Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Braxton

I hope Max and Asha are okay.

Orson leads us through the maze of hallways in the mansion’s basement, trying to focus on the mission when I’m worried about the people I love most in this world. “Are you sure you know where we’re going?” I ask him.

He looks back with a smug grin and taps a finger to his temple. “I studied the maps produced by my algorithm so that I could etch them into memory. I know exactly where we’re going, although we’ll be provided with more detailed information the closer we get.”

Static hisses in my ear. I wince and dig out the comms piece to examine it. “Have you heard anything since our last attempt at contact?” I ask.

Orson shakes his head. “Only random bursts of static.”

I recall the haunting split-second soundbite, a garbled noise that nevertheless sent a shiver down my spine. I wrote it off, some signal interference, but in the back of my thoughts I can’t shake the feeling something awful is happening. Because it didn’t just sound like interference. Beneath the hissing blanket of static, it sounded almost as if…

Terror. The haunting cry of panic, of shock fading quickly into fear.

But there’s no verification, only the dread whispering in my thoughts. If I based my field decisions on dread, I wouldn’t be here today. I have to trust that Max and Asha have their end covered and push on with Orson to clear the basement.

No matter how hard it is to do.

We make another turn, follow along another dimly lit corridor. They seem to be getting dimmer, danker, more ominous. It’s almost as if the longer we spend wandering them, the more they decay. I feel like I’m in someone’s nightmare . It would be my own, but I have this peculiar sense that I'm subsumed under someone else’s fear.

But after learning what the Blood Mages had done to Asha, I know these people are capable of anything. Wherever they live, fear and pain will follow, so this place will be no different. I just hope if we find Asha’s pack, we’ll not only be able to save them from their prison, but also from the things the Blood Mages have done to them.

Orson comes to a halt before an unassuming door, not unlike the other two dozen we’ve passed since we slipped furtively into the stairwell. “Here,” he says.

I stare. Orson can’t be serious. This is nothing. If her people are being kept somewhere, it’s not behind this door.

“Here what?” I finally ask, trying not to sound irritated.

“In my maps, there was a strong magical reading just here. Now, I can see that they are coalesced around the shapes of bodies”

Around? Magic doesn’t come from around a person, it comes from within a person. Has Orson officially lost it? Is this some side-effect of his time being mistreated in prison?

I shoot him a bewildered look. “What’s that mean? Wouldn’t it be emanating from the bodies?”

He looks at me gravely as he replies, “Although I couldn’t see this before, it’s very clear now. The signatures are such that the magic appears to outline them, rather than inhabit them.”

That’s not possible.

The furrow in my brow grows deeper. “What’s that mean?”

“If my map is correct, the people behind this door weren’t using magic. Rather, magic was inflicted upon them.” His eyes drift to the floor. “In substantial amounts.”

Fuck. “So this would be the tortured members of Asha’s Blood Pack. Is that what you’re saying?”

“The evidence seems to suggest that.”

“Then we’ve found exactly what we’re looking for.” I wrap my fist around the knob, but sense hesitancy in my teammate. I question him with my gaze.

He’s got that look I’m starting to recognize. The one that says his thoughts are churning faster than his mouth, probably faster than my brain has ever worked. The smart bastard.

“We don’t know what state they’ll be in. Alive, dead, coherent… mad .”

We know that. We knew that coming here. But we have to try. Not just for Asha, but for the poor people who were taken from their homes and experimented on. They deserve to be saved, if we can. Not just their bodies, but their minds, too.

“One way to find out,” I tell him, fighting the worry in my stomach as I twist the knob.

The dim light of the hallway cuts like dawn through the darkness of the room. In here, there could be more things like Simon. More creatures that could rip us to shreds. Or… people like Asha, broken in some ways, but good down to the core.

We need to be ready for both.

As the dim light diffuses through the pitch black, my eyes slowly adjust. It’s a prison. Cells line up in rows, each containing a shackled and fettered shifter. They look rough. Dirty, malnourished, twitchy. When Orson and I step into the room, more than a few flinch. I cringe, considering the sort of treatment we know Asha was subjected to. What sick, depraved things the Blood Mages have been doing to them.

Orson and I stand by the door for a moment, dressed in our tuxedos, having come from the party above, and stare into the cells where a starving, anxious collection of prisoners stare warily back at us. This is too surreal .

Then, to break the tension, a loud rumble sounds above our heads. Orson and I glance towards the rafters, as though we might see through them to the commotion upstairs.

“Who are you?”

I look down again and notice the older woman in the nearest cage has come to the bars and placed her face between them. Her voice is raspy, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

I take a step closer, examining her. She’s not old, only worn down in a way that’s aged her. “Who are you? ” I counter.

The woman glances back at her fellow prisoners, then turns back to me, lifting her chin as she replies, “I asked you first.”

“Seeing as how it’s you who’s presently immured,” says Orson, “you ought to answer first.”

If we introduce ourselves and our motivations first, they might lie to hide what they truly are. We won’t know the truth until it’s too late, and we can’t afford to make that mistake right now. If we let them go, what will they do?

She turns her profile to us so that she can regard us with one squinty eye. “There are a dozen of us immured in this room and only two of you not boxed up in cages. Seeing as how you’re in the minority, you ought to answer first.” She sneers. “Who uses the word immured , anyway?”

I look at Orson. “She’s got you there.” I turn back to the woman. “You know, you and him have more in common than your vocabulary.”

“That so?”

“He spent time behind bars, too.”

This admission appears to soften her suspicion. “Really?”

Orson nods. “I’ve known what it is to be a captive, but never a captor. I’ve known the feeling of the ever-shrinking bars closing in around me, and the deep stirring of desire that comes at the thought of an open field and the beauty of the sky.”

Her expression is far away for the briefest moment, like she’s picturing that very sky and field, before she focuses back on us once more. “My name is Victoria. We are what remains of the once mighty Blood Pack.”

We suspected as much. “And if we free you, what will you do?”

Her dark gaze never leaves mine. “Get as far from here as we possibly can.”

It’s not enough. “To do what?”

She spreads her arms in annoyance. “To be free. To be people. To have homes and families and lives once more.”

The woman’s dreams almost sound like Asha’s. What’s more, I don’t detect any malice in her voice. There are no secret plots to suggest that she’ll go mad when we free her and go on a killing rampage.

My gut says she’s safe, and since I don’t have a lie detector, that might have to be enough. “Then we’re here to save you,” I say.

From the back, a quavering voice called out, “Is it another trick, Victoria?”

Orson and I exchange curious looks. “What does he mean?” Orson asks her.

Her features slump into a grimace, accentuating the premature wrinkles carved into her face. “The Blood Mages who’ve imprisoned us, they enjoy playing games. Teasing our hope only to strip it away again. Their torture is not merely of body and spirit, but of mind.” She says this last word through gritted teeth. She can’t even speak of it without rage chattering her teeth. Victoria teeters on the edge. I sense madness besieging her sanity.

And yet there’s a light in her, too. A spark of humanity that takes all but murder to steal. I’ve seen its glint in the darkest places. I know its resilience.

“This is no trick,” Orson reassures. “We are here to free you. We’ve been sent by one of your own. Asha.”

The name of our mate, their fellow packmember, engenders a curious effect. The imprisoned Blood Pack exchange looks with one another that I can’t quite discern. Are they dubious? Do they doubt we’re with Asha, or that Asha would return for them?

A memory replays of Asha blaming herself for their plight.

Might they blame her, too?

“Asha,” the woman says with a hesitant smile. “Is she truly alive?”

I nod. “She escaped and has been trying to find her pack members ever since. She led us here.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” she asks.

I hesitate, then decide the hell with it. “She’s taking on the Blood Mages above us.”

There are murmurs of concern. The woman shakes her head. “Asha can’t handle all of them alone.”

“She’s not alone.” She has Max, which may not be enough.

“As much as she hates them, our main priority is to get you free. We just need to know if you guys can handle it. The magic… it does strange things to a person's mind.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “The magic is strong, but we’re stronger.”

Are they? I glance around the room. People have moved toward their cage doors, and while they look weak and painfully abused, there’s a spark of hope in their eyes.

“How do we get you out of there?” I ask.

“One of you will have to lift this end while the other pulls back the door,” Victoria instructs, pointing at the corresponding pressure points of the door. “They keep the key on a nail in the wall, just there,” she says, pointing at the keyring with a single silver key dangling from its loop. “I suppose they put it there just to taunt us.”

Orson snatches the key off the nail. “They’ll taunt you no more.” I grab hold of the bars and lift while Orson twists the lock and opens the door, all the while praying we’re not making a terrible mistake.

Asha isn’t like the others. These people could be like her, too.

When the door is open, we unlock the cuffs on her ankles and wrists, then step back. Victoria stands for one wary moment, almost as if an invisible barbed wire has replaced the door. But when she shuffles out of her cell, the moment is uneventful. She emerges in one piece. She looks back at the space she occupied, something almost like sadness crinkling the dirty flesh at the corners of her eyes.

We repeat the process nearly a dozen more times, freeing the rest of the imprisoned Blood Pack. She takes the key from Orson and, one by one, frees her packmates from the chains on their wrists and ankles. As they shed their manacles, piling them on the concrete floor, Victoria explains, “Even though we couldn’t escape our cells, they kept us shackled so that we couldn’t shift, couldn’t use our magic against them.”

They gather around us, a collection of ragged and yet freshly alert sanguivore wolf shifters. My hackles raise, acutely aware of their movements. What are they thinking? Staring back into their wide eyes, I can’t be sure.

“It’s time to finally use our magic for its intended purpose,” says Victoria.

Uh oh. “The magic has consequences,” I say.

I can’t tell if they know this already.

“Asha needs our help, and if one Blood Mage remains alive, we’ll never be free.”

Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly. “You should also know that Asha’s brother, Simon, has been using dark magic to the point where he’s become something… wrong and evil. His appearance has changed to be something similar to a person covered in tar, and his powers are stronger than anything you can imagine.”

There’s a flash of sadness in her eyes when she says, “If he’s become a danger to us, then he’ll be treated as something dangerous. Now, let’s end this thing, once and for all.” She waves to the others, and they start walking.

We move along with them, wondering yet again what will happen once they tap into their magic. Have we unleashed allies, or enemies?