Wolf in League Page 2

  "I'm not married, sir."

  "Good for you," Volos said, widening his eyes and shaking his head. "That makes you smarter than seventy percent of the people here. Including me. But surely there's a someone somewhere? If not here, then perhaps a special online relationship? I've heard those are so common these days what with the Skype and the Google and the Facetime and whatnot."

  If he asks me out I'm going to just die, literally die. Except that was a ridiculous thought, Matthew told himself. Volos had just said he was married, for goodness sake. Not that open relationships were unheard of, but the man was a head of industry. In Matthew's limited world knowledge, most guys like Volos kept anything outside the realm of 'normal relationships' behind closed doors. They sure didn't breach those matters with employees, anyway. Especially employees that were mere residents. Besides, it was a violation of the Center's Code of Conduct. Matthew had been to the 'this-is-how-to-behave-like-a-human-being' seminar when he'd started—all new recruits had to—and interoffice discussions about a person's relationships and/or lack of them were frowned upon. And Matthew now knew why. As interesting and attractive as Volos was, the line of questioning made him feel awkward.

  But Volos was the big boss and Matthew was no fool when it came to knowing that the rules that the little people had to follow didn't always apply to those higher up the chain of command. Code of conduct expectations or no.

  "No. Nothing like that these days," Matthew said finally. "I have my residency to contend with and that takes up most of my time."

  "And are you enjoying it?" Mr. Volos asked without a second's pause. "Your residency? Here?" He waved his left arm in a careless fashion. "Are you hoping for a permanent position?"

  Oh, boy. That sounded like an oddly pointed question. Nervous tension began to crawl up Matthew's spine. "Of course. The GDBCG is a leader in genetic research. I'd be crazy not to be hoping for one."

  "I'm glad to hear it." Volos smiled. "Would you mind hanging on for another hour or so? Doctor Dyball and I would like to have a word with you."

  "Oh?" Matthew could only hope his expression wasn't as stricken as his body suddenly was. Had he done something wrong? Wound somebody up? He couldn't think of anything, but that didn't mean that he hadn't done something without realizing it...

  "A project," Volos said and his voice dropped several octaves. "A very special, very important project. Would you be interested in something like that?"

  "Yes," Matthew replied before his head had a chance to tell him to think first. After all, it was the very special, very important projects that could make a person's career. Besides, Doctor Dyball would be there and that meant it wouldn't just be him and Volos alone. Oddly enough, the last thing Matthew wanted was anymore one-on-one time with Volos.

  "Should I..." Matthew pointed at the empty chairs in the reception area. "Or?"

  "Absolutely not!" Volos frowned, as though Matthew's idea of waiting in reception was an idea that was not only ridiculous but close to unimaginable. "Get yourself a coffee. Go to the lounge. Grab a wink or two of sleep, if you'd like. We'll find you." He smiled again. "No worries about that."

  Why that expression made Matthew want to cringe was beyond his understanding. When Volos turned and walked away, however, the relief Matthew felt was so powerful he could have slumped into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs anyway.

  *~*~*

  Matthew slammed into the small restroom that made up part of the boardroom harder than he'd intended, but much more gently than he would have liked to, and stood in front of the mirror with one hand over his forehead, his eyes closed, and his breath coming out in exaggerated exhales. Mad, they were all mad. Insane, really.

  "Doctor, have you ever wondered why human beings are born with an instinctual fear of the dark?"

  Matthew was not the kind of man that automatically wrote off fairy tales or stories of the paranormal just because he'd not been confronted by the truth of their existence. He was not of the belief that everything in life could be rationalized down to current-day science. Fear came from somewhere, and to automatically assume that every story about little gray spacemen or monsters was made up would have been like refusing his own belief that one-dayman would eliminate schizophrenia or find a miracle cure for cancer. A researcher had to believe in the unlikely, or else they wouldn't pursue anything that existed beyond current knowledge. That's what made them bejeezus researchers, after all. They had to believe that there was more to the human existence than simply handing over prescriptions and making people comfortable until Death caught up with them.

  But he knew a joke when he heard one. And that's what this had to be... it had to. There was no other explanation.

  "Are you familiar with the term 'shifter'?"

  There were, however, certain ideologies that twisted even the most open, the most curious minds.

  "There is a certain... well, I'm going to go ahead and just use the word—a certain pack of Wolf's constituency that we have lost contact with. We require some intel on these subjects and when I explain who they are, I think you'll understand why this matter needs to be handled internally."

  "Wait... you mean me? I don't understand..."

  He still didn't. The points they'd given him in favor of the idea had seemed invalid; shaky at best, and outright condescending and foolish at the worst.

  "The alpha member of this pack is... well, he's gay, Dietrich. So is his son, who is also a person of interest—"

  He'd cut Volos off immediately.

  "And?"

  "And you are as well."

  "What the... what does that have to do with anything?"

  He'd been mortified at himself for coming that close to swearing. Like his mother had always said, even in salty California, there was enough of the f-word and the s-word out there already, and if he couldn't see the benefit of keeping his mouth clean, then he didn't deserve to have someone kiss it. But seriously, was Volos that simpleminded? Did Volos think that because these men were gay they'd have some kind of instant bonding thing going on? Did they expect Matthew to engage in sex for information? Besides, he was a doctor and a researcher and why the hellabaloo would that make him the ideal candidate to get them their intel?

  Matthew leaned his head against the cool glass of the mirror and tried to focus on that aspect of the conversation as if, somehow, that was the weirdest thing about what had just taken place in the boardroom. It wasn't, though. Good heavens, it certainly was not. It had taken three separate uses of the word 'shifter' for the concept to catch in Matthew's head.

  "Are you suggesting these men are werewolves?"

  He'd laughed, a high shrill sound that had echoed in the room. It was an attempt at amusement—all right, guys, I caught the joke and you can let off now—that was immediately shut down.

  "We're not suggesting that at all. We're coming right out and telling you. And you should know that investigations into what might have taken place before we lost contact with them indicates that there is a good chance of vampiric involvement as well."

  Vampiric. That wasn't even a word, was it? His mind had flailed with the use of it, as if pulling out a dictionary and proving his point would make the fakery disappear. He'd told Volos and Dyball they were crazy. He'd known, looking into their eyes, that they weren't. They believed what they were saying, anyway. And looking at them, at their straight faces and their direct gazes, Matthew's mind had starting stacking up the blocks and making bridges out of them: the odd mannerisms of the staff, the extra security in certain areas of the center, the secrecy. The bats... cheese and rice! Were there monsters on the premises? What exactly was the GDBCG doing in their labs?

  "You have made it very clear that you want to be here, Doctor. That this is the place where you can fulfill the dreams and ideas that got you into genetics in the first place. And I agree with you—there is absolutely no place on this planet where you will be better served to do that. The things you will learn here will change everything you know. They will e
nlighten you on humankind in ways that you never even dreamed existed. These anomalies are the secret to understanding what the human body is capable of. You have no idea how far we've come, but you can know. You will know. If you choose to, that is. This is a research opportunity that very few of our kind even know about, let alone get the chance to work with. Isn't that what you want?

  We're offering you more knowledge than you ever knew was available. All you have to do is help us."

  Volos had been so smug. So completely confident with what he was saying. So careless. Like he hadn't been trying to tell Matthew that the world as Matthew knew it was a lie.

  Yet even there, with his forehead warming the glass beneath it and his nostrils huffing air into condensation butterflies, after he'd had to run out of the room like a child, he didn't really believe any of it. For that he'd have to see it. He'd have to know it, sample it, study it, and even then Matthew wasn't sure he'd draw the conclusion of what they were trying to tell him. Viruses, disorders, mutations: yes. Men who turned into wolves... men with fur—

  "Ridiculous," he hissed. It was definitely a joke. A prank on the new guy before they accepted him into their flock. That's all it was. Volos and Dyball had been convincing, but of course they were. They were both senior members of the executive staff and had years of experience at making people believe what they wanted them to. They were joshing him and that was okay. He'd play their games. Sure he would. That was the whole point, probably—to see how he'd handle something so extraordinary. To see if he could be trusted, and make sure he really did have an open mind.

  And okay, yes, he'd panicked and made a dash for the restroom to put his head back together, but that was all right too. It would make them think he was taking their words at face value and that he was giving them full consideration. So what now? How far would they take it? He could only wait and see, of course. Maybe the moment he walked out of the restroom they'd start laughing. They'd clap him on the back and they could all share in the joke. He could even make a sheepish comment about how excited he'd been starting to get over the idea of it all. If not, he'd play along until they did crack.

  Sure. He could do that.

  He took a breath. He let it out. He pushed away from the mirror and then used his sleeve to scrub off the marks he'd left. He stepped back, turned toward the door, and yanked it open.

  "Welcome back, Doctor," Volos said.

  Neither man had moved from where they'd been when Matthew had stepped away. And neither man was laughing.

  "Everything all right?"

  He gave them a couple of seconds before he replied; plenty of time to toss aside the ruse and get to business. When they didn't, Matthew nodded. All righty then. Professional, but skeptical. He couldn't let himself look like too much of a fool. "Perfect. I'd like to see your files, please. Everything you have on these... what was it, O'Connells? Their associates too, of course. Medical, dental, psychological assessments. Anything and everything you have."

  "First." Dyball, who'd remained pretty much silent up until that point held up a finger. "You'll forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe that the kind doctor here believes a word of what we've said so far. I think we would be best served by introducing him to his partner."

  "Partner?" Panic resurfaced in Matthew's voice and he had to swallow it down. "Do you have an investigator? Has he—"

  "We have something," Dyball said, his smile widening in his round, rather plain face. Sitting beside Volos only made him appear shorter, squatter, and more unimpressive than he might have in another setting. "Gavin Strauss. He was... is... a senior researcher here at the facility as well. At the executive level these days, though, of course. He's agree to play the part of your..." He snapped his fingers and looked at Volos. "What's the term they're using these days? Partner? Significant other—"

  "Do you mean husband?" Matthew interrupted.

  "Husband is a good a word as any," Volos said. He smiled, but the corner of his lip was flipped in a grimace that was a little too close to disgust for Matthew's liking.

  "Why do I need someone to play my husband?"

  He didn't get an answer right away. Instead, Dyball and Volos stood and motioned him toward the door that led out of the boardroom.

  "All things in time, Doctor," Volos said. He waited for Matthew to walk past him and dropped a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "All things in time."

  *~*~*

  Matthew wasn't surprised that he was led to an area of the GDBCG that he'd never been to before. There were, after all, many areas like that in existence. What did surprise him was the lighting in that particular area. Where white lighting was necessary, over desk and research areas, that lighting was low and specific (surprisingly similar to how Matthew himself preferred to work). In most of the area, however—corridors, waiting areas, even inside the one restroom he'd seen by way of peripheral vision when the door was opened to let in a hurrying, very focused older gentleman in a lab coat—the overhead lighting was red. Emergency red. The kind that shone from "EXIT" signs and out of warning beacons. It was creepy as all get-go.

  "Gavin Strauss is the head of this wing," Dyball explained when he saw Matthew eyeing the lights warily. "He is extremely photophobic and somewhat leucistic. You'll understand more after you meet him."

  The corridor was more ominous than cold, so when Matthew found himself shivering, he forced his body to quit. These two men had obviously done a good job in setting up their little Blödsinn and he decided to take that as a compliment. At least they'd gone to the effort of attempting a bit of intrigue, rather than resorting to interns draped in sheets and shaking chains while bemoaning Christmases past. Or was that Christmas future?

  Matthew shook his head to dispel the thought and was startled when his sleeve was caught.

  "In here, Doctor."

  The office he was led into was small but lavishly decorated. Dark wood gleamed under the red lights, thick carpeting softened their footsteps, and expensive frames glittered orange and topaz around a dozen different awards and accomplishments, all with the appropriate seals and signatures to validate them. There were no windows in the office, and only one muted desk lamp offered any 'natural' lighting to the room, albeit in a yellow haze. It was enough light for Matthew to register the eyes of the man behind the desk though, and the man could have been Godzilla for all Matthew would have noticed after that.

  Matthew was struck speechless, spellbound, as he held the man's gaze: eyes so light that the irises looked white, what little Matthew could see of them; pupils so large that if he'd not been gazing so intently it would have appeared that the man's eyes were nothing but black circles; red sclera. Matthew's hand dropped to his penlight, not waiting for Matthew to consciously direct it. The penlight would be a poor excuse for an ophthalmoscope but it would most certainly do. He snapped it on, he drew it up—

  Both of the man's hands flew up to cover his eyes, and Dyball and Volos shouted as one. "No!"

  "Do you not listen at all?" Volos snapped.

  Of course... if he got too close, if he looked too carefully, he'd see they were contacts. Clever boys. Matthew narrowed his eyes, his lips thinned. He flicked off the light.

  "Or are you just so green that you don't understand the term 'photophobic', Doctor?"

  "I..." The reply died on Matthew's lips. Of course he knew what it was. He'd never seen light sensitivity do that to a set of eyes, though. Sure, there were a hundred other possibilities—keratitis, subconjunctival hemorrhage, corneal ulcers, glaucoma—but for a second there, he'd let his interest make him forget the most important thing. This was all a bunch of horse pucky. Not Ebola.

  "Doctor Dietrich, please meet Doctor Strauss," Dyball said. He eyed Matthew with obvious disapproval. "And do try not to appear so alarmed, Dietrich. It's an extremely gauche reaction on your part, considering your choice of study. Gavin's ocular abnormalities are a condition of his virus. It affects not only his eyes, but also his skin. Sunlight can be deadly if he's exposed for any
great length of time. For obvious reasons, fluorescent lighting is banned in this area of the facility. The colored lighting helps reduce irritation and we've found that red seems to be the easiest on him, although turning down the regular lighting works almost as well. We'd prefer not to take any unnecessary chances, however, so we stick with the red. We're researching the possibility that the red hue in the sclera is a natural defense against other lighting. Providing the eyes with their own filter, in a manner of speaking."

  "Virus?" Matthew whispered. Damned he might be, foolish he definitely was, but the interest was back regardless. He stepped closer to the desk. "This is viral?"

  "Photochromic lenses help, and polarized ones if sunlight will be unavoidable, but it's best to completely eliminate it. While lenses may help the eyes, it does nothing for the skin. And even through clothing... well, let's just say we don't want to fry our dear Doctor Strauss like a strip of bacon."

  "Is he contagious?" Matthew asked, more fascinated than concerned.

  "In a matter of speaking, yes." Volos stepped forward and extended his hand to Gavin. "Strauss."

  Gavin nodded, offered a limp handshake, and then turned his attention back to Matthew. "Welcome, husband."

  Matthew ignored the comment and also the smirk that came with it. He even ignored the voice that rose in his head to say he'd seen that expression before. Not too darn long ago, in fact. In a reflection. "You were saying?"

  Volos slipped into a chair and crossed his legs. "The virus is only contagious with a direct transfer of blood from the host body into the blood of the victim."

  "I see," Matthew said. He didn't. Why only blood? What about saliva? Semen? "Did he come to you infected or did it happen after he started working here? Do you know who... what... did it?"

  Volos smiled. It was an expression that was completely patronizing. "We did, Doctor."

  Matthew turned away from Gavin—it was oddly hard to break eye-contact—and stared at Volos. "I'm sorry, what?"

  "It was a consensual experiment," Volos explained. "And we've garnered a great deal of research material from doing so. It's going quite well."