Wolf Island by Darren Shan

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

    W E 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 yards
     square and three or four yards high. Some show evidence of having been inhabited recently — feces 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.