The Night Has Teeth (27 page)

“What do you care where I go, Arden?”

“We have an obligation.”

“Seriously?” I start in on him. “You’re going to
pull that card out on me now? Where was your sense of obligation
when you brought me to a werewolf party? Or all the times that
you’ve pushed me around? All you’ve been trying to do is to prove
to Amara that you can be a decent father, and all you’ve done is
prove that you can’t.”

I hop into the jeep and we pull away from the curb.
In the side view mirror, he stands very still, shrinking as we
drive on. Part of me can’t believe what just happened. The other
part is actually a little bit exhilarated. When he disappears from
sight altogether, I catch Madison’s eyes flickering toward me in
the rearview mirror.

“Grew a pair, did you?” she remarks.

“He had it coming.”

“No doubt.”

We continue to the cemetery, and as we get closer, I
begin to internalize all the anxiety that’s been pent up this whole
time. What am I going to say to Boadicea? What if she’s not alone?
How is this night going to end?

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Connor?”
Madison asks, pulling into a spot along the perimeter of the
cemetery.

“No.”

“You need a plan.”

She’s right, but I can barely string together two
words just now.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.” I try to sound firm, like there’s no
negotiating this point.

For a moment she goes quiet, and I can see she’s
treading carefully. “You don’t know what these people are capable
of.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “And you do?”

“There’s a lot you have to learn about being a
werewolf,” she starts, “and it’s a steep learning
curve.”

She knows about Boguet Biotechnology. It explains
her adverse reaction to Boadicea at my apartment last month. And
maybe it explains why Trajan and Attila were hanging around outside
her boarding house. Roul implied he was following them. I can only
assume now that it had to do with discovering more about Boguet and
his plans. I can’t get into it just now. Instead, I send a text to
Boadicea to specify our meeting place.

“Stay here and keep the engine running,
okay?”

She nods and I leave her in the jeep. Before I head
into the cemetery, I pause outside her door. She has both hands on
the steering wheel, her expression distant, like she’s visualizing
our eventual escape. I don’t want to be the one to break it to her,
but she may be driving home alone. She’s safer here on this side of
the wall. I linger for a second and think about leaning in, turning
her face toward mine, and just―

“Go already, Connor,” she instructs me. “The
sooner you get this over with the sooner we can leave this place.
Cemeteries give me the creeps.”

My lips curl up in a smile. “Goodbye, Madison.”

I walk toward the imposing stone wall surrounding
the cemetery. The last time I was here, it was kind of a joke, but
now it’s like walking toward a prison. Concrete bollards with large
black metal chain-links line each side of the path. The carved
archway looms overhead as I enter through the main gates. This
visit has taken on a more ominous tone, and I wonder what Boguet
has planned for me now that he’s got me where he wants.

The text I receive back from Boadicea tells me to
head straight until the path ends at the Monument aux Morts. The
layout of the cemetery appears to be erratic, and behind tombs are
lines of others spreading out as far as I can see. Perfect hiding
places for Boguet’s thugs. My guard goes up further as I scan
around for movement. The gun that I tucked into the back of my
cargo pant waistline is an oddly welcome comfort. The main path
ends with staircases branching off to the left and right. I
continue toward the massive sculpture ahead. It’s a carved wall
with the words
Aux Morts
etched
at the top. It means, To the Dead. Of all the places she could have
picked to meet, this one sends a chilling message. All the more
reason for me to keep my wits about me, in case Trajan and Attila
are lurking among the graves. Every shifting shadow sends chills up
and down my arms. Every sudden sound quickens my
heartbeat.

“A punishment to some, to some a gift and to many
a favor,” a lilting voice recites.

Death. Boadicea stands behind me between the
staircases, the sky above her like a dying fire. Her strawberry
blonde hair is pulled back with loose strands framing her face. She
carries her oversized purse on her shoulder. All of a sudden, I
don’t know what I want to say to her.

“You seem out of sorts,” she observes.

I swallow back all caution. “You need to assure me
that you didn’t know about or have a hand in any of this.”

Her expression is perplexed. “Whatever are you
talking about?”

I wonder if she’s playing me. “What happened last
month when you brought me in to see Boguet?”

“I’ve already gone through the details with you,”
she replies. “You were injected with the antivenin. The rest of the
time was spent under observation. What are you going on
about?”

“Here’s the thing. Last night, I turned into a
werewolf. A full-fledged werewolf. Not the bitten kind.”

She walks brusquely toward me, and I let her into
close proximity. Her pale skin is almost opalescent in the light of
dusk. As she leans toward me, I try to remain calm and still. Her
cheek is next to mine when she takes in a deep breath, the way
Arden did. Only I’m nervous in other ways now. When she pulls back,
her eyes search mine.

“How is this possible?”

My eyebrows rise of their own accord. “You’re
asking
me
?”

She takes a step back. “I’m not a villain, Connor.
Think what you will of the work we’re doing at Boguet Biotechnology
or even the man behind the science himself. But I’m not your
enemy.”

“Explain why I’m literally not myself
anymore.”

“I don’t know,” she insists. “It’s possible, based
on what we now know about your DNA, that you’re somehow immune to
the antivenin.”

“Immune?” It’s bad enough that I’ve never really
fit in, but to know that my genes are abnormal too makes me feel
like the world’s biggest fail. “Back up a step. What do you mean
about my DNA?”

“How to explain it?” she asks herself quietly,
raising her chin in thought before looking back at me. “Have you
heard tell of HeLa cells before?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“They’re named after Henrietta Lacks,” she goes
on. “She was a poor tobacco farmer in the United States. In the
early 1950s, she was diagnosed with cancer, and at the time
scientists took her cells to study them. They discovered something
remarkable in them.”

I swallow back my fear and ask, “What made them so
special?”

“HeLa cells are immortal. In fact, they’re still
alive and being reproduced in medical laboratories around the
world, even though Henrietta Lacks herself died decades
ago.”

It sends a chill through me. “What does any of this
have to do with me?”

“When I brought you in after you were bitten, a
sample was taken of your cells.”

A hot flush rises to my face. “Maybe the rules were
different in the fifties, but isn’t that illegal now?”

Even though she lowers her head, I can see she’s
biting her bottom lip. That’s definitely a yes, but she ignores the
question. “Here’s the rub, though: there’s something special in
your cells too, Connor. Boguet Biotechnology may have found the
cure we’ve been looking for based on your DNA. Field tests have
already begun. It’s being called Wolf’s Bane.”

My stomach sinks. I’m sickened by the thought that
my own blood is the source of this so-called cure, and I feel
violated because I never gave my consent to be a part of this
process. Inside me, outrage swells. I want to be angrier, but I
feel a wave of nausea rolling over me, and it scares me to know
it’s the wolf within.

“You can tell yourself all the lies you want,” I
start, trying to keep my voice level, “but I’d love to know how
your role in all of this doesn’t make you a villain. You’re
complicit in what Boguet is about to do. Call it a cure or
whatever, but in the end there’s only one word for it. And that’s
genocide.”

Sort of like the unraveling of a ball of yarn, her
cool expression comes undone. Her eyebrows knit, the corners of her
mouth tremble and those stone cold emerald eyes fill with tears.
“You can’t possibly understand.”

“Try me, Boadicea.”

Her voice quavering, she tells me, “It’s
Brigid.”

Confused, I ask, “What?”

“Brigid Farrell.”

It’s the name I asked for that night she brought me
back from Boguet Biotechnology. It lingers there now between us, a
life waiting for someone to claim it. I can almost touch the
silence hanging between us. Why has she decided to tell me now?
Maybe because she knows I’m not going to walk away from this
situation on my terms. I take a step back and find myself ankle
deep in a patch of dead flowers, trapped at the base of the
monument. There’s a sound from nearby, like a pebble being kicked
across a stone surface. I fumble for the gun at the back of my
waistline.

“What was that?” I ask, scanning the area for
either of her so-called colleagues.

Her hands gently wrap around mine, and she reassures
me, “It’s just us here, my lamb.”

Our eyes meet then she points the gun toward her and
slips it free from my grasp. She walks toward the staircases and
lays the weapon down on the top of a balustrade. When she turns
back to face me, her hands go up as though in surrender.

“How can you live with yourself,
Brigid?”

I try to look into her eyes, but she’s staring
intently at a point somewhere beyond me. I see it then, how broken
she is on the inside. Maybe I had a hint of it all along. But I was
too self-absorbed to really see that deep down, she’s still that
girl who almost didn’t live to see her seventeenth birthday. She’s
a dead girl trapped in a werewolf’s body, working for a man who
wants nothing more than petty vengeance.

“I told you already,” she whispers as she
approaches me again. “I’m just a ghost. I owe that man my life. Do
you understand how hard this is for me? We all make our sacrifices
and learn to live with them. I’ve been given no choice in the
matter.”

Confused, I watch her reach into the carryall. For
what, I can’t even begin to imagine. My eyes flick to the gun that
she placed on the balustrade. Maybe she’s deluded herself into
thinking her charms will bring me back into Boguet’s lab. Or maybe
I’m the one who’s misguided into believing there are other options.
He seems to be the only one with the answers. All the same, life as
a werewolf is one thing. I’m not about to sign up to become a lab
rat, too.

“Whatever you think you have to do,” I start,
“it’s still your life.”

She begins to pull a shiny object out of the purse
as she steps even closer. With a shake of her head she says, “What
life? He owns us all. And you, why you’re his pride and joy.”

“No! Connor, look out!” Madison cries out as she
runs between the staircases, grabbing the gun from the balustrade
just as she catches sight of it.

Boadicea doesn’t stop, although she appears to
register the words and their meaning. The gun goes off. I know even
before the bullet hits its target that I’ll never forget what I’m
about to see. Boadicea’s eyelids flutter as she lets out a sharp
gasp. In a matter of seconds she collapses forward into my arms.
Instinctively, I catch her. My hands clutch her back, damp with a
warm fluid. It’s blood. I can smell it. Horrified, I let go and
allow her body to slump backward onto the earth. In the end,
Boadicea ― Brigid ― was just a girl, a human girl. A very mortal
girl. One who now lies on a withered bed of flowers, bleeding from
a shot through the heart. Silence hovers like a bird on a draft of
wind. My hands begin shaking. As does my breathing. I feel the warm
stream of tears flowing down my face. Her pale hair flows out
around her head as though underwater. Even her skin has taken on
the bluish hue of being submerged. I’m afraid to go anywhere near
her. Afraid that somehow she’ll pull me down with her into the dark
abyss. Her green eyes fade. And then the life goes out of her. My
body drags itself down against the cold stone monument, and I sit
anchored on the floor.

“Why?” I murmur. “Madison, what have you
done?”

“She was going to kill you,” she tells me quietly,
stepping forward to kneel by her body.

When she pulls Boadicea’s hand out of the purse, a
shiny object falls to the ground. It’s not a gun. My heart sinks
deeper. Madison’s words come back to me:
You don’t know what these people are
capable of
. She was
right in a way. Just not how she thought. Boadicea’s intention, her
sacrifice, was to betray the man who once pulled her from the brink
of death. The USB flash drive she was about to hand over to me must
contain incredibly valuable information.

“Madison?”

My voice brings her back, and she wipes dampness
from her eyes. With determination she begins to riffle through the
purse. I hear the jangling of keys, and in the next moment she
tosses them to me. With one hand I reach to catch them, but the
sight of blood on my palm stops me and the keys crash by my side.
Although I hear her moving around, my eyes don’t follow. I’m
transfixed by the blood. Next thing I know, she’s shaking me so I
have no choice but to look at her.