Daemon’s Mark by Caitlin Kittredge (web ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“What’s your name? Mine’s Luna,” I offered, when she didn’t say anything.

“Gillian,” she finally mumbled. “But the missus just calls me girl or some insult in languages I don’t understand.”

“Where are you from, Gillian?”

“Why are you asking me all of these bloody questions?” She checked a battered watch, bright purple that matched her hair. A child’s watch, something you’d buy at the mall to try to look cool.

“Because I’m looking for another girl, the daughter of a … a friend, who also came here. If you help me, I’ll make sure you get back home.”

“Glasgow,” she said in answer. “I met a bloke and…”

“You woke up in Kiev?” I guessed. The story was getting downright common.

“Stupid,” she muttered.

“No,” I said, reaching out again and putting a hand on her shoulder. “You were just trusting, like we all were. Tell me about the missus.”

“She’s a regular fright, isn’t she?” Gillian asked. “Practically runs the village, collects money from the shopkeepers, tells the pickpockets when they can rob the tourists—not that we get many that speak English in this place. Arse-end of the world, this is.”

So much for the kindly old grandmother. I should know better—kindly old grandmothers are always wolves.

“Have you seen another girl?” I said. “About fourteen, red hair, speaks Ukrainian?”

“Haven’t,” Gillian said. “I’m just an odd hearth witch—my mother taught me the circle and a bit of casting, but that’s all. But apparently over here I’m worth something.” She snorted. “Figures. First time in my life I’m worth a damn and I get sold to some crusty old horror to be a servant girl. Like a bloody fairy tale.”

I sighed. “Is there anyplace in town that you know of—a brothel, or a tavern, anywhere they’d need a young girl for something less than savory?”

Gillian lifted her shoulder. “Only weird thing in this place is the old laboratory complex.”

Laboratory? Oh, this was going to be seven kinds of not good. “What kind of lab?”

“Dunno,” Gillian said. “It’s some old Soviet heap that they put up when they had control in these parts. Biohazard symbols all over the gate, padlocked and dark—spooky fucking place. I don’t go near it.” She gave a shiver.

“Okay,” I said. Cold storage. That could be anything, but a lab experiment was as likely as any other outlandish possibility I could come up with. “Thank you, Gillian.”

“Oi,” she said. “What about all of your grand promises of a rescue?”

“You’re going to come with me,” I said, reaching out. “You’ll stay with my friend until I find Masha, and then we’ll all be leaving here together.”

“They took my passport in Kiev,” said Gillian. “Can’t leave the bloody country, can I?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” I said. She let me help her up and we speed-walked back to the motel room, where I unlocked the door. Dmitri jumped out of the chair where he’d been waiting, panic on his face.

“Luna, I…”

I held up a hand. “Save it. This is Gillian. She’s another one of the Belikovs’ pieces of merchandise. She’s going to be staying with you.”

“With me?” Dmitri folded his arms. “What about Masha?”

“Dmitri,” I said, gesturing Gillian to sit on the bed. “After what just happened, do you really think you’re fit to be out walking around? Stay here, look after Gillian and I’ll be back with Masha soon.”

I grabbed my bag and left again before he could object. I was sick of him calling the shots, sick of being pushed around by Asmodeus, sick of Eastern Europe and the whole sordid mess.

I was tired. Too tired to keep marching. I just wanted to turn around and go home. But Masha was still missing, and she was still my responsibility because I’d said I’d help her.

Making promises to victims was something I thought I’d gotten better at, and yet here I was, walking deeper into the nightmare because I was the only one who would go in after her.

CHAPTER 21

The walk to the lab was long and hot, and my tank top was soaked through with sweat by the time I crested the hill outside of the village and looked down into the valley.

The complex wasn’t much to look at—three buildings connected by walkways, the entire thing enclosed with barbed-wire fences and warning signs in Russian, bearing the old symbol of the USSR.

It was, as Gillian had said, padlocked and spooky. I shaded my eyes and looked at the road leading in and out. The earth was cracked and dry from lack of rain, and fresh tire tracks were pressed into the roadbed.

Maybe not so abandoned after all. I stopped to take a swig from the water bottle I’d bought at Stop 13 and started down the track. Sometimes the direct approach is best. I dumped a little more of the water down the front of my tank and into my hair to simulate sweat-drenched agony, and walked to the gate.

“Hello?” I called, rattling the mesh. “Hello, is anyone here?”

A long wait passed me by, and I began to think I was wrong, that Masha had been delivered somewhere else and I was a crazy person shouting at an empty lab complex.

Then a buzzer sounded, and the gate rolled back. I stepped inside and started as it shut behind me with a clang.

“Walk to the nearest building,” a disembodied voice screeched from a PA speaker. “The yellow door. Push it open and step inside. Do not deviate from my instructions.”

“I’m a little lost…” I said, keeping up my innocent tourist act. “Can you help me?”

“Walk,” the voice ordered sharply. “The yellow door.”

So they had eyes on me. I walked, taking in my surroundings as I did in case I had to make an escape later. The buildings were rubbed clean of insignia by wind and rain and everything had that hunkered-down weathered look of old, abandoned places. It was a simple foursquare complex connected by walkways above my head with a central yard made of concrete.

The yellow door led me into a dark room,