To please everybody is to please nobody.

Those who ask questions should discomfort those who have power.

The world deserves to know the truth.

They were the three mottos by which Amy Pelham had lived her life. The portion of her life she could remember, that was, though her mother assured her she’d been just the same as a baby and a toddler. Always poking and prying at things, always wanting to know why, she’d been told all her life she’d go far, and far she had gone. Despite being barely twenty-one, she was already one of the country’s top investigative reporters.

Twenty-one, at the moment, looked like all the farther she’d be going.

Amy clutched her small blue duffel bag to her chest and stared at the woods in front of her. The woods stared silently back. No birds sang or fluttered from branch to branch, no squirrels chittered insolently at the intruder into their world. A squirrel, a real squirrel, would have been the intruder here. So would a real bird.

This was Sanctuary. A compound ten miles on a side, fenced in with concrete and steel and technology. Guarded by more technology and men with hard eyes and its location high in the Rocky Mountains.

The home of therianthropes. People who could turn into animals, who were animals, and who would kill just as unhesitatingly as animals.

And though Amy Pelham was no therianthrope—

I don’t think—

—she was now locked within Sanctuary.

For the rest of her natural life.

Amy could just remember the furor which had erupted, the year she’d turned four, over a perfectly normal Minnesotan teenager named Virginia Davis.

Perfectly normal, that is, until the day she turned into a white cat in front of ten other people and a video camera.

And she was only the first.

One after another, they emerged, wreaking havoc with teeth and claws in public places or running for their lives on four furred paws. A British classicist and fantasy lover put forth the term which caught on for them around the world, an Anglicization and combination of two ancient Greek words.

Thērion. Wild beast.

Anthrōpos. Human being.

Therianthrope. Beast-person. A human being who could, for some unknown reason, transform into an animal.

Theris terrified the world. Political careers began and ended based on their owner’s ability to gauge the public’s current feeling on the theri question. One man in particular used therianthropy as a stairway to power—Senator Norman Matthews, an independent from Michigan, who spoke for everyone (or so he said) who didn’t want to be trampled by a rhinoceros in a shopping mall or torn apart by a tiger in a movie theater. As such, he was very hard to oppose.

It was largely Matthews who was responsible for the standing policy of the United States government on theris. Any therianthrope who survived the first transformation from human to animal form was immediately stopped with all necessary force. If they survived that, they were transported to Sanctuary and left inside the gates. A public transformation called for a letter of condolence from the Bureau of Therianthrope Control to the family. A more private one often resulted in a visit from BTC officers bearing the fictitious details of a fatal accident.

It’s best this way for everyone, said quiet voices in back rooms. Even if they were still human—which they’re not—but even if they were, we could never let them out again. People won’t stand for just killing them, but they’re as good as dead already, so this is the best way to handle it. What with predation and fights over territory, they’ll kill each other off. It will have nothing to do with us. We can wash our hands of it all.

Quiet voices in back rooms hadn’t planned on the red-haired one-woman inquisition otherwise known as Amy Pelham.

Only I think I asked the wrong questions.

I know they were the right questions, if you look at it objectively, but it’s a little hard to be objective from here.

Amy rubbed at the sore spot on her shoulder where the microchip had been implanted by the agents of the Bureau of Therianthope Control. It held a miniature GPS unit which had the location of the Sanctuary walls hard-wired in. If she ever left the area defined by those walls, the unit’s internal alarm would trigger and the chip would dissolve into a painless, efficient poison which would kill her in less than a minute. It was an elegant failsafe, designed to be sure no theri ever escaped from Sanctuary.

Only one problem with that.

I’m not a theri.

At least, I don’t think I am.

Still holding tight to her bag, she let her legs fold under her and sat down. It was time for some serious thinking.

I never blacked out in that bathroom, and nothing changed about it or about me. I was walking upright, I couldn’t see or hear or smell any differently than I usually do, and I saw myself in the mirror looking perfectly normal the whole time. Unless I’m in such denial that I’m making up memories, I’m not a theri.

And yet, the three other women who’d been using the public restroom at the same time as Amy had run outside, screaming, when she’d emerged from the stall. Not even the worst of bad hair days could inspire that level of reaction.

What was it they said I’d turned into? Something small, not too threatening. Deer, I think, a white-tailed deer.

She held up one hand and stared at it, willing it to turn into a hoof. It remained obstinately peachy-pink and soft.

“I didn’t,” she said under her breath. “I’m not.”

But three witnesses had sworn they’d seen her change, and under the law that was enough. The bathroom door had been locked from the outside, the BTC had been called, and Amy’s palmputer and link had been unable to pick up a signal, though she’d tried every corner of the place twice.

It was like—

No, not like. It was. I was being jammed. Someone didn’t want me to call out of there. Someone didn’t want anyone to know I could still talk.

Someone doesn’t want anyone to hear what I could tell.

Amy couldn’t help a nervous giggle. “Someone,” she had to admit, had a wonderful grasp of irony, while at the same time being perfectly practical.

I’m never going to tell anyone anything again. Unless it’s “Nice animal-person, please don’t kill me, I’m on your side really, especially now that I know you’re—”

A flicker of motion near the edge of the trees brought her thoughts to a crashing halt.

Something was watching her.

Or someone.

One of the BTC’s longest-serving agents returned to his office after a day in the field to find a handwritten note stuck to his chair. He peeled it off, read it, then growled under his breath and shredded it with one hand while unlocking his compstation with the other. “New arrivals within past twenty-four hours,” he said into the microphone.

A name popped up on the screen. A picture and a depressingly short file followed it.

“Pelham, eh? Looks familiar...” The agent tapped at an icon near the top of his screen, which opened a well-known nets page. He told the succession of bosses he’d outlasted that he kept it on quick access so he knew what the enemy was up to.

Which I do. Never tell a lie you don’t have to.

The story he was looking for was the top item on the page. He read the first paragraph, then stood up abruptly and headed for the men’s room down the hall.

Once in a random stall with the water in all the sinks running, he reached up to his right ear and pressed a particular button on his link. “Encryption protocol Seshat,” he said quietly. “Call location Delta. Priority one.”

The link buzzed three times against his ear canal. Then a young woman’s voice said, “Yes?”

“Live one,” the agent said without preamble. “Five minutes ago would be best.”

“Understood.” The line went dead.

The agent released the button he’d been holding down on the link, then stood up and started undoing his belt. It had been a long day, access to restrooms had been limited, and using a tree was a bad idea in more ways than one.

Never tell a lie you don’t have to.

But when you do tell one... make it good.

Amy stood up again, holding her bag across her chest like a shield, as two bears lumbered out of the trees. The one in the lead was enormous—even on all fours, he was as tall as her chest, and while she’d sometimes joked with her friends about their weighing half a ton, this was the first creature she’d ever encountered who might actually fit the bill.

Or should, if he were well fed. He looks pretty scrawny.

She swallowed. Not a comforting thought.

The smaller of the bears looked positively dainty by comparison with her hulking companion, but ribs showed under her reddish fur as clearly as they did under his dark brown. She limped badly on one back paw, and Amy wondered how she’d been hurt.

And why am I so sure they’re male and female? Is it just the size, or something else?

Both bears stopped. The larger one sat down in place and snorted at his companion. She reared onto her hind legs—Amy clenched her teeth just in time to suppress a scream—there was a flash of darkness—

A what? That doesn’t make any sense—

When Amy could see clearly again, a young woman her own age stood hipshot in front of her, wearing nothing but scratches and dirt. The wild thatch of hair tangled around her head showed gleams of red here and there. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her eyes were cool with indifference. “Do you have a name?” she asked, her voice hoarse, as if she didn’t often speak.

Amy nodded mutely.

“You will forget it.” The words were a flat declaration of fact. “Names are for humans. We do not need them.”

“But we are humans.” Amy hugged her bag tighter to her chest, as though the fact of a few clothes and a single book (she could feel it through the canvas) could make the words spilling out of her true. “Talking and thinking is what makes us human, not our shape, it’s wrong what’s been done here, what’s still being done, but that doesn’t mean we have to believe it, we don’t have to make their job easier—”

The huge bear growled. Amy’s throat closed.

“You will not need to talk any more,” the young woman said, her lips peeling back in what was probably meant to be a smile. “Words are for humans. We do not need them.” She pointed to the bag in Amy’s arms. “You will not need that either. Leave it here.”

“But it’s mine!”

A limping rush, and the young woman was directly in front of Amy, her hands around Amy’s arms, their faces inches apart. “I am trying to help you,” she whispered without moving her lips. “Do you want to live?”

“Y-yes,” Amy faltered. “I think so.”

“Thinking is no good here,” the other hissed. Amy’s eyes watered at the rotten-meat smell of her breath. “Do you want to live, yes or no?”

One of those has the option attached to change my mind later. The other one doesn’t.

“Yes.”

“Good.” The young woman sat down, pulling Amy to the ground with her. “You will come back to camp with us,” she continued in a more conversational tone. “Our people will welcome you. Then a protector will be chosen for you, to guard you and teach you how we live. It is a simple life. We do not have... things.” A hand plucked Amy’s bag free and tossed it aside. “What is your other form?”

“I—I don’t—”

“Know?” Once-red eyebrows went up. “Unusual. I had thought they always told you before they brought you here.”

“They said I turned into a deer, but—”

“Did you hope for something else?” The young woman’s tone had turned mocking. “Something more heroic, stronger?”

“I hoped for nothing at all!” Amy jumped to her feet again, all the fury of the past day boiling up at the cool sarcasm. “I hoped to get on with my life! I hoped to do good things, to use those words you seem to think are so useless to help you and your friends—”

“Friends?” It was a growl, and the eyes that came slowly to Amy’s level as the young woman stood up were filled with cold anger. “I have no friends. I have no family. I have no future. And now neither do you.” Her nostrils flared. “Normal.”

The word had the force of a curse. Amy took a step back, then another, trying not to swallow. Oh God, she knows. She knows.

The young woman matched her step for step, hissing between her teeth as she put weight on her left foot. “You say you wanted to help us.” Behind her, the bear rumbled under his breath. “We do not want help from normals. We want revenge. We want a chance to teach those who destroyed us what it feels like to have all your reasons to live stripped away.”

Amy risked a glance downward and nearly gagged. Two toes on the young woman’s left foot were missing. A third was black and oozing. “I didn’t do this to you,” she said, forcing her eyes back up to the eerily calm face. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“You are normal.” The three words echoed in the air like a death sentence. “That is enough.”

A scream rang out across the grounds of Sanctuary.