by Alex Lux
"Because if you knew nothing about splicing wires, you'd never have tried," I said.
He flexed his hand open and closed. "Incomplete knowledge brings harm."
"So give me more knowledge," I said. "If I know more about what I am, then maybe it could help me control my powers."
Father Patrick sighed. "What I know is very little, and it wouldn't help."
I glared at him, sterner than I could ever remember. "Let me decide that."
Father Patrick wasn’t normally one to keep things from people, particularly when his secretiveness affected them personally, but this was one topic he refused to budge on. “My boy, I have known you most of your life. I’ve watched you become the man you are today, watched you battle your demons and come out stronger. I’ve seen the kind of father you are, the kind of husband you are, and I couldn’t be more proud. Please trust me on this. There’s more to Beleth than you know, and you’re better off not knowing. Until he decides to tell you the whole truth.”
"If he decides."
"And if he doesn't, so be it. In this, he knows better than me."
I opened my mouth to argue, to point out that I was an adult and had a right to make my own decisions, to learn what I wanted, but he held up his hand, his eyes sagging and tired. “Please, can we table this for another time? I came here to talk to you about a pressing matter.”
He told me about the message from the Vatican and the threat to our school. My heart sank. “So we could lose the school? Just like that?”
Father Patrick shrugged. “It all depends on the Church, but yes.”
"I thought you owned this property. This doesn't make any sense."
"I do, in a manner of speaking," he said. "But it's complicated. The short story is, they can and will take this away from us if they choose to."
I closed the book in front of me and crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. “We could relocate to the property Sam bought in Hawaii.” She’d come into quite an inheritance when she discovered her father had been the man in charge of the Rent-A-Kid school. When he died, all the wealth he’d built up went to her.
“It wouldn’t be big enough for us now, not with the growth we’ve experienced,” he said.
“What about the O’Conners? I could talk to Derek. They have a lot of properties and money.” Derek’s family owned Rose Botanicals and had more money than God, if the news could be believed. I never asked Derek outright how much he was worth—guys just didn’t talk about that kind of stuff—but I knew it was a lot.
“There’s more,” Father Patrick said. “It’s not just the school. I’m still a priest, still under the control of the Vatican. They could reassign me.”
That stopped me short. “Reassign you? They don’t own you. We can’t lose you. You run this place.”
He shook his head. “They own me as much as the military owns a soldier. Plus, relocating these kids after everything they’ve been through would be too much for them. They need stability, a place to call home. I think our best bet is to work with the person they’re sending and see if we can avoid any major upheavals. I’ve already talked with Bernard about it, and he’s in agreement.”
Professor George Bernard Shaw was my best friend Brad’s journalism instructor and had come close to exposing Rent-A-Kid years ago, before they shot him and destroyed the evidence he’d collected. He’d been instrumental in helping us free Sam’s friends and shut down the whole organization at last, and now he helped run this school.
I needed to call Brad and see how he was doing. He’d been traveling the country doing follow-up stories on paranormals for his ever-growing blog.
“Okay,” I nodded. “We’ll just have to make it work when this guy gets here. Though, I’m not sure how the Catholic Church is going to view our way of life.”
Father Patrick chuckled. “Neither am I, my boy. Neither am I.”
Leaving the books on the table, we stood and left the library so I could find Sam and tell her about this. In the hall Curtis ran up to us, his face beaming with joy that I could feel vibrating from him in waves. “Father Patrick, I’m glad I found you. I have a favor to ask.”
An image of the future filled my mind, and I smiled, knowing what he was about to say and happy for him.
“Paul said yes. We’re getting married, and I was wondering if you’d do the ceremony?”
Any other priest would have balked at the thought of marrying two gay men, but I didn’t feel any doubt from Father Patrick as he patted Curtis on the shoulder and smiled. It was one of the reasons we loved him, and one of the reasons I feared this new intrusion from the Church. “Of course, my boy. I’d be delighted. I’m so glad Paul was able to sort through his own fears to make this decision.”
Despite everything happening that could screw things up for everyone I loved, I recognized that we had to seize the little moments of happiness when we could.
Life was too short not to.
FOUR
Had He The Motive
DEREK
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
WITH THE INSTINCTS of a predator, I hunted. But I wasn’t hunting to kill. I was hunting for a killer. In wolf form, the world buzzed with senses no human could experience, let alone understand and sift out. Decaying leaves from a recent summer rain. The scuttle of insects taking refuge under rocks. Trees—the trunks a musty, rich scent, the leaves sharper, more pungent.
And blood.
So much blood.
The victim hadn’t died peacefully, or neatly. They’d already removed the body, but finding the exact spot where Curtis’ cousin had died wasn’t hard. Even if there hadn’t been a dark stain seeping into the earth.
I sniffed the area, expecting an animal scent, but all I smelled was human. The body hadn’t been here long enough for scavengers, but I should have been able to smell the wolf that attacked him.
And yet, nothing.
I sifted through the subtle scents. The victim—fear, blood, sweat. Cops had been coming and going, dozens of smells, distinct but all human. No wolf, which didn’t make any sense at all, given the wounds and crime reports.
Jared had been attacked while fixing his mountain bike, but he hadn't been riding a trail; he'd been cutting his own path through the foliage. Following his scent, I found wolf tracks, big wolf tracks, but still no smell of wolf, not even from the tracks. Which was, of course, impossible. A wolf couldn’t mask its scent from another wolf.
I followed the tracks through the woods, and they changed, grew further apart like…
Like the wolf walked on two legs.
Impossible.
I reached a river and lost the track. Whatever left these prints must have crossed the river, but I didn’t see anything more on either side.
My ears perked up as voices alerted me to the presence of the police at the crime scene. They would be looking for a wolf.
A wolf just like me.
I ran, darting behind trees and keeping my distance from the hunting party, until I found my clothes stashed in a hollowed out tree. Pine needles poked at my bare feet and hands as I shifted back to human, my body stretching and bending until I was myself again.
I dressed quickly, slipping on my shoes as one of the officers spotted me from a distance and shouted at me to stop.
I ran, faster than most humans, but not as fast as a wolf, and looked down at my footprints, wolf to human. Using a branch, I covered my tracks until I reached my car, and drove back home in silence, my heart pounding hard in my chest.
What kind of beast were we dealing with? A new kind of shifter? But what kind of shifter left no scent?
CHAPTER FIVE
Fall of a Sparrow
ROSE
Not a whit, we defy augury. There is special providence in
the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to
come, it will be n
ow; if it be not now, yet it will come—the
readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is't
to leave betimes, let be.
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
THE BARLEYS LIVED near the forest where Jared had been killed. Curtis and I pulled up to their house, a small one-story with peeling paint and rotting wood. One shutter hung off its hinges, looking like it was about to fall off as a giant black spider scurried across it.
The sun beat down on us, and a trickle of sweat tickled the back of my neck as we waited on the porch for someone to answer the door. I turned to Curtis, whose body was tense. “You okay? We can leave if you want.”
He shook his head. “I need to do this. Thank you for coming.”
The door opened, and a stooped old woman with white hair, tinted blue, shuffled into view. “May I help you?”
“Mrs. Barley, it’s me—Curtis.”
He was more formal than I expected, but I held my tongue. Curtis had told me that Jared’s grandparents had raised him after his own parents had died in a car accident.
Mrs. Barley’s milky blue eyes widened, the wrinkles lining her face crinkling into deep wedges as she gave a grimace that looked like an attempt at a smile. “Curtis, hello. It’s been too long.” She opened the screen door. “Come in, please.”
Curtis stepped aside to let me walk in first. “This is my friend, Rose. Rose, this is Jared’s grandmother, Mrs. Barley.”
I smiled and held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Her hand felt like a bird’s, so tiny and fragile.
The house smelled old and musty. It was clean enough, though quite run down. She gestured to the couch, a pale peach floral pattern so faded it looked stained. We sat as she called her husband down and disappeared into the kitchen.
Family photos and needlepoint pieces cluttered every surface and wall in the living room. I recognized Jared’s face from the news, and saw his progression from childhood to manhood spread out on the mantel over the fireplace.
Mrs. Barley returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and cookies. “Here you are. Please help yourself.”
I wasn’t hungry, and the cookies didn’t look particularly fresh, but I took the tea to be polite. “Thank you.”
Curtis took a cup as well, as an older man stomped down the hall.
Mrs. Barley’s hand shook, and her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she looked at her husband. "You remember Curtis, dear?"
Mr. Barley grunted. "I remember he went to that school.” He faced Curtis, his eyes hard and voice gruff. “They let you out whenever you feel like it, boy?"
My new power opened up, and I could see into his heart, into the hearts of everyone in the room. His had darkness seeping out of it, anger and hate and pain boiling inside of him.
Mrs. Barley, whose heart was kind, but weak, held out her hand. "George, please—"
Curtis interrupted just as I was about to say something to put this old bastard in his place. "It's okay." He faced Mr. Barley. "The school is voluntary."
The old man’s lips curled around his teeth in a sneer. "They should change that."
Tension filled the room, and I released a strand of my power to calm everyone, despite my own anger and raised pulse.
Mrs. Barley handed her husband a cup of tea. "George, he's here to talk about Jared." At the mention of his name, tears fell from her eyes and her breathing hitched on her sobs. I could see the grief pouring out of her, nearly suffocating Curtis.
He put his cup down and looked at Jared’s grandparents. “Do you know anything beyond what they’re reporting in the news? What happened to him?”
The tears continued to fall as Mrs. Barley spoke. “The police said it was an animal attack. A wolf, it looked like.”
George laughed a humorless laugh. “That’s a crock of horse shit, Delores.” He pointed to Curtis. “We all know it was one of your kind. Don’t pretend it’s not.”
Our kind? Who the hell did this guy think he was? I was about to argue with him, but Curtis put a hand on mine. We stared at each other, and even though I couldn’t read minds like Sam, I knew he wanted me to back off, to not start a confrontation. I took a breath and relaxed my body, channeling my power to calm myself this time. I was here for him, not my own agenda. I needed to let him set the tone of this meeting.
Still, George pissed me off. It was because of people like him that we all had to live in fear and secrecy. He was the reason our kids were in danger from the world, and I hated it.
Curtis, with more calm then I could have mustered, asked, "Why do you think it's a paranormal?"
"I heard about him hanging out with some of your kind,” George said, spitting the words your kind at us like a vulgarity. "It's not his fault, though, I told people that. They tricked him somehow. Used some powers on him. And now…" His voice halted, sadness gripping him. "Now he's dead."
"Do you know who he was hanging out with?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Some kids, I don't know. I told him not to see them again. But they made him, somehow."
The pieces fell together, forming a picture of what had really been going on with Jared before he died.
Curtis leaned forward. "I know about Jared, about his… special gifts."
George’s bushy eyebrow shot up as his face shut down. "What?” His voice escalated into a shout. “What are you implying? Are—"
"George," Delores put a hand on George’s arm. "It's time to stop lying about him."
"Lying?” He shrugged his wife’s hand off his arm. “I've told them the truth."
And I didn’t have to be Lucy, the human lie detector, to know he was telling a fat one.
Delores turned to face us. "There were times when water in the house would boil for no reason. In the bath, in the pots…"
"I just left the stove on," George grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And your burn?" Delores asked.
His eyes dropped to a faded scar on his arm. "My boy had nothing to do with that. The water heater was acting up, and I turned the bath water on too hot."
"Your grandson was a paranormal,” Curtis said it as a statement, not a question. “Likely, that's why he started hanging out with others. I don't think they're responsible—"
George stood, knocking his tea over as he bumped the table. "My boy was normal. How dare you!" His body shook with anger.
Delores wiped up the tea. "George, please.”
"Be quiet,” he shouted at his wife. Then he turned on us, raising his arm and pointing to the front door. "Get out of my house, now!"
Delores stood, wiping her hands on a napkin. "No, you don't have to go.”
Curtis smiled at the old woman. "It's fine. We need to get going anyways."
I followed him out of the house and to the car. As I pulled out the keys and started the engine, Curtis hung his head and cried.
"I should have helped him get away from these people," he said, his voice thick with tears. "They’ve always hated what he was. Well, George did, and Delores was always too weak to stand up to him, even for her own grandson."
I thought of my family, of my father—or the man who I’d thought was my father—who bent to the will of my mother, to the point that she almost killed me for more power. I understood his anger. "It's okay. You did your best."
"Did I?" Curtis asked. "He made me promise not to tell. But I could have done more, talked to him about it more. All these other kids I've helped, and I couldn't do anything to make my own cousin's life easier."
I'd never thought about it much, that underage students would need permission to join our school, and many parents weren't ready or willing to acknowledge their child's para-powers. "This is what you've been fighting, isn't it? Not just connecting with the kids and helping them transition, but working with families who refuse to see the truth." My respect for Curtis increased ten-fold in that moment.
He nodded. "It's the hardest part of my job, especially when a kid is so eage
r to be with others like him or her. Most families aren't bad. They're just scared. Scared that if people or governments start targeting paranormals, their child will get caught in the middle. It's a valid fear, too. By coming to our school, they're outing themselves, and I know what it feels like to come out of the closet, in all ways."
He chuckled at his own joke, but I knew it hadn't been easy for him. In some ways, being a young gay man was still more sensational than being a paranormal, and I shuddered to think what that said about our society.
"Did you ever regret coming out, either as a paranormal or as gay?" I asked.
His blue eyes stared into mine. "Sure. I'd be lying if I didn't say it was hard sometimes. I went from being the bully to being bullied when some kids found out I was gay. And I didn't grow up at Rent-A-Kid like many of my friends, always knowing who I was, always having a place where I was 'normal.' Not that they didn't have their own pain and terror, but I had to hide who I was for most of my life, living a lie about my sexuality and my powers. When I heard about this school, it was like a haven for someone like me. Still, it took time to admit to people, to admit to even myself, that I was also gay. It was like being a freak in every possible way there was, and I hated myself for a while."
