Destiny and Deception (26 page)

Mikey’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously. You gotta key?”

“You kidding me?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hold on. I’ll get it outta the lockbox.” He fumbled a minute below the counter and I heard the squeak of hinges as something opened. Victorious, he held up a simple-looking key and keyring.

Mikey took it, an air of solemnity passing between the two. “Come with me.”

I nodded and followed him down a hall and to a bank of elevators.

He glanced at the line of them—all identical and gleaming—and then turned down a smaller hall I would not have noticed, and paused outside an elegantly crafted metal gate that fenced in an older, engraved elevator door.

He pressed the single button and the doors pulled apart. Then he motioned for me to step inside.

Within the whole of New York City, it is often remarked that the building with the most elegant elevators is the Flatiron Building. Having one brief occasion to be inside one, I would have agreed.

Until now.

The walls were lined with mirrors and giltwork, but done so as to be a fine integration of modified stained glass and mirror shards. It was like standing in the middle of a Tiffany lamp—as if I were the light.

Above my head hung a chandelier that swayed very gently as we left the first floor and made soft tinkling noises as we rose toward the penthouse.

Mikey stood nearly in the elevator’s center, which, considering the size of both the guard and the traveling box, still left ample room for me.

“The boss likes his stuff fancy,” Mikey explained. “Gold leaf, Swarovski Crystal…” He eyed the chandelier warily. “Me? I prefer a single bulb in a simple light—something I don’t hafta worry about comin’ crashing down on my head.” He shrugged, the epaulets on his uniform crinkling. “But I’m a simple guy. The boss is far from simple.”

“How so?” I asked.

He shrugged. “He has exotic tastes and a history that’s a bit hush-hush. People claim he did some highly illegal things back in the day.”

Highly illegal. Like being a very big part of a group that kidnapped children, killed their parents, and experimented on their genes to force them to change into werewolves. No wonder his employees thought his history was a bit hush-hush. Some things you did not want getting out. Of course
some
things were hardly believable if they
did
get out. “What do you think?”

“He’s the head of a multinational corporation. Let he who’s blameless cast the first stone, you know? What corporate head hasn’t done some dirty dealing?”

“An excellent question.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down at my loafers. “So. Any other rumors about the boss?”

“The normal stuff. That he bugs every room and taps every wire.”

“Prudent behavior in a large company of such value.”

“See, that’s what I think. You gotta look out for number one and that’s just what the boss is doing. Can’t fault a man for protecting what’s his and keeping control of it.”

Especially if what is his was most of the work that went into designing werewolves. “So how old is the boss now? He must be, as they say,
getting up there
…”

The elevator rocked to a gentle stop, the chandelier quivering and throwing prisms of light onto the mirror pieces. Disorienting at best.

The doors began their slow slide open and Mikey said, “The boss is a tough old bird. His age don’t matter. This is your stop.…” With a flourish suiting a doorman more than a guard he pointed me out into what was essentially a large foyer.

More tropical plants lined the broad expanse, filling the space with a humidity and richness of scent the werewolves would have found cloying with so much sweetness. I breathed deep, remembering a brief jaunt to the tropics with fondness and wondering if this was anything like Nadezhda’s current location would smell.

“Greetings,” a man in a sharp suit and tie said. “I have heard that you are Alexi Rusakova, the son of Hazel Feldman and grandson of Mordechai?” He stuck out his hand and I grabbed it, giving it a firm shake.

“
Da
, I am the same.”

“Quite a pedigree you have there—if you don’t mind me using the term
pedigree.
…”

“It seems appropriate.”

“Well, Mr. Wondermann is ready to meet you. We’re all very curious to hear about this information you have. It seems you know quite a bit about our operations already.”

He stuck out a hand, motioning me forward toward a high set of windows just beyond a large desk with an empty chair.

“Will he be arriving soon?”

“Oh. I apologize.” My guide slipped around the huge desk and made himself comfortable in the chair.

I swallowed hard. This was not what I expected. “So, Mr. Wondermann…”

“Senior? He’s my father.”

“Oh. And he’s…”

“Unavailable. But I know everything he does. And a bit more.” He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

I nodded lamely, slowly recognizing my guide from the portrait downstairs, evidently painted a decade earlier. The last ten years had not softened him at all, indeed it appeared they’d done the opposite.

“Please sit.” He motioned to a glossy leather seat. “I am very excited to meet you, Alexi. My father and your grandfather knew each other quite well.” He studied my face. “Didn’t they?”

Again I nodded.

“So I remember my father’s version of what happened at Bolkgorod, but I’d like to hear yours.” He left the desk and approached me, sitting on the couch’s armrest, perched like some bird of prey examining a potential meal. “Tell me a story, Alexi.”

So I told him the story of Bolkgorod, but far more important was what I said when I’d completed my tale. “Your corporation is currently running drug trials on students at Junction High School, just a few hours from here by train.”

“Yes.”

“I need that to stop.”

He blinked at me. “And why should I stop it?”

“You surely have all the data you need already and you’re putting your test subjects at great risk.”

He shrugged. “Go public.”

I knew a dare when I heard one. “We both know no one would believe me.”

He smiled.

I set my jaw. “I know how to cure the oboroten.”

“Good. And?”

“I’m only a step away from perfecting the cure.”

He nodded slowly.

“And if you have the perfected cure…”

“I can, of course, reverse-engineer it and make sure the triggering of a werewolf is irreversible.”

“
Da
.”

“You would give me that knowledge to save a handful of pimply faced students at a public school that’s always at risk of having funding pulled due to mediocre performance?”

“
Da
.”

“Do you imagine yourself some hero?”

“Hardly,” I admitted.

“I always thought it might be fun to be a villain—some hero’s nemesis. But, if you’re no hero…”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Close to having a permanent cure? Let’s say we make this deal. What do you have for me as insurance that you won’t go back on it? What do you have of value to give me in good faith?”

“A poem that gives the basic ingredients for the cure.” I held out a copy of the page from Grandfather’s thirteenth journal. “You stop the tampering and give me a lab and you’ll get your perfected cure.”

He motioned me forward and, reaching across the desk, took the paper I pulled from my pocket, unfolding it carefully. His eyes lit at what he saw. “How interesting. I do so enjoy poetry.” He extended one hand and I took it, shaking it firmly. “It appears we have a deal.”

Marlaena

That night I ran for more than the hunt and the sensation of being wild and free. I ran to clear my head and I let my human worries jumble in with my wolf’s mind.

Rounding a corner in a trail out near the Rusakova house I caught an odd scent and slowed down, circling back.

A wolf?
Dead?

At the base of a tree was a lump, obscured by a coat of snow. I nosed at it. Definitely wolf. I began to dig. Past the snow was a thin layer of rocks and dirt. And beyond that was fur. And flesh. I summoned my hands to tug the frozen thing free.

A pelt. My heart sped. A wolf pelt. Sucking down the scent I realized I recognized it.

The Rusakova female—
Cat
. Was this what happened when one was cured? They left behind a pelt? Buried it? Morbid curiosity grew inside me. Then where was Pietr’s?

I moved more slowly through the area, nose snuffling a hairsbreadth above the snow. They were both cured. At the same time … ah. His was buried deeper, more carefully, and just down the hill from the house. I drank down his scent, warmth filling my every cell. What was it about Pietr Rusakova?

And twisting faintly around his scent was another. I paced a few steps to the left. Another grave. Also carefully constructed. Here the scent was weaker—older. But … I prowled the site. I had to be certain. I breathed as deeply as I could, my ribs aching as my lungs filled to capacity and pressed against them.

There was no doubt about it.

The second pelt was also Cat’s.

But from perhaps a month earlier.

How did a cured werewolf have two discarded pelts? And why bury one so far away from the other—and in a hastily constructed shallow grave?

Perhaps Dmitri’s concerns were warranted.

Maybe the cure didn’t always hold.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jessie

I just couldn’t understand it—how was Pietr so quiet, soft spoken, and uninterested in seemingly everything? How was it fair that my beautiful Russian-American werewolf was not only less wolf but also seemed to be less man?

Of course, I also couldn’t explain the inexplicable draw of the mall. And yet, we were all headed there together. It was a diversion. A needed break.

Sophie was getting better, having stopped eating the school food again; Marlaena had seemingly decided to leave us alone—which only worried me more—and Alexi was spending weekends in the city working on whatever had allowed him to get the company to stop sending the tainted food to Junction High.

And I was spending way more time than anyone should in the boiler room talking to kids, some of whose powers were waning—some of whom believed their powers had been the only thing that made them special.

So the mall was at least a way to take my mind off of that. And put it back on the problems Pietr and I were still having.

Max still flirted, although more gently now, and teased and played, and although some aspects of his personality seemed lessened, somehow it did little to diminish who he really was. It sucked. Amy was still trying to avoid heat and passion, and her boyfriend had some, while I was desperate for a little bit of passion and it had been wrung out of my boyfriend like water from a sponge.

First stop: the clothing shop. And a decision formed in my mind. Amy and Cat drifted through the aisles, hands patting the clothing hanging on the racks as they made little noises of satisfaction and curiosity and occasionally held up something suspended from a clothes hanger. I followed, trailed by the boys and doubtful that I had any need of any new clothing that I couldn’t also use on the farm.

Their arms filled with a variety of different tops, sweaters, and pants, Amy and Cat looked at me expectantly. “Come on, Jessie,” Amy said encouragingly. “Grab something and let’s go back and try stuff on.” She reached over to a rack and picked something out for me, holding it boldly up against my chest. “What size are you? Ten? Twelve?”

I took the top from her and turned it around to look at it a moment. Cute, but I was having a tough time getting excited about clothing. “It depends on the manufacturer.”

Pietr and Max tried to appear interested in the conversation, but I could see the glaze wash across their eyes as we talked clothing styles, sizes, and companies.

“Let’s go, girls,” Cat instructed, grabbing our hands and heading toward the store’s back. “We’ll have a little impromptu fashion show.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the boys and noticed the spark of interest lighting Max’s eyes.

“What do you think, Pietr?” I said, turning and waving the top in his direction. “Should I toss this on and hop out and show it to you?”

But no spark of interest popped in Pietr’s eyes, even though he nodded politely. “Sure, Jess. I’d love to see you in it.” Maybe it was depression. Healing as a simple human sucked.

I contained my sigh and turned to begin the long march back to the dressing rooms, bumping into Amy, who had stopped ahead of us. “What’s wrong?”

She glanced from her clothing, low cut and pretty things—things that reminded us that Amy was certainly female—and then looked at Max and swallowed hard. “I thought it was going to just be us girls,” she explained apologetically.

Max cleared his throat and jabbed Pietr in the ribs with his elbow. “
Horashow
—good,” he said, although I could tell he was lying, “Pietr and I will go over to the game shop and see what new shooter games there are. You girls find us there. Sound good?”

“New shooter games?” Like they didn’t have enough experience fighting bad guys regularly. But I saw the look of warning in Max’s face and knew what he was thinking. That as much as he would rather see Amy trying on clothes and having a good time, he would easily sacrifice his happiness for hers.

“Oh. Oh, sure.” I nodded. “You guys go on. We’ll catch up later.”

Max leaned forward and kissed Amy gently on the top of her forehead. It was such a gentlemanly thing for him to do, so unlike the rogue that Max was happy to play, it made my heart hurt just a little bit to see how we all had changed: some because of the cure, and some because of cruel circumstance and the actions of crueler people.

Amy just stood there and tried to smile at Max’s gentle show of affection, but I knew that even being given such a tender kiss was somehow killing her.

Pietr looked at me, nodded, noting the distance between us and the fact that Max and Amy also stood in that distance acting as two small walls, and merely said, “I guess we’ll see you in a little while.”