The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) (15 page)

"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 and 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 indentured 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.

On their walk home the evening before, he'd ensured her that his request for the data they needed would be flawless, but refused to say anything else.

"I told you last night not to worry about it. My answer isn't going to change." He turned back to the mirror. "No matter how much you stare."

"You know I could force you to tell me, right?"

The long, withering look he gave her said he didn't believe her. "You agreed to trust me, and right now you need to trust me when I tell you that not knowing will keep
you
safe, and keep
us
from looking suspicious."

Clover didn't want to believe him, but buried under her pride—where she kept the rational part of her brain—was the nagging suspicion that he was right. She shoved herself off the door frame and went to the mirror by the closet to tame her hair into the bun she wore to the Bureau. She hated to admit that he could be right about something, but as long as she got results, it didn't matter what his excuse was.

It was only Clover's third day inside the massive cinder block room, but already it felt normal. She was startled by how quickly she'd acclimated to the work, and understood how people might wake up to find themselves cleaning the same halls twenty years later. The work blended into itself, and without the choice to pursue other jobs, falling into a blurred routine seemed easiest.

At the same time, three days felt like an eternity. It was Friday already, which meant it had been a week since her last transformation. That also meant she only had three weeks left until the next full moon—tomorrow night would be the first quarter. She felt naïve now for thinking her mission would be an in-and-out sort of errand.

Jeannette seemed to be back to normal after her day of suffocating comfort. She’d barely spoken until they’d stopped for water near lunch time. As they rested, a small group of baby-faced agents was led in by a man in his fifties. Immediately, Clover noticed yellow triangles on their name badges—similar to Elliot’s.

"They’re students,” Jeanette said, seeming to notice Clover's interest in the group that had stopped to listen to their tour guide. "You can tell by the triangle. When it’s just an outline like that it means they’re still at the academy. If it’s solid it means they’re doing their internship or residency."

“They sure do like their ranking systems, don’t they?” It all seemed unnecessarily complicated to Clover. "And the white shoulder guards?" Clover had watched Elliot arrange his uniform several times now—painstakingly tucking and straightening the fabric against his body—but had never asked what the color of his shoulder guard or his pins meant.

"Evaluators. They choose their position before they even get here. Most stay in the same department for their whole career. It’s the time of year for groups like this from the academy."

"Evaluators…” Clover wasn’t sure what that meant, but didn’t particularly like the sound of it.

"Who was yours?"

"My...?"

"Your Evaluator. Who evaluated you after you were picked up?"

The heat drained from Clover’s face. She didn't know how to answer her. But what she meant was clear. Somehow, the insinuation made everything feel a little worse. The fate that her father was likely set to face, the over representation of women in the indentured work force—someone had to make these choices. Someone had to hand pick the most submissive to be sent to finishing schools. And who would be better equipped to make such an important decision than an
Evaluator.

The color must have drained away with the heat, because Jeanette looked worried again. "Sorry. I, um, don't remember who mine was." Clover’s lie sounded weak, but it might have been because it was hard to speak at all.

She didn't know why she felt so sick. Was she shocked? Shocked that Elliot signed death warrants for people just like her? Or was it betrayal that she was feeling? In the last twenty-four hours she'd all but accepted that Elliot was no longer her prisoner, but her partner in crime. But now his words from the evening before echoed in her head. He'd told her that she had none of the traits that would have landed her in a finishing school. Now she knew that he was talking from experience. Would he have sent her to her death? She felt foolish for even wondering.