Secrets and Shadows

by Shannon Delany

  I hoped I wasn’t lying by proxy.

  The car was stifling, warm and thick with an overpoweringly spicy scent. “Your car deodorizer is a bit much.”

  Kent chuckled from the back seat.

  “Can you even taste your coffee?” I asked, peering into the flipdown passenger mirror.

  He just raised his ever-present mug in my direction in a silent toast.

  When Catherine opened the door to the house, ushering us within, Wanda smiled, pausing just inside the door. “It’s a nice day,” she commented. “Let’s take a walk.”

  “Take a walk? You promised good news,” I reminded her. “Do we get to see their mother today?” I asked, aware of the way the Rusakovas bristled and shifted, surely wondering.

  Kent grinned and adjusted something inside his coat. Pietr and Max moved in to stand on either side of me. Cat sidled up behind, and Alexi crossed the floor to stand beside her.

  “We do,” Wanda assured.

  Kent opened the door again, letting the autumn breeze waft through the foyer.

  The Rusakovas straightened, drawing up to their full heights, and I saw their noses wrinkle, faces pulling into masks of absolute distaste.

  “Perhaps Officer Kent needs a shower,” Max snarled, his eyes narrowing.

  “Or a drowning,” Cat suggested, covering her nose.

  Wanda winked and tugged a pouch from her shirt pocket, dangling it before me.

  I sniffed. “What the…?” The same stink as the car’s hung from her hand.

  “I guess we won’t need these,” she said, looking at Kent. “Once they know where we are, diluting our scent won’t matter. They’ll find us whenever they want.” She shrugged.

  I repressed a shiver, wondering what Wanda’s group had that made them so confident about handling any unscheduled meetings with the Rusakovas.

  She tossed the pouch into the wastepaper basket by the door. Kent dug into his jacket pocket and withdrew a matching pouch, shook it for sheer devilment, and tossed it away too.

  The full-blood Rusakovas sneezed.

  “What’s in that?” I asked.

  “An old remedy to deal with pesky tracking dogs—and werewolves,” Kent added, flashing a smile.

  “Shall we go now? Times a-tickin’,” Wanda reminded.

  Max stifled a growl, and the group of us, an awkward alliance, stepped onto the porch. Alexi pulled the door shut and I was thrust into the middle of an argument.

  “Why are you coming?” Max asked his adopted brother. More than a question, it was a challenge to Alexi’s previous role in the family.

  “She’s my mother, too,” Alexi said.

  Catherine wedged herself between Max and Alexi, placing her small hands on Max’s wide chest and peering up into his face.

  “He’s right. And Mother would want to see all her children, no matter if they’ve strayed from the pack.”

  Looking over her head at Alexi, Max agreed. “I just wouldn’t want to be you when Mother learns how you betrayed us.”

  Alexi sighed, shoulders slumping.

  We walked only a few blocks, out of the Victorian and Queen Anne sections of Junction, and into the smaller remnants of a Colonial farmhouse area.

  Wanda paused by a mailbox before passing through a hedgerow dotted with rosemary and other aromatic plants. The place stank of herbs. The dirt around their bases had only recently been disturbed, the plants fresh this season and not meant to last a Junction winter.

  I wondered if any of us were.

  We walked down a pathway of large, flat rocks and stepped up onto an old stacked stone porch. Here the suburbs and modern living caught up to the past and tried to swallow it whole. What had once been a large farm plot with one home on several hundred acres had been reduced to a single house, an old garage and gas station at its back. Strange, a fieldstone Colonial, just a few hundred yards and a postage stamp worth of a backyard away from the broken-down Grabbit Mart at its back.

  Wanda stepped to the doorway, knocking out a strange rhythm with her fist, and I was surprised when the door swung open revealing two very neatly dressed men. Two men most comfortable when armed—the two from the abandoned church. I gawked, realizing what their presence implied. “Seriously?”

  Where were the thick metal doors that slid open when the right person put their palm on a special sensor? My eyes scanned from the ground to the roofline. One small camera pointed toward the road, the type anyone could get from RadioShack.

  If this was the facility where they contained a secret like werewolves, where was our tax money going?

  “Step inside,” Wanda directed us with a curt nod.

  Warily we obeyed. Like most Colonials the house was small, close. The impression of intimacy it gave only made me feel less at ease.

  Clustered together in what served as the main hall, we looked expectantly at Wanda and Kent for instructions. That the Rusakovas stood in a house so near their own and yet so well hidden only made them more anxious. Max shifted from foot to foot, eyes glittering.

  “Where is she?” Catherine asked.

  The two men looked at Wanda and Kent.

  The shorter one spoke. “First things first,” he said. “I believe part of the deal was that we would get blood, skin, and hair samples before any of you see her.”

  The heat rolling off Pietr and Max at mention of the delay threatened to smother me. I kept my tone controlled. “Almost there,” I promised. “We’ll see her soon. And what an amazing building.” Casting a glance from one end of the hall to the other, I patted Max’s arm and smiled at Cat. “Just a little longer.”

  Pietr watched me, cooling as my logic—and my unspoken suggestion to observe our surroundings carefully—sank in.

  “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 hallway, looking over their shoulders frequently to make sure we were coming. I noticed the tall 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 fell in behind us, bolting the door before dogging us from one small room to the other.

  We quickly came to an area where a staircase had been added. The taller 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 followed 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 small pit that the previous owners had walled 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 w
anted 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 smell I expected was nonexistent. Instead, the smell 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 wall 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 casually there could be no doubt of threat.

  Following the verbal ping-pong match, I stood between them on step seventeen, my back to the cool wall.

  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 small 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 walls, 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 dollars went.

  Fluorescent lights coated us in an unhealthy-looking glare as we walked along the lengthy underground hall. Certainly a suitable location for fluorescents, the hellspawn 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 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 wall.

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

  “Just a little farther now…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  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, all 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, well aware they were the center of attention.

  A balding man—smaller 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 pulling her out front. “Ekaterina Rusakova. The female.”

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

  Henry quickly snapped orders at his fellow scientists, who seemed to mill around, watching more than doing. The full-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.”

  “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. All full-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 intellect, 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 fundamentally 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’ll notice the shape of the individual red and white blood cells 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 n
eedle and prick my finger. A single drop of blood welled 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 cells seemed somehow softer, rounder than the stickier looking werewolf sample. “Look,” I said, pulling 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 cells. When the change is triggered, the spleen dumps those additional cells 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 really, very fascinating,” Henry admitted, rubbing his hands together. “Have you all seen the slides?” he asked.

  Nods all 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 all gross together.”

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

  A woman nearby pulled the pencil out of her hair, letting it fall 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 totally trashed.”