Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,24

“And horns. But does that make you any better at fighting conduits than us?”

Gallo’s lips moved, a silent oh, shit.

Beck chuckled, and the low sound was more smoke than velvet these days. “I guess we’ll find out.”

SIX

Before

Rose shifted the tray she carried to one arm and knocked on the heavy, locked door before her. The lead-lined cell was soundproof, so she couldn’t hear whether she was invited in or not, but it felt like a courtesy. Morgan had said she could feel the vibration, and knew that someone stood on the other side of the thick door.

Rose counted to five, then spun the wheel, listened to the bolts sliding back, the hiss of depressurized air. She stepped into the vestibule, sealed herself inside, and then went through the second, more normal door, inside the box where Captain Bedlam had housed their captured conduit.

Morgan – the only name she’d offered, a human name, and surely not the name of the angel possessing the body – had been given a set of fatigues: black tac pants, and gray shirt, lace-up boots. They looked comical on her small frame, her knobby elbows resting on the desk where she sat paging through a book, pale hair fallen in a curtain to shield her face.

She lifted her head only once Rose had closed the door, fixing her with those wide, strange, glowing eyes. Her mouth twitched in brief greeting. “Hello.”

“I brought you something to eat,” Rose said, stepping forward to set the tray on a clear corner of the desk. Lots of sugary things, because conduits burned calories so quickly: a dish of chocolate pudding, a slice of cake, a handful of granola bars, canned peaches, and, a nod to nutrition, a congealed scoop of tuna salad in a little plastic bowl.

Standing this close, Rose could feel the faint buzz that the conduit put out into the air; it was like being able to sense that a TV was on in another room, without being able to hear it. A hum in her joints and back teeth. A prickling at the back of the neck.

Morgan said, “Thank you.” She closed the book, and set it aside – an old bird-watching manual, Rose saw, from the cover – and reached for the tray. All of her movements were precise and unhurried, just like her speech. The voice and body of the child she had been before, and the tone and mannerisms of an ancient being who would live to see eternity, and who did not flitter or rush.

“Do you need anything?” Rose asked, surveying the cell. No windows, no furniture save the desk, chair, and cot, its covers pulled up and tucked in with military precision. Books were stacked on the desk, and beneath it, and along the wall. “I don’t know how much more reading material we have around here.” The base’s library was shameful, and mostly military manuals and dry history texts.

Morgan had already devoured half the dish of pudding. She said, “No, this is all I require.”

There was no reason to stay, but Rose did, for some reason, shifting her weight side to side, watching the girl possessed by an angel neatly plow her way through thousands of calories of food without spilling a drop or getting one crumb on her shirt.

Without looking toward Rose, she said, “You’re curious.”

Busted. “Well,” she said, because she couldn’t very well deny it.

Morgan set her spoon down and turned to sit facing her, an elbow propped on the back of the chair. “You mistrust me, though – you mistrust all conduits. And you don’t like them, either.”

“You said them instead of us,” Rose hedged.

“There are conduits, and then there’s me.”

“You’re special, then?”

“Yes.” Said without any boastfulness or condescension. A simple statement of fact.

Rose held her gaze unflinching, though it took an effort. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades, and the truth spilled out, unbidden. “A conduit was responsible for the disappearance of my–” She cut herself off. She didn’t have words for what Beck was. Boyfriend sounded paltry and childish. Lover sounded like something from a book. Everything was the only suitable word, and it got stuck in her throat.

“I see,” Morgan said. “That would create animosity.” She gestured with one tiny hand toward the cot. “Would you like to sit?”

This wasn’t the first time Rose had come to the cell; she’d brought food, and books, and carried messages from Captain Bedlam. She continually volunteered, every time it was announced that someone needed to act as conduit