The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1)

by Michelle Kay

  "You think he'll change things?"

  "I’d hoped he would," she said as her brows creased, "but now I'm not so sure."

  Guilt twisted Clover’s stomach when she realized she'd dimmed the beacon he'd become. She wondered if he even knew what workers like Jeannette were saying about him, or that so much was expected of him.

  "Jeannette, listen," Clover began, not entirely sure what she was going to say.

  Before she could make what might have been a mistake, though, they were interrupted by a shout from Connell, who had seemed a little more irritated than usual that morning. He stood at the end of their row of cubicles, holding Ji-Yun, the dark-haired, limping girl Clover had noticed the day before, by the arm. She swayed slightly in Connell's grasp, her face chalky-grey and shining with sweat.

  "Take her to the bathroom and clean her up," Connell ordered as the two hurried toward him.

  Seeing a line of blood dribbling down the other girl's leg made Clover's gut twist with a toxic mix of curiosity and dread, but Jeannette was unfazed, and put her arms around the other girl, taking most of her weight.

  "You go get the first aid kit," Connell said to Clover, "and be quick. I don't want this putting us behind schedule."

  By the time Clover made it to the small lavatory, medical kit in hand, Ji-Yun was supporting herself on the sink, her whole body shaking as she gulped for air. Clover realized she'd been hiding her pain from their boss.

  "Just relax, hun," Jeannette soothed, speaking slowly. They both knew her English was still broken. "We're just going to clean it, okay?"

  Ji-Yun nodded and shifted more of her weight onto the sink as Jeannette carefully lifted the brown skirt. Clover's curiosity dissolved as the smell of infection stung her nose. Infected wounds weren't new to her, as her pack's ability to get medical supplies wasn't always great, but she'd not been prepared for this. Nausea wracked her body, as she was unable to look away from the dark red bands that wrapped the other girl’s thigh like a festering garter. A slimy coating of moisture covered speckles of yellow and white, and in the center of the wound, like a band of elastic pulled too tight, was a metal chain, bits of flesh pressing through the links, as if her body were trying to swallow it.

  Clover's mouth hung open as Jeannette pulled the disinfectant wipes from the small kit.

  "What is that?" Clover finally asked, unable to muster more than a whisper.

  "It's called a cilice," Jeannette glanced at the door, nervous they would be heard. "While we're on Bureau property, Pierson is in charge of any punishment we get. This is one of her favorites."

  "She put this on her?" It was hard to keep her voice from bouncing off the tiled walls. "Why?"

  "Ji-Yun was caught sneaking away from the work group." There was a suggestion in her voice that Clover might end up in the same boat. It reminded her of her aunt.

  "That's it?" Her voice cracked. "Does she even have the right to do that? Isn't this girl supposed to be someone else's property?" The words were sour on her tongue.

  "When we're here, we're the property of the Bureau." Jeannette’s voice was dry as she hushed the injured girl, who'd started whimpering quietly. "You'll get used to this sort of thing, eventually."

  Clover was struck silent by the resignation in that statement, only able to watch as the inflamed skin was cleaned and medicated. And as they returned to their work crew, she found the injury hard to forget. The intentionality of it left her skin crawling, but it was the way things went on as normal that made the biggest impression. Ji-Yun went back to masking her pain, silently accepting her punishment. Jeannette was quieter, but went on with her work like all the others. The resounding disinterest both enraged her, and exhausted her.

  How was she supposed to stay angry with humans when her own kind was so disinterested? The apathy was overwhelming, and by the end of the day it had doused what was left of Clover's fighting spirit.

  "What happened?"

  Elliot had noticed something was wrong the moment he’d picked her up, Clover could tell by the look he gave her—the softening of his brows and the sympathetic frown. He’d waited until they were on the streets of a shopping district, before asking her.

  They’d taken the train in the opposite direction that afternoon, since Elliot had insisted on getting her new uniforms.

  "Nothing happened," Clover muttered dispassionately.

  "I find that hard to believe," he said casually. "You've barely said a word. And you've seemed... not angry." He glanced at her a second. "Which is weird. You know, for you."

  Clover snorted, unsure if it was a sound of annoyance or amusement.

  "I literally mean that nothing happened," she surprised herself by explaining. "That's the problem. A girl on my work crew is being tortured and no one is doing anything about it. It's like this morning," she tried to clarify. "Something should have happened, but nothing did. And I get it now, you know? That a lot of you think that sort of treatment isn’t okay. But nobody does anything about it. Nobody ever does anything."

  Elliot made a vague noise, like he was considering the situation.

  "It's disgusting," she concluded.

  "I guess it's just human nature," Elliot said thoughtfully, paying attention to the streets they passed. "People feel like they can't change things on their own. And everyone thinks they're on their own. It's hard to stand up to your entire culture."

  "That's not an excuse." Clover grumbled, lowering her voice so the other pedestrians wouldn't notice them.

  "I never said it was."

  "Are you describing everyone else, or yourself?" Clover snipped back, watching him carefully, expecting him to try bluffing his way out.

  "Both." There was an undercurrent of guilt in Elliot's voice that left it sounding small. He looked away from her as he spoke, making it hard for her to read him fully.

  Clover turned her attention back to the crowd of people in front of them. She'd not expected him to take responsibility for his own inaction, and wondered how many others felt the way he did. Even if a fourth of them shared the sentiment, that would be enough to do something, wouldn't it? Of course, whatever it was that kept them isolated—kept them feeling powerless—was probably the same thing that kept her pack feeling the same way. If humans banding together could change things, then werewolves banding together could do even more. She tried to imagine members of her pack wanting to make a difference though, and she almost scoffed out loud.

  Clover didn’t know where to go in the conversation that suddenly felt too revealing. Elliot seemed to agree, so they both stayed silent, even as they stopped outside a small store-front nestled between a salon and art gallery. When Elliot led her into the heavily fragranced boutique, the exchange disappeared from her thoughts all together. For a moment, she was sure they'd gone into the wrong store, but the racks of brown uniforms along the pin-striped walls were unmistakable. The store was beautiful, but cramped by the enthusiastic decorating. In the main room, ornate chandeliers hung over small displays of flashy collars. Through small openings into adjacent areas Clover spied glossy pedestal tables with mannequins displaying what, to Clover, looked like every other uniform she'd seen. Other tables and dress-forms held heavy winter coats in the indentured, tan color. Another alcove was dedicated to mini blazers and jumpers for children.

  "What is this?" Clover whispered, her voice a mix of awe and disgust.

  "I heard their quality was good." He seemed equally entranced by the gaudy store.

  Before they could say more, a tall, angular man came from one of the alcoves to greet them in a fashion that matched the intensity of the decor. What followed was an hour of constant attention from Felix, their self-proclaimed “personal stylist”.

  Clover's body was measured and re-measured, her feet were forced into a devise that took twelve different readings, and she spent most of her time in the small changing room, trying on a dozen uniforms that all seemed the same to her. Felix insisted they all had different fiber blends and different tucks an
d that finding the perfect combination for her was imperative. At least she could feel a difference in the shoes. Hannah's had been too big for her, and she was looking forward to having a pair that she didn't slide around in.

  The patience that Elliot showed was amazing. Felix had systematically taken them to every display inside the store, trying to convince them they needed every item. After working through each blend of uniform fabric, they were shown the collars and bracelets, decorative green trust badges, bags and purses in the same tan with elaborate designs in the reflective orange, even lotions and shampoos that were made specifically for the "needs of werewolf skin," whatever that meant. She did notice the suggestive look he gave Elliot, though, as he described how soft they would make her.

  Finally, as they approached the register, Clover noticed a small, pharmacy-like selection of pills and syringes.

  "I see you're interested in our line of gentle sedatives," Felix said, leaping on their momentary glances. "I can tell she's still very new. Have you dealt with your first transformation yet?"

  "Oh, um, no. Not yet." Eliot murmured, barely seeming convincing as an owner.

  "Well, even with the regulated cages, it’s not a walk in the park," he said. "The howling and growling. Really it's just insufferable. But with these, you can have her sleeping like a puppy the whole time, which means you get to sleep as well."

  Clover wasn't sure if the prospect of sleeping through her transformation was appealing or not. Certainly, avoiding the pain of it was a nice thought, but the way their "werewolf connoisseur," focused on the convenience for the owner rubbed her the wrong way.

  "Thank you, I'll think about it." Elliot said politely, glancing at Clover as their host turned back toward the register. She shrugged and rolled her eyes, not wanting Elliot to think she was going to deck him in public if he answered incorrectly.

  Once Felix had completed their transaction, Clover felt a wave of dizziness turn her on her head. If she added together every dollar she'd ever found or earned, this purchase would still be impossible for her. A chuckle from their decorated host made Clover's mouth snap shut. It had fallen open without her noticing.

  "Please don't laugh at her." Elliot’s words were stern and immediate.

  "Of course, sir." Felix looked embarrassed as he returned his face to a more neutral expression.

  The three were silent for the remainder of the transaction, which was a relief, as Clover tried to wrap her brain around the amount of money that had just been spent on her. She was estimating how much food she could buy for her pack as their now stoic clerk wrapped every item in perfumed tissue paper and stacked them into decorated bags. It wasn't until they were walking to the exit that Clover stopped doing math in her head.

  A familiar gleaming of gold caught her attention in a small glass case by the door that they'd missed. Inside, resting on velveteen neck forms and cushy pillows, was a collection of intricate necklaces. In the center was the same necklace she'd seen on Hannah Pritchard when they'd met outside the restaurant.

  "I see she has an eye for quality," Felix said, sounding a little gentler after his reprimand. "Would she like to try it on?"

  "Um," Elliot's eyes met Clover's for a second, looking nervous about answering for her.

  It would have been hard for Clover to put her feelings into words. She'd never had much interest in decorative things like jewelry, but having seen the pretty thing dangling so perfectly around her pack-mate's neck, she wondered if it would look so elegant on her.

  "Sure," Elliot finished, looking pleased, like he could see the wonder in Clover’s expression.

  Moving to the back of the case, Felix opened the small door and fished the delicate thing out, handling it like a spindle of glass, making it seem even more valuable. After turning a gilded mirror toward Clover he moved in behind her, lowering the open chain in front of her face. Clover felt a small thrill in her stomach as the chill of the chain touched her neck. The pendent, a sliver of moon wound in what might have been stylized, flowering vines, was the same gold color of her eyes. It seemed to glow next to her warm-toned skin and before she noticed she'd done it, shed reached up to pet it. She smiled at herself in the mirror, feeling, for once, like she was on the same level as Hannah Pritchard.

  "She truly does have wonderful taste," Felix cooed at Elliot, though Clover was too occupied with the mirror to pay them much attention. "And, of course, this piece is set with GPS as well."

  The gentle looping of happiness Clover felt in her stomach suddenly turned to a lurching. An icy prickling shot through her limbs and she wanted to tear the chain from her neck.

  "Take it off," she said, speaking above a whisper for the first time since they'd entered the boutique.

  Felix seemed taken aback, obviously unused to indentured werewolves being so vocal.

  "I said take it off before I rip it off!" Clover screamed at Felix's reflection, who leapt away from her like she might maul him.

  "Calm down." Elliot's voice was more demanding than Clover was used to, which only fanned the flame.

  She was disgusted with owners who shopped from this store. The owners who would track someone, like they were a stolen phone or car. She was also disgusted with herself for being so easily taken in by the glittering pendant. She would never be a passive lap dog who gave up her freedom just because someone gave her pretty things. She would never be like Hannah.

  "No! Get this thing off me!"

  Somewhere, through her fog of anger, she knew a tantrum like this was a bad choice, even with no one else in the shop. Tired of waiting, Clover grabbed the pendant at her neck, ready to tear it from her body. Before she could, Elliot's fingers closed around her wrist.

  "Clover!" He'd more than matched her volume this time. "Calm. Down."

  The two glared at each other for a few moments, gauging each other's resolve. Clover was reminded of the first day they’d spent together, when they were vying for dominance. It was that challenge that made her not want to back down, even though she knew she was making a horrible scene. Eventually, Clover decided this battle wasn't worth the damage she was doing to their reputation and released the pendant.

  With a nod from Elliot, Felix rushed in to unclasp the chain from around her neck. Once free of the delicate choke-collar, Clover expected Elliot to release her. Instead, he drug her toward the door, like a child being taken outside for a spanking. As the chimes on the door rang, Felix suggested a complaint be filed with her finishing school.

  "Let go of me," Clover growled, trying to dig her heels into the concrete as he pulled her down the street.

  "Shut up." He turned down the first alley they got to, leading her toward the back of the shops where people on the sidewalk would be hard-pressed to see them, even if they were looking.

  It was a surprise for Clover to be pushed back against the brick wall. Elliot's fist held the fabric of her uniform to keep her pinned.

  "Are you deaf? Let go!" She pulled at his jacket sleeve.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" Elliot threw their shopping bags onto the ground now that they were fully out of sight.

  "Are you trying to get us caught?"

  "Are you trying to put a tracker on me?"

  Elliot actually laughed, but it wasn’t a very happy sound.

  "Are you kidding me? You're the one who got all dazzley-eyed over it. You can't just flip out on people because something triggers some messed up little thought in your stupid head.”

  “I can do whatever I want," Clover ground through her teeth, still tugging at his sleeve. "You don't own me."

  "Of course I don't!"

  Clover had known the accusation was off base before she'd even said it, but her disgust with the business that had developed around a trade as brutal as slavery left her nerves feeling raw. Eventually they both loosened their grips.

  "Is that really what this is about?" Elliot asked, still agitated, but less aggressive. "I know I don't own you, Clover. But to be honest, even if I did want an in
dentured wolf, you wouldn't have been around for me to pick. If you'd been caught by an agent, you would've gone straight to the incinerator. You're too combative, too strong-willed and too ill-mannered. No," he cut her off the second her mouth opened to argue, "shut up a minute. Those might all be great traits to have in the outside world, but in here they're going to get you in trouble. Do you really want to mess your plans up because you can’t keep your temper under control? The next time you fly off the handle like that, you might be giving up the chance to find your family. Is that worth your stupid temper tantrums?"

  "Why do you care if I mess it up?" The imagery he drew with that single word—incinerator—shook something inside Clover, and clouded the rest of what he’d said. He couldn’t be using it literally.

  The look Elliot gave her was strange. Part disbelief and part something that might have been suspicion.

  "Did you forget that you bit me?" His voice was soft but brittle as bone.

  Clover swallowed. She had forgotten. He'd been so cooperative that she'd forgotten about the initial lie she'd used to dominate him.

  "If you mess this up, you take the life I have right now with you. I've done everything you've asked me to," he took a deep breath, "so you better take responsibility. Get your head together, and trust me, okay? I want this to work as much as you do."

  Clover was silent for a long time. "Okay."

  "Okay." Elliot agreed and took a step back from her. "Let's work together, alright? I think I have a way to get the records we need."

  - 15 -

  Clover felt like she was burning holes into the side of Elliot's head. She'd perched herself against the frame of the bathroom door, watching him shave like he was performing surgery.

  "What?" He played innocent as he cleaned his razor under the tap.

  "Don't 'what' me. You know what."

  Elliot felt like a different person after his outburst in the alley behind the boutique. He felt stronger. She kind of respected him for standing his ground. She didn't respect his refusal to tell her the details of his plan, though.