Contents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
The Adventure Continues...
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Bethany Helwig
Published by Brightway Books, LLC
THE CURSE OF MOOSE LAKE, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and © Bethany Helwig.
Cover Illustration: Bethany Helwig
All rights reserved.
First Edition: October 2016
ISBN-10: 0-9981247-1-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-9981247-1-1
For my father and those
troublesome twins that inspired
another pair of troublemakers
Chapter 1
My eyes travel up the daunting height of Werevine Pharmaceutical. The skyscraper boasts so many windows it’s like one giant mirror reflecting the noonday sun over Minneapolis. I squint against the burning light and move for the double glass doors, taking care to walk at a normal pace. Cars honk and rev their engines on the road behind me, their shapes ghosting across the reflective windows of the front entrance to the building. I try not to shove people out of my way on the sidewalk ahead of me. My brother says I’m too impatient and today I have to agree with him. I take a deep breath and reach for the handle of the door.
There I pause as I catch my reflection. Sharp green eyes squint back at me beneath my tidy blood-red hair pulled back into a ponytail that seems to soak up the sun’s rays and glow. My skin is pale but that’s no surprise. On my best days I look like curdled milk with a dash of freckles for texture across my nose and cheeks. I have a heavy amount of makeup on today to make my eyes seem brighter and my face fuller. I’m trying to look the part of a twenty-something FDA agent and wore my only skirt for the occasion, but I’m afraid my seventeen-year-old gangly limbs are going to give me away.
I exhale through my mouth to release the tension in my shoulders and shove my way through the glass doors.
The foyer is bedazzled with mirrors, glass, and shiny decorative objects. The sunlight jumps in after me playing a game of tag through its various reflections. I squint as I walk to the front counter where a girl sits stiff-backed in her chair, hands glued to a phone and keyboard simultaneously. She doesn’t smile or look up when I approach.
I smooth out the front of my silk blouse and wait impatiently for the girl to end her call. I’m fidgety and feel out of place. If my brother was here, like he’s supposed to be, he would have waltzed in like he owned the place and schmoozed right up to the receptionist, probably even gotten her to smile. I’ll be lucky if I can make it through a conversation without saying something stupid.
The girl finally looks up and ends her phone call. A smile plops into place on her face but it looks rehearsed.
“Can I help you?” she says sweetly with just the slightest bite to her words. She must be having a bad day.
“Yes. Right, just a second,” I say and start rummaging through my purse. I don’t usually carry a purse and it’s something I borrowed so it takes me longer than your average girl to find what I’m looking for. The receptionist starts strumming her fingernails on the desk and her smile stiffens. I finally manage to pull out my mostly authentic FDA badge and hold it up for her to see. Now that catches her full attention.
“Agent Jane Roe with the FDA,” I roll off, rather impressed with myself for saying it like it’s true despite the generic name sitting foreign in my mouth. For a split second I almost said my real name. “This is just a random check on the company. My partner should be coming along shortly. Is it okay if I wait here in the lobby until he arrives?”
“Of course.” She gestures to a row of plastic chairs along the wall. “Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll pull up some passes for access to the building while you wait.”
I can’t believe how simple that was. “Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind my saying,” the receptionist continues, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You seem awfully young for an agent.”
“Yes, well . . .” I fumble for something appropriate to say in response and end up spitting out a half-truth. “This is my first assignment.” And it is. Just not for the FDA. Not that I’m going to tell her that.
Before I say something else that makes her distrust me, I sidle over to the plastic chairs and take a seat, clutching the purse to my stomach while I wait for my slow, late partner to catch up. To keep my hands busy, I dig into my purse and run my fingers over the cool metallic surface of the bio-mech gun to reassure myself it’s still there. Right now it rests dormant and shaped like a heavy makeup case. I’m not technically supposed to have it—let’s just say it’s on lease—but I feel better having it with me. It’s my first mission out in the real world, a routine check on this company, but I’m anxious and expecting something terrible to happen. It’s basically the plot of every spy movie I’ve ever seen.
I tap my foot while I wait and glance at my watch every now and then. Ten minutes pass before my partner arrives, and by partner I mean my twin brother, Hawk. He’s dressed up for the occasion as well in a suit trying to look like he’s from the FBI but looks more like a high schooler going to prom. His shock of red hair and bright green eyes match mine except his hair is cropped short and today is combed neatly for once. He’s slim to a freakish degree but once he smiles and draws back his shoulders, he actually manages to look like he belongs in his navy blue suit.
He runs a hand down his front lapels and walks directly to me. I stand to meet him and he plants his hands on his waist before leaning in to whisper.
“Cobb isn’t coming.”
“What?” I hiss. Cobb, our useless mentor, is supposed to be guiding us through our mission. We’ve never done this before. “Why not? We can’t do this without him.”
“He figured this is so low key and routine that we don’t need his assistance. That, and he said he needed a smoke break.” Hawk adjusts his tie and rolls his eyes. “He said we just need to run through the checklist with the CEO and then grab the latest printouts on production of the serum.”
I’m fighting back anger and no small amount of panic. Heat radiates from my face. My brother seems to find this amusing because he smiles and laughs under his breath.
“Calm down. It’ll be fine, Phoenix.”
“It’s Jane Roe,” I say and glare at him.
“Yeah, whatever, you walking panic attack. Come on.”
He leads the way across the lobby, all confidence and self-assurance, and leans on the countertop to smile at the receptionist.
She gives him a real smile instead of the forced one she gave to me.
“Hi, there!” he says. “I’m Agent Jim Roe. Sorry to keep you waiting. That is a lovely blouse by the way.”
“Oh, thank you.” She blushes and I turn away slightly to hide the roll of my eyes.
“As I’m sure my partner told you, we’re here for a random compliance check on the company. Normal FDA procedure. We promise we won’t take up more of your time than necessary. I was hoping you could point us in the direction of your CEO and lead bookkeeper.”
“Of course.” She points us to another set of double glass doors bordered by metal detectors and a security guard. She hands us passes and after a little more small talk between her and Hawk, we move on. The security guard kindly takes my purse and I step through the detectors unhindered. It’s the moment my purse is scanned that I have to force myself to keep steady. My set of ordinary keys, left there for the purpose of seeming normal, sets off the alarm. They’re placed in a plastic bin and my purse passes the check. The highly advanced bio-mech gun goes through undetected, impervious to the sensors. The guard hands me my items with a smile, directs me to the correct elevator, and offers a kind farewell. Hawk passes through as well and we enter the elevator. As soon as the doors close, we turn to each other and I hold out my fist in my palm for rock, paper, scissors.
“If I win, I get the printouts.” I don’t want to run through a checklist with the CEO. I don’t think I can be convincing enough but Hawk would probably make me do it just to get me to try.
He shrugs back his sleeves and copies my posture. We hit our fists in our palms three times and Hawk beats my scissors with his rock. I punch him in the shoulder but he just laughs and presses the button to the twenty-fifth floor. We ride the fast moving elevator up until Hawk reaches his floor and leaves in search of the bookkeeper. A young paperboy steps on at the same floor and shoots me inappropriate looks as we continue up. I fight a losing battle with the flush trying to take over my face and grit my teeth.
The elevator dings when we reach the forty-ninth floor and I step out onto a long open floor covered in various shades of gray from top to bottom. Workers cower in their cubicles and don’t make eye contact. The clicking of keyboards, the loud thrum of a copier, and the shuffling of paper are the only sounds. The atmosphere is too quiet and contained with fevered work, like final exams in high school. Pixies, I hated high school.
The paperboy jogs off and pushes his cart to the right. I stand awkwardly by myself for a moment before I start walking slowly along the wall on my left to look for the CEO’s office. I try to make as little sound as possible in my heels as I thud across the hard carpet searching for the correct door. A few cubicle workers glare at me over the top of their computer monitors as I pass.
Just past the cubicles I find another receptionist’s desk. The women sitting behind it has red-rimmed eyes and the largest mug of coffee I’ve ever seen in my life in front of her. She startles when I come up to the other side of the desk. I smile to ease her anxiety but her eyes remain wide and she glances around like someone looking for an escape. Definitely not a good sign.
“Hi, I’m Agent Roe.” I flash my badge. “I’m looking for the CEO. Is he around?”
“Mr. Bole is—he’s . . . well, he’s busy.” The receptionist’s eyes keep flickering around like she’s waiting to be attacked. I lean forward and she twitches.
“Are you okay?” I ask in an undertone.
The force of her nodding throws her bouncy blonde curls around. “Of course, but Mr. Bole is not currently here.”
“Where is he then?”
“He’s on the top floor but he’s not to be disturbed.” Her eyes water a little when she says this and I imagine the CEO must have yelled himself hoarse at the poor receptionist for disturbing him before. “If this is an emergency, I could call up to him.”
“Don’t bother.” I wave a hand to let her know it’s all right. The woman looks stressed to the point she might start pulling out her own hair. I don’t want to add to that. “I’ll run up there myself. It’s no trouble.”
The receptionist tries to tell me I can’t, that I shouldn’t, Mr. Bole will be really angry, but I ignore her and move back to the elevator. I hit the button for the fifty-first floor and rise.
The doors open to some kind of paper disaster. There are additional cubicles here, wider and more lavish than before with leather swivel chairs and multiple coffee machines, but each is covered by piles upon piles of paperwork in every nook and cranny. There are heaps on the floor, some knocked over and fallen like snow drifts while others tower over me. It looks like someone’s pulled together every single piece of paper the company has ever printed and stuffed it up here. I exit the elevator and have to pick my way carefully through so as not to step on scattered invoices and data charts.
It’s eerily quiet and there’s not a soul in sight. I wonder if the receptionist was wrong about Mr. Bole being up here but then I hear a faint sneeze from the far end of the open room. I work my way down the long row of cubicles until I reach the back office with a semi-opaque glass screen as its wall. The door is ajar. I take a deep breath and step forward to stand in the doorway.
Two of the walls are made completely of bookshelves filled with thick volumes bound to cover all things pharmaceutical, but directly opposite me the wall is a single yawning window overlooking the city and parking garage below. The dark blue carpet is plush in here and I hardly make a sound as I walk forward to announce my presence.
A massive hardwood desk fills up most of the office all by itself and behind it sits a plump man with round glasses. It’s clear he’s attempted, and failed, to use what hair he has to comb-over the large bald spot on the top of his head. He sits far down in his chair like he puddled there, his body squashed down into a thick middle and pudgy fingers. The golden buttons of his expensive striped suit strain against the taut fabric. He looks up when I enter and his frown pushes his lips out in a hideous pout.
“Who are you?” he snaps. “What are you doing here?”
I’m ready this time with my badge and step closer so he can see it before I tuck it back into my purse. “Agent Roe with the FDA. I’m performing a random routine check on the company.”
“A check? Why?”
I take the empty seat in front of his desk and set the purse in my lap. “A number of flags were raised in our system because of some recent activity. We’re just checking in to make sure everything is . . . kosher.”
His eyes rake me and I stare evenly back. I can see the same distrust in his eyes as the first receptionist. I don’t look the part of an FDA agent. I’m too young. I try to ignore his suspicion as I pull out the checklist Cobb gave me. Mr. Bole grumbles under his breath and reaches for a cup of coffee on his desk. His fingers close around empty air a few inches short of the cup so he tries again and manages to grab the handle. His hand trembles as he brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip.
I stare. His clumsy attempt to pick up his coffee just set off warning bells in my head and I wait for him to do something else so I can gauge his movements again but he remains still except for the slight shake in his hands.
“So?” he snaps. “What do you want?”
I clear my throat and try to act normal but now I’m on edge and wary. Thinking fast, I dig around in my purse and pretend to be exasperated.
“I can’t find my pen,” I sigh. “Could you pass me one, please?”
He moves very slowly as he picks a blue pen off his desk and offers it to me. His reach is a bit short, which he seems to notice, so he leans forward so I can grab it. My fingers brush his hand and his skin feels somewhat waxy.
“Thanks,” I say and then smile even though my heart is racing. That simple act of passing the pen tells me everything I need to know.
I see the man for what he truly is. All the signs are there—the lack of spatial awareness, the slow methodical movements, the trembling in the hands, not to mention the odd texture of h
is skin. He wasn’t able to grab his cup on the first go because he isn’t used to his short arms. He moves slowly because he knows he isn’t acquainted enough with his new body. That waxy skin of his isn’t normal for a human.
I set the checklist on top of my purse to hide the fact I’m moving my hand inch by inch to wrap my fingers around the bio-mech gun, because this man sitting in front of me is not Mr. Bole.
This man, setting his coffee cup down with careful precision, is a shapeshifter.
I hadn’t been lying before about the red flags triggered by the company and it seems I’ve found the source. A shapeshifter has infiltrated the company, this place of all places, and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Dang it, I wish Cobb had come along. He’s a lousy mentor but he would know what to do. Should I go through the checklist like normal and leave so I can find Cobb? Should I take the shapeshifter out right now? Should I make a run for it?
“Ask your questions or whatever it is you need,” Mr. Fake-Bole grumbles and makes a shooing motion at me with his hands. “Get on with it. I have work to do.”
Okay. I guess I’ll play it normal for now, maybe even figure out what this shapeshifter is doing here.
I clear my throat. “Like I said, there were a number of red flags triggered by our security measures. There’s been a large amount of client data pulled recently—”
“We’re always pulling data,” he says gruffly.
“Client data on a very particular group of people, specifically those taking the serum designated Y-S.” I say it in a flat tone and watch his reaction. His eyes narrow. “And from the look of this floor, all that data is being printed out and combed through by you. Why don’t you explain that to me? What are you doing with all that data? What are you looking for?”
We have a staring contest and eventually he asks, “Who are you really?”
That’s it. It’s over. No cat and mouse for us. We’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Since I’m on my own, I have to make my own call.
The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1) Page 1