Dead But Not Forgotten by Charlaine Harris Page B

a kill team like that would achieve.”
    Dr. Delisle sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Quinn’s leg, as gentle as a lover, but her smile might as well have been carved from ice.
    â€œWe have the trained mercenary volunteers, Mr. Quinn,” she said. “All you have to do is bite them.”
    Quinn felt a terrible, dawning horror. “Where . . . where is my mother?”
    The man gave him a lopsided smile. “Ah, the lovely Mrs. Quinn. You’re wondering why we didn’t just get her to do the job for us. The mad old thing’s crazy, after all, so you’d think she’d be snapping away at every orderly, never mind people we’d actually want her to bite. She had a history of nipping at the staff at her last residence, so you’d assume, wouldn’t you?”
    His smile turned to a sneer. “But no. She flatly refused. No matter what we did to her.”
    Quinn roared, straining against his bonds, and the man jerked back a step. Dr. Delisle stayed where she had seated herself, stroking his leg.
    â€œWhat did you—?”
    â€œShe’d already lost many of her teeth,” the man said. “It shocked us all when she smashed the ceramic edge off her bathroom sink and used it to break the rest. Just to thwart us. She’s mentally unstable, your mother . . . but she’s still got enough of her wits about her to be quite the bitch when she—”
    Quinn roared again. This time he could feel his teeth elongating and the familiar ripple on his skin as fur began to sprout.
    Dr. Delisle jumped from the bed. “Let me adjust that,” she said nervously, rushing toward the IV.
    â€œNot yet!” the man snapped. He crossed to the door, opened it, and stuck his head out. “Bring her in!”
    Heart full of fear and worry for his mother, who had already endured so much cruelty in her life, Quinn strained at his bonds, trying to see out into the corridor.
    The man leaned over and whispered into his ear.
    â€œShe’s no good to us now, you understand,” the man said. “Except as leverage.”
    Quinn heard his mother yelp in the hallway, then heard her roar, crying out without words. Savage and desperate. The door banged open fully and three men dragged the tigress in, each using a control pole that ended with a noose around her neck. The fur of her muzzle was matted with blood and her shoulder had an open gash. They surrounded her, forcing her through the door and into the room.
    â€œLet her go!” Quinn cried.
    When the tiger heard his voice she swung her big head around and stared at him, just for a moment giving up her fight against her keepers. All the breath seemed to go out of her and she changed before his eyes, slowly and painfully, bones shifting and fur withdrawing . . . and then she was just his mom, covering her naked body with her arms as the three men glared at her, using the control poles to make certain she couldn’t attack them.
    â€œBaby boy,” she breathed.
    Quinn slumped against the bed, no longer struggling against his restraints. An abyss of despair opened up within him. He turned toward the man, tongue still thick, thoughts still blurred.
I’m going to kill you,
he thought. But those weren’t the words that came out of his mouth.
    Instead, what he said was, “Tell me . . . what you want me to do.”

    The next time he woke, he was in chains. Better safe than sorry, they told him. The man with the garlic breath had a name, as it turned out—Bartholomew Teague—but Quinn saw him only rarely. Teague and Dr. Delisle kept him drugged despite his acquiescence, and the days blurred into nights. Doctors came and went, some with their faces hidden behind masks. They took blood and tissue samples. Orderlies brought him food, gave his chains just enough drag so that he could feed himself, and changed his bedpan. On the first day, when a nurse woke him