The Scarlet Dagger (The Red Sector Chronicles, #1)

Chapter 18

The base was still as I wove through the buildings and blindly followed Paris to who-knew-where. Though my wiser side chided me, telling me I should go back while I could, my desire for answers won out, and I pressed on.

I didn't recognize this part of the base. Then again, I'm sure there were many areas I hadn't explored, leading me to suspect the base must run farther than I originally thought. Buildings so tall they reached the ceiling rose on either side of me, and the alley I now crept through was a dark, narrow corridor.

Fabulous, my mind said. You've just been shot. Lurking down a dark alley alone is exactly what you need to be doing.

Shut up! I told my conscious.

The alley seemed to go on forever, and with no lighting it was near impossible to tell when it would end. As I walked, the air shifted, growing colder. Paris' rose perfume was lost to an undercurrent of something stronger that burned my nose, like a chemical.

I was so focused on not making a sound that I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going. If I hadn't first heard Paris go down the steps, I probably would have fallen down them and ruined my cover. I ran a hand along the wall until I felt the edge of the alley. I paused, feeling with my boot for the first step. Once I had my foot firmly planted, I slowly descended.

My ability to see in the dark seemed to be improving the more I used my sight at night. Now that I knew it was there, I could see the stairwell clearly. Beyond that a single, shabby door, which was slightly cracked open. The chemical scent grew stronger the closer I drew to the entrance.

I knew this scent from somewhere. Not all of my memories had come back, thanks to the amnesia brought on by vampirism, but one drifted out of the fog now. It was me, walking down the biology wing in my high school. The previous class had been dissecting frogs, making the entire hall smell like –

Formaldehyde. That's what the smell is, I'm sure of it.

But that wasn't all. Something musky, like moldy mushrooms, hung under it. I'm not sure I would have noticed it at all if I hadn't been a vampire.

I paused by the door, peering through the crack. White bulb lights hung from the ceiling, lighting the hallway in patches. I didn't see Paris, or anyone else, so I carefully let myself in, making sure to leave the door cracked like I'd found it.

My ears popped. There was some kind of a hollow, vacuum feel to the air down here. The hallway was all grey cinderblock and was lined with black doors. A few feet in front of me, the concrete floor turned into a small staircase, leading up to a second landing that was level with my eyes.

I was almost to the staircase when footsteps echoed off the walls, coming closer at a rapid pace.

Panicked, I quickly tried the handle on one of the doors. Locked. I went to the next. Also locked. I went down the whole row of doors, each locked, before one finally opened. I ducked inside, shutting the door behind me.

It was dark, and the smell of formaldehyde and decay was so strong in here I nearly gagged. I bumped into something cold and metallic, like a table. Running my hand along the wall, I found a switch and flicked it on. Slowly, the single bulb in the center of the ceiling came to life and illuminated the source of the smell.

I nearly screamed.

There, stretched out on several tables that filled the small room to capacity, were at least a dozen dead bodies. White, blood stained sheets covered them all from the waist down, and their hands hung limp as they stared at the ceiling with cold, dead eyes.

I looked around me in horror. Had I run into some kind of a morgue? What was Paris doing in a place like this?

Swallowing bile, I forced myself closer to the tables. Some of the bodies had dotted lines drawn on them while others had networks of incisions that made me weak at the knees. But there was one thing they all had in common.

They're all human.

Not a single one of them had a telekinetic signature. Were the vampires harvesting their blood? Scenes from War of the Worlds flashed through my head, where the humans were used as livestock and fertilizer for the aliens. It made me sick, despite the well-known truth that vampires fed off humans. Seeing all the dead people spread out around me really made that fact strike home.

A chart had been left on one of the tables. Gritting my teeth, I carefully leaned over a body – praying I didn't fall on top of it – and snatched up the chart. Notes too messy for me to read were scribbled across its pages, though I made out two words in perfect clarity: "test subject."

A cold shiver rolled through me. Were they using these people in some sort of experiment?

What the hell's going on down here?

A voice outside the door made me jump. It had a French accent.

Paris.

I had been so distracted that I hadn't heard her walk up. Not seeing any better options, I crawled under one of the tables, thankful the sheets reached the floor.

Paris' voice was muffled through the door, but not so much I couldn't hear her say, "We're right on schedule."

A deep rumbling answered her, a man. But there was something odd about his voice, like his vocal chords or throat had been damaged, hindering his speech ability. I strained, trying to make out what he was saying but with no luck. A scent drifted from beneath the door, something familiar and forgotten.

Cinnamon and cloves... the same scent I've smelled on Aden.

I reached out with my glamour, trying to figure out who the man was. Though I could tell he was a vampire, I couldn't find anything else, not even a stray thought or any real emotions. He was simply... empty.

I thought of Aden, how he had kissed me so passionately, like it was the last thing he'd ever do. Was he somehow in league with this man, the man who smelled of spices? And who was he, for that matter? What were he and Paris doing in the dead of night in a building housing a lab full of dead people?

The eerie possibility that Paris could be the one trying to kill me crossed my mind, but I quickly debunked it. If she had wanted to kill me, she would have already done so, as she'd had plenty of opportunities.

My leg was starting to fall asleep, and I tried shifting my weight. The table shuddered, and a second later a scalpel clattered to the floor. I tensed, silently swearing.

The man paused, and panic rose in my throat. Through my fear, I picked up one of Paris' stray thoughts, something about the light.

Crap! I left the light on!

She must have been in here recently, and if she had turned the light off, she would definitely know someone else had been in here. I hoped the smells riding the air would be enough to mask my scent and prayed Paris and the man would stay outside.

I felt a sliver of cold emotion from the man – suspicion – before Paris said, "I probably set something too close to the edge of a table, and it fell off. Who else could it be? The dead?"

She laughed uneasily as they walked away, and I waited for the sound of their voices to die off before crawling out of my hiding spot.

I didn't know what was going on, but something told me I had stumbled into a place I was never meant to see.

I shook my leg out as it tingled back to life and limped over to the door, pressing my ear against it. Sweet silence beckoned me forward, and I grasped the knob, turning it.

Fear gripped my throat.

It was locked.