Phoebe Harkness Omnibus Read online

  + Hostility 100%

  + Sedation 90%

  Observation requested: Y/N

  My finger hovered over the option for a moment. I had already learned more than I ever wanted to know, but I had come this far…

  I selected observation.

  A sudden noise behind me, a whirring hydraulic rush, made me jump almost out of my skin. I span, half crouched in surprise. In the long corridor of locked doors behind me, there was now an oblong of light. I had clearly just opened door number four.

  Lucky me.

  Not wanting to leave the workstation open, I logged off, grabbed Trevelyan’s swipe card, and made my way slowly back along the corridor. My mind was still reeling.

  Cambridge … good God, was that really true?

  I was not sure what was going to be in Room Four but I was pretty sure that whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like it.

  The room hadn’t opened, not really. The heavy metal door had indeed slid to one side and into a recess. My way into the room, however, was blocked by a thick pane of glass.

  The room beyond was small and dark. The floor, walls and ceiling were all bare and tiled, like a wetroom. There was even a small drain in the centre.

  Curled in one corner of this strange cell, rocking back and forth like a lunatic in an asylum, there was a thin figure, naked and very emaciated. Its skin was a mottled pale grey. It was tall, male and utterly hairless, it’s sinewy arms and legs like bunched coils of wire, its sunken chest and protruding ribs heaving in a fast rhythm, like a dog panting fast. The crouching figure was covered in a sheen of sweat, making it look oiled and feverish, its bald bullet of a head tucked between its knees, with long fingers clasped over the back of its head protectively.

  I took a step back from the glass, horrified as realisation dawned as to what I was seeing. The fingers and toes, I now saw, were elongated, far longer than any normal humans. They ended in wicked-looking claws. I couldn’t help but gasp and at that small noise, the intake of my breath, the creature’s head whipped up immediately.

  Its face was monstrous; sunken hollow eyes, black from lid to lid, above a collapsed nose, upturned like the cavity of a skull. It had no lips, its mouth merely a mass of scar tissue from which large, sharp teeth protruded, too many for its face, like a shark grinning.

  It was one of the Pale.

  They used to look human when we first made them, but that didn’t last long. They had mutated further during the years since the collapse of the old civilisation and the wars that followed. None of them had lips now, they chewed them off themselves, making their faces nightmarish death-heads, ghoulish and oddly naked.

  It stared at me for a second and we both stood frozen, eyes locked across the small space. Then, with terrifying speed, the Pale leapt up from its crouch, throwing itself across the cell and hurling violently into the plate glass, which shuddered and boomed in a muffled way.

  I stumbled backwards instinctively, arms held up defensively to shield myself from the expected attack, and fell on my backside, slamming into the floor against the opposite wall of the corridor. It took me a moment to realise it hadn’t gotten me.

  The glass hadn’t shattered. It must be reinforced, bulletproof even.

  The creature thrashed against it frantically, its head slamming again and again against the barrier, teeth gnashing at the smooth surface, leaving bloody trails of spittle smeared across the glass as it tried in vain to get at me. Its arms and legs beat against the wall vehemently and relentlessly, making it wobble each time. The long claws scraping against the surface, it was like a mad dog and it wanted nothing more than to tear into me and rip me apart.

  My heart felt like it was going to explode. Shakily, I felt for the wall behind me and slid myself up to my feet.

  There was a Pale. Right here in the city. In the fucking lab where I worked every day!

  This mutant – the embodiment of rage and hunger, a spectre of living death – growled and keened, furious and desperate, unable to understand why it could not reach me through the transparent barrier. It flung its wiry body against the glass again and again.

  I stared at it, frozen in horror, convinced that any second the glass was going to smash.

  A few more seconds passed and then there was a loud hiss, a pale mist erupting out of the small drain in its cell behind the monster, diffusing through the room.

  The creature struggled a while longer and then began to twitch, as though losing control of its limbs. It shook its head in confusion, losing coordination, and after a few moments, fell backwards into the thin mist. It hit the ground hard, gasping and gnashing its teeth, arms and legs flailing wildly around, fighting the thin air as it fell into convulsions.

  The mist poured into the room until eventually the Pale lay immobile on the floor, bucking its hips and gnashing its horrible long teeth. Its skeletal, naked body twitched and jerked painfully, as though being electrocuted.

  With monumental effort, it managed to roll onto its stomach and I watched as it dragged itself laboriously back into the corner, where once again it curled up on its side in a foetal position, hacking and spasming against the pervasive, relentless mist.

  Gamma Strain at work. A paratoxic nerve gas.

  The metal door slid back across the glass with a hiss, cutting off the nightmare vision, and locked itself in a very final and thorough way. Observation complete, I gathered.

  I’d seen enough. I felt as though I was going to throw up, my legs barely holding me upright. I stood, propped against the wall in the suddenly quiet corridor, trying to catch my breath.

  Movement in the corner of my vision made me jump. My panicked mind was convinced that it was another of the creatures, somehow loose in the corridor, and that any second it would be on me, tearing, ripping me open and burying its snapping jaws in my soft wet insides.

  It wasn’t one of the Pale, however. It was a regular human person, back at the workstations I had just left. A woman, she had appeared around the bend and was staring at me in surprise.

  “Dr Harkness?” she asked, incredulous. “Is that you?”

  I stared at her stupidly. For a moment, my mind was completely blank. But then she smiled at me, and my brain kicked into gear.

  “Melanie?”

  Trevelyan’s young assistant, she of the impossibly pert chest, adorable dimples and perfect hair. Part of me wanted to run over to her and hug her fiercely, gibbering insanely about monsters. The other part wanted to run away, to scarper like the trespasser I was. What she was doing down here, I had no idea. She was evidently thinking the same of me, and was peering at me quizzically.

  “I’ve not seen you down here before,” she said.

  She looked around at the utilitarian corridor we stood in, frowning slightly.

  “Grim as hell, isn’t it? I hate it down here. I keep thinking I’m going to turn a corner and run into a serial killer. Hey, are you looking for Vyvienne?”

  I nodded, tucking a pale strand of hair behind my ear and trying to regain my composure.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I managed.

  “I think she’s on sabbatical,” Melanie said, friendly enough. “Some Cabal bigwigs have been in her office these last couple of days. I think they’re picking up her stuff while she’s away.”

  She looked back towards the workstations, as though checking if anyone could hear.

  “To be honest, they give me the creeps, skulking around her offices, breathing down my neck all day. One of them sent me down here to pick up her personal effects.”

  She rolled her eyes as she walked towards me, her smart heels clicking on the concrete floor, a black box file hugged to her chest.

  “Because, you know, I’ve got nothing better to do with my day than pick up my absent boss’ dry-cleaning tickets and cinema stubs. Did the Cabal guys send you down too?”

  I nodded again, it seemed the safest route. In a moment of inspiration I brandished Trevelyan’s swipe card.

  “Can you believe she l
eft this down here?” I said, trying my best to sound incredulous. “She doesn’t even know it but I’m saving her ass picking it up for her. If they even find out upstairs that she left this thing lying around, that would be…” I paused for dramatic effect, “… it.”

  I raised my eyebrows, trying to look disapproving. Sweat was pouring down my back.

  “Oh my God,” Melanie looked shocked. “Her swipe? That’s not like her.”

  “I know, right? I have to admit though,” I added conspiratorially, “I quite like the idea of the boss lady owing me a favour, so please for the love of God, don’t mention to anyone I was down here getting this. She asked me to be discreet.”

  She shook her head.

  “God, no, of course not. Wow!”

  We walked to the elevator together.

  “I don’t know what’s got into her lately,” Melanie sighed. “Taking off at a moment’s notice like this, leaving things lying around.”

  She smiled and shook her head ruefully.

  “It’s a good job she has dogsbodies like you and me, eh Doctor, picking up after her?”

  We entered the lift and she hit the button for the atrium. I watched the doors slide closed gratefully. I could not get away from the MA Level and its horrors fast enough.

  “Well,” I reasoned as we ascended, “between you and me, she’s been under a lot of stress what with the quarterly R&D. I just think maybe she needs a little time off.”

  I glanced at the box file Melanie was carrying.

  “So that’s all the personal junk she left down there?”

  She nodded.

  “Hey,” I tried to sound as light and casual as possible. “I have to swing by her place anyway to drop off her swipe, why don’t you let me take those too? Saves you a job.”

  Melanie peered at me.

  “But I figured the Cabal guys would want to look over it?”

  “What, Trevelyan’s lunch receipts and handwritten notes?” I said dismissively. “I highly doubt it. Not when everything is backed up on DataStream these days. They probably just don’t want personal effects down there cluttering up the labs. It’s hardly professional.”

  The lift doors opened, and we were back on ground level in the brightly lit circular atrium where no violent monsters were trying to eat me. Bliss.

  Melanie looked unconvinced.

  “I have the Cabal guys sniffing around too,” I said. “While our mutual captain is away, I’m reporting in to Veronica Cloves, if you can believe it. I’ll run the details past her for you.”

  Melanie looked impressed, as though I’d mentioned her favourite celebrity.

  “Really? The Veronica Cloves? Wow. I’ve seen her on the DataStream. She seems so lovely.”

  “She’s a gem,” I said, deadpan.

  I held my hand out for the box file.

  “Well … if you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Melanie smiled. “To be honest, I have so much to do. She’s really left me in the lurch running off like this. I’m tempted to tell you to give her a piece of my mind when you see her, but you know … she’s still my boss.”

  She handed me the file and I tried to keep the relief off my face.

  “Mine too,” I said, in a world-weary show of camaraderie.

  I really, really needed Melanie to go away now. I was still trembling and I was fairly certain that I was going to throw up on her shoes.

  I spotted Griff walking toward us from the main entrance, bundled in his large duffel coat and swamped by an enormous scarf, holding two large Styrofoam cups of coffee. He saw me and Melanie step out of the elevator, and a baffled look crossed his face.

  I said goodbye to Melanie, patting her absently on the shoulder, before hurrying past the front desk to Griff who was still frowning at me, his cheeks red from the cold outside.

  “You’re leaving again?” he said, confused. “But … I thought … Celebration coffees?”

  I cradled the box file under one arm, grabbing his elbow with my free hand and spinning him around.

  “Change of plan,” I said. “I’m going on a field trip and you’re coming with me.”

  I dragged him back towards the entrance.

  “But you just got here a half an hour ago. I thought … the lab…”

  My hand gripping his elbow was knuckle-white.

  “I have seen quite enough of Blue Lab for today. I need you to drive me. I walked in this morning.”

  “Drive you where?” he spluttered, trying not to scold himself with a half-caf mochachino as the reinforced metal doors hissed open for us.

  “Trevelyan’s,” I said.

  20

  Griff was clearly concerned with my behaviour but I forced him into his ancient Kia, and he obediently backed us out of the snowy quad while I opened the box file on my knee.

  “You left your coat down in the lab,” he pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said distractedly.

  I was leafing through the contents of the folder. Loose papers, biros, a couple of coffee house loyalty cards jingled around.

  “Do you know where Trevelyan lived?” I muttered.

  “You mean lives?” he corrected me. “No, I’ve no idea. Why?”

  He glanced at me as we entered traffic. It had started to snow again, fitfully, and his windscreen wipers were squeaking across the glass.

  “Listen Doc, you really are acting really strangely today, you know.”

  “Aha!” I cried.

  I held aloft what I had been hoping was in the box file: a set of door keys. I was also pleased to find that the dangling fob, when I inspected it, held the address of 24 Hart Street.

  “Hart Street,” I said. “That’s over in Jericho, near the Harcourt Arms. Do you know it? We can be there in ten minutes.”

  Griff was still peering at me oddly.

  “Is this one of those situations where you say, ‘Drive, I’ll explain on the way’?” he asked hopefully.

  “No,” I replied, looking out of the snowy window at the buildings of my city sliding by. “It’s one of those situations where I say, ‘Drive, because I’m your boss, and you have to do what I tell you to’.”

  He frowned at me over his glasses, so I gave him a smile and patted his knee. Shaking his head, he drove us out of the quad.

  Jericho was not far from the St John’s entrance to the campus but it still took us twenty minutes, not ten. This was partly because traffic was bad due to the snow. We of Britannia have survived monsters, wars and the apocalypse, but two inches of snow still bring the country to a standstill. Some things never change.

  The main reason for our delay, though, was because Griff drove like an old lady.

  Hart Street itself, I discovered when we pulled up, was an unprepossessing run of large and well maintained old-fashioned terrace houses. It overlooked a nice enough park, where several children were braving out the snow on swings and slides. It was a quiet neighbourhood.

  “I thought she was away on holiday?” Griff asked as we parked and I got out of the car.

  “No, she’s not on holiday,” I said, crossing the street.

  I still had my lab shoes on and the snow was icy cold. I climbed the two stone steps up to the front door and tried the key, letting myself in.

  “But … if she’s not gone away, shouldn’t we knock?” Griff asked, following me, his hands thrust into his pockets against the cold.

  “She’s not here Griff, trust me,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. Just come inside will you?”

  I had wondered to myself on the drive over whether Trevelyan had been taken from her home. She certainly hadn’t been kidnapped from the office. Security was usually pretty tight at Blue Lab (says the woman who had just broken into the Military Applications Level…)

  Part of me expected to enter her house and find furniture overturned, crockery smashed, smears of blood on the walls, some sign of a struggle at least. But then I realised that as soon as her teeth had turned up at the lab, gift wrapped for our pleasure, Cabal’s
Ghost agents would have been swarming all over her home address, looking for leads, clues, anything.

  Cabal were the kind of people who covered their tracks, so there were no desk drawers half-tugged open, or wall-mounted paintings laid on the floor with their backs slashed open. Trevelyan’s place was pristine. They had probably hoovered and dusted when they had finished turning the place over.

  The terraced house was surprisingly roomy inside. It was one of those converted town houses which have the entire first floor knocked through as one huge sitting room, with the kitchen downstairs in the cellar and five or six bedrooms upstairs. I wondered if the decor would give me more of a handle on the kind of person my boss had been.

  To be honest, anything which gave me more of a clue as to my boss’ non-curricular interests would have been a godsend. I would have been happy to find Black Sabbath posters and black candles everywhere.

  I was smack out of luck then.

  The entire house was minimalist to a degree which made Veronica Cloves’ sky high impersonal penthouse look like a twee homespun craft fair.

  I wondered briefly if I was the only person connected to Blue Lab who actually lived somewhere that looked lived in – okay, my place looked very lived in, I’ll admit – but as Griff followed me from room to room, he seemed to agree that it was all a bit … cold.

  “Not that I would dare question your authority on why we’re sneaking around an empty house in the middle of the day looking in drawers and cupboards, but whatever it is you’re looking for, boss, I’m guessing it’s not decorating tips?”

  I ignored him.

  We checked the downstairs kitchen. There was food in the cupboards and the enormous chrome fridge, which at least proved that my supervisor ate and was a regular human, if not pleasant, but nothing of any real interest. There was a lot of bran though. Yep. She was definitely regular.

  There were no post-it notes with scribbled shopping lists, no letters, no sign of personal living whatsoever beyond the absolute basic necessity. Who lives like this?

  I headed upstairs, hoping to find more. Griff hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

  “Look,” he called up to me. “Doc, if you don’t want to tell me what on earth is going on here then that’s your decision, but I think Trevelyan is going to do more than just fire you if you go rooting through her bedroom. What are you looking for? Her secret loveheart diary? This all feels a tiny bit illegal to me.”