The next morning, I stayed in bed as long as I could, stretching out sleep in the unlikely event that Jeremy was still trying to contact me and only needed a few more minutes. At eighty-thirty, I admitted defeat. I wasn't sleeping, only keeping my eyes closed and faking it.
I shifted my legs out of bed, doubled over, and almost collapsed to the floor. My stomach felt like someone had sliced open all the muscles while I slept. Who'd think five little puncture wounds could hurt so much? The fact that they were self-inflicted didn't help. One day into my captivity and I was already doing more damage to myself than to my enemies. Maybe Patrick Lake was in more pain than I was. Not likely. My back had seized up overnight from Lake's stomping, and as I struggled to stand straight, my body revolted from both sides, stomach and spine. I hobbled to the shower. Steaming water helped my back but set my stomach afire. Cold water soothed my stomach but tightened my back again. Day two was off to a wonderful start.
My mood sank when Bauer brought my breakfast. No complaints about the meal, of course, and not really any complaint about Bauer bringing it, but one look at her sent my spirits plummeting. Bauer sauntered in wearing snug-fitting beige suede pants, a billowing white linen shirt, and knee-high boots, her hair artlessly swept up in a clip, cheeks flushed with pink that didn't come from a bottle, smelling faintly of horse, as if she'd just breezed in from a morning ride. I was dressed in a ripped and bloodstained shirt, my too-fine hair knotted from the harsh shampoo, and my eyes bloated from a rough night. When she called out a cheery good morning, I stumped over to the table, unable to stand fully erect or manage more than the most monosyllabic grunt in greeting. Even bent over, I was four or five inches taller than Bauer. I felt like a Neanderthal woman--big, ugly, and none too bright.
When Bauer tried to entice me into conversation, I was tempted to thwart her efforts again, but a peaceful breakfast wasn't a luxury I could afford. If I had to plot my own escape, I needed to get out of this cell. The best way to get out of this cell would be to "join" my captors. And the best way to join them would be to secure Bauer's favor. So I had to play nice. This was tougher than it sounded. Oddly enough, I had a problem sitting around chatting about the weather with the woman who'd thrown me into captivity.
"So you live near Syracuse," she said as I tore into my bagel.
I nodded, mouth full.
"My family's from Chicago," she said. "Bauer Paper Products. Have you heard of it?"
"It sounds familiar," I lied.
"Old money. Very old."
Should I be impressed? I feigned it with a wide-eyed nod.
"It's odd, you know," she said, settling into her chair. "Growing up with that kind of name, that kind of money. Well, not odd for me. It's all I know. But you see yourself reflected through other people's eyes and you know you're considered very lucky. Born with the proverbial silver spoon. You're supposed to be happy, and God help you if you aren't."
"Money can't buy happiness," I said, the cliche bitter on my tongue. Was that what this was about? Poor little rich girl? I'm rich and unhappy so I kidnap innocent strangers--well, maybe not so innocent, but unwitting nonetheless.
"But you are happy," Bauer said. A statement, not a question.
I managed a half-genuine smile. "Well, at this very moment, being held captive in a cell, I wouldn't exactly say--"
"But otherwise. Before this. You're happy with your life."
"No complaints. It's not perfect. There's still that nasty werewolf curse--"
"You don't see it that way, though. As a curse. You say it, but you don't mean it."
She stared at me now. No, not at me. Into me. Eyes blazing, leaning forward. Hungry. I pulled back.
"Some days I mean it. Trust me." I polished off my bagel. "These are great. Real New York bagels. I don't suppose there's any chance of seconds."
She leaned back, flames in her eyes extinguished, polite smile back in place. "I'm sure we can arrange something." She checked her watch. "I should be getting you up to Doctor Carmichael for your physical."
"Is that a daily routine?"
"Oh, no. Yesterday was just a checkup. Today is the full physical."
Bauer lifted her hand. The door opened and two guards walked in. So that's where they'd been hiding. I'd wondered, hoping maybe Bauer felt comfortable enough to forgo the armed entourage. Guess not. The appearance of trust, but a lack of substance. Or perhaps just a lack of stupidity. Damn.
I had a neighbor. When I stepped from my cell, I saw someone in the room across from mine. A woman seated at the table, her back to me. It looked like ... No, it couldn't be. Someone would have told me. I would have known. The woman turned half-profile. Ruth Winterbourne.
"When ...?" I asked.
Bauer followed my gaze and smiled as if I'd uncovered a hidden present. "She came in with you. We were in Vermont near the meeting hall that morning. When we saw you leave with the Danverses, Xavier and I decided to follow. The rest of the team stayed near the others. We knew someone would be alone eventually. Fortunately, it was Ruth. A very good catch. Of course, any one of them would have been good. Well, except her niece. Not much use in an apprentice witch of that age. Savannah is another matter, given her youth and what we know of her mother's powers."
"How come I didn't see Ruth yesterday?"
"The trip was unusually ... difficult for her. Her age. The very thing that makes her valuable is something of a liability. We overestimated the sedative dosage. But she's quite fine now, as you can see."
She didn't look fine. Maybe someone who'd never met Ruth would mistake the dull eyes, yellow-hued skin, and lethargic movements for normal signs of aging, but I knew better. Physically, she seemed well enough. No signs for illness or broken bones. The damage was deeper than that.
"She looks pretty down," I said. "Depressed."
"It happens." Statement of fact. No emotion.
"Maybe I could speak to her," I said. "Cheer her up."
Bauer tapped her long nails against her side, considering. If she saw an ulterior motive in my altruism, she gave no sign of it.
"Perhaps we could arrange something," she said. "You've been very cooperative, Elena. The others were worried, but other than the wall-punching, you've been surprisingly well behaved. I believe in rewarding good behavior."
Without another word, she turned and left me to follow. Inwardly I balked, but outwardly I trailed along at her heel like a well-trained puppy. Trained puppy indeed. Forgive me, but "well-behaved" is not a term one ought to apply to a grown woman, yet Bauer said it without malice or insinuation. Be a good puppy, Elena, and I'll give you a treat. The temptation to show Bauer exactly what I thought of her reward system was almost overwhelming. Almost. But I did want to talk to Ruth. She was my only contact in this place, and I wasn't above asking for help. A spell had gotten us out of that doomed situation in the Pittsburgh alley. With her spells and my strength, we should be able to devise a way out of here.
So I was a good puppy. I suffered through the physical without protest. This time my visit to the infirmary wasn't nearly so unintrusive. They took X rays, blood samples, urine samples, saliva samples, and samples of bodily fluids I didn't know I had. Then they attached wires to me and took readings of my heart and brain. Carmichael poked and prodded and asked questions I'd blush answering for my gynecologist. But I reminded myself that this was the price of talking to Ruth, so I ignored the intrusions and answered the questions.
The physical lasted several hours. At noon, someone knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a reply. Two guards walked in. They might even have been the ones who'd brought me up here, but I couldn't be sure. By this point, the crew cuts had blended into a nameless, faceless blob. Seen one, you've seen 'em all. One of the guards--maybe one of these two, maybe not--had stayed in the infirmary with me earlier, but after an hour or so, he'd muttered something about a shift change and told Dr. Carmichael to call for backup. She hadn't. When these two arrived, I thought they were coming to take the place of
that missing guard. Instead they escorted in the "human chameleon," Armen Haig.
"I'm running behind," Carmichael said, not turning from a series of X rays clipped to a lighted wall.
"Should we wait outside?" one guard asked.
"Not necessary. Please take the second table, Doctor Haig. I'll be right with you."
Haig nodded and walked to the table. His guards promised to return in an hour, then left. Unlike me, Haig wasn't even manacled. I suppose his powers weren't any great security risk. Even if he made himself look different, the guards were bound to notice an apparent stranger prowling the compound. Escape wasn't likely.
For the next twenty minutes, Carmichael bustled around the infirmary, checking X rays, peering through microscopes, jotting notes on a clipboard. Finally she stopped, surveyed the room, then snatched a tray of fluid-filled vials from a metal cart.
"I need to run a test in the lab before we finish up here, Ms. Michaels."
Deja vu or what? Bring another captive into a room with me, find an excuse for leaving that room, and see what fun and exciting chaos ensues. Couldn't these guys think up more than one ruse?
Carmichael headed for the exit, then stopped and looked from me to Haig. After a pause, she laid the tray on the counter and picked up the intercom phone. Though she turned her back and lowered her voice, her words were impossible to miss in the silent room. She asked someone in security whether there were any "issues" with leaving Haig and me together for a few minutes, if I was manacled. There weren't.
"Don't forget to turn on the camera," Haig murmured as she hung up. His voice was rich and honey-smooth, with traces of an accent.
Carmichael snorted. "I can't program my damned VCR. You think I can operate that thing?" She waved at the video camera mounted overhead. "A word of warning, though. Don't think of leaving. I'll be locking the door behind me. There's a perfectly functioning camera in the waiting room and guards in the hall. They won't look kindly on an escape attempt."
She took her tray of vials and left the room.
CHAPTER 18
PARTY
After Carmichael left, I studied the video camera for signs of activity, but it stayed silent and still.
"So," Haig said. "What are you in for?"
"Raping and pillaging."
The corners of his mouth turned up. "That would have been my first guess. Are you finding the accommodations to your liking?"
"My kennel, you mean?"
Another quarter-smile. "Ah, so you are the werewolf. I didn't know whether it was polite to ask. Emily Post doesn't cover circumstances such as this. Werewolf. Hmmm. I had a patient with lycanthropy once. Felt compelled to turn around three times before settling onto the couch. Quite trying. But he always brought in the paper from the front stoop."
I remembered how Carmichael had addressed him. "Doctor Haig," I said. "So you're a shr--psychiatrist?"
"A shrink, yes. My special abilities aren't very profitable in everyday life. I suppose they might help if I were to become an international assassin, but I'm a terrible shot. And please call me Armen. Formality seems rather out of place here."
"I'm Elena. Psychiatry, eh? So did you know Matasumi? Before you came here?"
"I'd heard of him." Dark lips curved in a moue of distaste. "Parapsychology. With a reputation for skirting the code of research ethics."
"Really? Go figure. You must have no shortage of people to analyze here, between the captives and captors."
"Frighteningly enough, the ones in the cages would be more likely to earn my recommendations for early release."
"Matasumi's got some definite issues," I said. "And Bauer?"
"One of the sanest, actually. Just sad. Very sad."
That wasn't the impression I got, but before I could press for details, Armen continued. "The one I'd most like to get on the couch is Tyrone Winsloe. Though once I had him there, I'd be sorely tempted to tie him to it and run like the devil."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Where do I start? Tyrone Winsloe is"--Armen cocked his head toward the door; footsteps entered the waiting room, then stopped--"out of town on business at the moment." He lowered his voice. "If you need any help ... adjusting, please ask. This isn't a very pleasant place. The sooner we can be out of it, the sooner we'll all feel much better."
As he fixed me with a knowing look, I knew he wasn't offering help with my psychological adjustment.
"As I said, my special ability isn't very useful," he murmured. "But I'm very observant ... as a psychiatrist. And like everyone, I can always use companionship. For moral support. Additional resources and strength. That, I believe, is your specialty. Strength."
The doorknob turned. Carmichael bumped it open with a clipboard and walked in, flipping through pages.
"Off you go, then, Ms. Michaels," she said. "Your escort is in the waiting room."
"A pleasure to meet you, Elena," Armen said as I left. "Do enjoy your stay."
Bauer and the guards took me back to the sitting/interrogation room. One guard fastened me to the leg and torso restraints, and removed my arm restraints, which pleased me until I realized they'd only left my hands free so I could eat lunch. Once I finished, on went the handcuffs. Then Matasumi and Tess joined us, and I endured round two of interrogation.
A couple of hours later, as Bauer walked me to my cell, I checked across the hall. The opposite cell was empty.
"Where's Ruth?" I asked.
"A slight setback. She's in the infirmary."
"Is she okay?"
"There's no immediate danger. We're probably over reacting, but our guests' health is very important."
"Can I see her when she comes back?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said, reaching for the door to my cell. "But I have arranged for company of a different sort."
"I'd like to speak to Ruth."
Pushing open my door, Bauer walked through as if I hadn't said anything. The guards prodded me forward. I stepped into my cell, then stopped. My hackles rose, and some ancient instinct warned me that my den had been invaded.
"You remember Leah, don't you?" Bauer said.
The red-haired half-demon sat at my table, pouring a glass of wine. She glanced up and smiled.
"Hey," she said. "Elena, right?"
I nodded.
"Welcome to the party," she said, raising her glass in a toast. "Can you believe this? Wine, cheese, fancy crackers. I don't eat this well at home. Are you joining us, Sondra?"
"If you don't mind."
"The more the merrier." Leah beamed a smile 100 percent sarcasm-free. "May I pour you ladies a glass?"
"Please," Bauer said.
I didn't answer, but Leah filled two more glasses. As Bauer stepped forward to take hers, I could only gape. A wine and cheese party? Please tell me they were kidding.
"Do you like white?" Bauer asked, extending a glass to me. "It's a very good vintage."
"Uh--thanks." I took the wine and managed to fold myself into a chair, a task that seemed far more onerous than it should.
"Elena's a journalist," Bauer said.
"Really? TV or radio?" Leah asked.
"Print," I murmured, though it came out as a guttural mutter, dangerously close to a grunt.
"She does freelance work," Bauer said. "Covering Canadian politics. She's Canadian."
"Oh? Interesting. You guys have a prime minister, right? Not a president."
I nodded.
Leah gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Well, there's the extent of my knowledge of international politics. Sorry."
We sipped our wine.
"Leah's a deputy sheriff in Wisconsin," Bauer said.
I nodded, struggling to think of some germane comment to make and coming up blank. Oh, please, Elena. You can do better than this. Say something. Say anything. Don't sit there like a grunting, nodding idiot. After we'd touched on my career, I should have asked Leah about hers. That was how small talk worked. My experience socializing with other women was e
mbarrassingly slight, but certain rules held true no matter who you were talking to.
"So you're a police officer," I said, then winced inwardly. Duh. If I couldn't come up with something more intelligent than that, I should keep my mouth shut.
"Not as exciting as it sounds," Leah said. "Especially not in Wisconsin. Cheese, anyone?"
She cut wedges from a round of Gouda and proffered the cheese board. We each took one, along with a lacy cracker that crumbled most unbecomingly as I bit into it. As we munched, Bauer refilled our half-empty wineglasses. I downed mine, praying it might help, then noticed both women watching me.
"Thirstier than I thought," I said. "Maybe I should stick to water."
Bauer smiled. "Drink all you want. There's more where that came from."
"So, do you live in Canada?" Leah asked.
I hesitated, but realized if I didn't answer, Bauer would. My life wasn't exactly a secret around here. "New York State."
"Her husband's American," Bauer said. "Clayton is your husband, isn't he? We couldn't find a marriage record, but when we were following you, I noticed he wears a wedding ring." She glanced at my left hand. "Oh, but you don't. That's an engagement ring you have, though, isn't it?"
"Long story," I said.
Leah leaned forward. "Those are always the best."
I inched back in my chair. "So, how about you two? Married? Boyfriends?"
"I've run through the marriageable material in my little town," Leah said. "I've put my name in for a transfer before the seventy-year-old widowers start looking good."
"I've been married," Bauer said. "Youthful rebellion. Married him because my father forbade it and soon realized that sometimes father does know best."
"What does your husband do?" Leah asked me.
"Clayton's an anthropologist," Bauer answered before I could deflect the question.
"Oh? That sounds ... fascinating."
Sipping her wine, Bauer gave a giggling laugh. "Admit it, Leah. It sounds perfectly awful."
"I didn't say it," Leah said.
Bauer drained her glass and refilled everyone's. "No, but you were thinking it. Trust me, this guy is no tweedy academic. You should see him. Blond curls, blue eyes, and a body ... Greek god material."
"Got a photo?" Leah asked me.
"Uh, no. So, how do you like--"
"We have some surveillance pictures upstairs," Bauer said. "I'll show them to you later. Elena is a very lucky girl."