The instant the last sliver of the sun disappeared over the horizon, dark emerald eyes opened deep under the earth. She reached out for Jas, only to find nothing. Again. The eyes closed as tears soaked into the soil around her.
It was a new sensation to become aware of six feet of soil pressing down on her chest. The weight (and lack of air) prevented her from taking a breath. It wasn't terrifying exactly, but if she actually cared about her life, it probably would have been. Reaching deep into the memories she'd shared with Jas, she moved the dirt aside.
Gingerly, Maddie stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. Calling on another shared memory, she floated out of the hole. Aiden was waiting for her. He looked golden and regal, and perhaps a little sad.
"I'm going back to my apartment," Maddie told him. He nodded. Without another word she drifted through the caves. She could smell the tiny zephyr of fresh air that lead the way out. She barely felt the refreshing cool night air when she emerged from the mountain. She dismissed her hidden bike and sailed over the city to her apartment building.
Using the same trick Jas had, she opened the porch sliding door. Once inside, she took a shower and dressed. Colors were fading, turning pale and bland like an old photograph, so she picked out black leather pants, a tight black shirt, and her black leather trench coat. She laced up the lumberjack boots that had been a gag-gift from Sidney.
Habit took over and she went to the bathroom to apply her makeup. She darkened her eyelids more than usual and added a curl under her right eye. The corner of her mouth twitched at the thought of cos-playing Death from Sandman, but even knowing how much Sidney would tease her over it didn't ease the vast emptiness of her heart even slightly.
When Maddie walked into the living room, Aiden was waiting for her. He was absently stroking one of her cats, the fat Siamese known fondly as Buddha.
"Where did you start?" she demanded flatly.
Aiden dropped his hand, much to Buddha's disappointment, and replied, "Jas had extracted the location of the club Barry was trying to take you to. This may be easier if we merged minds."
She prompted him with the merest arch of her eyebrow and opened her mind without hesitation. Aiden apprehensively merged his mind with hers. Maddie watched through Aiden's eyes as he and Jas walked into the Gothic club, cloaked from human eyes.
It was empty except for one dancer in a cheap body stocking on a stage to one side. She was absently spinning, waiting, for someone—anyone. Even the bar was empty. They entered the back room, looking for Rodger Judge. Judge was there, and seemed sense their entry. He was nervous and twitchy. His mind was abnormally shielded against mental probing, so Aiden uncloaked himself to confront him, and if necessary take his blood.
Judge must of known what Aiden was, because he pressed pressed a button under his desk. Thugs poured into the room, firing semi-automatic dart guns. Poisoned darts him in multiple places on his chest, arms, and legs, and his efforts were instantly divided between fighting the humans and fighting larger, multiple doses of the potent chemicals.
Aiden fell to the ground, and Maddie felt the wrench of remembered pain. She watched through his eyes as an invisible phantom quickly cut down the thugs swiftly with his sword. They sprayed the room with their dart guns, even as they fell dying to the floor. Only Judge was untouched by the deadly blade.
When all the would-be assassins were dead, Jas revealed himself to Judge. Jas sat on the desk, casually, conversationally, and held his sword tip perfectly steady so that it barely pricked Judge's Adam's apple. Judge stammered out his story. He was still part of the Morrison Foundation, looking for psychics. He was sort of a back-door operation—they didn't even get the high tech stuff the other field agents got, only the leftovers and out-dated stuff. He had his own chemists jack it up in back, of course. He claimed it was only for his protection. Vegas was a tough neighborhood after all. Jas was about to take his blood when the rain of poison fell from the ceiling. Aiden had almost recovered from the earlier assault when Judge tripped the booby-trap. Darts fell, piercing both hunters.
Judge gleefully rose from his seat, and through the haze of pain, Maddie watched in Aiden's memory as Judge stabbed Jas in the heart with a smooth wooden stake.
Maddie didn't say a word, but as she saw this in her mind, the last thread of gold left Aiden's hair, her eyes detecting only a glossy gray. Her entire world was like an old black-and-white film, now. Her heart literally stopped beating in her chest for a moment as the nightmare continued.
Aiden cleared his throat as he pulled away from Maddie's mind. He could tell the merge was affecting her. "Judge called more men to immobilize and put us in the back of a van. They bound Jas with thick steel manacles welded to a short bar. They thought I was weaker than him, so they left me tied with wire. In the back of the van, two men were left to watch us, occasionally injecting us with more poison. Jas managed to give them both fatal strokes before he blacked out. I dissolved into with the last of my strength, and flew out a crack in the door. You found me where I'd fallen in the desert."
Maddie absorbed the information with the barest flicker of an eyelash.
"I'm going to that club," she declared, and moved purposely towards the sliding door. Aiden's body glided to intercept her.
"We already tried that," he reminded her. "It got us no where."
"You forget that Judge wants me alive and well," she retorted. "You may follow closely, but do not interfere with my designs." Her eyes flashed in warning as she gracefully stepped around him and flew out the patio door and over the city of vegas.
She had seen the club name and gleaned it's location from Aiden's memories. She found the Club Soirée Noire with no difficulty. She paused in front of the heavy wooden doors, carved like a Gothic church's doors. She took a deep breath, put on her best pout, and pushed both doors aside like they were made of craft board. She sauntered through casually, and stood in the middle of the club, taking in the décor.
The same stripper in the same cheap body stocking stopped sliding on the pole to glare at her competition. Maddie pointedly ignored her. The bartender was on duty tonight, and three men were watching the sole stripper with indifference.
"I'm looking for Rodger Judge," Maddie told them very clearly. The men looked at her and were instantly attracted.
"I'll go get him," one man eagerly volunteered.
"Can I buy you a drink?" another practically begged.
"Come sit with us while you wait," the third suggested.
Maddie deliberately smiled and walked over to lean on the bar, giving the two remaining thugs and the bar tender a postcard-view of her cleavage. "You boys come here often?" she asked huskily.
The men were drolling so profusely, they couldn't answer. From their thoughts, Maddie could tell that her body was perfect, the curves of waist, hips, and legs peaking out enticingly from under her flowing trench coat. Her eyes glowed like emeralds in candlelit, her hair shone like satin, and the black makeup and clothing only emphasized her near-Irish coloring.
"Madalyn?" she heard a strange voice calling her name. She turned lazily to see the man who must be Rodger Judge. Her first brush of his mind confirmed the remarkable barriers. The man himself was tall, lean, and in good condition. He had dark hair that was silvering at the temples. He dressed in designer jeans and button down shirts. He had crafty pale eyes that devoured her figure. "Ah, Lady Death, I presume," he smiled at her makeup.
She held out her hand as if she were the queen bestowing a favor. "You must be the infamous Rodger Judge. Barry insisted that I meet with you."
"Yes, of course," Judge said as he took her hand and kissed the air above her fingers. "A terrible tragedy, his accident."
"It was the steroids, I'm sure. All the girls at the old club were trying to get him off them. Worse than crack," she mused, keeping her voice soft and musical.
"Would you like to come into my office?" he invited, well aware of the other men greedily leering at the woman.
"Actually, I'm much enjoying your club," she said as she stepped closer to him. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Seductively, she brushed his body with hers. "It's very classy."
"Well, specialty clubs are..." Judge forgot what specialty clubs were. He'd never met a woman as sexy as Madalyn DeMuir. He was confidant that she wasn't applying empathic pressure on him, but she didn't need to.
She pressed closer to him, both arms around his neck, pulling his head down to her level. "I'm sure I'll enjoy working here," she whispered in his ear, "...for you...with you...on you." She kissed his jaw line and down his neck. She could feel and smell his arousal, and it turned her stomach. Still she continued seducing him until her tongue licked his pulse. Her incisors lengthened and without hesitation she sank them deep into his neck.
Aiden seized hold of the spectator's minds with ease. For all they were concerned, Judge was getting the hickey of his life.
Maddie drank deeply, replenishing her body from the taxing conversion. She didn't taste it, but could feel the strength flowing into her. With her tongue, she sealed the wounds, but left a burning mark. Let him explain that to his superiors, a cold part of her mind said.
"Now," she said, all the seduction gone from her voice, "What did you do with the man you captured last night?"
Judge's mind opened up to her. He'd been furious the night before that the two guards had somehow lost one of the captives. If they hadn't already been dead, he would have killed them himself. Still, one specimen was better than none. Even if he was as still and cold as the grave. The man wasn't moving or breathing, and there was no heart beat—but that was to be expected of someone with a polished white oak stake in their heart. Even so, the workers at the Facility still cuffed and shackled him to the gurney.
"You afraid he's going to come back from the dead?" Judge had joked.
"Yes," one of the aids had replied seriously. They wheeled him into the Facility, and one man remained. He handed Judge a briefcase and then turned on his heal and left. Judge got into the van and they drove through the desert back to civilization. Inside the briefcase was several million dollars, payment for delivering a specimen in good condition.
"Get this van to the boys in my lab," he told the driver when they reached the club. "I want them to swab every drop of blood off this thing and see what they make of it."
The wounded beast in Maddie lifted it's head with a long, vengeful howl, which she shared fully with Judge. She let him escape her thrall with the full knowledge of what had transpired between them. His mounting terror forced him to his knees. Shakily he lifted clasped hands to her.
"Don't k-kill me," he begged. "I'll do anything. Anything!"
Maddie grabbed the front of his expensive designer shirt, her claw-like fingernails tearing through his expensive shirt and scraping his chest as she jerked him towards her. "You're already a dead man," she hissed. "I'll take you into the sun with me, just as soon as we pay a visit to this facility of yours."
Judge began to weep. She ignored him as she plunged again into his mind to discover all his secrets. The copious amounts of poison were created by a group of drug chemists using a mixture of the older poison samples from the Morrison Foundation and very rare samples of the Bombay blood type. Using the Bombay blood to cut the poison samples, and then filling it with more toxins—even slightly radioactive isotopes—they'd created gallons of poison for their employers, effective on mortals and immortals alike.
Judge himself was a paranoid man. While he thrilled in his roll in the master plan of the Morrison foundation, finding and using psychic men and women, his secret fear had just come true: someone other-worldly had descended on the wings of justice, and no amount of booby-traps, backup plans, or desperate last attempts would save him.
Then she found the memory of the sword. Last night, Judge had picked up the katana forgotten by the thugs. It had resonated with power. Judge liked power. He had bought a ebony stand and mounted it in his office.
Maddie left the man sobbing on the floor as she entered his office. She dissolved into mist to avoid tripping any more traps and whisked the sword out of the room. It felt warm in her hand, welcoming, as if it recognized her as its master's other half. So familiar was the feel of the sword that she almost shed a few tears herself.
Shaking off the encroaching grief as she walked past Judge, she grabbed his hair with vicious intent. Sword in one hand and villain in the other, she left the club.
Aiden released the three men and the stripper from their daze. That lucky bastard Judge had just whisked off the sexy Gothic woman to a hotel. Who knew when he'd be back.
Outside, Maddie met Aiden and thrust Judge into his keeping.
"We'll use him to get inside the facility," she said. "And where he won't work, I will."
Aiden didn't mention how disturbing it was to see a woman using her body like a weapon. It was simply the way things were, the way life mates would do anything to avenge each other. He fervently hoped he'd never have to see this kind of suffering again. Only his constant contact with his own life mate made it bearable.