Cat stood and did the back arch thing again. He stepped off my chest and sat at the bottom of the bed. He didn’t look like he was worried about his weight. And either he knew an idle threat when he heard one, or else he didn’t understand a word I was saying. If he was a ninja, maybe he only spoke Japanese.
I skipped my morning shower, opting to wear a ball cap rather than attempt to wash my hair in frigid water. I dressed in my usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt, and I quietly walked down the stairs and sneaked into the kitchen. I poured out some kibble for Cat and gave him fresh water. I could hear my dad snoring on the couch, and I assumed Carl was with him. I started making coffee and then thought better of it.
“I don’t want to wake my dad,” I whispered to Cat. “I’m going to eat breakfast at the bakery.”
Cat was hunkered down in front of the back door. I approached the door, and Cat growled at me.
“I fed you,” I said. “And you can’t go out.”
Cat didn’t move.
I reached out to move him, and he slashed at me.
“Bad cat!”
I shoved him with my foot and squeezed past him, out the door. The last thing I saw was his face in the window, and the last thing I heard was Hatchet calling me a stupid wench. And then everything went black.
The room was cool and quiet. Lights were dim. The walls were taupe. Across the room was floor-to-ceiling black glass. Some of the mind fog lifted, and I realized I was on my back. Not hurt, but disoriented. There was nothing between my kitchen and this room. I had no idea how I’d got here. No memory of capture, but I knew I’d been physically moved to an unfamiliar place. I had a rush of panic and then a flash of insight. Wulf. I couldn’t see him, but I had a sense of him. This wasn’t the warehouse that Lenny and Mark More had described. This place felt serene and was fully furnished.
I was on a couch in a living room, I thought. I swung my legs over the side and sat. Furniture was all clean lines, ivory and cocoa. Expensive art on the walls. The black glass was a window. The street was at least twenty floors below. I moved my eyes left, and spotted him. He was motionless in a chair across the room, his dark eyes fixed on me. His face was almost as pale as the ivory chair. His glossy black hair was loose, swept back, falling to his shoulders in waves.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice soft. “Steven acted without my direction. Although, it has turned out well, because here you are . . . unprotected by my annoying cousin.”
“Where are we?”
“You’re in my home.”
“It doesn’t look like the brownstone.”
“This is a new address,” Wulf said. “A necessary inconvenience.”
I looked around the room. “Does Hatchet live here, too?”
“No.”
“How did Hatchet get me here?”
“Stun gun and then a mild anesthesia. He was a paramedic in the military.”
“He’s insane.”
“Yes, but sometimes in an amusing way. His obsessive brain is currently mired in the Middle Ages, but he’s actually quite brilliant. He’s an authority on paralytic toxins and Inquisition torture techniques. And as you know, he’s one of only two people living who can identify an empowered object.”
I walked to the window and looked out. We were in Boston. The sun was rising, tinting the black sky red at the horizon. A few car lights slid along the streets. I could see the Common below me. Behind me, the far end of the room opened to a marble-floored foyer and elevator. Wulf was occupying a penthouse. If Diesel were living here, there would be shoes left lying around and a sweatshirt draped over a chair back. Wulf’s home was pristine.
“Is there a Mrs. Wulf?” I asked him.
“No. I live alone.”
He crossed the room to stand behind me. When he moved, there were no sounds of footsteps, just the barest rustle of cloth. He made no attempt to touch me, but I could feel his energy field edging against mine.
I stepped away from him into a more benign space. “I’m supposed to be at work.”
“You have something I want. After you give it to me, you can leave and go to your work.”
“What do you want?”
“Information.”