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  "Good evening," he greeted me. "I'm not sure if you know who I am. My name is William Fox." He gestured to my cell. "I brought you here after your little mishap in the alley."

  I glared at him. "What the hell am I doing here? Let me out!" I demanded.

  "I'm afraid I can't do that," he refused.

  "Why not?" I growled.

  "You see, you've become what's commonly called a supernatural creature, or, more precisely, a werewolf," he explained.

  I leaned back and looked him over. He didn't look particularly insane, but his calm, even voice gave me the shivers.

  "Listen, I don't know what you're thinking, but it's wrong," I insisted. "My name's Gwenneth-"

  "Gwenneth Rogers, age twenty-eight. You live at 112 North Second Avenue. Would you like me to recite your social security number?" he asked me.

  "No, what I want you to do is get me the hell out of here!" I insisted.

  He shook his head. "Like I said before, I can't do that. You're now a danger to the-"

  I slammed my fist into the glass. That vibrated it. "I'm not a werewolf, now let me out or the police are going to come and-"

  "The police did come," he revealed.

  "And?" I questioned him.

  "They asked me about my being seen with a large dog. I merely told them I was doing the city a favor by ridding it of a dangerous dog, and they left. A small donation to the officer's fund with patch up the rest," he told me.

  My fist opened and my hand slid down the glass. There went my last hope of outside help. Now I had to convince the psycho in front of me to let me out.

  "I can see I haven't convinced you of your new changes," he mused.

  "The only thing you've convinced me is you're nuts," I quipped.

  "I see. That will make two nights from now all the more difficult for you," he commented.

  I frowned. "What happens in two nights?"

  "In approximately two nights the moon will be full and you will experience your first transformation into a werewolf," he revealed.

  "I'm not a werewolf! I was just bit by some stupid dog!" I argued.

  "Really? Your have been unconscious for exactly twenty-four, and yet your arm is almost completely healed," he told me.

  I gestured to my bandaged arm. "Does it look healed to you?"

  A small, crooked grin slipped onto his lips. "Prove it to me. Unwrap your arm."

  "And then you'll let me go?" I questioned him.

  "If you prove me wrong, I will let you go," he promised.

  I stepped back and clawed at the bandage. My fingers caught on the lip of the bandage and I furiously unwound the white cloth. In a few seconds the last of the bandage fell to the floor at my feet. I held up my arm and my mouth dropped open.

  My wound was almost completely healed. There were only a few angry red marks where the teeth had sank into my flesh.

  "Now do you believe me?" Fox asked me.

  I cradled my arm in my other hand and shook my head. "I. . .this isn't right. I'm sure it bit me."

  "You're not wrong. The wolf did bite you, but werewolves have incredible healing powers, or so some legends say. I'm glad for your sake that bit of myth was true," he commented. I ran a hand through my frazzled hair. I was still in the filthy clothes from my time in the trash heap and on the ground of the alley. "I can see this is very upsetting for you. There's a fresh change of clothes at the foot of your bed. I'm afraid we can't shut the hall lights off, but you'll get used to it."

  Fox turned and walked away from me.

  "Wait!" I yelled. He paused and half-turned to me. "What are you going to do to me?"

  "For now, nothing. Your transformation will be finished in two nights, and then we'll go from there. Goodnight." With that he turned and walked out of my sight.

  "Fox! Fox!" I yelled. I heard a metal door open and shut, and then there was silence. "Let me out!"

  A sob broke from my throat. Tears poured down my cheeks as I slid down the glass and onto the cold floor. I curled myself into a ball and balled my eyes out for I don't know how long. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. What I know is that I got the sense of being watched. I looked up and started back.

  A man stood near the glass in the cell opposite me. He was as pale as chalk and wore a dark business suit with a red tie. His eyes were a strange autumn color mixed with an impossibly red hue. I thought maybe he wore contacts. He stood at six feet and looked about thirty. His black hair was cut short and a few loose hairs dashingly hung over his forehead.

  The pale man pressed one of his fingers against his pasty lips. I noticed he had unbelievably long fingernails. He reached down and used one of those fingernails to cut a long, deep gash across his own arm. The man tipped his arm down and bright red blood flowed from one end. He dipped his fingers into the blood and pressed the mess against the glass in front of him. I barely registered that his wound healed in no time before he wiggled his fingers above the glass.

  I scuttled back when the blood began to form words.

  Hello there. The moment the words formed they congealed back into a blob of blood.

  "W-what the hell?" I gasped.

  The man shook his head and pressed his bloodied finger against his lips. He waved his hand in front of the glass and the blood shifted again. New words formed, and I noticed they trailed down the glass just in front of his body.

  Don't speak. They can hear our every word.

  I have to admit that by then I was shaking even worse than before. This was all so insane. First I'm kidnapped by a crazy rich guy who thinks I'm a werewolf, and now a pale guy with the power over blood and a wooden box behind him wants to strike up a conversation. I swallowed some of my fear and edged towards the glass front of my cell.

  Brave girl, he complimented me.

  I shook my head. I was scared out of my mind, but that meant I didn't have much else to lose from talking, or reading, a guy's blood words.

  We can help each other, you and I, the guy wrote.

  How? I mouthed.

  He shook his head and wrote out a few words. Write what you want to say and erase it. They can see your lips, but the surface of the glass reflects the camera views and is more difficult to catch.

  I looked around for something to write on. The only things I thought I could use were my finger and the toilet water. I hurried over to the toilet. It was clean, but the thought of dipping my fingers into the bowl wasn't tempting. I looked down at my fingers. They were pink with cold, and I blew on them. That gave me an idea. I hurried back to the glass and blew on it. My warm breath stuck to the surface. I used my finger as my pencil.

  Hi, I wrote to him. Then I realized it was backwards for him, so I stuck in an 'i' at the front of the 'h' before my breath vanished from the glass.

  He grinned and waved his hand to spell out more words. Hello again.

  I took a deep breath and blew a large cloud over the glass. Who are you?

  A prisoner such as yourself, but we haven't time for full introductions, he wrote. They may come back any moment, and we must plan our escape.

  How can I help?

  Tomorrow night you may be able to escape from your cell, he wrote.

  Why tomorrow night? I asked him.

  Your strength will be close to its zenith, but your weakness will be hindered by your human self.

  I blinked at him. Huh?

  He pursed his lips and wiggled his fingers. The closer the approach of your first full moon, the greater your physical strength, but since you have not yet changed into a full werewolf the wolf's bane will have less effect on you.

  I threw my arms up. Another wacko that believed I was a werewolf. Then again, I was writing to someone who could twist his blood into words.

  Am I really a werewolf? I asked him.

  If Fox believes you are, then you must be, he replied.

  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Oh god, did I need a drink. One of Dakota's goon juice drinks would've been great about then. I took a deep breath and b
lew again.

  But how do I get out? I wondered.

  The glass front delves four inches beneath the floor. You must wedge your fingers into the small slot in the floor between the glass and floor and pull the glass door up, he instructed me.

  I looked at my hands and then at the floor at my feet. I could see what he meant by the eight of an inch gap between the glass and the floor. A strange odor wafted from the gap.

  You're joking, right? I asked him.

  He shook his head and his fingers moved madly over the blood. This was becoming so normal as to be surreal. With your strength you can widen the gap between the glass and floor, and grab the bottom lip of the glass. You need only lift it high enough to squeeze under and go to the panel down the hall to your right. The controls to open the doors are there. Destroy the controls and you will free us all.

  That sounded way too easy. And if I fail?

  Then you will never get another chance to escape, he wrote to me.

  I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. This was just too much. I was now supposed to be the savior to a whole hall full of-hell, I didn't even know who else was trapped in there. I hadn't seen anyone but the pasty guy in front of me.

  What is this place for? I asked him.

  A holding cell for those captured by Fox, he told me. We are all at the mercy of his experiments. They are too numerous to list, but know that he won't have any mercy on you. He won't see you as a fellow human being, but as a monster, and he will treat you as a monster.

  I slid onto the floor and leaned my back against the cool metal wall. My life was gone if I didn't take this one chance of escape. I took a deep breath and wrote on the glass.

  I'll do it.

  CHAPTER 4

  We had a plan, but I had to be sure I could pull it off. I lifted one hand and looked it over. There wasn't anything there to tell me I was some sort of superhuman wolf thing.

  I saw movement out of the corner of my eyes. The pale guy was writing again.

  Try crushing your bed, he suggested.

  I looked over at the floating cot. The body was made of the same material as the wall in which it projected out. I got up and walked over. There was just a slim mattress, a couple of blankets, and the clean clothes Fox mentioned. They were completely white like prison garb. I grabbed the mattress and threw them to the floor. That left the sheet of metal. I grabbed the long edge with both hands and pulled.

  Nothing happened. I looked over to Pale Guy. There was a strange smirk on his face.

  Pull your hands away, he wrote to me.

  I shrugged and tried to pull my hands away, but they were stuck.

  "What the hell?" I murmured. My fingers were wedged into the metal. I hadn't moved the metal, but I'd made indents in the metal in the shape of my fingers.

  I pushed backwards with my feet and my fingers popped out of their little placements. I stumbled back and raised my hands. They weren't so normal anymore. My fingers were thicker than before, and the fingernails were longer and sharper. I sat down and stared at them with my mouth agape.

  "Wow. . ." I murmured.

  I got up and walked over to the bench. My hands fit perfectly into their molds. I braced my legs and tried to lift the bench. The metal creaked and groaned, and after a few seconds I felt the bed give a little. It tilted up just a half a degree.

  I gasped and stumbled back. From across the hall came the muffled clapping of the Pale Guy. I turned to him and grinned. He smiled and gave a nod. It looked like I had a chance at this after all.

  After that effort I was tired, and now without a flat bed. I lay down on the mattress and closed my eyes.

  I don't know how long I was out, but the next thing I knew was the loud clang of the metal door and footsteps. I sat up on my mattress and watched Fox's henchman come into view. He had a tray of food in his hands.

  "Breakfast," he explained. He pressed his hand against the wall and a small rectangle at the bottom of the glass front opened. The guy slid the tray into my cell and closed it.

  I glared at him and the tray, and turned away. "I'm not hungry."

  "Mr. Fox would rather you eat," the man insisted.

  "Do I care what he wants?" I snapped back.

  "Do the clothes not fit you?" was his other question.

  I kicked the pile of clothes with my foot. "Not my style."

  "I will endeavor to inform Mr. Fox of that fact," the man replied.

  I heard him walk away, and in a moment the door opened and shut. I looked over my shoulder at the tray of meat, and then to the cell opposite me. Pale Guy was nowhere in sight. There was just his box. I walked over to the glass and pressed my nose against the cold surface to get a better look at his cell. No sign of him. He must have been in that box, but I couldn't figure out why. These cells were claustrophobic enough for me.

  I plopped myself down against the left wall and turned to my left. The tray sat on the ground with a tempting appetizer of rare steak and mashed potatoes. My mouth salivated at the red blood that pooled beneath the mooing cut of meat. Just a little bite, one little swallow wouldn't mean I was giving my soul to the devil. Besides, I had to keep up my strength. Yeah, that was it, my strength.

  Ten minutes later and I had one plate sans meat and potatoes. The potatoes didn't sit well with me, but the steak was delicious. I licked my lips, leaned back against the wall, and closed my eyes. The cool metal chilled me, but I felt too warm, anyway. There was also a feeling of tension inside me, like I was waiting for something, something like a-

  "Full moon," I whispered.

  My eyes shot open and I shuddered. I hadn't meant to think about that. That was the last thing I wanted to be reminded of. I ran a hand through my hair and gave a shuddered sigh. My mind wandered to that night, whenever night was in this place of endless lights. That lackey of Fox's said that was breakfast. That meant I'd been missing for quite a few hours.

  "I should've made that date with Dakota. . ." I mumbled. Hell, I should've taken that taxi.

  I had a long, long day to think about my mistakes. Fox's creep with the monosyllable voice came around two more times for meals. After the dinner hour I glanced at Pale Guy's cell. He still hadn't made an appearance. I wondered how he could breath in that box.

  It was while staring at his box that I saw something strange emanate from between the lid and body. It was a thick white fog. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, but I crept up to the glass and watched the fog cascade onto the floor and over to the front of his cell. The fog gathered itself in one spot and shot up to materialize into the form of my newfound, and terrifying, acquaintance, Pale Guy.

  He smiled at me, and for the first time I realized his canine teeth were unbelievably long. I scooted away from my glass.

  "What the hell are you?" I asked him.

  He cut himself and once more used his blood as an etch-a-sketch. Another creature captured against his will, but we don't have time. Fox may visit us at any moment for an 'inspection' of his creatures, Pale Guy insisted.

  "But-"

  There isn't time, he persisted. It must be done now or never. Will you hesitate and doom yourself to a life inside that cell?

  That didn't give me much time to wonder what I'd gotten myself into, but it did give me enough time to imagine another day in that cell. I took a deep breath and nodded. This was it, my big chance at saving the day. I knelt on the floor in front of the glass and tested the crack with my fingers. The smell from last night was still there, and stronger than before. I wrinkled my nose, but didn't let it stop me from shoving my fingernails into the crack.

  I was stronger than last night, I could tell that by the indents my nails made in the metal. I wedged my fingers in behind my nails and wiggled them down the tight spot. After six inches I felt the base of the glass door and inched my fingers beneath the entrance. When I had a loose grip I tucked my legs under me with my feet on the floor like last night's demonstration of my strength.

  And I pulled.

/>   At first there was nothing, but slowly, achingly slowly, the glass door began to rise. Perspiration ran down my face. My legs screamed for a break, but I kept pulling upward. Pale Guy watched anxiously from his glass door. He was close enough he could have fogged on the glass, but there was no sign of his breath.

  I had the door six inches above the floor when a shrill whistle drilled into my brain. I nearly lost my grip, and the door slid down two inches.

  "Hurry!" Pale Guy yelled. "The alarm has sounded!"

  I grunted and pulled harder. The door slid up two inches. Four more inches. I lowered my knees to the ground and slid my legs under the door. Then came my waist. One false move, one slip of the fingers, and I would have been cut in two. I wiggled my upper body under the glass and held it up above my head like it was a bar. I took a deep breath and pushed off from the bottom of the glass. It slammed back into place, but I was on the other side of the door.

  And in trouble.

  The hallway ran left and right. At the right was the black control panel and a door on the left wall beside it. To my left at the opposite end of the hall was the heavy metal door. It opened and in stepped Fox and his assistant. Fox had the familiar white gun in his hand.

  "The panel!" Pale Guy screamed.

  I scrambled to my feet and rushed down the hall. I covered the twenty yards in a few seconds and slammed my clasped fists into the panel. Electricity shot out from the myriad of buttons and screens. The lights overhead flickered and dimmed.

  I turned and watched the other glass doors slide up. Pale Guy stepped out and smiled at me.

  "Excellent work," he congratulated me. "Now if you will excuse me, some revenge is in order." He changed into mist and disappeared into some infinitesimal cracks in the metal floor.

  "He's after the larger cells. Hurry!" Fox yelled at his bespectacled henchman.

  The man bowed his head and hurried back the way they'd come. I took a step back and my back hit the broken control board. Fox took a few steps closer to me with the gun pointed at me.

  "It seems I underestimated your strength," he surmised.

  My eyes flickered to the door and I pressed my lips together. Only one chance. "Get used to underestimating me," I shot back.

  I dove for the door. The tranquilizer dart sailed past my head and pinged off the wall. He didn't get a second shot before I slammed my shoulder into the exit and stumbled into a stairwell. There was up, or there was done. We were below-ground, so I chose the up route. I didn't stop running until I ran out of stairs four floors higher. The stairwell ended at another door, and I burst out of that one and onto another plain of existence, or so it looked.