“Like what?”
“Like the moon sees all, knows all, heals all. Whatever’s convenient for them—that’s how they are, adults,” she said, as though she weren’t among their number. “Up until tonight, I always thought that last part was true. I’d never had a wound the moon couldn’t touch. But you don’t need to be much of a were to smell the stink of death on Father now.”
I hadn’t smelled anything yet, but she was the wolf, not me. “We call that necrosis.”
“How do you ever get the smell out of your nose?”
“The hospital’s full of bad smells. You get used to it,” I lied. People put toothpaste inside their masks, or told you to breathe through your mouth not your nose. You learned how to wash homeless people’s feet with shaving cream, to cut the smell down, or set out a hospital-provided jar of clove oil in certain rooms, up high where the likely alcoholic occupants wouldn’t find it until they were sober enough to know better than to drink the stuff. But necrosis was the worst, and there was no solution for it other than debridement or amputation. It was like a refrigerator full of already rotting food, left out for days in the sun. In humid June. The scent of it clung to the inside of your nose once you left. You didn’t get used to necrosis, you just got as far away from it as quickly as you could.
I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a far more sensitive nose in the hospital, walking to and from our floor. The drunks who came in in their own filth, the visitors with deodorant and cologne, the floor polish here alone—“It must be awful for you,” I said.
“It is. Kindness helps, though.” Helen took a long smell of her coffee, as though it were oxygen, and smiled at me. “Kindness, and other more pleasant things to smell.”
The way she was looking at me right now, so open and trusting—I didn’t want to ask her for her help, it wasn’t fair of me. She was as much a patient here as Winter was. Maybe I could just put Gideon in my car trunk and rely on the sight of him to scare any other attackers away. I shook myself and blurted out a question before I could say of or think of anything else dumb. “How old is Fenris?”
“Junior’s twelve. He’s in fifth grade.”
“He’s a pretty cute—I mean, handsome wolf.”
Helen laughed. “Thank you. He’s a handful, but I love him dearly. Everyone does. It’s very kind of Lucas to travel here to hold his place.”
We made our way down the stairs near the cafeteria, then cut down toward the lobby. “Do you all homeschool?”
“No. My pack’s philosophy requires forced integration, coupled with strict control. Packs that isolate themselves lose the economic means to survive. We may play in the parks come the full moon, but on a day-to-day basis we’re out there being productive citizens, paying taxes, driving on public roads.” She sounded like she’d given this talk before, and she was walking by herself now. It seemed our conversation had given her strength—that or the coffee.
Speaking of roads—“Where was your father coming from the day that he got hit?”
She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward me with a shrug. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“It looked like he was coming from the hospital.” He’d been on the same corner that Charles and I had on our way to the Rock Ronalds.
“Did it?” she asked, her voice surprised.
“Kind of, yeah.” Not that there weren’t other buildings on our block.
Her head bowed and her posture slumped. “I guess now we’ll never know,” she said sadly.
We reached the lobby together. It was full as usual with visitors and vagrants—and a few of them stood at Helen’s arrival. I heard someone whisper “Mother Helen!” and a handful of people crowded up, reaching out to Helen with their hands like she was a lost pop star. “How is he? Is there anything new?” They were an eclectic group: one looked like a biker, another looked nearly homeless, a third was a soccer mom, and three others were varying shades of gray.
Their attention seemed to bring fresh life to her. Like a wilting flower put in water, she revived to stand tall. I wondered how much of it was real—being surrounded by friends in bad times helped—and how much of it was her feeling like she needed to put on a strong act. Maybe there wasn’t that much different between Helen and Luz.
The guard up near the front of the lobby glanced our way, but he had obviously seen everything before. It wasn’t his job to be the bad cop, even though he wore a badge—he was just supposed to keep the peace, and the visitors weren’t misbehaving, even though I thought they were crowding Helen. I bet it helped that I was wearing scrubs, and they were all acting like they were about to get bad news. Guards gave bad news wide berth.
Helen reached out among them like Mother Teresa, hugging and petting them, individually and together.
I likely wasn’t going to get a better chance than this to ask for her protection, even if it felt like I was invading a private moment between her and her people. This was not my place, these were clearly not my friends—I could tell by the looks they were giving me. More than I hated visitors—I hated feeling like one.
I stood to the side of the group and cleared my throat. “Helen—I know this is a bad time for you—but—”
The lobby doors opened and a woman in a parka came in, hood up. She walked past the guard’s desk and slowly turned. The badge on my lanyard lit up like candles on a birthday cake.
I shoved into the group of weres and grabbed hold of Helen’s arm. “Sanctuary—please!”
Helen turned her head to look at me in surprise. Behind her I could see the parka woman lower to all fours. Humans were not supposed to move like that. She didn’t lope awkwardly like a werewolf from a horror movie—she glided, picking up speed, jumping over orange couches in the way. Her mouth opened, so wide I could see teeth, teeth that were not right, teeth that were racing out as quickly as their owner to meet me.
“No running!” the guard yelled after her.
“Sanctuary!” I pleaded.
“Sanctuary?” Helen said, as though she hadn’t heard me, then looked behind herself. I didn’t know if the wind in the lobby shifted, or her were-senses tingled, but she shoved her nearest packmates away, sent them sprawling, and changed.
In the time it took for her coffee to fall to the ground, a blond middle-aged woman going sour with repeated loss turned into a yellow-gray wolf. In this new form, Helen crouched as the parka-woman leapt into the air to meet her.
The lobby strobed.
For a fraction of a second it was full color—orange couches, pieces of bright abstract art framed on the walls—and the next it was black. A were near me started howling. Moonlight filtered in through the skylights I always forgot our lobby had. The blackness was like a mist—I could see it—a cold, damp fog that smelled faintly of digestive juices. And then color resolved anew.
Helen was the only one who completed her leap. Her wolf form hit the ground, legs splayed out to catch itself, claws grating on linoleum tile. The parka-wearing woman was gone.
“No killing fights on feeding grounds,” whispered something that was not human before the acrid tang of stomach acid went away.
Neither the guard nor any of the other visitors in the lobby reacted—just the weres, who clustered around a now naked Helen, kicking away an empty paper cup. Nice of the Shadows to clean up the spill hazard too. Always thinking about safety, that was them. I put a hand to my mouth and let out a squeak into my palm.
Naked yet still self-possessed, Helen made a thoughtful growl. “One of Viktor’s women. I’m sure of it.”
“I saw him earlier on today. Downtown,” I said. “Near the Armory.”
Helen looked to her people. “Three of you—go.”
Three people at the back of her group peeled away and ran for the door, ignoring the security guard.
The rest of them continued as though nothing unusual had happened. They took off parts of their own winter clothing, handing them over to Helen. One gave her a knee-length trench coat, and between that and a black wool sweater she looked pretty normal, until you got down to the fact that her legs and feet were bare.
“Now, Edie, you were asking for Sanctuary?” she said.
I remembered Anna’s suggestion to make it sound official, and cribbed my words from Sike the other night. “On behalf of Anna Arsov, the near-ascended, yes.”
“Helen, the mother of the Deepest Snow pack, grants it.” She looked to her were-friends surrounding us. “Protect her as though she were me. Both of you—” she pointed at two more weres in the group.
I had an image of returning to Y4 with two weres in tow. Charles would hate me for sure, then. “No—I’m safe while I’m here—the Shadows—you saw.”
She petted the collar of her loaned coat and gave a smug smile. “Indeed. I’ll send someone to wait for you at the end of your shift in this lobby,” she said, then switched from regal to tired again. “I should get home. You’ll call me if anything changes with my father, right?”
“Of course,” I said, and nodded fast.
Helen and her retinue left then, her people clustered around her. The guard returned from outside, where the weres sent to chase Viktor had lost him. He panted, hands on knees, and watched the rest of the pack depart. None of them were running, so it was fine. Even if that one lady didn’t have on shoes. I could see it on his face, him thinking that he’d seen crazier stuff.
I knew for sure he had. Even if he couldn’t quite remember it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Back so soon?” Meaty asked as I walked past the nursing station.
“You have no idea.” I rounded the bend, and Rachel looked up at my return.
“You got her to go home?” Rachel craned back in her chair, as though I were hiding a full-grown woman behind me.
“Yeah. Can I go on break?” I leaned forward to look at the clock inside Winter’s room. “I know it’s early but—”
