"Good." He hurried to the third door. The scuffing had stopped. No one moved inside, no one breathed. And the only person he could smell was Russell. Warily, he stepped inside. The room was another wasteland of decay and boxes. Dust-caked windows lined the far wall, filtering brightness into the room—brightness that could kill his friend. Russell was lying in one corner, half in the shadows, half out, his hands and feet tied by wire, and tape covering his mouth. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his skin looked red, as if sunburned.
Doyle swore. "Camille, get your van and bring it around the back. The gate is open."
She hurried off. He took off his coat and flung it over his friend, protecting his uncovered skin from the sun's rays. Then, tucking his hands under Russell's shoulders, he dragged him back into the safety of the shadow-filled corridor.
He ripped the tape off Russell's mouth. As he began unwinding the wire from the vampire's hands, expletives fell thick and fast into the gloom.
"Tell us what you're really feeling," Doyle said, amused.
"When we catch the bitch," Russell muttered, "she's going to get a taste of her own medicine."
Doyle flipped the wire into the rubbish behind him, then shifted to undo the wire around Russell's feet. "Meaning she's a vamp?"
"No," Russell snapped, rubbing his head. "Meaning I'm going to hit the witch over the head and kick her in the gut and groin a few times, just like she did to me."
"Tsk. That's no way to treat a lady."
"This is no lady we're dealing with, believe me." He rose and offered Russell a hand up. "It's unlike you to let anyone sneak up on you. What happened?"
"A goddamn spell happened. I was looking through the files in some boxes, and suddenly I couldn't move. Then she appears from nowhere and clubs me." He raised an eyebrow. "Which suggests she didn't know you were a vampire. Otherwise, she might have staked you."
'True," Russell muttered. "I guess she figured it out pretty quickly, though, because she was cackling when she dragged me into the sunlight."
"Did she take the files you were looking at?"
"Yeah. But I did manage to get a look at a couple of them." Doyle glanced around as Camilla approached. She offered Russell some sunburn cream and patted his shoulder, a look of relief on her face.
"And?" he prodded Russell.
"One was Helen Smith's file. Apparently she was adopted, but her parents were killed in a freak storm. Tree went through the roof and crushed them in bed."
"How old was she when this happened?" Camille asked, frowning.
"Seven."
"Too young to have gone through puberty," she murmured. 'Talents don't usually appear until then—unless they're freakishly strong. What happened to Helen after that?"
"None of the relatives wanted her, so she came back into government care. She was farmed out to a series of foster parents, but she never lasted in any of them. The records state she was classed a 'difficult' child and she ended up in this center."
"And the second file?" Doyle asked, although he had a pretty good idea who that second file was about.
Russell glanced at him. "Kirby Brown. She was never adopted, and there's no mention of why. She stayed in several long-term foster homes, but she always ended up back here."
"Helen and Kirby were fostered out together at some point," he said, wondering about the strong bond between the two of them. It went far deeper than mere friendship. If he were to believe her thoughts, it was almost as they'd been spiritually bonded—something that really only happened between twins. Camille raised an eyebrow. "From what I understand, that's not normal practice. Did she tell you this?"
He nodded. "Yeah, but she hasn't really said much more about her past." Which was odd, considering she kept accusing him of not being honest about himself.
'Then you'd better start questioning her, because I got a feeling the answers are locked in the past of these five." Camille glanced back at Russell.
"Nothing else in those files? None of the other names on the list?"
"Not one."
"Damn," Camille commented. "I was hoping this place might be the connection."
"Nothing's ever that easy," Doyle said. "Do you want to continue checking the boxes?"
Camille shook her head. "Waste of time now. If there was anything here, it'd be gone now that she knows we're looking."