Wrong Side of Dead

Chapter Nineteen

2:10 P.M.

After this morning’s round of Question the Werewolves, my tolerance for torture was completely topped out. Marcus took Phin’s place on the interrogation squad, and we left before they settled in to pry more answers out of Thackery. He’d hold out, I had no doubt, and it would likely get messy. And as much as I despised Thackery, I just didn’t want to see anyone else suffering today.

Or ever, really, if I had my druthers, but my line of work pretty much ruled that out. Violence was part of my job, part of my life, and not something I could escape. Not until I was dead.

We crossed paths with Dr. Vansis just outside the store. He had a laptop balanced on one arm and a sour look on his face. As soon as he spotted me, he shook his head. “Nothing new for you on Truman, I’m sorry,” he said. “Is Astrid inside?”

“Interrogating the prisoner,” Phin replied. “What’s that?”

“Some of the research they found on the ferry. It’s all coded, and without the key it’s going to take hours to crack. By someone else, mind you. I’m no computer expert.”

“Rufus is good with computers,” I said. “So’s Oliver Powell.”

“Thank you. I’ll look for them.”

“Rufus was in the War Room last I saw him.”

Dr. Vansis nodded, then moved along toward Operations. Long, clipped strides. I probably should have told him there was no cure for Wyatt, but he already knew that. He had to know that by now.

The infirmary was across the hall and down several dozen yards. I gazed at the doors, aching to walk there and sit with Wyatt for a while. I also ached to just find a bed somewhere and sleep until this was over. All over, and I didn’t have to fight anymore. Didn’t have to do any of this shit anymore.

My feet moved of their own volition, carrying me in the opposite direction of the infirmary. Phin shadowed me as I walked. I wasn’t even sure of my destination or intentions, until I was standing in front of the entrance to the vampires’ quarters. The doors were closed, sealed, and guarded by a pair of lionesses.

I had friends in there. Sort of. Isleen had assisted me several times, even saved my life once by pulling me out of a garbage Dumpster. She was sick. We still didn’t know why, and I hadn’t spoken to her in hours.

“Are we able to communicate with them?” I asked.

“Yes,” Phin replied. He leaned around one of the lounging cats and plucked a walkie off the floor. “The channel is set.”

I turned the volume up a few notches, then pressed the Talk button. “Isleen? It’s Stone, are you there?” A few seconds of static passed. I repeated my message.

More static, and then, “I am here.”

Her voice was … wrong. Shaky, broken, nothing like the calm lilt of a stolid, self-assured vampire princess. She was daughter to one of the ruling Fathers, and she was an amazing warrior. I’d seen her in battle, cutting through her enemies like fire through straw. Beautiful.

Now sick. Weak.

I no longer knew what to say. “We captured Thackery.”

“We were told.”

“He was using Therian blood to stabilize his Halfies. Injecting it, instead of feeding it to them.”

A brief pause. “Intriguing. Our illness?”

It shamed me that I hadn’t even considered that as one of my two questions. “He isn’t saying much. Astrid’s leading the interrogation. As soon as they learn anything, I’m sure they’ll tell you.”

“Of course.”

“How are you?” Stupid question to ask, really, but it slipped out.

“Our symptoms have progressed. My skin is dry, cracking. Bleeding.”

A shiver tore down my spine, and I squeezed the walkie a little too tight. “How long have you been like that?”

“Perhaps thirty minutes. It does lend itself to a theory.”

“Theory?” I glanced at Phin, who looked both puzzled and hopeful. Therians and vampires were not natural allies. However, they had developed a mutual respect in recent months, and for some it extended to friendship.

“I have been asking questions.” She grunted, a pained sound that raised my hackles. “I may have found a commonality among we who are ill.”

“What is it?”

“Sunscreen.”

“Sunscreen?”

“Yes, the UV sunscreen.”

Right—the sunscreen developed for the vampires several years ago that allowed them to walk freely in the sunshine. The initial application was quite painful, and few vampires outside the Family warriors volunteered to use it. It made a horrible kind of sense.

“Isleen, are all of the warriors sick?”

“Yes. As well as a courier. She used the sunscreen.”

“Have you told your father?”

“Not yet.”

“Did Thackery give it to the Families?”

“I do not believe so. The Family Fathers did not recognize his photograph. A human mage sold it to us.”

“Do you know his name?” Please, please remember his name. It would give us a small lead, something to look into. Anything except sitting around, watching people I care about die.

“Matthew Goodson.”

“Anything else? Description? Cell phone number.”

She made an odd sound. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn it was laughter. “The woman who made the purchase died in battle at Olsmill. The mystery of Matthew Goodson’s appearance died with her.”

Terrific.

“Thank you, Isleen.”

“We will, in all likelihood, die of this affliction. I feel my body shutting down. Growing weak. Changing.”

My eyes stung, and I blinked hard. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“As do I. If I am not, so be it. I have lived a full life. And I am honored to have called you an ally, Evangeline Stone.”

“Me, too.” I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, sorry I punched you that time.”

“Forgiven.”

Static filled the airwaves. I tapped the antenna of my walkie against my forehead, upset and unsure what else to say. We’d said it all, really. I’d failed her by bringing Felix into our sanctuary, and now my vampire friends and allies were paying the price with their lives.

“Stone?” It wasn’t Isleen’s voice, and it took me a moment to recognize—

“Quince?” I said. “Are you sick?”

“No, I never used the sunscreen. I remain unafflicted. One of only twenty now.”

Shitfuckdamnhell.

“I wish to assist, as do the others,” Quince continued, “but the Fathers will not lift the quarantine.”

“I’m sorry.” I eyed the pair of lionesses, who tracked me with watchful copper stares. “I wish there was something more I could do.”

“Find Matthew Goodson. It will be a start.”

“Yeah. Is Isleen—?”

“Resting.”

“Right. Keep an eye on them all.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Quince.”

He didn’t reply immediately. “Avenge us.”

I glanced at Phin, who nodded sagely. “Working on it.”

We stowed the walkie where it came from. My strength was returning in small increments, leaving an unusual and raging hunger in its place. Maybe a quick stop at the cafeteria for something starchy before we fell headfirst into researching Matthew Goo—

“Evy!”

Good grief, what now?

Milo ran down the corridor toward us like his ass was on fire, eyes wide and mouth open. My heart plummeted to the floor. I started backing up, instinctively seeking refuge from what I knew would be horrible news. News I didn’t want to hear, an announcement I couldn’t know. I backed up right into Phin’s chest. His hands gently grasped my elbows and held me steady—trapped me there, too, the bastard.

As Milo closed in, I realized the expression I’d originally taken for panic was actually surprise. Seasoned with just a little bit of … excitement?

“What?” I asked when he was close enough so I didn’t have to scream it.

He skidded to an awkward stop a few yards away and flapped his hand at me, beckoning. “Come on,” he said. “Wyatt’s awake, Evy. Come—”

I tore out of Phin’s arms and past Milo before he punctuated his own sentence with “—on.”

I think he was still shouting at me, this time to “wait a minute!” as I burst into the infirmary. No one was in the outer office. I took one stride toward the recovery rooms and stopped dead at the furious snarl that echoed from that direction. Only an angry, cornered animal could have made that sound. Something in my chest tightened unbearably.

“Stop a sec,” Milo said, panting as he drew up next to me.

“He was in a coma,” Phin said. “Did Dr. Vansis bring him out?”

“No, the machines just started going crazy. He woke up on his own and began yanking out the tubes.”

Christ.

“Evy, he’s different,” Milo said.

No, no, no, no …

My feet carried me forward. Kismet blocked the door to Wyatt’s room, hands braced on either side of the frame. Her profile was pale, jaw set. I touched her shoulder. She turned her head and her horrified expression crushed any lingering hope I’d had.

I don’t want to see this. Can’t know this. Oh God, please.

She moved out of the doorway, and I stepped into it, greeted by another growl. Low, warning. The bed was empty, blood-dotted sheets rumpled and tangled with abandoned wires and tubes. Wyatt was huddled in the corner, the linen gown he’d been dressed in twisted around his waist. The bandages on his neck and arm were torn, exposing the injured flesh below. Face covered by his hands, he rocked gently back and forth.

He was growling.

“Wyatt?” I said.

The growling stopped, and his entire body tensed. Ceased rocking.

I swallowed, mouth too damned dry. “Wyatt, it’s Evy.”

He raised his head, hands slipping down his face to cover his mouth. His eyes, once as black as coal, now twinkled a deep silver. No recognition there, just fear. And pain.

And something else I’d seen directed at me from him only one other time in my life—betrayal.

My heart fell to pieces.