Red Queen (38 page)

I started hiking in the direction that I believed led toward the Strip. I kept expecting the moan to return but there was only silence. I wished I had brought a water bottle. I had drunk just before getting out of the car but my thirst soon returned, the damp air notwithstanding. The small light was powerful; I had a clear view of my surroundings. But I worried about its batteries as well. It would be a mistake to hike more than a mile from where my car was parked.

After ten minutes, I came to a fork. I could go left, right, or straight ahead. For some reason I opted to go to the right. I was guessing but I thought that direction would lead me to downtown, where the hospital stood that had employed Dr. Susan Wheeler up until two days ago.

Before making the turn, I was careful to etch another mark on the wall that pointed toward my original entrance.

The new sewer was more square, a tighter fit. The ceiling was barely six feet high. I detected a musky odor. More important, I noticed markings on the wall. Initially they looked like faded graffiti but the farther I walked, the more I realized I was looking at washed-out words that had been written in a foreign language.

German. I'd had three years in high school. My teacher, Mr. Barnes, had been superb; he'd drilled a thousand-word vocabulary into our brains. Pausing, focusing the light on a clear portion, I was able to decipher one sentence that chilled me to the bone:
Schmerz wird zum Vergnügen wenn die Macht Schmerzen schafft.

Pain becomes a pleasure when power creates pain.

I walked farther and saw a faded swastika painted in red and black. On the wall, on either side of it, were the Star of David and the Christian cross. It was as if the latter two symbols had been placed there to contain the evil influence of the Nazis' sign.

A short distance later the sewer suddenly opened into a concrete cavern. I assumed that was what it was. My light struggled in vain to give a clear view of the room's proportions. The beam seemed to shoot out and die. The humidity increased dramatically. I could have stumbled into an Amazon jungle, only there were no trees. But there was a distinct smell of decay. I had never smelled it before and yet I recognized it.

Bodies decomposing. Dead bodies, hopefully.

I was suddenly afraid they were not entirely dead.

I heard steps at my back and turned and saw Frank. Or Frankie—that was probably what he was called in this world. It was what Whip had called him. He didn't carry a flashlight but a burning torch. I didn't know how he had managed to sneak up on me. He stood at the end of the sewer that had led
me to this horrible place, and from his expression I didn't think he was going to let me go back the way I had come.

“Jessie,” he said in a somber tone. “You should never have come here.”

He was an important Lapra, the assistant to their leader. From what I knew of their group, they recognized only power and control. For that reason, I knew it would be a mistake to show fear.

“I go where I please,” I said.

He took a step toward me and gestured to the darkness with his free hand. “You'll never understand the history of this place, and others like it, although they're all the same, all one. I told Susan that after your visit the other night. She agreed with me but still feels there's hope for you.” He paused and waved his torch slowly in my direction so that I felt its heat. “Is there any hope?”

“Drop the riddles,” I said. “If you have something to ask, ask it.”

Frankie came so near he towered over me. “What do you feel behind you?” he asked.

“Death,” I said. “Suffering.”

“Death ends suffering. You can't have both. You need life to have pain. But only at the end of life is there enough pain to create enough pleasure to make life worth living. That's the paradox, and the purpose of this place.”

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

He nodded. “If you were to die here, slowly, horribly, you could give pleasure to many.”

Again, I cautioned myself to show no fear.

I poked him in the gut with my flashlight. “Your master wants me alive. I'm the mother of the superchild. Are you sure you want to kill me?”

He brushed away my light. “I don't like the power your position gives you. You did nothing to earn it. And that child—I think she's a menace.”

“Then maybe you should kill me. You can always lie to your boss. Just tell her I disappeared. But you know I'm stronger than I look. You saw what I did to Russ. It might be that I end up killing you.”

Frankie smiled without mirth. “I have had this thought, that you should simply vanish. Only I don't fear you or anyone else. Russ was a pawn I could have taken down with one blow. You barely survived your duel with him. Does that tell you something, Jessie?”

“Not really. Except you're beginning to bore me. Step aside now, or I'll kill you where you stand.”

Frankie took a step back, but not aside. He still blocked my exit. “I promise you a slow death. And I promise it will please me.” He raised his torch over his head. “Prepare yourself.”

I reached for my screwdriver. It was tucked in my belt, at my back. At the same time I wedged my flashlight in my front
pocket so that I'd be able to see but wouldn't have to hold it.

I sensed Frankie's boast wasn't idle. He could have killed Russ easily and that meant he probably had a significant advantage over me.

Yet he was lying when he said he didn't fear anyone. Lara had gotten to him when he had plucked her from my hands. The wave she had created had made him grimace and choke, and he had to be thinking,
Why, she's only a month old. What will she be like as a teenager?
I suspected he wasn't the least bit intrigued with her potential. For sure he was willing to risk Susan's wrath to dispose of Lara's mother.

I needed to strike a single death blow. Failing that, I had to invoke my fire and hope it overwhelmed his. Yet I feared his hidden powers. For the heat of his torch was suddenly growing in leaps and bounds, its flames being fed by magic. I didn't want to think how many witch genes he possessed.

I pulled back my screwdriver as an archer would his bow. The tool was my arrow. If I failed to sink it in his chest, I was probably screwed, no pun intended.

“Ready?” he asked.

I forced a smile. “Always.”

“Stop!” a voice called from the depths of the sewer.

The voice was commanding.

Frankie lowered his torch.

I did likewise with my screwdriver.

Out of the sewer walked a tall figure clothed in black
leather. In his right hand he held a sword. There was blood on it, red drops dripped off the steel onto the dark floor.

“Kendor,” I whispered, as my heart beat hard in my chest. God, it was good to see him. He just had to walk into the cavern and Frankie seemed to shrink two feet in height. Definitely, the flames bursting from his torch calmed down. I wouldn't have been surprised if the damn thing went out. Frankie couldn't help himself, he instinctively backed off. For his part, Kendor seemed amused to see the two of us together. He gestured to Frankie with his sword.

“Your master is anxious to make a deal with this young woman,” Kendor said. “How did you plan on explaining to her that Jessie was dead?”

Frankie sneered but his expression lacked conviction. “I don't have to explain myself to you,” he said.

Kendor stared at him. “No?”

Frankie shook his head. “This is our place. She has no right coming here. But I'm willing to overlook this transgression if she agrees to leave now and never return.”

“No,” Kendor said.

“What do you mean, ‘no'?” Frankie demanded.

Kendor raised his sword a foot. It was enough.

“You know,” Kendor said.

Frankie backpedaled another step. “This is sacred ground. We have a right to protect it.”

Kendor twisted his blade slightly so more of the accumulated
blood on the blade flowed free. “You could consult with those you put in place to guard this ground about your rights. But I'm afraid none of them would have much to say.”

Frankie acted offended. “You dare to play your barbaric games here? I'd strike you dead myself if Susan would allow it.”

“No,” Kendor said again.

“ ‘No, no'—you sound like a bloody parrot. What is it that you want?”

Kendor smiled. “Nothing.” In a move almost too swift for my witch eyes to follow, he sprang toward Frankie. High in the air, Kendor sliced Frankie's head off at the neck. The massive skull fell like a bowling ball, landing with a thud.

It was horrible to watch—and fascinating—as Frankie's long body slowly bent at the knees and waist, sitting down and leaning forward without a head. It took almost a minute before the blood stopped spurting from the main artery in the stump of his neck.

Kendor paid the body no heed. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his sword before returning the blade to its sheath, which hung behind his right side. He gestured for me to reenter the sewer, where he took a seat not far from the opening to the cavern. Sitting across from him, I rested the back of my head on the concrete wall.

“Thanks for saving my life,” I said.

Kendor shook his head. “It was I who allowed your daughter to be taken,” he said.

“You can't blame yourself. This power that Susan has, this bafflement—the whole Council seems helpless against it. Even Cleo doesn't know what it is.”

Kendor sighed and pulled up a knee to rest his arm on. “That's true, she doesn't understand it. Unfortunately, I do, to some extent.”

“But you said at the Council meeting you had never seen anything like it before.”

“I lied.” He paused. “I've known Susan since the day Caesar returned victorious to Rome and proclaimed himself emperor. I was with him that day, and that was the day I first spied Syn in the crowd.”

I trembled. “Are you saying that Syn and Susan are the same person?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“She was your lover?”

“For two thousand years.”

I found it hard to speak. “Tell me your story.”

“WHEN WE LAST SPOKE ALONE
, I told you of my commitment to Caesar. I won't belabor this part of my tale except to say that his victory at Alesia gave him the momentum to return to Rome and crown himself emperor. Those were exciting times. Finally, I thought, mankind could be brought under a single umbrella of law and justice and grow in the manner I had always dreamed possible.

“But it was a fool's dream. In my enthusiasm to have Caesar unify Europe, I overlooked what was under my nose and allowed Brutus and his gang of thugs to kill a man many called a god.”

“Was Syn involved with Caesar's assassination?” I asked.

“No. Syn had barely awakened to her powers when Caesar was stabbed to death. But even as an infant witch she understood the mob mentality of everyday Rome better than I did. For she was a native of the city, while I was not. Many times
she warned me to increase Caesar's personal security. I should have listened, but perhaps I was too confident in the love the people showered on him wherever he spoke.”

“You said you first spotted Syn in a crowd,” I said. “Did you recognize her as a potential witch?”

Kendor flashed a rare smile. “As opposed to a beautiful woman? I suppose the two went hand in hand. From the instant we met, I was hypnotized by her dark eyes. It had been ages since I had fallen in love, but sometimes, staring into those eyes, I felt as if I had met the greatest mystery of my life. Of course, she had a wild streak—most powerful women in those days did, especially when it came to Rome. I wasn't with her long before I knew she had the ability to become connected.”

“How could you be certain?” I asked.

“I wasn't certain until the day I put her through the death experience. But it was something I sensed to be true and I had lived long enough to trust my intuition.”

“Did you sense the evil in her?” I asked.

The question seemed to surprise Kendor. “Syn wasn't evil, at least not then, although I saw something in her I had never seen before in any woman. I don't have a word for it. Her beauty was obvious, of course, her energy undeniable. She was the daughter of a senator, rich and spoiled, and was used to traveling with a dozen slaves who would jump at her least command. But when she came to me, and I sent her slaves away, she didn't mind.”

“Was she trying to impress you?”

Kendor smiled. “I think it was more simple than that. We were in love, we wanted to make each other happy. Syn quickly saw that I disliked crowds so she got rid of her help. She didn't need it. We only needed each other.”

“How did she become connected?”

“By that time I had connected a hundred witches and had discovered that freezing a person to death was the least traumatic way. But Cleo is right—half those who lack the healing gene fail to survive. I couldn't tell whether Syn had it by looking at her. I only knew that she would be a powerful witch if she did survive. The winter after we met, I took her to the Italian Alps and led her into an icy lake, one of the hardest things I ever did in my life. But fortune smiled on us that day, or I should say that night. Because it was during the night, beside a roaring fire, that she suddenly sucked in a breath and was alive again.”

“So when we go through the death experience we really die?”

“Yes. But most witches who connect in this fashion usually stop breathing for a short period of time. Ten or fifteen minutes at most. Syn stopped for ten hours. I assumed I had lost her. It was a painful night, then a joyous one.”

I was thoughtful. “I wasn't breathing when I woke up in the morgue. Is it possible that I was dead for several hours?”

“It's likely. You two have a lot in common.”