17 The Kingsleys
The Kingsleys
Gemma has more than I expect but nothing new I can use.
A map of the largely underground base in Nevada, built into the side of a small mountain, cloaked by magic and experimental tech.
It includes all the known exits and entrances, security, details I never knew anyone to have, and I can’t help but wonder how Gemma got her hands on all this.
How high up is their mystery boss? It’s helpful, but my heart sinks as I realize there’s no straightforward solution.
I’m sneaking in, and there’s little hope I will go unnoticed.
I think I can get to Eldi. But I don’t know if I’ll be making it back out myself.
If I can free Eldi, Calvin would take care of her.
. . . Well. It’s bleak, but it will have to be enough.
“Now, I don’t know exactly what they want with Eldi,” Wolff says, “but it’s safe to assume that their approach is going to be similar to everything else they’ve ever done.” He nods to Calvin. “Look at the werewolf project, for example.”
“The werewolf project?” asks Calvin.
“Reggie didn’t mention anything?” Wolff says.
“Nothing specific.”
“Honestly, it slipped my mind. There’s been a lot going on,” I say with an apologetic grimace at Calvin, who only frowns.
“Big details to forget, considering he is one,” mutters Wolff.
“He wasn’t always. He recently got in the way when I was hunting down a pack of the things to vaccinate, and he accidentally saw Eldi—”
“And then Reggie shot me with a triple dose of tranquilizers,” Calvin adds helpfully.
“That sounds more like the Reggie I know,” Wolff snorts.
“I’ve never once shot you, Wolff, tempted as I might have been—”
“Anyway, as Wolff was saying,” Gemma interrupts. “Agency 51 is responsible for the lycanthropy strain on the loose. They tried to weaponize it, and now there’s a rampant epidemic. Someone invented a vaccine a few years back, but it’s been hard to get ahead of the spread.”
“They take any werewolf they can get their hands on for experimentation,” Wolff says. “They genetically engineered this strain to turn humans, who then disappear into the hands of Agency 51.”
“Reggie did warn me they target any supernatural creature,” Calvin says with a sideways glance my way.
“Reggie knows enough; she could tell you more than that. At the least, general information about the Kingsleys and about the werewolf project. Lucky for you, you’re too high profile for them to get away with making you disappear easily.”
My heart thrums in my ears, nearly drowning out Calvin as he says, “Who? What do they do to the werewolves?”
“We aren’t entirely sure,” Gemma hedges.
“He deserves to know,” Wolff says.
“We aren’t entirely sure,” Gemma repeats, but with a resigned sigh continues. “We have some theories, though. And even more wild rumors. Mind control, turning them into mindless soldiers for a magical army. Maybe the Kingsleys’ wants are as simple as unchecked power.”
My palms are sweating, and I swallow hard to keep the waffles from reappearing.
“Who are the Kingsleys?” Calvin asks.
“They run Agency 51, specifically the matriarch, Adele Kingsley,” Wolff says.
“To put it politely, she’s ruthless, cold-blooded, and morally corrupt.
She’s got three daughters who work for her, and let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
Reggie really hasn’t told you anything about the agency? The Kingsleys?”
“We’ve been busy,” I say. “On the run, aliens in the sky, chasing after vacuums, my daughter being kidnapped. I told him enough to keep him safe. I told him they’d be hunting him, but we haven’t had time to get into the deeper politics of it.”
“I’m pointing out he’s a target as a werewolf,” Wolff says. “You should have warned him.”
Gemma unintentionally shuts down the argument when she turns her laptop to show us a photo—high resolution but clearly not a posed photograph, taken from a great distance.
“Adele Kingsley. Keep in mind she goes to great lengths to obscure her identity,” Gemma says.
“This is the best picture we could get. She wears a mask most of the time.”
A woman behind a glass panel, a window maybe, distorted by light shining through.
In her late sixties, silver hair cut into a neat chin-length bob.
Wide, hooded eyes against pale skin, too obscured to make out color.
Her jaw is sharp and set firmly. I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine.
There’s nothing special about her, nothing in her face that stands out sharply from a crowd.
The blurry headshot could be of your kid’s middle school teacher, the CEO of your company, the author photo on the back of your favorite thriller.
“Unlimited funds to play with,” Gemma continues.
“Her net worth is in the billions. She was born into wealth and power. Rumor is she spent her time experimenting with dark and dangerous magic even when she was young. No moral hard line. She’s smart, too, great at manipulating people.
I wouldn’t be shocked if you told me she does have mind control powers or some invention to twist people to her will.
She’s an effective leader, but her method is fear, not respect.
Maybe keep that in mind regarding the loyalty of her followers. ”
“Her background is a mystery,” Wolff says.
“But we’ve had people looking into it, trying to find a weakness.
She doesn’t seem to have much family. Her father died some forty years ago, and she had her own mother committed shortly after, claiming she was mentally unstable.
The mother passed away a few years later, leaving Adele alone. ”
A thrill runs through me. This information is new. Alone, alone, chimes that little voice in my head.
“Why did she have her mother committed?” I ask.
“Her mother started claiming Adele wasn’t her daughter after Adele disappeared for a few years,” Wolff says.
“Allegedly, Adele went missing while performing some magical experiment. Her mother claimed she came back as ‘something else’ when Adele reappeared, talked about changelings and doppelg?ngers, insisted Adele wasn’t Adele anymore.
Adele was definitely her daughter, though.
There are DNA test records to prove it.”
This kind of conspiracy is Wolff’s bread and butter, and I don’t know how seriously to take him.
Something else. Came back. I’m trying to make it all make sense, but I file it away, hush that inner voice, concentrating on the present conversation.
“The daughters are harder to track down,” Gemma says. “I don’t have photos or names for any of them, except for the youngest, Meredith.”
Gemma shows us a silent, looping video clip of Meredith Kingsley.
A young teenager flips us off, mouthing curse words that would make Eldi proud.
Teenage defiance blazing in bright green eyes, long red hair a wild mess that obscures part of her face.
Taken on what must be a hidden camera given the way the camera shakes.
Judging by the girl’s demeanor, she doesn’t realize she’s being filmed.
“She’s Mom’s favorite. Adele rarely lets her out of her sight, grooming her replacement from the look of it. But it’s the eldest sister you really have to watch out for,” Wolff says.
“The eldest sister?” Calvin asks.
“Your biggest threat, if you ask me. She started up the werewolf project,” Wolff says.
I feel sick as I watch Calvin take in all the information I didn’t want to tell him.
All the things he should have heard from me.
“Everyone I know at Agency 51 is terrified of her, and none of them have even seen her face because she wears that creepy mask. And she has her weapon, uses it for torture and intimidation. The eldest might be worse than Adele.”
“Really? Worse than Adele?” I say. “Consider her worst offenses were on Adele’s orders.
Those three sisters were raised by a monster.
She would punish them for any hint of disloyalty to her.
Do you have any idea of the kinds of things Adele does?
The control she wields? Official Agency 51 business aside, there’re her ‘experiments’ with magic nobody has any business attempting, the mind games just for fun. . . .”
I’m still thinking hard, speaking without thinking, when I realize they’re all staring at me.
“And how is it, exactly, that you would know?” Calvin asks cooly.
That’s what I get for letting my guard down. I know I can’t hide this truth from them any longer. None of them are stupid; they’ve all had their suspicions about me, and I’ve slipped up too many times.
“I was an Agency 51 agent. I worked for the Kingsleys.”
The silence at my confession is worse than the yelling I expected. I chance a look at Calvin, his jaw clenching as he tries to find something to say. I look away.
Gemma and Wolff exchange a look. They knew, then. Or had their suspicions.
“Well,” Calvin says, voice remote, “at least you finally admitted it.”
“I wasn’t exactly proud of it. I was young.” I wasn’t that young. “I’m trying to make up for it.”
Calvin nods, but I feel the strain, the bit of distance he puts back between us.
“We had our suspicions,” Gemma confirms while Wolff glares at me.
“I kept it from you because I thought the less you knew, the better,” I try to explain to Calvin. “I thought it wouldn’t matter, that it was for the best.”
He doesn’t answer me directly, instead says, “Tell me about the rest of the Kingsleys. Why is this Meredith, the youngest sister, the one who’s going to inherit the family business? Why not the eldest? And what about this middle sister?”