by Chant, Zoe
They were all people he’d worked with closely for years – people he’d trust with his life. Given that the Agency – the only name they had for the highly secretive law enforcement organization they worked for – was so small and close-knit, that was understandable. Joining meant going through a rigorous training program, but even getting selected for that in the first place was a trial in itself. You had to be mentally tough as well as physically tough.
And you had to be a shifter.
Shifter criminals were a lot more work to catch than human ones, especially given that, outside of very select circles, shifters still kept themselves hidden from the outside world. But even if shifters hadn’t tended to be secretive, Callan knew that there’d still be a need for the Agency: shifters who chose to live on the wrong side of the law were something that human cops just couldn’t be expected to deal with. There was no way for a human to track a thief who could turn into a lizard and silently slip away, or a cat burglar who was an actual cat.
And that didn’t even cover the more serious end of the shifter criminal world: the assassins who struck as venomous snakes, the drug smugglers who could transform into massive birds of prey at will, carrying their cargo across borders without detection.
Not to mention the mystical shifters that still existed out there: the wyverns whose deadly venom could kill any living creature in a matter of seconds, and the fire-breathing dragons who could raze a building – even a whole town – to the ground as fast as you could blink.
As a rule, the Agency didn’t investigate crime between humans, though they did share information with human law enforcement. So the fact that they were here, having a briefing about a missing human woman, meant there must be more going on than met the eye.
“Ella Woodson herself isn’t a concern, except for the fact that she might be in danger,” Robb said.
“Why?” Euan Hawkins spoke up next. “What’s she done?”
Robb cocked his head. “She hasn’t done anything. It’s who her father is that’s the problem.”
Callan frowned. He glanced up at Ella Woodson’s photograph again. The wary brown eyes, the unsmiling mouth. There was a strange sadness to her face, something that made Callan want to tell her that it was okay – that things would be all right.
It’s as I said. She’s lonely.
Within him, Callan’s shifter form – the massive diprotodon – stirred. Callan had one of the rarer shifter types out there, mainly because outside of their shifter forms, diprotodons were completely extinct. Once upon a time, diprotodons had roamed across the continent: shaggily furred, ten feet long, six and a half feet tall, and built of solid muscle – bigger and heavier by far than even the largest bear. Unlike bears, diprotodons had been herbivorous, but that didn’t stop them from being fearsome creatures, their size and strength alone meaning they were more than a match for most predators.
Diprotodons were just one of many extinct Australian megafauna, which were now known only to humans through fossils. Callan supposed that he could take some comfort in the knowledge that even though his own kind might no longer exist, their families lived on through koalas and wombats – the diprotodon’s closest living relatives. And everyone, at least, knew what a koala was.
And he knew that even though diprotodons and the other huge mammals that had once existed here might be gone, they’d never be forgotten, thanks to the stories and legends that had been passed down about them; sometimes calling them by other names, sometimes giving them magical powers that Callan was certain even shifter diprotodons had never possessed.
But he was pretty sure the ability to detect emotions from a photograph had never been amongst those powers.
You don’t know if she’s lonely, he told the diprotodon as it lifted its massive head, scrutinizing Ella Woodson’s photo. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. If she’s missing, the only thing that concerns us is if she’s safe.
That had been one of the harder things Callan had had to get used to in this job: not getting emotionally attached.
He’d almost flunked out of the training course due to his inability to forget about his emotions and deal only with the facts. You couldn’t last in this job without some detachment. These days, he liked to think of himself as rational and level-headed. He never let his emotions get the best of him.
“Who’s her father, then?” he asked, pushing his diprotodon’s instinctive empathy to one side. “A diplomat? Billionaire? Is she being ransomed?”
Robb shook his head. “No. Her father is – or was – Doctor Henry Woodson. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because he was the head of science and research at Hargreaves Inc. up until about ten years ago, at which point he completely disappeared. No one even knows if he’s dead or alive.”
Callan felt a chill descend over the room at the word Hargreaves, and he didn’t have to wonder why. Hargreaves pretended to be a normal private security and development company, but the Agency knew better.
What Hargreaves were, were callous, bloodthirsty mercenaries: they stirred up conflicts in unstable areas with their private army, and then sold weapons and soldiers to both sides. In any war that was going on anywhere on earth, Hargreaves could be counted on to want a piece of the action. They were ruthless, cunning, driven only by profit – and run entirely by shifters. That was why they were the Agency’s problem. No human could deal with shifter soldiers, especially not ones as well-trained and supplied as Hargreaves Inc.
“Hargreaves?” It was Hector who spoke up now, his voice low and harsh – and Callan didn’t blame him. Only a few months ago, Hector had almost been killed trying to take down a Hargreaves operative – one who’d threatened not only his life, but the life of his mate. It had been purely thanks to chance that he’d survived. Well, thanks to chance, and –
“Mee-ehh?”
As if on cue, the very one responsible for Hector’s survival popped her head up behind his shoulder, gazing at the assembled agents from his computer camera.
Callan couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her: Ruby, the little alicorn foal whose healing powers had saved Hector’s life when he’d looked like he was sure to die. Ruby was an orphan – and the last of her kind, as far as anyone knew – so Hector and his mate Myrtle were raising her as their own daughter. She could be a handful, but Hector and Myrtle had completely risen to the challenge, no matter what it threw at them.
Ruby had bonded to them after they’d saved her from being sold to Hargreaves, who wanted to use her powers for their own benefit. Callan knew Hector adored Ruby, and Ruby, for her part, had Hector totally under her thumb.
The tiny winged alicorn blinked at them with her large silvery eyes, her pure white mane falling on either side of the tiny golden horn in her forehead. Being an alicorn – an ancient race of shifters – Ruby had hatched from an egg, and, unlike most shifters these days, she’d have to learn how to shift into her human form once she got older. Right now, she was still just a baby – and it showed.
Clearly curious as to what was going on, she pranced up onto Hector’s shoulder, spreading her snowy white wings to keep her balance.
“Not now, Ruby, c’mon,” Hector said, reaching for her. “Your dad’s working.”
“Mee-ehhh!” Ruby, indignant, opened her feathered wings and fluttered out of Hector’s reach, tiny hooves batting at his hands when he tried to make a grab for her. “Mee-eh!”
Callan choked down a laugh. He’d babysat Ruby on a couple of occasions, and her rambunctious behavior was no surprise to him. She’d once refused to come down from the ceiling fan for two hours when he’d told her she couldn’t have a third helping of dinner.
“You on babysitting duty or something, Hec?” Trent called out, as Ruby evaded Hector once again. Trent’s tone was joking – though his words made Hector frown as he glanced back at the computer.
“I’m technically on leave,” Hector said tersely, as his eyes narrowed. “And it’s hardly babysitting if she’s my kid. I’m raising her, not b
abysitting her.”
Callan shook his head minutely, hoping that Hector would somehow sense the gesture. Hector had always had a somewhat quick temper and was prone to moodiness – Callan remembered it well from their days living together in the dorms as agents-in-training. He’d reflected back then that it was probably good he tended to be somewhat laid back himself: two people of Hector’s temperament trying to dorm together would have been a recipe for hyper-competitive posturing, macho brawls in the quadrangle, or worse.
But Callan had seen the way Hector had mellowed over the past few months since he’d met Myrtle and they’d begun raising Ruby together. It was almost like Hector was a new man in some ways, though he still had the occasional flashes of temper – like now, as he glowered out of the screen at Trent.
“All right, point taken,” Trent said quickly, raising his hands conciliatorily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a dumbarse joke.”
Hector shook his head. “Sorry – I don’t mean to get aggro, it’s just that – Ruby, can you not walk on the keyboard please? – it’s just – Ruby, please don’t knock that over –” a box of pens tumbled past Hector’s computer screen “– look, guys, maybe I’ll have to call you back –” Hector made a lunge, there was a crashing sound, an angry-sounding meee-ehhhh! –and then Hector’s computer screen went blank.
“All right – well. It seems we’ve lost Agent Richardson,” Robb said, after a slight pause.
“Remind me never to have kids.” It was Agent Euan Hawkins who spoke up next, his voice dark. Callan glanced across at him, finding him looking just as grumpy as he usually did. Euan was an agent who mainly kept himself to himself – it was rare he was even at headquarters. Callan had heard him referred to around the office as the Mystery Man… but it wasn’t really an affectionate nickname. Euan had made it clear on more than one occasion that he wasn’t interested in getting close to anyone.
“No kids for you? Geeze, can’t say I agree with you there. I can’t wait ’til I’ve got two or three or four of ’em. House isn’t a home without a few anklebiters around the place.” Trent Bowman, on the other hand, was Euan’s direct opposite. Extraverted, outgoing – and a huge hit with women – Trent was all smiles and suaveness, and had a reputation for being shallow.
“All right, all right,” Robb said, raising his hands to call them back to the topic at hand. “You guys can discuss your parenting plans later. Right now, let’s stick to business.”
“Good idea,” Callan agreed, leaning forward. He glanced again at Ella Woodson’s projected photo. Her eyes were still haunting him, dark and beautiful. “You said her father worked in science and research for Hargreaves. Doing what, exactly?”
Robb nodded. “The head of science and development – not just some new graduate who might not have known what they were getting into. You get as high up in Hargreaves as Doctor Woodson was, and you have to know what kind of organization you’re working for – what kind of things they’re responsible for. You’re not just swirling test tubes around or doing low-level busywork. You know the kinds of bloodshed you’ve caused.”
Within him, Callan’s diprotodon rumbled out a growl. A bad man. A man responsible for death.
Callan frowned, anger bubbling inside him. Had he been wrong about Ella? Not that he’d thought much about her, but his instinctive reaction to the loneliness he’d seen in her eyes had been wanting to help her.
“Does she know her father?” he asked.
Robb shook his head. “No. As far as we’re aware, Henry Woodson has had no contact with his daughter for twenty years. She was born here, but went to live in the United States with her father almost immediately after her birth. She grew up there, but when she was seven, her father sent her back here. They’ve had no contact since.”
“Dumps his kid on the other side of the world, works for one of the most evil organizations on the face of the planet – sounds like a great guy. Strong contender for father of the year,” Trent said, thumbing through the file in front of him. “But I guess that’s why she’s on our radar?”
“Exactly. Given the things her father’s been responsible for, we’d be very interested if he ever were to contact her,” Robb said.
“What kind of things is he responsible for?” Callan asked.
“We don’t know all the details, of course, given that that side of Hargreaves’s operations has always been hush-hush,” Robb said. “But we have our ways, as I’m sure you’re aware. And anyway, I’m sure you’ve all read Hector’s report from his run-in with a Hargreaves agent last year.”
Callan nodded, feeling his gut clench in anger at the memory. “They tortured him. He said they gave him some kind of serum that took away his shifter powers – he couldn’t shift, couldn’t heal.” He stared down at the report in front of him, his hands clenching into fists. Inside him, his diprotodon – usually a calm and steady presence– raised its hackles, lowering its head as fury pulsed through him.
Hector is our friend. And they almost killed him.
“Are you saying this Henry Woodson was responsible for creating that stuff?” Callan asked.
Robb must have heard the anger in his voice, because he paused, narrowing his eyes, before he answered.
“We think so. Whatever else Doctor Woodson is, he’s a brilliant biochemist. He was top-notch before he started working at Hargreaves. But I want to emphasize that as far as we know, Ella Woodson has nothing to do with her father. At all. The only reason we’re looking for her now is because she’s missing – but with a connection to Hargreaves like this, we’re concerned for her safety. That’s it.”
Callan frowned. It was common for agents to be told minimal details of their mission so they wouldn’t know enough to be useful if they were caught by an enemy, and he knew better than to demand more details than Robb had already given them. But this time, something was bothering him about not having the full picture.
They have a reason to think she might be in danger from Hargreaves. Something else is happening behind the scenes.
Callan wanted to ask, but he forced himself to stay quiet. He had to trust that Robb was telling them everything they needed to know.
“So, who gets this one, then?” Trent asked, slapping the file he’d been looking through closed. “Missing girl, mysterious father, evil corporation. All the good stuff.”
Callan glanced at him. It was clear Trent wanted it – he was leaning forward, eyes eager. Euan, sitting across from him, looked the way he always did: disinterested and grumpy, his arms crossed over his chest. Hector was out of the running since he was away on leave.
“I’m giving this one to Callan,” Robb said, nodding to him. “It’s time you got back out in the field after all the time you’ve been stuck behind that desk.”
“Me?” Callan glanced up, mildly surprised. He was technically still a field agent, but he’d been working in logistics lately – rather than going out into the field himself, he’d been acting as a handler for agents out on missions. He’d enjoyed it, but he’d have been lying if he said he hadn’t been wanting to stretch his legs lately.
Callan’s diprotodon rumbled to life, raising its massive head.
Yes. We need this. We need to be out in the air again – this office doesn’t suit us. It’s not right for us. We need to be outside again. On the land.
Callan nodded. Both Robb and his diprotodon were right. It was time to get back out there.
“Right,” he said. “So. I’m guessing we have something to start with, then?”
Robb nodded. “We do. It’s not just the fact she’s missing. Her lab and her home were trashed – forensics have crawled over both, of course, but there’s not so much as a fingerprint. Neighbors saw her get in her car and drive away from her home, which is the only evidence we have that she wasn’t kidnapped. Since then, we’ve spotted her car at several locations, heading northwest on Barton Highway. After that we got a report from a speed camera south of Yass. Where she’s actually heading is
anyone’s guess, but right now, she’s not stopping.”
Callan nodded. “Well. That’s enough to get started with, anyhow.” He closed the file, and glanced up at Ella’s photograph again – the wary set of her mouth, the sadness in her brown eyes.
She needs someone to help her.
He shook his head, frowning.
I just need to find her. That’s it.
Looking up at Robb, Callan stood. “Well. If she’s moving fast, I better get on the road then.”
Chapter 3
God, I’ve missed this.
Now that he was out in the open air again, Callan had no idea how he’d ever stomached all those months stuck behind a desk, breathing only dry, air-conditioned air, surrounded by four concrete walls, and only feeling sunlight on his skin through the tinted glass of the Agency’s windows.
Naturally, he’d worked out a lot in the extensive outdoor training area – sweating his way through the rope courses, scaling the rock walls, and throwing weights around at the gym. But nothing, nothing could beat the feeling of finally being out in the field again. Inside him, he could feel his diprotodon – sluggish after so much time stuck in an office – becoming alert within him again, raising its head and sniffing the air, blinking in the natural light.
Home. We’re back home again.
That wasn’t quite true, Callan thought, as he gunned the engine of the motorcycle he was riding. Where they were was on a highway, following the Agency’s best guess as to Ella Woodson’s path once she’d left the Canberra city limits. However relieved his diprotodon might be to be back in the open air, a long, hot stretch of bitumen was hardly home, even though he’d left the city behind him by now and the only buildings around were the small towns dotted along the highway.
But in this day and age, and in this job, it was about as close as he was likely to get to the vast, open plains his ancestors had roamed freely.
