Secrets and Shadows (21 page)

“So, are we ready for testing?” The shorter man didn’t look at the Rusakovas but kept his eyes on me.

I wondered if he remembered my Maglite-wielding capabilities. Nodding, I smiled at him, my voice steady as I said, “Yes, that’s what we agreed to.”

“Lead on,” Max commanded. “Let’s get scraped and leaked.”

The agents headed down the hal way, looking over their shoulders frequently to make sure we were coming. I noticed the tal one’s arm was in a heavy cast. He wouldn’t be so fast to level a gun against me again. The Rusakovas healed swiftly, but the same couldn’t be said for those of us who were simply human. Wanda and Kent fel in behind us, bolting the door before dogging us from one smal room to the other.

We quickly came to an area where a staircase had been added. The tal er of the two men opened the door that led under the stair and stuck out an encouraging hand, signaling us to head inside.

Max grabbed Alexi, scooting him in front. “You first, brother,” he said, the bitterness clear in his voice.

Alexi grimaced, but started down a dimly lit set of stairs as the Rusakovas’ point man, head moving quickly from side to side, eyes alert. Catherine snugged up behind him, one hand gripping the banister tightly, the other reassuringly on Alexi’s shoulder. Max fol owed her, sandwiching me between Pietr and himself.

I counted steps. The stairs went deeper than I expected and I turned, looking past Pietr and up to Wanda. “I didn’t know there were any places like this in Junction.”

“At one time, this was one of the most northern stops along the Underground Railroad,” Wanda mentioned, the research librarian in her showing through. I liked her better as a librarian than a gun-toting CIA agent. But then, I didn’t like her much as a librarian, either.

“Before the staircase, there was a simple trapdoor leading into a smal pit that the previous owners had wal ed with random boards and stones. Not much comfort to be had if you were an escaped slave on the run.”

“There’s never much comfort if you’re trying to escape an unjust government,” Alexi said. Loudly.

I swore I heard Wanda grind her teeth from nearly ten steps above.

Between us Pietr stayed stiff and aloof. I doubted he had any interest in the building’s past. He only wanted to know how it connected to his present and his mother’s future.

I noticed no cobwebs in the basement, no mold or speckling of mildew. The musty smel I expected was nonexistent. Instead, the smel matched my memory of the garden in springtime. The scent of damp and freshly turned dirt.

I reached my left hand out, noticing how the texture of the wal changed. Cement, fresh and pale, ran smoothly where my hand traced along the stairway. Thirteen steps. Fourteen. Fifteen …

Pietr said, “You haven’t been here very long.” His statement thinly veiled his surprise.

I didn’t need to see Kent’s grin of satisfaction to hear it in his words. “Pietr, you turned seventeen, what

—a little over a month ago?”

“Considering you have our house bugged and our phones tapped,” Alexi said, pausing to turn and face the rest of us from the front of the line, “I’m sure you know our birthdays, Officer Kent.”

Cat’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Perhaps rather than suggest the government raise taxes next term, the CIA could make ends meet by becoming administrative assistants to the occupants of the houses they bug. Since you know everyone’s business, you can at least make sure none of us criminal types miss a meeting.”

Alexi may have lost the title of alpha in the Rusakova household, but to me it sounded like he’d just pissed on Kent’s shoes.

“No one accused any of you of being criminal,” Wanda spat.

“Then release our mother,” Catherine said so casual y there could be no doubt of threat.

Fol owing the verbal ping-pong match, I stood between them on step seventeen, my back to the cool wal .

The smile faded from Kent’s voice when he next spoke. He motioned us forward. Eighteen, nineteen …

“We started construction almost a month ago. We move very fast when there’s a reason.” He paused.

“The entire basement was expanded.…”

As if on cue, we came up short at the bottom of the stairs. Twenty. I glanced down the final stairs, concluding my count. Twenty-four. The men leading us stood by a door. This at least seemed more impressive. Larger than normal and of heavy steel construction the door was a pale gray, contrasting with the faintly warm color of the cement. It reminded me of doors I’d seen on cold storage rooms at a butcher facility we toured in elementary school. I trembled at the comparison.

A smal number pad was integrated into a spot just above the door’s hefty-looking handle. The shorter of our two escorts tapped out a rapid succession of numbers; the number pad blinked green twice, and the door opened with only a hint of sound.

Now that
was
impressive.

We’d come to a tunnel of sorts. Again cement lined the wal s, smooth and angular, and I imagined they paid a pretty penny to hire a construction crew and mason to quickly set up shop. Maybe
that
was where tax dol ars went.

Fluorescent lights coated us in an unhealthy-looking glare as we walked along the lengthy underground hal . Certainly a suitable location for fluorescents, the hel spawn of lighting.

We came to another large door. “Okay,” I said, “I know we’re no longer under the house we entered.

We’ve crossed beneath the backyard. On the other side of this door we should be under the Grabbit Mart.”

“Absolutely correct,” our shorter escort agreed.

“We nearly had to quit construction when the locals put up a fuss about the way we were tearing up the old Grabbit Mart parking lot and gas tanks.” He chuckled. “We said due to newer OSHA and EPA old Grabbit Mart parking lot and gas tanks.” He chuckled. “We said due to newer OSHA and EPA regulations the old tanks couldn’t stay. And unfortunately, the old Grabbit Mart had an extensive, and leaky, system of pipes running beneath it. The whole neighborhood could go up in a puff.”

“Or so you said,” Alexi surmised.

“It calmed them down,” his partner agreed. “As you can see,” he said, opening the next door, “everyone has profited by our progress.” The area widened into numerous office spaces, and beyond that an additional set of heavy doors lined another wal .

“How far does this place go?” I asked, awed.

“Just a little farther now…”

Through the next set of doors was a bustling science lab. Our last stop before the Rusakovas could reunite with their mother. Cat and I released a breath together. A little of the tension in Pietr’s shoulders eased.

It was probably in a place like this where the genetics that enabled the Rusakovas to shift had been tweaked out: a high-tech science lab with machines that looked like they came out of the latest big budget sci-fi movie.

As the doors sighed shut behind us, al activity inside ceased. Men and women in white coats turned to stare, wide-eyed. Pietr, Cat, and Alexi moved in tighter around me and Max puffed up, wel aware they were the center of attention.

A balding man—smal er even than the shortest agent (was the CIA trying for werewolves and
gnomes?
)—trotted over to us. “It is my distinct pleasure to meet you.” He grabbed Max’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Maximilian Rusakova,” he announced.

The women sighed.

Max was in his element.

“The alpha male,” the scientist added confidently.

I nearly reached up to tug my eyebrows back down. It was a bold thing to announce in the midst of a pack. Either these people had no idea how dangerous these wolves were, or they didn’t care because they knew something we didn’t. Hoping it was the former, I forced the nagging fear out of my throat, past my rattling heart, and back into the pit of my stomach.

The little man (Henry, by his name tag) reached for Pietr.

Pietr did not respond as eagerly.

“Pietr Rusakova, the beta male,” he said, his expression going wary. Until he spotted Catherine.

“Ohhh,” he said, grabbing her hand and pul ing her out front. “Ekaterina Rusakova. The female.”

“Smart man, not cal ing me
the bitch
,” Cat answered.

Henry quickly snapped orders at his fel ow scientists, who seemed to mil around, watching more than doing. The ful -blood Rusakovas were seated for samples to be taken. The female scientists jockeyed for position to get samples from Max.

And Max enjoyed the show.

Moving over to stand beside Pietr, I said, “Thank God you wore your necklace.”

He wrinkled his nose and pushed the red out of his eyes with effort. “I’m here to see my mother, not pick up girls.”

pick up girls.”

“You don’t have to get angry,” I muttered.

Cat chuckled like she’d been let in on a joke without me.

Max was done giving samples and was peeling off his shirt to the
oohs
and
aahs
of the crowd.

“Max!”

“What?” He looked as sheepish as a werewolf could. “They wanted to see the saber.”

I thought I should at least be thankful he hadn’t taken the request as innuendo and been taking off his pants.

Alexi edged up beside me. “It’s a zoo.
Always
a zoo. You want the job of zookeeper?”

I snorted, watching the women examining the saber-shaped birthmark on Max’s left shoulder. Al ful -

bloods were born with one. “No. Definitely not the job for me. Besides, I don’t even rank the beta male’s attention anymore.”

“Funny what we presume,” he intimated. “Since Max is bigger, more brutal, he must be the alpha,
da?
”

He crossed his arms. “We give too little credit to intel ect, to plotting and planning.”

“Hmm.”

Henry was speaking again, Max tugging his shirt back into place. With help. Where was his necklace?

“The makeup of the werewolf—no offense”—Henry ducked his balding head in the direction of the Rusakovas—“is fundamental y different due to the changes occurring during adolescence. If we take Maximilian’s blood, for example”—he grabbed the slide and placed it beneath the large microscope’s lens—“you’l notice the shape of the individual red and white blood cel s is different—” He motioned for us to take a look.

“—From—” He reached out to me, signaling for my hand.

I gave it, watching him take a fresh needle and prick my finger. A single drop of blood wel ed up, and he touched it to the edge of the microscope slide so it crawled onto the glass.

“—Simple human blood.” He sandwiched a thinner piece of glass over the top and bumped Max’s slide over, pushing mine in. A quick adjustment of a few knobs, and he motioned me over. “Here.”

He was right. The edges of the doughnut-like cel s seemed somehow softer, rounder than the stickier looking werewolf sample. “Look,” I said, pul ing Cat over to take a peek.

“Straight human blood has a different quality to it.” Henry glanced at me. “So to speak. Of course there are many things that we’ve noticed are different between our interrelated peoples—werewolves have a significantly larger spleen, which acts as a reservoir for red blood cel s. When the change is triggered, the spleen dumps those additional cel s into their bloodstream for an extra burst of power. After they’ve returned to their human form their platelet count jumps. We presume it’s to help with clotting. It seems the scientists who tweaked your DNA figured you’d change, get wounded, and need to stop bleeding fast.”

“It’s like they knew you,” I mumbled to Pietr as he, Max, and Alexi took turns at the microscope while the other scientists moved hesitantly back to their work.

“You’re real y, very fascinating,” Henry admitted, rubbing his hands together. “Have you al seen the slides?” he asked.

Nods al around. The Rusakovas were starting to get itchy again.

“Can I, one more time?” I asked.

“Certainly,” Henry said, cheeks pinking. “Which first?”

“Umm…”

He bumped them together, and blood seeped across the two slides, mixing.

“Ew,” I said. “Hey, Max. You and me al gross together.”

“If that’s the way you like it,” Max rumbled.

A woman nearby pul ed the pencil out of her hair, letting it fal free and grinning at Max like he was lunch.

“Oh dear,” the man said.

My thoughts exactly.

I peeked into the microscope. “Huh.” I bumped the other slide across. “Ohh-kay. Yeah, those samples are total y trashed.”

Henry took a look and swabbed away perspiration suddenly beading on his forehead. “Oh. How odd…”

Alexi pushed between us for a view just before Henry snatched the slides away. “I think it’s time for your visit. Isn’t it, Frederick?” Henry asked the guard by the door.

The man nodded. “Sure, Doc. Let’s go.”

Beyond the lab one last set of doors whispered open at the guard’s touch.

I bumped into Max, not realizing he had stopped. Ahead of me the Rusakovas had formed a more-than-human wal .

“What…?”

No one answered. The Rusakovas were transfixed by something just beyond my range of vision. I ducked down, I slid to the side, I stood on tiptoes. I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of whatever it was that held them frozen, stunned to silence, their breathing shal ow and rapid.

I final y wedged myself between Pietr and Max, stubbornly pushing forward until I could see. And I joined their ranks, quiet with heartbreak. Slipping my hand into Pietr’s, I squeezed it for reassurance. He pul ed away. But slowly.

Before us was a large glass cube. Twenty feet long and the same wide, it was a clear box designed to al ow the inhabitant no privacy. Had the creature inside been on display at some zoo I might have thought little of it, but what lived inside this cage was Pietr’s mother. In one corner of the glass house was a smal cot; in another, a few books were scattered. And in the third corner, back and to the left, was a stainless-steel toilet and sink. There was no privacy for the woman dressed in a tank top and khaki pants, her long hair an unkempt tangle of browns and reds. Sitting by the final corner, her back was to us.