“Actually, there’s been a recent managerial shift,” Antoine interrupts. “I am the current chief executive. If you wish to proceed, you’ll have to deal with me. Otherwise…” He shrugs.

“You’ve replaced Prae Athim?” Meera asks, startled.

“Not in so many words,” Antoine answers evasively.

Meera shares a glance with Shark. He’s frowning uncertainly. She doesn’t look sure of herself either. I decide it’s time for me to step in. I’ve been standing idly on the sidelines long enough.

“We’re here to talk about werewolves,” I mutter, drawing my shoulders back to create as much of an impression as I can.

Antoine blinks, his smile crumbling. “And you are…”

“Grubbs,” I tell him, then correct myself. “Grubitsch Grady.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of you. Dervish Grady is your uncle.”

“Yes.”

Antoine doesn’t scratch his head—I doubt he’d ever resort to such a common gesture—but his fingers twitch and I think that’s what he’d like to do.

“Werewolves attacked Dervish,” I say softly. “At his home. In a team. Backed by people with guns.” I stare pointedly at the guards.

“This is an interesting development,” Antoine says after a short pause. He looks down at his highly polished shoes and this time I get the impression he really is thinking about what to say next.

When he looks up, his eyes are clear. “I think I’d better invite you down to my office. Will you accompany me, please?” He stands to one side and extends a hand towards the door.

“What about the others?” Shark asks, jerking his head at those in the helicopter.

“They’re not necessary.”

“I want them there,” Shark growls. “Weapons and all.”

Antoine prods at his lower lip with his tongue. Then, with a shrug, he says, “Why not? I’d hate to be mistaken for a discourteous host.”

Shark’s surprised. This means we either have nothing to fear, or else Antoine Horwitzer has another team within the building and is confident they can handle ten armed and experienced soldiers.

I think Shark would like to pull out, but we’ve nowhere else to turn. If we flee now, our investigation will be blown before it’s properly begun. Grumbling to himself, he summons the others, leaving only James inside the Harrier.

“He’s going to start the engine,” Shark tells Antoine.

“To be ready for a quick getaway,” Antoine murmurs wryly. “I’d do the same thing in your position.” He winks at me and I find myself smiling. I distrust this man—he’s too smooth but at the same time I like him.

“Shall we?” Antoine asks as the members of Shark’s team eye up the guards, who look a lot more nervous now that they have a good view of Shark’s Dirty Dozen.

“I’d like you to answer one of our questions first,” Meera says. “Is Prae Athim here or not?”

“Not.” Antoine lets his smile fade. “Miss Athim has been missing for some time. And our core specimens—what Master Grady referred to as werewolves—have vanished too.”

On that baffling, disturbing note, he leads the way into the building. They might be called Lambs, but as we pass out of the sunlight and into the gloom of the staircase, I think of them more as Lions—and we’re entering their den.

ALL THE KING’S WOLVES

We walk down a flight of steps, then squeeze into an elevator, just us and Antoine Horwitzer. If he’s nervous about sealing himself in with nine soldiers, he doesn’t show it. Presses the button for the eleventh floor and smiles pleasantly as we descend.

No one speaks until the doors open. As Pip and Terry nudge out, Antoine says, “A moment, please.” He’s tapping the control panel of the elevator. “Could you tell me some more about the attack you mentioned?”

“I thought we were going to do that in your office,” Shark growls suspiciously.

“That was my intention,” Antoine replies. “But upon reconsideration I think there might be a better place for our discussion. There’s no need to go into the full story here, but if you could provide me with just a few details…”

Shark looks at Meera. She shrugs, then quickly runs through the attack at Carcery Vale. Antoine listens silently. His smile never slips, but it starts to strain at the edges. When Meera finishes, he nods soberly and presses a button low on the panel. There’s a buzzing noise. Everyone tenses.

“Nothing to worry about,” Antoine says calmly, pushing a series of buttons. “I’m taking us to the lower levels. That requires a security code.”

“How low does this thing go?” Shark asks.

“There are ten floors beneath the ground,” Antoine says. “I thought we’d check out the lower fourth and fifth.” He pauses, his finger hovering over the number 2. “This is the final digit. Once I press this, the doors will shut and we’ll drop. If you have any objections, this is the time to raise them.”

Shark thinks about it, then sniffs as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Antoine presses the button. The buzzer stops. The doors slide shut. We slip further into the bowels of the building.

We step out of the elevator and find ourselves in a corridor much like any other. But when we follow Antoine through an ordinary-looking door, we discover something completely unexpected.

We’re in a huge, open room, dotted with cages, banks of machines and steel cabinets. The cages all seem to be several metres square and three or four metres high. Some show evidence of having been inhabited recently—faeces and scraps of food litter the floors—but most look like they’ve never been used.

“This is a holding area,” Antoine says, taking us on a tour. “As you can see, we try not to cram too many specimens into one place. Despite this limit, if you’d come here a couple of months ago, you’d have had to wear ear plugs—the din they create is unbelievable.”

Timas stops by one of the machines and studies it with interest.

“That locks and unlocks the cage doors,” Antoine explains. “There are other devices linked to it—overhead cameras, lights, air conditioner, water hoses, implant initiators.”

“Implants?” I ask.

“Most of the specimens are implanted with control chips. In the event of a mass escape, we could disable them within seconds. We take as few risks as possible when dealing with creatures as swift, powerful and savage as these.”

“You don’t need such bulky equipment,” Timas says disapprovingly.

“It’s psychological,” Antoine counters. “Staff feel safer if they have a big, obvious machine to turn to in case of an emergency.”

“Ah,” Timas smiles. “The human factor. What silly beings we are.”

Antoine looks at Timas oddly, then leads us out of the room, into a smaller laboratory. There are several people at work, some in white coats, others in normal clothes. Glass cases line the walls. I go cold when I see what’s in them—hands, heads, feet, ears, bits of flesh and bone, all taken from deformed humans… from werewolves.

“What is this?” I croak.

“Unsettling, aren’t they?” Antoine remarks, studying a pair of oversized eyes floating in a jar of clear liquid. “I’m not convinced it’s necessary for them to be displayed in so lurid a fashion, but our technical geniuses insist—”

“What the hell is this?” I shout, losing my temper.

Antoine blinks at me, surprised by my anger. Then his expression clears. “How thoughtless of me. These remains come from relatives of yours. I must apologise for my insensitivity. I never meant to cause offence.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Shark says, squeezing my shoulder to calm me. “But Grubbs is right—what is this place? It looks like Frankenstein’s lab.”

“To an extent it is.” Antoine sighs. “This is where we experiment upon many of our unfortunate specimens. As you know, we’ve been trying to find the genetic source of the Grady disease for decades, searching for a cure. Our experts need a place to dissect and reassemble, to study and collate. It’s an unpleasant business, but no worse, I assure you, than any institute devoted to animal experiments.”