by Bree Moore
“You have the best nose, Beckett,” Lilith said.
Lilith. Did she know more about Quinn than Anita? Harper’s heart rate increased. Lilith could tell her about Quinn’s escape, maybe the name of the human who helped him. But could she be trusted? Would she help Harper escape?
“And you have the best perfume,” Beckett responded.
“I don't wear any.”
“Eau de naturale is the best kind.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Lilith smiled, obliging his flirting, but she didn’t return it.
Zeke set a large box down with a thump. “If you'd let the packs war, we could cut the rogues down. We're nearly three times their size.”
“I'm not having a war, Zeke. Especially since they're more than just werewolves.”
“The bloodsuckers aren't an issue,” Zeke said, rolling his eyes.
“Drake nearly killed you last time. He's no vamp, Zeke, and you know it. No wars. The Hunter’s Guild has the equipment.”
“I hate being shut in when they come,” Zeke mumbled. “My pack gets restless. They destroyed half the cabin in the two weeks the Guild was here last year. Couldn't we work together or something?”
They didn’t seem to remember Harper was there. It was the perfect opportunity and she wouldn’t let it pass her by, not with knowing that Quinn wasn’t here any longer. She could find another lead on her own. She didn’t need Lilith.
Harper inched away from the group. The truck engine rumbled as it turned over.
Zeke was nearly nose to nose with Lilith now, and Beckett stood between them looking conflicted about whose side he should be taking. The others unloading the truck had disappeared. Harper darted around the side of the truck, shrugged off her jacket as she leapt up.
Itching and burning, her back erupted with fire and feathers. Black wings arced past her head and flapped, creating a massive downdraft and lifting her into the air. She thrust her wings down again, grabbing the top edge of the truck to pull herself up. The tires ground on the gravel driveway as the truck pulled away. With one last flap, Harper clambered to the top then flattened down, wings covering her.
Harper grinned into the wind as it ruffled her chin-length hair and rippled through her feathers. Pure delight overcame her. She longed to spread her wings and launch into the air, but the threat of discovery kept her pinned. Her wings, flattened, held her to the roof of the truck with their comforting weight. It felt good to stretch them.
The truck wound down the forest road. Harper wanted to get through the boundary of the wards before leaving the truck, but it was getting harder to hold herself down as the vehicle picked up speed.
THUMP.
Something struck the truck and it veered wildly to the right, heading off the road. Harper leapt free, flapping her wings to stay aloft and avoid the tangle of branches scraping the truck top as it drove into the forest and crashed into the trees, smoking. She landed on a thicker pine branch, crouching low.
Did it hit a deer? Harper glanced down. Oh hell. A wolf, not nearly as large as Keith but still menacing, braced in the road. Its dark brown fur raised in a ridge along its back and stared straight at her, teeth bared.
She got the sense that it was Zeke; something about the human chastisement in its eyes. She pushed off from the branch, headed for the stormy sky and freedom. In her peripheral, the wolf jumped from the ground and ran up the tree trunk.
No way. Jaws clamped onto her foot. They plummeted to the ground and broke apart as they hit the ground. Harper rolled across the road, landing on her back. The wolf was there in a moment, and then it was gone, replaced with Zeke laughing in her face.
“One of the more clever attempts at escape, I'll give you that.”
Harper glared at him. “I would think you’d be on my side.”
“Naturalization gives us options, Harper. A chance to live a normal life. And keep others safe.”
“Amputation isn't normal, Zeke!” Her voice grew shrill. She pushed against his chest, which was like shoving against a boulder. He moved off her, but not because of her pushing. He rolled to his feet and offered her a hand.
“I didn't say the options were great. I hope to change some of them.”
Harper brushed off her pants, then curled one of her wings inward and looked over it for any damage. Nothing more than ruffled feathers. She was lucky.
“So…bird shifter? Have you met Fletcher?”
“Yeah, I have. Too bad he's due to have his wings cauterized,” Harper snapped.
Zeke closed his eyes. “I thought I talked him out of that. He wants so badly to be normal. I told him that wasn't the way, but…”
“But what options does he have? You people put us in classes to brainwash us into believing Naturalization is the only way, and then put us in warded boxes thinking you've done us a favor?” She stopped. Her stomach heaved—from hunger or disgust, she wasn’t sure.
“Save the speech for Violet. She's the one who has any influence here. I'm just the muscle.”
“You could've let me go.”
“I’m not convinced that’s best for anyone.” Zeke looked at the truck. A man dressed in nothing but biker shorts, like Zeke, dragged the driver from the front seat. Blood trickled across his forehead. Harper’s mouth dried up.
“Is he dead?”
The other guy gave Zeke a thumbs up, then hauled the guy out and swung him over one shoulder.
“He's alive, for now. Violet can tell us the extent of his injuries and heal him. Come on, she'll want to see you too.”
Harper gazed over her shoulder at the empty road. How many miles until freedom and Quinn?
Zeke eyed her. “It's not worth it to run.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about. So shut up.”
He gripped Harper’s shirt at the neck and gave her a push forward. The rough treatment was unnecessary. She didn’t plan on running again. Yet.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time they reached the cabin, fatigue replaced Harper’s anger. She tucked her wings in to fit through the front door, ignoring the stares from the gathering dinner crowd as Zeke led her up the stairs to the apothecary.
James and Violet Petrov waited for Harper, storms flashing in their grey eyes. They parted to let her into the room and exchanged a few quiet words with Zeke before shutting the door. Harper closed her eyes and prepared to be warded.
One thing they didn’t mention was that wards were heavy. She had no fewer than fifteen sigils inked on her neck, arms, legs, and back. They were heaviest on her back.
“The marks are temporary. A couple hours and they’ll start to fade.” Violet handed Harper the jacket she’d left in the road before her botched escape attempt. Harper pulled it on, knowing she’d get more stares without it.
To be fair, most of the sigils on her back were for healing, and there was a thick poultice and bandage too. Bird-shifters’ wings erupted straight out of their skin. She’d always bled during transformation, leaving thin lines of caked blood down her back until she was able to get her next shower. Violet said she could fix it, and Harper saw no harm in that. Violet did something to Harper’s skin, made it more resilient. No shifting for twelve hours, she said. And now Harper knew why Fletcher’s back didn’t bleed when he shifted back to his human form. The only perk to being in this maddened place. But why heal her if her wings would be gone in the end? It was a puzzle Harper couldn’t figure out the answer to.
Violet kissed James and he left the room. He had helped place the wards. Some of them were for keeping Harper within the bounds of the camp, from all directions. They’d had to ward her extra heavily because of her flying ability.
Violet turned. “You’re late for your counseling appointment. Why don’t you clean up a bit and then meet Mr. Miller in his office downstairs?” She brushed her hair from her face, peering at the stained page of a book in her hands, having already moved on to the next thing. Shocked that she hadn’t lectured her,
that she didn’t even seem angry anymore, Harper stood in the stillness of flickering candles shuffling her feet.
“Do you require something else, Harper?”
Harper cleared her throat. “You, uh, knew my brother?”
She closed the book with a loud clap, and Harper jumped. “Yes. He was here, and he left.”
“What…what would happen if he were found?”
She blinked. “You wonder if he would be brought here.”
Harper bit her lip.
“No.” The word hung in the air, and something severed in Harper. A whoosh of breath left her body. Was it relief? Her feelings were jumbled.
Violet continued. “Naturalization is an opportunity once lost, never regained. And the same would have been true for you, had your foolhardy attempt today been successful. I suggest you consider that the next time you think about escaping.”
“I couldn’t now if I wanted to.” Harper gestured to the sigils under her jacket sleeves.
“And yet, Quincey King did.” Violet moved to the shelf and placed the book in its slot.
Harper’s eyes lingered on the titles. They were marked with dates, ranges of years handwritten on the spines. A few at the end seemed to be about biology and herbs, but her eyes drew back to the record volumes.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to catch up on.” Violet made a dismissive motion with her hand.
Harper walked backward a few steps, then pivoted and passed into the hall, shutting the door behind her. She jammed her hands into her pockets and went to the bathroom to take care of the dirt on her arms and face. She straightened her hair and scowled at the mirror. Why did she bother?
When Harper emerged, the lodge seemed empty. Where was everyone? Not that it mattered. She had an appointment, after all.
She hesitated in front of the office door. She usually ditched this sort of thing. Mandatory counseling sessions weren’t new to her. She could ask about Quinn, maybe try to find out how he had escaped, but she sensed this Mr. Miller wouldn’t take questions about her delinquent brother lightly. Besides that, Harper felt a smidge guilty about injuring the truck driver during her botched escape attempt. Violet said he’d be okay, but last Harper heard he was sleeping it off in a guarded room.
Harper pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket and knocked loudly.
“Just a minute!” Tyson’s voice sounded muffled through the door.
The door opened wide. A piece of lettuce clung to one of Tyson’s teeth and crumbs decorated his t-shirt.
“Let’s get this over with,” Harper muttered, brushing past him. She avoided the chair she was meant to sit in, walking around the room for a minute. “You have something right there, by the way.” She pointed to her tooth. Tyson frowned and wiped his own teeth clean, then cleared his throat.
Harper spoke before he could. “You married?” She jutted her chin at a picture frame on his desk, a girl with brown hair holding a baby in one arm and the hand of a little girl with the other. Tyson smiled.
“That’s my sister. Meagan. And my niece and nephew. Their dad was a police officer.”
Was. The way he said it, Harper didn’t have to ask if his brother-in-law is still alive. “Paranormal incident?”
He pressed his lips together, grabbing the back of the rolling chair behind the desk and leaning on it. “He responded to a werewolf attack. Those were the days before Supernatural Tactical Forces were engaged.” He spun the chair and sat down, turning back to face her. “How has your first day been?”
Really? Harper gave him a long, hard look, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “They told you I tried to escape, right?”
His pen froze over the paper on the desk in front of him. “No, actually. They didn’t. Zeke catch you?”
“Yeah. What’s with that guy, anyway?”
Tyson looked up, tapping his pen against his opposite hand. “Thought he might help you?”
No. Harper was just surprised he helped them. Surprised anyone in this place did what they were told. They could rebel. Overthrow the whole system. But something told her that no one would take an idea like that seriously. They were too married to the utopian idea of getting licensed and living happily ever after with the humans. Violet and Petrov were the worst, leading them like lambs to the slaughter. Did they get perks for being in charge? Points for each paranormal they Naturalized, bonuses for the crippled ones?
“If I could read your mind right now, what would I find?” Tyson asked in his shrink talk.
“Guess,” Harper shot back.
Tyson fiddled with his pencil and let his chair drift side to side. “What do you want, Harper? Do you want us to let you go? Let the Hunters track you down and cart you off to an experimental facility? Or worse, kill you?”
“Just between us, death would be preferable.” She plopped into the chair across the desk, slumping with her hands in her pockets.
“You’re angry. I can see that.”
She leaned forward. “Oh, can you? Because I—”
Tyson held up a hand. The pleading in his eyes made Harper bite her lip and sit back.
“Harper, yours is not a unique case. I get someone just like you in here every few months. They’ve lived in foster care, they’ve been in the streets, they’ve been in hiding. Taunted, persecuted, hunted. They killed their brother, their sister, their parents, their neighbor, mostly in horrible accidents. They don’t know their own abilities. They come in here fighting. Some of them settle down, but others never do. They’re the unlucky ones. I know you won’t agree with me right now, but it’s true. They’re missing the point. With Naturalization, you have a chance at a normal life. To have friends, to have a family, to build a career, a home, a life for yourself. Why would you pass that up?”
Rage trembled in Harper’s limbs. She drew her hands from her pockets and shook them out, loosening up the energy that compressed in her body. Breath flowed in and out of her lungs. She focused on it, blocking out his face and that glaring white paper on his desk. If he knew what she had been through to get this far, what would be taken away if she stayed…to never find my brother and parents… The words wouldn’t form. Harper didn’t speak.
“Think about it.” His voice dropped, becoming gentle. It was a tactic. Perhaps an honest one, but a tactic all the same. Manipulation by any other name would hurt as much. Harper hated him for it, but she had to focus on keeping her anger beneath the surface. She feared what she might do if he kept pushing her toward that edge. Would he have time to get to that panic button under his desk this time?
“Are you willing to try, Harper? How about this—if you’re going to give this your best shot, tell me something about you.”
Harper stared at him, deadpan. What would happen if she didn’t answer? Would they take her away from here? Withdraw her Naturalization application? The minutes ticked by. She couldn’t see any clocks, but she felt the passing of time and wondered if Tyson’s patience would run out, if he’d give up on her. He wouldn’t be the first.
“I know my brother was here,” Harper blurted. The words surprised her. She hadn’t planned them, they just…happened.
Tyson snorted. “Okay. We’ll go there.” He interlocked his fingers on the desk. “Yes, Quinn was here.” He separated his hands in a “ta-da!” motion.
Harper rolled her eyes.
“You already know he escaped. I assume that’s why you tried to leave. Is that who you were looking for when you got picked up?”
She huffed. “I don’t have to do this.”
“No. You don’t. We could sit here in silence for the next…” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “…twenty-five minutes. Or you could utilize the free therapy session, paid for by taxpayer dollars.”
Harper considered him. He seemed sincere in wanting to help, but she wasn’t about to sob on him about her family or anything else. Naturalization aside, she would sooner walk a thousand miles than talk about her feelings.
“Would it be okay if I asked you some questions? Just things I’m curious about. Answering optional.”
Harper grunted, which actually drew a smile from him. He was starting to think he understood her. “Where is your family from?”
She could answer that one. “Oregon.”
“You grew up here?”
“Yeah.”
Tyson’s lips quirked and he bobbed his head affirmative. “Okay, then. So did I. But my dad’s the one who brought my mom here. From Alaska.”
“Cool.” If she cared, maybe.
He arched a brow. “What about your parents?”
“Look, I don’t know what happened to them,” Harper snapped, sitting bolt upright, gripping the chair seat and breathing deeply to keep from shifting.
“That isn’t the question I asked,” Tyson pointed out.
She reigned in her breathing, bringing it back under control. Her shoulder blades throbbed. She would kill to have them rubbed right now, but she wasn’t about to ask anyone for any favors. “Aren’t you a bit…I don’t know. Young? To be counseling someone your own age?”
“Tom probably would have seen you, but he’s not here. You can switch when he gets back. I’m here to put out fires.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“We’re getting off-topic.”
“Just want to be sure I’m speaking to a real professional. You know, someone who can fix all of my emotional issues.” Harper put quotes around the last word. It hung in the air until Tyson cleared his throat.
“I know you don’t want to be here, Harper. You’ve made that abundantly clear. But would it hurt to try?”
“Yes. I think it would.” She leaned forward, hands clasped between her knees.
Tyson tilted his chair back, looking at the ceiling for a moment. Was he praying? Harper snorted at the thought.