Birthmarked Page 6

  And then there was a thrill in my stomach, one that made me wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t get away. Held in thrall like that, I couldn’t help but want answers.

  The fluttering in my chest slowed, and my breathing returned to normal.

  Mr. Clipboard turned and nodded at Buckner. “The truck has been prepared and the pickup has been moved to the zero area. We need to move to the second stage.”

  My escort rubbed his whiskered chin. “Say, Charlie. Is that truck yours? Was it your father’s or something?”

  I shrugged. “No, it’s company. I still like it, though.”

  “Great. I’d still shut my eyes if I were you.” He nodded at the driver. “Proceed.”

  Shut my eyes?

  I watched as one of the non-clipboarded men dragged a form in a canvas bag—a very body-like form—over to my truck. His companion clambered up the ladder and between the two of them, they managed to raise the bag up to the window and dump out what was inside.

  I got a glimpse of olive skin and long, dark hair. My stomach lurched. The night was warm, but my teeth were chattering. “Who . . . who is that?”

  Buckner’s jaw was tight, his expression drawn and unreadable. “Her name was Anne. She died a little while ago—we’ve been keeping her body on ice, in case we needed it. We don’t ever need female bodies, but they’re also impossible for us to come by.”

  I gagged. He was kidding, right? My gut sank even further.

  You know he’s not. Whatever shit I had just got myself into, it was big shit. Really big shit.

  The two men who had dropped Anne into my truck took off at a sprint. Even in the dark, I could tell that they were fast, and their arm-pumping run struck me as more soldier than driver.

  “She’s been stripped of teeth, dentition. I am a little worried, because your medical records state that you’ve never had a major bone break, and Anne broke her leg while she was young.” Buckner’s voice quivered slightly, and I wondered what the old man’s connection to this body was. “But I don’t think they’re going to question that she’s you.”

  “Why wouldn’t they—”

  My voice was drowned out by a sudden whoomp. Blinding flames exploded over the top of the hood and traveled up the sides of the cab.

  “Fuck!” My instinct was to run toward my truck, but Buckner grabbed me before I could take two steps. Instead, I watched from the restraint of his arms as the entire tractor flamed into a great metal pyre. I heard crackles and pops as various things exploded and twisted from the heat. The smells of burning plastic and paint assaulted my nose. “What the hell!”

  “Fuel leak,” said Buckner. “And as it turns out, you were running some flammable cargo.”

  I sputtered, finally able to rip my face away from the orange tower of flame. “Flammable—I was carrying dog food!”

  “Oh, I know, but it’s a good thing you didn’t make it to the receiver. The load has been coated with an accelerant, and the puncture in your fuel lines near the front brakes was an obvious attempt at sabotage. By this time tomorrow, the cops will be tracking down a secret environmental terrorist sect that will use the heat to disband and never be heard from again.”

  “You’re joking, right?” My throat was closing up. “Right?”

  Before he said anything else, there was a boom and a sudden shockwave that knocked me flat. I scrambled to my feet as a wave of warm air hit my cheeks.

  “Well, these eco-terrorists obviously had something personal against you. A sad, sad moment. Come on, it’s time to go.”

  He turned toward his truck and took off at a brisk pace. I stared at him open-mouthed, watching his back recede. For a moment, I debated running away—without his attention on me, I might be able to get somewhere. And while he wasn’t overweight—and he was a far cry from Shawn’s incredibly sculpted physique—he still had at least twenty years on me.

  But then . . . where would I go? My truck was torched. How would I explain that to the police? Besides, Luke was gone, Jeff was dead, and I had no real home to go back to.

  But yes, the police. How would I explain this?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Officer. I don’t know how the crazy cult did it, but I swear that they did . . . they were after bubblers, you see. . ."

  If I did run, I could start over—run away and live under the table, working for cash . . .

  Diesel nuzzled my ankles. When I didn’t respond, he stood up on his hind legs, his tiny forepaws hitting me mid-shin. I looked down, and he cocked his head sideways at me. He gave me a look so deep and soulful, I could have sworn he’d just spoken the words out loud.

  There’s a mystery here. Don’t you want to see?

  “Okay,” I said, even though now, I still have no idea what I was thinking. “Let’s go.”

  I bent over and ruffled the fur between his pointed ears, and then I set out to follow Buckner.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jeff.” I returned the warm smile that was already greeting me.

  The old man touched the brim of his fedora, and then in a spry move that belied his age, he whipped the door open and motioned for me to get into his truck.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. I suppose I’ll let you have the first round. Just so you know, we’re going to be unlearning all of the crap they taught you in school.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh.

  Two days later, the snow was deep enough that we’d had to put chains on the tires just so we could cross the mountain pass. My nerves had been stretched so thin you could have stripped them off of me with a potato peeler.

  “I can’t do this. People keep cutting in front of me on the down-grades—it’s like they’re trying to get themselves killed! Shouldn’t you be driving this part?”

  He pulled a wry face. “If my goose could learn to shit outside, this should come easy. Just keep your eyes and ears open.”

  He’d been right, of course. He’d taught me how to float gears, the difference between FLEX policy and real-life, how to count hours and map routes and when and how to tell your DM that the load wasn’t going to be there on time.

  “I’d like you to meet my wife someday.” He refilled his steaming cup from the giant thermos that always sat between us. I wasn’t sure how he didn’t burn the crap out of himself, but he never did.

  “I’d like that.” I really meant it, too.

  And then there was the sensation of shaking, not the up-and-down rattle of a truck in motion, but a quick side to side threw me out of my dream, without telling me where I actually was. Dazed, I blinked at the blurry ceiling and tried to piece something together.

  “We’re here.”

  My eyes focused on the ancient form to my left, in the driver’s seat, and the sensation of lightness my dream had left me with crumbled. It was Jeff, but Buckner, not Malone.

  Because Jeff Malone is dead.

  I could feel the tears starting to rim my eyes. I knew that once they started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. My breathing sped up, faster and faster, and my heart pounded in my chest. Any second now, I was going to jump off of this truck in the throes of an absolute screaming fit.

  And then I felt Diesel’s soft tongue on my finger, and I looked down into the saddest eyes I had ever seen. My breathing slowed back down to a normal rate, although my eyes still brimmed with tears.

  You’re all alone, too, aren’t you? I ruffled the fur between his ears a little, and when I was done with that, the pent-up grief abated just enough for me to control myself.

  Buckner cleared his throat once, but to my gratitude, he didn’t ask what that all was about. “Dog has to stay here until this part is done. I’ll leave the heat on for him.”

  “I don’t know. . ."

  Diesel pawed at my hand once, and I nodded. “Okay, but only if you think it’s okay.”

  He didn’t answer, of course—because he’s just a dog, and they can’t understand people-speech, can they?

  Except that from the look
on his face, I would have sworn he could.

  Buckner climbed out, and I followed suit by going out my side. My last view of the truck’s interior was Diesel running little circles in the seat. When I shut the door, he jumped up onto his hind legs and wind-milled his little paws on the glass. I laughed, and for a moment, I could almost feel Malone watching over me.

  Did I believe in Heaven?

  I wasn’t sure, but if there was a man who deserved to go, it was Jeff Malone.

  I touched the glass once, a silent goodbye, and followed Buckner through the parking lot. Being asleep when we pulled in, I had missed a lot. For starters, the complex of buildings we approached looked like a typical warehouse, nondescript and gated around the perimeter. An attendant with a reinforced swinging arm—and what an arm—it wasn’t just for looks!—controlled the flow of traffic in and out. At the moment, though, there wasn’t any, and he just stared out the window.

  Something about that made me shiver. I mean, I don’t care what you call them, the gate attendants I had met were rarely that attentive.

  My new host stepped up to a side door and swiped a card. A buzzer sounded, and he pressed his face up to a camera lens. The same buzzer went off again, and I heard the click of the door unlocking.

  Pretty fancy.

  We were halfway down a deserted hallway when I had to stop. I could hear it, almost—except there was nothing to hear. It was more of a feeling, of little claws scrabbling at me, trying to get my attention. My skin started to crawl, and my head spun in gentle circles.

  Buckner stopped about ten steps ahead of me and turned back. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes. I just—”

  He caught the look on my face, and his brows came together for a second, before relaxing back into their normal place. “Ah. You’re waking up to it.”

  “I’m what? Waking up to what?”

  He shrugged. “For the next few days, months—maybe even years, you’re going to come into your own. You’re going to realize things you never realized before, wake up to powers you never knew you had. Everybody’s different, though, so I don’t exactly know what that means for you. I’d recognize the look on your face anywhere, though. Shawn had it the first time he—”

  Buckner fell silent, his face tight. I didn’t know what to say. Gradually, the scrabbling feeling disappeared.

  “It’s gone now.”

  “Good. Listen, I’m going to have to ask you to wear this.” He pulled a dark piece of wadded cloth out of his pocket.

  What is that, a thong? My head clattered with alarm bells. I pulled the fabric out of his hand and stretched it until I could get a better idea of its shape. “A scarf?” At least, I hoped.

  He cleared his throat. “Blindfold.”

  I swallowed. At first, I wanted to refuse—but that seemed ridiculous, at this point. I mean, was that the line I was going to draw? Sure, hold me at gunpoint, torch my truck with a body in it—but don’t blindfold me!

  I realized this is how people wind up in cults. They ease in, each step only a little less rational than the one before it—and then suddenly you wake up with a cyanide martini, waiting the return of the Angel Xander.

  But why wait to kill me until now?

  And I had to admit—there was definitely a thrill of curiosity tingling around in my scalp. Would I be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least see what was next?

  Even if he didn’t just kill me?

  I held the blindfold up to my eyes and attempted to tie it behind my head, but it just got tangled up in my hair. “I’m going to need some help here.”

  Buckner cleared his throat. “Right.” With a wary look, he took the blindfold from me and placed it up to my head. He smoothed his hand around my forehead once, and I caught a whiff of his tobacco-fingers—disgusting, but somehow comforting, a part of a world I knew.

  When it was tight enough it wouldn’t slip off, I felt a soft, leathery surface in my hand, and I knew it was his hand in mine. My stomach flipped. Was this weird . . . pervy somehow? I mean, when was the last time I had held hands with anybody, much less an old man?

  But something about the contact was comforting, too. I felt him tug and I followed, my fears starting to subside. I knew from the narrowing echo of our soft steps we were going further down the hall. We passed through some kind of door—I knew this from the way the sound of our steps suddenly died off, as if the room had grown—and I felt his hand break away from mine.

  Seconds later, I felt a firm pressure draw my wrists behind me. Panic rose in my throat, and I struggled, but it was no use. My hands were already bound. Were they cuffs? I could just wiggle my fingers around enough to touch my wrists. It couldn’t have been cuffs—the surface was far too rough.

  Some kind of insane sex shackle? This wasn’t looking good for me.

  A voice came from behind me. I started to spin around, before I remembered that I wouldn’t be able to see who was talking anyway.

  “Charlie Kale, daughter of an unnamed Marker, kneel.”

  For a second, I wondered how they got my last name. Then again, they seemed to know a lot about me—hadn’t Buckner mentioned something about my medical records?

  Or maybe . . . maybe one of them had known my dad? A lump filled my throat.

  I shivered and considered bolting again—but how far could I get with my hands tied and my eyes covered? With my luck, I’d run straight into a wall.

  And to be honest, now that they were addressing me by name, I didn’t want to run as much as I thought.

  I shifted my weight the best I could with my hands bound behind me. Still, it was an awkward progression all the way to the floor. Eventually, I managed to get my shins under me. The ground was smooth and cold, like marble, and my knees instantly hurt.

  “I am the Cronus, leader of the Markers.” The voice was heavy, gravelly, and although there was a slight pause, I got the feeling I wasn’t supposed to speak.

  “Do you swear to uphold the code of the Markers? To defend the lives of the innocent from the horrors of the supernatural, even at peril of your own death? Do you swear to obey the commands of your sworn master as law?”

  I wasn’t sure what the protocol for answering was, but I couldn’t deny the surge of lightness I suddenly felt. And where could it have come from? I was blindfolded, freezing, and tired. I had just given up everything I had left, which may have not been much—

  But instead of feeling despondent, or lost, it was like a candle had been lit in a dark hall—too weak to drive back the shadows, but enough to show me which way to go. “I . . . do.” Would that answer be good enough?

  “Who takes this . . . woman as their apprentice?”

  Hey! I knew I hadn’t imagined the quirk in pitch when he mentioned my gender.

  “I do.” Again, Buckner, his voice so similar in tone to Malone’s. My candle burned just a little brighter.

  “State your name and claim.”

  “I am Jeff Buckner the fourth, Knight of the Markers and fully ordained Master.”

  I felt something—a warmth in the air, a vibration that made me think of the way the hair was supposed to stand up on the back of your neck before a lightning strike.

  “Buckner, are you qualified to take an apprentice, and do swear you have no other?”

  “I have passed all of the trials. I have no apprentice. I am qualified.”

  “Because you got him killed!” The petulant yell—it was Shawn’s voice, it had to be. I felt a flare of anger—I mean, couldn’t he keep his nose out of anything?

  I could sense the mild rumble that came over the room, a smattering of voices all at once like a tide, and it was sobering. I knew Shawn was here—and Jeff and the Cronus, but other than that, I had thought I was alone—how many people were in here with me?

  “Silence!” The Cronus’s roar was so melodramatic, I wasn’t sure if I should quiver, laugh, or both. “You shall have your chance to speak along with any other dissenters. But you will wait for that chance.”
/>
  I imagined Shawn was going to be thrilled at being put in his place like that.

  “I ask again, are you qualified?”

  Buckner’s reply was clear. “I am qualified.”

  “And we have verified that the candidate is an initiate?”

  “Yes. There is plenty of evidence. She already has a familiar. She sensed the presence of the deviant in the hall. And she bears the mark.”

  The series of grumbles I heard earlier was nothing compared to the roar that swirled around me now. I realized that the room was full of men. Their combined dissent was like a sea of disapproval that rang through and filled my ears with static.

  I heard a heavy thumping, a pounding that I imagined to be a gavel—although I knew that was probably wrong. When it was quiet again, the Cronus spoke out. “You say she bears the mark? Show us.”

  Iron hands grabbed me from either side. I struggled as hard as I could, but, before I could even orient myself, there was the sensation of something ripping, and I felt cool air kiss my skin.

  I heard a few sniggers from around the room. I tossed my head up high, even as my cheeks caught fire. “Who do you—?”

  More rough hands cut off my protest, pressing on me with such force that I spun around, and then the sniggering and the murmurs suddenly went silent. My collarbone blazed with an agonizing burn, and I doubled over, my hands still bound behind my back. “What did you do? Did you fucking brand me? What’s wrong with you?” I tried to rub my blindfold off by pushing my face against my shoulder, but strong hands caught my arms and forced them back down.

  “Careful.” The Conus’ menacing tone chilled me to my bones. I waited until the grip on my arms slackened, and I heard a clicking noise behind me. Instantly the pressure on my arms disappeared, and I knew they had been freed. I crossed them over my chest. You can stare at my chubby ass stomach, assholes. You’re not getting any more free looks at the jubblies.