The Better to Hold You by Alisa Sheckley Page A

“Real men don’t wax and pluck and dress up in designer clothes.”
    “Yeah,” said Sam, his voice dripping sarcasm. “They call those real men ‘bears.’ You know, big, lumberjack-style men. Very pop u lar in the gay community.”
    Malachy handed me his card last. It was very plain, with just a pressed wildflower on the cover, and inside, he had scrawled: We need to discuss something.
    I closed the card quickly and stared at him, a cold wave of fear hitting me. Was he going to suggest terminating my internship?
    Then Malachy stood up, nearly dropping his files. I reacted quickly and caught them, but some of the papers still tumbled out. “Thank you, Ms. Barrow,” he said. “I don’t suppose I could impose on you to leave this little gathering a bit prematurely?”
    Swallowing back my fear, I followed him to the elevator banks. We didn’t speak as we went down to the basement level, where Malachy had been given a small office when he’d lost his position on one of the major research teams. I hadn’t actually been inside his office since my initial interview last spring.
    The elevator doors slid open and Malachy said, “After you.” I waited for him to precede me down the hall, noticing how unsteady his gait seemed as different scenarios played out in my head. Ms. Barrow, you are the only intern I can trust with the news of my imminent departure. Ms. Barrow, I have come to the realization that you are not really qualified to be on my team. The only thought that I instantly dismissed was that my austere boss might be coming on to me in some fashion.
    As we walked past a number of offices and turned a corner, I began to realize that Malachy was taking me somewhere I hadn’t been before. This section of the corridor was darker, the fluorescent lights flickering over peeling paint and the occasional broken chair left in a corner.
    “Dr. Knox,” I said, because we never called him Malachy to his face, “where are we going?”
    “Here.” Malachy stopped in front of a door at the end of the long hallway. Handing me the files he had been carrying, he fumbled with a set of keys.
    “I don’t understand what’s going on here,” I said. “Are you letting me go from the group?”
    Malachy cursed under his breath as his trembling hands prevented him from inserting the key in the lock. Amazed at my boldness, I put my hand over his. His skin felt like ice.
    “Please,” I said. “Are you kicking me out?”
    Malachy turned to me with a scowl. “No, I’m not kicking you out, you foolish girl. I’m taking you in here to show you something that could get me kicked out if anyone knew.”
    “But why me?” I said, almost too surprised to speak. “Why not the others?”
    “Because they are not in close personal contact with someone who has been exposed to the lycanthropy virus. Damn,” Malachy said, dropping the keys to the dingy concrete floor.
    Well, Abra, I just hope you’re not going to catch some disease from that man. The memory of my mother’s voice ringing in my ears, I bent down to retrieve the keys. “Which one is it?” My voice sounded strained and unnatural.
    “The bronze.”
    I opened the door, revealing what appeared to be a small, dimly lit laboratory. In one large cage, there was a Dalmatian, in another a German shepherd. Both dogs appeared to be asleep, but the fact that our appearance hadn’t wakened them let me know that they had been sedated. A third cage stood empty, and I thought of Pia, the wolf hybrid. A stainless steel table in the middle of the room was equipped with restraints, and I also noticed a small refrigerator, a Bunsen burner, a centrifuge, numerous vials, a microscope, and what appeared to be a kitchen blender.
    “I thought you were no longer involved in research,” I commented, trying to sound offhand. The truth was, my mother wasn’t completely wrong when she called me a hypochondriac, and all of my husband’s recent erratic behavior was running through my