“Unsettling, aren’t they?” Antoine remarks, studying a pair of oversized eyes floating in a jar of clear liquid. “I’m not convinced it’s necessary for them to be displayed in so lurid a fashion, but our technical geniuses insist —”
“What the hell
Antoine blinks at me, surprised by my anger. Then his expression clears. “How thoughtless of me. These remains come from relatives of yours. I must apologise for my insensitivity. I never meant to cause offence.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Shark says, squeezing my shoulder to calm me. “But Grubbs is right—what is this place? It looks like Frankenstein’s lab.”
“To an extent it is.” Antoine sighs. “This is where we experiment upon many of our unfortunate specimens. As you know, we’ve been trying to find the genetic source of the Grady disease for decades, searching for a cure. Our experts need a place to dissect and reassemble, to study and collate. It’s an unpleasant business, but no worse, I assure you, than any institute devoted to animal experiments.”
“These aren’t animals,” I snarl. “They’re human.”
“They were once,” Antoine corrects me. “Now…” He pulls a face. “As you said, your uncle was attacked by werewolves. You didn’t qualify that because you don’t think of them as humans with a defect. When the genes mutate, the specimens become something inhuman—although, if we ever crack the rogue genes, perhaps we can restore their humanity.”
Timas has wandered over to a computer console. “I assume all of your results and data are backed up here.”
“They’re stored on a mainframe,” Antoine says, “but they’re accessible through most of the computers in the building if you have clearance.”
“You still use mainframes?” Timas tuts. “How primitive.” He runs a finger over the keys. “I’d like to study your records. I know nothing of lycanthropy. I find myself intrigued.”
“Sorry,” Antoine says stiffly. “Our database is off-limits to all but the most strictly authorised personnel. As I’m sure you’ll agree, this is a sensitive matter. We wouldn’t want just anybody to have access to such incendiary material.”
“This is all very interesting,” Meera butts in, “but it doesn’t explain about Prae Athim or what you said on the roof regarding the missing
“I’m coming to that,” Antoine says patiently. “Trust me, this will be simpler if we proceed step by step.” He walks ahead of us and turns, gesturing around the room. “As I was saying, we’ve been extremely busy, cutting specimens up, running tests on live subjects, introducing various chemical substances into the veins of random guinea pigs in the hopes of stumbling upon a cure.”
“Any luck?” Shark asks.
“No,”Antoine says. “We’ve ploughed untold millions into this project—and others around the globe—with zero success. If not for the continued support of wealthy Gradys, and our dabbling in parallel medical fields, we would have faced bankruptcy long ago.”
“ ‘Parallel medical fields’?” Meera echoes.
“We might not have unravelled the mysteries of the Grady genes, but our research has led to breakthroughs in other areas. As a result, we have become a worldwide pharmaceutical giant. Steroids are our speciality, though we’re by no means limited to so finite a field.”
Antoine looks like he’s about to give us a breakdown of the Lambs’ success stories. But then, remembering why we’re here, he returns to the relevant facts.
“As you can imagine, specimens are difficult to come by. Very few parents wish to hand their children over for medical experimentation, even if they’re no longer recognisably human. Many children have been placed in the care of the Lambs in the past, but only to be… decommissioned.”
“You mean executed,” I growl.
Antoine nods slowly. “In most circumstances, the parents never enquire after the child once we take it into custody. The less they know about the grisly details, the better. A few ask for ashes to be returned, but almost nobody requests a body for burial. And since ashes are easy to fake…”
“You don’t kill them!” I’m furious. This could have happened to Gret or Bill-E. The thought of them winding up here, caged, experimented on, humiliated, treated like lab rats… It makes me want to hit somebody. My hands clench into fists and I glare at Antoine. It takes all my self-control not to attack.
“It sounds inhumane,” Antoine says quietly. “I admit it’s a betrayal of trust. But it’s necessary. We do this for the good of the family. I’ve seen the grief and anguish in the eyes of parents who’ve watched their children turn into nightmarish beasts. If we have to lie to prevent that from happening to others, so be it.”
“It’s wrong,” I disagree. “They wouldn’t have given their children to you if they knew what you planned to do with them.”
“True,” Antoine says. “But we can’t search for a cure without specimens to work on. Isn’t it better to experiment than execute? To seek a remedy rather than accept defeat?”
“Not without permission,” I mutter obstinately.
“I wish you could see it our way,” Antoine sighs. “But I understand your point of view. This is a delicate matter.” He looks decidedly miserable now. “But if you can’t find any positives in what I’ve shown you so far, please be warned—you’re absolutely going to hate what I reveal next.”
Before I can ask what he means, he turns and pushes ahead, leading us to an exit, then down a set of stairs to the next level and the most horrific revelation yet.
A cavernous room, even larger than the holding area above. Hundreds of cages, many obscured by panels which have been set between them, dividing the room into semi-private segments. The stink is nauseating. Antoine offers us masks, but nobody takes one. As we progress further into the room, I feel sorry that I didn’t accept.
Some of the cages look like they’ve never been used, but many show signs of long-term occupancy, caked with ground-in filth. There are old blood and urine stains, scraps of hair everywhere. I spot the occasional fingernail or tooth. There are people at work in several cages, trying to clean them out. It’s a job I wouldn’t accept for the highest of wages.
“This smells almost as bad as that world of guts we visited,” Shark mutters to Meera. She looks at him blankly. “Oh, right. You weren’t there. It was Sharmila.”
“Nice to know you can’t tell the difference between me and an Indian woman twice my age,” Meera snaps. Shark winces—he’s made the sort of error a woman never forgets or forgives.
“This is another holding pen,” Antoine says. “But it’s more than just a place to hold specimens. It’s where we breed our own varieties, to increase our stock.”
For a moment I don’t catch his meaning. Then I stop dead. “You’ve been
“The reproductive organs alter during transformation,” Antoine explains, “but most specimens remain fertile. We always knew it was possible for them to breed, but we didn’t follow up on that for many years. It’s a delicate process. The pair have to be united at precisely the right moment, otherwise they rip each other apart. We tried artificial insemination, but the mothers refused to accept the young, killing them as they emerged from the womb. We could sedate and restrain them during the birthing process, of course, but it’s much easier to—”
Losing my head completely, I take a swing at Antoine Horwitzer, intent on squeezing his brains out through his nose and ears, then stomping them into mincemeat.
Shark catches my fist. The suited leader of the Lambs ducks and recoils from me with a startled cry, while Shark restrains my trembling hand, staring at me coldly.
“Let go,” I cry, angry tears trickling from my eyes.
“This isn’t the time,” he says quietly.
“I don’t care. It’s barbaric. I’m going to—”
“Kill him?” Shark hisses. “What will that achieve? He’s just a pretty face in a suit. They’d replace him in an instant.”
“But—”
“Remember our mission. Think about what’s at stake. This guy’s an ant. We can come after him later—and the rest of his foul kind. Right now we have bigger fish to fry. Don’t lose track of the rabbit, Grubbs.”
I struggle to break free. Then my brain kicks in and I relax. Shark releases me, but watches warily in case I
