"Can you drive?" I stood before a man who sat dejectedly on the stone floor of his prison cell. At least he appeared mostly whole; I didn't think he'd been there very long. His six-by-six cage was at the end of a long line of identical cages beneath the temple's marble floors. Gabron's library was more than two hundred feet beneath the streets. These cells were around thirty feet down and nobody cleaned—I got that right away. The smell of blood, mildew, excrement and rotten food offended my nose. It was extremely dark there, too, preventing the prisoner from getting a good look at me. The only light in the entire place was a tiny bulb burning in a single socket at the opposite end of the cages. The walls surrounding the cells were formed of huge, sixteen-inch blocks of stone. There was no way for these poor schmucks to claw their way to freedom.
"I can drive," the man lifted his head and squinted at me, trying to bring my face into better focus.
"Good," I said. "Do you know how to get to the hospital from here?"
"Yes."
"As soon as I get some of the others loaded into a van, I'll take you out of here and you can drive them," I said, misting away to do just that.
I got seven in the first van before going back for the driver. He was shocked when I razored through his chains with claws that he couldn't see; he only heard the metallic chink of them dropping around him. "Go straight to the hospital," I placed compulsion after misting him into the front seat inside the van. "None of you remember who got you out," I added, watching as the driver took off; he pulled away from the garage where the vehicles were kept. Now I had to go down and talk to a second driver.
"I'm not sure this one's going to make it," I said, pointing out one of the women I'd found. God only knew what had been done to her. She was nearly naked, had brands and burns over most of her body and blood just about everywhere. It made me want to kill the six priests all over again—only slower this time. The driver—a woman this time—shook her head. She'd been tortured a little but not nearly as much as some of the others. "You won't remember me," I said, closing the door of the second van so she could drive to the hospital. I was thankful the vans were solar powered and made no noise as they slipped silently away from the temple complex.
Misting overhead, I followed the last van until it reached the hospital. It was greeted by a horde of medical personnel under the porte-cochere. I went a bit lower and heard quite a bit of conversation concerning the first van and now this one. A lot of cursing, too, aimed at Solar Red. The dying woman was taken in first on a gurney and almost at a run. I heaved a mental sigh and headed home. I hoped the authorities wouldn't take the vans; I'd been careful to close doors with my claws but who knew if they might pick up a stray fingerprint here or there? My bed was calling, dawn was getting close and I wanted a shower to get the scent of blood and bits of skin off me.
Karzac was up again, having tea at the small kitchen table when I came in. "Honey, don't you get any sleep?" I asked.
"I received a call—something about fourteen torture victims brought in with some needing my attention," Karzac said, his green-gold eyes studying me. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Who, me?" I pointed to my chest with a finger. Not that my bloody clothing wasn't a giveaway or anything. Carrying torture victims and placing them in two vans had ruined my outfit. Not to mention the flying blood I'd been spattered with after decapitation six priests. I'd put my last bloody set of clothing in the cooled trash collector, along with my used blood bags. This outfit was going in there, too.
"Go get your shower, I'd hate to find you in the bath with cold water running over you when I get home tonight," Karzac smiled.
"Honey, did you just make a joke? I'm so proud of you," I said, smiling brightly. "I'd hug you, too, but you're clean." That made him laugh out loud. Karzac left and I went to get my bath.
* * *
"Karzac says to tell you the woman didn't make it." Dragon informed me as we walked six blocks to his dojo where he taught self-defense.
"I didn't think she would; she was in terrible shape," I blew out a sigh. "This is probably better for her; she'd more than likely be maimed physically and emotionally if she did live over it. At least she died with nicer people around her." I didn't want to say what I was about to say out loud while we were on the streets, so I used mindspeech as I explained to Dragon what I'd heard from the vampire prisoner the night before. Dragon received all the information I had concerning the impending Solar Red ritual.
He didn't know how they planned to do the sacrifices, I sent when Dragon asked.
How did you come by this information? he asked.
I attended the Blood Council meeting, I replied.
There are vampires here?
Duh.
I'll take that as a yes.
A good supposition, I agreed.
I cleaned Dragon's office, the showers and the dressing rooms as Dragon taught his last class of the day. There were several women taking the class, some of whom were there to stare at Dragon, mostly. Who wouldn't fall for those wide shoulders and the handsome face—when he wasn't scowling, that is? Even a couple of the men kept their eyes on Dragon. I think one of the young women was about to swoon when Dragon put his hands on her. He was all business as he proceeded to demonstrate a particular move designed to escape an attacker. The girl's hero-worshiping gaze didn't seem to affect Dragon at all. Ignoring the batting eyelashes and the attempts at flirting, Dragon helped her complete the move. The man was focused, I'll give him that.
I polished the wood floor when Dragon finished with the class, then rolled up the large mat they'd practiced on and swept and polished that part, too. The studio was one big room with nice wood floors, half of which was covered with the padded mat, similar to that used by gymnasts, I think. There were no windows inside the studio itself, with mirrors covering one wall.
"My office looks much better," Dragon said, coming out to survey the studio; I'd just finished with it. "I don't suppose you've ever swung a blade in your life?"
"No. Why do you ask?" I carried my broom and floor-polishing machine to the tiny closet where they were kept.
"I wouldn't mind sparring with someone and there isn't anyone available."
"Well, I could probably block okay. I think I could see your blows coming."
"You think so?"
"I can try. I saw you fight with your blades the other night, remember? Just don't expect too much from me."