room with only the two exits.”

Her back hit the wall. She edged along to the right. “You can’t cover both of them at the same time, Orrin.”

“I don’t need to. I move fast—faster even than you.”

“You can’t know that.” Though she had a suspicion that he could. After all, if it was possible for her to taste evil, why couldn’t it be possible for him to know instinctively what she could and couldn’t do?

But if that were the case, why wasn’t he saying anything about the power of the storm?

Her foot hit something and metal scraped harshly across the concrete. Orrin laughed.

“You think that little metal pick is going to hurt me?”

Shoved deep in some unlikely orifice, yes, it probably would. She quickly picked it up. Orrin’s so-called pick was a good three feet long and as heavy as sin. It should make a rather nice dent, even in a head as thick as Orrin’s.
If
she dared get that close.

He stepped toward her. Heat crawled over her skin, whispering secrets. Orrin was, as he’d said, kin to the vampires, but one who could walk through the day without fear. A dhampire, one who drank blood not out of necessity, but purely for enjoyment.

She hefted the metal rod, holding it in front of her like a staff. Why hadn’t she sensed Orrin’s true nature earlier? Was it because the daylight hid his vampire half, or was it more a case of these new abilities coming into focus because of the storm’s power?

“Why not simply turn yourself in, Orrin? At the moment, you’re guilty of little more than being an accessory. A few years, max, in prison. Piss easy for a man like you.”

“And Hopeworth? You think I don’t know they’ll swoop in and get me?”

“You have a real fixation with Hopeworth, haven’t you?” She balanced lightly on her toes, ready to run given the slightest hint of movement from Orrin.

“You’re one of us. You should know what it’s like, being poked and prodded and examined endlessly. I won’t go back to it. I can’t.”

She frowned. He seemed to have awfully clear memories of something that happened when he was a baby. “That was a long time ago, Orrin.”

“Twenty years,” he agreed. “I was nearly ten when they dumped me. But I remember. And I will have revenge.”

Not if she could help it. Not that she wanted to protect Hopeworth—far from it. Everything she’d learned over the past few days had only convinced her that they deserved everything Orrin had planned, and a whole lot more.

No. The problem was Orrin himself. His desire to kill was so strong she could almost taste it. He planned to play with her, planned to drink her blood until he drained her dry. Then he planned to do the same to Gabriel.

To stop him, she’d have to kill him. If she could.

He rushed at her, a gale force she felt rather than saw. She danced away and swung the bar with all her might. It connected against flesh with a sickening crack. The force of the blow shuddered up her arm and momentarily numbed her fingers.

He laughed.
Laughed.
He was as mad as Rose.

She backed away, gripping the bar hard, her gaze locked on his evil stain.

“You’re good, little girl. Not many can match me for speed.”

Gabriel could. No doubt Stephan could as well. She hoped like hell he was listening in—no, make that running to the rescue. It had been nothing short of madness to ever think she could play this game with Orrin. The giant was too fast, too strong.

“As you said, we have something in common. Give it up, Orrin, while you still can.”