Liquid Lies Page 11

  “And what’s that?”

  “Get in. Get out.” He couldn’t help it; his gaze settled on her mouth.

  The wall dividing Reed from the Retriever didn’t just crumble. It combusted into tiny little pebbles. Reed stared at her and struggled to rebuild it. No use. He was flailing like a puppy thrown into a lake for the first time.

  She drew a sharp breath. Held it. “Clearly it’s about money.”

  “Not this time. It’s not about the money.”

  “Oh really? So you’re not getting more for staying on?”

  Scrubbing a hand over his head again, he knew how the situation looked, but he couldn’t refute it.

  She shook her head. Her hair was wonderfully golden. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Look.” He straightened. He had to get a hold on the Retriever and heave him back in somehow. “I’ve seen enough rage in my life to know that Xavier would hurt you if he got the chance.” By the shadow crossing her face, he could tell Xavier had already made the threat. “I convinced Nora to move him out of that room next to yours and put me into it. I hate watching how he treats you. He’s a bomb, waiting for the match.”

  “Then maybe,” she said softly, “you shouldn’t have taken me in the first place.”

  He blew out a breath. “You think I haven’t doubted myself? The wheels were in motion, the money had changed hands, and all I could do was try to steer the runaway train.”

  She sneered. “Does it always come down to money for you?”

  He ground his teeth together hard enough to hurt. “Not always.”

  “But sometimes. Most of the time.”

  And she was right. God, he made himself sick.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Gwen. Ever.”

  She faced him now, hip pressing into the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “If that’s so, tell me straight up, to my face. Why are you still here? For the money? Or for me?”

  He looked down his shoulder at her, and was surprised at how easily the answer came out.

  “You.”

  Then with a slam and a lock, he raised the wall and vowed never to let it drop again.

  The next morning Gwen stood at the triangular window of her bedroom cell, fingering the cheap, gauzy curtains and watching the lake absorb the sunrise.

  She’d been locked in the room since yesterday afternoon, after her infuriating “discussion” with Nora. After Reed had told her he’d stayed on for her.

  Last night he’d brought her a dinner tray, which she barely touched. They hadn’t spoken.

  Behind her the bathroom door cracked open. She could sense Reed’s eyes on her back as strongly as she’d once felt his hands.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” she asked, eyes still on the lake.

  The door creaked. When she turned, Reed stood in the threshold, hands in his jeans pockets. If he was waiting for an invitation inside, he wouldn’t get one.

  His eyes flickered to the bed she’d made up nice and neat out of habit, and he frowned. She wondered what his bedroom looked like. If it was just as plain as hers. If he was obsessive-compulsive like her about squared corners and perfectly fluffed pillows. If his huge body even fit on the mattress.

  Stop it. Her mind definitely shouldn’t head in that direction.

  They stared at each other, silent, the bed between them. Such a small distance, such a telling barrier. She could only imagine what she looked like: crazy tangled bed hair, black rings under her eyes, confusion and fear drawing lines across her forehead and between her eyebrows. But Reed…he looked incredible. Rested and strong and confident, like he’d done this a zillion times. Because he had.

  He strode into the room and crossed directly to her, every step efficient and powerful. The ridge of his thigh muscles pushed against his jeans. He pulled up two feet away. The tense control over his expression and the rigidity of his posture melted—just a smidge, but enough for her to notice the switch. When his eyes dropped to her mouth, his lips parted.

  Doubt and desire claimed the darkness behind his eyes. He drew in a breath, bent a tad closer.

  Sweet Jesus, he was going to kiss her. Here and now. Conflicting responses opened fire on her brain. Though her back pressed hard into the wall, away from him, she tilted her face up to him and licked her lips.

  “Reed. What you said yesterday…”

  At the sound of her voice, he shook his head as if clearing himself from a trance. His stern demeanor slammed back into place. He shoved his fist between them, shattering the moment. His fingers opened to reveal a small, yellow nelicoda pill.

  “Take this.”

  Wow, was she dumb. Letting herself get reeled in by that body and their early encounters and the way he looked at her as though he were caught in his own Allure trap. She recoiled.

  He thrust the pill closer. “Nora said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Hurt, no. Disable, yes. “What if I told you it did?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you. I’m sure you didn’t know this, but you’re a terrible liar. Everything you’re thinking flashes across your face in neon lights.”

  She gulped. “Everything?”

  He leaned in and she counted five age lines radiating out from each blue eye. The bright sun streamed into the window, shrinking his pupils to pinpricks. “Everything,” he murmured, and she knew he wasn’t just talking about the pill.

  She crossed her arms like a child. “I won’t take it.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. From his other pocket he whipped out a syringe swirling with glowing yellow liquid. With his thumb, he flicked off the protective cap. “Then it’s this.”

  Something about the set of his mouth told her he didn’t want to give her a shot any more than she wanted to receive it. He’d also said that he didn’t like the way Xavier treated her—manhandling her and stabbing her with needles. She saw an opening and plowed through it.

  “Neither.” Not giving herself time for second guesses, she slid a hand around the back of his neck. The skin there was much softer than she’d expected, contrasting with the faint scratch of the places where he’d run the razor. She refused to be distracted by the feel of him. This had a purpose, and it wasn’t pleasure. Rising on her toes, she went in for a kiss.

  For a split second she thought she was home free. She’d give him the kiss of a lifetime; he’d walk away in a daze and forget about the nelicoda. Later on she’d ask to shower and then simply slip into the pipes and be gone.

  He was quicker than Xavier. Stronger. He flicked the pill to the bed and grabbed her arm like a vise. Spinning her around, he clamped her back to his chest.

  “God, you’re the worst actress,” he said in her ear. “You forget that I know what you really look like when you want me, that I know what your breath sounds like when you’re turned on.”

  His words enraged and terrified her. She scrabbled for a response, but found none. Nelicoda stole the parts that made her Ofarian, but it had no effect on what made her human. Reed’s nearness, the solidity of him, the generic soap scent mixed with what made him him…it all scrambled her brain.

  His cheek pressed into hers. “I may want you, too, but it doesn’t make me stupid. I still have a job to do.”

  When he pulled his head back, she winced, waiting for the needle to bite her in the neck. Instead, he jabbed it into her upper arm.

  Though the deed was done, he continued to hold her. Far gentler than Xavier, almost delicately. And she didn’t pull away.

  The nelicoda drifted icily through her bloodstream. Her head lolled on her neck, her hair rubbing against his chest. He inhaled sharply then went perfectly still. She shifted on her feet, her ass unintentionally brushing against the bulge in his jeans.

  He flung her away as though she were poisonous. Perhaps they were, to each other. His face was frustratingly blank.

  “You’re going out with Xavier and Nora today,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Not my business to know.”

 
Fear sent shudders down her spine. “I thought you were taking Xavier’s place.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then pocketed the empty syringe and snatched the yellow pill from the bed. “Not today. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  FOURTEEN

  The same white, windowless van that had stolen Gwen from San Francisco now idled in the circular driveway. Little Nora sat behind the wheel, Xavier in the passenger seat.

  Reed pulled Gwen across the gravel. One hand gripped her arm while the other threw open the van’s back doors. She stared into the black space inside and didn’t want to admit that the ride would be much worse without him. Reed, the buffer between her and the Tedrans, her only lifeline to the outside world, had been severed from her as quickly as he’d been attached.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, quiet enough for her ears only.

  “Don’t say that.” She refused to look at him. “You’re in no position to make promises.”

  As she tucked her body into the cold, uncomfortable corner, Reed slammed shut the doors. Darkness and panic enveloped her. The van lurched into motion, climbing away from the house prison cloaked in normality, and into an ignorant world. Her whole body clenched up. Her lungs constricted, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She could barely see her fingers when she waved them in front of her face, so she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated only on what she could feel. The cold shell of the van at her back. The scratchiness of the plastic rug. The new, cheap clothing that didn’t fit right. Her body, still alive.

  How long did they drive? One hour? Two? The road curved a lot, throwing her from side to side. They drove over mountainous terrain for a long while, then, when the ground flattened out, even longer.

  Finally the van stopped, but neither Nora nor Xavier got out. A familiar hum poked at the back of Gwen’s brain. Through the van walls came the dull tones of Nora’s voice, speaking Tedran.

  Nora was using Mendacia on the van. Despite her fear, Gwen was curious. How exactly were they using Mendacia on an object that couldn’t swallow it?

  The vehicle rolled forward again, drove a few minutes more, then stopped. The engine cut. Xavier’s hard footsteps stomped toward the back. The doors flew open. Gwen blinked hard against the sunshine.

  “Come here,” he snapped. Then, when she didn’t move. “Come here.” They should have named her the Retriever.

  Either she could do as he said or make him pull her out. She didn’t relish the idea of his hands on her again, so she scooted to the bumper. Xavier snatched her wrists, whipped out a set of thin, white metal handcuffs, and snapped them on her. A white metal chain hung between her bound wrists, and Xavier used it to yank her toward him. He attached the loose end of the chain to the strange watch that Reed also now sported.

  She sneered. “A fucking leash?”

  Xavier ignored her and shut the van doors, his gaze sliding over her shoulder. “You were right,” he mumbled to Nora. “Double the guards. What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.” Though she replied to Xavier, she watched Gwen.

  Xavier had not just gone completely still, he’d turned a shade of white reserved for people who survived winters in the deepest parts of Alaska. His eyes glazed over. Gwen turned around to see what had made Xavier look like he stared into the face of his own death.

  They stood at the far end of a parking lot plunked down in the middle of nowhere. The slab of black asphalt was surrounded by endless layers of treeless hills, worn down by time. Sparse vegetation sprinkled itself over the cracked land. The wind here raced icy and fierce.

  A giant, gray box of a building rose from the edge of the parking lot. With no windows, it looked like a distribution center without truck bays or loading doors, or an abandoned bulk discount store plucked out of a dying suburbia. No billboard sat on its roof; no neon decorated its walls. In fact, there was no signage anywhere, not even an EMPLOYEE PARKING ONLY placard.

  But there were employees, because two of them, dressed in deep blue uniforms, stood outside the lone gray door, chatting and smoking. Guns sat strapped to their hips.

  Between Gwen and that door stretched rows of cars. All shiny. All high-priced. Most with Nevada plates.

  “Xavier,” Nora warned. “We’re losing time.”

  At the sound of Nora’s voice, Xavier snapped out of his disturbing reverie. He turned to Gwen with such disdain she thought he might strike her, so when he snagged the chain connecting them and pulled her closer, she flinched. Xavier was tall, probably six-foot-five. He loomed over her, his quick-pumping chest pushing out breath from his nostrils.

  “Don’t go wandering off,” he said. “If you get too far away from me, I won’t be able to hold the illusion. If you just appear out of thin air, they’ll shoot before they realize who you are.”

  Tedranish burbled out of his mouth so fast and soft that Gwen couldn’t make out the words. But she felt the wave of enchantment wash over them. Only after Xavier started across the parking lot, pulling her behind him, did she realize he’d never actually drunk any Mendacia.

  “How…” she started, then stopped as another surge of magic careened into her.

  They cleared the last row of vehicles in the lot and headed straight for the door. The two guards watching over it were Secondaries. She could sense their signatures as clearly as she felt the wind through the loose knit of her sweater.

  Secondaries and…Ofarians.

  Gwen dug in her heels and pulled back on Xavier’s damned leash. Hard. “Help!” she screamed in Ofarian. “Over here! It’s me, Gwen Carroway! Hey!”

  One of the guards raised the last of his smoke to his lips and looked right through her.

  Xavier circled around them, chain in hand, and pulled her tightly to his side. “They can’t hear you. They can’t see you. Now shut up and come with me.” He stalked wide around the guards, tugging on the chain.

  Would they really fire if she somehow disabled Xavier’s illusion? She had one of the most well-known faces in the Ofarian world, practically a Secondary celebrity, for chrissakes. Surely their reactions wouldn’t be that quick.

  Sliding up against the wall next to the exterior building door, Xavier checked his watch. When it hit noon, the door swung inward.

  Two new guards exited. Xavier bolted for the opening, dragging her with him. She stumbled, the cuffs gouging into her wrists. The door was closing. Xavier ducked inside. Gwen had no choice but to follow. As she slipped into the dim interior, the door caught on her heel, stuttering in its otherwise slow sweep, and drawing the attention of the guards.

  Just inside, Xavier shoved her against the far wall. The two guards who’d been outside now stepped in, one of them running his hand along the door and its hinges. He turned his head and mumbled into a shoulder radio that someone needed to check the main entrance door.

  The whole thing took less than five seconds.

  As the guards strode down the long, shadowed corridor and disappeared around a corner, she rounded on Xavier. “What the hell is going on? What is this place?”

  “You don’t know?” So much in his voice: rage, sorrow, hurt.

  “No. I don’t.”

  Xavier lifted his eyes above her head. Gwen turned…and gasped so loudly she was sure Xavier’s illusion couldn’t have kept it masked.

  The square sign hung above the door. A stylized M, backlit in eerie blue. The symbol Gwen had recognized before Big Bird. The logo she’d been trained to think of as her future, her life, and the wellspring of her people.

  She was standing in the ultrasecret Mendacia manufacturing facility, known as the Plant.

  In the name of all the stars in the sky, how had the Tedrans found it?

  There’s more than one lie in that bottle, Nora had said yesterday, other than how it’s made.

  “Come on,” Xavier murmured into the darkness. “You have an hour to learn the truth.”

  He didn’t have to drag her this time. Morbid curiosity and a profound sense of dread propelled h
er forward.

  The initial corridor branched off into a maze of gray-painted, faintly lit hallways. Like the building’s exterior, there were no signs inside. No YOU ARE HERE maps, no arrowed plaques directing them through the facility. Yet Xavier knew exactly where he was going.

  He pulled up in a short, wide hall lined with doors spaced evenly apart. Each door had a small, rectangular window. The silence squeezed her in a giant fist. Everything smelled of disinfectant. A chill raked over her, and she hugged her arms to her chest, but not even a parka and electric blanket would do the job.

  “In there.” Xavier pointed to the middle door on the left side. He was so pale now he almost glowed. “Look.”

  She didn’t want to. She was dying to.

  She crept forward until the chain between them pulled taut, then she rose on tiptoes to peer into the wire-crossed window.

  Inside, a row of cherry-sized lights traced where the gunmetal gray walls met the ceiling. An Ofarian man stood inside with his back to the door, the silver Mendacia logo stitched just below the curve of his collar. When he shifted to one side, she saw that he was not alone.

  A woman with long, stringy, white-streaked hair sat bound to an awful contraption. A metal semicircle wrapped around her waist, clamping her lower body against the far wall. Unyielding chains attached her ankles to the floor. More chains around her wrists pulled her torso forward over a metal table, immobilizing her chin on a padded rest.

  Above the table, right in front of the woman’s face, hung a glass sphere the size of a basketball. Inside the sphere, spindly arms supported a tiny blue bowl.

  The Ofarian said something to the bound woman and emphasized it with a sharp gesture.

  The woman stared right into the sphere, the glass fogging with the bursts of her breath. Sweat started to stream down her temples and drip onto the table. In the chains, her hands curled into fists. Her face red and shaking, the woman started to cry. Gwen could not hear her, but she sensed it was the sound of indescribable pain and severe loss.

  The air inside the sphere began to condense, transforming into a pale silver mist. It swirled, slowly at first, then faster and faster, churning into a tiny tornado directly above the blue bowl. Then it collapsed, compacting, its particles slamming together.