“I can imagine,” Lillian said, trying to picture the sort of desperate secrecy that situation would require.
There was a pause while Cal slid the vegetables off the cutting board into a bowl, and then he said abruptly, “Secrecy was important, but my pack took it to an extreme. Our alpha—my uncle—he was a real dictator. Constantly suspicious that someone was about to spill the secret. He monitored everyone, had a couple of bruisers to make sure all the pack members stayed in line, did exactly what he said. Didn’t want anyone to move a finger without his okay.”
Lillian thought about it. “That sounds awful,” she said, then added slowly, “And...familiar.”
Cal nodded, not turning around. “I don’t talk about it much,” he said tersely. “Not much to say, really, and most of these kids wouldn’t understand. But it seemed to me like you would.”
“Yes,” Lillian said softly. “Not that I’ve experienced the same tactics that he used. No enforcers. But when you live under the thumb of someone who insists on knowing every move you make...it’s difficult. It’s very, very difficult.”
“That’s right,” Cal said. “So I joined up at eighteen. Snuck out, went to the recruiting office, never looked back once. Always been happy I got out.” He took a long, slow, breath, and then tossed some vegetables in a pot, stirred, and then turned around to face her.
“Shifters like hierarchy,” he said. “That’s what I was getting at, answering your question. It’s because of the secrecy, because we don’t have any separate police, or government, or anything like that. So shifter communities, they tend to have some kind of leader. A lot of them call the leaders alphas. Because that’s what they are, most of the time—whoever can display the most dominance to the others. Whether that’s psychological or physical depends on the community, but a lot of the time it’s decided by fighting.”
“That sounds very harsh,” Lillian said quietly. “Difficult for everyone.”
Cal nodded. “These kids here in Glacier—some of them have never known that life at all. I’ve got a ranger, Jeff? He grew up here. He’s got this big family, all shifters, and there’s nothing like that at all. They just live their lives. Which tells me it doesn’t have to be like that. But it gets like that anyway, somehow.
“So they call me their alpha a lot of the time. Because I’m their boss, because I’m a bit older than they are. But they don’t know what it can be like.”
“It sounds to me like you’re doing a very good thing, then,” Lillian said. “Making this place a place where shifters can live more freely, in a healthy community, without violence and fear.”
Now Cal looked uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he said. “It’s hard. Because a lot of the time, it seems like they want a leader. They come ask me advice, ask me what to do. Your sister came to me with this mountain lion problem. And now I gotta decide: do I act like I’m an alpha? Tell her how to handle it, go to the mountain lions and threaten them, because I’m the snow leopards’ alpha and that’s what alphas do?”
Lillian was taken aback. “I had no idea you were bothered by this. Please don’t—I can figure something else out—”
“No,” Cal said quickly. “No. That’s not the problem. Those mountain lions are assholes—pardon my language—and it’s high time someone taught them a lesson, since the police aren’t about to do it. They’re everything that’s wrong with shifter culture, following Gordon Hennessey like he’s their judge and their President all in one. No.
“The thing is just that when I do go to them, I’m putting myself out as the representative of the snow leopards. That’s the trouble. I’m talking to them like Jeff, and Grey, and Nina, and all of them are standing behind my words. And I just wish there was a way to do it as only me, without taking something from the rest of the leopards that they might not want to give me. That’s all.”
Lillian thought that over. “Well,” she said slowly, “why not ask them?”
There was a pause, and then Cal let out a startled laugh. “What?”
Lillian shrugged. “Ask them. If you’re upset that there’s no equitable decision-making in shifter culture, start it yourself. Do you have—hm—pack meetings, or something similar?”
“Well,” Cal said slowly, “no, I suppose we don’t.”
“Maybe you could try something like that, then,” Lillian said. “Sort of like a town hall, I suppose. If they all want you to be their leader, it’s...sort of like they elected you. Unless I’m off the mark,” she added, watching as the expression on Cal’s face went through some odd contortions. “Maybe this doesn’t apply in your situation. I’m afraid I really don’t know a thing about shifters and how they work.”
“A town hall,” Cal was saying slowly. “Huh.” He shook his head. “That’s the strangest thing.”
“It’s fairly normal,” Lillian said hesitantly.
“No, I get that, I just—well, I grew up in that pack I told you about, and then I spent fifteen years in the military, and then I got a job here at the Park where sometimes decisions have to be made fast and without any arguing, if someone’s safety’s at stake.” Cal was talking through it as though he was realizing something as he spoke.
“So there wasn’t much room for any other kinds of authority,” Lillian interpreted. “It was always a straight chain of command.”
Cal nodded. “Town hall. Huh.”
Then he shook himself and turned back to
the stove. “Sorry, gotta keep an eye on this,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s almost done.”
“What is it?” Lillian asked.
“Just soup and a salad. Pretty simple stuff.”
In Lillian’s experience, most men’s idea of “making soup” was to open a can of Campbell’s, and they never would’ve thought to include a salad alongside it. “It looks amazing.”