Dead Witch Walking (21 page)

The large man went ashen. “She’s fine,” he whispered. His rough confidence had vanished, leaving only a frightened, fat man.

“What is she? Fifteen?” Trent eased back in his chair, set his glasses beside his in/out-box, and laced his long fingers over his middle. “Wonderful age. She wants to be an oceanographer, yes? Talk to the dolphins?”

“Yes.” It was hardly audible.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that the treatment for her bone cancer worked.”

I looked at the back of Trent’s drawer where the incriminating discs lay. My gaze lifted to Faris, taking in his lab coat with a new understanding. Cold struck through me, and I stared at Trent. He wasn’t just running biodrugs, he was making them. I wasn’t sure if it horrified me more that Trent was actively flirting with the same technology that wiped out half the world’s population, or that he was blackmailing people with it, threatening their loved ones. He was so pleasant, so charming, so damned likable with his confident personality. How could something so foul lay next to something so attractive?

Trent smiled. “She’s been in remission for five years now. Good physicians willing to explore illegal techniques are hard to find. And expensive.”

Faris swallowed. “Yes—sir.”

Trent eyed him with a questioning arch to his eyebrows. “Good afternoon—Faris.”

“Slime,” I hissed, ignored. “You are a slime, Trent! Scrapings from under my boot.”

Faris moved shakily to the door. I tensed when I smelled a sudden defiance. Trent had backed him into a corner. The large man had nothing to lose.

Trent must have sensed it, too. “You’re going to run now, aren’t you,” he said as Faris opened the door. The sound of office chatter filtered in. “You know I can’t let you.”

Faris turned with a hopeless look. Astonished, I watched Trent unscrew his pen and stick a small tuft in the empty barrel. With a short puff of air, he shot it at Faris.

The large man’s eyes widened. He took a step toward Trent, then put his hand to his throat. A soft rasp came from him. His face began to swell. I watched, too shocked to be afraid, as Faris dropped to his knees. The heavy man grasped at a shirt pocket. His fingers fumbled, and a syringe fell to the floor. Faris reached for it, collapsing, stretching for the syringe.

Trent rose. His face blank, he nudged the syringe out of Faris’s grasp with a foot.

“What did you do to him?” I squeaked, watching as Trent put his pen back together. Faris was turning purple. A ragged gasp came from him, then nothing.

Trent slipped his pen in a pocket and stepped over Faris to reach the open door. “Sara Jane!” he called out. “Call the paramedics. Something’s wrong with Mr. Faris.”

“He’s dying!” I squeaked. “That’s what’s wrong with him! You freaking killed him!”

The sound of worried chatter rose as everyone came out of his or her office. I recognized Jonathan’s fast footsteps. He lurched to a stop in the threshold, grimacing at Faris’s bulk on the floor, then frowning at Trent in disapproval.

Trent was crouched beside Faris, feeling for a pulse. He shrugged at Jonathan and injected the syringe’s contents into Faris’s thigh through his slacks. I could tell it was too late. Faris wasn’t making noises anymore. Faris was dead. Trent knew it.

“The paramedics are coming,” Sara Jane said from the hall, her footsteps coming closer. “Can I get—” She stopped behind Jonathan and put a hand to her mouth, staring down at Faris.

Trent stood, the syringe slipping from him to fall dramatically to the floor. “Oh, Sara Jane,” he said softly as he drew her back into the hallway. “I’m so sorry. Don’t look. It’s too late. I think it was a bee sting. Faris is allergic to bees. I tried to give him his antitoxin, but it didn’t act soon enough. He must have brought a bee in with him unaware. He slapped his leg just before he collapsed.”

“But he…” she stammered, glancing back once as Trent moved her away.

Jonathan crouched to pluck a tuft of fuzz from Faris’s right leg. The fluff went into a pocket. The tall man met my eyes, a wry, sarcastic look on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Trent said from the hall. “Jon?” he called, and Jonathan rose. “Please see that everyone leaves early. Clear the building.”

“Yes sir.”

“This is terrible, just awful,” Trent said, seeming to really mean it. “Go on home, Sara Jane. Try not to think about it.”

I heard her choke back a sob as her hesitant footsteps retreated.

It had only been moments since Faris had been standing. Shocked, I watched Trent step over Faris’s arm. Cool as broccoli, he went to his desk and pushed the intercom. “Quen? I’m sorry to disturb you, but will you please come up to my front office? There is a paramedic team on their way into the grounds, and after that, probably someone from the I.S.”

There was a slight hesitation, and Quen’s voice crackled from the speaker. “Mr. Kalamack? Yes. I’ll be right there.”

I stared at Faris, swollen and prostrate on the floor. “You killed him,” I accused. “God help me. You killed him. Right in your office. In front of everyone!”

“Jon,” Trent said softly, rummaging in apparent unconcern in a drawer. “See that his family gets the upgraded benefits package. I want his youngest daughter to be able to go to the school of her choice. Keep it anonymous. Make it a scholarship.”

“Yes, Sa’han.” His voice was casual, as if dead bodies were an everyday occurrence.

“That’s real generous of you, Trent,” I chittered. “She’d rather have her father, though.”

Trent looked at me. There was a bead of sweat at his hairline. “I want to meet with Faris’s assistant before the day is out,” he said lightly. “What was his name…Darby?”

“Darby Donnelley, Sa’han.”

Trent nodded, rubbing his forehead as if bothered. When his hand dropped, the sweat was gone. “Yes. That’s it. Donnelley. I don’t want this to put me behind schedule.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“The truth. Faris is allergic to bee stings. His entire staff knows it.”

Jonathan nudged Faris with a toe and left. His steps were loud now that there was no background noise. The floor had emptied shockingly fast. I wondered how often this happened.

“Like to reconsider my previous offer?” Trent said, addressing me. He had his untasted shot of whiskey in his fingers. I wasn’t sure, but I thought they were trembling. He considered the drink for a moment, then tossed it back with a smooth motion. The glass was set gently down. “The island is out,” he said. “Having you closer would be prudent. The way you infiltrated my compound was impressive. I think I could persuade Quen to take you on. He laughed himself breathless watching you duct-tape Mr. Percy in his trunk, then almost murdered you after I told him you had broken into my front office.”

Shock blanked my mind. I couldn’t say anything. Faris was
dead on the floor,
and Trent was asking me to work for him?

“But Faris was quite struck with your stirring,” he continued. “Deciphering pre-Turn gene-splicing techniques can’t be much harder than stirring a complex spell. If you don’t want to explore your limits in the physical arena, you could go toward the mental. Such a mix of skills you have, Ms. Morgan. It makes you curiously valuable.”

I sank back on my haunches, dumbfounded.

“You see, Ms. Morgan,” he was saying. “I’m not a bad man. I offer all my employees a fair situation, a chance for advancement, the opportunity to reach their full potential.”

“Opportunity? Chance for advancement?” I sputtered, not caring that he couldn’t understand me. “Who do you think you are, Kalamack? God? You can go Turn yourself.”

“I think I got the gist of that.” He gave me a quick smile. “If nothing else, I’ve taught you to be honest.” He shifted his chair closer to his desk. “I’m going to break you, Morgan, until you will do anything to get out of that cage. I do hope it takes a while. Jon took nearly fifteen years. Not as a rat, but a slave all the same. I imagine you will break a lot faster.”

“Damn you, Trent,” I said, seething.

“Don’t be crass.” Trent picked up his pen. “I’m sure your moral fiber is as strong as if not stronger than Jon’s. But he didn’t have rats trying to rip him apart. I had the luxury of time with Jon. I went slowly, and I wasn’t as good then.” Trent’s eyes went distant in thought. “Even so, he never knew I was breaking him. Most don’t. He still doesn’t. And if you suggested it, he would kill you.”

Trent’s distant gaze cleared. “I quite like having all the cards faceup on the table. It adds to the satisfaction, don’t you think? Not having to be delicate about it. Both of us knowing what’s going on. And if you don’t survive, it’s no great loss. I haven’t invested that much in you. A wire cage? Food chips? Wood shavings?”

The feeling of being in a cage crashed over me. Trapped. “Let me out!” I shouted, pulling at the mesh of my cell. “Let me out, Trent!”

There was a knock on the doorframe and I spun. Jonathan entered, sidestepping Faris. “The medical team is parking their van. They can get rid of Faris. The I.S. wants a statement, nothing more.” His eyes flicked disparagingly at me. “What’s wrong with your witch?”

“Let me out, Trent,” I chittered, growing frantic. “Let me out!” I ran to the bottom of my cage. Heart pounding, I ran back up to the second floor. I threw myself against the bars, trying to knock the cage over. I had to get out!

Trent smiled, his expression calm and collected. “Ms. Morgan just realized how persuasive I can be. Hit her cage.”

Jonathan hesitated in confusion. “I thought you didn’t want me to torment her.”

“Actually, I said not to react in anger when you misjudge how a person will respond. I’m not acting out of anger. I’m teaching Ms. Morgan her new place in life. She’s in a cage; I can do anything I want to her.” His cold eyes were fixed to mine. “Hit—her—cage.”

Jonathan grinned. Taking the folder he had in his hand, he swung it against the wire mesh. I cowered at the loud smack even though I knew it was coming. The cage shook, and I gripped the mesh floor with all four of my paws.

“Shut up, witch,” Jonathan added, a pleased gloating in his eye. I slunk to hide in my hut. Trent had just given him permission to torment me all he wanted. If the rats didn’t kill me, Jonathan would.

“C
ome on, Morgan. Do something,” Jonathan breathed.

The stick poked me, almost shoving me over. I trembled as I tried not to react.

“I know you’re mad,” he said, shifting his crouch to jam the dowel into my flank.

The floor of my cage was littered with pencils—all chewed in half. Jonathan had been tormenting me on and off all morning. After several hours of hissing and lunging at him, I realized not only was my frenzy exhausting, but it also made the sadistic freak all the more enthusiastic. Ignoring him was nowhere near as satisfying as yanking pencils out of his grip and gnawing them in half, but I was hoping he would eventually tire and go away.

Trent had left for his lunch/nap about thirty minutes ago. The building was quiet, as everyone slacked off when Trent left the floor. Jonathan, though, showed no sign of leaving. He had been content to stay and harass me between forkfuls of pasta. Even moving to the center of my cage hadn’t helped. He had simply gotten a longer stick. My hut was long gone.

“Damn witch. Do something.” Jonathan shifted his stick to tap me on the head. It hit me once, twice, three times, right between my ears. My whiskers quivered. I could feel my pulse begin to pound and my head ache with the struggle to do nothing. On the fifth tap I broke, rearing back and snapping the stick in two with a frustrated bite.

“You’re dead!” I squeaked, throwing myself at the wire mesh. “Hear me? When I get out of here, you’re dead!”

He straightened, his fingers running through his hair. “I knew I could get you to move.”

“Try that when I’m out of here,” I whispered, quivering with rage.

The sound of high heels in the hallway grew loud, and I crouched in relief. I recognized the cadence. Apparently so did Jonathan, as he straightened and took a step back. Sara Jane strode into the office without her usual knock. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly, her hand going to the collar of the new business suit she had bought yesterday. Trent paid his employees in advance. “Jon. I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would still be here.” There was an awkward silence. “I was going to give Angel the leftovers from my lunch before I ran my errands.”

Jonathan looked down his nose at her. “I’ll do it for you.”

Oh please, no,
I thought. He’d probably dip them in ink first, if he did at all. The leftovers from Sara Jane’s lunches were the only thing I’d eat, and I was half starved.

“Thank you, but no,” she said, and I sank to a relieved crouch. “I’ll lock up Mr. Kalamack’s office if you want to go.”

Yes, leave,
I thought, my pulse racing.
Go so I can try to tell Sara Jane I’m a person.
I’d been trying all day, but the one time I attempted it when Trent had been watching, Jonathan “accidentally” knocked my cage so hard it fell over.

“I’m waiting for Mr. Kalamack,” Jonathan said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give them to her?” A smug look crossed his usually stoic face as he moved behind Trent’s desk and pretended to tidy it. My hope that he would leave vanished. He knew better.

Sara Jane crouched to bring her eyes level with mine. I thought they were blue, but I couldn’t be sure. “No. It won’t take long. Is Mr. Kalamack working through lunch?” she asked.

“No. He just asked me to wait.”

I crept forward at the smell of carrots. “Here, Angel,” the small woman said, her high voice soothing as she opened a fold of napkin. “It’s just carrots today. They were out of celery.”

I glanced at Jonathan suspiciously. He was checking the sharpness of the pencils in Trent’s pencil cup, so I cautiously reached for the carrot. There was a sharp bang, and I jumped.

A smirk quirked the corners of Jonathan’s thin lips. He had dropped a file on the desk. Sara Jane’s look was wrathful enough to curdle milk. “Just stop it,” she said indignantly. “You’ve been pestering her all day.” Lips pursed, she pushed the carrots through the mesh. “Here you go, sweetie,” she soothed. “Take your carrots. Don’t you like your pellets?” She dropped the carrots and left her fingers poking through the mesh.

I sniffed them, allowing her cracked and work-worn nails to brush the top of my head. I trusted Sara Jane, and my trust didn’t come easily. I think it was because we were both trapped, and we both realized it. That she knew about Trent’s biodrug dealings seemed unlikely, but she was too smart to not be worried about how her predecessor died. Trent was going to use her as he had Yolin Bates, leaving her dead in an alley somewhere.

My chest tightened as if I was going to cry. A faint scent of redwood came from her, almost overwhelmed by her perfume. Miserable, I pulled the carrots farther in and downed them as fast as I could. They smelled sharply of vinegar, and I wondered at Sara Jane’s choice of salad dressing. She had only given me three. I could’ve eaten twice that.

“I thought you farmers hated chicken killers,” Jonathan said, pretending indifference as he watched me for any un-minklike behavior.

Sara Jane’s cheeks colored, and she rose quickly from her crouch. Before she could say anything, she reached out an unsteady hand and braced herself against my cage. “Oooh,” she said, her eyes going distant. “I got up too fast.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, his flat tone sounding as if he didn’t care.

She put a hand to her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

I paused my chewing, hearing soft pacing in the hall, and Trent walked in. He had taken his coat off, and it was only his clothes that made him look like a Fortune-twenty executive rather than a head lifeguard. “Sara Jane, aren’t you on lunch?” he asked amiably.

“Just leaving now, Mr. Kalamack,” she said. She glanced worriedly between Jonathan and me before she left. Her heels thumped dimly in the hallway and vanished. I felt a wash of relief. If Trent was here, Jonathan would probably leave me alone and I could eat.

The haughty man folded himself carefully into one of the chairs opposite Trent’s desk. “How long?” he said, putting an ankle on his knee and glancing at me.

“Depends.” Trent fed his fish something from a freezer-dried pouch. The Yellow Tang bumped against the surface, making soft sounds.

“It must be strong,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t think it would affect her at all.”

I paused in my chewing.
Her? Sara Jane?

“I thought it might,” Trent said. “She’ll be fine.” He turned, his face creased in thought. “In the future, I may have to be more direct in my dealings with her. All the information she brought up concerning the sugar beet industry was slanted toward a bad business venture.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, making it sound patronizing. Trent closed the pouch and tucked it away in the cabinet under the tank. He went to stand behind his desk, his fair head bowed as he arranged his papers.

“Why not a spell, Sa’han?” Jonathan unfolded his long legs and stood, tugging out the creases in his dress pants. “I would imagine it would be more certain.”

“It’s against the rules to spell animals in competition.” He scribbled a note in his planner.

A dry smile crossed Jonathan’s face. “But drugs are all right? That makes perverted sense.”

My chewing slowed. They were talking about me. The bitter taste of vinegar was stronger on this last carrot. And my tongue was tingling. Dropping the carrot, I touched my gums. They were numb.
Damn. It was Friday.

“You bastard!” I shouted, throwing the carrot at Trent, only to have it bounce back against the mesh. “You drugged me. You drugged Sara Jane to get me!” Furious, I flung myself at the door, wedging my arm out, trying to reach the latch. Nausea and dizziness rose.

The two men came close, peering down at me, Trent’s expression of domination sending a chill through me. Terrified, I raced up the ramp to the second level, then downstairs. The light hurt my eyes. My mouth was numb. I staggered, losing my balance.
He’d drugged me!

A realization clawed through my panic. The door was going to open. This might be my only chance. I froze in the center of my cage, panting. Slowly, I tipped over.
Please,
I thought desperately.
Please open the door before I really do pass out.
My lungs heaved and my heart raced. Whether it was from my efforts or the drugs, I couldn’t tell.

The two men were silent. Jonathan poked me with a pencil. I allowed my leg to quiver as if I was unable to move it. “I think she’s down,” he said. Excitement tinged his voice.

“Give it some time.” The light hit my eyes as Trent moved away, and I slit them.

Jonathan, though, was blessedly impatient. “I’ll get the carrying case.”

The cage trembled as he unlatched the door. My pulse raced as Jonathan’s long fingers closed about my body. I wiggled to life, my teeth bearing down on his finger.

“You little canicula!” Jonathan swore, yanking his hand out and pulling me with him. I loosened my hold, hitting the floor with a bone-shaking thump. Nothing hurt. Everything was numb. I leapt for the door, sprawling as my legs wouldn’t work.

“Jon!” Trent exclaimed. “Get the door!”

The floor trembled, quickly followed by the slamming of the door. I hesitated, unable to think. I had to run. Where the hell was the door?

The shadow of Jonathan came close. I bared my teeth, and he hesitated, cowed by my tiny incisors. The sharp stink of fear was on him. He was afraid, the bully. Darting forward, he grasped the scruff of my neck. I twisted, sinking my teeth in the fatty part of his thumb.

He grunted in pain and let go. I hit the floor. “Damn witch!” he shouted. I staggered, unable to run. Jonathan’s blood was thick on my tongue, tasting of cinnamon and wine.

“Touch me again,” I panted, “and I’ll take off your entire thumb.”

Jonathan drew back, afraid. It was Trent who scooped me up. Deep under the drug, I could do nothing. His fingers were blessedly cold as he cradled me in his hands. He set me gently into the carrier and latched the door. It clicked shut, shaking the entire cage.

My mouth was fuzzy and my stomach was twisting. The carrier was lifted, swinging in a smooth arc until it landed on the desk. “We have a few minutes until we have to leave. Let’s see if Sara Jane has any antibiotic cream in her desk for those bites of yours.”

Trent’s mellow voice grew as fuzzy as my thoughts. The darkness became overwhelming, and I lost my grip on consciousness, cursing myself for my stupidity.