Wolfsong

by TJ Klune

Robbie narrowed his eyes. And moved toward the window.

  The rest of us didn’t move. Because somehow, we knew.

  “Humans,” Robbie said. “Three of them. They don’t have guns. Though I think one guy is carrying a hammer. For some reason. We need to act—”

  “Sit down,” I said lightly.

  Robbie looked startled.

  I thought, for a moment, he wouldn’t.

  He did, though. He didn’t look away from me.

  Tanner, Chris, and Rico burst through the door, eyes wide and frantic. Rico, of course, held a hammer high above his head, wielding it like he was about to crush some skulls.

  “Where’s the thing we need to kill?” Tanner growled, eyes darting around the room.

  “I know karate,” Chris said. “I took it for three months when I was ten.”

  “I have a hammer,” Rico said.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. But I thought they were ours. I glanced at Mark. “You felt them?”

  He was looking at them with something akin to awe. “But they’re all human.”

  “Hey,” I said, punching his arm. “So am I.”

  “That’s different.” He shook his head. “You were because of Joe. That wasn’t a surprise. They’re here because of you. And everything we feel is because of you.”

  Before I could even process what that meant, Elizabeth hopped down from the couch and approached the others. She pressed her nose into their hands, each in turn, one after the other.

  I was reminded of the sound my mother made the night she’d found out the truth. The little sound of oh, shocked and breathy, when Thomas had touched her for the first time.

  I knew what Elizabeth was doing.

  She was acknowledging them.

  Because somehow, in the short weeks since our world had gone to hell, Tanner, Chris, and Rico had become part of our pack.

  And I didn’t know how.

  THE TEXTS were getting more sporadic. Sometimes they came in the middle of the night. Sometimes a whole week would go by. I carried my phone everywhere, waiting.

  Once, I sent a message first.

  things are changing. i don’t know what to do

  At three in the morning, he replied.

  I know.

  I pulled up the covers in his bed over my head and waited until sunrise.

  ROBBIE STAYED.

  We didn’t want him in the Bennett house because there was no trust there. He didn’t want to be too far away. There were a couple of motels in Green Creek, but people would ask questions if he stayed too long. Mark thought he was all right. I asked if he’d known him from before. Mark shook his head. He’d made some calls and verified Robbie was who he said he was, and Gordo’s wards had let him through to begin with. And since I trusted Mark, trusted Gordo, I told Robbie he could stay at the old house.

  The old house, because that’s how I thought of it.

  I didn’t think I’d ever live there again. At least not for a long time.

  Because there were nights I woke up and felt the heavy magic holding me down, cutting me off from the pack.

  There were nights when I didn’t know if I was dreaming or if I was awake, and my mother would be standing at the edge of my bed, tears drying on her face, her eyes steeling right in front of me and she would tell me to run, to run away from—

  Those were the nights I missed Joe the most.

  I had never been one for nightmares.

  Not really.

  But now?

  Now they were all I had.

  I remembered how Joe was when he woke screaming for me.

  I didn’t scream when I snapped my eyes open, though I wanted to.

  I muffled it down, lodging it in my throat as sweat dripped down my neck.

  It was easier that way.

  So I couldn’t go back to the house. Not while the floor was stained. Not while the look on her face was still fresh in my head. The wet sound she made when she fell.

  Robbie didn’t ask, and he didn’t say anything the day after his first night in the house. The only thing I asked of him was that he stayed in my room and left my mom’s room alone. He had no business in there. And I didn’t want him getting his scent on anything. The door was shut and would stay that way until I could open it and breathe her in.

  “Sure, Ox,” he said. “I can do that.” Then, “She wanted you to know, too, that she’s sorry for what you lost. Especially for one so young. She… understands loss. In her own way.”

  “Who?” I asked, confused.

  “The Alpha.”

  My eyes widened a little at that. “She knows who I am?”

  His lips twitched. “Yes, Ox. Many people know who you are.”

  “Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what to do with that.

  So I did nothing at all.

  TWO WEEKS went by without an update.

  I thought I could understand what it felt to slowly lose one’s mind.

  I imagined all possible things. Capture. Torture. Death. I thought I would know if something was wrong. I thought I would feel it if anything happened to them. But the reality was, the longer they were gone, the greater the distance, the less I felt. I didn’t think I’d know if any of them were hurt. If Joe was hurt.

  Because I could feel the others that had stayed in Green Creek more than I could feel him.

  Stronger than I’d ever felt any of them before.

  Elizabeth was blue, she was so damn blue, and I knew she needed to howl her sorrow at the moon, but she kept her song inside and let it fester instead.

  Mark was strong and sturdy, as always, but I knew about the photo he kept in his desk drawer. The photo he didn’t think anyone knew about. The one where he and Gordo were Joe’s age, and their arms were around each other’s shoulders, grinning. Gordo was smiling at the camera, looking younger than I’d ever seen him. Mark, though. Mark only had eyes for Gordo.

  I never asked if they talked before Gordo and the others left.

  I hoped Gordo did the right thing.

  But I never had the courage to find out.

  Tanner, Chris, and Rico were there too, getting stronger every day. It was a slow process, but they were bonding like the rest of us.

  Still. Four months in and I thought maybe we were barely holding ourselves together.

  Maybe that’s why those two weeks I didn’t hear from Joe hurt more than it should have.

  Maybe that’s why I was angry when he finally texted. From a new number, the old phones obviously tossed out.

  The message was short.

  We’re okay.

  And I lost it.

  I dialed the number.

  It rang a few times, then fell off into an automated message, saying the voice mail wasn’t set up.

  I called again.

  And again.

  And again.

  It was the fifth or the sixth time when the call connected.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You fucking asshole,” I snarled into the phone. “You don’t get to do that to me! You hear me? You don’t. Do you even fucking care about us? Do you? If you do, if even a part of you cares about me—about us—then you need to ask yourself if this is worth it. If what you’re doing is worth it. Your family needs you. I fucking need you.”

  He didn’t speak.

  But he was there, because I could hear the way his breath caught in his throat.

  “You asshole,” I muttered, suddenly very, very tired. “You goddamn bastard.”

  We stayed on the phone for an hour, just listening to each other breathe.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was morning and my phone had died.

  IT WAS six months after they left that I realized something had to give.

  We couldn’t keep going on as we were.

  Joe was texting more regularly, maybe once every few days, but the updates were as vague as always, and the longer it was taking, the less hope I had of when I would see them again.

  Robbie, as it turned o
ut, knew less than we did. Or so he said. He seemed as frustrated as the rest of us with the lack of information. Every now and then I’d stumble across him on a hushed phone call, and while I couldn’t hear what was said, the expression on his face was enough. The teams of wolves out searching for Richard, for Robert, for Osmond were coming back empty. No one knew where to look. No one knew if he was in hiding or if he was building up Omegas. Every registered Alpha was put on notice. But Mark told me that for every three or four registered Alphas, there was one that wasn’t known.

  Richard could try and track down those unknowns.

  If they didn’t know he was coming, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Especially not with Robert Livingstone at his side.

  There were rumors that Richard Collins was in Texas. Or Maine. Or Mexico. Someone had seen Robert Livingstone in Germany. Osmond was in Anchorage.

  None of it ever panned out.

  Michelle Hughes wasn’t pleased that Joe and the others were gone. None of them were, the faceless higher-ups that knew who I was. Robbie seemed to be filled with a mixture of glee and terror as he told us this, that the teams out searching were also instructed that if they came across Joe, to apprehend him and bring him East.

  They never found Joe.

  BUT AT home, things needed to change. Elizabeth still hadn’t shifted back and I was worried the day would come that she wouldn’t be able to anymore.

  Mark was getting quieter and quieter. He spoke only when spoken to, and then it was only a few words before lapsing back into silence.

  Tanner, Chris, and Rico didn’t know what to do. They were pack, but they didn’t understand what that meant. After the initial burst of newness, of the joining of their threads to ours, the excitement wore off. Elizabeth didn’t run on the full moons. Mark was just as inclined to disappear.

  I walked through the woods, sunlight filtering through the trees.

  It’s going to break soon, Thomas said, walking at my side.

  “I know,” I said, even though he wasn’t really there.

  Something needs to change, my mother said, running her hands along the bark of a Douglas fir.

  “I know,” I said, even though she was buried in the ground six miles away.

  They were right, these ghosts. These memories. These few things I had left.

  An Alpha isn’t decided by the color of his eyes, Thomas said as I picked up a pinecone from the forest floor.

  Do you remember when he left? Mom asked. You stood in the kitchen and told me you were going to be the man now. Your face was wet but you said you were going to be the man. I worried. About us. About this. About you. But I believed you too.

  And she had.

  Both of them had.

  I found myself in front of the house.

  The old house.

  It looked as it always had.

  I stood there for a long time.

  Eventually, there was a nudge at my hand.

  I looked down.

  Elizabeth watched me with knowing eyes.

  I said, “We have to change. This isn’t working. Not anymore.”

  She whined.

  “I know it hurts,” I said. “I know it’s easier for you. Like this. Now. But we can’t do this. Not anymore.”

  She nudged my hand again.

  I looked back up at the house.

  She waited until I was ready to speak again.

  She was good like that.

  I said, “I need to go inside.”

  I said, “I want you to go with me.”

  I said, “And when we come back out, I’ll want to hear your voice.”

  I said, “Because it’s time. For both of us.”

  She followed me into the house.

  ROBBIE HAD somehow removed the stain from the wood where she’d died.

  It looked like it always had.

  In my room, things were mostly the same.

  I trailed my fingers along my bookshelf.

  I pulled out the Buick shop manual she’d given me on my birthday a long time ago.

  Inside was a card.

  What do you call a lost wolf?

  A where-wolf!

  This year will be better.

  Love, Mom

  I didn’t know if I was dreaming or awake.

  I put it back and wondered if I had soap bubbles on my ear.

  Elizabeth watched and waited, never leaving my side.

  I cried. Just a little. A few tears that I wiped away with the back of my hand.

  I stood outside her door, hand on the doorknob.

  I had to gather all my courage. I’d faced down Omegas. Osmond. Richard.

  But this was harder.

  Finally, finally, I opened the door.

  It smelled like her. But then I knew it would.

  It was faded, but it was there.

  Motes of dust caught the sun.

  It was like before, after my father.

  When I left the room, the door remained opened.

  “I MEANT what I said,” I told her. “We leave here, I hear your voice.”

  She looked from me to the front door, then back to me.

  “It’s hard,” I said. “And it will be for a long time. But that’s why we have each other. Why we have a pack. We need to start remembering that again.”

  I held out the quilted blanket for her to take, to cover her nudity should she choose to. I wasn’t going to push any harder than I already had, because I was worried it’d be too much.

  She stared at my offering for a long time.

  I thought maybe I’d failed.

  But then she reached out carefully and took the quilt between her teeth. I let it slip between my fingers.

  She dragged it along the floor and around the corner.

  I heard the shift of bone and muscle. It sounded painful after so long.

  There was a sigh.

  I waited.

  There was a shuffle of feet.

  Elizabeth Bennett stepped around the corner, eyes tired but more human than they’d been in a long time. Her lightly colored hair fell along her shoulders, the quilt clutched tightly around her.

  When she spoke, her voice was dry and raspy.

  It was a wonderful thing.

  She said, “I don’t mind being lonely when my heart tells me you are lonely too. Do you remember?”

  “Dinah Shore,” I said. “You were dancing. You were in your green phase.”

  “That song,” she said. “I told you it’s about staying behind. When others go to war.”

  I played my part. “Staying behind or getting left behind?”

  “Ox,” she cried, “there is a difference.”

  SHE SHIFTED back

  You did it, didn’t you?

  no she wanted it

  You did it, Ox. Trust me on that.

  you need to come back

  joe

  are you there

  JOE

  SOMETIMES SHE smiled. Sometimes she looked very far away.

  Mark had hugged her when we came back to the house the day she shifted back. They hadn’t really spoken, just clung to each other for what seemed like hours.

  She didn’t cry.

  Mark did, though.

  He’d said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Not for the first time, I thought everything my father had told me had been bullshit.

  Robbie was in awe of her.

  “Don’t you know who she is?” he’d hissed at me.

  I did. “She’s Elizabeth.”

  “She’s a legend.”

  Tanner, Chris, and Rico fumbled through their introductions, blushing furiously as she kissed each of them on the cheek, lingering and sweet.

  I made fun of them for that later. They blushed again.

  I didn’t know if she tried to call Joe or Carter or Kelly. I didn’t know if they felt her better than I ever could. I told her what I knew, how long it’d been, the vague responses I got.

  She’d nodded, looked off into the distance,
and said, “We should do dinner on Sunday.”

  So we did.

  Because it was tradition.

  Elizabeth stood in the kitchen, sashaying to a song playing lowly on the old radio. I didn’t think it was Dinah Shore. I thought maybe that would hit too close to home right now.

  Mark and Tanner were on the grill outside, even though it was cold. Rico and Chris were setting the table.

  Robbie looked unsure as he stood along the edge of the kitchen, near the doorway.

  “Ox,” Elizabeth said. “Are you finished with the onions?”

  I said, “Yes,” and handed her the bowl they were diced in. Because we were pretending that everything was all right.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she smiled. It was a shadow of what it used to be, but it was there. She was stronger than I’d given her credit for. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  She stirred in the onions and said, “Robbie, is it?”

  “Um,” Robbie said. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

  He still didn’t sound very sure.

  “Robbie what?”

  “Fontaine.”

  “Fontaine,” she said, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the stove. “Ah. Your mother was Beatrice.”

  “You knew my mother?” he asked, sounding shocked.

  “We went to school together. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

  He shrugged awkwardly. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Still. She was a smart woman. Very kind. We weren’t as close as I would have liked to have been. Different paths.”

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

  “Do you have a pack?” she asked.

  I heard the weight of her words, even if he didn’t.

  Robbie shrugged again. “Sometimes? Nothing permanent. Given my job, I tend to float around a lot. Any bonds I form are usually temporary.”

  “Temporary? That can’t feel good.”

  “It is what it is, I guess.” He looked uncomfortable. Nervous. I remember feeling that way around her at the beginning.

  “But you’re here.”

  “Because I was told to be.” His eyes widened. His next words were hasty. Rushed. “Not that I wouldn’t want to be here or anything.”