The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) (3 page)

"It's about time, Clover." Josh tossed his hammer onto the blankets in front of him. "Sandy's been losing her mind since she realized you were missing again."

"She's always losing her mind." Shutting the entrance tightly behind her, she locked her time as Rainer's prey out.

"You look awful."

She
felt
awful. She wasn't soaking wet any more, but her hair was frizzier than normal after being dunked in the filthy water, and the smell of run off and garbage hung on her. Still, she shot Caleb a nasty look, but before the belligerent response that had sparked in her brain could make it out of her mouth, they were interrupted.

"Where's my letter?" Heather's voice was shrill under her bluster. She was only ever brave enough to talk to Clover like that when she was in her father's lap.

Heather was a pretty girl who had looked up to Hannah. She'd always tried to emulate her, but her attitude was too poor to live up to the standards set by the pack's favorite.

"Sorry it's wet." Despite the annoyance she normally felt for her bratty pack-mate, Clover was too exhausted to argue with her. Instead, she produced a soggy envelope from her satchel with 'Heather' written on it in beautiful, loopy handwriting.

"What'd you do to it?" Heather complained as she got her little fingers on the wet paper.              

"Don't be rude," Josh murmured, taking the letter from her. "We'll leave it here to dry." He set it near the small heater.

Heather mumbled an apology but continued to pout at the waterlogged envelope.

"Drop your bag in the toilet?" The younger brother prodded the soggy letter with the end of his pipe. 

Not feeling like engaging the usually abrasive Caleb, Clover made her way to the ladder that would take her to the higher levels of their metal maze. She heard the younger man mockingly wish her luck as she began her climb, and she knew she'd need it. Her aunt wasn't going to have anything nice to say to her.

As she made her way through the compound, she wondered when going to her aunt's compartment would start feeling natural. It had been a few weeks since she and her few belongings had been moved from the space she had shared with her family to where her aunt stayed. She didn't like it. Her body still steered her toward the highest compartments, and more than once she'd realized she'd gone too many levels up. The trip back to the fourth level where her new home was always made her ache.

Ignoring questions about where she'd been, she made her way through the consecutive doorways cut in the sides of the cars that led her to adjacent towers. Delivering the letters she'd gotten from Hannah would postpone her lecture, so she might as well take her time.

While the cars were warm, thanks to the stolen power line that brought them electricity from the active areas of the harbor, they were still small and overcrowded. Several families tended to live in a single car, their personal spaces only delineated by hanging blankets, or sometimes planks of wood. Privacy was hard to come by, and secrets were hard to keep. And it made her wonder if the secret she carried in her satchel was what made it feel so heavy.

"Mom, Clover's back!" Jake's voice was the first thing to greet her as she stepped off the ladder into the compartment she shared with him, her aunt, and the Pritchard family. 

The compartment buzzed as everyone moved through the draping fabric.

"You're in so much trouble." He lowered his voice so his mom couldn't scold him for his bad attitude.

"Shut up, bed-wetter." The insulted look on his face was satisfying.

Jake had been a thorn in her side since she'd started living with her aunt. She knew he felt threatened by her, but she was tired of being told to be gentler with him. Her family had been destroyed, and they were worried about
his
feelings? Their words certainly hadn't quelled her urge to chuck him down the ladder hole some days.

As Jake retreated into the car, whining for his mother, Hannah's parents approached her. Her mother was a pale, wispy thing, and while her father was once a strong looking man, he'd become gaunt and thin since his daughter's capture. He held his wife tight about the shoulders, both of them giving her the same silent plea for good news. Hannah's siblings watched from across the car.

"She's fine." Clover whispered, pulling her satchel around to present the thickest envelopes.

Clover could see the pressure release from Hannah's parents as Celia tucked herself into her husband's arms, beginning her weekly mail-delivery-cry. Behind them, Abby, the younger daughter, disappear back into her private tent. Henry, her elder brother stayed where he was, though his face was hard as he watched his parents grieve. Hannah's capture had devastated her family.

"Thank you, Clover." Wyatt took the letters, knowing his wife needed more time to compose herself.

Shame twisted her stomach. This was the last time she would deliver letters for them. "Don't mention it."

Over Wyatt's shoulder, Clover saw her aunt. It was alarming sometimes, how much she reminded Clover of her father. Sandra wasn't as tall as her dad had been, but she was set wide through her shoulders and her skin was dark and rich. Clover had loved how dark his skin looked beside her mother's. They had been beautiful together. The glare her aunt gave her made it hard to reminisce, though. Her salted hair made a halo of baby-curls around her face that made her seem deceptively gentle. The rest was pulled into a small tuft at the back of her head. She was waiting for Wyatt and Celia to return to their space, then Clover knew she would move in for the kill.

Finally, Clover was left alone with the strong-bodied woman. Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the back of the compartment where her pallet was, wanting to ditch her satchel as quickly as she could. The last thing she needed was to be caught red handed with her package from Hannah.

"Well?" Sandra's voice was dead serious, and the way she'd grounded her feet and crossed her arms made it look like she was restraining herself.

"I just lost track of time." Clover kept her voice level. Even before living with her father's sister, she'd known that arguing with her was dangerous.

"Doing what?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes! Yes, it matters, Clover." Her voice shook. "This isn't a game. You're gonna get yourself killed."

"Then you want me to stop checking on Hannah?" Clover shamelessly raised her voice, using the Pritchards' proximity to her advantage.

It worked, and Sandra took a breath to calm herself. "You know what I mean," she said in a quieter tone.

"I'm sorry, alright?" Clover tried to smooth things over by being mostly honest. "But I'm fine, and Hannah's fine."

"Hannah is
not
fine." Sandra caught Clover by the arm just before she was able to stow her bag. Her voice was quiet enough to keep their conversation private, but was shaking. "And if you keep this up, you're gonna end up just like her."

"What d'you want from me?"

Pain crossed Sandra's features. She and her brother Weston, Clover's dad, had been the only members of their immediate family left. "I want you to stay home where it's safe."

"And rot away in here? No, thanks." With one good jerk, she got her arm back and managed to toss her bag into her sectioned pallet.

"It's not 'rotting away.' It's staying safe. Do you know what they do to werewolves that get caught?"

A chill shook Clover's body, and her hands, which had formed fists without her knowing, began to tremble. She knew. She also knew they'd made a silent agreement to avoid the subject since her family's capture.

"Aunt Sandra, stop. Please."

"It's not just you, Clover." Sandra looked apologetic, but didn't back down. "When are you gonna understand? They could follow you back here. You could lead them right to us."

"But I didn't. And I wouldn't. I'd die out there before I lead them back here, whether these people like me or not." Clover pressed her lips between her teeth, instantly regretting what she'd said. It stopped her aunt for a few beats, though.

"Clover, honey." Her voice was soft now. "You know we all care about you."

"Forget it." Clover didn't want to have this conversation again. Her family had just been taken, but all her pack-mates cared about was Hannah's letters, and Jake's feelings about sharing his mother. "I'm just shaken up."

Clover didn't move as her aunt push her fingers into her tangled hair. Her constant worrying was annoying, but she'd never disliked Sandra. She was strong, so Clover wondered why she spent her time hidden away. It frustrated her. It was like her aunt had given up on life all together. And she wanted Clover to do the same thing. 

"I worry about you so much." Sandra pressed her lips to Clover's forehead, speaking against her skin. "Every time you go out there."

Before Clover could decide what to say, they were interrupted by their neighbor. The reconnaissance team from the night before had just returned with supplies.

Sandra promised to meet the other woman in the supply room and then sighed as she looked at Clover again. "We're going to finish talking about this when I get back." Her fingers pressed into her scalp, but her voice was gentler now.

"Okay." Clover didn't want to continue this conversation, but she knew agreeing would get Sandra out of the compartment faster.

With a kiss to her temple, Sandra took Jake and left. The Pritchards and their teenaged son, Henry, were gone a moment later.

Then Clover and six-year-old Abby were the only ones left in the narrow box car. It was as good as being alone. Since her sister's capture, Abby had become withdrawn, and rarely showed interest in other people. Her parents were still too busy mourning to notice.

In the silence of her own cubicle, Clover finally opened her satchel. Her fingers shook with fear-stained excitement as she untied the neat bow in the twine holding it together. Inside she found one of Hannah's uniforms. The orange piping on the damp brown blouse reflected the bits of light that filtered in through her drawn curtains. Next she spread out the simple knee length skirt that had been wrapped neatly around a pair of shoes. The shoes were a matching tan, the laces made of the blinding orange material. Finally, she fished the still-soggy newspaper clipping from her pocket. Gently, she flatted it and laid it beside the uniform, staring at the face of Charles Elliot Montgomery IV.

Her whole body went clammy. Plans that had started as a wild fantasy were taking shape and she'd never been more excited or frightened in her life. She spent an uncertain amount of time examining the clothes—touching them, imagining what they would look like on her body. She could see shadows of the difficult choices she'd have to make in the near future, though she knew turning back was the only one she couldn't allow herself.

Her aunt's return to the compartment made Clover realize how long she'd been petting the rough cloth. Not wanting to be caught with her shame spread out on her blankets, she crumpled the uniform up and stuffed it into her satchel again.

"Clover, come help me with these." Her aunt's voice was unsuspecting.

"Sure. Gimme a second." It was guilt that got Clover out of her cubicle. She might have fought Sandra's request under different circumstances, but this was a special morning. This was the beginning of the last day she may see her. After everything her aunt had done for her, Sandra deserved at least one day of compliance.

- 05 -

Sneaking out of her pack’s den was not new to Clover. Even with a single exit, she’d gotten quite good at it. She had a few techniques—distraction, shift change, bathroom breaks—but this time she’d had an easy go of it. During the wee hours of the morning, when no one was coming or going, the pack would allow some of the younger members to keep watch—those members who were looking to become part of the reconnaissance team. What was even better than that, was the fact that Devin, a fourteen-year-old, was the one on duty. That meant bribery was on the board.

A few months back, Clover had blackmailed Devin into letting her out—insisted she’d tell his parents about the rations he’d pilfered from the store room. After that, all she had to do was offer him a bag of beef jerky or a candy bar and he would instantly bend to her will. Clover shoplifted candy on a regular basis. She even had a cycle she worked in to avoid going to the same shops more than once a month. She’d kept them handy for her brother and sister. Now they were just bargaining chips.

Just as she’d expected, Devin let her out immediately, and nodded franticly when she told him to keep her business private from Aunt Sandra.

As soon as her feet hit the wet tunnel floor, though, she was struck by a wave of loneliness. No matter how much she struggled to fit in with her pack, being on her own terrified her. Pulling her hands resolutely from the rungs, she hiked her satchel further onto her shoulder. And she left.

  Originally, the plan had been to take her time—to watch Montgomery’s house for a while before making her move. It seemed like common sense, even without any sort of kidnapping experience. But the longer she waited, the less time her family had.

She shifted inside her fortress of leaves—her unexceptional cluster of bushes. The city had several parks like the one she’d met Hannah in, and she’d always wondered what the point of them was. Why funnel so much money into cutting a hedge into a perfect rectangle? Finding one of their parks across the street from her target was lucky, though.