She likes it when he beats her. Treats her like a used, cheap, degraded thing. Like a slave to an unrepentant master. It makes her feel so good inside.

Her wolf tells me so. 

“Good morning, Helen,” I say. She smiles at me but says nothing as she steps into the elevator. Her eyes carry dark circles barely covered by her makeup. Her pale skin against the cheap, fluorescent light gives off a kind of dull glow. Her blouse is slightly disheveled, like she tried to fix it last minute. I can just barely make out a dark splotch on her upper arm before she quickly stretches her sleeve to cover it.

Her wolf follows her in—a large, dark, hungry thing. The manic look in its eyes and the bared fangs, stretching from ear to ear in a twisted smile, are familiar. A black mist pours from its form, shedding its truth in faint, indiscriminate whispers.

She probably thinks I’m staring off into the distance. Better that than knowing what’s there. I doubt her wolf can see me, either. They never seem to acknowledge me, even as they tell me all the things I can’t help but hear. They don’t faze me all that much anymore.

The elevator chimes, and the sterile metal doors slide open. “Have a good day, Roger,” says Helen, with a quick wave of her hand as she scurries out into the lobby. I sigh. 

Keeping a brisk pace, I step out of the elevator, give a short nod to the desk clerk—his wolf lying beside him, whispering of the boxes of tonic and gin hidden underneath the counter—and soon greet the biting air outside with a grimace. 

People and their wolves stalk the street together, some beside, others dragged. No one makes a scene, not even when the beasts tower over their masters.

A short-haired girl passes in front of me, and her wolf—almost up to her shoulders—speaks of the cigarettes in a tiny corner of her purse, her mother unaware while the two women walk hand in hand.

I head eastward, checking my watch. Wind blows past me and I tighten my coat against the cold. 

My eyes wander to the far side of the street. There’s a suited man standing over another in rags. The ragged one cowers, and the suited one yells, but their wolves howl mightily in unison, speaking of greed and power. I whisper to the rich man’s wolf, and the man grabs the poor man’s cardboard sign and tears it in half. The poor man runs. I smile.

The library door flies open, and I quickly shut it behind me to keep the heat from escaping. As I set my coat on the nearby hanger, I take in the musty stench of old books and the low grumble—almost like a light snoring—that permeates the place. The lights are already on, thankfully, but I frown nonetheless. 

“Wind’s pretty fierce today, huh?”

A man about my age stands at the foot of the stairs, a smirk on his face and several thick tomes in his hands. “Indeed, Drake,” I reply. “The forecast said Hickory would be coming in earlier than usual this year. I suppose they weren’t lying.” 

“They usually don’t,” Drake says, chuckling. “Well, at least you’re inside now, Roger. Can’t imagine staying out in that weather for too long. It’d probably make you more grumpy than you usually are.”

I grunt an affirmative. 

“Welp, back to organizing.” He turns towards the stairs and begins ascending. I glance down at the dog beside him, its neck kept on a short chain—the shortest I’ve seen. He drags it up with him, but it makes no fuss.

It doesn’t whisper. It never has.    

“Remember, we have that class coming in today to look around. Everything needs to be spick and span!”

I scowl. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Just making sure!”

The two vanish. I feel the sickness start to ebb away, but only just.

I place my satchel on my desk and turn to the main collection. My wolf rests against the far wall, its form reaching from floor to ceiling. Its whispers are howls, proud and unhindered. A beautiful monster. 

I sometimes wonder if keeping these secrets is a vice, if hoarding all this knowledge will someday destroy me.

I shake my head. It hasn’t yet, so I doubt it ever will.