chapter thirty-two

Werewolves show up in folktales throughout the world," I said. "Armenian stories talk of God punishing women by wrapping them in cursed wolf pelts. The women are human during the day, but monsters at night, murdering and feasting on their loved ones. Other cultures tell of skin-walkers, humans who take on the power of wolves and other beasts by donning their fur. The Úlfhednar of Norway dressed in wolfskins and were said to be all but unstoppable. Countless fairy tales talk of enchanted belts that transform the unsuspecting into monsters."

I was stalling, presenting background information instead of jumping to the heart of my confession. Nidhi knew it, too. I could tell from the crease between her eyebrows.

"They experimented to see if werewolf skins retained their magic, and if that intrinsic magic from…from freshly harvested samples…could be transferred to human beings."

Jeff lunged at me, but Lena moved just as fast. She kicked him in the side, and his jaws clacked shut, missing me by inches. Jeff's claws scraped the floor, but before he could recover, Lena was kneeling on his neck. She clutched her bokken in both hands, holding it like a quarterstaff, and ready to strike with either end.

"Their work wasn't sanctioned," I said. "When Gutenberg found out, he put an end to it." The researchers had been transferred to other regions. A slap on the wrist, considering what they had done.

"What did you do?" Jeff growled.

"Their experiments failed. The skins didn't preserve the magic long enough to be useful." When I read their papers eight years ago, I hadn't thought about werewolves. I had been too busy thinking about the possibilities. What if infusing people with magic could be as easy as applying a nicotine patch?

"You thought wendigo skins might work better," Lena said.

"Their results suggested a process of rapid magical and biological decay," I said miserably. "I thought the cold might slow or even stop that process."

Jeff had stopped struggling, but his ears were flat against his head.

"The Porters have…samples…from various species," I said. "I requisitioned—Ray helped me to order a patch of wendigo hide. About two square inches, packed in dry ice. We used rats from the pet store, shaving their fur and applying a tiny square. Two didn't respond at all, but the third showed increased strength and hostility. The changes lasted for several days."

"How do you collect these samples?" Jeff snarled.

"When a werewolf goes feral, the pack hunts him or her down. Other

magical creatures aren't as self-regulating, so the Porters have to get involved." I stared through the window. "The bodies are brought back for study and disposal."

"You said wendigos revert to human form when they die," Lena said.

"I know." I couldn't look at her. "I suspect they put the wendigo into some kind of stasis. It wouldn't have felt anything."

It had all been so logical eight years ago. Only a handful of intrinsically magical creatures were sentient. Most were closer to animals. The more we could learn, the better we'd be able to manage them, even protect them when necessary.

How much of our work had August Harrison been able to access? He must have found Victor's notes, and he had obviously discovered my research papers. Had he been searching specifically for ways to gain power, or had he stumbled onto my reports by accident?

"Did you or anyone else proceed to human trials with wendigo skins?" Nidhi asked. Both her words and her expression were professionally neutral.

"Not that I know of." The vampires appeared nonplussed by my revelations, but then, I wasn't telling them anything they didn't know. Deb might not have been familiar with every one of my projects, but she knew the Porters' research practices, just as she knew our history was stained by those who occasionally traded ethics for results. No doubt she had shared everything with her new masters.

"Beat yourself up later," Lena snapped. "Jeff, I'm going to let you up now. I'd thank you to not rip out my lover's throat. Whatever those Porters did, they died years ago. Should I kill you because some other werewolf murdered innocent people a hundred years ago?"

She eased back, and Jeff clambered to his feet. His fur hadn't flattened back out, but he didn't try to kill me.

Lena turned to Nicholas. "Ask Victor if there's another way to stop his creations. A self-destruct phrase, a backup queen, anything."

Nicholas chuckled as he relayed Lena's question. "Destroy the queen, and her death might spread through her children."

Which would be perfect, if we had the queen. "Is there a way to duplicate her song?"

"Not by you. Victor took great care to make sure his creations could not be 'hacked.'" Nicholas frowned at that last word, making me wonder how long he had been locked away from the world. "He believed that if anything were to happen to his queen, he would simply make another."

"Can he tell us how?" I asked.

A sudden flare of heat seared my thigh. Banners of flame rippled from Smudge's back as he darted to and fro in his cage. Lena caught my eyes and gestured to the door. I checked the hallway while Lena moved toward the bedroom window.

The window cracked as if struck by a stone, and Lena jumped back.

"Ah," said Nicholas. "The ghosts have found us at last, and they've brought Victor's children home."

I yanked out my shock-gun. "What ghosts?"

Two metal wasps were attacking the window, while another trio clung to the screen. I crossed the room, held the barrel of my gun six inches from the glass, and pulled the trigger.

I liked to tell myself I had chosen the shock-gun to practice with because it was a practical, multi-purpose weapon. At its highest setting, it could take down a zombified elephant, and at its lowest it would knock a human unconscious with no long-term damage. Nor would it draw undue attention, being designed to mimic an ordinary twenty-first-century handgun.

Those were all good and valid reasons, but the truth was, I picked this one because I got to shoot evil with lightning bolts.

The discharge etched a jagged line across my vision, and the smell of ozone filled the room. The sound was nowhere near as loud as natural thunder, but it was enough to make my ears ring. The blast shattered the window, leaving blobs of melted glass around the edges of the frame. A single insect glowed orange in the molten glass. I peered outside and spotted two men on the patio below. No, not men.

I jerked back as more wasps flew toward us. I fired again, but this time what emerged was little more than a spark of static electricity. "Oh, come on," I shouted. This gun was supposed to have enough ammo for more than a hundred shots.

The insects buzzed through the window and converged on Nicholas. He ripped two away even as more began to burrow into his chest. He crushed one between his fingers and tried to dig out the next, but he wasn't fast enough.