Whisper in the Dark

by Charlene Perry

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  The morning sun wakes me with a jolt, followed by a rush of guilt at having wasted so many hours in sleep. I jump to my feet, listening, watching and scenting the air to ensure I’m still alone. Thankfully, no one discovered me while I was in such a vulnerable state.

  I shake my body, stretching and yawning and pleased to find the pain in my muscles all but gone. Time to find my mate.

  I head toward the door that leads to the rest of the building, but then have second thoughts. What would be the point in seeking out Tanikka? I wouldn’t trust a word she said anyway. I’d be just as likely to stumble across her husband or his Shifter.

  Whisper. I project her name in my mind as if our Link still connects us. How could I not have known there was another Shifter here? How had I not scented the tiger on Isaac, if not throughout the house? The only scent I had been concerned about was Whisper’s. I’d been so preoccupied with her. With us. I’d been so comfortable with our new positions that I’d grown complacent, neglecting the core purpose of my existence.

  To protect her.

  I shift to my human form, needing the logic of my human mind to consider my options. There’s only one course of action that makes any reasonable sense, and just the thought of it makes my stomach turn.

  Jeffries. That fucking traitor. He tried to kill Whisper, and I’ve regretted not tearing him apart ever since. As much as I hate the idea, he may be the only one who can help me now. If he ever really cared about her, if he ever gave a shit beyond his own personal gain, he will help me find her.

  I start to take my phoenix form, but opt for a common falcon instead. I head west to feed. Rodents and smaller birds are plentiful in the fields outside the city, and in my avian form the thrill of the hunt from above is undeniable.

  With a full belly, I head back toward Moridian. A deserted alley just a few blocks from Base serves as the perfect spot to swap from my falcon to human form. The stench of rotting garbage and alcohol infused vomit is a stark contrast to the immaculately maintained streets and alleys of the sky city.

  It makes me think of the boy.

  It says a lot about human nature to see how they divide their own kind, casting away their lower ranks like garbage while their upper ranks live in comfort and excess.

  My thoughts turn to Hope for the first time since I left the Meadow. The tiny Shifter village seems more like a dream now, and I can hardly believe that such a place exists in this world.

  I fluff up my feathers, confident that there are no witnesses as I take human form. Walking toward my destination along the crowded streets feels strange, and though I keep expecting someone to shout an alarm at my presence, not one person bothers to look twice in my direction.

  I stroll up to the front doors as I have countless times before, though it’s very different now. I’ve only ever been here on four legs. Only ever at Whisper’s side.

  My pulse quickens with each Agent and Enforcer I pass. Even more so when they have a Shifter at their side. One lumbering black bear stops to stare, sniffing the air as we pass each other. I can only hope he doesn’t draw any conclusions.

  These Shifters are like I was not so long ago; oblivious to the potential they have to be more than mere tools to be used by humans. The bear seems to lose interest, hustling to catch up to the Agent that didn’t bother to wait.

  I reach the gated elevators, remembering only now that Whisper had a card she would scan to get through.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The nearest receptionist is watching me with a disinterested expression.

  “Sargent Jeffries. I’m here to see Sargent Jeffries.”

  “Okay, let me find your appointment. What was your name?”

  Fuck. Humans piss me off sometimes.

  “I don’t have an appointment, but I need to speak to him now.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” She speaks like a recording, her face remaining expressionless even when her eyes dart to the side. I follow her gaze, to see a security officer heading our way with carefully measured steps. Fuck.

  “Can you tell him someone’s here to talk about Jane?” I hate that I’ve used that name. It feels wrong on my tongue.

  She holds up a hand to the security officer, who stops a few strides away to wait. “I’ll see if he’s reachable by comm,” she offers, her hands moving across the keyboard in front of her with practiced speed.

  I look toward the elevators, finding a familiar angle that I’ve viewed from the monitor in Jeffries office. He won’t recognize me, not like this. But if I give my name...

  “He says to take the elevator to the twenty-second floor. You’ll find his office to the right, four doors down.”

  As soon as she gives me the message, she’s moved on the next person waiting for attention. The gate in front of me clicks open, and the security guard has faded into the background as he was.

  I don’t waste another moment. Once the lift is moving, I brace myself against the back wall. I’m expecting the doors will open to more security. They will know what I am.

  But the doors open to reveal an empty hallway, and as I exit the lift to move toward Jeffries office, there is nothing but the ticking of a clock on the wall to disturb the silence. I knock twice, then open the door.

  Jeffries is behind his desk, as always. Pushing papers like nothing has changed in his world.

  “Hello, young man.” He greets me with a practiced smile, but I can see the tension in his posture, the way his eyes keep me in their periphery even as he pretends to keep sorting whatever he was sorting. “Jillian said you need to speak with me?”

  His voice sounds casual, unconcerned. But I know him enough to hear the strain beneath the words.

  “Where is Whisper?” I cut right to the point, and he looks directly at me for the first time. His right hand moves to rest on the pistol at his hip. I take a step closer. “The last time I saw her she was bleeding and unconscious under that fucker, Isaac. Where is she?”

  Jeffries’ face is shades paler as he braces his palms on the top of his desk. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the one who had your skull between my teeth and didn’t end you like you deserved.”

  He lets out a long breath, sagging back onto his leather chair. He looks years older all at once, and the only emotion I can read on his face is relief.

  “You can’t be in this form, Damon, you know the consequences.”

  “You can skip that bullshit, whether or not you actually believe it. Where is she?”

  “She’s alive, your presence proves that at least.”

  His words make my stomach turn to stone. My presence proves nothing, not with our bond broken. I growl as I step toward his desk, slamming my fists down onto the hardwood.

  “Tell me what I want to know!”

  He doesn’t even flinch, just stares at me with fucking pity in his eyes. Pity for me, or for her? What the fuck isn’t he telling me?

  “It was her idea. Her plan. She had it well in motion before she came to me.” He’s speaking, but all I hear are excuses.

  “Where is she, Charles?”

  “Have you heard of an organization called Horizon Zero?”

  Tobias

  Consciousness returns to me with a sudden jolt, my eyes flying open to strain against the brightness. My nerves are lit up with a wash of adrenaline, and it takes a great effort to stay still. I listen, slowly scanning the room to try and make sense of my surroundings.

  A soft bed; silk sheets, pillows and down comforters. Everything crisp, white and softly scented. There’s no sound save for the tricking of water, and I turn my head slowly to find its source. A splash of tropical green in the corner. Broad-leaved plants climb the wall, up through an opening in the floor and continuing through another in the ceiling. A trickling cascade of water flows from above, disappearing down through the same opening.

  I push myself up, confident that I’m alone in this room for the moment. A hotel maybe... certainly an upgrade from the holding house. My clothes
are unchanged. The faded, gauzy slip of a dress seems out of place in the modern surroundings.

  Charles reluctantly handed me off to yet another delivery man, who felt the need to recreate the whole hood-trunk-sedative routine. I expected to wake up in a container headed off-world, not an upscale hotel.

  I stretch my limbs, doing a quick head-to-toe assessment to find no trace of injury. Not even a bruise remains to mark my recent struggles. Someone decided to hit me with a shot of Medic. I absently rub a thumb over the crease of my elbow, unsettled by the thought that someone pushed a needle into my veins while I was unconscious. I run my tongue over the undisturbed ridge behind my teeth.

  Walking to the door, I test the handle to find it unlocked. I consider returning to the bed... an unlocked door seems like an invitation, and I’m not so eager to meet the one who’s waiting on the other side.

  My curiosity wins out, and I turn the handle to crack the door. Peering through a thin opening, I find myself looking out into a kitchen. White and modern like the bedroom, splashes of living green climb from nearly every corner and nook.

  The entire room is washed in golden sunlight that pours in through a wall of glass. Beyond is a garden, lush with all shades of green and flashes of vibrant color. Wide, glass doors are braced open, letting in a warm breeze that smells like springtime. I’m clearly still on Earth.

  A man’s voice reaches my ears. I hold my breath, clutching the door handle, ready to retreat back to the bed if he comes this way. Better he finds me asleep, so I can learn something of his motives before we actually interact. The thought that he may have already interacted with me plenty while I was unconscious makes my stomach turn, but I push it away. Nothing I can do about that now.

  A moment later, the source of the voice comes into view. Elder Tobias. I recognize him, and yet he looks different from the stern, grey-haired patriarch I met briefly at the Atrium.

  Here he’s at ease, comfortable. His voice has an edge of laughter as he prattles on about a child’s birthday party and the antics of twin girls. His grandchildren.

  Why the hell am I here and not on my way to Gliese? Fucking Charles.

  As I watch unnoticed from the doorway, a woman comes into view. She’s the one he’s been talking to, and she responds with a light-hearted laugh of her own as she comments about the trouble-making habits of one of the twins.

  Something about her appearance is unsettling. She’s wearing white, flowing pants and a snug sky-blue shirt. Minimal, modern and comfortable... just like the house. She’s about the right age to be his daughter, or even granddaughter, but the way she talks about the twins doesn’t make me think she’s their mother or aunt. She’s very familiar in the way she talks to the Elder, but not in a romantic sort of way. I keep watching, expecting one of them to look my way at any second.

  The young woman flits about the kitchen with ease and familiarity, prepping food and washing dishes as if she were at home. It’s all very domestic, very casual, and yet I can’t shake the unsettled feeling in my gut. Maybe because I know what he’s hiding in this little bedroom.

  Does she know I’m here?

  A wide, amber eye blocks my view, peering back at me through the crack in my door. We both jump in surprise, and I scramble back to the bed. Too late to pretend I’m asleep, but I can at least maintain the ruse of being a scared, fragile thing.

  The door pushes open farther, and the girl slips into my room. She’s wearing the same loose, white pants with a snug, lavender shirt. She looks to be barely twenty years old. Her chestnut hair is pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck. She seems healthy, clean, well fed... but I catch a flash of a tattoo at her wrist. The familiar curve of the rising sun symbol that I haven’t yet earned.

  “Hi, Whisper.” She speaks with a soft voice and a smile to match. “I’m Stacey. Are you feeling okay?”

  I keep quiet, watching her face and body language for any hints about this place. Waiting for her to volunteer more information to fill the silence.

  “I know your scared.” Her brow creases with concern. “We all were when we first came here. You won’t believe me yet, but you’re safe now.”

  I raise my eyebrows in response, impressed that she’s able to deliver that line with a straight face. Her smile deepens, and she turns to go.

  “Wait!” I call out to her in barely more than a loud whisper, but she pauses to look back at me. “Where am I?”

  Her smile lights up her eyes, as if she’s thrilled at the question. “You’re in the home of Elder Tobias Moreau. You’re very lucky that he chose you. We all are. I can’t tell you much... he’ll want to talk with you about all of it. But you really are safe here. We help out with whatever he needs, and he makes sure we have everything we need.”

  I cringe at her description. She sounds like she’s in love with the man who owns her. Her way of coping with the situation, I suppose. I can only imagine what his ‘needs’ are. I shudder at the images, pushing them out of my mind.

  I don’t know why I ended up here. Maybe Charles ran into problems getting me on the shipment to Gliese, or he knows something I don’t... maybe taking out Elder Tobias will make an even bigger statement. I can’t see that being the case, though. Not with everything Tanikka told me about the Gliesen Pharaoh.

  I only hope this girl can find her way back in the real world. Cam couldn’t. Maybe the same thing will happen to this poor creature. She certainly seems more fragile, more innocent than Camilla had.

  “Do you feel okay?” She asks again, and I nod. “Good. Elder Tobias gave you a Medic injection, so we were hoping you’d be well again before you woke.” A darker emotion flickers in her eyes for a moment before her smile returns. “Will you come with me? There’s a washroom around the corner with everything you need to get cleaned up. It’s just you and I in this part of the house, no one else will disturb you until you’re ready.”

  I watch her face, searching for some hidden agenda or ulterior motive in her words. She seems genuine. The thought of a hot shower that lasts for more than four minutes and fifty seconds sounds like a dream.

  “The water’s hot,” she adds as if reading my mind. “And we have scented soaps, bubble bath, six different shampoos... I won’t spoil all the surprises for you. There’s also a lock on the door. On the inside. You can take as long as you like.”

  I laugh, and her eyes widen with surprise. She’s describing a trap, that much is obvious. But hell yes, I’m in. I can deal with whatever plans they’ve got for me. I’m back to full health, thanks to that Medic shot. Just let them try.

  It’s amazing how something so simple can bring such joy. A hot shower, something I took for granted not so long ago, has become a luxury beyond compare. Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours... I don’t know how long I stand under the wide jets of water, but the temperature and pressure never once falters. I try all the shampoos, all the soaps... stretching the moments for as long I can.

  The girl was right, the door locks from the inside. Not that I honestly think they don’t have a key within easy reach. Still, the measure of privacy is enough to give me a sense freedom I haven’t felt in a long while. Let them sneak in and find me naked and pruney, I don’t care. This might be the last shower I get, and I’m sure as hell going to make it last for as long as their patience does.

  No such intrusion comes, and eventually I shut off the water and step out onto a plush, pale grey mat. The room is huge, with the spacious marble shower stall in one corner and a bathtub big enough for at least six people in the other. Like the kitchen and bedroom, this room is bright, modern and accented with thriving tropical greenery. Wide windows of frosted glass let in plenty of natural light, and a skylight set into the ceiling directs a patch of glaring sunlight down onto a cushioned bench.

  I wrap myself in a terrycloth towel that reaches my knees and remind myself again that I’m a captive here. At the moment, it’s hard to imagine I’m anything less than royalty. I consider staying here until they force me out, but my r
umbling stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten in... well, it’s been a while.

  I take the pile of clothes Stacey left for me, pulling on the simple cotton underwear and a sports bra that happens to fit perfectly. I won’t think about how they got my measurements so accurate. The white, flowing pants are an exact match to the ones the other girls are wearing. The snug, long-sleeved shirt is a comfortable, relaxed fabric in a pastel green.

  I catch myself before nearly glancing in the mirror. It’s big and hard to avoid, but I’ve managed so far. I think I’m more afraid I won’t see him. Like maybe I left him behind in the holding house. Like he’s tied to that mirror instead of being a symptom of my own insanity.

  I could look. Just take a quick peek. Seeing his face makes me whole again, even as it breaks me apart. But I can’t lose my focus. I need a clear head. I need to think my way through this new place, figure out how it works.

  I stop thinking about it and force my legs to move. Opening the bathroom door slowly, I see Stacey sitting at a small table in front of the open, glass doors. She’s reading a novel, looking relaxed and carefree.

  I scan the room carefully before stepping through the door, confirming that no one else is around. A wide sitting area separates the bathroom from the kitchen, with a recessed floor, plush carpeting and deep sofas. I walk toward where Stacey sits, hopping down the two steps to cross the soft carpeting before climbing the two steps on the other side.

  She smiles up at me as I sit across the table from her, my eyes darting to the open door and the illusion of freedom.

  “Hey there,” she chimes, as she sets the book down and rises from her seat. “How do the clothes fit? I thought we looked about the same size.”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Let me grab you something to eat.”

  She shuffles through the double-wide refrigerator before returning with a plate full of little sandwiches, cut veggies, hummus, fruit, sliced meat and olives. She sets it in front of me, along with a tall, frosted glass of orange juice.