Simon nodded. Vlad was right about him not being able to hold the human form much longer. He couldn’t get a measure of Meg’s fatigue, but she crossed the short distance between the office and the garages as if she’d run a long way through deep snow and every step now was an effort to survive.
Since they’d already locked up the office and bookstore, Simon went into the garage that housed one of the BOWs to strip off his clothes and shift. Vlad obligingly stood where he would block Meg’s view. Not that Simon had any inhibitions about a human seeing him naked or shifting, but he was still careful to avoid Meg seeing him naked. He’d made the shift from Wolf to human once without thinking, and her confusion about seeing him as a naked human had almost broken their friendship.
He shook out his fur and waited for Vlad to set his clothes in the back of the BOW. When he jumped in, he made sure his tail was out of the way before the back door closed. Then Vlad and Meg got in the front seats. After Vlad backed out of the garage and stopped long enough to close the garage door, they headed for the Wolfgard Complex.
The BOWs were electric-powered vehicles that were used in the Courtyard. They had two seats and a cargo area that was just big enough for a grown Wolf if he kept his tail tucked. It wasn’t his fault that Meg’s head—and that newly cropped hair—was so close to his muzzle that he couldn’t help but sniff it.
No stinky smells anymore from whatever she had used to dye her hair. Now the hair smelled of the shampoo made by the terra indigene, and it smelled like Meg.
He gave the side of her head a quick lick before she squealed and ducked away from him.
Tasted like Meg. Felt like puppy fuzz.
Too bad he couldn’t hold her down and give her a proper grooming like he used to do with Sam. Could still do with Sam.
When they arrived at the Wolfgard Complex, the pups were outside playing some kind of game with the juvenile Wolves.
Vlad barely had time to stop the BOW before Meg scrambled out of the vehicle.
<Meg!> Sam’s happy arroo was followed by those of other pups as they all crowded around her.
<It’s the Meg!> <Does the Meg have cookies?> <Tug game?> <Chase you!>
<Let me out,> Simon growled at Vlad. Excited pups could easily forget to be careful with Meg.
He almost smacked his head, too impatient to wait for Vlad to lift the back door fully before he leaped out of the BOW.
Then he stopped and watched Meg and Sam. Strong bond between them. Trust and love.
Was Meg’s little brother at the bottom of a lake? Did she really want to know that kind of truth about the humans who had kept her? Did he?
The rest of the Wolfgard who lived in Lakeside came over to where Meg was hugging all the pups, but especially Sam.
<Uncle Simon?> Sam said. <Meg’s eyes are leaking. Is she sick?>
<No, she’s not sick. She’s . . .>
Couldn’t tell the pups what had happened today, especially not Sam, who had seen his mother shot, had been with her as she bled to death. The pup didn’t need to hear about humans killing their young. Instead, Simon howled the Song of Sorrow.
The adult Wolves took up the song. Most of them knew at least some of what had happened. He heard Blair’s voice, and Elliot’s. Then Jane and John and the rest. Then the juveniles and pups. And something else. A voice he’d never heard before.
Meg, kneeling in the grass, one arm around Sam. Meg, howling, adding her voice to the grieving.
When the howling ended, all the pups were pressed around Meg. The pack offering comfort.
Simon watched her as Sam left for a minute and returned with one of the soft ropes, offering the distraction of play. He watched her as she ran around making squeaky noises, pretending to be prey while the pups chased her and the adult Wolves made sure the game didn’t get too rough. He watched as she played tug with Sam.
She had spent most of her life isolated, even when she was surrounded by other humans. Now she was learning as much from the Wolves as she was from the humans about what it meant to have family.
She wasn’t a Wolf. She wasn’t terra indigene. Despite that, Meg was becoming one of them.
CHAPTER 8
Thaisday, Maius 10
“You’ve reached the Borden residence. Leave your name, number, and the purpose of your call.”
Monty hung up without leaving a message. He’d been trying to reach Elayne—or, more to the point, his daughter, Lizzy—since hearing about the abandoned girls and the disposal of cassandra sangue babies. Feeling heartsick, he wanted some assurance, any kind of assurance, that his own little girl was all right. But there had been no answer.
He turned on the news, half listening as he made a sandwich he had no interest in eating and poured another glass of wine.
“In a day full of bewildering tragedies, the terra indigene and police departments all across Thaisia worked together to locate at-risk teenage girls who were wandering alone beside country roads and highways. The girls, left homeless by the sudden closing of several institutions that had cared for troubled teens, were suffering from dehydration and, in some cases, exhibited psychotic behavior when approached by rescue personnel.
“Motivational speaker Nicholas Scratch had this to say about today’s tragic events.”
Monty studied the man now filling the television screen—the man who was currently living with Elayne and Lizzy. Classically handsome with skin that might have been described as swarthy if it didn’t have the gleam of a pampered life. Wavy dark hair that was long enough that it should have looked unkempt if it hadn’t been perfectly styled to defy anything that might leave it mussed. Dark eyes that were filled with fiery sincerity.
Considering what had happened today, it wasn’t surprising that Nicholas Scratch was much in demand. But even if Elayne was attending the news conferences with Scratch, someone should have been home with Lizzy once school let out for the day. Someone should have been answering the phone, especially this late in the evening.
“While humans everywhere applaud the efforts the Others have made today to assist in the search for these troubled children, we also recognize that it is the actions of the terra indigene that set these tragic events in motion in the first place,” Scratch said. “The destruction of an institution in the Midwest, whose personnel allegedly engaged in questionable practices or forms of abuse, and the subsequent threats against any and all places that care for troubled girls, especially those with an addiction to self-harm, is at the core of today’s tragedies. Would the personnel running these establishments have closed them so precipitously if they hadn’t feared reprisals by creatures that cannot understand the pressure humans live with when under constant threat? Would they have left these girls to fend for themselves if they hadn’t feared that the communities where they lived and worked would be destroyed? Clearly the number of suicide victims found by rescuers should be a sufficient message that these establishments are needed and should be left alone.
“When humans asked what would be done with the rescued girls, the Others said the girls would be taken to safe, undisclosed locations,” Scratch continued. “Many of us are wondering tonight if these mentally fragile teenagers will ever be seen again.”
“They won’t be seen again by humans like you,” Monty muttered as he turned off the TV.