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“I know it’s not her fault.” She ran her hand lovingly over her daughter’s hair, holding her closer. “I just wish we could help her.”
“We will,” he said. “Right now, all we can do is love her. But maybe it’s time we considered something other than therapy.”
As the graveyard fell out of sight, the child stretched her hand out to the darkness, desperate to find what she had been looking for.
* * *
The boy curledup into a ball as a frenzy of blows rained down on his back. His head pounded, and his heart raced, but he didn’t dare lift his head. He didn’t understand the words shouted at him, but it never mattered. He existed to feel pain, to bear the brunt of everything that went wrong.
One of the girls giggled from the corner. “He wet himself!”
The caretaker made a sound of rage. She kicked the back of his head until he grew dizzy. She was old; she’d tire soon. The secret wolf inside would protect him for a little while longer, and then everyone would be safe for a few days.
Half-conscious, he was barely aware of the door opening and the presence of new people, unfamiliar scents.
A man’s voice raised in anger. A slammed door. A cry of fear. The boy slowly realised that the beating had stopped, and his wolf had retreated back into its hiding place. He opened his eyes, or at least, one of them. The other was too swollen.
The old woman was cowering in the corner, trying to look as small and vulnerable as possible. He froze. Somebody worse had come. Maybe the pain would stop for good this time. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
But gentle hands lifted him and gathered him against a firm chest. He shivered and shook, terrified of doing the wrong thing. Sometimes his fear was what they wanted; sometimes even that wasn’t enough.
“Hey,” a soft voice said. “Look at me.” The stranger spoke in unbroken English, something the old woman would struggle to understand. That would make her angry if she wasn’t so scared.
Trained to obey, the boy lifted his gaze to the one holding him. For the first time he could remember, he made full eye contact and was met with a pair of brown eyes. Kind eyes filled with things he didn’t understand.
“Are you all right?” The kind eyes belonged to the soft voice. There was no trickery in the words, no anger, only concern.
The boy shook for a new reason now; he didn’t understand compassion, having never experienced it. He felt odd in his tummy, as though insects crawled inside him, but not the kind he usually felt, the ones that threatened to eat him from the inside out. This was different. This was new. The wolf was buried deep again, well away from those who would strike at the sight of it, but evenitwhimpered. The angry voice seemed so far off now.
“What’s your name?” Again, words spoken confusingly gently.
Whatwashis name? Worthless? Good-for-nothing? Were those names?
“He doesn’t have a name,” the girl who’d laughed said in a breathless sort of voice. That was odd. She never feared anything. “He’s nobody.”
The kind eyes glistened with a familiar fierceness. That made the boy relax. He understood anger.
“He’s somebody,” the man said gruffly.
Maybe he had died already because nothing made sense anymore.
The angry voice came closer. “Almost a dozen this time. How can they live like this after everything they’ve been offered?”
“They don’t know any better, but I never imagined it would be like this. I’m taking this one with me,” the kind voice said. “I think his leg is broken.”
“We’re supposed to be looking for werewolves, not children.”
The boy couldn’t look away from the kind man’s face to see the other. He had to study the first, to remember him for always.
“Any of them could turn wolf when they’re old enough. Besides, this one is different. Even if he wasn’t, we can’t just leave him here. This is a dumping ground.”
“It’s a mess. I’ll deal with it, but it’ll take time to organise.”
“Which is why I need to act now.”
The angry one sighed. “Looks like he’s been badly abused, but the others are in much better condition. Maybe that means something.”
“Something like Amelia?”
