CHAPTER 1

Madness

Intellectual despair results in neither weakness nor dreams, but in violence. It is only a matter of knowing how to give vent to one's rage; whether one only wants to wander like madmen around prisons, or whether one wants to overturn them.
 -Georges Bataille

It was madness.

After releasing Dyson, who dealt swiftly with the guards in the room, and giving him a very hurried explanation of what she'd done, Lauren sent him to find Bo and stop Taft. The fae were many things, and she had seen the good and the bad, but they were living beings who did not deserve the misery Taft had visited upon them with his research. She told herself her role in ending Taft was for the greater good, and as she'd done with so many things in her life, she'd learn to live with her guilt over it.

From the surgery, she made her way back to the holding cells, only to find the scene in an uproar. Someone, most likely Bo, had opened all the doors to the holding cells, and the captives were now making their way out of the facility. She spotted two of the guards lying dead, their weapons beside them, victims of fae feeds. Her first instinct was to rush in and offer assistance, but she held herself in check. Lauren knew that the weak, injured, and hungry fae were a danger to her. Had they still been in their holding cells she could've offered assistance without risking her own life. Instead, she was forced to stay put, watching through the observation monitors in the clean room. It was probably unwise of her to linger, she realized, but she couldn't leave until she was sure everyone was going to get to safety. It just didn't seem right, even as it put her in more danger. Two burly male fae, their arms and necks covered with deep and barely healed cuts, were gently helping another male fae whose lower leg had been…Lauren could only guess that it had been torn off. It was a miracle he was still alive. She didn't recognize the fae assisting him, but the care with which they moved the injured fae told her he would be taken to safety. They were the last to clear out of the holding cell area.

Once satisfied that everyone was out of the immediate area, she made her way back to the prep room to pick up the bag of supplies she'd surreptitiously thrown together while preparing for surgery. She was operating on auto-pilot now; her body was executing the plan she'd devised in the last few hours while her mind systematically sifted through options for the next several steps. 'Escape and regroup,' she told herself grimly. There was no time for feelings. Right now, she needed to get to Taft's study. She pulled out two injection pens, and slipped one into her pocket, holding the other ready in her hand should she need it. Most of the fae were gone, but she had no doubt Taft's guards had orders to take her into custody, either as a prisoner or to escort her to safety, she wasn't sure. Most had probably already fled, but she knew there'd be a few very loyal ones who would carry out his orders no matter what.

There were files she needed to collect, information on the extent of Taft's research and findings. He'd insisted on her writing up the procedure, of course, and she had complied. She'd just simply left out three crucial steps and included misinformation on several others in the document in case it fell into the wrong hands. It would take an expert years to work out the deliberate errors. The real procedure was in her head where it would stay until the day she died.

Hopefully, Taft had kept all the information in house while they finalized the procedure. It was a good bet, given what an egomaniac he had been. Lauren was certain he would've wanted to retain control over the whole operation until it was perfected, then parcel it out to whoever could pay his price. But, if the information was at his corporate headquarters, things were going to get ugly for the fae. They'd hunt the fae mercilessly and exploit them for their DNA.

Lauren couldn't worry about that now; she'd have to cross that bridge if and when she came to it. Right now, she could only contain those parts of this operation that she could access. And to do that, she had to get to Taft's study.

Lauren was under no delusions about her situation. She was in a tremendous amount of trouble. She knew the fae were after her. Taft had reminded her that she was AWOL, and that they wouldn't look kindly upon what had happened here and her role in it. They would demand that the Ash punish someone, and she'd be the easiest scapegoat available, regardless of her innocence or Dyson's words on her behalf. And there was the human end of things to consider as well. It was hard to know how much the board of Taft's conglomerate knew, but Lauren was certain someone in the organization knew about her and would want answers.

When she stepped into Taft's office, it was empty, save for Suneetha lying on the floor, barely alive, the trademark grin of a succubus kill marring her features. With a pang of regret, she ran to her and checked desperately for her pulse, which was weak and thready. Yet another person she'd failed, she thought. There was nothing Lauren could do for her, and after a few moments Suneetha died in her arms. Lauren gently closed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, wondering sadly what would become of her children now that both their parents were dead. She wasn't sure who had killed Suneetha, but figured it had to be Bo or Aife.

The real person to blame, of course, was Taft as the person who had orchestrated this whole, terrible circumstance. But, as much as she might want to, Lauren couldn't hate him. She felt sorry for him. He was as much a victim as anyone else, driven mad by the knowledge of the fae. That, combined with his brilliant intellect was an almost certain recipe for disaster. Had things gone just slightly differently she could have been Isaac. Sometimes she wondered if she'd really gotten this far without completely losing her sanity, or if she was operating in a state of perpetual delusion. In any case, but for only slightly different circumstances she might've been the one perverting science to exact vengeance instead of the one trying to put a stop to it.

It didn't take long for Lauren to locate the hard copies of Taft's files. She also scooped up his laptop and tucked it into her bag with the files. Next, she set about distributing the chemicals and other supplies she'd taken from the surgical storeroom to start a fire that would burn hot enough to destroy practically everything in the room. While she thought she'd taken everything worth taking she couldn't run the risk of anything hidden, so her best bet was to destroy the room as best she could, to delay them if nothing else.

Too late, she whirled, fumbling in her pocket for the injection pen that she knew would do her no good as footsteps pounded just outside. A guard burst through the door, rifle up and ready as he stood and tensely scanned the room before his eyes fell on her. For a moment, Lauren's heart stopped as he aimed his weapon at her.

After a moment, however, he lowered it. "Doctor Lewis," he said, almost sighing with relief. He stepped into the room and looked around, his eyes passing briefly over the dead cabbitt on the floor. "Please come with me. The fae have escaped from their holding cells. Dr. Taft left orders for you to be escorted to a safe place if there was a security breach."

Lauren started to breathe again. "What's your name?" she asked, nodding.

"Tom, ma'am," he said. He was young, she thought as her chest tightened at the sight of him. He was no more than twenty-five at best. And he looked very scared as his hands fiddled nervously with his weapon. She could save him, save this one. It wouldn't make up for helping put Taft into an early grave or failing to keep her promise to Suneetha, but Lauren had to believe it would count for something, tip the scales of however the universe was keeping score of her sins slightly back in her favor. If she pretended to cooperate long enough to get him away from this place, she could save him, she thought. But to do that she needed to make sure he didn't see her as a threat, or see her actions suspicious.

"Would you help me here, Tom?" Lauren asked, softly. "We need to destroy this room in case there's anything we don't want the authorities to find."

He nodded, his eyes widening with understanding. Certain guards knew what had been going on here, she knew. Tom was used to following orders, and for all he knew she really was Taft's second in command. She would use that to her advantage. Shouldering his weapon, he followed her directions, helping her distribute the combustive materials around the room. Lauren set up the trigger and timed it to ignite in approximately one minute. Even the best fae or human analysts would be unable to make anything out of the residue. She regretted that she had to leave Suneetha behind to be cremated, but she didn't have a choice. Her window of opportunity to leave this place was rapidly closing, even with Tom's presence providing cover. Assuming both Dyson and Bo had managed to escape, and there was every indication that they had, it was only a matter of time before other people showed up. She needed to be well on her way before that happened.

Once the room was set to go up, Tom led her out into the corridor, motioning for her to stay behind him as he checked that the way was clear. They made their way to an outer building without incident, and Lauren saw some of the formerly captive fae making their way toward a tree line along the edge of the property. None of them paid any attention to her or Tom.

Tom got behind the wheel of one of the black SUVs parked outside the facility. Lauren climbed in next to him, and they pulled out onto the service road leading away from Taft's facility. It was a narrow, dusty road with a field on one side and thick woods on the other. Taft had chosen his location well, she thought. They were close enough to gather fae specimens but far enough away from too much developed land to be bothered by the curious. Though Taft had kept up a constant stream of chatter during the limo ride that first brought her here, out of habit she'd made note of the surrounding area, and had been shocked to realize she'd been called out to examine a fae kill along this road several years ago. No one had thought much about it at the time, assuming it was a feed from an underfae passing through the area. Lauren wondered how many fae had died out here, in pain, over the years.

"Where are we going?" Lauren asked, attempting to push those grim thoughts away.

"Doctor Taft's corporate offices in town," he said. "Don't worry, you'll be safe. I'll protect you until we get there," he added. Lauren smiled slightly at him and nodded. He was so young and earnest that she felt a little bad about the fact that she was going to render him unconscious in a few minutes. If he was smart, when he awoke he'd find himself a new line of work. She hoped so, anyway, she thought, stealing another glance at him.

She would make her way to Taft's headquarters eventually, but in her own time and on her own terms. And hopefully she'd be in a position to do some good for both the human and the fae worlds through them.

Once they were nearly ten miles from Taft's, Lauren decided it was time to make her move. "Tom, could you pull over for a moment, please." She kept her voice even and fixed him with a calm look. Her voice carried an unmistakable note of authority, but with no threat. It was a skill she'd honed for years working with the fae. Running the clinic, she had to issue instructions, yet never lose sight of the fact that she was a mere human among them. So she learned to temper her voice and demeanor.

"What?" he said, turning to look at her in alarm.

"There's something I need to do, and I can't do it in a moving vehicle. It'll keep the fae from tracking us until we can get to safety. Just pull up over there, please." She pointed to a turnoff just ahead. "It'll just take a moment."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Tom said, but guided the vehicle to the side of the road. Lauren slipped out of the SUV with her bag before he could change his mind. "I'll need your help," she said over her shoulder. "Leave the engine running, just in case," she added.

Tom dutifully came around to her side, his weapon held nervously in his hands again. Spying a small copse of trees a few yards in, she began walking toward it, Tom trailing in her wake. As they walked, Lauren reassured him. "You probably know that most fae hunt by tracking pheromones. Most fae bounty hunters have an incredibly powerful sense of smell, hundreds of times more sensitive than even dogs," she said. "So we'll need to mask the way we smell." Everything she was telling him was actually true; it was the reason why she'd had to mask her identity using skunk ape odor while undercover at Hecuba Prison.

As they approached the trees, Lauren held her bag out for him to hold. He fumbled with his weapon for a second, then dutifully took the bag, trying to safely juggle both for a second. While he was distracted Lauren pulled out one of the injection pens from her pocket and stabbed him in the neck with it. It worked almost instantaneously, and Lauren staggered slightly as she caught him, lowering him gently to the ground. The grass here was tall enough that he would not be found unless someone decided to take a walk through the fields, and the trees would provide adequate shade from the sun for the better part of the day. She rolled him onto his side and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He didn't have much cash and she wouldn't be able to use his credit or bank cards without being tracked, so she left them behind.

Tucking the $127 he had into her pocket, she rose. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of his weapon, and for a moment she could not tear her eyes away from where it lay in the dirt beneath the trees. For a moment, just a moment, she was back in Afghanistan, her senses overloaded with dust and wind and the smell of blood and gunpowder, looking at another gun sitting in the dust with a small hand lying palm up next to it. Feeling nauseous, Lauren closed her eyes and shook her head roughly, willing the images away. She did not have time for this.

She didn't need the weapon; she knew with every fiber of her being that she could never point it at someone and pull the trigger, even to save her own life. But it didn't feel right leaving it lying in the middle of an empty field where it could be picked up by someone either. The only responsible thing to do was to take it and dispose of it later when she had a chance. She reached down and gingerly picked it up, making sure the safety was on before removing the magazine. In Afghanistan she'd realized that it was a good idea to know how to handle a weapon should one end up in her hands at some point. Putting it on the floor behind her and dropping her jacket over it, Lauren got behind the wheel of the SUV.

Without a backward glance, she drove off in a cloud of dust.