Life After Humanity

by Gillian St. Kevern

  Professor Winnaker was one of Ben’s favorite lecturers. He was the department head of supernatural studies, an elderly man with a bald head and eyes as gentle as a baby’s. His absent-minded manner was at odds with his sharp intellect. Many careless undergraduates had been dismayed to discover that their seemingly kindly professor strictly abided to his high academic standards. Ben enjoyed being challenged to push himself and had turned out some of his best essays for Winnaker’s class. He felt an ache for something lost as he settled in the armchair opposite Winnaker’s desk. “It’s been a while, professor. Do you have a moment?”

  “Any time.” Winnaker moved the pile of books on his desk to one side, and beamed kindly at Ben. “It is very good to see you again. Are you thinking of rejoining us?”

  How much did the professor know of the circumstances surrounding Ben’s abrupt disappearance from the university? “I’m not sure yet. I’m actually wondering if you taught a guy called Grant. He’d be a second year. Blond, a slight beard—”

  “Grant, yes.” The professor’s eyes rested on Ben. “It has been a few weeks since he’s been at the university. As a matter of fact, I’m quite concerned about him.”

  So his professor hadn’t connected his absent student to the missing werewolf? Ben fought to keep his surprise off his face. It made sense—Grant’s physical description hadn’t been circulated to the newspapers, citing fears that vigilante citizens might endanger themselves. “You don’t know why he hasn’t shown up for classes?”

  “No. His absence is most out of character. He’s usually an extremely dependable young man. One his classmates could learn from.” Professor Winnaker frowned at Ben. “I hope you’re not here to ask me for his personal information. I had a visit from his stepfather, demanding the names of Grant’s friends—really the man was most off-putting.”

  “Did you give him the info?”

  “Of course not. I consider that information classified. And his stepfather—but I’m speaking out of turn. What did you want to know about Grant?”

  Ben took a deep breath. He hated lying to his professor. It’s for a good cause. “I’m looking for someone to share my apartment. Grant gave you as a reference.”

  Winnaker thawed. “He really should have asked permission first, you know. Of course, I’m happy to act as a reference, but a little warning is nice.”

  Ben grimaced sympathetically. “So what can you tell me about Grant?”

  “Only that I’m sure that you’ll get on fine. I’ve always found him to be responsible, well-organized, a little too serious perhaps—but that is rare among young people. I’ve got no doubt that more time in the company of his peers would cure him of that.”

  Ben jotted down the professor’s description. “Do you happen to know if he’s lived with anyone before?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is a story there.” Winnaker rested his clasped hands together on the desk. “It’s really very odd. Grant was awarded a full scholarship in his first year here. It included tuition and accommodation. He was really passionate about his studies and he had the marks to back them up—an astounding application. I was personally interested in him, so I looked out for him amongst my students. Only three weeks into the school term, he vanished. I was concerned enough to visit him at his hall of residence, and he wasn’t there. His family had shown up and moved him out without notice. Very inconsiderate—no mention of his intention, which is very odd considering how hard he worked to get the scholarship and how considerate he was in every other respect. My colleagues were rather put out, but I was concerned enough to try to visit him at his home.”

  Ben found that he was sitting on the edge of his seat. “And? What did they tell you?”

  “Nothing.” Winnaker spread his hands wide. “I wasn’t even allowed in the gate. The rudeness of it—” He shook his head. “When Grant came back to school two weeks later, I took him aside to ask about it. I gathered there was some family situation that had necessitated his return. I don’t think he was altogether happy about the situation, and there had been threats to prevent him from returning to school if he didn’t keep his grades up—which after taking him out of school for those two weeks I felt was a bit much! Still, Grant rallied and his grades have been consistent. He was awarded a second scholarship for this year, and if it hadn’t been for his current absence, I’d say that he was almost assured a third scholarship for next year.” Winnaker frowned. “When you see him, let him know that I’ve put aside a copy of my lecture handouts for him. And I’m willing to discuss a makeup essay.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. Grant had to be a keen student if Winnaker was talking about makeup projects. “I’ll definitely pass that on.”

  “YOU DO REALIZE we’re not going to find the missing werewolf in a library, right?” George announced her presence with a thud as her bag hit the floor. She flung herself into the chair across the study desk from Ben, ignoring the pointed looks surrounding students sent her way. “Or do I have to give you a refresher of how hunting works.”

  Ben grinned despite himself. “Glad you could make it.”

  “I knew that you were bound to come to your senses eventually. Didn’t expect it quite so soon, but hey. The lure of the investigation.” George leaned her elbows on the table, casually returning the stare of a glowering student. “You do realize we’re cutting this really fine? The full moon’s tonight.”

  “I know.” Ben looked at the table in front of him. The desk in the university library was spread with a number of thick, leather-bound volumes, numbered with Roman numerals. He’d had a really hard time, both gathering them and then stopping the university students from taking what was, to all appearances, an unoccupied table. “I wanted to refresh my memory about the laws surrounding werewolves on the full moon.”

  “I can tell you that. Transforming in public? A huge no. Biting or attacking anyone while transformed counts as manslaughter—”

  “The argument being that a werewolf can’t claim any attacks were accidental because the influence of the full moon is a known constant that a responsible wolf would have made arrangements for.” Ben patted the book in front of him. “Grant’s successfully evaded an entire city looking for him. He’s got to have a plan.”

  “So you thought you’d look up the specifics?” George studied the book. “It’s an original approach, I’ll give you that. Most hunters are patrolling the entertainment district, figuring that a wolf on the prowl is going to be in search of victims.”

  “The hotels will have been warned to look out for him. It’s far more likely he’s got a secure place lined up.” He turned the page. “The question is, what is he aiming to do?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We don’t know why he’s run away from home.”

  George snorted. “And the wolves are doing their best to make sure we don’t know. Have you seen the Department Seven brief?” As Ben shook his head, she dug into her courier bag. “Let’s just say brief is accurate.”

  It was. Ben frowned at the flyer. First name only, a physical description, the clothes he’d last been seen in, and two photos, one of a young man with bloodshot eyes and a beard that dwarfed him, and the other of a sandy-colored wolf, its teeth bared in a snarl. “This is everything?”

  “Yeah. Needless to say, there have already been near misses with civilians.” George sniffed scornfully at the paper. “Not even a last name, so we don’t even have his social media. It’s almost like they don’t want us to find him.”

  “Maybe they don’t.” Ben frowned. “If a hunter does what New Camden’s head of security can’t—that’s not going to look good for Councilor Wisner, is it? But if his pack find the rogue werewolf after Department Seven fails—”

  “He’s going to look real good.” George wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Politicians—but you think they’d really risk people’s lives to score points?”

  “New Camden’s supernatural population can’t afford more deaths. Not after the necromancer backlash,�
�� Ben said promptly. “Wisner’s smart enough to know that.”

  “You don’t think this is a scheme cooked up between him and his stepson? That he knows where he is?”

  Ben hesitated then shook his head. “A wolf searching for this missing werewolf caused a major scene at Century.” He detailed the incident quickly. “Wisner’s too smart to want that kind of publicity. If he knew where Grant was, his wolves wouldn’t be so stressed searching for him that they lose their cool. The only explanation is that as the full moon approaches he’s getting desperate.”

  George whistled. “Lucky Nate was there. If he hadn’t been—”

  Ben winced. “Yeah. Aki… Lucky doesn’t even come close.”

  “The idea that Wisner’s wolves are continuing to prowl the city is doing nothing for my personal sense of security,” George said. “The guy just got a warning?”

  Ben nodded. “There’s something more to the situation. And I think I’ve got it. I spoke to someone who knows Grant—”

  George straightened. “Inside information? And here you said you were retired.”

  Ben fought the urge to blush. “This is a one-time thing.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, my unbiased source described Grant as a grade-A student who took his responsibilities seriously. I also heard from someone, who claims to be his friend, that he’d tried establishing his freedom legally. I thought I’d look up how a werewolf goes about leaving a pack.” Ben looked down at his notebook. “He’s got to turn in the Werewolf Independence Form to the Registry. Once the form is handed in, the werewolf must prove to an agent of either the Registry or Department Seven that he or she has made sufficient preparation to meet the full moon, including a secure room with only one means of exit, no windows, and a door certified to withstand a werewolf that locks from the outside.”

  “That makes sense. What about magical wards?”

  “Magic may be present to provide mental protection and calm the werewolf contained within the room, but may not be the primary means of containment as in the case of anything happening to the rune’s caster their protective value would be diminished.” Ben picked up his pen. “I’m pretty sure that Grant’s trying to establish his independence, and for whatever reason, his stepdad is trying to stop him.”

  “A werewolf certified door…” George pulled her laptop out of her bag. “How many security services offer those?”

  Ben nodded in approval at the line of inquiry. “Not very many. It’s highly unlikely that Grant made the inquiries himself. Ask about any inquiries from individuals in the last two months.”

  “Why two months?”

  Ben bit his lip. “It’s just a hunch…but I don’t think Grant had very long to prepare for this. The fact that he’s in hiding is not doing his cause any favors. If he’d had time to plan, he’d have disappeared shortly before the full moon, instead of weeks ahead of time, and he’d have lodged a change of address with Department Seven openly. The fact that he hasn’t is the only thing that Wisner has against him, and he’s milking it for all its worth.”

  George narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not on his side, are you?”

  Ben blinked. “What? No. Whether justified or not, the fact remains that as long as he is on the loose, he’s doing untold damage to the reputation of all New Camden’s supernaturals—and my case with the Registry in particular.” He took a deep breath. “I’m on thin ice. The council decided my application presented several red flags. We’ve got to do this strictly by the book.”

  “If you say so.” George cracked her fingers before opening her laptop. “Just remember that there’s no sympathy in hunting.” She glared at a nearby student who had stopped her work to stare at them. “What are you looking at?”

  Ben breathed out as the student devoted herself to her notes rather than reply. He’d been conscious of the weird looks sent their way by people who could only see one half of the conversation, even if George wasn’t. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  BY THE TIME they left the library an hour later, they had a list of possible leads. George was going to visit the city’s pounds, while Ben took his chances at Wisner’s compound.

  “Better you than me.” George shouldered her courier bag. “I bet you don’t even get in the door.”

  “You’re probably right.” But with his Class Six restrictions, meaning that many civilians couldn’t see him, Ben was stuck talking to supernaturals or those with supernatural clearance. “But it’s about the only thing I can do.”

  Almost an hour and a half later, Ben walked down the residential street that contained Wisner’s house. The bus alone had taken almost an hour, winding its way through a distinctly upmarket residential suburb. As he’d done his best to avoid getting sat on, Ben’s mind returned to the contradiction between Winnaker’s description of Grant and the information given Department Seven by his pack mates.

  A conscientious young man who made it into the university on a full scholarship. Ben frowned. To do that—and keep his marks up—would have kept Grant too busy to indulge in the sort of delinquent activity Wisner had accused him of. Looks like Charlotte and Vazul are telling the truth… Or maybe there’s more than one truth about Grant?

  As he approached the road that Wisner’s house was on, Ben encountered a thick wall, twice his height, in pale-yellow stucco. The wall continued all the way to a metal gate that extended across the road.

  Ben frowned. A gated community? They were rare in New Camden, but it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Wisner would have invested in one. He was that type.

  A bearded man slouched in a small shed beside the gate. He cast scornful eyes over Ben’s weedy form and made no attempt to rise, even when Ben stood directly in front of him.

  “Excuse me,” said Ben. “Can you help? I’m looking for 14 Grace Drive.”

  “State your name and business.” The man reached for a battered-looking pad in front of him.

  Ben frowned. “I’m here to see Mrs. Wisner.”

  “Forget it.” The man thrust the pad back.

  “Shouldn’t you at least ask her if she wants to see me?”

  “Don’t have to.” The man cast his eyes back over Ben. “No one sees Mrs. Wisner without the permission of her husband.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Is that even legal? Last I heard, the rules regarding the head of a pack of werewolves having control over access to his pack was limited only to cases where the pack member was considered a threat to public safety. Is Mrs. Wisner a danger?”

  The man growled, getting to his feet. “What are you trying to pull?”

  “Nothing. This is all freely available information. Don’t you know your rights?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “No one gets in or out of here without Wisner’s permission.”

  “That sounds like an overreach of the councilor’s position,” Ben said. “You should bring it to his attention.” He turned, walking away. His heart was pounding, but the wolf clearly didn’t feel comfortable abandoning his position of lookout to chase him down. After a few minutes of fast walking, Ben reached the relative safety of the corner.

  He slowed his steps. He hadn’t expected anything to come out of trying to visit Wisner…but the strength of the refusal had thrown him. If Grant goes back to that, ten to one he is never getting out.

  Ben slowed to a halt. Could he be responsible for turning Grant in for what was starting to look a lot like imprisonment? You don’t know enough about the situation. Mrs. Wisner might be perfectly happy with her husband choosing her guests… But he didn’t know she was.

  A sudden buzzing in his pocket made him jump. Ben pulled his phone out. “George?”

  “Hey.” George’s voice was muted, cautious. “I’ve got a situation.” In the background a dog barked insistently.

  “No.” He’d told her how important it was to keep things discreet. “George—”

  “Not my fault. It’s so incredibly unnecessary. But I was getting a weird vibe from the third kennel
I visited. The guy who runs the place invited me to look around and see if any of the dogs looked like my wolf. Next thing I know, I’m locked in.”

  “What?” Ben’s grip tightened on the phone. “And it’s not an accident?”

  “Heard him making a phone call just outside the door. Sounds like someone told him that if anyone came by asking about Grant, he was to hold them.”

  Ben caught his breath. He had a very good idea who was behind that order. “There’s no way out?”

  “Who do you take me for, an amateur? This room is a prison—with a werewolf-proof door.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay calm.” Ben brought up the location of the kennels. “I’m closer than I realized.”

  “Can’t be close enough,” George said. “This entire situation is bogus.”

  Ben had to agree. He set off at a jog for the kennels. If it was Wisner behind George’s kidnapping, then what did he possibly think he could gain from it? Unless…

  Unless we’re getting close to something Wisner doesn’t want us to find.

  The kennel was at one end of a large junkyard. The guy in charge lingered by the entrance, smoking a cigarette, with his sunglasses pulled low over his eyes. He had a number of tattoos down his muscled arms and startled every time a car went past. He was so focused on the road, he missed Ben swinging himself over the fence entirely.

  Ben kept the wreck of an old SUV between himself and the man as he turned his attention to the lock. Although the door was solid and made of steel, amply fitted out to deal with the security needs of werewolves, the lock itself was straightforward.

  Just like riding a bike. Ben pulled his father’s skeleton key out of his pocket, slipping it into the lock. You don’t forget. The lock clicked and Ben pushed the door open.

  At first he didn’t see George, just the rows and rows of caged dogs. Across one wall were five larger-than-usual cages with human-sized mattresses at the bottom. Makes sense that a werewolf pack would use this place. Ben looked around, his heart sinking. Was he too late? Had George been taken somewhere else—