Chained by Blood Read online

  "I saw nothing," Brendan said. "Every time I remember Bathory, she has that doll face behind that veil. That's creepy enough." He shifted again as the tension returned.

  "My point is, she has a weakness. When I told her what I saw, she freaked. All she wanted to do was cover her face. My theory is that she had Thoreau the demon baron make her the first vampire because she thought it would heal her scars. It didn't. Then she sought the blood of young beautiful girls to erase them. That didn't work, either."

  Brendan nodded and frowned. "Old scars don't heal when people Turn. It's a good theory. I wouldn't tell her that though."

  "You should have seen her reaction. She deserved it," I said. "I can't think of anyone who deserves to have those scars more."

  Brendan sat up. "This is uplifting conversation. I think I'll head back up to my room and get back on the server. I'm in the middle of a quest--"

  He stood, but I grabbed his arm and stopped him. I still had just as much strength as I had days ago on the school grounds. Brendan couldn't break away from me.

  "Janine!"

  Was he angry?

  Yes. He'd changed in seconds.

  "Don't tell me you sympathize with Bathory," I blurted.

  "Why would I?" Brendan glared at me with those reddish eyes.

  This was going south. That moment, I wished I could read minds. Had I said something wrong? Even my elevated senses couldn't reveal that. "Look, I don't know what's bothering you, but--"

  "I'm heading back upstairs," Brendan said, letting out a breath. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

  That's when I released him. What else could I do?

  Brendan stalked out of the pool room as Alyssa stopped splashing Xavier and watched. He pushed open the double doors and let them swing shut behind him. All I could do was sit on my towel and watch.

  "Boys," I muttered, shaking my head.

  But inside, I wanted to cry. A storm brewed and my body trembled. I screwed everything up and I didn't even know how I managed it.

  At least it made my decision easier.

  There was one way for me to get inside the ATC facility before Alyssa and Xavier risked their necks and had to kill a bunch of people. It was the only way for me to get inside and rescue my cousin before Bathory made her move, whatever that was.

  Tomorrow, I would out myself.

  And then I would make the ATC come for me.

  Chapter Nine

  I felt calm right after I made my decision. I was the strongest. The ATC didn't know that. When they took me into their facility, they'd assume they'd taken in an average vampire—and a new, clueless one at that. They'd have human technology and no Infernal Iron. Reinforced cuffs would go on me and they'd stick me in a cell that wasn't strong enough to hold me.

  I had my enhanced senses. Once inside, I'd hear everything that happened. I had already detected the escape route from Grimes's office. That was something I could do again.

  The motion detectors around the place kept people from breaking inside. Getting out should be easier than getting in, right?

  Okay, I was taking a big risk. But my plan beat Alyssa and Xavier's, right? As I lay on the towel, they continued to horse around. Xavier turned Alyssa upside down and dunked her in the water. Alyssa would soon tell Xavier that he was a real immortal and capable of blowing away the military. That would not go well. A part of me hoped that I succeeded before that happened. Their lives were screwed up enough.

  But at least I wouldn't hurt Brendan too bad. I was too good at offending him and I didn't know why. He changed gears every few minutes.

  And what was I thinking? I was trying to hatch a plan by myself and it could turn my life into a disaster if I escaped. Even though I wouldn't tell the ATC my real name, there was the danger of my mother finding out about my condition and disowning me. The school would expel me and then I'd never get to go to college. The more I thought about it, the dumber my plan sounded.

  Maisha didn't want me to do it. Alyssa would kill me.

  But I'd seen Xavier's powers in action and when he was trying to hold back. There was the chance that if he attacked the facility, he'd kill George by mistake.

  I could be an indirect killer of a family member or I could risk ruining my life.

  The answer was obvious. I had to break my promise to Maisha. She wouldn't see me get to school in a few hours.

  * * * * *

  I went home first and pretended to microwave a breakfast roll before Mom got up. I also showered to get the pool smell off. This morning, I didn't bother to file my teeth down. They wouldn't need it where I was going.

  Mom wished me a good day at school as she got ready for work.

  I rinsed my plate off in the sink as I spoke. "I will. Maisha invited me to stay at her house tonight. Is that okay?"

  She gathered her purse and sighed. "I suppose," she said. "You have been getting your Physics grade up, so I'll let you have a little more freedom. You're not going to Alyssa's, right?" Her tone dripped with suspicion.

  "I haven't even seen her," I lied. "She hasn't come back to school and from what I understand, her father and her had to move to a new house."

  "Good," Mom said. "After she attacked the principal at your school, I don't want her in your life anymore." Her words dripped with slimy disgust. "Ever."

  I tensed. Alyssa hadn't even done that. I had. The letter the school sent home told a different story.

  "Don't worry," I managed, trying to keep my voice below the chipmunk level. "I'm hanging out with Maisha now." I looked out the kitchen window at the growing light. Cloudy. Good. I'd be able to tolerate going out if I dressed well enough. It wouldn't be great, but not unbearable.

  Mom left.

  I wanted to cry. I might never see her again, and it was possible that if I made it out of this, she'd cut things off herself. If she knew—

  I gathered my backpack and packed clothes and my pillow in a duffel bag. I needed to make it look like I'd headed to Maisha's. I'd done so plenty of times until my Physics grade slipped down into the eighty point range. It was nothing unusual.

  With my backpack and duffel bag, I headed out, dressed in my hoodie. If Brendan were here, we'd match.

  That was if I could stop pressing his buttons. But that was hard when I didn't know what the buttons were. And why was I thinking about him? He was too complicated.

  With my backpack on my back and duffel bag in hand, I stepped outside. A faint headache bloomed between my temples and I pulled my hood lower over my face, which helped. My private world was the sidewalk. Soon, it would be a lot less.

  Before going to the ATC, I had to change my looks. They'd remember the girl with the copper and gold braids jumping from the third story window with forbidden information and surviving. I needed no extra security. The salon at the corner opened at eight and served older ladies mostly, but something tamer would work. I still had some of Xavier's money and my contacts in, so I wouldn't have the problems I'd had in the mall. Maybe.

  The middle-aged lady inside Kathy's Salon didn't expect a teenager this early in the morning. She stared at me as if I had horns. I dropped my duffel bag and backpack and frowned. I had an excuse ready. "My principal says I have to get rid of this hairstyle before going back to school," I said, sounding ticked off. Making quotation marks with my fingers, I added, "They want me to have something tamer."

  "I know they're strict," she said. "It might take a while to remove the dye, hon, just so you know. If you want to get started, sit down now. I've had to fix a lot of crazy hairstyles."

  "That's fine," I said. "They won't let me back in until I do it, so I guess late is better than never?"

  At least I still had some money Xavier had given me. The salon lady talked about fixing green mohawks and purple spikes for other kids who had gotten in trouble as she unbraided all my hair, which by itself took a long time. She also talked about how baffled she was about the school cracking down on copper braids. They hadn't before.

  "They're getting
stricter," I said.

  Changing my hair color back to something more natural took another long time and by then, the older ladies came in. The place smelled of coffee and breakfast food. My stomach was growling again. In about another day, I'd need to do something about that.

  But I might be in ATC custody.

  There was every chance they'd let me starve.

  The salon woman bounced between me and the ladies as chemicals set in my hair and theirs. Traffic increased outside. A television hanging from the corner showed the morning national news and played feel good stories at the end. There was nothing about an attack on a facility yet.

  At last, the salon lady finished the monumental task of making my hair its normal color again, though it took more dye and chemicals to achieve it. She applied oil and tied it back into a neat braid that would pass inspection at even the most rigid private school. "There you go," she said with a smile.

  It wasn't cheap, either. I paid her pretty much everything I had left over. The woman told me to visit again if got in trouble. I nodded.

  Tension filled me like a million marching ants.

  The ATC was next.

  Sure, I looked way different without the braids and sunglasses I had when I went there before. The ATC had cameras around the headquarters that I'd avoided. With luck, the two guards out front would have gotten fired. They might recognize my voice and my cheekbones or something.

  I was right. There was a man and a woman out front now, standing on either side of the rotating doors. Either they worked in shifts or the two guys had gotten canned by Grimes.

  Whipping up tears was easy. Just thinking of this made them come. I was about to cross a line that might not let me back over.

  With my duffel bag in hand and my backpack on my back, I walked up the sidewalk and towards the two guards. I popped out my contacts and shoved them in my pockets for effect. I had the story ready.

  "Hey," the female guard said. "What's wrong?"

  "Help me," I said, letting the chipmunk voice take over. "A group of vampires captured me a few nights ago and did this. They took me to a bunker and tied me down in a hospital bed and then they transfused me with a bunch of their blood over and over."

  It was Brendan's story but the truth in a way.

  "Look up at us," the woman said. Her voice was gentle. That shocked me.

  I did. She tensed when she saw my reddish eyes and reached for her weapon.

  "Please," I said. "I escaped from a bunker in the woods and made it to a dirt road. There was a woman in a black veil there and a bunch of people dressed like you, but they weren't ATC agents. If I don't get cured, I can't go back to school or back home. I don't want to hurt my dad or my sisters. Please. I'll do whatever it takes to get Normal again." I forced myself to face the guards. A headache bloomed even though it was cloudy.

  Both guards had their hands on their weapons now. They weren't stupid. People didn't walk up to them and ask for help often. The last time that happened, chaos followed. I didn't dare look up at the third floor. But judging from the sound of the wind, they had already replaced the window.

  If they realized I was that same person—

  "Turn around and put your hands behind your back," the man said. "This is a precaution. We'll get you the help you need."

  I did as he said, dropping my duffel bag. At least it made me look ready to go to a facility. It was one reason I packed it.

  The man snapped on cuffs that felt thick and powerful, more so than normal ones. They dealt with superhuman strength. I didn't dare pull against them. I might snap them. If they saw that, my plan was shot.

  "Can I bring my stuff?"

  "We must check it, but yes." The man slipped his hand around my arm. Tension filled him. His muscles were springs, ready to take action. Behind me, the woman drew her taser and clicked something in her other pocket. Since my last visit, they'd upped the security. Maybe she was signaling other agents in the area to watch and see if this was a trap if I had buddies ready to attack during the distraction.

  The man continued. "You can wait in the basement," he said. "We'll call a van for you."

  It was what I wanted. But still, I felt like this was my last chance to escape. The cuffs didn't feel like Infernal Iron. They were human made, then.

  I didn't thank the guy. That would look too suspicious. The two guards radioed for someone to come and get me, and a whole team of ATC agents poured out of the rotating doors, tasers drawn. Two of the guys took my arms without a word and led me into the front lobby. I faced away from the young man behind the counter. He was the same receptionist I'd spoken to before heading to the nineteenth floor the other night.

  The agents surrounded me, anyway. They blocked his view. The receptionist didn't dare ask what was going on. He'd do that later.

  I said nothing. The two guys holding my arms breathed down my back. I thought of how friendly the brochures for the ATC looked. They expected Abnormals to turn themselves in and then they got treated with zero compassion. It was what I expected.

  We boarded the elevator. I kept my head down. "What about my stuff?" I asked.

  "Someone will grab it for you," a man said. These people were also professional. They must have all had military training.

  I listened to my surroundings as the elevator descended into the basement. It was my first time I'd visited the basement. The leaky pipe still sprayed water in a corner. The ATC was going to have a high water bill.

  No one asked for my name. They'd seen my reddish irises, and that was enough. Maybe names didn't matter once you crossed this line.

  I knew nobody who had seen the inside of an ATC facility. They didn't exist until now. Thoreau used them as fronts to force Abnormals and Normals alike into his service.

  The elevator stopped. The only new noise was a faint draft in the basement beyond the doors, coming from a spot where someone hadn't insulated a tiny window well enough. The rest smelled like thick concrete and cleaning supplies. Echoes bounced off steel as the elevator settled. It painted a picture of a dismal place with metal doors, and one that was empty right now.

  I wasn't wrong. The doors opened to reveal an expansive basement full of both office and cleaning stuff. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls. The only thing that broke up the monotony of the place was a large square of concrete and steel doors that stuck out from the near wall. I recognized them as cells, all with tiny windows at the top of each door. The steel appeared thick since I couldn't see through the cracks between the doors and the walls. Inches thick, then.

  The doors in the facility might be like this, too. I wasn't sure if I could break them down. But that might not matter. There might be other chances to escape.

  And help. I wouldn't be alone in the facility.

  The guards opened one door. It was about six inches thick, made for werewolves and War Mages. Xavier might blast a door like this down. He'd collapsed a part of the school, which was still closed.

  The holding cell had a cot and a toilet. I sat down, hands still cuffed, as the guards closed the door. I listened as they walked away. The mean guy talked on his radio as he stood outside the cell. The others went up the elevator. They had confidence this could hold me.

  What if I was making the worst mistake of my life?

  George would explode if he found out what I was doing.

  He might already be. That sucked, because he was the only person in my family I could relate to—and the only other Abnormal.

  But it was better to have him mad at me than dead at the hands of Bathory.

  I waited for about twenty minutes before I heard a new sound: a garage door opening on the far end of the basement. It must have been the source of the faint draft. A van beeped as it backed inside. The gearshift clicked as the driver put it in park. I had forgotten that ATC vans could access the basement. Hadn't Alyssa and Xavier said something about that once?

  It was my ride to the facility in the woods.

  The only way inside without trippin
g all the security.

  The ATC also didn't waste time moving. I heard the back doors open even though the sound shouldn't have made it through the thick door. Someone dropped my duffel bag inside and then my backpack. Another agent zipped both up. They'd searched my stuff. I was glad I had left nothing in my backpack that told them who I was—like my school ID. I'd left that and all my homework papers at home. Textbooks were fine. Every school had the same ones.

  I had to quit making dumb mistakes.

  The door opened, and the mean agent stood there, pointing a taser at me. I got up and stood there, waiting.

  "Out," he ordered. "The van has arrived to take you to your destination."

  "I've done nothing to you," I said. That was a lie. "I want treatment. Why are you pointing guns at me?" I sounded helpless, but that didn't get the guy to back down.

  The man nodded and backed away from the door. I exited only to have two more agents take my arms. They led me across the basement and to the back of the van which had my stuff on the bench. This was a real ATC van, sleek and professional. I'd ridden in one before, a stolen one that George used, so I could tell it was the real thing.

  No one rode in the back with me. They closed the doors and left me to sit on the bench, alone. It gave me a bit of relief. I studied the inside of the van for any drafts or weak spots, but heard none. I wasn't sure if I could kick the back doors open, but now wasn't the time to try.

  All I could do was listen as the driver got inside and started the van. A passenger also got into the front. ATC agents never worked alone. They always hung together in pairs at the least. It made sense. I made a mental note of that.

  My duffel bag carried faint food smells. Over one agent had gone through my stuff. My shirts, pants, and underwear. Sure, they were used to that, but a sense of violation filled me. I couldn't shake it as the van got moving and drove up a ramp and onto the street.

  The ride took about thirty minutes. The driver had skill, and I couldn't see them. This ATC van didn't have a window that let me see up front. They had me in a box. Even criminals riding in the back of police cars didn't get treated like this. The ATC was still sticking with some of its old ways.