No Such Thing As Werewolves (48 page)

“Adolpho,” Blair supplied, nodding in his direction.
 

“You must be Trevor,” Cyntia said, beaming a smile in Trevor’s direction. Blair had seen a lot of crushes in his time, and this was one of the worst. Cyntia apparently already knew Trevor. However, judging from the confused look on his face, he had no idea who she was.

“Yeah, and you are?” he asked, rubbing at his goatee with one hand as he peered down at her over his glasses. His hat had kept them mostly dry, but they were starting to fog up.

“I’m a friend of Liz’s,” she said, offering Trevor her hand. He took it, and her smile widened. “We used to study together, and sometimes we’d go out to clubs.”

Liz smiled at the two of them, evidently pleased by the interaction. “Cyntia Facebook stalked you, Trevor. She made me promise to bring you down to Brazil so we could go dancing.”

Trevor turned scarlet, even in the rain. Cyntia just managed to look horrified, dropping her gaze and Trevor’s hand. Blair suppressed a laugh. It felt good. The interaction was the most normal he’d seen in days, despite the epic werewolf combat just minutes before.

“I, uh, hate to be a bad guest,” Trevor said, turning toward Elmira. He was still blushing but obviously pretending he wasn’t. “My smartphone doesn’t work here, and I really need to check my email. It’s very, very important. Do you guys have Internet access?”

“Yes, back at our home.” Elmira nodded, the gesture more regal than any made by her companions. “Please, come with us. We will give you shelter and food, and you can tell us more about this
Mother
you seek to rescue. You will have our aid if you wish it.”

Chapter 68- Hope

Bridget itched. She could feel it between her shoulders, on her calves, along her scalp. It had begun days ago, and though she was denied any way of knowing the time, she sensed that night had fallen. She felt the moon, even inside this cell.

It had made her strong, stronger than she’d have believed possible. Bridget no longer feared the manacles. She could snap them, high tech compression bands or no. She could also tear the sealed door from her little white prison, bursting into the hallway and surprising the guards.

So why didn’t she? Bridget itched for battle, for the blood of those who’d imprisoned her. The feeling was primal, bestial, and yet it felt so natural. Was that a part of her transformation? What had she become?

She didn’t know. Bridget resumed her pacing, careful to keep her most prized possession hidden under the humiliating white gown with the open back. The book Sheila had sent was the only reason she was still sane, the only thing to occupy her mind through weeks or maybe months of captivity.

She’d poured over the glyphs for hours every day, studying patterns and making guesses. Sometime after the first few days, the language had begun to coalesce, and she finally had a working translation. If only she’d had a pen to record her findings. For now such knowledge had to live in her head, though very soon it would be useful.

She paused her pacing, grabbing her belly with a sharp groan. She leaned against the wall with her free hand, sweat breaking out on her brow. This was the second time today, and the third in the last two days. It would pass in a few moments. At least, it had before.

Agony faded to a dull ache, and Bridget gave a sigh of relief. What was happening to her? The pain was getting worse, and the episodes were longer, albeit still just a few seconds.

Ka-Ken, you must feed. Soon the energy will overwhelm you, and I will be forced to assume control. That will be messy, as I will be driven to kill indiscriminately. It will be easier if you select a target, perhaps one of the warriors outside your cell.

“Kill?” she murmured. Other than the night she’d first shifted, she’d had little experience with the beast and certainly hadn’t killed anyone. The prospect horrified her, yet there was also a part of her that found it exciting. She
wanted
to kill, to take her anger out on a target. “What if no one comes in? Will I go mad or burn up or something?”

No, Ka-Ken. When the energy overwhelms you, I will shatter this cage like kindling. The warriors outside will be the first to die, though certainly not the last. I will tear through this camp like a whirlwind, bringing death to those who dare imprison us.

“How long do I have?” Bridget asked. This could be perfect. She wanted out badly, but she was no killer. Not yet, anyway. The beast could do it for her, get revenge for Steve’s death and her imprisonment all in one blow.

Another moonrise, no more. Then I will be forced to assume control.
 

“Can you get me inside the pyramid?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what she could do there, but now that she understood the language, she could study the writings in the inner chamber. Who knew what that could reveal or allow her to do?

I sense your need. You will not be able to wake the Mother, but you can draw on energy from the Ark. If you must fight these warriors, your best chance of victory is battling them there. When we escape I will draw them there and then cede control back to you.

Knowing the alien consciousness that lurked in her head could read her thoughts was bizarre. Yet she treasured it. The beast had been her only companion over the last few weeks, and after she’d recovered from her initial fear, she’d spent long hours learning from it. She’d gained a much better understanding of exactly what the werewolves were and more of what they were capable of. She was just scratching the surface of that understanding.

Someone approaches, Ka-Ken.

The beast was right. She heard footsteps approaching, up the hall. Too measured to be Sheila. But who else would visit her? More soldiers? That made no sense, not unless they’d thought of something else they wanted from her.

The door gave its customary hiss, admitting a familiar black-clad man built like a mountainside. Jordan had a sidearm belted around his waist but was otherwise unarmed. The soldiers who’d been allowed in the room thus far all bore wicked-looking rifles. Yet he didn’t smell afraid. Of course, a rock was more likely to be afraid than he was. He probably frightened death.

The close-cropped stubble along his scalp had given way to a knot of curly blond. It softened his appearance, though only by a hair. It was a good look for him.

“Hello, Bridget. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes,” he began, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a white piece of paper that had been folded in half. “I’ve come with a message from Sheila, among other things. She seems to think this will mean something to you and said you could pass a response back through me. She’s have come herself, but the Director has forbidden her access.”

He passed the paper to Bridget, who took it hesitantly. It was difficult not to scramble backward from the man. She still remembered when he and his team had taken her down after she’d shifted. Utterly without mercy.

Bridget examined the paper. She expected more glyphs from the inner chamber, perhaps some bit that Sheila was struggling with. To her shock, she saw a line of Egyptian hieroglyphs. They took her back almost a decade, to the days when she and Sheila had passed messages back and forth using such notes.
 

He does not know this message’s true nature. The day will come soon when you will be free. I will help you.

That was only a rough translation, of course. Hieroglyphs were less precise than that. But they had a spin on them that Bridget and Sheila had cooked up, a way to tweak the basic meaning of a glyph to include more modern context. They had created the system back in college as a kind of prank. She’d never expected them to use it again.

“Tell her I’ll need some time to consider this but that most of the message is clear to me,” Bridget said, handing the paper back. They’d never let her keep it. “Was there another reason you came?”

“Yes,” Jordan said, nodding at the camera. “For starters I wanted you to know that the camera is off for the duration of this discussion. I’ll catch hell for it, but I’m past caring.”

“So anything we say is private. Why risk the Director’s wrath? This seems a lot like aiding the enemy, and I can’t imagine they’ll go easy on you,” she said.

“It
is
aiding the enemy,” Jordan agreed. He sighed heavily. “At this point I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing. Sheila is convinced some sort of apocalypse is coming. I faced Professor Smith in San Diego recently, and he said much the same, that the werewolves are our only chance.”

“You saw Blair?” Bridget asked, trying not to sound too eager. A surge of elation passed through her. He was alive, and Mohn didn’t have him. Otherwise Jordan would have said captured, not faced.

“He’s alive and well. And has some damn-scary friends,” Jordan said, cracking the first genuine smile Bridget had ever seen him give. “My team came home empty handed. He got away, but I’m almost positive he’s coming here.”

“To wake the Mother,” Bridget said. She could hug Jordan, though she doubted he’d react well to that. “He’s always been resourceful. I’m sure he’ll make it back here somehow, and I doubt you’ll be able to keep him out of the pyramid. He’ll find a way.”

“I have a feeling you’re right,” Jordan admitted. He didn’t look terribly concerned. “When he comes, we’ll do everything we can to stop him. You know that, right? He was seriously wounded in San Diego. He might not survive an attempt on the pyramid. Especially not with all the ordnance that Mohn has moved in. We’re prepared for war, Bridget. And I’m the guy they’ve put in charge of the battle. I can’t let him get to the Mother. I know you and Sheila disagree with that, but I’ve been given a job and I have to do it.”

“So you never question orders, then?” she asked, wielding the accusation with the expert skill she’d learned first dating Blair and later, Steve.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jordan growled, though she wasn’t sure if he was angry at her or with himself. “I don’t know if stopping Blair is the best decision, but that’s the job I’ve been tasked with, and I’ll do it to the best of my abilities. Mohn isn’t some soulless corporation. We believe we’re doing the right thing. Sheila has me questioning things, but if we’re in the wrong here, it’s through ignorance, not malice.”

“Then why are you here?” Bridget asked. Then she hurriedly raised a hand to forestall him. “Not that I’m not grateful. I haven’t had any company in weeks. It’s just that if you’re so determined to stop Blair, and you know I want the same thing he does…well, I guess I just don’t understand your motivation.”

“I promised Sheila I’d deliver that note,” Jordan explained, darting a nervous glance at the door. “Beyond that? I think you’ve been given a raw deal. I like you, Bridget. You’re smart and capable and you get results. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you’re suffering for it. Me? I think you can be trusted, and I think it’s the worst kind of idiocy to lock you away. I’ve seen what female werewolves can do. You could shred this place like paper if you really wanted out.”

“You’d be smart to kill me,” she said, shocked by her own honesty. But Jordan was being honest. Didn’t she owe him the same? “You know I’ll help Blair if given the chance. So if you think I can break out of this place, doesn’t that make me a threat?”

“Absolutely,” Jordan admitted, smiling again. It looked good on him, and it almost gave her hope that they could be friends. “But I’m drawing a line in the sand. I’ve had to compromise on some pretty core issues since working for Mohn. This isn’t an area I’m willing to budge in. Like I said, I like you, Bridget. I hope we don’t end up on opposite sides of this. That could be messy.”

Chapter 69- First Wave

The ancient wooden chair creaked alarmingly as Trevor lowered himself into it. He banged a knee tucking it under the narrow desk, stifling a curse at the sudden pain. Calling the ‘office’ a closet would have been generous back in the states. Harry Potter had more room under the stairs at the Dursleys’.

The center of the desk bowed under one of the massive CRT monitors that had been phased out nearly a decade ago. Stacks of unpaid bills flanked it, and a huge black tower competed for space with his legs under the desk. Trevor stabbed the power button on the bulky machine, the noisy fan firing up like a jet engine as the thing whirred to life.

“You are a dangerous man, Trevor,” a voice purred from behind in heavily accented English. The floor creaked, and a soft hand rested on Trevor’s shoulder. “Liz used to tell me stories about you.”

Conflicting emotions bounced about in his head like marbles in a blender. On the one hand, he was preoccupied with the end of the world. He needed to know if the sunspot had burst yet. The CME’s first wave could already have happened, and if that was the case, they had no more than two days before the second knocked out most of the world’s power.

On the other, it had been a very long time since Trevor had enjoyed the touch of a woman, particularly one as gorgeous as Cyntia. He knew almost nothing about her, though she seemed to know a great deal about him. The Windows ‘98 logo appeared on the computer screen as the system booted, and he took the opportunity to face Cyntia.

“Dangerous to a six pack of Guinness and an unlucky trout, maybe,” he said, giving her a wry smile. He wasn’t very adept at flirting.

Cyntia was gorgeous, in the same way a tiger could be called gorgeous. Short, voluptuous, blond, and dark skinned. Yet, like a tiger’s, her beauty was somehow calculated, lulling a man into a stupor just before she struck. She gave a throaty laugh as if he’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.