Darkest Powers - The Awakening Part 3

Derek had wanted Simon to leave Lyle House and find their dad. Simon wouldn't leave Derek, who refused to go because he was afraid he'd hurt someone else. When Derek figured out I was a necromancer, he found his weapon to beat down Simon's defenses. One damsel in distress, to go.

I was the poor girl who didn't know anything about being a necromancer, who kept making mistakes, getting closer and closer to being s.h.i.+pped off to a mental hospital. See her, Simon? She's in danger. She needs your help. Take her, find Dad, and he'll fix everything. See her, Simon? She's in danger. She needs your help. Take her, find Dad, and he'll fix everything.

I'd been furious with Derek, and I'd called him on it. But I hadn't refused to go along with the plan. We needed Simon's dad-all of us did. Even Derek, who'd eventually joined us when our escape had been uncovered and he had no choice.

If I'd known what was going to happen, would I have stopped searching for answers back at Lyle House? Would I have accepted the diagnosis, taken my meds, shut up, and gotten released?

No. Harsh truth was better than comfortable lies. It had to be.

Dr. Davidoff took me back to my room, and I told myself I was fine with that. I needed to be alone so I could try again to contact Liz, now that I knew she was still around.

I started slowly, gradually increasing my efforts until I heard a voice so soft it could have been a hiss from the vent. I looked around, hoping to see Liz in her Minnie Mouse nights.h.i.+rt and giraffe socks. But there was only me.

"Liz?"

A soft, hesitant "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," I said, getting to my feet. "I know you're angry with me, but it didn't seem right not to tell you the truth."

She didn't answer.

"I'm going to find out who killed you. I promise."

The words flew to my lips like I was reading a script, but at least I'd had the sense to shut my mouth before promising to avenge her death. That was one of those things that made perfect sense on the screen, but in real life, you think Great...and how exactly would I do that? Great...and how exactly would I do that? Liz stayed silent, like she was holding out for more. Liz stayed silent, like she was holding out for more.

"Can I see you?" I said. "Please?"

"I can't...come through. You need to try harder."

I sat back on the floor, hands wrapped in her hoodie and concentrated.

"Harder," she whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined myself pulling Liz through. Just one huge yank and- A familiar tinkling laugh sent me scrambling to my feet. Warm air slid along my unbandaged forearm.

I yanked my sleeve down. "You. I didn't call you."

"You didn't need to, child. When you summon, spirits must obey. You called to your friend and the shades of a thousand dead answered, winging their way back to their rotted sh.e.l.ls." Her breath tickled my ear. "Sh.e.l.ls buried in a cemetery two miles away. A thousand corpses ready to become a thousand zombies. A vast army of the dead for you to control."

"I-I didn't-"

"No, you didn't. Not yet. Your powers need time to mature. And then?" Her laugh filled the room. "Dear Dr. Lyle must be dancing in h.e.l.l today, his agonies borne away on the thrill of his triumph. Dearly departed, scarcely lamented, deeply demented Dr. Samuel Lyle. Creator of the prettiest, sweetest abomination I have ever seen."

"Wh-what?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that. A twist here, a tweak there. And look what we have."

I squeezed my eyes shut against the urge to ask what she meant. Whatever this thing was, I couldn't trust her, no more than I could trust Dr. Davidoff and the Edison Group.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"The same thing you do. Freedom from this place."

I settled onto the bed. As hard as I looked, though, I couldn't see any sign of her. There was only the voice and the warm breeze.

"You're trapped here?" I asked.

"Like a fairy under a bell jar, metaphorically speaking. Fairies are a product of the human imagination. Little people flitting about on wings? How positively quaint. A more fitting simile would be to say that I am trapped like a lightning bug in a bottle. For magical energy, nothing quite compares to a soul-bound demi-demon. Except, of course, a soul-bound full full demon, but to summon one and attempt to harness its power would be suicide. Just ask Samuel Lyle." demon, but to summon one and attempt to harness its power would be suicide. Just ask Samuel Lyle."

"He died summoning a demon?"

"The summoning is usually a forgivable offense. It's soul binding that rather annoys them. Lyle should have been content with me, but humans are never satisfied, are they? Too arrogant to contemplate the possibility of failure, he neglected to pa.s.s along the true secret of his success: me."

"Your magic powers this place. And they don't even realize it?"

"Lyle guarded his secrets to the grave and beyond, though taking them into the afterlife was not his intention. I'm sure he meant to tell them about me...had he not died before he got around to it. Even a necromancer as powerful as you would have difficulty contacting a spirit in a h.e.l.l dimension, so now I am bound here, my power enhancing the magics cast in this place. The others-this Edison Group-think it's built on the junction of ley lines or some such foolishness."

"So if I freed you...?"

"The building would collapse into a pile of smoldering rubble, the evil souls within sucked into h.e.l.l, to be tormented by demons for eternity." She laughed. "A pleasant thought, but no, my departure would merely hamper their efforts. Significantly hamper, though-putting an end to their most ambitious projects."

Release the demon under promise that I'd be repaid handsomely, my enemies destroyed? Hmm, where had I seen this before? Oh, right. Every demon horror movie ever made. And the horror part started right after the releasing part.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Ah, yes. Set me free and I shall take my revenge on the world. Start wars and famines, hurl thunderbolts, raise the very dead from their graves...Perhaps you could help with that?"

The voice slid to my ear again. "You are still such a child, aren't you? Believing in bogeymen. Of all the wars and ma.s.sacres in the last century, demons are responsible for perhaps a tenth; and that, some would say, gives us too much credit. Unlike humans, we are wise enough to know that destroying the world that sustains us is hardly in our best interests. Free me and, yes, I will have my fun, but I'm no more dangerous out there than I am in here."

I considered it...and imagined the audience screaming. "You stupid twit! It's a demon demon!"

"I don't think so."

Her sigh ruffled my s.h.i.+rt. "There is no sight sadder than a desperate demi-demon. After decades alone in this place, beating the bars of my cage, howling to deaf ears, I'm reduced to begging favors from a child. Ask me your questions, and I shall play schoolteacher, answering them at no cost. I was was a schoolteacher once, you know, when a foolish witch summoned me and invited possession, which is never wise, even if you're trying to destroy the dreadful little Puritan village that accused you of-" a schoolteacher once, you know, when a foolish witch summoned me and invited possession, which is never wise, even if you're trying to destroy the dreadful little Puritan village that accused you of-"

"I don't have any questions."

"None?"

"None."

Her voice snaked around me. "Speaking of witches, I could tell you a secret about the dark-haired one you visited. Her mother-too ambitious by far-heard of another witch bearing a sorcerer's child, so she had to do the same. Now she's paying the price. A mixed-blood spellcaster is always dangerous."

"Tori's dad is a sorcerer?" I said in spite of myself.

"The man she calls Daddy? No. Her real father? Yes."

"So that is why-" I stopped. "No, I don't want to know."

"Of course you do. How about the wolf boy? I heard them talking to you about him. I remember the pups. They lived here, you know."

"They?"

"Four pups, cute as could be. Perfect little predators, flas.h.i.+ng fangs and claws even before they could change forms-all but the biggest of the litter. The lone wolf. The smart wolf. When his Pack brothers flashed those fangs and claws one time too many, those who'd opposed the inclusion of the beasties got their way."

"What happened?"

"What happens to pups that bite their owner's hand? They were killed, of course. All but the clever one who didn't play their wolfie games. He got to go away and be a real boy." Her voice tickled my ear again. "What else can I tell you...?"

"Nothing. I want you to leave."

She laughed. "Which is why you're lapping up my every word like sweet mead."

Fighting my curiosity, I found my iPod, stuck in my ear-buds, and cranked up the volume.

Seven.

L ATER THAT AFTERNOON ATER THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Davidoff knocked at my door again. Time for a history lesson, apparently. He led me to his office and entered the code to a closet-sized vault lined with bookshelves.

"We have more reference books than this, naturally. The rest are in the library, which you'll visit soon. However, this"-he waved at the closet-"is what a public library would call its special collection, containing the rarest and most prized volumes."

He slid a red leather-bound one from the shelf. Silver letters spelled out Nekromantia Nekromantia.

"The early history of the necromancer race. This is an eighteenth-century reproduction. There are only three known copies, including this one."

He lowered it into my hands with all the ceremony of pa.s.sing over the crown jewels. I didn't want to be impressed, but when I felt the worn leather, smelled the mustiness of time, a thrill rippled through me. I was every great fantasy hero raised in ignominy, then handed the magic book and told "this is who you really are." I couldn't help falling for it-the story was hardwired in my brain.

Dr. Davidoff opened a second door. Inside was a surprisingly cozy sitting room with leather chairs, a jungle of plants, and a skylight.

"My secret hiding spot," he said. "You can read your book in here while I work in my office."

After he left, I checked out the narrow skylight, but even if I could manage to climb twenty feet to get to it, I'd never fit through. So I settled into the chair with the book.

I'd just opened it when he returned.

"Chloe? I need to leave. Is that all right?"

Leave me alone in his office? I tried not to nod too enthusiastically.

"If you need anything, dial nine for front reception," he said. "This door will be locked."

Of course...

I waited until I heard the outer door close. I was sure he'd locked my door, as promised, but I had to check.

It was a rich girl lock, Rae would say-the kind that keep out only kids who've never had to share a bathroom and, occasionally, break in to grab a hairbrush while their sister hogs the shower.

A side table held a stack of paperbacks. I found one with a cover st.u.r.dy enough to do the job, then copied Rae by wriggling it in the door crack until the lock clicked.

Voila, my first break-in. Or breakout.

I stepped into Dr. Davidoff's office. What I needed was a file cabinet, stuffed with records on the study, but all I could see was a desktop computer.

At least it was a Mac-I was more familiar with those than PCs. I jiggled the mouse and the computer popped out of sleep mode. The user login screen appeared. There was only one user account-Davidoff, with an eight ball as the graphic. I clicked it and got the pa.s.sword box. Ignoring it, I clicked on "Forgot pa.s.sword." The hint appeared: usual usual. In other words, his usual pa.s.sword, I supposed. That really helped.

At the pa.s.sword prompt, I typed Davidoff Davidoff. Then Marcel Marcel.

Uh, do you really think it could be that easy?

I tried every variation on Lyle House and Edison Group, then, in what I considered a stroke of insight: Agito, with several possible spellings. After my third wrong guess, it had again prompted me with the hint: usual usual. A few more tries and it asked me to enter the master pa.s.sword so I could reset the user account pa.s.sword. Great. If I knew what the master pa.s.sword was...

I remembered reading that most people kept their pa.s.sword written near their computer. I checked under the keyboard, under the mouse pad, under the monitor. As I peered under the desk, a voice whispered, "It's Jacinda."

I jumped so fast I banged my head.

A tinkling laugh. "Careful, child." It was the demi-demon. Again.

"The pa.s.sword is Jacinda?" I said as I backed out from under the desk. "That's Rae's mom's name. Why would he-?" I stopped myself.

"What connection does Dr. Davidoff have with Rae and her mother? Another delicious secret. All these scientists, so proud and lofty, pretending they are above mere human frailties. Foolishness. They are prey to them all-greed, ambition, pride, l.u.s.t. I'm particularly fond of l.u.s.t. Very amusing."

As she prattled, I typed in Jacinda Jacinda. The pa.s.sword box vanished and Dr. Davidoff's desktop began to load.

I opened a Finder window and searched on my name. The window began filling with hits. I tried clicking on one in a folder labeled "Genesis II subjects," but misjudged and instead opened a file called simply "Genesis II" in the root folder of the same name.

The first paragraph looked like something out of Aunt Lauren's medical journals-the summary of an experiment. I read: The blessing of supernatural powers is tempered by two serious disadvantages: dangerous or unpleasant side effects and the constant struggle to a.s.similate into human society. This study attempts to reduce or eliminate these disadvantages through genetic modification.

Genetic modification? The hairs on my scalp p.r.i.c.kled.

The DNA of five subjects from five of the major races was modified in vitro. This modification was primarily designed to reduce the side effects of supernatural powers. It was expected that reducing these effects would aid a.s.similation, but this was further tested by raising twenty of the children in ignorance of their heritage. The remaining five served as a control group and were raised as supernaturals. During the intervening years, the study experienced some subject attrition (Appendix A), though contact has been reestablished with most.

Attrition? They must mean kids they lost track of-like Rae, Simon, and Derek. Did that mean there were others like us out there, ones they hadn't found?

As the remaining subjects proceed through p.u.b.erty, side effects have been drastically reduced in nine (Appendix B). However, in those subjects who did not improve, the genetic modification itself has had serious and unexpected side effects (Appendix C).

Fingers shaking, I typed "Appendix C" into the Find box. The doc.u.ment scrolled down.

One problem noted in the nine successful subjects was a general reduction in powers, which may be an unavoidable consequence of reducing negative side effects. It appears, however, that with the unsuccessful subjects, the reverse occurred. Their powers were heightened, as were the negative side effects, particularly sudden onset of these powers and, more seriously, their uncontrollable nature, apparently emotion based.