by Holly Rutan
The door opened suddenly, and I wasn't the only one to jump. My paws slipped on the slick metal. The black-coat who had been sent out on errand closed the door behind himself and handed a folder to his leader before returning to his station.
Striped-black-coat opened the folder and leafed through the thick sheaf of papers, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown that looked more thoughtful than displeased. I started pacing again as he read. The air felt thick enough to bite.
After turning to the last page, Striped-black-coat looked up.
"Impounded July 16 in a raid on a milking facility. Killed and cannibalized her captors before law enforcement arrived, and had to be tranquilized for removal. Displayed extremely aggressive behavior and showed no signs of awareness or intelligence. Recommended for euthanization by Agent Mason, who has since transferred to Chicago."
I stopped pacing. My tail, which had been held at half mast, tucked itself down between my legs.
Beast-man rumbled deep in his chest.
"She could be one of five different individuals who had gone missing during that time period," Striped-black-coat continued. "But investigators were unable to determine her origin, and she could or would not communicate with Agent Mason. Thus, she was euthanized as Jane Doe on July 21, 2011, by one Dr. Kline, via lethal injection."
"Obviously," Beast-man growled, "Mason made a mistake."
"Perhaps," Striped-black-coat said. "Perhaps not. Either way, we have channels to dispute euthanization orders, channels which seem to have been avoided in this case. Why, Dr. Kline?"
Dr. Kline's shoulders slumped.
"It seemed like such a waste," he admitted. "But the grounds I had to dispute the order were flimsy at best. She really was violent and incoherent, but only toward adults. She never laid a tooth on the other children rescued with her, and she has scars all over her body under that fur. Weres don't scar after they've snapped."
"You felt bad for her," Striped-black-coat supplied.
"You're damn right I felt bad for her. I thought, here's a kid who never had a chance, even from the start. She had been beaten, she had been starved. We failed her, and because we failed her, we were going to kill her, and I couldn't do it. I hoped, given enough peace and time, she might wake up. And every time I thought I'd give up and put her down after all, she showed a flash of awareness. Over time, these flashes have become more frequent, but she still has long periods where she becomes insensible," Dr. Kline said.
Beast-man grunted, rubbing the pale stubble on his chin with his knuckles.
"Inspector Voneshi, I would like to interrogate little Jane. She seems coherent enough at the moment. If she speaks, I am very curious about Dr. Kline's methods. I've never heard of a were recovering from a regression that deep. Let us see what he has wrought before determining his punishment."
"Granted," Striped-black-coat said.
"Little wolf," Beast-man said, "I am going to become a predator many times your size. Remain calm. I will not hurt you. Do you understand?"
I nodded and then tilted my head to the side. My tail came back up in excitement and curiosity.
"I'll take that as a sort-of," Beast-man said with a smile, and then removed his clothes, folding them with practiced motions and setting them on the floor until he wore nothing but a pair of black shorts. Then he began to change. Inside my mind, the faint whispered melody was momentarily overpowered by a bestial growl.
His body swelled and grew, and he fell on his front paws with a soft thud. Pale fur sprouted from his body, and a tail sprang from his hindquarters. His face disconcertingly hovered between that of a man and a large cat for several seconds before it settled on that of the cat. Somewhere in the process his shorts vanished.
The man-that-smelled-like-beast had become the beast-that-smelled-like-man, and he was huge.
How did you do that? I demanded, hopping up and down at the edge of the table.
The lion put his whiskers forward. In each of us is the potential for another, and both are true, little wolf. You may, if you wish, do the same. But such is a discussion for another moment. First, an introduction is proper. I am Lion Always Looking for Answers. I am Caretaker of the Young. My human name is Peter. Who are you, little wolf?
I knew, intrinsically, the image that defined my being, and I offered him my best articulation.
I am Bloodied Wolf Who Guards. I am Strength to Shield the Weak. I am Wounded, but still I Sing. I am Incomplete. I hesitated, and then added, My human name is Jane Doe.
A complex name for one so young, Peter/Caretaker replied, but Jane Doe is not the name of your birth. What name were you born with, little one?
I don't remember, I said, the fur along my spine rising. I remember nothing before I came here. I do not know why I know some things and not other things, and I do not know what I do not remember until I am confronted with it.
I paced, too uncomfortable to remain still. Five steps. Turn. Five steps. Turn. The motion was soothing, and my fur began to settle. The lion watched and waited, his eyes kind.
I do not know if I want to remember, I confessed after I had calmed myself down. There is no joy hidden in the darkness.
If you refuse to see in the dark, the lion said, the dark will have won.
I snarled at him and then snapped a wary look at Rufus.
I continued without pausing my steps. I understand that, and that fills me with distaste. I have shredded the darkness with my teeth before, and won. I know this. But I am wounded still, so much so that it is part of who I am. I am tired, Always Searching Lion. Caretaker, I am tired.
If you do not wish to wake, Rufus will help you sleep forever, the lion said.
If I sleep forever, how can I protect the weak of the pack? I asked.
You cannot, the lion replied, his body language unyielding. The dead can have no impact on the living.
Then, I must wake up, I said. Or how can I save others from the things I have suffered? When the time comes to confront the darkness once more, who will take my place?
Then wake. Remember the world on two feet, with clever hands to carry and a mouth that speaks so others can hear. Remember the world of color and the feeling of air on bare skin and clarity of thought and purpose. We will teach you so that you can protect the helpless, Bloodstained Guardian. We will help you find your strength. I will help you, the lion said.
A whisper of melody moved in my mind, guiding me. I followed it, taking the path that it indicated, and my perspective changed. My body stretched and snapped and reconfigured in a change that hurt like setting a broken bone; a good hurt, but pain nonetheless.
The metal slab chilled my scarred, bare skin, giving me goose bumps. I shivered and whined, a tearless sob stuck in my throat. The darkness in my mind began to shred, and frantic, I buried myself in it again. What it covered was awful. Not worth saving. I pushed myself to sitting position, wondering at the unfamiliar shape of my paws and legs.
Introductions, Caretaker/Peter said, were proper. I opened my mouth, struggling to remember how to form words. They had to know who I was. But the darkness covered my name. The darkness kept me safe.
"I am the bloodied wolf who guards," I finally choked out, the words flooding out of my mouth thick and halting from lack of practice. "Do not make me sleep forever. Do not silence my song. I'm tired. I hurt. Please don't make me dead."
The room was shocked and silent, except for the sound of paper shuffling. Striped-black-coat—Voneshi, I corrected myself, was leafing through his folder.
"Samantha Davis," he said. "Age thirteen. Ceased attending school the day after her Testing. Assumed kidnapped, since her sole parent was found deceased at her residence. Homicide. No suspects."
Peter rumbled deep in his throat, looking me over. He changed back from massive lion to a tall, muscular human, with hair that I could now see was blond. The shorts he had been wearing reappeared on his body during the shift.
"Judging by the scars, no big loss. Karen and I are between
foster children at the moment, Inspector. I'd like to file for guardianship," he said.
Chapter Two
Ashwood High had been built in the heart of Downtown Los Angeles in the 1960s during a major governmental investment in infrastructure—an attempt to bolster a faltering postwar economy. The school squatted, fortresslike and grim, a mere half mile from the Department of Magical Affairs headquarters. The entire outside was surrounded by tall chain-link fencing that sported only a few gates. I was just noticing that all of the gates had an armed security guard when a grating bell rang, disrupting my thoughts.
A huge mass of young humans boiled from the doors of the different buildings, shouting and laughing and shoving at one another as they moved from one place to another. Passing period, my memory supplied, dredging the harmless knowledge from behind the darkness.
Knowing what was going on didn't make anything easier. I clutched my foster mother's hand tightly, surveying the mob of young humans. My belly shivered with anxiety. They were so loud!
"Our bad luck to get here now," Karen said. "Let's give that a few minutes to clear out before we check in at the office. I hate trying to push my way through a crowd."
Grateful for the out, I nodded, my jaws clamped tightly shut.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Karen ordered. "Use your words."
"They noisy," I said, reluctantly forcing myself to utter inadequate words. I had an awful time figuring out what connecting words to use and was well aware that I sounded like an idiot. "They pushy. One wolf no match for many humans."
"They are noisy," Karen corrected. "And they are pushy. You're right, one wolf would never be a match for that many humans, but I promise you, they are more afraid of you than you are of them."
"That are bad," I whispered.
"That is bad," Karen agreed. "It is up to you to prove to them that you are nothing to be afraid of. Are you ready?"
"Will try... I will try," I answered, correcting myself. "They are gone."
Karen smiled, and I bounced on my toes, delighted by her unspoken praise.
It took only a few moments to pass through the gates and into the main building. A few students still lingered in the hall, but their gazes flicked to Karen and pointedly away, as though she were somehow distasteful. Karen's mouth tightened, but she said nothing.
"Karen," I asked, curious. "What is wrong?"
"Remember how I said they are afraid of you?"
I nodded.
"They're afraid of me, too. More properly, of what I represent. The Department polices magic and magical things. Part of the reason Headquarters is Downtown is because there isn't much in the way of ambient magic here. That means these people won't see snaps like you often enough for the scary feeling to be worn away by familiarity," Karen answered. "If they're seeing this black uniform outside of a coffee shop, that usually means something bad happened."
"I not bad," I said.
Karen sighed.
"That should have been, 'I am not bad.' Keep practicing, it'll come back to you. I still think this is too soon, but the semester started yesterday, and management wants me to get you mainstreamed as quickly as possible. Just try to hold it together, all right? You can get through this. If nothing else, you are a survivor."
"Yes," I said.
"Good. Come on, let's get you enrolled."
I followed Karen past several doors and into the attendance office. A clerk led her to a row of cubicles at the back of the room while I waited behind the long, scarred counter, tracing the carvings of generations of students with one fingertip. Another kid was sitting on a wooden bench next to the door with a morose look on his face. He coughed, and I glanced over at him. His already pale face blanched when he met my bestial yellow eyes, and he fixed his gaze on the floor.
Karen looked out from the cubicle and waved me over. The clerk opened the counter for me, and I went to meet her. A man sat at his battered desk behind the flimsy gray cubicle walls, reading through the papers that Karen had given him.
"Samantha Davis," the man said.
"Yes," I answered.
"Your transcripts place you in a number of classes that may now be inappropriate for your actual abilities. I have you in advanced studies for math and science. Over the next week or so, your instructors will appraise me of your progress. If you cannot keep up for any reason, you will be moved. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Repeat what I just told you," he ordered.
"I no do well, you put me in stupid class," I said. "I smart, you see."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Karen's arm twitched as though she would mirror the motion, but didn't. Instead, she nodded.
"Sammy will be working with private tutors in the evenings to help her get up to speed. She seems to have lost very little of her mechanical skills, and we will work hard to get her communications up to par," Karen said.
"Excellent. Her bracelet is locked?" the counselor asked.
"Yes," Karen answered.
"Very good. Her instructors will be glad for the reassurance. Miss Davis may see or hear things that are upsetting to her. High school is a stressful time for most children, and even more so for the newly snapped. Tomorrow, all incoming freshmen are to visit the Vault, and that should serve as an additional reminder of her need to control herself," the counselor said. "Why don't you go ahead and sign your permission now?"
Karen took the form that the counselor offered her and read the whole thing before signing it.
"Sammy is a good girl. She will be fine," she said. "And I am acquainted with the mage on duty. He will know what to do if something goes wrong."
* * * *
"Samantha Davis?" the teacher asked, her tone sharp.
I realized she had called more than once. I'd been too busy staring around the room to notice. My cheeks warmed in reaction to the chorus of unkind giggles from the rest of the class, and I sat up straight.
"Here. Um, sorry," I answered.
"Excellent," she answered, making a note on her paper. "Ah, it says here you are a were. What species?"
"Wolf!" I announced. The class giggled again.
"And do you have your band?" the teacher asked, making another note.
"Yes," I said, pushing up my sleeve to show her the silver bracelet around my left wrist. The polished metal gleamed, marred by a straight black ribbon down the middle. It meant that I had been granted parole for what would normally be a killing offence.
The room went dead silent, and the stink of fear-scent and sweat filled the air. Desks scraped as the students seated next to me inched away. I tightened my lips at the humans' reaction, waiting anxiously for the teacher to continue and break the tension.
"I...see," the teacher said. "Well, you won't be the first kid with a Lo-Jack I've taught, and probably won't be the last. Take today's field trip to heart, were, and be on your best behavior."
"Yes," I said. "I show you I am not bad. I learn to be good. You help?"
"You can barely talk," the teacher said with a sigh. "And they want you in a mainstream class? Can you at least understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand all," I answered. "But I no speak. Forgot how."
"Miss Hendricks, that happens sometimes," a deep bass voice said from the back of the class. "When a were has a really traumatic snap. If you don't mind, I could help her."
I looked in the direction of the voice, wishing that I could crawl on my belly and properly convey my appreciation. A very large Latino boy was squeezed awkwardly behind a desk far too small for his six-foot frame, and he gave me a reassuring, close-lipped smile when I met his eyes. He responded to the contact by dipping his gaze and shifting position to display the silver bracelet around one of his wrists. It, unlike mine, was unadorned by black.
"Thank you, Jorge. You may help her as long as you do not cause a disruption. Cherie, switch desks with Samantha please, and let's get started. We've spent far too long on this nonsense already, and the bus
will be here in"—Miss Hendricks glanced up at the clock—"half an hour. Everyone pass their permission slips to the front."
A little Asian girl shorter than me vacated her chair, cringing away from me as we passed in the aisle. With a mental shrug, I took my new seat and waited while everyone else pulled papers out of their backpacks and passed them forward, Jorge included. Karen had given mine directly to the teacher before she left, as though she'd been afraid I would forget.
"Hey, loba," he whispered in a low rumble. "Don't you have a slip?"
I spread my empty hands.
"Gave already," I answered and then wrinkled my nose, unable to identify the heavy musk of his scent. "What are you?"
"You gave your slip to the teacher already," Jorge corrected. "And I am a kodiak bear. Nice to meet you."
"And I'm Mark, fox!" the boy sitting in the desk in front of Jorge said, twisting around to look at us. "Welcome to the Freak's Corner. They send all the snaps to Miss Hendricks's homeroom. Bet she's just thrilled to get another!"
Mark grinned at me, careful not to show his teeth, and I smiled back. It was good to see friendly faces; the humans flashed their teeth too much, and it felt as though I could never be safe with that kind of constantly displayed aggression.
"Yeah," rumbled Jorge. "But don't worry. Everything'll be just fine."
* * * *
Mark, Jorge, and I stood together in a huddle, avoided by the other students in our class. Our feet crunched against bits of charred wood and powdery cinders. The ground was black. Nothing grew for at least a half mile in any direction, and no scent of wildlife was apparent over the choking scent of old death.
We were in the foothills of Hollywood. I could see the famous sign on a hillside in the distance, the bright white letters a cheerful reminder that life went on, even in the face of disaster. The sounds of the city carried up to us, although they seemed muted next to the mournful melody that whispered through the ruins of what had once been a wealthy subdivision.