Battle Lines by L.J. Breedlove

Author:L.J. Breedlove
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: L.J. Breedlove
Published: 2024-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Saturday, Dec. 6, Minus-Day 1 of the World Council Meeting, somewhere in Seattle

Wen Huang was in a small, dark room. She thought it might have been a walk-in closet — Americans had such things. It said a lot about them: that they had so many things they required a room of their own, and so much space in a house that they could allocate space just for things. And they were oblivious to the privileged world they lived in. In fact, it had been her experience that they spent a great deal of time complaining about how things weren’t fair.

She liked Americans for the most part. She’d come here shortly after President Nixon visited China and promised new partnerships. That was before he was forced to resign. She had admired him, and she still didn’t understand what he’d done wrong — spied on his opponents? Didn’t all leaders do that? Her great-grandfather’s spy network was renowned throughout Asia — and she was among his chief spies. She tried to picture a ruler not spying on the opposition. She shook her head. It still perplexed her.

But her great-grandfather had decided some of his shifters should go to America and study in their universities. They would need an understanding of how these people thought, he said. Wen had volunteered to go, and he had permitted it, as long as she was willing to be his Messenger when he called.

Of course she was. She’d been his Messenger when he called for a very long time. Why would that change?

So she enrolled in college as an undergraduate at Berkeley. That thought made her think of the young Keeper of Stories she’d just left behind paralyzed. She hoped help came for him. She thought he had a mental bond of some kind with his Alpha — counted on it, really. It had been a risky ploy, but she hadn’t wanted them to kill him.

She was pretty sure he was still alive. She could almost feel him in her brain. Good. She would work with that soon.

Wen paced off the space she was in, exploring it as well as she could in the dark. Three meters square. There were floor cushions at one end, and a door opposite to them. She tried the door, and to her surprise, it opened. A bathroom — a luxurious one. The door out of that was locked, however. But there were lights in here, and water, as well as a toilet. She nodded her satisfaction. She could survive a long time in these two rooms. Really, this wasn’t that much less space than her rooms in Xi’an. It didn’t have a kitchen, and Wen considered that for a moment. It was unlikely her great-grandfather intended to starve her to death. He’d just slash her throat and let her bleed out at his feet if he wanted her dead. So she assumed someone would be by with food occasionally.

And that would be her opportunity. She needed to be ready.

But the

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