Kelly

Seven

I took a deep breath and took his hand. It felt nice. It was warm and he had rough patches on his hands like my Daddy. My Daddy had said his were from being a warrior. Even Marky had started getting those rough things on his hands after all his training with Daddy. That must mean that Beta Joseph is also a warrior. I wanted to ask him but was scared he would send me back to my room and I wouldn't get to go to the library.

The midday sun was warm on my skin. We followed the main dirt path, my sneakers crunching on the gravel. A few people were out, walking like we were. They looked at me, their gazes lingering for too long. I tried to keep my head down, my eyes on the path, and my hands clenched into fists. I could feel their curiosity, but it felt heavier than that. It felt like judgment. Like they were weighing my worth and finding me lacking. But I didn't understand why.

The pack house was exactly as Marcy had described. It was a massive log structure, three stories high, with a wide, sweeping porch. Two flags, one with the symbol of a mountain and a crescent moon, and one a solid, deep green, hung limp in the still air. Beta Joseph led me up the main stairs and pushed open one of the heavy wooden doors for me to step inside.

The entryway was huge, with a vaulted ceiling and a grand staircase. It smelled of wood polish, old paper, and the faint, clean scent of other werewolves. To my right, I saw a door with a small plaque that read "Archives & Library." My breath caught in my throat and I wasted no time rushing over to it.

Inside it was quiet, but a good quiet, not the heavy, empty silence of Aunt Charlotte's house. It was the quiet of knowledge sleeping, waiting to be read. Shelves reached from floor to ceiling, crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. A woman with silver hair pulled back in a tight bun and glasses on her nose was stamping books behind a large counter.

I stood there for a long moment, just breathing in the smell. It was the best thing I'd smelled since my Mama's kitchen.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, her voice crisp.

I jumped. Beta Joseph nudged me forward gently. I walked up to the counter, my sneakers suddenly feeling too loud on the wooden floor. "Marcy sent me," I whispered, looking at the stamp in her hand rather than her face. "She said you could help me find some books for me to read."

The woman, Ms. Genevieve, looked over her glasses at me, then at Beta Joseph. Her expression softened just a fraction. "Marcy sent you, did she? Well, Marcy has excellent taste." She put down her stamp. "What kind of books do you like, little one?"

My mind went blank. I liked all books. I liked the picture books Mama read to me about the little wolves who got lost and found their way home, and the chapter books Marky was reading about brave warriors and clever Alphas. I liked learning about the stars and the moon and the different types of flowers.

Before I could form an answer, Beta Joseph spoke. "She likes stories. History. Anything with facts. Oh and anything to do with the stars and the moon."

Ms. Genevieve nodded, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "I see. A curious mind. Well, we have plenty of those." She came out from behind the counter, her sensible shoes making no sound on the floor. She led me to a low shelf in the children's section. "Here. Why don't you start with these? They're about the first werewolves, the Great Packs, and the tales of the Moon Goddess."

She pulled out three books with worn, colorful covers. They weren't shiny and new like the ones in my room. They were loved. I could see the faded wrinkles in their spines and the slight marks on their pages. I traced the drawing on the cover of one book, a silver wolf howling at a crescent moon.

"Thank you," I said, my voice still quiet but a little stronger now. I clutched the books to my chest, a small, precious treasure.

"The checkout is simple," Ms. Genevieve said, pointing to a small notepad and pencil on a nearby stand. "Just write your name and the book titles. I trust you to bring them back."

I carefully printed my name: Kelly-Grace Mortan. It felt strange, writing my full name. The Mortan part felt like a ghost. I wrote down the titles of the books: The First Howl, Children of the Moon, and Tales of the Silver Stream.

My fingers stilled on that last one. Silver Stream. The pack I had stayed in for a short while before coming here. I opened the book. On the very first page was a drawing of a sparkling river winding through a forest, just like the nurse had described. Underneath it, in loopy cursive, it said: "In the Silverstream Pack, the river is the Goddess' own hair, blessing her children with its light." A lump formed in my throat. I closed the book quickly, tucking it under the other two.

Beta Joseph stood silently by the door as we left. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked.

I nodded, holding my books tight.

"Good. Let's go home."

The walk back was slower. The afternoon sun cast long, spooky-looking shadows from the trees. I held Beta Joseph's hand a little tighter. When we got back to the house, Charlotte was in the living room, her phone pressed to her ear. She looked up as we entered, her eyes narrowing as she saw the books in my arms.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, ending her call abruptly.

"I took her to the library," Beta Joseph said, his voice flat. "She needed some reading material."

Charlotte's lips thinned. "She has plenty in her room. We don't need her bringing more germs into this house from who-knows-where."

"The library is perfectly clean, Charlotte. And she needs to learn our pack history. She needs to know the ways of Mountainside."

"Mountainside?" Charlotte scoffed. "She's not Mountainside. She's the daughter of a disgrace and a fool. Her history is one of failure. Don't fill her head with pretty stories about a pack she doesn't belong to."

Each word was a little stone, hitting me in the chest. I shrunk back, trying to make myself smaller. My books suddenly felt heavy in my arms.

Beta Joseph stepped in front of me, a protective wall. "That's enough. She is a child. She is under this roof. She will be treated with a modicum of decency. Now, if you'll excuse us." He didn't wait for a reply. He gently guided me past her, toward the stairs. "Go to your room, Kelly-Grace. Read your books. Dinner is at seven."

I didn't need to be told twice. I fled.