The Revelation
Meeting Werewolves

There was a push to investigate the body. The police and Iron Oath were working with the media, keeping the story under wraps for the morning news. By the evening, every home in South Florida would know about the supposed illegal hunt. People panicked when they thought a Werewolf was loose, and they’d do anything to keep it from coming near them for the next full moon.

Some circumstances of the murder made little sense to Wren. A prowling Werewolf wasn’t able to cover their tracks, and they could not hide signs of struggle. Had the Werewolf dragged the body, there would have been evidence of it. A shifted Werewolf was a giant wolf, unable to pick up a body and move it. The victim would have been dragged, and their entrails left in a line behind them.

Jacob ignored her questions, waving them away without a second thought. He yelled at her and Kerri to question the Werewolves before the media turned things into a circus. Suspects needed to be found and arrested before every Werewolf in South Florida became the target of public anger.

Wren was too happy to oblige Jacob’s request, which made Kerri suspicious. From the moment they got in the car, she kept giving Wren glances behind her sunglasses. Wren could only imagine Kerri narrowing her eyes, giving her a look like someone who hit on her in a bar and didn’t take “no” for an answer.

A line of red blinked in front of them. Every car for nearly a mile hit their brakes. Wren sighed, gripping the cracked steering wheel like she was ready to run on the shoulder of the highway to get out of the traffic. She was, because that would be better than the silence in the car. They were like a couple in an argument, leaning away from each other and staring at something random to avoid eye contact.

Kerri kept her eyes on the waving palms outside of the window, looking at them as if they were the most interesting things she had ever seen. Wren stared at the dashboard that was once a matte black, but the Florida sun faded it to a deep gray.

She tried to keep the music to a minimum since Kerri was not a big fan of Miami’s Latin-music infused electronics. The second Wren touched her screen to start music, Kerri’s lips pursed into a scowl. Heavy bass combined with a sampling of salsa music that was older than the both of them. To add insult to injury, Wren swayed back and forth with the beat, pretending she didn’t notice her passenger sulking against the window.

“Where are we going?” Kerri asked.

“Up by Broward.” Wren answered. “You and Jacob wanted to question Werewolves.”

“Why don’t we question Werewolves in Miami-Dade county?”

“Because the one who runs the pack doesn’t live in Dade.” Wren said.

Kerri’s thin eyebrows arched over her sunglasses. “Do you know him?”

“I do.”

Every group of The Others has a hierarchy. The local groups are run by one or two people who try to gather them together every so often, and discuss their unique issues. Everyone has their own way of handling things. Druids hold a democratic election to decide who runs things locally, and they go with whoever was voted in. Vampires give the position to the eldest in an area, allowing their wisdom to guide them. With Werewolves, the strongest one leads the pack.

They all report to a council that loosely governs each group. Every country has their own council, and they all communicate. In years past, councils missed out on staying tight knit, but modern technology allows every council across the world to keep in touch.

Most councils are unofficial, meeting in a small office or someone’s home. In the United States, the councils are their own business entity, taking on different jobs to keep money flowing in. The Druids are headquartered in Denver, Colorado. The Vampires are based in Los Angeles, and the Werewolves in Atlanta. There has been a shift in recent years, where the Vampires are slowly moving toward New York, letting the growing Werewolf population take over L.A.

Kerri knew all of this. Or she should have known it. Most Junior Agents were at least familiar with how councils work with The Others.

The traffic remained stop and go until Wren turned onto a busy street in southern Broward county. Businesses lined either side of the road, each one trying to entice people off the highway and through their doors. A sign sat on a high pole with large red letters advertising a motorcycle dealership and tourist stop. That’s where she was headed.

In the earlier mornings, the parking lot was mostly empty except a line of shiny motorcycles parked in the front. Every one of them were for sale, and there for prospective buyers to look at. The same red letters were painted over the door, with a logo of a wolf howling at a bright sun over the ocean.

“This?” Kerri hesitated at the door.

“Yes.” Wren nodded.

“Werewolves are bikers. We’re not safe walking in a dealership with no protection.” Kerri said.

Wren laughed, throwing the glass door open. “If you think so, you can stay outside and explain to the Werewolves who you are.”

She scuffled behind Wren, walking in to a shop where rock music played at a low volume. A circular yellow desk stood in the front, with baskets of small impulse buys sat near two cash registers. On the right, tee shirts, helmets on shelves, and gloves lined the aisle. To the left were boxes and chrome objects that had to do with motorcycles, but Wren and Kerri didn’t know a handlebar from a faring.

A metal garage door looked like a decorative piece until someone opened it up, walking toward the potential customers from the service department. The smell of old motor oil and exhaust hit Wren like an unwelcome breeze rolling over a dumpster. She was not a fan of motorcycles, but most Druids weren’t.

“How can I help..?” The man paused.

“Morning, Isaac.” Wren smiled.

She leaned on the desk, picking up a piece of hard plastic. It was a key chain that said “Miami” on it with a motorcycle under the blazing orange sun. She tossed it back in the basket with a frown, staring at the pile of key chains like they offended her.

“I know, you hate plastic.” He sighed. “Are you here to bruise my merchandise, or do you want something?”

Isaac Carillo was only a year older than Wren, but he looked ten years her senior. Endless days of riding in the sun with no protection turned his tanned skin to a leathery texture. His chestnut-colored hair was turning quickly into salt-and-pepper white even though he was only thirty-three. And the faded tattoos on his arms somehow looked older than him.

“Isaac Carillo, Junior Agent Kerri Fuller.” Wren said.

Isaac flashed a boyish grin to Kerri. “Nice to meet you. Are you here for business or pleasure?”

Kerri pulled her hand away from his. “Business. We have questions, Mister Carillo.”

She pronounced the name incorrectly, saying the double consonants as if they belonged in the word “llama.” Isaac and Wren both corrected her together, explaining his name was pronounced with a y like “yikes.” Isaac chuckled at Wren’s example of words, but Kerri deepened her scowl and crossed her arms.

“I don’t speak Spanish.” She huffed.

“I’d learn if I lived in Miami.” Isaac said.

“I’m not here for a conversation, Mister Carillo.”

Isaac chuckled. “Oh, I like her. Bring her around more often. She’ll be the life of the party.”

Wren smirked. “Shut up. We do have questions.”

“About the body last night.” Isaac nodded. “It wasn’t one of us, Wren. We rallied before going in to the Sanctuary. Not one of us were missing.”

“Was George in Palm Beach missing anyone?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard of. He’d tell me if he was. Maria didn’t say anything either.”

Wren frowned. “The Keys and Palm Beach would be too far from South Beach. It couldn’t be one of theirs.”

“It wasn’t one of ours, either.” He said.

“Mister Carillo, if you could think of anyone who might have gone missing from the Sanctuary for whatever reason, we’d appreciate it.” Kerri said.

“No one did.” Isaac shrugged.

“Isaac.” Wren glanced at Kerri. “It was just a body laying in the alley.”

“What? No bites? Claws? Blood?” Isaac asked.

“There were bites and plenty of blood. On the body.” Wren said, tapping her finger on the top of the desk.

“Interesting.” Isaac stroked the stubble on his face. “That was one strong Werewolf. I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Mister Carillo, we can’t just…”

Kerri was interrupted by a gruff voice calling out, “Breakfast! Hungry after last night in the Sanctuary, bro?”

A couple walked to Isaac, pausing a foot behind him when they laid eyes on Kerri and Wren. Both of them recognized Wren Hoffman. She was well known with The Others in South Florida as a “turncoat”, the only one of them who dared work for the Iron Oath.

Isaac scratched his head. “Ah… Brian and Erin Neason, Wren Hoffman and Kerri Fuller. They’re asking about the body they found last night.”

Brian Neason was the type of guy you didn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Big and bulky, with arms like tree trunks and hands that dwarfed the box of donuts he held. Grease smeared on his hands, covering a tattoo that Wren couldn’t quite make out.

He stared at Wren like he was about to take the box in his hands and smash it over her head. Everything softened when the woman put an arm around him. Suddenly, he was a loyal canine who wanted nothing more than to sleep at her feet.

His wife, Erin had a youthful face that made her look twenty years younger than her husband. Like him, she gave Wren a look of disdain, as if she was interrupting a very important moment between the two. Her features were strong and angular, as if you could almost tell what she looked like when she shifted. Wren imagined an alpha female with large brown eyes and fur that matched Erin’s beautiful golden brown hair.

“Did you tell them we don’t know anything?” Brian asked.

“I did.”

“We were getting ready to leave. You can enjoy your breakfast in peace.” Wren said.

Kerri leaned forward. “We are not leaving. There’s too much we don’t know.”

“No, there isn’t.” She grabbed Kerri by the shoulder. “Thanks, Isaac. I’ll text you later.”

“Sure thing.” He waved.

Back in the car, Kerri sat up straight in the passenger seat, digging in her purse for something that wasn’t there. Lotion, lipstick, car keys, and a thin wallet lay on her lap as she tossed wadded up tissues on the floor.

“Hey. I do keep my car clean.” Wren said.

“I’m looking for something!” Kerri answered.

“What?”

Kerri tossed the purse on the dash. “I probably left it at home. I wanted my ear buds.”

“I’ve got a pair.” Wren opened the glove compartment so Kerri could dig through paper napkins and papers before replaceing a discarded pair of ear buds.

“Thanks.” Kerri said, pushing them into her phone and making a show of turning on her own music.

Wren responded with a shrug, glad they worked out the music argument while in the car together. “Keep them. I’m sure I’ve got more.”

“Wren.” Kerri sighed, pulling an ear bud out of one ear. “How well do you know Isaac Carillo?”

“We’re friends.” She answered.

“Friends?” Kerri asked.

Wren nodded. “Friends. We’ve known each other for a few months. We’re not good friends.”

She’d lied to Kerri about her relationship with Isaac. He was one of the closest and only friends she had. They knew each other since High School, and had gone through all of life’s changes together. A broken engagement, two divorces, a baby being born, and Isaac losing custody of his son to his ex-wife.

Isaac stayed away from her work and she left him alone. It was hard for Wren to ask Isaac questions like that. They had trusted each other through thick and thin for many years. If he told her something, she didn’t ask if he was telling the truth. He always did.

“He seemed nice. That’s why I asked.” She said.

“He is nice.”

Kerri shrugged. “Most Others aren’t.”

“Because you’re Iron Oath. That’s why.” Wren answered. “How many did you encounter before joining us?”

“Not many. I could count them on one hand.” She said.

“Treat them like people.” Wren said. “That’s all we want. Humans to recognize we’re people.”

“We?”

Wren gave her a sharp look. “We. I’m a Druid. Remember?”

“Sometimes, I forget.” Kerri said.

Those words were like something flying through the windshield and slicing Wren’s chest open. Kerri couldn’t remember she was one of The Others. Did she really act so human? It was enough to make Wren drop her head and hide the swallow that removed a lump in her throat. She’d been hiding it too well for too long.

“Did that bother you?” Kerri asked.

“A little.” Wren said. “I’m an Iron Oath Agent, but I am a Druid. I can’t hide that, Kerri. It’s part of me.”

Kerri stared out the window for a long while, watching the cars pass by them in a blur. She sighed, propping her chin on a fist. “We should have talked to Erin Neason.”

“Why? I’ve never met her. I think they’re new.” Wren said.

“They are.” Kerri answered. “Jacob asked me not to tell you, but if you knew, maybe you would have questioned her. I don’t know why he said not to tell you. It would have helped.”

“Questioned her?”

Kerri nodded. “Erin Neason and Isaac Carillo are suspects in last night’s illegal hunt.”

The sharp metal slicing through Wren’s chest suddenly jerked down, pushing into her stomach until it seemed to drop away from her. The very thought of her closest friend being an Iron Oath suspect terrified her, and she didn’t know why.