“Bullshit.”
“I don’t know.” More force in his words that time, a spark of fury. “Thackery didn’t tell me anything he didn’t want to tell me. I had no idea he was involved in Tovin’s plans at Olsmill. We had very little contact these last two years, maybe a phone call once a month. I understood what he was trying to do, and, until Olsmill, he never interfered with Triad business. He was off everyone’s radar, except mine.”
I fisted my hands to keep them from shaking, rage bubbling up, staining my cheeks with a hot flush. “And after Olsmill? After we recovered his projects and brought them here?”
He looked at the floor, finally—fucking finally!—showing some semblance of shame. “Thackery called the day after,” he said to the floor. “He knew we employed our own scientists here and wanted to make sure they were receiving proper care.”
Cartilage broke beneath my knuckles and blood spurted hot across my skin before I realized I’d hit him. Bastian stumbled into the wall, his once perfect nose gushing blood and oddly angled. He stared at me, wide eyes glazed with pain, not even trying to staunch the flow.
“Motherfucker,” I snarled, fist drawn back and ready to strike again. “You knew Thackery had been working with Tovin and you didn’t fucking say anything? Didn’t turn him in? Tell me why I shouldn’t break your balls next!”
“He said he was close to a vaccine for the vampire parasite, and that he only needed two more months to find it. He swore to me he’d share it when he had it, that the Triads could use it to inoculate ourselves. The payoff was an acceptable risk, so I said nothing.”
Slivers of pain laced across the palm of my hand—I’d clenched my fist so hard I’d broken skin, created tiny, bloody half-moon indents. Hysteria was gnawing at the corners of my conscious mind, threatening to overthrow my rage. I wanted to beat Bastian senseless for his part in what Thackery had done to me, because intentionally or not, he’d been a willing accomplice to the research. A willing participant in the way my body had been used to incubate a potential antidote to a parasite that had ruined hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. That had killed people important to me. People I loved.
“The timing of yesterday’s call, then,” Baylor said. “You want us to believe it was a coincidence?”
“It was his weekly check-in on his projects. I got the report of Token’s removal while we were talking, and Thackery overheard. He cut off the conversation, and we haven’t spoken since.”
“And you never said a damned word to anyone?” Baylor’s finger twitched on the trigger, fury coloring his face. “Thackery murdered Rhys Willemy. His hounds killed David Moreau tonight, and Felix Diggory is hanging on by a thread. Not to mention the living hell he’s put Stone through this last week.”
Each of the names spat at him seemed to affect Bastian in some way—little tics of his eyes, a flare of nostrils, hints of pain and regret. My name, however, brought on something different. With blood oozing down his chin and staining the crisp white collar of his shirt, Bastian looked genuinely confused.
“Thackery may have finally stumbled onto his promised vaccine,” I said. “The trade is Phineas for the antibody carrier. Under other circumstances, I’d have no qualms about making the trade, but Thackery isn’t being a philanthropist here. He’s weaponized the parasite, but without the cure he won’t use his weapon, and I’ve got only about four hours left to come up with a Plan B before he kills Phin.”
“You’ll never find Thackery before the clock runs out,” Bastian said. “He’s stayed hidden for this long. He won’t make a stupid mistake so close to the end.”
“I have to try.”
“Why—?” He stopped, realization dawning. I could almost see a cartoon lightbulb blink on above his head. “You’re the carrier.”
“Give that man a fucking prize.”
“Do you realize what a gift you could have?”
I groaned. “For all I know, I’m lugging around ten pints of regular old O positive. Right now the only thing I’m thinking about is how to save Phin’s life and prevent Thackery from using his weapon against us in some sort of power play.”
“You can’t trade for Phineas.”
Good lord, he was starting to sound like Wyatt. Everyone wanted to protect me, but no one else saw it was the only solution. How could I not trade myself for Phin? “I won’t let Thackery kill him,” I said. “Period.”
Was that panic flittering across Bastian’s face? “He’s one man, Evangeline.”
“He’s my friend.”
He went to pinch the bridge of his nose—a universal gesture of annoyance, I supposed, since it got directed at me a lot—then stopped before he made the break worse. “Thackery will bleed you dry if it means developing the cure he wants.”
I lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, even though my insides were quaking at the idea of being Thackery’s lab rat. My mouth was dry when I said, “Maybe, but I’ve been the cause of a lot of friends’ deaths lately, and I will not leave Phineas on the chopping block. I will get him out.”
“And give up the cure?”
“There may not be a fucking cure!” I threw my hands in the air. “Maybe the only reason I fought off the parasite is because I was gifted healing powers by a gnome. Maybe Thackery will stick me, test me, and realize I don’t have anything useful for him.”
“Then let
I stared at him. “Are you serious?”
His expression left little doubt. “Perfectly serious.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Hell no, you’re not testing my blood,” I said.
“Just a sample, please.” A spark of excitement was back in his voice, and, combined with the blood on his face, it made him look downright terrifying.
Another denial hung on my lips. I could give Erickson’s team a sample, just to test and see if there really was anything unusual. Not that it would change my mind about trading for Phineas, but knowing for sure I didn’t have any sort of antibody might change Thackery’s demands. Might make him realize he didn’t need me and just let Phin go.
Yeah, right.
If nothing else, I’d get the peace of mind of knowing I was going to my potential death because I had value.
I glanced at Baylor. He’d lowered his gun and was watching me with rapt attention. He made a face that seemed to say, “Sorry. You’re on your own with this one.”
“Just a sample,” I said to Bastian. “So we can know for sure.”
“Agreed. The lab is upstairs on sublevel 1.”
As we retraced our steps to the elevator, I studied Bastian’s back. Straight posture, no shoulder slump, no falter in his steps. He walked as he had before—confident in his position within the hierarchy. Somewhere below the brass but above the Handlers.
“Even after Olsmill,” I said, “you never said anything. You knew Thackery had helped Tovin create those abominations, but you didn’t turn him in.”
“No,” he said, punching in his elevator code.
“Why?”
“You said it a few moments ago. He was my friend.”
Sublevel 1 was another labyrinth of corridors that honeycombed around dozens of doors and oddly shaped rooms. The doors had alphanumeric designations that gave no hint as to their purpose or contents. Mixed with lemon disinfectant and chemicals was the sharper scent of a recently fired gun. Or many recently fired guns. Underground shooting range for bullet development, most likely. It was kind of cool.
And nerve-racking. Even with Baylor watching my back, I didn’t trust Bastian. Not only for what he’d told me about his history with Thackery but because, as our recruiter, Bastian had the ear of the brass. He had influence. He
