the corridor wall. The overhead motion-sensor lights in the testing lab blinked on, illuminating the horror in Technicolor while he ran like a madman through the room, roaring, smashing things, blind with rage. Banks of desks and computers and filing cabinets were destroyed, screw-top glass canisters in a tall, open cabinet exploded into sprays of caustic chemicals as a chair went flying into them, an island of square metal worktables in the center of the room sporting sinks and chain restraints crumpled like aluminum foil under his fists.
The monkeys shrieked bloody murder all the while, the dogs howled, the rabbits began to scream and wriggle, desperate to flee, unable even to turn their heads to look in his direction. The cats, crouched and bristling, just stared at him, ears flat against their Frankenstein heads.
Heavy footfalls and shouting voices from down the corridor told him someone was on the way.
Multiple someones, most likely guards, most likely the armed ones who’d escorted Bartleby inside.
Through his rage, Xander gathered his wits and removed another of his disposable cell phones from a pocket in his pants. He took photo after photo, then switched the video function to record and panned the room.
“You’ll be out of here soon,” he promised the screaming animals, his voice raw in his throat.
“Just hang on a little while longer.” He repocketed the camera and spun around just in time to see three armed guards appear in the doorway. They froze when they saw him standing amid the chaos.
Like marionettes, their jaws unhinged in shock.
“
Stop or we’ll shoot.
“Be my guest, assholes!” Xander shouted, furious. Then he lunged at them.
They got off three shots before they toppled like bowling pins under the full force of his weight. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Cursing in Italian, one of the guards tried to wrench free of the stranglehold Xander had on his neck, but Xander bore down and felt bones snap with the brittleness of dry twigs. Slack-jawed, the guard fell still. The other two scrambled to their feet and started firing rounds into him, but when he leapt up, unharmed and snarling, they backed slowly away and started jabbering like frightened birds.
More running footfalls from somewhere far beyond the destroyed door. More faint shouts from unseen men. The monkeys’ banshee shrieks drilled into his brain.
Xander smashed his fist into the face of the second guard, and blood spurted from his shattered nose. He slid to the floor and toppled to his side, where he lay unconscious, still as a corpse. The last guard lunged at him, but Xander was too fast, his instincts too honed. Xander had him by the throat with one hand squeezed around his larynx before the man had taken a full step, then lifted him high, entirely off the floor.
The guard clawed at his hand, but his grip didn’t loosen. He tried to cry out but managed only a wheeze, eyes rolling, face beet red. His boots kicked out and met resistance: Xander’s shins.
“Where are they keeping the third animal?” Xander shouted. This bastard knew everything, knew what went on in this torture chamber, and turned his eyes away for the sake of a paycheck. “The panther that was separated from the other two! Where are they keeping him?”
The guard tried frantically to escape. His eyes bulged from their sockets, veins popped out along his neck. He gasped, trying to speak. Xander heard a choked
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you in
The guard took a swing, but Xander only leaned back, easily avoiding his fist.
“I’ve got everything I need right here to turn you into something from a horror movie, my friend, so you better start talking, and quick,” he snarled.
His lips peeled back over his teeth, his canines elongated as the Shift began to pound through his blood, heating cells, electrifying. With a sound like a faint exhalation, a fine nap of black fur sprang from the pores all over his body. Amost there,
When he spoke again, his voice took on a deep, animalistic quality, coarse and barbarous, entirely inhuman. It rumbled through the room, echoing, and all the animals screamed anew.
The guard stiffened, mouth gaping in a silent scream. His face darkened to purple. He released the contents of his bowels into his pants with a loud, malodorous
Xander dropped him, and the man crumpled to a heap at his feet, coughing, clutching at his throat. Boots pounded down the hallway, closer.
“Second floor,” the terrified guard rasped. Shaking and coughing, he spat blood onto the white tile. “Surgery suite on the second floor.” His eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he passed out cold.
Xander turned, ran the length of the room past the shrieking and howling and screaming and baying, and Passed through the back wall just as half a dozen more armed guards burst through the ruined doorway into the deafening chaos.
Nausea rolled through Julian in wave after hot, sickening wave. Lights strobed red and orange beneath his closed lids; he felt movement and big, gentle hands beneath his body. Sounds, warped slow, penetrated the blackness he floated in as if from somewhere very far away or underwater. There was pain, but it mostly kept far away, too, only occasionally swooping in low to nudge him with sharp talons.
He was aware of being lifted, of being spoken to, of moving swiftly through space, though how that was possible he didn’t know since he was paralyzed. He didn’t much care, truth be told—despite the nausea, the blackness was warm and comforting and he wasn’t inclined to leave it anytime soon.
After a while cool, fresh air brushed his face and he sucked it deep into his lungs.
That helped the nausea. He sank a little deeper into the comforting blackness.
“Julian!” said a male voice he vaguely recognized. Whoever it was sounded really worried.
Panicked, really. The voice said, “If you die on me, I’ll fucking kill you!”
Ha. Ha ha. He liked the owner of that voice, whoever it was. He drew in another breath, feeling his heartbeat slow. Liking how peaceful he suddenly felt. His body began slowly to melt.
“Julian!”
Fainter sounds reached his ears, animal sounds, low grumbling, yowling, hissing sounds, and with the sound of an engine turning over the movement changed from jerky to smooth. Something wet and rough passed over the side of his face, something wet and cold nudged his nose. For a moment he wanted to try and open his eyes, but then the darkness called once again and he turned back to it, melting, sinking, falling, surrendering happily to the endless void.
That almost-familiar beseeching voice called out his name over and over again, until, finally, it fell silent as Julian dissolved into darkness.
30
With his dead father’s elaborate Victorian silver letter opener held carefully between two fingers, Dominus slit open the sealed manila envelope in his hands. The sheaf of papers from the lab in Milan that emerged from within was an inch thick, bound by a black jumbo clip at the top corner. He dismissed the bowing servant who’d brought it and without returning to his desk began quickly to skim the summary page on top.
