Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den (28 page)

Silence reverberated throughout the room, and Simon barely dared to breathe. The Alpha stared at her son, her eyes full of hatred. “I am your
mother
.”

“And that is why I am offering you your life,” said Malcolm. “I will give you one chance. Step down, and you live. Refuse, and you die here.”

She bared her teeth. “Take him into custody,” she ordered the pack. But none of them moved to help the Alpha. Instead they all rumbled their dissent, and one wolf stepped forward.

“You heard him,” said Vanessa. “We follow Malcolm now, not you.”

The Alpha clenched her jaw, and several tense seconds passed. “Traitors, all of you,” she said, and at last she shifted back into her human form. “Very well. I step down as your Alpha and pass on my title to you, Malcolm.” She glanced coldly at Simon and Nolan. “My only living heir.”

Malcolm rumbled, and he didn't let her go. “You will leave the city and all our lands, and you will never return. If I ever see you again, I will rip you limb from limb, as slowly and excruciatingly as possible. By the time I'm finished, you will be begging me to let you die.”

Finally he climbed off her and positioned himself in front of Simon and Nolan. She rose, and with her head held high, she walked out of the room, the pack parting to give her space.

“Follow her. Make sure she leaves,” he said.

“
Yes, Your Majesty,” said Vanessa, trotting down the hall with another pair of wolves at her heels.

“It's only a matter of time before Orion sends every bird in the city after us,” said Malcolm. “We need to return to the Den. You three, gather the other students. Nolan, Simon, you will remain with me and the rest of the pack.”

“But—” Simon's mouth went dry. “I'm Orion's heir. Birds aren't allowed at the L.A.I.R.”

“You're my nephew,” he said firmly. “I will not allow anyone to cast you aside no matter what Animalgam form you take. You are the person you choose to be, not the person others think you are.”

Simon was silent. He might not have wanted anything to do with Orion, but that didn't change the fact that he would one day be in charge of the kingdom the mammals hated. Maybe they only hated Orion—maybe now everything would change. But something in his gut twisted, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing ever was.

However, if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he would be the best heir to the bird kingdom he could possibly be. Malcolm was right about that—he got to choose who he would be. And he wasn't going to be anything like his grandfather.

“You need to shift back, Nolan,” said Malcolm. “Can't walk the streets of New York like this, can you?”

Nolan pawed uncomfortably at the carpet. “I don't know how.”

“
You don't—” Malcolm sighed. “Fine, I'll show you in the atrium. Let's go.”

Malcolm guided Simon and the wolf that was his brother out of the room. He hovered closer than usual, and it took Simon a moment to remember that Malcolm had also made Darryl a promise—to protect Simon, even though he wasn't the Beast King's heir. Was this what his life was going to be like now? Trapped in the Den under Malcolm's watchful eye, unable to leave unless he wanted to risk Orion capturing him again?

As they passed an open bedroom door, Simon heard shuffling, and he stuck his head inside. Winter stood in a room decorated all in white, with several large bookcases lining the walls. Classical music spilled from a pair of speakers, and she sniffled as she sat in the center of the bed, staring at something in her hands.

“What are you doing?” he said. Winter jumped, and her expression quickly hardened.

“Orion left me,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting back to the thing she was holding—a picture frame. “I tried to go with the flock, but they wouldn't let me.”

“Maybe if you'd told the truth, things would've been different,” he said.

“No. They would have left me no matter what I did,” she said, refusing to look at him. “I'm sorry, Simon. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Deep down he knew that, but she was still the reason
Darryl
was dead. And he wasn't sure he could forgive that so easily. More pictures lined the bookshelf nearest the door, and Simon stepped inside to get a closer look. Most of them were of a man and a woman he didn't recognize, but some of them were of Orion and Winter. At least he was still alive. But he had abandoned Winter without a second thought, and Simon wasn't sure which was worse.

“Are you coming back with us?” he said, picking up one of the photographs. “It's safe now. Malcolm banished the Alpha.”

“He won't let me back in after what I did,” she said. And while there was a chance she was right, he shrugged.

“If Malcolm's letting me back in, he has to let you in, too.”

She scoffed, her voice choked. “Don't pretend you like me. Not after what I did.”

“I don't. And I'm not sure it'll ever be okay. But—” He cleared his throat. “You lied to me to protect your family. I get that.”

Her face flushed. “I really am sorry,” she whispered.

“I know.” He pretended to inspect the pictures as Winter hastily wiped her cheek. “Darryl's dead.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. Setting the frame aside, she stood and took several steps toward him. “Simon . . .”

“They took my mother, too,” he said hollowly. “I don't think I'm ever going to see her again.”

Winter bit her lip. “You will. I know Orion better than anyone. He told me all kinds of things, and if anyone can
track
him down, it's me. I'll do anything to help you find her, Simon. I swear.”

He shook his head. “I promised Darryl—I promised him I would stay safe.”

“Our world won't ever be safe, not if Orion gets the weapon. I thought he would do the right thing, but . . .” Winter trailed off and glanced at a photograph of the man and woman on her shelves. “I never got to know my mother. But you—you have a chance to know yours. You can't give that up, Simon. You just can't.”

He averted his eyes, and a lump formed in his throat. No, he couldn't. “I don't know what to do.”

“We'll figure it out,” said Winter. “You don't have to do this alone.”

A long moment passed, and finally he said, “Everything that happened . . . it's not really your fault, you know.”

She hesitated. “It is. I knew exactly what I was doing. But I never thought this is how it would end.”

“It's not over yet,” said Simon. She was right—no matter what he did, if Orion got his hands on the real Predator, there would be no safe place left in the world for him and his brother. And in the end, that meant the only way to keep his promise to Darryl was to make sure that never happened. “I'm sorry I told Orion you're a snake.”

“Don't be. Perrin would have told him, anyway. Besides, I deserved it.” She sniffed and took another tentative step toward him. “No matter what happens, Simon—I'm on your
side.
And I won't let anyone hurt you or Nolan, even if he is a toad. I know you'll probably never forgive me, but maybe—maybe we can be friends eventually. Once this is over.”

Simon shook his head. He would never forget this, and he wasn't sure his uncle's death would ever stop hurting, but he'd already lost enough that day. “Winter . . . we're already friends.”

Her lower lip trembled, and wordlessly she caught him in a hug. It took everything Simon had left, but at last, he hugged back.

Darryl was buried beneath a stone plaza at the edge of the zoo, beside a statue of a wolf bowing his head. It was his father's grave, Malcolm had explained to Simon in a hushed voice, and a second statue would be erected in Darryl's honor. Neither grave was marked with their names, and Simon hated the thought of tourists passing them every day, taking pictures and rubbing the wolves' muzzles without ever knowing what they really represented.

When the funeral ended and everyone began to trickle back toward the Arsenal for dinner, Simon stopped and gazed across the park in the direction of his old apartment. It was too far to see the building, but he ached to visit one last time. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he approached Malcolm, who stared blankly at the outline of Darryl's grave.

“
We should head back to the Den,” said Malcolm at last, clearing his throat. “It's getting late.”

“I was hoping I could go back to my apartment,” said Simon. “I know it's dangerous, but I'll be fast. I just want to get my stuff.” He had the important things, like his mother's postcards and notebook and the pocket watch Darryl had returned to him. But he needed proof that his whole life up until this moment hadn't been a dream. And he
had
promised the reptiles as many books as he could carry.

“I want to go, too,” said Nolan, popping up behind them. “I've never seen the rest of the city before.”

“If he's going, then so are we,” said Ariana and Jam, who had come to the funeral as moral support. Malcolm sighed and closed his eyes, long enough for Simon to see a flicker of grief flash across his face.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Just this once.”

He gathered half the pack, and together they all headed toward Fifth Avenue and piled into three taxis. Nolan and Simon were squished together in the backseat with Malcolm, and as the taxis sped up the street, Nolan glanced nervously out the window.

“You've really never been to other parts of the city?” said Simon. His brother shook his head.

“The Alpha—Grandmother—she said it was too dangerous. She didn't even let me go into the rest of Central Park.”

“Darryl didn't let me go alone, either,” said Simon, his uncle's name heavy on his tongue. “But I went anyway,
before
and after school sometimes. There's a path I took that I think you'll like. It's short.”

“No,” said Malcolm wearily. “No detours.”

“It's not far from the apartment,” said Simon. “I just want to see it one more time.”

To Simon's surprise, his uncle gave in far more easily than he'd expected, and twenty minutes later, they all pulled up to the familiar corner of Central Park. Simon's chest tightened as he glanced down the street toward his old apartment building. Two members of the pack headed over to start boxing everything up, and Simon almost asked to go with them instead. But the excitement on Nolan's face stopped him, and he led them up the sidewalk and into the trees.

It was a warm evening, and the city seemed to melt away. The pack kept a wide perimeter, eyeing each pigeon as it passed, and Simon led Nolan, Ariana, and Jam down the footpath he'd taken to and from school. “This is my favorite place,” he said, watching a pair of squirrels argue over an acorn. “It's quiet here, and the chipmunks and birds like to talk. Mostly they just want food though—”

“Look who it is!” called a familiar voice. “Psycho Simon.”

Simon felt as though he'd jumped into the icy polar bear water all over again. Up ahead, Bryan Barker and his gang spread out across the path, laughing and throwing sticks at the squirrels. Behind them, once again struggling under the weight of five backpacks, stumbled Colin.

“Who's that?” said Nolan, stepping behind the others
and
ducking his head. Simon didn't blame him for trying to stay out of sight.

“No one,” said Simon as they drew closer. “Just some jerk who thinks he's important.”

Bryan's grin turned into a scowl. Malcolm and the others closed in around them, but Simon shook his head. He had to take care of this without their help.

“I'm more important than you'll ever be, fart face,” said Bryan. “
I
actually have friends.”

“What do you think we are?” said Ariana.

He eyed her pink hair. “Freaks, that's what. Just like Simon.”

Bryan took a threatening step toward him, and Malcolm closed in. He may not have been as big as Darryl, but he was just as intimidating.

Bryan narrowed his eyes. “Where's your uncle, Psycho? Did he finally see what a pathetic loser you are and leave you like your mom did?”

The mention of Darryl was a knife to Simon's gut. He tried not to react—after all he'd faced lately, Bryan Barker was nothing—but Colin piped up.

“Leave him alone, Bryan,” he said. “He's not bothering us, and I want to get home.”

“Stop being such a baby,” said Bryan. “Unless you want to be next.”

A pigeon cooed overhead, and Simon glanced up. An entire flock nestled in the branches, watching the action unfold. One brave bird flew down, landing on Simon's
shoulder,
and an idea formed in his mind. He whispered a few words to the pigeon, which bobbed its head and flew back into the tree.

“Stop talking to the birds, Psycho,” said Bryan. “Or are they the only ones who talk back?”

“Sorry, what did you say? I don't speak cockroach,” said Simon.

Bryan's face turned bright red. “Who are you calling a cockroach?” He took another menacing step toward them, but before he could reach him, Simon cried out. “
Now!
”

A hundred pigeons exploded from the trees. The first pigeon dived toward Bryan, but just before it reached him, it pulled up and—

Splat
.

Splat. Splat, splat. Splat.

Pigeon droppings rained from the sky, landing squarely on Bryan. On his clothes, in his hair, on his face—everywhere. He screamed and danced around, trying to avoid them, but they kept coming. His gang burst into laughter, and Simon crossed his arms.

“I might be a psycho, but you're the one eating pigeon poop,” he said. “If you ever call me or Colin or anyone a freak again, I'll send every pigeon in the city after you. Got it?”