cold water—Lindsay could smell it—with a straw in it. He drank, letting the ache of remembering Dane
overwhelm him for the moment. “Mahesh, let’s be civil. Undo that jacket, he looks like a psychotic.”
“You’ll get to see him again.” Lourdes stepped in and stopped behind Moore. “Apologies,” she said to
Moore’s stern expression. “I had something that needed my attention.”
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“He’s dead,” Lindsay said to her, speaking past Moore. He was done speaking to Moore. The flicker
of surprise on Lourdes’s face was gone almost as soon as it came. “And you know it.”
“You have so little faith,” Lourdes said quietly.
“I have so little reason,” Lindsay shot back. But he knew, suddenly, that Dane was still alive; he
fought it, so he wouldn’t have any reason to hope. He let Mahesh peel the straitjacket from him and relaxed into his chair, gathering himself.
“We have work to do.” Moore tried to bring their attention back to her. “We require cooperation,
Lindsay. We need to discuss your circumstances. Your healing. Lourdes.” She snapped her fingers at the
other woman. “Give me his mind.”
Have it.
Lourdes reached for him, wide open, to draw him in, and Lindsay lashed through the cracks in the
room’s binding, splitting the runes open and stabbing into her with all his might. He forced himself on her, pushing his magic through her, crushing her mind into the back of her awareness, moving through her and
out of her to blanket everything with illusion.
Nothing is wrong.
The runes on the wall were bleeding fire and ichor, alarms were sounding everywhere, but Moore—
half out of her seat at the first sign of trouble—sat again, eyes fixed on Lindsay. There were no shouts of alarm. Nothing was wrong.
“Now,” Moore said pleasantly. “Let’s talk.”
“Go right ahead,” Lindsay muttered. Lourdes clung to the back of Moore’s chair, blood running from
her eyes and from her bitten lip. He wondered if he’d broken her. Hesham and Mahesh stood silently. For a
moment, Lindsay was afraid they were unaffected, but when he moved, neither looked his way.
Lindsay ached, but his body answered well enough when he tried to stand. He got out of the chair and
grabbed Lourdes by the front of her shirt, pulling her into his place. She sat obediently, staring blankly into his chest, while he searched her for her security clearance and key cards. Already, his head was throbbing
and his magic felt strained.
“Where’s…” Lindsay started to ask her where Dane was, but realized that he no longer existed for
her. He’d done that on purpose. Turning to Moore, he ordered, “Ask her where Dane is. ”
“Where did you leave your friend?” Moore asked Lourdes, smiling sweetly. Lindsay didn’t want to
touch Moore, but he searched her, stealing from her everything he could find, from her key cards to the
green pendant around her neck to her oddly ugly little stone earrings. We call it a kuni, Ezqel had said. In some places, they are gateposts. Others are simply stones set in rings. And earrings.
“Where he belonged,” Lourdes replied. “Medical testing, Level Minus Nine.”
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“Thanks,” Lindsay muttered. Reaching, he could feel the quiet minds of the guards outside the door.
They stood at attention, oblivious to the rain from the sprinklers that had doused the smoldering runes. He prodded one of the guards’ minds and, a moment later, the door swung open.
“There you go, Dr. Moore,” the man said politely, giving Lindsay a smile. Lindsay noted the gun at
his side. Guns. He hadn’t dealt with those before.
“Thank you kindly. Lock up, will you?” Lindsay stood and watched the man do it. “Now, shoot the
lock out, please.”
“Bastard!”
The shout came from down the hall and Lindsay wheeled, almost losing his magic, to see Jonas
bearing down on him like a freight train. He ran, not waiting to see whether the shot that echoed off the
walls had found its mark. He could hear someone squealing and dying, could feel it through the tiny tendril that had connected him to that guard, and he ran faster, forcing his drug-heavy limbs to obey.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he chanted, shoving Moore’s card into the elevator slot with shaking hands.
The door slid open and Lindsay slipped in, shoving Moore’s card into the inside slot—how many times had
he seen her do it?—and hammering the override button. The door closed on Jonas’s howl of rage, and
Lindsay’s reflexive terror weakened his illusion more. Jonas’s claws shrieked against the elevator’s
reinforced doors as Lindsay escaped.
“A little longer.” He leaned on the wall of the elevator for support and clutched at his head. The
detachment that the drugs had given him was wearing off, and the minds all around him were pressing into
his consciousness. Just a little longer. Fumbling, he found the button for Level Minus Nine and felt himself drop faster.
There was no way he could hold the illusion any longer, he could feel it coming apart at the edges.
Something outside was trying to get in. Lindsay opened Moore’s phone and it lit up, set to “intranet”. Oh, God or whatever, thank you. Blood dripped on the screen and Lindsay realized that his nose was bleeding.
He wiped it away and, hoping for simplicity, hit the keys, -9#.
“Medical testing, Ambrose speaking, how may I help you?” The man’s voice was pleasant and, as
soon as he spoke, Lindsay could feel his mind as well.
“This is Dr. Moore. I need you to release the restraints on the new feral you’re holding.” Please let it
be enough to back up his illusion. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ll explain it when I get there.”
“Of course, Doctor. I’ll see to that immediately.” The line went dead and Lindsay slid to the floor. All
he had to do was keep his hold on Level Minus Nine. He let go of the shearing, collapsing periphery of his
illusion to focus on the inhabitants of the level where Dane was being kept. Jonas would probably take the
stairways down and be there already, unless he’d gone back to get Lourdes and Moore out.
Lindsay had no idea how to beat the man, but he was damn well not going to let Jonas live this time,
not if he could help it. The elevator stopped and Lindsay struggled to his feet. He couldn’t rest yet. Not yet.
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The doors slid open on an empty hall lit up with red emergency lights. Lindsay had no idea where to
go, but he remembered the green lines on the wall from his own imprisonment. Green. He put his hand to
the stripe on the wall and ran.
Lindsay ran until his lungs burned, his bare feet stung, his fingers bled, and his head knew nothing but
the sounds of other people’s voices and other people’s thoughts. Once in a while, he fought to peer out
through his own eyes. One time, he gathered enough of himself to grab a white coat and pull it on. A
handful of toweling from a handwash station mopped the blood from his face.
Blood. It was important and he couldn’t remember why. At an intersection of hallways, under the
flash of emergency lights, he lost track of everything. Green. Blood. He was somewhere in the clamor in
his head, hammered by the ringing of claxons, turning around and around, trying to find the right direction, trying to hold the illusion together even as chaos crept into this level.