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We backtracked to find Val, stumbling but upright. She flinched as Jacob rubbed up against her in fur form. And when Benjie—over-eager, oblivious—asked if she wanted to draw her own wolf spirit into her body, she shook her head furiously.
“No. Just no.”
“But the smells!” Patricia rose to two feet, grabbing Val’s hands and trying to spin her into a giddy circle. “A wolf....”
Val was usually willing to dance at the drop of a hat, but now she planted her feet and shuddered. “I can’t....” Her sentence was swallowed by an endless coughing fit.
Only when Claw looped one strong arm around his sister’s shoulder did the spasm ease. “Maybe later,” he told the wider audience. Then, whispering in her ear: “Or never. Doesn’t matter. You’re still a member of our pack.”
Confident that Claw could handle his sister’s distress, I left the two to their huddle. Val was one type of problem...the two newly Changed werewolves were another.
Raising my eyebrow, I asked Benjie a silent question—could he help excise wolves without creating hellhounds? The shaman pursed his lips then dipped his chin into a nod.
So I corralled Jacob and Patricia. Pulled on my professorial persona with an effort—tough to do when none of us wore clothes and I’d ditched my lanyard.
Only then did I share the wisdom they needed to consider before making an informed decision.
“This is your chance to stop being werewolves,” I told the two of them. “I understand how right shifting feels at the moment. But you can’t go back to your normal lives if you hold onto your wolves.”
Inside my belly, my own wolf whimpered. I dropped one hand to soothe her. Not you, I promised. Never you. I won’t be that stupid again.
And neither, apparently, would my students. “We’ll make do.” Patricia spoke for herself and Jacob as well. “If you’ll have us...?”
She looked at me, not Claw, in search of reassurance. But he was the alpha.
Will you...? I asked, silent words flowing between us as easily as breathing. His snort of amusement was my only reply.
Of course he would. He’d claimed both students as pack already.
Still, Patricia couldn’t make the decision for everyone. “Jacob, I want you to think long and hard about what you’re giving up here....”
He started explaining before I finished my sentence. “Do you know what it’s like to be a foster kid who stims by drumming? The first family I lived with said I was annoying. The second went for ‘creepy.’ After a while, I decided I was better off living in a group home.”
My wolf shivered. No pack? Lonely.
I agreed. One-armed, we reached out to pull Jacob closer. Patricia finished the group hug, managing to rub skin with both of us at once.
“No one will miss me,” Jacob promised, voice muffled and fingers thumping against my shoulder blades. “I’ll try to be quiet.”
“We would miss you,” I countered. “Drum all you want.”
***
WE WERE TRIUMPHANT...but exhausted. Cold seeped into our bones and dragged at our muscles. If you didn’t count the time I’d spent unconscious, I hadn’t slept in...I had no idea how long.
“We have to”—my jaw cracked as I yawned—“decide if we’re going to call the police to hunt Justine.”
In the dim glow of a flashlight, the empty niches in the stone walls gaped like missing teeth.
“Let me pull some strings,” Harry suggested. “If we find her now, it will be in the cyber world.”
“Okay.” I glanced one last time at my university ID, nearly lost in the shadows. Then I gathered students and pack mates around me. “Let’s go.”
We walked out together, leaving charred wolves and a nearly empty sacred place behind us. It was a devastation of thousands of years of Bearclaw spirituality. And yet...Sam was ecstatic when we reached the elevator and asked to be drawn back up.
“You made it.” He looked us over, taking in the soot, the bags beneath our eyes, our near-universal nakedness.
At last, his gaze settled on Benjie, the sole clothed member of our party. Sam cocked his head, then drifted closer to his childhood friend.
“Here.”
There was something small and round in Sam’s hand. His ring. The band of woven fibers I’d first seen on his grandfather.
A symbol of a spiritual office perhaps?
“I can’t take that.” Benjie understood what he was being granted.
“It’s not a gift. It’s a burden.” Sam gestured at the gaping hole behind us. “Do you really think I’m the right caretaker? Grandad asked for help and I built him an elevator. I have a feeling you’ll do a better job.”
Sam’s admission was more powerful than a website review. The door he’d opened was ten times better than any work we could have drummed up for Benjie as a freelancer.
A few days ago, I would have scoffed at Benjie’s ability to step into shoes like these. But now I nudged him in the proper direction.
“Take the ring,” I told Benjie.
I could feel the power as he accepted.