The Mountain's Shadow (32 page)

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to be making deals, Doctor Fisher.”

“Oh, but I think I am.” I drew on the insouciance that had gotten the sheriff to buy breakfast for me, the anger that caused me to confront Leo, the frustration that made me tell Iain off, and the pain that Robert’s revelations had left me with. I leaned forward. “I’ll take you to the cave in the woods. I’ll even help you rescue your son. But you have to promise to testify against Hippocrates and Cabal.”

He laughed, and it wasn’t pleasant. “How about this? You take me to my son, and I’ll think about whether to keep you alive or not after I find him.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then shut it. Robert was still out there. So were Leo, Ron, Lonna and Gabriel. I may not be able to count on them to defend me, but it was a chance I had to take.

As if reading my thoughts, Peter smiled. “And if you think one of those mutt-men may come to your rescue, don’t worry.” He held out his hand and showed me what he held in his palm—silver bullets.

Chapter Nineteen

Our shoes made tracks in the dew on the grass, which was frosted by the gray early morning sunlight. The air smelled sharp, the chill settling into my skin. A mist rose from the ground and wreathed the trees in otherworldly fog, their branches held high in warning or fear at the creatures who roamed among their roots under the moon.

I paused. The light hadn’t made it into the woods yet, and shadows still twisted and undulated in the fog. I reminded myself the most lethal shadow walked behind me, his footprints in mine, his hand on the gun he held in the pocket of his navy jacket.

I found one of the deer paths my grandfather and I had explored when I was a child. When I stepped on the crunching rocks, the image of the trail came to my mind, and I walked forward with confidence. The path toward the river was gentler from this side of the mountain. The ground leveled off, although it still sloped toward the riverbank. I could hear the water, its soothing gurgle audible but faintly muted in the morning mist. The vapor hung heavily here, and I had to tread slowly so as not to lose the path or my footing, for as we got closer to the river, the rocky path turned to dirt, then to slippery mud.

“How much farther?” Peter hissed, his voice coming through the fog from somewhere behind me.

“Not too long,” I told him and wondered if I could make a run for it at this point.

“Don’t even think of trying to run,” he whispered after me. “I can still see you.”

Damn.
I grabbed a tree trunk to keep from sliding the last few feet to the riverbank and thought I heard a twig snap nearby, but I couldn’t be sure. I moved away from the tree, and Peter came after me. He seemed to not be in danger of losing his footing, although his hiking boots were caked with mud.

“What now?”

I held my hand up, listening, but the noise of the rushing water filled my ears. “Follow me.”

We headed upstream, and I saw our footprints from the night before, mine and Iain’s, then Simon’s. Surely whoever was in the cave must have seen them, for there were more prints beside them, adult-sized boots and small paw prints. My heart skipped a beat, then rage welled up. They were using the children to hunt us! And I thought it had just been Robert. I worried for Iain’s safety, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He’d just have to take care of himself. As for Leo, I hoped he’d gotten the boy—and himself—somewhere secure.

We came to the fork in the river.

“All you have to do is follow that branch to the canyon,” I said.

“All
we
have to do,” he corrected me. “And how do we get across?”

“Carefully.” The footprints on the bank led us to a crossing point, a series of stones in the water. We stepped from rock to rock. I planted my feet and tried not to look at the water rushing between the current stone and my next target. That’s how it went: plant, shift, stretch, plant again. I thought about making a run for it when I got to the bank on the other side, but a look back told me Peter still had control of his weapon in spite of his slippery passage. I didn’t want him to shoot me or warn anyone who might be near of our presence.

I stopped and listened again but didn’t hear anything aside from the water and the usual early morning noises of the forest. We followed the footsteps away from the main river and down the smaller stream. The mist hung here too, but not nearly as heavily. I stopped a few times, sure I’d heard the snap of a twig or the slow breathing of something watching us from the forest, but every time I stopped, so did the sound.

A rustling in the branches startled me, and I halted. Peter stumbled into me, and for a moment I felt the hard rim of the weapon in his pocket through the material of his jacket.

“Stop doing that,” he hissed in my ear.

“We’re being watched.”

He drew his weapon and leveled it at me. With his thumb, he clicked the safety catch off. “Keep going.”

“Don’t you hear it? We’re being followed.”

“That’s why I have the silver bullets. Keep going.”

I shoved my hands in my pocket to warm my chilled fingers. The terrain to either side of the bank grew rockier, and instead of looking up through tree trunks, I instead found myself walking through the eroded lip of the canyon. Small, scrubby bushes and vines clung to the sides, and time seemed to turn back to the end of night before full sunrise. I could barely see in front of me as we entered the gloom.

“Where’s the cave?” I had been so intent on keeping my feet dry on the narrow path by the river I hadn’t heard Peter close the distance between us. “It should be in here somewhere.”

“Did you bring a flashlight?” he asked.

“No. We came from your house, remember?”

“Here.” He passed a small ultralight flashlight into my hand, and I used it to illuminate our way. Above us, I could see blue sky, but the walls of the canyon cast deep shadows.

The river’s noise filled the ravine, and if something was following us, I couldn’t hear it. I felt naked and exposed with the light, but there was nothing I could do. I only hoped whoever guarded the laboratory hadn’t seen us.

“Over there.” Peter gestured to the end of the canyon, where the river disappeared into the walls, and a jagged gash swallowed the light as well as the water. “Shine your light in there.”

“Are you crazy?” I whispered. “You may as well shoot the damn gun and alert all of them.”

He didn’t have time to argue. We heard a low growl just behind us, and he swung around. I switched the light off, shoved it in my pocket, and ran toward the gash. A gunshot ricocheted off the walls. I hit the ground and covered my head just as a large, furry body crashed into me. We tumbled around, me struggling, and it snapping and snarling at my throat. Then my head hit a rock, and just before I blacked out, I heard a man scream in terror.

I came to with a pounding headache and with my wrists tied in front of me. I lay on my side on a sandy surface with hard rock underneath. Peter’s mini flashlight dug into my ribs, and I rolled on to my back. I found the sore spot where I’d hit my head and couldn’t suppress a groan.

“Doctor Fisher?” The accent and the voice were familiar, albeit a little hoarse.

“Gabriel?”

“Aye.”

“Is it her? Is she all right?” This voice, older, familiar, one I never thought I’d hear again.

“Grandfather?”

“Are you okay, Joanna? Did they hurt you?”

“I don’t know yet.” I rolled on to my side again, then sat up on my knees and rubbed my head, checking for injuries. I found a huge knot that made me see stars when I touched it.

“I’m a little shaken up, that’s all.” My left wrist throbbed, and I could feel it swollen against the binds. “I’m tied up.”

“We all are.” This voice, rueful, was Lonna’s.

“What happened to you?” I asked. “We went to get clothes, and you were gone.”

“She remembers nothing,” Gabriel said. “It’s not uncommon after the first change. You wake up, usually naked and sometimes in a compromising position, and ask yourself what the hell happened.”

“Yeah, like your first time getting smashed at a frat party,” Lonna added. I was relieved to hear the usual hint of humor in her voice.

I heard something shuffling toward me, and I shrank back, unsure in the absence of light what it could be. Then I smelled sweat, dried blood, and river water and felt calloused fingers caress my face.

“Grandfather?”

“I’m here, Joanna.”

“I’d hug you, but I’m a little incapacitated.”

He chuckled. “I understand. We’ll get our hugs in later.”

“Let me see you.”

“How? There’s no light in here.”

“Where are we?”

“In a side room off the main cavern.” This voice was younger and unfamiliar. “There’s a metal door they keep closed during the day and night and only pull us out when they want to draw blood or experiment on us.”

“Who is that?”

“Johnny.”

My throat tightened with tears. “Louise’s grandson?”

“Yes.” The voice sounded small and afraid.

“How many of you are in here? Wait a second, shut your eyes.” I twisted until the flashlight was in my hands, and I turned it on. The powerful beam, even aimed toward the ceiling, was enough to illuminate the prison and its inhabitants. Everyone squinted.

I saw Lonna and Gabriel, both naked except for dingy white lab coats. Ropes ran from their tied wrists to large iron rings bolted into the walls. Three boys ranging in age from ten to twelve were also tied up. My grandfather, his cheeks sunken and covered with stubble, sat beside them. His shrewd, knowing eyes were the same. We were tied to adjacent rings.

“Why hasn’t anyone untied themselves?” I asked. “Or the others, rather. You can all reach.”

“They make us change too fast, so our fingers don’t work as well as they should,” Johnny explained.

A horrible realization broke to the forefront of my brain, and I flexed my fingers experimentally. Stiff and numb, all of them. I’d thought it was from being tied so tight.

“Pull up my sleeve, please,” I said, and my grandfather obliged, his fingers cramped and unwieldy as well. As I feared, on my forearm just below the ropes, a small red puncture wound. I had been infected.

“How soon is the first transformation?” I asked.

“Usually it wouldn’t be until the next full moon, but the formula they use is different. It may be tonight.”

“What time is it?” But there was no way to tell—they had taken my watch. How had they missed the flashlight? Or maybe they wanted me to know and to fear. I looked around the room, but no one would meet my eyes, not even my grandfather. I remembered the heartrending scream and Simon Van Doren’s hoarseness.

“What’s going to happen to me?” My voice, small, echoed in the stone chamber. No one could—or would—answer.

I didn’t speak to anyone, and they left me to my despair. I knew what was happening to me, could picture the physiological process as the viral vector raced through my bloodstream and replicated, attacking my cells and finding a certain combination on a specific genetic strand. It wasn’t comforting.

I wanted to deny I had the CLS potential, but there was the Landover Curse, the one that skipped a generation. I knew now what it was.

“Did you read those books I gave you, Joanna?” The voice was my grandfather’s.

“I was familiar with them already.”

“So you read the one by Lecouteaux, on shapeshifting?”

“It’s a classic. I’ve practically memorized it.”

“Use it.” With those cryptic words, he bowed his head and fell silent.

I’d had enough of silence. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a werewolf? Why didn’t you let me in when you knew I was studying it?”

“Would you have believed me if I had?”

“I don’t know.” The lab seemed so far away from this cave, this despair. So did the Manor. I wondered if Iain was having any luck, if he’d missed me yet. Even if he did alert his friends, what proof did we have? Werewolves and kidnapped children? You can’t build a legal case on a fairytale, no matter how gruesome.

The air changed, and I became aware of a hum, a vibration through the cave floor and walls. Spots floated at the edge of my vision, and I felt as though my lungs were being squeezed. I gasped for air but couldn’t fill them and wheezed. I doubled over and toppled from my knees to the floor in the fetal position as pain shot from my heels through my hamstrings, my lower back, my shoulders and my neck—like giant hands were wringing me out and shaping me into something I wasn’t. My clothes, which had been comfortable, felt tight in all the wrong places, and I strained against the fabric, panting and moaning.

“Use it!” my grandfather yelled. “Use the book. And open your mouth.”

I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out as I remembered what I had found in the study, books about how rather than physically changing into werewolves, people would fall into a trance and allow their spiritual aspect to roam free. Some called it a doppelganger, others an astral projection. I felt something bitter on my tongue: aconite. My shuddering stopped, and I shrank in from my body, like it was a shell. I pulled away from my skin and my bones until I was hidden inside.