Stolen (Otherworld #2)(28)

"Money can't buy happiness," I said, the cliché bitter on my tongue. Was that what this was about? Poor little rich girl? I'm rich and unhappy so I kidnap innocent strangers-well, maybe not so innocent, but unwitting nonetheless.
"But you are happy," Bauer said. A statement, not a question.
I managed a half-genuine smile. "Well, at this very moment, being held captive in a cell, I wouldn't exactly say-"
"But otherwise. Before this. You're happy with your life."
"No complaints. It's not perfect. There's still that nasty werewolf curse-"
"You don't see it that way, though. As a curse. You say it, but you don't mean it."
She stared at me now. No, not at me. Into me. Eyes blazing, leaning forward. Hungry. I pulled back.
"Some days I mean it. Trust me." I polished off my bagel. "These are great. Real New York bagels. I don't suppose there's any chance of seconds."
She leaned back, flames in her eyes extinguished, polite smile back in place. "I'm sure we can arrange something." She checked her watch. "I should be getting you up to Doctor Carmichael for your physical."
"Is that a daily routine?"
"Oh, no. Yesterday was just a checkup. Today is the full physical."
Bauer lifted her hand. The door opened and two guards walked in. So that's where they'd been hiding. I'd wondered, hoping maybe Bauer felt comfortable enough to forgo the armed entourage. Guess not. The appearance of trust, but a lack of substance. Or perhaps just a lack of stupidity. Damn.
***
I had a neighbor. When I stepped from my cell, I saw someone in the room across from mine. A woman seated at the table, her back to me. It looked like… No, it couldn't be. Someone would have told me. I would have known. The woman turned half-profile. Ruth Winterbourne.
"When…?" I asked.
Bauer followed my gaze and smiled as if I'd uncovered a hidden present. "She came in with you. We were in Vermont near the meeting hall that morning. When we saw you leave with the Danverses, Xavier and I decided to follow. The rest of the team stayed near the others. We knew someone would be alone eventually. Fortunately, it was Ruth. A very good catch. Of course, any one of them would have been good. Well, except her niece. Not much use in an apprentice witch of that age. Savannah is another matter, given her youth and what we know of her mother's powers."
"How come I didn't see Ruth yesterday?"
"The trip was unusually… difficult for her. Her age. The very thing that makes her valuable is something of a liability. We overestimated the sedative dosage. But she's quite fine now, as you can see."
She didn't look fine. Maybe someone who'd never met Ruth would mistake the dull eyes, yellow-hued skin, and lethargic movements for normal signs of aging, but I knew better. Physically, she seemed well enough. No signs for illness or broken bones. The damage was deeper than that.
"She looks pretty down," I said. "Depressed."
"It happens." Statement of fact. No emotion.
"Maybe I could speak to her," I said. "Cheer her up."
Bauer tapped her long nails against her side, considering. If she saw an ulterior motive in my altruism, she gave no sign of it.
"Perhaps we could arrange something," she said. "You've been very cooperative, Elena. The others were worried, but other than the wall-punching, you've been surprisingly well behaved. I believe in rewarding good behavior."Without another word, she turned and left me to follow. Inwardly I balked, but outwardly I trailed along at her heel like a well-trained puppy. Trained puppy indeed. Forgive me, but "well behaved" is not a term one ought to apply to a grown woman, yet Bauer said it without malice or insinuation. Be a good puppy, Elena, and I'll give you a treat. The temptation to show Bauer exactly what I thought of her reward system was almost overwhelming. Almost. But I did want to talk to Ruth. She was my only contact in this place, and I wasn't above asking for help. A spell had gotten us out of that doomed situation in the Pittsburgh alley. With her spells and my strength, we should be able to devise a way out of here.
So I was a good puppy. I suffered through the physical without protest. This time my visit to the infirmary wasn't nearly so unintrusive. They took X rays, blood samples, urine samples, saliva samples, and samples of bodily fluids I didn't know I had. Then they attached wires to me and took readings of my heart and brain. Carmichael poked and prodded and asked questions I'd blush answering for my gynecologist. But I reminded myself that this was the price of talking to Ruth, so I ignored the intrusions and answered the questions.
The physical lasted several hours. At noon, someone knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a reply. Two guards walked in. They might even have been the ones who'd brought me up here, but I couldn't be sure. By this point, the crew cuts had blended into a nameless, faceless blob. Seen one, you seen 'em all. One of the guards-maybe one of these two, maybe not-had stayed in the infirmary with me earlier, but after an hour or so, he'd muttered something about a shift change and told Dr. Carmichael to call for backup. She hadn't. When these two arrived, I thought they were coming to take the place of that missing guard. Instead they escorted in the "human chameleon," Armen Haig.
"I'm running behind," Carmichael said, not turning from a series of X rays clipped to a lighted wall.
"Should we wait outside?" one guard asked.
"Not necessary. Please take the second table, Doctor Haig. I'll be right with you."
Haig nodded and walked to the table. His guards promised to return in an hour, then left. Unlike me, Haig wasn't even manacled. I suppose his powers weren't any great security risk. Even if he made himself look different, the guards were bound to notice an apparent stranger prowling the compound. Escape wasn't likely.
For the next twenty minutes, Carmichael bustled around the infirmary, checking X rays, peering through microscopes, jotting notes on a clipboard. Finally she stopped, surveyed the room, then snatched a tray of fluid-filled vials from a metal cart.
"I need to run a test in the lab before we finish up here, Ms. Michaels." 
Déjà vu or what? Bring another captive into a room with me, find an excuse for leaving that room, and see what fun and exciting chaos ensues. Couldn't these guys think up more than one ruse?
Carmichael headed for the exit, then stopped and looked from me to Haig. After a pause, she laid the tray on the counter and picked up the intercom phone. Though she turned her back and lowered her voice, her words were impossible to miss in the silent room. She asked someone in security whether there were any "issues" with leaving Haig and me together for a few minutes, if I was manacled. There weren't.
"Don't forget to turn on the camera," Haig murmured as she hung up. His voice was rich and honey-smooth, with traces of an accent.
Carmichael snorted. "I can't program my damned VCR. You think I can operate that thing?" She waved at the video camera mounted overhead. "A word of warning, though. Don't think of leaving. I'll be locking the door behind me. There's a perfectly functioning camera in the waiting room and guards in the hall. They won't look kindly on an escape attempt."
She took her tray of vials and left the room.
PARTY

After Carmichael left, I studied the video camera for signs of activity, but it stayed silent and still.
"So," Haig said. "What are you in for?"
"Raping and pillaging."
The corners of his mouth turned up. "That would have been my first guess. Are you finding the accommodations to your liking?"
"My kennel, you mean?"
Another quarter-smile. "Ah, so you are the werewolf. I didn't know whether it was polite to ask. Emily Post doesn't cover circumstances such as this. Werewolf. Hmmm. I had a patient with lycanthropy once. Felt compelled to turn around three times before settling onto the couch. Quite trying. But he always brought in the paper from the front stoop."
I remembered how Carmichael had addressed him. "Doctor Haig," I said. "So you're a shr-psychiatrist?"
"A shrink, yes. My special abilities aren't very profitable in everyday life. I suppose they might help if I were to become an international assassin, but I'm a terrible shot. And please call me Armen. Formality seems rather out of place here."
"I'm Elena. Psychiatry, eh? So did you know Matasumi? Before you came here?"
"I'd heard of him." Dark lips curved in a moue of distaste. "Parapsychology. With a reputation for skirting the code of research ethics."
"Really? Go figure. You must have no shortage of people to analyze here, between the captives and captors."
"Frighteningly enough, the ones in the cages would be more likely to earn my recommendations for early release."
"Matasumi's got some definite issues," I said. "And Bauer?"
"One of the sanest, actually. Just sad. Very sad."
That wasn't the impression I got, but before I could press for details, Armen continued. "The one I'd most like to get on the couch is Tyrone Winsloe. Though once I had him there, I'd be sorely tempted to tie him to it and run like the devil."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Where do I start? Tyrone Winsloe is"-Armen cocked his head toward the door; footsteps entered the waiting room, then [49] stopped-" out of town on business at the moment." He lowered his voice. "If you need any help… adjusting, please ask. This isn't a very pleasant place. The sooner we can be out of it, the sooner we'll all feel much better."