Rhapsody

22. wolfsbane

Despite claiming to be New York City's first werewolf rehabilitation clinic, St. Peter's isn't actually in the city. Rather, it's about a forty minute drive north of the Bronx, one that isn't particularly comfortable in the small unmarked department cruiser. Maverick isn't one for sentiment, but for all of his big talk about putting the skyscrapers behind him, actually seeing them in his rearview mirror ignites a pang in his chest.

With St. Peter's reputation, Mavericks half expects to see a cathedral when they arrive. Maybe with gothic spires stretching up to the heavens, glittering stained glass windows, and gargoyles. Lots of gargoyles. Any less and it would hardly be worth the drive. Maverick didn't nearly have enough coffee to endure the trip without bitching—much to the chagrin of Emery, of course.

"Do you hear that, detective?"

They've only just arrived, and Emery has already clambered into the fresh air like his life depends on it. Now, stretched up to his full height, he stares at Maverick over the cruiser.

"If you're about to make some snide comment about the silence, save your breath wolfy," Maverick retorts, slamming his door. "I'll bitch and complain about the traffic all I want. I didn't see you offering to drive."

"I wasn't talking about silence." Emery fixes him with a quizzical gaze. "You don't hear that?"

"What?"

"The low hum. It makes it difficult for me to hear anything beyond the gates."

Maverick frowns. "Huh. Weird."

As it turns out, St. Peter's is anything but a cathedral. The entirety of the campus sits upon lush, rolling hills. A web of refurbished brick buildings stretches across the impeccable landscape. Through the gates, Maverick can see two werewolves ambling in the courtyard. Not far off, a gardener shapes a bush. It seems... peaceful. The kind of thing Maverick would expect to see out of a rehabilitation center, and might have been glad to encounter had it not been a string of murders that led them here.

"I don't hear anything." He shrugs, and starts walking. "C'mon, I'm sure you'll be fine."

As he leaves the cruiser behind and sucks in a deep breath, he notes that the air is much fresher here than in the city. The landscape, too, is lush and teaming with life, promising a fruitful and rejuvenating spring. If anything, it's the absolute perfection of the place that puts Maverick on edge. Neatly trimmed hedges, perfectly manicured lawns, and clean red brick don't exactly scream "Beware of dangerous beasts here!"

It's just a little too pristine, except for a few curious patches of violet flowers at the gate's entrance. Oddly enough, no bird seems to want to touch them.

Emery notices the flowers at the same time Maverick does, because he stops in his tracks. Feeling his neck grow hot with annoyance, Maverick whips around.

"What now?"

His partner stares at the violet flowers, lip curled. "It's wolfsbane."

"So?"

"So," Emery sneers at him, "it blinds my sense of smell."

"You'll survive without it, I promise." Maverick gestures to himself. "Proof right here. Can barely smell what's right under my own nose."

"How you function with the sensory capabilities of an infant never ceases to amaze me." Emery's lip curls, exposing pointed teeth. His narrowed gaze rakes the fence. "This entire place is unnatural."

Maverick furrows his eyebrows. "I still don't feel anything."

"Do you ever? I'd imagine the brazen bullheadedness gets in your way every time."