Lion's Share
Page 63
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They needed to be counted, educated, and kept in line to protect our secret. Faythe, Marc, Titus, and I were trying to make that happen through our proposed resolution, for the good of our entire species.
But there was resistance from the more conservative members, who believed most adult strays were a lost cause because they lacked the shifter upbringing that would have tempered and informed their feline instincts in the early stages. Certain council members, namely, Blackwell and his supporters, thought the best we could do for strays was to eliminate those who demonstrated uncontrollable violence and leave the rest to their lives. Unaffiliated with ours.
They were wrong, and Robyn was an extreme example of just how badly things could go when strays had a limited—even if well-meaning—support system.
“Abby, you should have told me. I could have helped you.” Then we’d only be dealing with the infection issue, instead of insubordination and murder. Not to mention hiding a stray from the council. I couldn’t think of an official rule forbidding that, but I was sure they’d be pissed.
“If I’d told you, you would have had to report her to the council, and they would have taken her.” Abby grabbed my hands. Her eyes were wide, her voice strained. “They would have pulled her out of school and put her through a bunch of tests, and they would have locked her up. I couldn’t let them lock her up, Jace. Nobody deserves that.”
That’s when I understood. Abby’d spent nearly a week in that cage when she was seventeen. She’d been raped and beaten, fed whatever and whenever her captors thought she should eat. She’d had a bucket for a toilet, and she’d lived in utter terror of dying the same way Sara Di Carlo—Vic and Mateo’s sister—had. She couldn’t willingly put her best friend through that. Even part of it.
But her fear was unfounded. We were talking about the territorial council, not a band of warlords.
“They wouldn’t have had to lock her up if you’d brought her to us immediately, because she wouldn’t have killed anyone yet.”
“No, they would have locked her up to stop her from killing.” Abby shrugged, and the gesture carried doubt. “Maybe I should have let them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s not well, Jace. In human form, Robyn seems mostly okay, but in cat form, she’s practically feral. She’s at the mercy of instincts and urges she didn’t grow up expecting. She doesn’t yet know how to think like a human when her brain is structured like a cat’s. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the two halves of her.”
Uh-oh.
Abby studied my grim expression. “What? You know what’s wrong with Robyn? What is it?”
I took a deep breath, then squeezed her hand. “It’s a dissociative disorder that’s specific to the unique psychology of a shifter, and almost exclusively suffered by strays whose introduction to our world was particularly…devastating.”
“Dissociative disorder?” Abby’s brown eyes widened. “Like…multiple personalities?”
“Not exactly. Shifters literally have two forms, and sometimes, the trauma of that initial shift—or of the infection itself—leads a new shifter to disassociate his feline self from his human self. You actually put it pretty well. When Robyn’s a cat, she’s completely a cat. In those moments, she may not even remember or understand that she’s also human, which means she doesn’t have access to her human conscience and probably lacks the ability to think beyond her immediate needs.
“Kaci had the opposite problem when puberty brought on a shift she had no way to anticipate. She had no clear boundary between her human and feline halves.” Which was why we’d found her in the branches of a tree, munching on a fresh corpse—in human form. “But Kaci got better, and so can Robyn.”
What I didn’t add was that dissociated strays were the ones enforcers were most often required to dispose of. They were the ones we couldn’t control. The ones who couldn’t control themselves.
But things could be different for Robyn. For all strays, if our resolution passed. They’d have the support system they needed to regain control over their bodies and their lives.
“I thought she was getting better. Starting to acclimate.” Abby picked at my comforter. “I didn’t know she was still killing, at first.”
“Wait, still killing? You knew about the first one?”
“Yeah, but you guys don’t. She’s actually killed four hunters, not three, but the first one was in self-defense. He followed us into the woods the first time I took her for a run. He was hunting us, but we didn’t know about the large-scale operation at the time. We just knew someone was shooting at us. Robin was in cat form, and she didn’t hesitate. She just…took him out.” Abby shrugged. “It was a totally justified kill. And I thought that was the end of it.”
“But she kept killing?” I prompted.
“I thought she was going for solitary runs, and I thought I should let her, because that looked like progress. Adjustment. I didn’t realize she was killing until she called me from Hargrove’s house last week. She shifted back to human form after she killed Joe Matthews—though I didn’t know his name—and she was totally freaking out. I went there to bring her home. To calm her down. But I swear that’s all I did. I didn’t even go into the basement that night. If I’d realized who her victims were, and that they were stalking us, I would have called you, Jace. I swear.” She shrugged miserably, and her curls bobbed with the motion. “Then you came to get me and told me about the murders, and I realized she might be the stray you were looking for.”
“So, you went along in her jacket to sabotage my investigation.”
She nodded. “I’m so sorry. I knew you’d find both her scent and mine at Hargrove’s house, and I didn’t know what else to do. Then we figured out who Hargrove was, and I realized why Robyn’s instinct had pointed her at those men in particular. Her human half was scared of them, but didn’t know what to do about it. Her cat half knew what to do, but not why she shouldn’t. I was hoping that since she’d only killed our enemies, everyone would be more concerned with the human hunters than with the stray who was doing our job for us.”
“It’s not that simple, Abby.” Nothing was ever that simple.
But there was resistance from the more conservative members, who believed most adult strays were a lost cause because they lacked the shifter upbringing that would have tempered and informed their feline instincts in the early stages. Certain council members, namely, Blackwell and his supporters, thought the best we could do for strays was to eliminate those who demonstrated uncontrollable violence and leave the rest to their lives. Unaffiliated with ours.
They were wrong, and Robyn was an extreme example of just how badly things could go when strays had a limited—even if well-meaning—support system.
“Abby, you should have told me. I could have helped you.” Then we’d only be dealing with the infection issue, instead of insubordination and murder. Not to mention hiding a stray from the council. I couldn’t think of an official rule forbidding that, but I was sure they’d be pissed.
“If I’d told you, you would have had to report her to the council, and they would have taken her.” Abby grabbed my hands. Her eyes were wide, her voice strained. “They would have pulled her out of school and put her through a bunch of tests, and they would have locked her up. I couldn’t let them lock her up, Jace. Nobody deserves that.”
That’s when I understood. Abby’d spent nearly a week in that cage when she was seventeen. She’d been raped and beaten, fed whatever and whenever her captors thought she should eat. She’d had a bucket for a toilet, and she’d lived in utter terror of dying the same way Sara Di Carlo—Vic and Mateo’s sister—had. She couldn’t willingly put her best friend through that. Even part of it.
But her fear was unfounded. We were talking about the territorial council, not a band of warlords.
“They wouldn’t have had to lock her up if you’d brought her to us immediately, because she wouldn’t have killed anyone yet.”
“No, they would have locked her up to stop her from killing.” Abby shrugged, and the gesture carried doubt. “Maybe I should have let them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s not well, Jace. In human form, Robyn seems mostly okay, but in cat form, she’s practically feral. She’s at the mercy of instincts and urges she didn’t grow up expecting. She doesn’t yet know how to think like a human when her brain is structured like a cat’s. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the two halves of her.”
Uh-oh.
Abby studied my grim expression. “What? You know what’s wrong with Robyn? What is it?”
I took a deep breath, then squeezed her hand. “It’s a dissociative disorder that’s specific to the unique psychology of a shifter, and almost exclusively suffered by strays whose introduction to our world was particularly…devastating.”
“Dissociative disorder?” Abby’s brown eyes widened. “Like…multiple personalities?”
“Not exactly. Shifters literally have two forms, and sometimes, the trauma of that initial shift—or of the infection itself—leads a new shifter to disassociate his feline self from his human self. You actually put it pretty well. When Robyn’s a cat, she’s completely a cat. In those moments, she may not even remember or understand that she’s also human, which means she doesn’t have access to her human conscience and probably lacks the ability to think beyond her immediate needs.
“Kaci had the opposite problem when puberty brought on a shift she had no way to anticipate. She had no clear boundary between her human and feline halves.” Which was why we’d found her in the branches of a tree, munching on a fresh corpse—in human form. “But Kaci got better, and so can Robyn.”
What I didn’t add was that dissociated strays were the ones enforcers were most often required to dispose of. They were the ones we couldn’t control. The ones who couldn’t control themselves.
But things could be different for Robyn. For all strays, if our resolution passed. They’d have the support system they needed to regain control over their bodies and their lives.
“I thought she was getting better. Starting to acclimate.” Abby picked at my comforter. “I didn’t know she was still killing, at first.”
“Wait, still killing? You knew about the first one?”
“Yeah, but you guys don’t. She’s actually killed four hunters, not three, but the first one was in self-defense. He followed us into the woods the first time I took her for a run. He was hunting us, but we didn’t know about the large-scale operation at the time. We just knew someone was shooting at us. Robin was in cat form, and she didn’t hesitate. She just…took him out.” Abby shrugged. “It was a totally justified kill. And I thought that was the end of it.”
“But she kept killing?” I prompted.
“I thought she was going for solitary runs, and I thought I should let her, because that looked like progress. Adjustment. I didn’t realize she was killing until she called me from Hargrove’s house last week. She shifted back to human form after she killed Joe Matthews—though I didn’t know his name—and she was totally freaking out. I went there to bring her home. To calm her down. But I swear that’s all I did. I didn’t even go into the basement that night. If I’d realized who her victims were, and that they were stalking us, I would have called you, Jace. I swear.” She shrugged miserably, and her curls bobbed with the motion. “Then you came to get me and told me about the murders, and I realized she might be the stray you were looking for.”
“So, you went along in her jacket to sabotage my investigation.”
She nodded. “I’m so sorry. I knew you’d find both her scent and mine at Hargrove’s house, and I didn’t know what else to do. Then we figured out who Hargrove was, and I realized why Robyn’s instinct had pointed her at those men in particular. Her human half was scared of them, but didn’t know what to do about it. Her cat half knew what to do, but not why she shouldn’t. I was hoping that since she’d only killed our enemies, everyone would be more concerned with the human hunters than with the stray who was doing our job for us.”
“It’s not that simple, Abby.” Nothing was ever that simple.
