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The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened. I stepped out. The corridor was long, and rife with shadows. The light from the lift splayed across the gloom, flaring slightly, as if the shadows were a thick fog the light could not penetrate.
Down the far end of the hall stood a steel door. No light crept under the edges of that door. Indeed, there almost seemed to be no seam. And the shadows seemed more intense down there.
Unease slithered through me. I reached back and dragged the rifle from the backpack. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it wasn't, but I had the sudden feeling I wasn't alone in this corridor.
Yet I couldn't see anything. Only shadows and my silhouette.
The lift doors began to close, and as that bright patch of light dwindled, my unease increased. Then the light was gone, and I was left to the darkness and whatever it was hiding. Holding the gun toward the floor but ready, I walked toward Misha's office.
The shadows stirred around me. Wisps of night touched my skin, slivers of silky smoke that made my flesh crawl. If ghosts could caress the living, this was probably what it would feel like. But warmer, deadlier. Whatever hid in the shadows wasn't dead in the sense that ghosts were dead, because there was warmth in its touch. Warmth, and a vague sense of threat.
I had a suspicion that vague sense of threat would sharpen, and become deadly, if I so much as flinched the wrong way right now.
"Put the gun away, Riley."
Misha's voice seemed to come from the walls. I looked around, but couldn't see anything resembling a speaker.
"Not until you tell whatever is in this corridor to back off."
"You can see them?" Surprise was evident in his voice.
"No. But I can feel them."
"Interesting."
"I'm not putting the gun away until you tell them to move away." I stopped at the door and waited.
He chuckled. "T¨¹mu, retreat."
The shadows dispersed, and suddenly the corridor was less oppressive, and much brighter. I held up my end of the deal, and shoved the rifle back in the pack. The steel door slid open.
Misha's office was smaller than I'd expected - rather than being the size of a football field, like most executive offices tended to be these days, it was more like a basketball court. Still big, but at least defendable.
His gaze skimmed my body, lingering a little on the bloody nicks evident on my shirt and the leg of my jeans. When his gaze rose to meet mine again, there was a gleam of respect - or maybe even wariness - in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. "You fought the spirit lizard?"
"Fought him and beat him." It couldn't hurt to keep reminding him I was more than just a wolf. Maybe he'd treat me as something more than a broodmare he needed to possess - though somehow, I doubted it. I walked across the room and stared out of the window. I couldn't see anything suspicious, but then, with the long-range rifles they had out these days, the killer could be half a mile or more away.
Of course, standing here so blatantly might be putting myself in danger - but only if the killer knew it was actually me hiding under the brown hair and green contacts.
I moved to the pillar to the left of the arched window, then crossed my arms and leaned back against it. "Why are you surprised?"
He leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Because spirit lizards are the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the lab creations. They are supreme fighters and extremely strong."
"Then the one I fought came from a dodgy mix, because I'm no trained fighter and I brought him down. What is that thing in the corridor?"
"Things," he corrected, amusement touching his thin lips. "And they're my security system."
"I'm certainly glad it's not those two men down at the front door. They wouldn't have a hope of keeping a determined gnat from entering."
"And that is precisely what you are supposed to think." He looked at me for a moment, his expression still that odd mix of amusement and wariness. "The creatures in the corridor are not lab-created, if that is what you're thinking. They are a species known as Fravardin, which means guardian spirits in Persian. I met them a while ago when I was touring the Middle East."
I wondered exactly what he'd been touring the Middle East for. In the time I'd known Misha, he'd shown very little inclination to go beyond Australian shores. If he'd been to the Middle East, it was because he'd been ordered to go. "And were these creatures" - I waved a hand to the door - "what you'd been sent to find?"
He gave a smile. "No."
Meaning, obviously, that what he'd been sent to find was something I didn't need to know. Which was fine - all I really needed was the name of the man behind all this madness.
"Were these things here when Jack and Rhoan raided your office a few months ago?"
