Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

the Cleveland den. My ears rang, now out of the open wind of the roof, and my stomach gave a flip as I peered down the stairs. My feet would be seen by any wærewolves down there before I’d see them.
    Waiting, I listened. Being bound to Menessos had given me better-than-average hearing, but still I worried. At a measured pace I descended. Once in the room, I made my way out into the hall. There were two other half-formed wæres in cages up here, but they were behind barred doors and didn’t show themselves.
    I sat on the broom again and glided to the stairwell, where I descended half a level, rounded the landing, and eased down the other half. Here, the room beyond was empty.
    This reminded me of when I’d climbed through these levels after escaping the Rege. I’d taken a baseball bat to the head and, disoriented, had been thinking “up” meant “out.” I’d never been to these parts of the den before, so I’d been utterly lost.
    Now, however, I knew where I was and what was waiting for me.
    There were more wærewolves in the Greater Cleveland area than they could kennel on one floor. Since this group had been blocked at the fifth floor, I knew there were kennels on five. And on six. There had been no kennels on eight, where the confirmation meeting had taken place, but I was hoping they had built them on seven as well. I wasn’t sure I could sneak past the wæres crammed into the stairwell if I had to go to six.
    On seven I found kennels and was so happy the broom intentioned in a spin that was rather like a happy dance.
    There were probably eighty kennels here . . . I only needed them to use half that. I flew to the kennels farthest back.
    Another fragment of recollection crossed my thoughts.
    The memory that Johnny had given me was one that had happened here. His first change after learning he was a wære. He’d kenneled with the rest of the pack . . . Beau had locked all the doors with a key. . . .
    They don’t self-lock?
    This plan can’t be ruined by this flaw after all the effort!
    I tried to swing shut one of the doors. It was heavier than expected, and I had to throw my weight onto it. It clanged quietly as metal hit metal.
    Click.
    I pulled on the bars.
    I yanked.
    It didn’t open.
    That was good, but there would be no shutting them sneakily if they all needed this much effort. I rolled my eyes—and saw there was a little cylinder atop the door. It was similar to the spring atop my screen door that made it snap shut, but this was hydraulic, and I could see the barest hint of wires, fed from it into the metal bars.
    They’d upgraded the doors. Johnny told me the Omori had upgraded the den security and more. Both he and Renaldo activated the elevator with their thumbprints. I scanned around for the master switch for these doors and found a key-code pad attached to the wall near the stairwell, and the tube that encased the wires running from it connected to the cages.
    Yes ! I opened the flask. With one swinging gesture, I splashed the bloody water in a half dozen cages. Another swing, another and another.
    I was running low, but I had enough to splatter droplets into enough cages and drop a puddle of it leading from the main aisle to the stairwell.
    The ruckus below had lapsed into the same grunting it had before, but as I hovered in the stairwell, chancing to inspect the key-code pad and hoping there was a marked Close button, the intense canine sniffing began again.
    I flew up and around the landing, out of sight. “C’mon.” My heart was threatening to beat itself out of my chest as I waited, listening so hard, ready to bolt up and around another flight of stairs, ready to flee if I had to.
    I heard one wolf, then a few more, and then suddenly they all had the scent. They rough-and-tumbled their way into the kenneling area, following the scent of blood to find the source. I peered around the edge, letting only the smallest part of my head show . . . but none of the wolves were aware of me. Their noses were on the floor. When about half the pack was in the kenneling area, a familiar black wolf crowded past the others.
    I waited as they spread out, sniffling paths to the rear.
    Johnny paced back and forth, on the trail, but not entering a cage. Every time I thought he was about to enter one, he backed out and searched for the scent elsewhere, found it.
    They all had to be inside a cage. Some were grouped, sniffing in twos and threes.
    The broom floated me forward, into the stairwell and