Chained by Blood Read online

The door behind me clicked, shutting me in.

  Uh, oh.

  She continued. "We need to confirm your identity and the identity of your cousin. It's a security measure and everyone has to do it. If we don't check the city database for them, there's a chance that Abnormals could stake us out. I'm sure you understand."

  Chapter Two

  Why couldn't telepathy be a vampire trait?

  Well, it could be if you got Bound to a War Mage. Alyssa and Xavier could do limited amounts of it with each other, but with no one else. And it wasn't a vampire thing.

  I hoped that sampling Xavier's blood had given me some of that. It was doubtful, but I had to try.

  Um, Xavier? I might need help. Nineteenth floor.

  No response. Crap.

  "Sure," I said. "That won't be a problem." I prayed that my chipmunk voice didn't return. Not now. The last thing I needed was for these women to see my nerves.

  The ATC had to make sure I was a good Normal who wanted to betray my cousin.

  George had let me and my friends stay at his house a few times. He had enough problems after the dragon emperor torched his place at the command of the demon mayor. He was still messing with the insurance company and trying to get a new home. The last thing he needed was the ATC driving up to his hotel room in those black vans.

  The first woman opened a laptop. I could smell the metal of their guns again. Tasers didn't quite smell that way so I bet they were the type that could put holes in people. I should be able to survive a few gunshots, but more than that would kill me. Well, I thought. I still didn't know how enhanced my healing had gotten and I didn't want to test it.

  "First, what's your name?"

  I told them a half-truth. "Janine Smith," I said. It wasn't my real last name, but someone out there was sure to have it. I wasn't wanted as Alyssa was. But did they know I was her friend?

  The woman typed it into whatever database the ATC used. They must be able to track everyone's address in the city, and maybe more. They invaded privacy. I'd have to tell Alyssa about that, too.

  Maybe the fact that George was between homes would save him.

  "Janine Smith. One fourteen eight Eleventh Street?"

  "Yes," I said. I had never heard of the address, but someone lived there with that name. I thanked the stars.

  But I also smelled adrenaline, metallic and nervous. These women must have to prepare for a potential fight every time they did this.

  "So, how are classes going for you?" the first asked. She typed away, but I couldn't identify the keys. "No vampire attacks? You wouldn't be going to that school though. That's across town."

  "No attacks," I said. "Things are boring in my classes. We have exams soon."

  This was awkward. I had done that, and everyone blamed Alyssa.

  The woman said nothing about how the agents who had showed up at my school were fake. It was another embarrassment for the company. "I hope things stay normal for you."

  "They are. Thanks," I said.

  The woman clicked her mouse. The light on her face changed. I spotted a spreadsheet and a search bar reflecting off her large earring. "So, what is your cousin's name? Do you know his address?"

  "He's between homes," I said.

  She lifted one eyebrow. Whoever had trained these women made sure they were sharp. "Between homes?"

  My throat dried. "He had a house fire," I blurted.

  Crap. I had just narrowed down her search by a factor of a hundred. How many house fires happened every day in Cumberland? The ATC must have the ability to access those records, too. They worked with the authorities, and that included the police and fire departments.

  "I'm not sure where he is now," I continued. "He's been staying with friends and going from place to place."

  The tension level rose and the adrenaline smell filled the room. Both women suspected that something was off here. The second moved her hand down to where her weapon must wait. I was digging myself into a bigger hole.

  The first woman cleared her throat. "You must have your cousin's phone number."

  "His phone got burned in the fire," I explained. Which, it had. "He had to pick up one of those cheap contract-free ones, and I never caught his number. He visited my place yesterday, and that's when we talked about things. We talk little since he's busy trying to get his life back together."

  "It seems like an odd time to seek treatment," the second woman said. "He's got a lot on his plate."

  "You're telling me," I said. My mind scrambled for a story. "He's looking at a house by a school so he wants to work on his problem before he buys it."

  "That might not work out so well for him. Houses sell fast these days."

  These women must have taken a whole college program on how to find plot holes. My best bet was to get them to let me go. "The last I heard from my cousin, he was staying at a Super Eight," I said. That wasn't true—it was a Holiday Inn—but if it got me out of here without having to fight ATC agents, that was a win. "But that was two days ago. He was looking for another place with lower rates."

  "Super Eights are cheap." The second woman flashed me a strained smile.

  I was in trouble, and a bad storyteller. It figured.

  "I wish I could give you his address," I said, careful to make full eye contact. "Can I get your phone number, so I can let you know what it is once I see him again?"

  The first woman placed her hand on her thigh. She was ready to get up and draw her weapon. My stomach growled as if my body craved the fight. It wanted blood. It was no wonder Alyssa had to do martial arts to keep this under control.

  "You can't leave until you give us something. You must know his past address, of the house that burned."

  I was in major trouble now. "One fifty-two five, Maple Street," I blurted. That wasn't George's address. "I think. I never memorized it. Maybe you should have a sign on the door, asking people to have all this information ready before they come in? Talk to Grimes about that."

  The second woman typed like a ninja. "That's not an address," she said to her partner. "No fire has happened in the past year within eight blocks of Maple."

  Translation: I'd screwed up.

  Even though she was Normal, the first receptionist rose with amazing speed and training. She cocked her weapon, and I stared into the barrel of a shiny, deadly pistol. The second stomped on another button below her desk. She was calling for backup.

  This was my only chance to act. In less than a minute, this office would swarm with ATC agents.

  "Stand against the bulletproof glass," she ordered. "It may be true you don't know this information, but it may also be true you are working with dangerous Abnormals. If you are innocent and test out as Normal, we'll release you by the time the night ends."

  I put my hands up, still holding the folder that would tell us about the new treatment center. Backing against the wall, I pretended to blubber. "I'm innocent!" I said, letting the chipmunk voice take over. Tears might have helped them let down their guard, but they refused to come. Maybe I craved violence too much now.

  My stomach roared. Biting either of these women would be too hard. I'd filed my teeth too much to do the job. In a few hours, that would change, but that would come too late.

  "We will see," the first woman said. "It will take a simple blood test and a simple scan to clear you of abnormalities. The background check may take longer than that. Stay against the wall, and we won't harm you. We don't want to harm anybody."

  Far below me, one of the two elevators hummed.

  Agents were ascending through the building—and more ran up the emergency stairs. They had covered all their bases. The second elevator clicked as if someone had cut the power. That left me no way down.

  I might have a minute before they got up here and did their worst.

  I'd go to the facility, wait, and then Bathory would attack. Then she would kill me in the worst way she could find.

  I rushed the first woman.

  She fired, and the bullet whizz
ed towards me, spinning like a deadly top. I tilted my head to the side and felt the wind from it whip against my ear. I must be a blur to these women.

  Me, the klutz, could dodge bullets. Alyssa hadn't even done that. I might survive this.

  The second one cursed and drew her gun. I dodged another shot by swinging my hip to the side. The bullet grazed my jeans and left a line of heat. Footfalls followed as the first woman turned to fire again. I vaulted over the counter, knocking over her laptop and kicking it into her chest. She gasped from the force and staggered into the wall, dropping her weapon.

  All this happened in two seconds.

  I lifted my arm at the second woman to push her to the side. I didn't want to kill them. Ramming her into the wall was enough to make her drop her gun. I kicked it under the desk and listened to the pained groans of the first. These women might be ninjas, but I was still much stronger than them.

  But I wouldn't overcome the ATC rushing upstairs.

  The second woman had an ID card hanging off her belt. I ripped it off, tearing the metal clip, and thanked her. "I won't hurt Grimes," I said.

  A part of me wanted to do it. He caused this, but for all these women knew, I was with Bathory. They were trying to protect themselves. My stomach roared again, begging for food, but it would have to wait. I bolted down the hallway with the steel doors. They couldn't stop me. I was stronger than I should be.

  But I hadn't escaped yet.

  The elevator dinged as it passed the tenth floor. The agents were halfway up. Weapons cocked. The ones using the stairs were taking longer, but they were there to make sure I didn't take that way out.

  Being able to hear the inner workings of each room would have helped. The soundproofing was awful. Any door might lead to a dead end, but if Grimes worked up here, he had to have an escape route, right? The ATC agents wouldn't expect me to take that.

  I ran to the last steel door in the hallway and slid in the second woman's ID card. I caught her name—Lissa Southfield—as I slid it into the lock. The door clicked and swung open on its own. Something hissed as it did. Hydraulics or something operated this door.

  On the other side of the room was an office.

  And Richard Grimes himself sat at the wooden desk.

  Chapter Three

  Grimes snapped his gaze up from his computer. He was an average man, thin and in his upper twenties, with a semicircle of black hair around his balding head. He had a coffee pot sizzling away on one side of the room and a view of Cumberland out a thick, bulletproof window. The guy wore a regular work shirt and if it wasn't for the placard on his desk, I never would have thought he was the owner of both hospitals and the ATC. The guy must have a fortune.

  He rose from his desk when he saw me standing there, Lissa's card in hand. The whole room smelled of coffee, blocking out everything else. Grimes banged his leg on the side of his desk, making his full mug spill its contents.

  "Um, where's the exit?" I asked.

  "What are you?"

  "Exit?" I repeated. The room had a draft coming from a nearby bookshelf. It was nothing a Normal could feel, but to me it was a map.

  "Who are you?"

  I sniffed. The air coming from behind the bookshelf was fresh. Grimes had an emergency way out.

  "How did you get past my receptionists?"

  The elevator dinged again as it passed the fifteenth floor.

  "I need an exit!" Rushing over to the bookshelf, I pushed.

  A hinge creaked, and the shelf swung open, revealing another stairway. Grimes could do nothing but watch. The stairway was narrow, meant for one person, and built inside of fresh concrete blocks. It was new. Grimes might not have expected to use this.

  "Thanks," I said, bolting inside. I shouted my warning as I bolted down. "Watch out. Bathory's hunting you!"

  I left Grimes standing there as the guards arrived at the twentieth floor. The doors slid open and one of the ninja receptionists scrambled up. I hadn't hurt them that much, then. That made me feel better.

  Until she shouted, "She's here to kill Grimes!"

  I picked up the pace, keeping the folder under my arm. Why hadn't there been an easier way to get one? The ATC didn't post them online or I would have done that. As they said, they wanted no one they didn't trust looking at where the facilities might be.

  Taking the steps four at a time gave me an advantage. Above, radios went off and agents stormed into Grimes's office. Even though I couldn't hear what they were saying now, I knew what would happen. The agents in the main stairwell would try to intercept me at the bottom of this one. Even moving at top speed, I might not make it in time.

  They might trap me in here.

  I picked up the pace, aware that I might fall on my face from skipping more steps, but I kept my footing. The god blood hadn't faded yet, and might never. I passed number after number. Door after door. Five. Four. I was almost out--

  A door burst open at the bottom of the stairwell.

  Floor Three would work.

  “Weapons ready!” an agent shouted.

  The door to the third level had a steel lock and was made of the same material. I pushed the door open, breaking the lock with a little effort, and burst into a storage room full of paper, office supplies, and an old copier. This must be a business that shared the tower with the ATC. I listened. A lone janitor cleaned in another room. The mop swished against linoleum and the guy smelled like he'd been drinking on the job.

  I closed the door, hoping the ATC agents wouldn't notice the busted lock, but they were smart. I had to move. Shoving open the storage room door, I burst into a large, dark space full of empty cubicles. All computers stayed off. The only light was the one by the elevator, and a red one above the doors blinked as if to warn everyone it was out of commission right now. On a floor above, a ringing alarm went off. People working late in their offices shuffled under their desks and took cover as if practicing a drill.

  The whole building knew someone dangerous was here.

  I couldn't waste time. I dodged through the cubicles, feeling for any more drafts that might alert me to any more exits. The agents thundered up the secret steps. I jumped over the first cubicle wall and landed on the rolling chair, which made me fall to the floor in a clumsy mess.

  So much for having perfect coordination.

  “Get up, Janine,” I told myself. Untangling my legs from the chair, I crouched as the third floor door burst open.

  Crap.

  Something about stumbling on a chair ruined my confidence. I felt vulnerable hiding inside this cubicle, and the agents would know about my strategy. I thought about the layout of this office. The janitor was somewhere to my right, still mopping and unaware. The sound echoed off the walls of a short hallway and spread through the office. A mop would do no good against tasers and real guns. It wasn't as if I could deflect bullets with a wooden handle.

  But windows on this floor overlooked the street below...

  I wasn't thinking about jumping out of them.

  I was.

  That might be the only option.

  The agents kicked open the storage room door and fanned out. Weapons cocked. I smelled them, metallic and deadly. As soon as I showed myself, they'd turn this office into a deleted scene from a corny action movie.

  “She's in here somewhere,” a male agent said.

  “Fan out. Stay sharp.”

  They kept their voices low, but I heard each word and each inflection. These agents feared me so much that they turned the air to metal. Adrenaline. They must think Bathory sent me.

  Maybe Grimes already knew about the danger. I didn't need to warn him.

  I counted seven agents in the room. The sounds of the ones above remained, too. They stormed down three or four floors as if to make sure I didn't run back up the stairwell. Their job was to protect Grimes. Five more agents milled around on the first floor, guarding the elevators and the other exits. Even if I reached the stairwell and finished my descent, I might fall victim to a nasty el
ectric shock.

  Two agents crept to the left behind me. I could hear their fingers curling around triggers of actual guns. Two moved to the right. They'd surround me if I didn't move, and now.

  Keeping my head down, I bolted for the window on the opposite side of the room.

  "There she is! Open fire!"

  Hugging the brochures to my chest with one hand, I ducked as a torrent of bullets ripped apart cubicles and shattered computer screens. Glass rained and plywood flew. Wind snapped against my skin as bullets missed. I sensed several bullets flying at me at once, even from behind, and I threw myself on the ground in the middle of the room. The spinning tops of death flew over me. One shattered the window. Another bounced off the floor beside me and threw sparks.

  Whatever these agents were shooting could penetrate the cubicles with no problem. They might not see me clearly but I wasn't protected here.

  "Where is she?"

  "Don't let her leave."

  Somewhere above, Grimes yelled at his guards to let him pass. The guy sounded freaked out. He pushed against the agents, trying to get into his secret stairwell. An agent ordered him to stay back. Terror filled the man's voice. I guessed he didn't want to hang around in case Bathory showed up next.

  Guns reloaded.

  I had to take the chance.

  I might not survive the fall. I'd land next to the two outside guards. For another, I might break several bones. So far, I'd only broken a wrist which healed fast. Now I would shatter a lot more.

  And I hated heights. The rock climbing wall at summer camp was my downfall.

  But still, I ran. Wind blew in through the shattered window pane, cool and carrying freedom.

  A radio button clicked. "She's heading outside!"

  I wouldn't make it.

  But I jumped.

  Glass scraped my free arm as my feet left the ground. I sailed through the glass and into the night, and at that moment, the stars above looked brighter than ever.

  Guns fired.

  And I fell.

  Chapter Four