“I’ve encountered many of her kind, and I think she means well, in her own way. Her worst fault is arrogance.”
I had to chuckle at that, but the sound turned bitter. I wondered if it was too late to refuse Alette’s hospitality. I could stay here the whole time.
The woman had stopped dancing. The musicians played slower songs now, gentle background music as they experimented with each other’s sounds and harmonies. The evening seemed to be winding down; a few people were leaving, waving at friends as they left. I wasn’t ready for the night to be over. I wasn’t ready to leave this place.
Luis put his arm around my shoulders, a warm, comforting contact. I leaned back and nestled against him. With him on one side, and Ahmed on the other, gazing serenely over his domain, I felt like I’d rediscovered the very best part of having a pack of my own: the safety, the protection. Friends all around me who wanted to keep me warm and safe. It was how I’d felt before T.J. was killed. I didn’t think I’d ever find that again.
Ahmed looked at me, his lips pursed studiously. “You know the story of Daniel, yes?”
I searched my groggy mind. I felt like a puppy napping in a friendly lap. I didn’t want to have to think. “Daniel?”
“The story of Daniel and the lion’s den.”
“That Daniel? Sure,” I said. It was a Bible story. In ancient Persia, Daniel was persecuted for his belief in God and tossed into a den of lions to be eaten. In the story, God sent angels to hold the lions’ mouths closed, and he emerged from the den unscathed.
“Yes,” Ahmed said. “Do you know why Daniel survived?”
“It’s a story about faith. God was supposed to have protected him.”
He shrugged, noncommittal. “Yes, in a way. But not how you think. You see, Daniel saved himself. He spoke to the lions and asked them to spare him. He knew their language because he was one of them—were-lion.”
My eyes widened. “The Bible doesn’t say anything about that.”
“Of course not—not explicitly. But it’s there, if you look. This was thousands of years ago, remember. Humankind and animalkind were closer then—our years in the Garden together were not so long ago. And our kind, the lycanthropes, we were the bridge between the two. Daniel was very wise, and what he learned was his purpose. That there was a reason for him to be part lion, that God had a reason to make him that way. This is what we learn from Daniel. That we have purpose for being who we are, and what we are, though we may not always know it. Daniel is a saint to us. It’s one of our greatest stories.”
“I’ve never heard it that way before.”
Ahmed sighed. “It saddens me that the tribes in this country do not tell the old tales to one another. If we gathered to tell stories and drink more, there would not be so much fighting, yes?”
“Hear hear.” I raised my near-empty glass in a toast, drained it, and said, “Tell another one.”
I lost track of time, lounging there on satin cushions, in Luis’s arms, while Ahmed spoke of stories I knew, but had never heard like this, through the filter of my own experience:
a werewolf who looked at the world through two sets of eyes, human and animal, and constantly had to bridge the gap between them. Enkidu, from the Epic of Gilgamesh, was a wild man who lived like a beast until he was tamed by a woman’s touch. And what if he didn’t just live like a beast, but was one, and yet found a reason to embrace civilization? There were tales that sounded like Aesop’s Fables, about the kindnesses shown between humans and animals, thorns plucked from the paws of lions and the like, and Greek and Roman myths about gods and goddesses who could change form at will.
The way Ahmed told it, this wasn’t a curse or a disease I’d been suffering with for the last four years. It was a gift that made me part of a long tradition of saints and heroes who slipped easily between one shape and another and made it a strength.
I wasn’t ready to go so far as to feel grateful about what had happened to me. It had been an accident, a violent, bloody accident, and I didn’t feel blessed. Except if I wasn’t a werewolf, I wouldn’t have my show and all the success it had brought me.
I was confused.
“Wait, Marian, you can’t leave without saying goodbye!” Ahmed called to the dancer, who had just reached the door. “Excuse me,” he said to us, then leapt to his feet and rushed over to sweep her up in a bear hug. Wolf hug. Whatever.
Luis took the opportunity to move his hand to my hip, where he settled it in an unmistakable invitation. When I tipped my face up to look at him, he was right there, looking back at me. I could feel his breath on my cheek. I craned my neck, leaned forward just a little—his lips pressed mine lightly, then drew away.
I must have flushed from scalp to toe, the way a sudden heat rose around me.
“My apartment is nearby,” he said, whispering in my ear.
I felt his body stretched out behind me, the solidity of it, his warm scent, and I wanted it. I wanted him.
I pressed his hand and smiled.
We met Ahmed by the door to say goodbye, though I was self-conscious because I felt like I was glowing. Luis stood very close to me.
“Thanks for the stories,” I said. “For everything.” I meant the place, this shelter, the company.
“Kitty, it’s a pleasure. The doors here are never locked. You’re welcome anytime.”