Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

“Marcus, get him out of here,” I said.

“Should have never brought me here,” Felix said. “So sorry.” He looked up, his youthful face twisted in pain.

“Run.”

“What is Thackery giving you?” I needed this answer, dammit.

“Get out!”

“What is it?”

“Blood.”

“What?”

“What’s that sound?” someone asked in a terrible mirror of Felix’s earlier words, just as a second person yelled, “Stone!”

I was grabbed around the waist and hauled through the interrogation room door. A sharp whine cut through the voices, followed by a high-pitched beep. Felix looked right at me, tears streaking his face, and then he exploded.

BEFORE

Wednesday, July 2

The East Side

The handshake agreement establishing a three-way police force among humans, vampires, and Therians became an official arrangement the day after Boot Camp’s destruction and subsequent evacuation. Every Handler, Hunter, and trainee was given a choice to join or leave. In the end, we all said yes to joining, and we began assimilating on Wednesday.

“Seriously? This is your headquarters?”

I blurt it out as Wyatt drives into the parking lot of the defunct Capital City Mall, through what has to be a magical barrier of some sort because it tickles the back of my mind in the place I’ve come to associate with my tether to the Break. Kismet and Milo are in the backseat of the nondescript sedan that’s so unlike what I’m used to seeing Wyatt drive. I don’t know what I expected when he said the Watchtower was on the East Side near the Black River, but this isn’t it.

It isn’t so much the fact that, the last time I was here, I was attacked by well-organized Halfies and saw two Hunters murdered. It isn’t even the fact that this mall, abandoned fifteen years ago when a new one opened across town, protects a Sanctuary. I can even kind of look past the knowledge that Chalice Frost, the woman whose body I now inhabit, was born here on this very hot spot.

No, the thing that makes my palms sweat is what happened in the Sanctuary when Isleen brought me here the first time. She used a vampire meditation technique to help me remember the days leading up to my death—tortured mercilessly at the hands of the goblin Queen, taken apart bit by bit. It all came back at once in a crushing rush of emotion and pain. Alex had been there to hold me, let me cry it out. My last moments with him before he was infected by the vampire parasite are entwined with this place, as are the last moments of my old life.

Living and working here feels like a cruel joke.

Wyatt drives through the weedy parking lot, aiming for the interior of the U-shaped mall’s curve. Any remains of the helicopter that exploded here months ago is gone, cleaned up as though it never happened. Just as Isleen had, Wyatt drives straight through the illusion of a wall.

Inside is a host of other vehicles—cars, sport utilities, pickup trucks, and vans—all parked in the lot once occupied by several hollowed-out restaurants (if memory serves). Walls are knocked down, carpet is ripped up, and lines are painted on the bare cement floors. I must be gaping at the impressive utilization of space because Wyatt grins at me as he parks.

“So far I’m impressed,” Kismet says with a hint of awe in her voice. “How do you keep folks from seeing you drive through a wall?”

“The entire perimeter is protected by a barrier spell,” Wyatt replies. “Makes it impossible for someone outside it to look straight at the mall, and it kind of urges them to stay away. Think of it like a magical repellent.”

“Human bug spray,” I say.

He nods.

“And if they somehow cross the barrier?” Kismet asks.

“Then security deals with them,” he replies.

I can imagine what that means. Overall the location is perfect. It’s in the middle of an older part of town that is mostly abandoned, so traffic is light enough to not cause us many problems. We’re also in the middle of a sea of pavement and construction, and I have no doubt the foundation has been reinforced with tar—precautions against bridge trolls, who are part of the earth and known to form in unfinished cement. They also answer to the Fey, and I hate the idea that Smedge, a troll I once considered a friend, is now my enemy.

We tumble out of the car and follow Wyatt on a tour of our new home.

The original tiled corridor is still intact, leading us to an intersection and an old fountain lit by a skylight. The fountain holds a variety of plants and herbs, all new and alive. The entire mall is freshly scrubbed and carries the scents of food, new paint, and cut wood, as well as the distant sounds of construction and voices. The long corridor is clear of kiosks and benches. To the right and all the way down is the old food court. To the left, halfway down and tucked into a service corridor, is the Sanctuary.

“The food court’s been modified,” Wyatt says, jacking his thumb over his shoulder even as he leads us in the opposite direction. “We combined some of the kitchens, walled off the others, and now have a working cafeteria. The windows are all blacked out, but Kyle’s a good artist and he’s been painting some murals in his spare time.”

A were-dog who paints. What are the odds?

It’s probably good that I keep the thought to myself because the muralist in question pops out of a storefront and waves.

“Astrid was just asking if you were here yet,” he says, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“Just got here,” Wyatt replies. “Does she need something?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” He disappears as quickly as he came, back into the storefront.

Wyatt leads us straight for it.

Both stores on either side have been blacked out. The center was probably a trendy clothing store at one time, with a blacked-out glass exterior and an entrance the size of a pair of double doors. We follow Wyatt inside. All three stores have been combined into one huge space. To our left, partitioned by a row of folding screens, is a long conference table and chairs. At least a dozen people—Therian and vampire—move around, doing their work and ignoring us.

“Welcome to Operations,” Wyatt says. “The name’s pretty self-explanatory.”

It is. I can’t help being impressed by what they’ve pulled together in less than a month, and this is only one room.

Kyle appears with Astrid in tow. She gives each of us—me, Kismet, Milo—a careful once-over that’s assessing without being violating. To Wyatt she asks, “Where’s Mr. Baylor?”

“Coming in with Leah,” he replies. “They’ll be along in about an hour.”

She frowns. I don’t think she’s happy with the decision to make Adrian Baylor the human representative in the leadership trifecta, but it’s a compromise that secured the loyalty of the rest of the Handlers and their Hunters. Kismet didn’t want it, and several folks, led by Sharpe, objected to placing Wyatt in charge, given his record of recent behavior. Wyatt seemed annoyed at first but quickly adapted to the idea. Baylor is a good leader, and he knows better than to try to control Wyatt.

“The construction materials you requested will arrive shortly,” Astrid says.

“For the maze?” Wyatt asks, a spark of excitement in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Maze?” Kismet says.

He turns to her, smiling. “Remember how you helped us design the obstacle course we used at Boot Camp? You gave us all those ideas from your Army training.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to do the same thing in the old Sears building, at the west end of the mall.” The delight in his voice is amusing and something I haven’t heard in a long time. “Actually, I was hoping you’d take a look at the plans and give me your input.”