Toxic (Denazen #2)(49)

If she was suspicious, it didn’t show. In fact, nothing showed with Daun. She was easygoing and mellow to the point that you wanted to check her pulse once in a while to be sure she was still alive. She rarely spoke and hardly ever mingled with the other hotel guests. “I’m leaving in two days. Whatever you say will leave with me.”

“Leaving?”

She smiled and ran a hand along the edge of her comforter. “It’s time to move on. What can I do for you?”

I knew my first request was a no before I even asked. Mom and Ginger would have already thought of it. Still, in order to get it out of my head, I had to hear it for myself. “You know about the Supremacy project, right?”

Understanding bloomed in her eyes. Frowning, she gave her head a slight shake. “I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do for you.”

I nodded. Well, at least I knew for sure now. I’d never been one for what ifs. “I figured. Didn’t hurt to try, though. There’s something else.”

She’d expected the Supremacy question. The fact that there was something else had caught her off guard. “Oh?”

“This is where the secret part comes in.” I rose from the chair, cringing, and pulled aside the shoulder of my T-shirt. “Is there anything you can do for this?”

She did her best to hide her surprise but failed. “What—”

I fixed my shirt and sank back into the chair. The last few hours the pain had changed a little, and it was making me nervous. Now instead of a dull ache or stabbing sensation, it was hot and cold. One minute I had the chills, like I was standing in the middle of the Arctic shelf, and the next I was on fire. Every limb burning to the point I was sure I’d combust. Currently the chill was setting back in. I was starting to consider that Dad might be telling the truth.

I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and sighed. “It’s some kind of poison. I did something stupid, and one of Dad’s employees did this to me.”

“This is from a Six?”

I nodded.

She stepped forward and brushed my shirt aside, placing her hand against my bare skin. Her touch was surprisingly cool, like the stethoscope at the doctor’s office, and I jumped a little on contact. “Stay still,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

Several moments passed before she opened her eyes. “Give it to me straight, Doc,” I joked. I had to. The look in her eyes? So not encouraging.

“I’m sorry, Dez. I can’t do anything for you.”

“At all?”

“This is beyond my abilities—and it’s serious. Possibly life threatening.”

I felt like a balloon had popped inside my chest. As if mocking me, a rush of heat and a sharp pang skittered down my left arm to my fingers. Possibly life threatening? That was not something I wanted to hear. Standing, I said, “I understand. I had to at least try.”

“May I ask why you aren’t telling the others?”

“My dad’s got these two Sixes—one poisons with his touch and the other heals. He says he’ll give me the cure if I turn myself over to him.”

She frowned. “And you’re afraid Kale will offer to go in your place?”

Again I nodded. “I can’t let him go back there. Especially since it might be a moot point, anyway. So far all but one of the kids from the Supremacy project that hit eighteen are dead.” There. Dead. I’d finally said it out loud. It wasn’t even as hard as I thought it’d be.

Dead. Dead. Dead. I was as good as dead.

“Your situation is not an enviable one. My advice is to tell them.”

“You won’t—”

“No. But I believe you should. Maybe there is a path you’ve not thought of. An outside perspective might unveil an answer previously hidden to you.”

“No offense, but you sound like a fortune cookie on crack.”

“That,” she said with a smile, “is the first time anyone’s ever said that to me. I do believe I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”





18


After leaving Daun, I refilled my coffee and went back to the room to crash. By eight thirty, I gave up and switched on the TV. Mom must have been watching it because it was turned to forty-two, the local access channel. Markus Clamp, a local journalist and conspiracy theorist, had a show she found enthralling for some reason.

I was lucky enough to tune in right at the beginning of yesterday’s rerun.

“I’m talking with Sid Fenton, boyfriend of the late Layne Phillips.”

Markus Clamp might have been an über tool in my book, but for once he officially had my attention.

On the screen, Sid squirmed in his seat.

“I, like so many others, believe there’s more to this story than we’re being told. Tell me, Sid, was there anything odd in the days before Layne’s death?”

Sid hesitated, and Markus went in for the kill.

“Okay. You’re nervous, and I understand that. But you agreed to come on this show, so you must have something to add. Something you want the public to know.”

“It wasn’t a random act of violence like the cops said,” Sid spat after a few moments. His expression had gone from nervous to pissed. “And it wasn’t drugs like her parents insisted. Yeah, Layne was messing around with some stuff, but she was going through something.”