by Sarah Noffke
The swooshing sound of the stainless steel door sliding back into the recesses made Adelaide startle. She’d been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten she was in the main conference room of the strategic department, which was usually quiet at this early hour. Through the glass walls that partially enclosed the conference room she spied Trent Reynolds, the new head of the strategic department. Her father had appointed him a year before his death. Trent was an odd sort to be seen as a leader since he was so casual in manner, but that’s probably because she’d been used to her father’s formal deportment. Behind Trent a woman with short blonde hair, flipped out at the ends, strolled. Adelaide didn’t recognize her, but new agents were always being recruited.
Adelaide slapped Ren’s book shut when Trent came around the glass partitions and stopped just in front of the conference room table. His black dreadlocks hung loose today, obscuring one eye. In the dim blue light of the room, the whites of his eyes were the only thing that stuck out, especially against his dark skin.
“I’d like you to meet someone, Adelaide,” Trent said, presenting the woman beside him. She was wearing entirely too much makeup and a skirt that was almost too short to classify as such.
“This is Agent Rox Spear. She works for the FBI, but she now also works for the Lucidites. I’ve just recruited her,” Trent said.
The woman, who had manicured nails painted in a gross shade of pink, extended a hand to Adelaide.
“Don’t care,” Adelaide said, pushing up to a standing position. Maybe she could get some work done in her room, which was on another level in the Lucidite Institute.
Trent, who was used to Adelaide’s bad attitude and knew she’d inherited it from her father, shook his head.
“You should care, because I’ve assigned Rox to work the werewolf case. She’s your new partner,” he said.
Chapter Six
“Seeing the future can offer us great opportunities, but better yet, it allows us to stop great tragedies.”
- Lucidite Employee Manual
“I knew this was going to happen,” Adelaide said, letting out a sigh. “Trent, you’ve lost your fucking mind.”
He shook his head, his dreads swaying with the movement. Then he held up his hand to stop Adelaide, who was on her way out of the conference room. “Now just hear me out, would you?”
“Not if you’re going to say dumb shit,” Adelaide said, her eyes now on the girl who obviously was looking for attention based on her low-cut shirt.
“Adelaide, I realize that the werewolf case is a challenging one and since it’s your first level five case, I think that working with someone might help. And Rox is a FBI agent, which means she’ll have specialized knowledge on these men because in one capacity or another they’ve been in the government systems. Military, law enforcement, correctional institutions,” Trent said.
“I don’t need no help, but that’s what you’re trying to say without saying it,” she said, her cockney accent always stronger when she was mad.
Trent let out a long breath. “I’m saying that I think this case is complex and so I’ve brought in outside resources to give us a bit of insight.”
“The fucking FBI though? You’ve got to be kidding. Aren’t they just a crap organization that sucks up too much government funding?” Adelaide said and this produced a laugh from Rox.
“You’re not completely wrong with your take on the FBI,” she said to Adelaide, a wide smile on her pink lips.
“Oh and fuck me, she’s an American. You want me to work with a bloody American?” Adelaide said to Trent.
He released a minute smile. “I’m American, Addy.”
“I overlook that most days,” she said to him.
Rox gave her a sweet, consoling smile. “I get that this is your case and you’re against the idea of having a partner, but I actually have been working this case at the FBI. I think combining efforts makes a lot more sense,” Rox said. And to Adelaide’s horror she sounded like she was trying to be nice. But when people tried to be nice, it just meant they were faking it.
“Are you a Middling?” Adelaide said to the woman, referring to the race opposite of the Dream Travelers who had no abilities. Middlings couldn’t dream travel while sleeping and were absent of psychic powers. They were usually the ones the Dream Travelers were saving from tragedies they brought on themselves.
Rox gawked at her in disgust. “Hell no. I’m a pure-blooded Dream Traveler with incredible skills.”
“And modest too,” Adelaide said, tying her freckled arms across her chest.
“Well, I might be new to this Lucidites thing,” Rox said, throwing her hand out to indicate the Institute. “However, I’m a Dream Traveler who has covert information about this case based on my FBI experience. I’ve been working high-level cases since I started there.”
“The Lucidites are an elite society of Dream Travelers. If you’ve been working for the FBI then it’s because Trey Underwood, our head official, didn’t see you fit to be one of us,” Adelaide said, never worried about how offensive she could be.
The other girl drew in a long breath and batted her fake eyelashes at Adelaide. “So as soon as you’re done berating me then I say we get started reviewing the case files,” Rox said, her voice casual.
“See, I knew this was a good match. You girls will find a way to work together and then solve this case,” Trent said, placing a hand on Rox’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Lucidite Institute and welcome aboard.”
Rox tucked her chin into her shoulder and smiled at Trent, showing a mouth of perfectly straight white teeth. “Thanks so much. Glad to be here,” she said.
“He’s gay and married, so don’t think you can sleep your way to the top here,” Adelaide said, her head fuming with anger. How dare Trent randomly assign her a partner? Her father never had a partner. And then his words from the book rang clear in her mind.
“The greatest asset, besides a brilliant mind and great looks, is an accomplice.”
Adelaide slammed a palm to her forehead. Fuck, how the hell is all this happening? she thought, just as Trent left the room.
“So Addy, can I see the files?” Rox said.
“Call me Ms. Lewis,” she said, pulling out the chair she’d been occupying and throwing herself into it. “And what kind of name is Rox?”
“What kind of name is Adelaide? Sounds like a little girl’s name,” Rox said, the politeness in her voice gone. Now that Trent had disappeared, the real bitch was roaring her angry blonde head.
“Yep, I’m a little girl who can make you stand on your bloody head so long that you fucking starve to death,” Adelaide said. She never disclosed to anyone, especially an enemy, that she also had the gift of telepathy linked to touch. That was in her private arsenal.
“Oh good, you have a slightly useful skill. Mind control is a little boring though. Not much use in combat,” Rox said, regarding her pink fingernails like the current conversation was beneath her.
“Why fight when I can make you off yourself?” Adelaide said, not liking that this girl was actually irritating her.
“Some fights can’t be avoided, Adds. And some minds can be locked down against mind control,” Rox said.
“Yes, but not brains that have been exposed to too much hair dye, Blondie,” Adelaide said.
“So do you want to know what my Dream Traveler gift is?” Rox said.
“Oh, you only have the one?” Adelaide said with a mock frown. “That’s kind of sad.”
Rox only smiled in reply.
“Is it that you’re a super bitch, like more so than most American girls?” Adelaide said.
“Well, maybe it’s considered two, they’re kind of paired. In a fight, I can’t be hurt, or not easily. You couldn’t make me off myself because my skin is super resistant and even if I am hurt by an enormous force, which is what it would take, then I have the power of regenerative healing. That’s how I survive most assaults without issue,” she said.
“Then it appears I’
ll have to kill you by using my skill of hypnosis, which will make you lose your mind and then your head explodes,” Adelaide said. That was actually one of her father’s skills, but she knew she had the capacity to learn it. Now she just had to try.
Chapter Seven
“Employees should remember at all times that subjects are experiments first, everything else last.”
- Olento Research Employee Manual
Whatever was in the tiny, white oblong pills Zephyr swallowed an hour earlier wasn’t taking the beast out of him. He knew that, even though he wasn’t changed into a werewolf. Always he felt the creature within him, like it was a voice in his head constantly bantering with his own. It spoke its unhealthy desires, always hungry for meat. Always hungry to run. Always craving the company of the pack. He was in charge most of the time, telling the beast to shut up and get the fuck out of his head. The beast only growled in reply to that. However, every week when the werewolf came out, he was powerless to its desires. All its cravings took over and usually they were fulfilled, the hunger and need for speed. But Zephyr was working on a way to cage the beast for good on those nights. He was doing that by taking every prescription medicine he could get his hands on. He had to be careful, though, since he didn’t want to get caught. So he only took a few pills at a time from the pharmacy where he worked as a security guard. He stole pills that he didn’t know what they were intended for, but knew that it was worth the risk to take them if they undid whatever they’d done to him in that lab. Yes, he could have looked up the medications, but that’s what the old Zephyr would have done. He would have been resourceful. This Zephyr didn’t care anymore.
Now he lay on his sofa, one leg hanging off, one arm draped over the side. He’d tried to pull his limbs back onto the couch, but he then realized he didn’t have control over them due to the drugs he’d swallowed. Maybe it was a muscle relaxer or a sedative of some sort. Maybe he could take it right before the “change” and make the beast sleep rather than prowl the streets. He didn’t like what the animal thought while it lusted for meat. And so far he’d been lucky that the wolf only went after small animals, but soon Zephyr knew he’d move on to bigger and better feasts. The taste of the man’s flesh that he attacked when he escaped from the lab still made him salivate. There was nothing that made the wolf happier than a mammal’s blood.
Zephyr’s face was mushed into the couch, drool spilling out of it, when he finally was able to move his fingers a bit. And calling the thing he lay on a couch was a stretch. It had been a couch at one point, but now it was stained and ripped in too many places and was more closely related to junk. Zephyr had found it on the curb, thrown out and waiting for garbage day.
The discharged Special Forces captain couldn’t go back to his old life because he didn’t want anyone to know he was alive. His friends and family couldn’t know him while he had the wolf inside of him. And so he refused to use any of his old bank accounts, and the job working security provided a measly salary for someone starting over. The only thing he was grateful for was that his military experience had told him where to go to gain a fake identity. Now he was Bob Roberts. He laughed into the sofa at the name choice. Zephyr had always wanted to have a normal name, one that people could pronounce right away and spell easily. His parents, though, thought that normal names were overrated and the way to stick out was to have a bold name.
Sticking out had never been a problem for Zephyr, who graduated at the top of his class and went on to ace Special Forces training. He’d made captain in record time. And most people didn’t know because of his rank and hair whether he was young or old. His long face was smooth and absent of wrinkles. However, his hazel gray eyes seemed too old on his face. And to further confuse things, his black hair had prematurely started turning silver at age twenty. Now at twenty-five, silver streaks weaved through his wild black hair that stood in waves almost two inches tall on his head.
With a force that almost took the wind out of him he pushed up to a sitting position, his head woozy from the drug. He thought he was safe taking the drug a couple hours before work. Zephyr was wrong, though, and the effects were still making it difficult for him to move his limbs and he had to be at work in half an hour. It had been a long time since he moved without the super agility and speed that accompanied the resident’s presence inside of him. The wolf made his reflexes quick, his speed unbelievable, and his endurance unmatched. Still, even with the drug weighing him down, he was able to lumber to the front door and pull it open.
Outside, the sky in Phoenix was covered in mounds of rain clouds, which only made his shoulders sink further. Now he’d have to stagger to work in the rain. Although Zephyr had not returned to his old life, he had returned to his old city. It was the only thing that brought him comfort, which he needed since he was sinking deeper into a depression. That just meant that he’d need to steal antidepressants while at work that day. And he didn’t worry about running into his old friends and family, although he was in his old city. They would never happen through the rundown neighborhood where he lived and worked.
On Zephyr’s next step his leg muscles gave way and he had to steady himself on the doorframe to stay standing. Damn it, why couldn’t a haboob hit Phoenix right now, preventing him from being able to go to work? When these major dust catastrophes happened, caused by strange wind patterns hitting a storm, the upsurge of dust made it impossible to travel and staying inside was crucial.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Zephyr chanced another step, which brought him stumbling forward. He just caught the column at the front of his porch, which was covered in peeling paint. Damn it to hell. On his next breath he was accosted by the dust he inhaled suddenly, which coated his throat making him sputter out a cough. When he looked up, away from the hand now covering his mouth, he almost fell back—not from the drugs, but from the sight in front of him. The cloudy skies of Phoenix were now also draped with a mountain of brown dust. It was a wall of dirt and resembled smoke with its billowing shape. And it was headed straight for Zephyr’s neighborhood. But the strangest part was that it had appeared out of nowhere. A wind had seemingly been born from the still air and charged at the approaching storm to create this haboob. What were the odds that he’d wish for this windstorm and then it would magically materialize? Zephyr, wondering if the drug was making him hallucinate now, headed for his door, intent on occupying his rundown couch.
Chapter Eight
“Our efforts are founded in the efficiency of strategy, superior capabilities of technology, and most importantly in our individual unique abilities.”
- Lucidite Employee Manual
Kaleb Magner accepted the steaming bowl of mystery soup from the lady wearing a hairnet. She smiled at him, her face sympathetic.
“Come back for seconds if you’re still hungry, honey,” the woman said, her tone sincerely kind.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice low. He’d be back, probably for thirds. The soup kitchen that fed homeless rarely served meat. Usually it was just beans and vegetables in the soup. And although it muffled the physical hunger pangs, it never put the beast inside him to rest. Nothing really did. He had flesh before, but only the one time did he regret it. Now he ran deep into the forest two days before the change to ensure he was far from civilization by the time the wolf took over.
Usually Kaleb awoke the next morning with various animal bones scattered around him. He didn’t need the remnants of the dead animals to know what he’d done while a werewolf. The young guy always remembered. He used to think, from watching the movies about these creatures, that they had no memory of what happened when changed. That wasn’t the case for Kaleb. Although he wasn’t in control while a werewolf, he was still conscious, like he was watching from a dream.
And then there were the actual dreams. They had started while in the lab, but now they were stronger. It was his only escape, and yet they felt so much like a sincere reality. He’d just close his eyes and anywhere he intended to go, anyone he wished to se
e, he would. It was a full landscape, set up exactly as he remembered. And the people were as he remembered, although they never responded to him or acknowledged his presence. The best part was that unlike most dreams, he was conscious, making choices, not just witnessing a strange movie in his head.
Kaleb held the paper bowl in the palm of his hand and started for his usual table. It was in a dark back corner, away from the homeless men and women who knew each other well and congregated at the soup kitchen every afternoon. Sometimes the faces changed, but usually it was the same menagerie of wrinkled faces and tattered jackets.
A group of guys about his age always threw their chin up to him as if in salute when he walked by where they sat, but he never returned the gesture. There was a pure sense of respect for one another in the soup kitchen that he appreciated. It was one of the rules, set by the church that funded the organization. It was similar to one of the humanitarian efforts his mother had set up through her church on the other side of town. Kaleb’s entire family served Thanksgiving dinner there every year. They probably still did. He wasn’t going to ever find that out though.
The eighteen-year-old high school dropout didn’t know why he’d come back to his hometown of Salt Lake City after escaping from the labs. However, there was this unyielding desire to be close to his family. They were his pack, his first pack, anyway. He’d actually tried to stay with many of the men when they escaped the lab, but for as fast as he was, he couldn’t keep up with the other men. Maybe the lab hadn’t made him as strong as the other werewolves. Or maybe it was because he was shorter than the other men at only five foot eight inches. When he lost the pack and then also their scent, he hitchhiked his way up the coast and then to Salt Lake City.
