up.
Now all we needed was the broadcast button.
I scoured the board until I found a row of metal tabs, each with a label beneath it written on masking tape.
Local Access.
East Coast.
West Coast.
Satellite.
Web.
I flicked them all on, and with each one a small green light turned on.
We were, as far as I could tell, live on air. Of course, if this all went terribly wrong, I was handing over proof of our criminal activity to the whole world, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
Back downstairs we headed right for the Employees Only door. I started doing visualization exercises in my head, telling myself I was prepared for anything as long as it wasn’t disappointment.
The door was locked, which gave me my first thrill of hope since we’d arrived. The front door and control room were both unlocked—showing an incredible amount of trust or naivety, I wasn’t sure which. But if this room was locked, it meant there was something behind it worth hiding.
Wilder forced the door open with his shoulder before I had a chance to make my move. It swung inward hard, bouncing off a wall and slamming shut again, but the damage to the doorframe meant it didn’t close all the way. We nudged it open and stood at the precipice of a darkened stairwell going down.
I led the way, my eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly, so I could make out shapes but nothing too specific. Fumbling along the wall, I found a light switch and flipped it, just as I bumped into a low wooden table.
The sudden flood of light meant I had to let my eyes readjust, but when they did, I was struck immediately by two conflicting thoughts:
Jackpot.
I’m going to puke.
I used to think I had an iron stomach, but since coming to Franklinton, my gag reflex had been getting a real workout.
A bare bulb cast the small concrete room in garish shadows. The smell of bleach was like a slap in the face, so dense I would have gladly welcomed the magnolia blooms back. But even with the intense cleaning that must have been done here, the floor was still mottled with black, and beneath the chlorine reek was the unmistakable smell of blood.
Three cages were lined up side by side along the back wall, wedged together so tightly that if anyone had been inside, they would be able to reach into the cage next to them. Another cage, one I recognized from Deerling’s video, was placed atop a grate in the floor.
Hanging on the back wall was a huge wolf pelt, a stunning russet brown. It was too big to belong to a natural wolf.
I choked back a sob, tears flooding my eyes so quickly they stung.
When a werewolf dies in wolf form, they shift back to their human figure. In order for someone to have skinned the pelt off a werewolf, they would have needed to remove the fur while the wolf was still alive.
“My God,” Wilder whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I wanted to turn into his comfort, to let him hold me so I didn’t have to see the fur and know how it came to be hanging there. But I had to see it. Taking my eyes off that skin would be diminishing the suffering endured by whichever werewolf had been held here before Hank.
Instead I crossed the room in two wide steps, buried my fingers deep in the wiry fur and yanked it down off the wall. I held it against my chest, breathing in the fading smell of dirt and pine, knowing this used to be a female. Middle-aged, judging by the natural gray in the fur. It was different from mine. My streaks, to hear it told, were white, not gray.
“I’ll get you home.” I didn’t know who she’d been or what pack was missing her, but I would bring her back among the wolves. We’d bury her fur and give her a proper farewell.
Glass boxes and jars adorned the shelves nearby. A large skull, this one from a real wolf, was illuminated under a spotlight. There were jars of teeth and claws, and a full wolf paw floated in jar full of murky yellow liquid.
This was worse than murder. I’d thought what he was doing to Hank in that video had been hard to stomach. This was sickening and maddening, and for a flicker of a second I didn’t know if I could bring Deerling to Cain in anything other