Cry Wolf

by Charlie Adhara

  As he touched Park’s elbow and directed his attention to the woman, she turned and slipped through the crowd, heading toward the edge of the room. There she paused, standing back to one of the columns, and surveyed the gala. Cooper looked around too. Everyone in the room still appeared focused on the screen where a twenty-foot Genevieve was laughing prettily, crouched with an enormous tortoise. Her voice echoed so loudly off the tall stone walls that it sounded distorted, mechanical.

  When Cooper turned back to the blond woman, he caught her slipping behind the velvet rope that blocked guests from wandering down the surrounding halls.

  Cooper looked at Park, who was also watching the now empty archway. Park tilted his head. Follow? Cooper nodded.

  It was easy to move through the room with everyone standing still and staring up. Moments later, Cooper and Park were stepping over the velvet rope too. There was a large dark hall running perpendicular to the rotunda, and directly across, another enormous archway. A large cream-and-gold plaque on the right-hand wall read Hall of Mammals.

  Park inhaled, sniffing the air, and led him into a small foyer, glass cases on either side. There was enough light from the hall outside that Cooper could see the cases were full of taxidermy animals. A moose on his left. A walrus to his right. The cases were at least thirty feet tall, and a couple dozen other creatures of all sizes were positioned throughout, placed on shelves or held up by strings. From mice to bighorn sheep to a panda to a rhinoceros. There was even some kind of whale floating, uncased, directly above their heads, and a tiger positioned to look like it was leaping for it.

  A prickle of unease and wrong started in Cooper’s throat, and he subconsciously stepped closer to Park, just enough to feel the warmth and constant movement of life radiating from him. Cooper supposed, like the elephant in the rotunda, many of these animals had been hunted, stripped of their skin and stuffed a long time ago, but it was still deeply depressing to be surrounded by dead creatures, so many of them endangered or perhaps even extinct by now. All clustered together unnaturally and positioned into a pantomime of life; any sense of majesty they might have possessed now tawdry, almost grotesque.

  They kept walking, and the next room was a large hall but much darker. Here, Cooper could only see the enormous silhouettes of more animals. These all from Africa and not fully encased, but placed behind open-top glass barriers or high up enough not to need any protection at all. A giraffe overlooking all newcomers. A lion posed on top of an information stand. Each of them still, dark shadows. Even the digital informational screens were black, the only sources of light the dim security strips along the floor and the green glow of an occasional exit sign.

  Cooper tapped his own ear, asking if Park could hear anything, and Park shook his head in the negative, but he was frowning.

  “Something’s wrong,” he murmured to Cooper. “Something’s dead.”

  “Everything, I hope,” Cooper whispered, glancing up as they passed under a whole tree branch, where the crouched outline of some kind of feline predator was posed alongside the limp, hanging body of a gazelle.

  Park shook his head. “No, it’s—I don’t know. There are too many...unfamiliar, confusing smells in here. I’m having a hard time separating everything. But there’s something...fresh. Bad.”

  They continued walking slowly, Park sniffing the air as he went. The rooms appeared to be divided into continents, Africa taking up the largest hall, then to the left a smaller section of rooms for Australia, that led into South America and so on. As they stepped into the North American section, greeted by a standing grizzly bear, Cooper got the feeling they were beginning to circle back around toward Africa, and still had found no sign of the woman.

  Then Park stopped abruptly.

  There, on top of the information stand, was a gray wolf posed to forever howl at the ceiling panels. Just below it, seated on a large square stone bench, back to them, was a figure. A human figure in dark clothes. His head was tilted back, and he appeared to be staring up at the wolf, hands resting on the bench at either side of him, long fingers curled upward, as if begging for penance.

  Cooper took a tentative couple steps forward and recognized the long gray hair pulled into a fashionable topknot. He could also hear the faint drip drip of something spilling slowly to the floor.

  “Mr. Crane?”

  Park grabbed his arm before he could get closer. “Blood,” he said, grimly moving in front of Cooper, widely circling around Crane.

  Cooper followed at his heels, watching for any sign of movement. But Arthur Crane was as still as the hundreds of dark, watching animals around them.

  As they came around the front, Cooper could see the shadowy puddle at Crane’s feet and his once-white tuxedo shirt stained deep red. His face twisted into that same partial transformation, inhuman eyes half open in death.

  “God,” Cooper exhaled. “Is he...”

  It seemed obvious, but they had to check. Park stepped forward and checked his pulse. Cooper noticed Crane’s fingers, which had seemed unnaturally long, were actually fully clawed.

  “Yes, he’s dead,” Park said, crouching to get a better look at the torso. “Four deep lacerations, just like James.”

  “Slipped like James too,” Cooper said, taking a step closer. “The blood pool is so...neat. He must not have been moving at the time of death. Perhaps whatever is forcing the slip is a sedative as well,” he thought out loud.

  “Would make sense,” Park agreed. “Here, does this look familiar?” He directed Cooper’s attention to Arthur’s left hand, clawed fingers slightly curled around something.

  “James’s phone,” Cooper confirmed. “That’s the same one I found in the croc exhibit this morning. So Arthur bashed me over the head to protect whatever James had on him from getting out. Probably set both fires looking for the damn thing, too, knowing he had to cover his scent.”

  “But it looks like he’s not our kill—” Park stopped and whipped his head around, eyes glowing gold.

  Cooper looked around, too. “What?” he asked, scanning the room for whatever Park had sensed, expecting to see someone watching them. The problem was the whole room was full of dark shapes watching them. Bobcats, deer, wolves, bears, buffalo, raccoons. Everywhere he looked there was an animal posed in unnatural stillness...

  Then one of the shadows shifted its weight.

  “Oliver—” Cooper started, scrambling back. Park stood, but the shadow was already barreling toward them.

  A pitch-black wolf slammed into Cooper at full speed, knocking Hirano’s book out of his hands and throwing them both directly into the case containing the grizzly bear. The glass cracked without shattering, and every trace of air was knocked clean out of Cooper’s lungs. He could only wheeze painfully, entire chest consumed by that aching fire, as the wolf scrambled upright on top of him. Fur in his mouth, warm breath on his face.

  Not like this. Not like this.

  Without thinking, Cooper shot his arm up between them, hand grabbing blindly and landing on the wolf’s throat. He squeezed desperately.

  “No,” Cooper gasped with the precious little air he’d regained.

  The wolf stilled, as if surprised, and stared down at him. Cooper just registered bright blue-gray eyes before a dark blur knocked the wolf from his chest with a furious snarl.

  Cooper rolled and scrambled across the floor away from the sounds of growling and the thumps of bodies against glass. Using the wall, he dragged himself to standing just in time to see both Park in fur and the black wolf standing on their hind legs wrestling, teeth bared and snapping at each other’s faces before they both tipped over into the same display case Cooper had slammed into before. This time the already weakened glass gave out and they knocked into the bear, which swayed precariously before also falling, taking out the remaining glass with an ear-piercing shatter.

  Cooper started forward to help when he he
ard a voice shout his name.

  “Cooper?” His father was in the entryway, mouth open in shock. The black wolf scrambled out from beneath the bear and ran at Ed, who just stood there, unmoving.

  Cooper leapt forward, but Park beat him there, jumping on the wolf’s back and rolling them both over in a tumble of fur, claws and teeth, and shattering a second case, this time knocking over a caribou.

  There was a sharp yelp of pain and Cooper’s heart jumped into his throat. He couldn’t explain exactly how he knew that was Park, but he did.

  “No!” Cooper shouted, running toward the sound. “Leave him!”

  The black wolf emerged stumbling from the case and made eye contact with Cooper for a moment before darting around him to Arthur Crane’s body, grabbing the phone in its mouth and sprinting down the other end of the room and out of sight.

  Cooper couldn’t follow. Not when Park was hurt. He hurried to the fallen caribou and found Park pinned underneath.

  “Hold on, hold on. I got you,” Cooper said, trying to lift the animal’s stuffed body, but it was absurdly heavy.

  Then his dad was beside him. “Count of three,” Ed said. “One. Two.” They lifted the caribou together, standing it upright, and Cooper knelt on the ground.

  Park blinked at him woozily, then lifted his head like he was going to try to get up.

  “Stop that,” Cooper said, running his hands over Park’s body, searching for injuries. Only when he didn’t find anything obvious—such as an antler running through him like a Park kebab—could Cooper breathe again. “Always have to be a hero.”

  Park squinted at him, then his eyes flicked to the left just before Genevieve’s piercing voice rang through the room.

  “What the hell happened in here? What—?”

  Cooper stood, belatedly remembering who else was in the room with them, but it was too late. Genevieve had seen Arthur Crane’s body, knocked to his back during the fight. His bloody shirt and shifted face in plain view.

  Genevieve started to scream.

  Chapter Ten

  Cooper sat on the long stone bench between Australia and South America, looking up at a deeply irritated Cola while various Trust agents—some of whom he recognized, some he didn’t—bustled back and forth behind her documenting the crime scene, transporting Arthur Crane’s body as surreptitiously as possible, making sure no other humans wandered in.

  Agents Dionne and Roy had arrived first and already hustled a hysterical Genevieve away. Cooper wasn’t sure what exactly she was being told. In all likelihood they’d first determine just how good a look she’d gotten at Arthur’s face. Could she be convinced it was a mask? If not, she’d have to be told about werewolves. If she really hadn’t known what her husband was, he couldn’t imagine finding out like this. Losing him to death while at the same time discovering you might not have ever known the real him at all. A double loss.

  Cooper’s hand tightened in Park’s ruff and smoothed over it apologetically. Park was still in fur, his head resting in Cooper’s lap, even though some agent had already nervously placed a pile of non-ripped, non-bloodstained clothes in a neat pile by his feet. Cooper didn’t know why he hadn’t shifted yet, but didn’t try to rush him. Just carefully picked through his fur for stray bits of glass, assembling a small collection of jagged shards beside him on the bench.

  For reasons he wasn’t even sure he understood himself, Cooper found something about Park in fur very comforting right now. It could simply be how competent a protector an enormous wolf was, but Cooper very much doubted that was the only reason. If the two of them were alone, he’d probably bury his face in Park’s fur and try to figure it out, but they weren’t. Besides Cola glaring down at them, Sophie, Dean and Ed watched from a distance where they’d been firmly instructed to wait for their own debriefings. Cooper had already told Cola his family knew about werewolves, worried that they’d be hustled out into some dismal interrogation room like Genevieve. But Cola had just nodded, her utter lack of surprise or interest making it obvious she was well aware of precisely how informed his family was. He couldn’t help but wonder just how close an eye the Trust kept on him. Or on any human who might spill their secrets.

  “This is your definition of keeping out of it, I suppose,” Cola said tightly. “I hope you realize what a mess you’ve made.”

  “Yes, I’ve said to Oliver many times we should stop fighting for our lives around breakables,” Cooper said sarcastically.

  Cola gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m not talking about the museum. I’m talking about the fact that twice in one day you’ve managed to let critical information slip through your fingers.”

  “How do you know what’s on the phone?” Cooper asked. The number of times he’d been knocked around today had pretty much broken any last remaining patience. “Does this have anything to do with why Genevieve seems to think you and Arthur Crane used to work together? Or how about the fact that Arthur was in the WIP with Oliver’s parents?”

  Cola stared at him for a long, tense moment, then blinked very slowly. She turned to Park, who had picked his head up to stare at her. “You must understand, these...decisions were made well before my time as director. I had no say.”

  Park didn’t move and neither did Cooper, his hand stilling in Park’s fur, gripping it loosely. Cola tapped her fingers against her own thigh—an unusual display of fidgetiness—and she looked around as if searching for a reason not to speak. But Cooper’s family was well out of earshot for humans and there were currently no Trust agents passing through.

  Finally, Cola sighed and her posture changed to something resigned. “Arthur Crane, or the man you know as Arthur Crane, was indeed in the WIP, within the same cell as Daisy and Benjamin for many, many years. They were like—well, not pack, but...family, I suppose.” She paused. “I don’t know why, but six years ago, Arthur Crane approached the Trust, claiming the others had acquired explosives and were planning to attack a local ruling pack the following week. In exchange for the details and names of some leading WIP members, Arthur bargained for immunity for himself and a new identity.

  “But there was a leak. A Trust agent belonged to the targeted pack, informed his alpha, and the pack struck the WIP cell first. We don’t know if there really were explosives stored in the house or if the pack used their own, but everyone died except for your mother, who was unexpectedly absent that night, meeting with a new recruit. They were the only survivors. And, of course, Arthur Crane, though very few people are aware of that fact.”

  Park stood suddenly and growled.

  As if answering a question, Cola responded, “That’s the way it had to be. If anyone in the WIP were to find out he lived, they would know he was a traitor to his own kind. Arthur used his new identity as an opportunity to fake his death and completely isolate himself from wolves, essentially adopting a human life. His own wife didn’t know his true nature. Fearing another leak, because every goddamn agent has ties to some pack, the only wolves he came into contact with were my predecessor and eventually, when I took over the director position, myself. Once-a-year check-ins, as is routine.”

  Park snarled, a half-frustrated, half-furious sound that ripped through the space, and then abruptly dipped his head as if trying to bite at his own shoulder. Horrified, Cooper instinctively reached out to stop him, wincing at the way Park’s lips pulled back over vicious-looking teeth that disappeared into his own fur as he strained to gnaw on himself, but then hesitated. Hand frozen halfway, not sure if he should touch, not wanting to control...

  “Help him,” Cola snapped, and it took Cooper a moment to realize she was speaking to him.

  “I don’t—” Cooper started.

  “He can’t shift if something is interrupting a critical movement point,” Cola said. “Check around the radial nerves.” She tapped her own shoulder impatiently.

  Cooper blinked, but quickly recovered and reached for P
ark. As soon as his hand landed on his soft fur, Park went very still and docile. Cooper could feel Park’s gaze on him as he carefully ran his fingers through the fur at the top of his right foreleg and quickly found a thin but long shard of glass lodged in the flesh.

  “Got you,” Cooper murmured. “One, two—” He pulled the glass out carefully and heard Park huff slightly.

  He took a few steps away from Cooper, shook himself heartily, and then bounced on his front legs a couple times, as the sound of clacking stones began. Park stood, shedding one skin for another. Even anticipating it, Cooper couldn’t really figure out what happened or how exactly Park’s coat seemed to fall and never land anywhere.

  Cooper picked up the pile of clothes and walked them over to him, then, a little nervously, peeked at his family, still watching from across the room. To his surprise and relief, Sophie just looked impressed, Ed satisfied, and Dean gave him a thumbs-up, which Cooper decided to wipe from his memory immediately.

  Seemingly unconcerned with his audience, or maybe just distracted by the truth of Arthur’s identity, Park tugged on the generic pair of sweatpants and picked up the conversation where he’d left off. “Why wouldn’t you tell me the truth, though?” he asked Cola, words a little looser in his mouth than usual as he adjusted to the shift. “Why did I have to get the same story as everyone else?”

  “Helena and I agreed it was safer for you that way.”

  Park made a protesting sound not dissimilar to his earlier growls in fur.

  “Take a moment and remember yourself six years ago,” Cola said, holding up a hand. “You were devastated, not speaking to your family, unmoored, and dangerously desperate for connection with your mother. What would knowing the whole story have changed? Your father is still dead, he was still betrayed by a man who does not exist anymore. The only difference is that as long as you thought the traitor had been killed like everyone else, Daisy wouldn’t have any reason to manipulate you.”