If she could be rehabilitated. Ernest suppressed a shudder. If she could not be helped, she would be destroyed and that . . . bothered him. Death was a part of life here, but that did not mean he had to like it.
Gardreel stared at the screen. “Have they tested her blood? What is the breakdown?”
Ernest knew the answer, but he looked at the paper again anyway, struggling to understand how it could be accurate. “Fifty-five percent darkness. Twenty-six percent human. Nineteen percent . . . unknown.”
Gardreel slowly turned to him. “That is the highest percentage of darkness we’ve found. She could very well be the key to this all. Her connection to the others . . . is it strong? Can she control them?”
Ernest shrugged, wondering why his boss didn’t ask about the unknown blood. Wasn’t that noteworthy? It was not for him, though, to decide anything. “We don’t know yet. We would have to let her out into the general population to see how they react to her.”
Gardreel twitched his long red coat, tugging on the lapels in a staccato pattern. “A puzzle then. The most dangerous of them all, yet she is quiet as a lamb.”
Ernest swallowed and gave a slow nod. “Yes, she is a paradox indeed. The stories of her . . . they are there inside the other abnormals’ minds as per their handlers and are all rather consistent with her violence and terror that she used against them. Yet, here she is.” He waved a hand at the sedated woman with the midnight dark hair. She’d barely opened her eyes once, but he knew they were blue according to the charts.
“And you are the best at puzzles, aren’t you?” Gardreel continued to stare at the visual of the Phoenix on the screen.
Ernest looked with him at her image. Unmoving. Harmless. Like a sleeping child with her hair spread across her pillow and those long, dark lashes fanned over her pale cheeks. She looked younger than her thirty-six years. Far younger for one with such terrible claims to her name.
Ernest had an urge to touch that soft cheek to see if it was as smooth as it looked. He swallowed hard again. Damn this mortal body and its weakness. He had to remind himself that she was a monster hiding under that beauty, that according to all reports, she was the most violent abnormal they’d ever captured, a dangerous, heartless killer who felt no remorse. If the records were right, she’d actively hunted the abnormals who’d crossed her father for years, acting as his enforcer. She’d helped make him the most powerful mob boss of New York. The others were afraid of her—according to their informant, she was known as the boogeyman of the underworld—both human and abnormal.
As if his thoughts had summoned their informant, the man appeared silently in the entrance to the small monitoring room.
“Do you have her?”
They both turned to look at him. This man was swarthy with soulless black eyes and an aura of otherness that made Ernest’s skin crawl.
Gardreel chuckled. “Brother, do not be afraid. She is in hand and will soon be gentle as a lamb. Do you see her sleeping?” He pointed at the monitor. “She can no more hurt you than could I.”
Ernest fought to keep his face motionless. He wasn’t sure how comforted he would be if Gardreel had said that to him. But the informant was an abnormal. He did not know the boss, or what he was capable of—he had not seen Gardreel at his worst.
The abnormal folded his arms over his chest, flexing biceps that were easily the size of Ernest’s head. A pair of overly sharp teeth peered out of his mouth, as if winking at Ernest, reminding him of what they could do should they find themselves on opposite ends of a situation.
“I’ve done my part. I helped you identify the abnormals you brought in. I helped you find others. The ones who could’ve truly fought you are all immobilized in one of your facilities. Now, I want what you promised me. You give me back my life and pretend I never was an abnormal. And you keep her”—he pointed at the sleeping woman—“off me.” Fear laced those last words.
This abnormal feared the Phoenix far more than he feared Gardreel and Ernest knew that was not smart.
Gardreel gave a slow nod. “Fair is fair. You have done this world a service. That is a reward in and of itself.” He turned just his head toward Ernest. “Will you have George bring me around this one’s payment?”
Ernest picked up the phone obediently and rang through to the head of security. “George, the boss is asking for you. Bring the box.”
“The box?” The informant shook his head, wariness creeping into his feral eyes. “I didn’t ask for no fucking box. I’ll be taking my new papers, my money, and an escort out of this fucking place. As promised.”
“It is just a manner of speaking,” Gardreel said, once more twitching with his long coat, the ends fluttering around his ankles.
George did not dawdle, for once. He tapped on the door fewer than ten seconds later, and Ernest opened it, letting him into the confined space. Of course, he’d probably seen the informant arrive, and had been waiting with the box in hand. The captain of the guard took up what little room was left. Ernest found himself pushed up against the monitors. Or maybe he’d backed up, away from the abnormal and what he knew was coming.
“Why is the little one afraid?” the informant asked, although he didn’t sound alarmed. Yet.
Gardreel smiled. “Ernest is always afraid. He is a natural coward.”
George opened the box in his hands, pointing the opening at the informant. A dark green flash of
