Legacy of the Demon by Diana Rowland
Dr. Patel’s expression was one of surprise and, oddly, what seemed like awe. “Yes. But . . .” She glanced at Gallagher, then back to me.
“I had a busy morning at the rifts and haven’t had time to check my interagency updates yet,” I continued, trusting the grimy condition of my uniform fatigues to back me up. I made my smile friendly and full of understanding. “But for important matters like arcane medical conditions, I’d rather get the info firsthand.”
Gallagher stepped forward. “Sorry, Gillian. You’re not on the list for—”
My smile went to full glare at light speed. “Don’t give me the bureaucratic bullshit runaround, Gallagher. I have clearance, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Dr. Patel shouldered past him with her hand extended and relief on her face. “Dr. Aja Patel. A pleasure to meet you.”
I shook her hand, but she kept hold of it when I released my grip.
“I can’t wait to tell my daughter I met the Kara Gillian,” she gushed, eyes wide with unfeigned delight. “We read every blog post and article about you. I just love what you said about the ethical impact of demon incursions on civil rights. It was so insightful.”
I managed to disengage from her hand without seeming rude. “As much as I’d like to take credit for an insightful comment, I’m afraid that one’s not mine. Either someone misattributed it or made it up.” I’d stopped trying to keep up with all of the crap about me on the Internet—love, hate, glory, blame. Who had time for that?
Her face fell. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, it’s all right. It happens all the time.” I added a warm chuckle since I didn’t want to put her off. Gallagher had obviously known that her awe would work in my favor. “There’s plenty of insightful and plain old brilliant stuff I’ve really said. You’re probably thinking of the commentary I made about the efficacy of martial law and the need for compassionate population distribution.”
That seemed to take the edge off of her embarrassment. “Yes! The Arcane for Humanity documentary was awesome. The way you dealt with those two kehza had me on the edge of my seat. And then you were so cool and calm afterward when you talked to the reporter!”
Right. I’d been calm because the sudden appearance of the demons had startled the shit out of me, and I’d done a triple pygah tracing so I could function at all. “Experience, I guess,” I said with a smile. “And I very much appreciate the compliments.” I straightened as if I suddenly had a great idea and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Would you mind if I took a picture with you? It’s always a thrill to know that I have supporters.” While Dr. Patel smiled in delight, I looped an arm around her and did a quick selfie. In my periphery I caught Gallagher’s pained look. “After we get done with the briefing on the victims, I’d be happy to personalize a photo for your daughter,” I added, tucking my phone away. “I mean, if you think she’d like that sort of thing.”
“She’ll be over the moon.” Dr. Patel beamed. “We’ll get that briefing taken care of in a snap. Right this way.” She headed toward the elevator, bounce in her step.
“Dr. Patel,” Gallagher said, expression back to stern. “This is highly irregular. I’ll have to notify—”
“Do whatever you need to do to ease your conscience, Agent Gallagher,” she announced without turning. “I’m doing what I must to ease mine.”
A twinge of guilt plagued me as Gallagher and I followed her into the elevator. It didn’t feel right for us to play her, but then again she seemed genuinely relieved that I was here. Everything balanced out. I hoped.
The elevator disgorged us onto the third and top level. Unlike the others, this floor remained very hospital-like, except for the agents—armed and in tactical gear—posted by the nursing station and corridor entrances.
A nurse in dark blue scrubs pulled Dr. Patel aside for a quiet but visibly urgent conversation.
Gallagher ushered me to the nursing station then folded his arms over his chest. “Sign in unless your high and mighty clearance can’t handle the bureaucratic bullshit.”
I smiled sweetly at him. “Aw, Gallagher, if you want my autograph, you only have to ask.”
He growled something incoherent. I signed a messy scrawl that looked nothing like my actual signature. No sense making it obvious that I’d been here. “Does Zack have an office in this building?”
“Second floor. North wing.”
“Cool,” I said lightly. “I’ll swing by and give him a wave before I leave.” And shake him until he tells me what the fuck is going on and where Szerain, Sonny, and Ashava are.
Dr. Patel hurried over to us. “The good news is that the recent arrivals are stable. We learned from earlier patients not to disturb them.” She shook her head. “The rest is a mystery. I need an arcane opinion.”
So why hadn’t Zack given her one? He was a demahnk, with more arcane knowledge at his disposal than I’d ever have. And sure, Special Agent Zack Garner wasn’t supposed to have all the arcane skillz, but I found it hard to believe he’d let people die just to maintain his cover. “Show me.”
She gave me the rundown as we walked to the far corridor. The first six cases had been brought in late last night: Three men disoriented and covered in red slime, one woman in stasis and coated in a rubbery gel, and two others who Dr. Patel said it would be easiest to just show me. The medical personnel attempted to wash the slime off one of the victims, but when he died screaming, that treatment plan was quickly abandoned. A second slime-victim died during the prep for surgery to remove a fist-sized growth in his abdomen. The third went from slimy to gel-covered in a matter of seconds and was currently in stasis. Less than an hour ago, a tech tried to collect a small sample of gel for analysis from the woman who’d arrived in stasis, and she died within minutes. Then four new cases were brought in, all in a gel-stasis condition.
No pathogens or toxins had been found, and there was still no known cause, but the common denominator was that all had been within a half mile of the PD when the valve blew.
And I’d been literally right on top of it. Lovely.
Dr. Patel stopped outside a room with a handwritten sign on the door: Chrysalis Project, Phase 3. “This is one of last night’s arrivals,” she told me as we entered.
The instant I stepped into the room, a weird smell of spice and burned hair hit me. It was the same odor that came over Cory when he went all gummy, though much more bearable without the barf and Pine-Sol mixed in, and far less cloying than the decaying roses stench of the slime phase. Resting on the bed before me was a large red lump of smooth, dry gel shaped like a slightly flattened egg, completely unrecognizable as human. Lead wires for a heart monitor were stuck to it, looking as absurd as wires jammed into a tomato. Yet the screen showed a heart rate of twenty-four, so obviously something was going on in there.
Gallagher stopped a couple of feet into the room, face haunted. I realized with sick certainty that this patient was David Hawkins. But why wasn’t everyone wearing oodles of hazmat gear? I’d always thought that was the protocol for unknown plagues.
Dr. Patel peered at the monitor. “I’ve observed several distinct phases so far. This patient was in Phase One when he came in last night—the red slime. He moved into Phase Two—gel-coated, but lying flat and rigid. This morning he curled into a fetal position, and the gel expanded to completely cocoon him: Phase Three.” She looked at me with a mix of hope and desperation. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
“No,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie since Cory had apparently only reached Phase Two. “If you don’t know the cause, why aren’t the patients in quarantine?”
“Word came down through Chief Garner that there’s no need,” she said as if that was explanation enough.
“Ah. Gotcha.” I knew damn well that an ordinary FBI Division Chief would never be allowed to overrule CDC policy. However, Zack Garner was in no way ordin
“Give me a moment to assess,” I said, easing closer to the gel-egg thing. The gel was completely opaque, giving no indication that a human lay curled inside. Though the physical surface appeared smooth, arcane patterns covered it in a thick layer of glimmering hexagonal cells reminiscent of a honeycomb. The resonance was similar to Cory’s, but far more organized. In the center, a tumor the size of a basketball pulsed, with delicate tendrils of potency branching from it like blood vessels. Only their arcane network revealed the shape of the man it covered.
I met Dr. Patel’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s causing this other than it’s definitely arcane. However, I can give you more than you’ll get in a physical assessment. The tumor in the middle isn’t draining him. It’s feeding him.”
She nodded with enthusiasm. “Considering the outcome, that makes perfect sense. I knew the transformation energy had to come from somewhere. How does—”
Dr. Patel to unit twelve, emergency, a voice announced from her pocket. Dr. Patel. Unit twelve.
She made a noise of frustration. “A.C. Gillian, I’ll be right back. Agent Gallagher will continue your briefing while I’m gone.” She burned a you’d-better-do-it-right glare in his direction then hustled from the room.
Damn it. What the hell had Patel meant by “outcome” and “transformation energy”?
Gallagher moved in close. “Can you do anything for Hawkins?”
“Nothing directly,” I said with a sigh. “What’s his prognosis? I mean if they manage not to kill him.”
“We’ve observed two very different outcomes,” he said, eyes dark and grim. “I’ll show you.”
I followed him out of the room but paused when he started down the corridor. “I need to make a pit stop first,” I said. “Won’t be a minute.” I didn’t wait for a response before ducking into the ladies’ room and on into a stall. As quickly as my little thumbs could move, I texted Pellini:
Gallagher looked up from his own phone as I returned. “Got word of three new cases. Quebec, San Diego, and Boston. All are refugees from the Beaulac area, but haven’t confirmed if they were here the day of the blast.”
“I’ll wager they were.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” He shook his head. “At least the media hasn’t gotten hold of it yet.”
“I’m surprised it hasn’t already gone viral.” I grimaced. “You said you were going to show me the outcomes. Is that the transformation Dr. Patel mentioned?”
He nodded and led the way down the corridor again. “Don’t be shocked by what you see.”
“I deal with demons, remember?” I wished I felt as confident as I sounded.
Gallagher hmmfed then ushered me into a room marked Phase 4. A woman rested peacefully on the bed with monitors attached and an IV in her arm.
I peered at her. “Yeah? She looks normal.”
Gallagher lifted her hand and uncurled her fingers. Her nails curved abruptly beyond the tips of her fingers and terminated in wicked sharp points. And it didn’t look like malformed human nails, either. More like unnaturally natural claws. “That’s not so bad. It’s weird as hell, but—”
He drew the sheet back from the woman’s legs.
I let out a low whistle. Fur—orange, white, and black—covered her hips and thighs, and a fluffy tail lay alongside her leg. Yep, showing me was better than telling me that Cory was going to turn into a cat. A calico cat. Seriously? “That’s . . . definitely bizarre. How is this happening?”
“We don’t know. We’ve had,” he glanced at the clock, “fourteen hours, and the only two patients we have in Phase Four arrived that way. We don’t know how they transition or emerge from the jelly cocoon thing to become this.” He waved a hand at the transformed woman. “Both fours seem stable, though. Robust, in fact.”
“Is the other one a cat, too?”
A scream and metallic crash sounded down the corridor.
“Shit. That’s the other Phase Four,” Gallagher said. Together, we hurried toward the source of the fracas. “He was in the jail when it blew,” he continued. “Nasty piece of work.”
We swung through the open door to see Dr. Patel and two nurses wrestling with a naked man who was handcuffed and shackled to the bedrails. Metal clanged against metal as the man jerked at the cuffs. He screamed again, a deep, inhuman sound, reminiscent of the bellow of a reyza.
A bolt of surprise went through me at the sight of the man’s face. I knew the guy—Earl Chris, a repeat offender who’d been in and out of jail over a dozen times for everything from drug possession to battery. Hell, I’d arrested him twice myself. But my shock went deeper than simple recognition. He’d always been a tough-looking guy, but now he had a mouth full of sharp teeth, and his skin from chest to toes was mottled like a mass of dark bruises. Yet at the same time it looked as tough as a rhino hide. And his hands—
“His left hand’s out of the bag!” the nurse nearest me shouted.
The right hand remained bagged and cuffed, but stinger-tipped tentacles squirmed on the left where fingers should have been.
“Push another bolus of diazepam,” Dr. Patel ordered. “Jacobs, get that bag!”
Jacobs had his hands full with the struggling patient. I slapped the call button then snatched the bag from the floor. But before I could jam it over the tentacles, Earl yanked on the left handcuff, breaking it.
Everything descended into chaos. Gallagher dove at Earl’s now-free hand, then jerked back as all five stingers jabbed into his arm. The second nurse moved forward with a syringe, but Earl ripped free of the other handcuff and tossed him against the wall even as Gallagher slumped to the floor. Shit. Venom in the tentacles.
“Dr. Patel, get away from him!” I shouted, drawing my weapon. Where the hell was the backup?
Dr. Patel cried out in pain, gripping her stung hand as she stumbled back. Earl let out another horrible scream and ripped the leg shackles free.
“Stay back, Earl!” I brought my gun to bear on him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the doctor stagger and slump. Everyone was down except me, with no sign of any backup. “These people are trying to help you!”
Earl wasn’t listening. He scrambled off the bed and lunged toward me. I gritted my teeth and shot him point-blank in the chest.
But instead of staggering or falling, he imploded, sucking down to a single point before the gunshot finished echoing through the room.
A wave of arcane passed through me even as Earl poofed out of existence. I whirled to see Zack Garner standing behind me. Blue eyes, tanned face, and sun-bleached hair—still looking more like a surfer than a federal agent, despite the suit and badge. Breaking the ptarl bond with Rhyzkahl had left him a shadow of his former self, and while part of me was thrilled to see him looking healthy and whole again, the rest was reeling from the last few minutes.
“What the fuck is this, Zack? Why didn’t you do something sooner? All these people got hurt, and I had to kill the guy!”
He regarded me a moment then knelt beside Dr. Patel and laid his hand on her forehead. She stirred and sat up, a bewildered look on her face.
“It’s all right, Aja,” he said as he helped her to her feet. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll chat soon.”
“‘We’ll chat soon?’” I sputtered. “That’s it?” I caught Dr. Pate
She gave me a serene smile that sent a chill down my spine. I released her then bit my tongue as Zack repeated the process with Gallagher and the two nurses. Better for them to be serene and out of harm’s way when I had my own chat with Zack.
After the last nurse left, Zack lifted his hand, and the door swung closed. A twitch of his fingers set an aversion ward on it to keep people out. It was so subtle I could barely detect it, yet more powerful than any I’d felt before. And there was something indefinably wrong with it.
“Zack, what’s going on?” I asked, perplexed. “Why are you here manipulating and vaporizing people?”
“Everything is going to be fine, Kara.” He stepped toward me.
I took an equal step back. I wasn’t about to let him touch my forehead. “Fine as in ‘we’ll chat soon’? No thanks, dude. I’m not into the serene-and-creepy thing.” Then again I wasn’t sure if he actually needed to make physical contact to manipulate me. My gun felt comfortable and heavy in my hand. “I thought we were beyond the lies and games. Where’s Ashava?”
He regarded me coolly. “Safe in hiding.”
I stared at him. “Zack, do you know what this is doing to Jill? Do you even care?”
His expression didn’t change a whit. “She is a survivor.”
That wasn’t an answer I ever expected from Zack, but neither was this iceman act. Or maybe I was seeing the real Zack for the first time? An unfamiliar mental touch brushed my mind. I tensed and bared my teeth. “Fuck you. If you’re going to manipulate me and make me forget I saw you, go ahead and do it already. But tell me how Ashava is first.”
“I’ll know soon enough,” he said with a faint smile that was just . . . wrong. He dropped his head a fraction.
His answer made no sense, but I knew that in another few seconds I wouldn’t remember it anyway. Fuck! I didn’t know if it was possible to beat demahnk manipulation, but I was damn well going to try. I glared at him and clung to the memory of his face—Zack Garner, here at Fed Central. If I could hang on to that one tiny fragment, I’d find him again. Asshole. I hated this. Hated him.