40
The Ingraham Institute
Dr. Talbot came to see her. She’d been waiting for that; dreading it. And in some ways, the dread was the worst part of it, so Red knew a moment’s relief when the door to her room opened and the smiling, bespectacled doctor walked in with a file tucked under one arm.
Just a few hours ago – though she didn’t know for sure because she couldn’t see the sun and there wasn’t a clock in her cell of a room – a motherly, kind-faced nurse had come to help her sit upright and get her back against the wall. The cuffs had stayed on, but a longer chain had been stretched between the two, so she could lower her arms from her chest; hold a spoon to eat the soup offered to her; rest her fists now against her thighs as she sat, cross-legged, on the bed and watched Dr. Talbot shut the door and move to take the chair across from her.
Her heartbeat pounded, but she felt disconnected from it; like its impression was muffled by the cuffs, too, just like her power.
Dr. Talbot sat, settled his white lab coat around himself, put the file in his lap, and beamed at her. “It’s wonderful to see you again, ah–” He not-so-subtly peeked into the file. “Ruby, now, is it?”
She didn’t respond.
“There’s a lot to catch up on,” he continued, unperturbed. “Both for you, and for us. But suffice to say we’re all extremely glad to have you back in the fold.”
The fold. Like she’d been a part of something. Like she hadn’t been laid flat on a steel table and had a grown man’s fingers push a speculum in her and announce her ready for breeding.
“I understand that your powers have matured significantly in the last five years…” He trailed off, waiting, one hand lifting in a littlego ongesture. He wanted her to tell him about that.
She swallowed hard, and said, “Where’s Rooster?”
It was gratifying to see that, even for just a second, she’d knocked Dr. Talbot off his course. “Oh. Um.” He recovered, but that momentary waver had been enough to give her hope; to let hersee: this man, who’d been a part of her birth, and her raising, and her treatment as a fatted calf, was uncertain. Maybe he was even a little afraid of her.
Rooster thought she was sweet. A guileless child. Even under the fire. But Talbot knew better.
“That’s your friend, hmm? Yes, well, I’m afraid that–”
“No,” she said, firm, and the doctor’s mouth fell open. “I made a deal with that guy. Jake.” The fucking liar. “He said he’d leave Rooster alone if I went with him. And I did. So where’s Rooster?”
Dr. Talbot blinked at her a moment, dumbfounded. Then his expression shifted into annoyance…laced with that sharp uncertainty that gave her hope. “I assume he’s wherever Major Treadwell left him. But.” His brows gathered. “Something to think about, young lady: that friend of yours killed a lot of men in the past five years. He’s very lucky to be alive; he ought to be on death row.”
“Is he safe?” she pressed.
Dr. Talbot blanked his face with obvious effort. Shrugged. “I don’t know. Major Treadwell’s orders were to shoot to kill if necessary.”
They stared at one another.
Dr. Talbot sighed. “I can see that you’ve changed since we knew one another last. Appealing to your sense of responsibility is obviously not going to work outright. Very well.” He opened up the folder and paged through the papers inside. “Here.” He pulled out a glossy photo and held it up so that she could see it.
She refused to lean forward, or squint, or show any interest. But she couldn’t help but register the grisly scene that he’d offered. Rocky, sandy soil; a distant mountain range; the corner of a modest brown house. And people. A half dozen laid out across the ground like stepping stones; outstretched legs, reaching arms, necks snapped back. And they looked like they’d been…chewed. Pulpy, messy wounds. Clumps of gore strewn across the hard-packed dirt.
“Afghanistan,” Dr. Talbot explained. “Up in the mountains. One man wiped out an entire village. He feasted on them. And he wasn’t a man at all anymore; he was a corrupted thing.” He took a breath, and afterward, he looked tired. Old. “Five hundred years ago, a very brave prince marched, in secret, deep into the heart of the retreating Ottoman Empire, across deserts and through villages where the locals had never seen an outsider, and didn’t care whose empire they were a part of. He found a secret, safe underground place, and he buried his uncle there – along with all of his uncle’s germ warfare.
“There are so many idiot, spiteful little terror cells that have cropped up in the wake of Usama bin Laden’s death, and one of those groups, searching for religious relics to sell, found something very, very different. A pre-biblical plague has been loosed upon the world; it’s what did this.” He rattled the picture. “It’s a threat we’ve known could come, that we’ve been preparing for for a very long time. It’s why you and the others like you were created.
“There hasn’t been a full-scale outbreak yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Eventually, someone will wake the uncle, and then. Well.” He shrugged. “No one wants to see that happen.”
Red kicked her chin up. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
But she’d seen the photo. Oh, God, she’dseen it.
“Of course not,” he said with a sigh. “But maybe you’ll believe the prince.” He turned toward the door. “Vlad?”
A slight pause, and then the door opened, and Red wished for the cuffs to be gone all over again.
The man who entered reminded her, in a vague sense, of Fulk. Long dark hair and sharp features…but this man was broader, more heavily muscled. And the wide plane of his forehead, the slant of his cheekbones spoke of a culture farther east than Fulk’s crisp Britishness. And there was such overtthreatcoiled within this man’s body, a sense ofother, a hard edge.
He eased the door carefully shut and moved to stand beside Dr. Talbot’s chair, gaze trained on Red.
