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"Who's there?" I said.
"You've been misplaced," the voice repeated. "That's more important than who I am. You wouldn't know my name anyway. You're too young."
"How do you know that?"
A chuckle. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. "I'm sorry if I offend you, my dear, but you sound young. That's not a bad thing. Better than sounding old."
Adam appeared beside me, grabbing the bars for support.
"You said we've been misplaced," Adam said. "What does that mean?"
A pause. Then, "You've been hurt."
"How--?"
"I can hear it in your voice. I've been in enough fights to recognize the sound of broken ribs. Go lie down, boy. You'll need your strength in here."
Adam's mouth tightened. He didn't like being called "boy," but the voice didn't sound sarcastic. Adam pulled the blankets over to the bars and lay down, then tugged my pant leg until I sat beside him.
"Misplaced is exactly what it sounds like," the man said. "When the Nasts want to hide someone, they put them here. The paperwork, I presume, will say that you are in the usual prison cells. Then someone will go to find you and . . ."
"We aren't there," I said.
Adam whispered, "It's just a game. Lucas will tell Sean what happened, and he'll find us. They can't hide us from Sean. Not for long anyway."
The man heard us--a half-demon with auditory powers, I was guessing.
"The young Nast? Now that is a fortunate connection. Yes, if you know him, then this would appear to be a simple power play. An uncomfortable one, but you won't rot down here."
That cough again, from farther away, as if reinforcing our neighbor's point.
"How many people are in here?" I asked.
"Hard to say," the man mused. "You're the first new ones in a few years. The rest . . . They aren't what I'd call sociable. Sick. Crazy. A combination of the two, mostly. Locked away and forgotten."
"You--you've been here for years?"
He chuckled. "No, my dear. Mere months in this place would drive anyone mad. I'm a regular but temporary visitor. A special case. I work for the Nasts. Not voluntary labor, but they keep me in reasonable comfort if I behave myself." He paused. "I don't always behave myself."
"So they lock you up down here."
"Yes, and it's my own fault, as they're quick to remind me. But I don't do well with authority. Or with cages, however pretty. I won't be here long. I hear they have a mission for me. If not, they'll still take me out after a few days and put me on ice."
"Kill you?"
A laugh now. "No, my dear. I'm too valuable for that. I mean put me on ice quite literally. I believe there are human laws against the use of prisoners for scientific experimentation. That doesn't apply with Cabals. They make use of us. Cryogenics, in my case. Six months a year seems to be the safe limit. In my case, it has the dual advantages of keeping me under control for six months, and ensuring I don't out-age my usefulness too soon."
I'd have been shocked if I hadn't already known all the Cabals were working on cryogenics, one of many scientific races they engaged in. The Cortezes had also managed to freeze subjects for up to six months.
So this wasn't news. But it did spark a memory. Cassandra had been talking about cryogenic science a few years ago. No, she wasn't interested in freezing herself to extend her shrinking lifespan. But she'd heard a rumor that the Cortez Cabal had captured two vampires and was using them for cryogenics experiments. Since vampires don't age, something in their DNA might help perfect the freezing.
Benicio hadn't admitted to kidnapping vampires, of course. He simply said that if such a thing ever happened, it would be off North American soil, that the subjects would be well treated and released without permanent damage.
A few days ago, I'd learned that the liberation movement planned to free Jasper Haig from Cortez custody. It was Jasper--Jaz, as he was known--who'd killed Benicio's two eldest sons. He was being allowed to live while they studied his unique chameleon-like power. When we confronted Jaz about this plot to free him, he'd hinted it was the Cabal scientists who'd approached him with an offer. Now the movement claimed to have developed a mortality vaccine using vampire DNA. Could it be the same DNA used in those cryogenics experiments? An offshoot of those experiments? Probably. So what else were they working on?
TWENTY
Our prison-mate didn't talk much after that. He'd made contact. That seemed to be his only goal. Establish himself as a potential source of aid because we had connections. If it had been me, I'd have done the same.
