Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den (10 page)

“Eels aren't going to kill you. And the flock isn't following us in,” noted Simon, offering her a hand. The birds still circled overhead, but they made no move to land.

“Nothing they can do now. We're stuck.” She ignored
Simon
and climbed out on her own, dripping wet. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. With her oversize cardigan and long hair soaked, she looked more like a half-drowned cat than a human being. “Orion isn't the one we have to worry about, anyway. If your rat—”

“Mouse.”

“—
bloodthirsty mammal
squeals on us, I'm turning him into a rat-kebob.”

Felix snorted. Figuring it was best to keep them separated, Simon zipped his backpack shut. “You don't need to be so mean to him, you know. He's my friend. He's not going to give us away.”

“Please,” said Winter. “Rodents are about as dumb as they are smelly.”

“How many rodents have you ever talked to? Because I've talked to plenty, and they might not be geniuses, but they're smarter than pigeons.”

“
Everything's
smarter than pigeons. They're an embarrassment to the kingdom. Birds are supposed to be noble, loyal, intelligent—”

“Stuck-up . . .”

Winter sniffed. “We fly high. It isn't our fault everyone else is grounded.”

Simon pulled off his sweatshirt and wrung it out. “Come on. Show me where the L.A.I.R. is so I can find my mother and we can get out of here.”

“We're going to die,” she grumbled as she started down
the
stone walkway. Simon took one last look at the circling birds before he followed her.

As they walked, he kept an eye out for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. The only other time Simon had ever been to a zoo was on a class field trip last year, and that had been the Bronx Zoo, where he'd spent the day trying not to laugh as the monkeys and elephants and giraffes made fun of the guests. The Central Park Zoo was tiny in comparison, and with its hills and hidden pathways, it looked more like a normal section of the park than a place full of exotic animals. He wasn't even sure how there was enough room to fit them all, let alone an entire academy.

He spotted a looming brick building on the other side of the zoo, close to Fifth Avenue and Sky Tower. “Is that it?” he said, pointing.

“No, that's the Arsenal,” said Winter. “It's where—”

A vicious snarl cut through the evening air, and Simon clutched the strap of his backpack. “Who's there?” he called.

With a low chorus of growls, half a dozen wolves emerged from the trees on either side of them. Simon grabbed Winter's hand, but before he could drag her down the path, a massive gray wolf blocked their way, and the others closed ranks around them.

They were surrounded.

8

THE L.A.I.R.

Simon stumbled backward, his heart racing. Behind him, Winter stood frozen, her face drained of color. The leader, the big gray wolf, slinked toward them. “What do you think you're doing out here?” he growled. A string of saliva dangled from his sharp fangs.

“We—we were just—walking around,” said Simon lamely.

The wolf moved closer until he was only a few inches away, and Simon felt his hot breath on his face. “How many times have I told you not to wander into the zoo?” said the wolf in a deep, dangerous voice that sounded more human than animal.

Simon blinked. The only wolf he'd ever seen was
Darryl,
but this one was smaller, with blue eyes that didn't match his uncle's. “I don't—”

The wolf snarled. “
Enough
.” Behind Simon, Winter let out a squeak that sounded remarkably like one of Felix's. “The flock is everywhere. Unless you want me to inform the Alpha of your little adventure, you and your friend will follow me without another word.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” managed Simon. But instead of calming down, the wolf bristled, bearing his teeth once more.

“What are you playing at, pup?” He moved closer a second time, sniffing Simon's damp sweatshirt.

“His scent, Malcolm,” said a female wolf behind them. “It isn't right. Neither is the girl's. They reek of rats.”

“
Excuse
me?” said Winter, but the massive wolf in charge—Malcolm—snarled again, and she shut her mouth.

He continued to sniff Simon, moving from his clothes to his hands to his backpack. Simon stood as still as he could, barely daring to breathe. Who did the wolves think he was?

“Impossible,” said Malcolm at last, and he gnashed his teeth half an inch from Simon's nose. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

A dozen thoughts ran through Simon's head. What lie could he tell to get them out of this without becoming an evening doggie treat?

“Your Beta asked you a question, pup,” growled the female wolf behind them, and she snapped at his heels.
Winter
shrieked, but another snarl ripped through the air, making the hair on the back of Simon's neck stand up.

“You will not touch him,” said Malcolm. “Not until he answers me. Who are you, boy? What game are you playing at?”

Simon hesitated. If the pack knew his uncle, there was a possibility they would let them go. “My name's Simon Thorn,” he said. “I'm here because—”

“Thorn?” Malcolm's ears stood straight in the air. “Of what pack?”

“I don't have a pack. I live on the Upper West Side with my uncle Darryl.”

This name seemed to send a shock wave through the pack, with several growling and backing away. Malcolm's ears flattened against his head.

“I will warn you only once, boy. I do not show mercy. You will tell me the truth, or I will rip out your throat.”

Simon swallowed hard. “I'm telling you the truth. I've lived there my whole life. My uncle raised me.”

“
Impossible
.”

“Why?” demanded Simon.

“Because Darryl Thorn is dead.”

Simon's insides clenched, and his eyes darted from one wolf to the next. “Are you sure about that? Because I know for a fact he's still alive,” he said as boldly as he dared. The wolves were silent. “Go ahead and kill me. I'd hate to be you when he comes looking for me.”

Malcolm
stared at Simon for a long moment, and the others shifted around them. One word from their leader, and they would turn Simon and Winter into oversize chew toys in no time. Winter clutched Simon's hand, and he squeezed back.

“Malcolm,” said the female wolf. “Look. The knife.”

The wolf's narrowed eyes focused on the ivory-handled knife hanging from Simon's belt. Simon's heart skipped a beat. “My uncle gave it to me,” he said.

“Quiet,” snarled Malcolm, and Simon shut his mouth.

Heavy silence hung in the air. Simon expected the wolf to lunge at him at any moment. Instead Malcolm examined the knife, his snout a fraction of an inch from Simon's hand. Beside him, Winter shook so hard that he was surprised she could still stand.

At last Malcolm tilted his head back and howled. It was a lonely sound that made Simon ache. In the distance, he heard several dogs join in, but none of them were as haunting as Malcolm.

Finally the howl ended, and the wolf lowered his head. “Both of you, come with us. Run, and you may not live to see sunset.”

He trotted ahead, and the others formed a wall behind Simon and Winter, trying to force them down the stone path. Winter refused to move.

“Trust me,” said Simon. “It'll be all right.”

“If you want to be their dinner, then fine,” she said, “but I'd rather not be eaten alive by a bunch of mangy mutts—”

One
of the wolves snapped at her ankles, and she yelped. “I don't think they like being insulted,” said Simon. Winter grumbled, and at last trudged forward.

As they made their way to the center of the zoo, Simon's skin prickled. He had the strangest feeling they were being watched. When he looked around, however, all he saw was the empty path, surrounded by trees and the New York City skyline. There was something undeniably strange about the zoo. It was quiet—too quiet, especially for the city, and it took him several seconds to figure out why. Though the flock still circled high overhead as the pack watched warily, Simon didn't hear any birds nearby. Not even pigeons.

As Malcolm led them through the exit, Winter let out a muffled sob, and Simon glanced over his shoulder. For all her bravado, her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed, and she looked as though she was on the verge of a panic attack.

“We'll do anything you want,” she said in a choked voice. “Just please don't eat us.”

“Eat you?” said the female. “Look at you—runt of the litter. Runts don't amount to much here, do they?”

“I see plenty of potential,” said another, wearing a sadistic grin. “Fatten her up, and there might even be enough for leftovers.”

Several of the wolves laughed, and Simon clenched his fists. “Stop it,” he said. “I don't care what you do with me, but you
will
let Winter go.”

To his surprise, the wolves grew quiet and glanced
uneasily
at one another. Finally they all seemed to focus on their leader.

“What's your name?” said Malcolm.

“Winter Rivera,” she said, her voice shaking. The wolf cocked his head.

“Rivera? As in Councilman Robert Rivera?”

“He's my grandfather,” she said with a hint of defiance, as if daring him to comment. Simon looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out whether Winter was telling the truth.

“I see.” The wolf considered her for a long moment. “The flock has the zoo surrounded. For your own safety, we cannot let you go. However, if you follow my orders, both of you will be safe here.”

“How are we supposed to trust you when we don't even know who you are?” said Simon.

“I am not asking you to trust me. I am demanding your cooperation. Now, if you will.”

They stopped in front of the large, old-fashioned brick building that Winter had called the Arsenal. A stairway led up to a pair of wooden doors that looked firmly closed, and above them, a metal casting of an eagle spread its wings.

“Is this the Acad—” Simon began, but suddenly the air around the pack leader shimmered, and Malcolm began to shift. His snout turned into a human face, and his thick fur wove together to form a crisp black uniform. Soon enough, a hulking man stood in front of them, and Simon tried not
to
stare. His hair was curlier and his face unscarred, but with his bulging muscles, chiseled jaw, and broad shoulders, he looked startlingly similar to Darryl.

“No, it's not. Give me the knife,” said Malcolm, holding out his hand.

Simon bit the inside of his cheek and handed it over. Malcolm inspected the wicked blade and polished handle, and after several seconds he slipped the knife into his belt.

“You will come with me, and you will not say a word unless spoken to.”

“I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who you are,” said Simon.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I am Malcolm Thorn, Beta of the mammal kingdom, leader of the Brotherhood of Wolves, and head of security at the L.A.I.R.”

“Malcolm Thorn?” said Simon. “Are you and my uncle—”

“Darryl Thorn was my eldest brother,” said Malcolm, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “If he is still alive, then he has done an excellent job faking his own death. Even our mother believes him to be dead.”

“Your mother?” said Simon faintly. Darryl had family in the city, and he'd never mentioned them?

“Yes, our mother. The Alpha. I expect she'll want to meet with you as soon as she returns.”

Simon's mouth dropped open. The Alpha was Darryl's
mother
? Which made the Alpha his grandmother, he realized. But why—

“
Meet with us?” said Winter, who had apparently regained some of her confidence now that they were facing down a human instead of a wolf. “No way. I'm not going anywhere near that—”

“I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you,” said Malcolm. “Nothing inside is going to bite you. Yet. But I can't guarantee my pack won't get hungry.”

Turning away, he climbed up the stairs, and Simon followed. If Darryl was the Alpha's son, then why had he faked his death? To protect Simon from his own family? Malcolm might have been afraid of what the birds would do to them, but Simon knew the real danger wasn't the flock. It was whatever lay inside the Arsenal.

He couldn't turn back now though, and he wouldn't have even if he could. His mother was inside, and no matter what it took, he was going to find her.

Malcolm led them into the entrance hall, and the wooden floor squeaked beneath their feet. Weak light filtered through the window above the door, and Simon examined a mural as they passed—falcons and wolves and rattlesnakes and bears and even a swarm of wasps, all united against an enemy Simon couldn't see. Instead of leading them up the nearby winding staircase as Simon expected, Malcolm turned right and ducked through a door in the corner of the hall, guiding them down a narrow stairway that led deep below the Arsenal.

As they descended the steps, Winter found Simon's hand
again
and clutched it. His fingers started to ache, but he didn't pull away. The other wolves must have stayed outside, because when the three of them reached the bottom, Simon noticed they were on their own. And standing at a dead end.

“Where—” Winter began, but Malcolm shushed her and flipped open a wooden panel in the wall, revealing a keypad. He punched in a code, and for a moment, nothing happened. Grumbling under his breath, Malcolm kicked the wall, and suddenly a grinding sound filled the air. A sliver of light appeared, slowly growing larger.

Simon stared, his mouth agape. The hidden door slid open, revealing a cavern that housed a brick structure even larger than the Arsenal—so large, in fact, that Simon was pretty sure it took up all the space beneath the entire zoo. It looked a lot like any normal building in the middle of the city, other than the fact that it was deep underground, had no windows, and happened to be surrounded by a moat. A narrow bridge swayed over the dark water, leading to a set of double doors on the other side. Malcolm started across, and Simon followed nervously. What was this place?