Park shook his head, but it wasn’t necessarily in disagreement.
“Helena knows what Daisy’s like. A lot better than you do,” Cola added gently. “Even if you weren’t pack anymore, she didn’t want you hurting any more than you already were.”
Park looked down at the floor, and Cooper put his hand on his back, applying firm steady pressure, and felt Park lean back into him for a moment.
“Okay, okay,” Park said finally. “So what happened next?”
Cola sighed, looking suddenly exhausted. “A couple days ago Arthur called me in a panic. Someone had recognized him, had proof of his past and was blackmailing him. Money for silence.”
“James Finnigan,” Cooper said.
“Yes. The blackmail had been going on for nearly a month, and Arthur had been paying. Had even started dipping into the charity funds. But the day before Finnigan was killed, a package showed up at Arthur’s house, and he was convinced it meant James had told and the WIP were going to kill him. That’s when I first learned of the situation.”
“What kind of package?” Cooper asked.
“A box full of rose heads,” Cola said. “It’s an old legend—”
“Yeah, yeah, the Moon cleanse,” Cooper said, heart beating fast. Under his hand, Park had stiffened.
“Well, Arthur thought it was a threat and, seeing as they’re wiping him off the floor in the next room, surrounded by pressed roses, I’m inclined to agree.”
“Oh no,” Cooper said. “That was me. The flowers, I mean.”
Cola looked uncharacteristically startled, and Cooper explained about finding the flowers in the book and then dropping it when he was attacked. Then, hesitating just a moment, he told her about the package he’d received himself yesterday.
Cola’s expression turned increasingly grim. “That’s three mystery flower boxes. And you’re the only recipient still living.”
“What are you talking about?” Park said urgently. “Three?”
“We found a box of rose heads in James Finnigan’s hotel room as well, same as Arthur received.”
There was a resounding silence as Cooper tried to absorb that. When Park spoke, his voice was tight with tension. “What if this is it? The threat Freeman was talking about.”
Cooper shook his head, frowning. “But why? And who do I, James, and Arthur have in common?”
“No idea, but I can tell you right now who people are going to think it is. It’s only a matter of time until every wolf on the continent is whispering about the Moon rising. We’re a small community and damn do we love a dramatic rumor,” she added in a murmur.
“Just because of some flowers?” Cooper asked, incredulous.
“Save your judgment for your own people, Dayton,” Cola said. “Two wolves betrayed their own packs in the most unforgivable way and prioritized humans: Finnigan when he sold his rebel pack to human slaughter, and Arthur when he betrayed his WIP cell and lived a human life.”
“They will be cast from both worlds, cursed to walk between them alone,” Park said, clearly quoting the legend again. “The slipping.”
“Slipped in death like that, it’s unnatural. Frightened people talk.”
“But...do you believe that’s what’s happening?” Cooper asked. “That the legend is true and the moon is walking around punishing turncoat wolves?” And me, he thought but didn’t add.
Cola smiled wryly. “You’re imagining a big yellow ball walking around on legs. But the Moon means many different things to our kind. It’s representative of greater power, the cycle of change we have to go through every day and the duality of our very natures. Now someone out there has discovered the means to take away control over the most fundamental aspect of our identity and is using it to murder wolves. Whether you believe that person is some legendary entity of power or just another earthly murderer hiding behind ghost stories, whether you call them the Moon or the unsub, what difference does it make? The result is the same.”
Cooper couldn’t argue with that. “So, you think a WIP member killed Crane in vengeance, stole the phone, and is using the accoutrements of the legend to make sure the news spreads and incites fear. Why kill James Finnigan, though? A loose end? To sell the story?”
“The real question you should be asking yourselves is how did a member of the WIP even know Arthur Crane came into possession of the phone in the first place when, up until this very afternoon, he was as clueless and desperate to find it as we were.”
Cooper stilled, just slightly, but Cola caught it and nodded. “Good, you see what I’m saying. Who knew you found that phone today? Because he’s the only person who could have told the WIP that Arthur Crane now had it in his possession.”
“Eli isn’t working for the WIP,” Park said firmly. “You couldn’t be more off base. He needs a pack more than anyone.”
“And yet he’s no longer a part of one,” Cola said.
“What are you talking about?” Park asked. His voice was dangerously low and soft.
“I reached out to Helena after James Finnigan was murdered,” Cola said. “I thought she would be able to call Eli in to submit to questioning. Helena told me he was no longer part of the pack. A couple of weeks ago he asked to be released, which she granted. She was hoping he’d change his mind, but she hasn’t heard from him since.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Park said, sounding genuinely shaken. “Why would he...it doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s an abundance of nonsense in this case and yet that doesn’t make it less true,” Cola said briskly. “Now, do you know where Eli is or not?”
Park said nothing, still looking off into the middle space, but something about his posture and the stillness of his body made it seem like he was waiting for Cooper to speak first. Like he was waiting to see what Cooper would say.
Cooper looked back at his own family, still watching, and then at Park again, who was staring back at him with an almost pleading expression.
“No,” he said finally. “No, we don’t know where he is.”
* * *
It wasn’t not true. As Cooper had half expected, half feared, when he and Park returned home well into the early hours of the morning, the only one there was Boogie, who greeted them at the door with a series of sounds that meant she knew exactly what time it was and she was disgusted.
Cooper cuddled her into a better mood while Park disappeared into their bedroom, closing the door behind him. After a few moments, the sound of him arguing on the phone with Helena leaked through.
To give him privacy, Cooper wandered around the bottom floor with Boogie draped over his shoulder doing her best Death of Marat impression. He wasn’t necessarily looking for a note, but he didn’t feel particularly surprised to find one tucked into his closed laptop either.
I’m sorry. She knows, but I’ll fix it. Take care of him.
That seemed a clear indication that Eli had been the one to tell the wolf Park fought—who Cooper was fairly positive was the blond makeup assistant—their suspicion that Arthur Crane had taken the phone from Cooper. Seeing as she had been standing right outside the wolf exhibit that first day and could surely tell a werewolf from a wolf-wolf, Cooper suspected she and Eli had been in contact from the beginning. But Eli had kept her existence secret. Why?
He had a guess.
When Cooper didn’t hear any more noises from the bedroom for a good while, he put a drowsy Boogie to rest on the chair and ventured upstairs. The door had been cracked open and he entered with a small knock, which seemed silly, as Park could surely hear him approach.
Park was lying facedown on their bed, naked under the sheets, and didn’t so much as twitch as Cooper undressed and got ready for sleep. It wasn’t until the lights were out and Cooper was lying beside him that Park moved, rolling over into Cooper’s arms, resting his head on his chest.
“Helena
pretty much just said the same things as Cola,” he said eventually. “He began acting strangely about a month ago. Then two weeks later asked to leave the pack and refused to say why. Just thanked her for everything and, as one last favor, asked she not tell anyone yet.”
Cooper rubbed Park’s back soothingly. “That’s around the same time the blackmail began,” he said, thinking.
“So what does that mean? He was under pressure to leave? He was being isolated from the pack? Why not just tell us that to begin with?”
“I think we act the most irrationally when we love someone, when we feel particularly guilty, or when there’s an enormous amount of complicated history behind the scenes,” Cooper said slowly. “I think the most common intersection of those three things is family.”
“You’re saying Eli and the woman are related,” Park said.
“At the risk of sounding like the plot of a nineteenth-century illegitimacy scandal, didn’t they look...suspiciously similar to you? At least in fur.”
Park sighed. “Yes, they did. For a minute, when I saw her in fur there in the dark, I thought she was Eli. That’s why I was so caught off guard when she attacked.” He kissed Cooper’s chest apologetically, like he was sorry for not stopping the strange wolf sooner, before she’d tackled Cooper.
“It’s not your fault,” Cooper said. “Do you know anything about Eli’s life before the rebels? About how he grew up?”
“No. He never wanted to talk about it. Had me promise not to ask.”
“But if there was someone, a sibling maybe, and she ended up in the WIP while Eli ended up with the most powerful ruling pack around, and then she reappears at the same time as James Finnigan... Maybe the kind of help Eli needed, he already knew Helena wouldn’t be willing to give. Not to a WIP member.”
Park was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “I didn’t ask her about Arthur Crane. Cola was right. At that time, I would have just gone running right to Daisy. Anything for her to reach back. It makes perfect sense and I’m not even angry, really.”
Again, Park hesitated. When he did speak, it was so quiet Cooper had to hold his breath to hear. “But I’m tired, Cooper. I’m tired of working with wolves who either suck up to me or avoid me at all costs. Tired of feeling like an albatross around your neck when you try to speak to them. And just because I don’t blame Cola doesn’t mean I think it’s fucking fair that now I have to wonder every day if my boss and my—my grandmother are working in tandem to lie to me.”
“No, it’s not,” Cooper agreed gently.
“When I left the pack, I thought I was leaving the lies and learning the truth. But neither of those things really happened, did they? Helena still monitors what I’m allowed to know and when, while Cola just gave me another Park-pack-approved story. The only thing leaving the pack did was make me a little less close to my family. And now Eli’s gone and I just—I don’t know.”
“He’s not gone,” Cooper said. “He’s in trouble, but we’re going to help him. He’s not gone.”
“You don’t know that,” Park protested, a little hotly. “He’s clearly in over his head. He could be killed. He could just go on the run and cut ties completely. With him not part of the pack anymore, I feel like...like he could slip away and I’d never see him again. I just feel like people keep...slipping away from me. All my life. Just in and out, and I never know, is this it? Is this going to be the last time I see them?”
Park was breathing a little quickly. “My parents, my grandfather, my uncles. They—they just keep disappearing. Now Eli. I don’t—don’t want to die like Arthur Crane. Cast out. Alone. A stranger to the only person in my life. So removed from my own kind that I—I won’t even be a wo—a wolf anymore.”
Cooper wrapped both arms around Park and squeezed him close. “I won’t let that happen,” he promised. “No matter what.”
Park took a deep breath and Cooper began to pet his hair, his back, murmuring soft comforts. Gradually Park relaxed under his touch and eventually fell asleep, body lax and heavy, the occasional nuzzles and sounds more senseless. But Cooper stayed awake for a long time after, thinking about promises he couldn’t keep, and ones he could.
* * *
The next morning, a scant few hours after he’d finally fallen asleep, Cooper decided he wanted to talk to Neil. to his surprise, Park immediately agreed.
“Why wouldn’t I think it was a good idea? He’s been spying on our victim for the last three months, having an affair with the victim’s wife, and was mysteriously absent at the time of the murder,” Park said, pouring them coffee in the kitchen. “I’m extremely curious as to what he has to say.
“Okay,” Cooper said, easily maneuvering around him to grab agave for Park, who liked his coffee sweet. “I was sort of thinking we’d just ask him what he knows about this blond makeup assistant and when she first started showing up, but if it turns into an interrogation, hey, I’m not going to stop you.”
Cooper turned to hand Park the syrup and found him standing right behind him. Before he could react, Park leaned down and kissed him, quick but exceedingly tender.
“What was that for?” Cooper asked, a little dazzled, while Park tugged the agave out of his hand and replaced it with a travel cup of coffee.
“I was aiming for the cat and missed,” Park said, walking away from him. Cooper looked behind him and saw Boogie on the floor, staring up at him with a pretty judgmental expression for someone who often stood around with dead things in her mouth just for shits and giggles.
“Are you a paid critic or is it just sort of a side hobby?” he asked her. In response she stood and walked past him huffily to twine between Park’s legs. He watched them for a moment and felt such a surge of fondness it nearly bowled him over.
“If you want to leave, I’d support you,” Cooper said abruptly. Or about as abruptly as a declaration that you’d spent the entire night obsessing over could be.
Park was staring at him, a little alarmed looking but mostly confused. “What?” He glanced down at Boogie. “What the cat and I had is a passing fling. No need to be the bigger man and step aside quite yet.”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “I mean, I was thinking about what you said last night.”
Park flinched a little and looked away, staring down at his coffee, loosely holding a spoon in the cup, frozen midstir.
Cooper went on, trying to tread gently. “After everything that’s happened, well, I’d understand if you don’t want to work there anymore. I’d miss being your partner, of course, but I—I know this was never your dream job. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck doing this forever just because it’s...our thing.” He forced a laugh out over the sick feeling he got imagining going on cases without Park. “I think it’s safe to say we share plenty of other things, by now.”
Park was quiet. Then, “You’d work with someone else?” He sounded unusually tentative and confused.
“I’d rather work with you,” Cooper said hurriedly. “But not if it makes you miserable. And if there’s something else you’d rather do not around here, teach somewhere or go back to Canada, I’d, you know—” He took a deep breath. “Follow you. Leave.”
“You love working for the Trust,” Park said, still not looking at Cooper.
“Yeah,” Cooper admitted. “But obviously I love you more.”
Park looked up at him, face soft, and put his spoon down. “Come here. Please.”
Cooper walked toward him and Park pulled him close, tucking his face behind Cooper’s ear. “I was frustrated last night. Scared, too,” he said quietly. “Maybe I still am. But never miserable. Not once since the day I picked your awkward ass up at the airport and watched you fidget and check me out and mumble to yourself, lost in the case file the whole drive to Florence. It makes me happy, working with you.”
Cooper started to protest that he shouldn’t stay just because of him, but
Park pulled back slightly and held a finger to his lips. “And I need it for me. If the Trust had been what it is now ten years ago, I wouldn’t have had to do half the things I did as the Shepherd. Ruling packs have too much power because they’ve been wolves’ only viable resource for too long. The sort of work that we do together through the Trust? Being able to put the skills of the Shepherd to use for the good of any wolf who needs it and not just the one pack? I need to believe that helps balance the scales. I need to,” he added, almost like he was speaking to himself.
Cooper eyed him. “I’m no expert, but you’re starting to sound a little WIP, don’t you think?”
Park snorted, expression relaxing. “I wouldn’t go that far. Spread the power, yes, but I personally still need pack.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Right, well, would you take a neurotic mess and his cat instead?” Cooper said, weakly jerking his thumb at Boogie.
Park smiled, amused, and returned to stirring his coffee. “It would be my honor.”
* * *
They headed out to Neil’s soon after, just as it started to drizzle. Cooper had gotten the address from work. Neil was right—privacy was an illusion.
He had moved since Cooper had known him. Of course, he would have. It had been years and he’d lived in a too-small apartment even then. Not too dingy, but not anything anyone would linger in for a decade, even if they only had the means to move to another equally cramped but different four walls.
What Cooper didn’t expect was for him to be in a large cookie-cutter house in a gated community forty minutes outside of DC in the opposite direction of where he and Park lived. Not too far from Jagger Valley, where Cooper had grown up, actually. Every house on the block exactly the same, every lawn a monoculture of precisely rolled-out grass, the neighbors within a stone’s throw. Groups of them were wandering around, blatantly taking up the middle of the road, daylight trick-or-treating. This must be the noon shift: parents pushing strollers or wandering behind five-year-olds dressed as superheroes and running like ducks. Park had to slow the car to a crawl before they were finally able to pull into Neil’s driveway.
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