Keri Arthur - Fireborn

“That’s not exactly true,” I said. “You know how we’d presumed they’d taken my laptop along with the notes? Well, they didn’t. Rory has it.”

“And you’ve known this how long?” he said, voice remote and all the more scary for it.

“Since about five minutes after I woke up in that field.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

“I did think about it, but I decided to see how reasonable you were going to be first.”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of annoyance and frustration—which was infinitely better than that dark and scary anger. “And this alternative of yours?”

“We find the notebook,” I said, “and you take it. In return, you let me keep the laptop so I can exchange it for Jackson.”

“Haven’t you listened to a single word I’ve said? The sindicati are not—”

“Getting Baltimore’s notes,” I interrupted. “Heard it, understood it. But I’m not intending to give them the notes. Not in their original condition, anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You intend to alter the formulas?”

“I may not understand what I type, but I’m familiar enough with Baltimore’s work that I could fudge a couple of formulas and no one would be the wiser.”

“Unless, of course, they check when the file was last accessed. I would.”

“Yeah, but it’d be natural for me to open it to ensure it was still there.”

“You don’t have to open it to ensure that.” He paused, expression thoughtful. “There is another option, however.”

“What?” It was warily said, but I supposed I should be thankful he wasn’t threatening to grab everything and lock me up. Not yet anyway.

“We insert a Trojan into the computer. One that will destroy all files the second time it’s booted up.”

I frowned. “Why the second time?”

“Because they will undoubtedly want to check that the file is present—and not obviously tampered with—before they hand over Jackson.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip for a moment, then added, “Can you access such a Trojan, though?”

He gave me the sort of look one would give a particularly thick child. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I couldn’t.”

“Meaning if you put this thing on the laptop, you’ll let me meet with the sindicati? Alone?”

“If that’s the way you want it, then yes. But just remember, the sindicati are not to be trusted. They are just as likely to kill you as release Jackson.”

I remembered the vampire’s promise. Remembered his anger at my doubting his word. They would let us walk away. Just how far we got—particularly now that I’d pissed him off—was anyone’s guess.

“They wouldn’t want to try,” I said quietly.

His gaze met mine. After a moment, he nodded. “We’ll head to your place first—”

The ringing of a phone cut him off. He picked up the earpiece sitting in the cup holder and slipped it on. “Yes?”

I couldn’t hear what was being said, but if Sam’s expression was anything to go by, all was not well at PIT.

“When did this happen?” he growled. Darkness crowded the car’s cabin again, its caress sending goose bumps down my spine. And yet the element of sensuality was perhaps even stronger, attracting as fiercely as the darkness repelled.

I really, really wished I knew what the hell it was.

“Many fatalities?” The reply was obviously yes, because the darkness became so fierce it was suddenly hard to breathe. “Keep me updated. Oh, and, Adam? You want to e-mail me that doc file Trojan? I need to set it up on a laptop.”

With that, he pulled the earpiece out and threw it into the cup holder.

“Problems?” I said, a little breathlessly.

“You could say that.” He shot me a glance that was pure fury—but this time, at least, it wasn’t aimed at me. “It seems your boss just walked out of the morgue.”

“That’s impossible,” I said automatically.

“Obviously not, given it just happened.” He planted his foot, and the big car leapt forward. “It would appear Baltimore was somehow infected with the red plague virus. He woke up, broke free of the morgue, killing two people and injuring four others in the process.”

“Fuck.” I hesitated. “What will happen to those who survived now?”

“Now,” he said, voice grim, “the waiting begins.”

I frowned. “I thought you were killing anyone infected with the red plague.”

He hesitated. “Not immediately. It often depends on what happens.”

My confusion grew. “What do you mean? You said any scratch or bite would transmit the disease, and that it was all downhill from there.”

“It is, but if you actually survive the infection, there appears to be two levels of degeneration.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Meaning what?”

“The majority of those infected do become red cloaks, simply because that is who they are infected by. But it appears that there are some humans who have a natural resistance to the infection. While they still turn into vampirelike beings, they do not descend into utter madness. If you’re infected by one of these, then you also have a greater chance of avoiding madness.”

“What percentage are we talking about?”

“About ten percent of the cloaks, as near as we can figure, have avoided the madness.”

Meaning it was more than possible for someone to be controlling the rest of the cloaks. “Then why not use the blood of those who have shown resistance to make a vaccine?”

“It’s being tried; trust me. But not only is the virus constantly mutating within the body; it also reacts very differently in each person, depending on the race.”

“Could that also be the reason some shifters are immune?”

“Possibly.” He shrugged. “As I’ve said, we still don’t understand a whole lot about this virus.”

I snorted. “Tell me again why everybody thought it was a good idea to develop this thing?”

“Discovering the secret to immortality could very well help cure some of man’s greatest diseases.”

“Or it might just create more damn problems.” It certainly had in this case. “What happens to those who don’t fall into madness?”

“Whether they do or not, the result is generally the same. They head into Brooklyn.”

“Why would they all go there?”

He shrugged. “We suspect there’s something in the virus that produces a hive mentality in survivors.”

As I’d noted the night I’d saved his ass. “Which would suggest that everything they do is for the greater good of the hive. And that means the question that has to be asked is, who is the queen of this particular hive?”

“ That we don’t know.”

“Meaning there is someone in control?”

The look he gave me was fierce. I thought for a moment he wouldn’t answer, but he surprised me.

“Yes. But we have no idea who and no idea how he or she gained control.”

“Well, you’d think it would have to be someone who had natural resistance to the drug. Perhaps someone who was one of those initial infections.”

“No. All the initial infections resulted in death or madness.”

I wondered if the deaths were a result of the infection or PIT’s intervention. I suspected the latter. “How many people have been infected all told? Have you any idea?”

“Outside the initial twenty or so, no. We estimate there’s close to a hundred, though, if what we’ve seen in Brooklyn is any indication.”

One hundred red cloaks. Fuck, that was a scary thought. “Why isn’t the army involved? Why don’t you all just go in there and shoot the shit out of the bastards?”