Page 82 of Heir of Ashes

Without thinking, I dragged the body of the nearest dead guard to the elevator and propped him against the door, using his body to prevent it from closing. Then I hurried into the room, noticing as I passed that Logan had already checked several rooms. A bald man stood in the middle of the corridor, watching Logan work, a blocking bracelet gleaming on his left wrist.

I stopped beside the recliner, the sharp smell of Pine-Sol making my stomach churn, and studied the complex machinery. Several dials dotted the displays, marked with strange symbols, some glowing with an eerie light. Other dials were simplynumbered from one to six. None had an on/off switch. Deep blue eyes watched me warily, though not alarmed.

“Hang in there,” I murmured. Unsure of what to do, I decided it was safer to unplug him from the machine first. I didn’t want to turn a dial that might cause him more pain or even death. He was so pale, his skin sallow. His hair had been shaved recently, now just a faint dark stubble mostly covered by the round disks. A Lichtenberg tattoo covered most of his chest, torso, right upper arm, and the right side of his neck, as if he’d been hit by multiple lightning bolts and survived. His veins were visible beneath his pallor, purplish lines that contrasted with his skin and blended with the tattoo.

He looked so fragile, so vulnerable; I couldn’t help feeling angry at what was being done to him. With a snarl, I began detaching all the round rubber disks—stethoscope plugs—from his head and chest. His colorless lips twitched in a grimace, and I apologized softly, unplugging the last couple of disks more gently. Several machines beeped in warning, and the electric laser connecting the machines from one side to the other gave a loud hum, intensifying in color and width, now as thick as my index finger.

That’s when I saw the thin band around his wrist, like a blocking bracelet, yet smooth without any carved runes—like the one Remo’s giant goon had used on me back in the casino. This one was also glowing with that eerie light. A thin copper wire attached the band to the machines, spiraling into the glowing cylinder, which in turn was connected to the tube emitting the laser. I knew then that taking off the plugs hadn’t been a good idea. The man’s eyes were clouded with pain.

“One minute,” called Rafael from somewhere outside.

Frantic, I reached for the band, but the man moved his wrist aside, just an inch, his head shaking, or that’s what I interpreted the slight motion of his chin to the left meant. Ihesitated, letting my hand drop. “Where then?” I asked him, but he either didn’t know or was too weak to reply.

His eyes closed, then fluttered open again with visible effort. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I moved my hand to the glowing cylinder, looking down at the man for confirmation—or denial—but he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes again. Either I was doing something right, or he had passed out. I watched him long enough to catch the slight rise and fall of his chest, then returned my attention to the machines.

Gripping the glowing cylinder, a surge of electric zing jolted through my body, intensifying by the second. It was freezing to the touch, and I vaguely wondered what it was doing to the man. I yanked hard on it. Once, twice, thrice. The third time, I put all my strength behind it. The cylinder broke with a loud boom, louder than the claxons, louder than the boom of Logan and Rafael’s grenades. I was flung against the opposite wall with such force I felt the impact on every single vertebra.

A thin column of vapor escaped from the jagged end of the cylinder still clutched in my fist, the smell of ozone now thick in the air. The man arched once, his eyes fluttering, a small whimper escaping through his colorless lips. Then he curled to his side, falling off the recliner before I could catch him and break his fall.

Rafael appeared at the door just as I threw the broken cylinder towards it. It bounced harmlessly off his boot. His scowl was as dark as sin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, his fists clenched at his sides. He was no doubt regretting he hadn’t knocked me unconscious and left me back in the woods.

I moved slowly, every inch of my body protesting with the motion. “I’m taking him with me.”

“The fuck you are,” Rafael snapped. “We’re already running late without the extra baggage.”

“Look what they’ve done to him.” I looked at Rafael, my eyes pleading. “It could have been me. It could have been Archer. Or Logan.”

Rafael’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Then have mercy and finish him off.” He saw the look of horror on my face and took a step forward—to do it himself, maybe.

“No, don’t.” I stepped in front of the curled-up figure on the floor, ready to protect him, and Rafael stopped.

“Look at him. Death will be a mercy,” he said, his tone softer. Someone cackled outside, and a hunched woman moved by.

I glanced down at the guy, still curled in on himself, the bones of his spine and ribs so pronounced, it looked painful. He looked unconscious, or dead; I couldn’t tell. His chest wasn’t moving. His aura was so faint, it was almost a smudge, with no apparent color.

“I’ll carry him,” I said bleakly, though I knew Rafael was right. Death would be a mercy. Hadn’t I said it to myself over and over when it had been me?

Rafael saw the defeat in my eyes and quickly, to cover the tears that threatened to come, how futile my effort had been, I bent to check the guy’s pulse. It was there, though faint and erratic. Before I could take my hand back from the guy’s clammy skin, he disappeared.

Poofed.

There once, then gone. I blinked, looked up at Rafael to see if he’d just seen what I’d seen, and found him staring at the spot where the guy had been with pursed lips.

“Looks like he doesn’t need our help,” he said just as his watch beeped once, signaling our time was up.

Chapter 25

The corridor was full of roaming preternaturals, auras of every color going back and forth like a human rainbow, some looking dazed, others laughing maniacally, some just plain confused. Some were frisking the dead guards, searching for whatever weapons they could find.

The elevator door was closed, no doubt carrying down some of the preternaturals who decided to keep going, and I cursed myself for leaving my post. The car could return full of Elite guards, ready to dart anything with a pulse. I searched the thinning crowd, finding a few green auras in the mix, but none that belonged to Logan.

Three doors remained closed. Just as I worried Logan had found Archer and left when he didn’t find me and Rafael at our designated posts, he emerged from one of the farthest rooms, supporting a hunched figure with an arm draped over his shoulder.

Archer.

At first glance, Archer looked like someone’s elderly grandfather. White hair, lean-looking body that seemed to have just the right amount of muscles, his compact bulk easily mistaken for extra weight by an untrained eye. He wore a green-striped cotton uniform, identical to the one that had made up my entire wardrobe for the nine years I had spent there. My body twitched with a barely suppressed shudder.

Finding Archer had been half our mission. Now, all we had to do was leave the place without getting caught. Easy-peasy. I was about to suggest to Rafael that we take the stairs to the third floor and then the less used stairs that opened near the kitchens, when Archer raised his head and looked at me.