Fionn cradled the baby to him as she wailed.
"I… I saw it in Leona's vision, but I didn't have the heart to tell you. You just seemed so certain."
"I was certain," Thane said with a laugh. "It's not what I expected, but then I'm learning to expect the unexpected when it comes to you."
"Do you mind?"
"Mind?"
Thane leaned over, stroking his knuckle across their daughter's tiny hand.
"How could I mind something so precious? She's ours, and that, my love, is what counts."
Fionn gave him a tired smile as he lay back in the bed. Theirs. His and Thanes. He'd never thought this moment would come.
Dylan woke tired just after sunrise, groaning as he recalled the events of the previous day and his new lodgings down in the storm cellar. Pulling a can from the stockpile on the shelf, he opened it and ate pieces of mandarin with his fingers. It was cool and sweet, distracting him from his current predicament. But all too soon eating lost its shine, and he set the can down. His memories of the storm shelter from before were starting to return. It had been a little different down there then. The table was where it was now, but the bed was away from the wall and the chair in the corner has been nearer the center of the room. Catching sight of something on the wall behind the chair, he pulled it out and climbed behind it, crouching down to see.
There were drawings done in crayon. He ran his fingers over them. Were these his? Had he drawn them? Which begged another question. How long had he spent down there as a child?
He curled up in the corner behind the chair, feeling oddly secure in his hiding spot. He tried hard to imagine himself a child down here. Alone, scared, bored. Bad. The word came unbidden from his mind. He'd been put down here because he'd been bad. But what could he have done that would have been so terrible his grandfather would have locked him in the cellar? Shay had always said he'd been a daydreamer as a boy. Spending too much time lost in the clouds and not enough on his schooling and chores. He'd been careful as he grew older not to get lost in his thoughts or let his mind drift. It was important to be steady and sensible. To focus on what was there in front of him and not on things he pretended. Pretended. He'd played pretend.
Searching his memory, he tried to remember what Shay had meant by all that.
"What are you doing over there Dylan?" his grandfather's voice came to him, so loud and clear as if he were standing right next to him.
"I'm playing magic tricks. See." But Dylan couldn't see whatever it was he'd been showing Shay. It was all a blank. But he had played magic, pretending he was a magician who would do tricks. Maybe he'd broken things, though he couldn't see Shay putting him down here for a broken plate. So what else? He hadn't just played at being other people, he'd played at being other things. Like a cat. He'd pretend he was a cat and could climb things on all fours, pounce on stuff and lap water from a bowl. He had a sudden vivid memory of drinking out of a pool of water and watching his reflection in it, striped and whiskered.
No. He jerked up, shaking off the image. He must have dreamed that. That couldn't have been a memory.
He stood, pushing the chair out so he could get out from behind it. As he did, his fingers found holes in the leather. Turning the chair around toward the light, he knelt down and peered at them, his heart hammering in his chest. It couldn't be.
The leather of the chair was speckled with small puncture marks and, here and there, long torn lines. Claw marks. They were clay marks.
He didn't stop there, going from one piece of furniture to the next, pulling things from the walls. He found more drawings on the walls, of what looked like a tabby cat and a boy. Had he had a pet down here? He crawled under the table where he'd found the toy car the previous night, finding more claw marks and teeth marks on the table legs. And on the underside of the table, more crayon drawings. Of a figure, a striped cat, with red wellingtons and yellow raincoat, just like he'd had when he was four.
It couldn't be. He couldn't be. He knew shapeshifters were real, he'd seen it with his own eyes. But that didn't mean he was one. He'd been a child with an active imagination, that was all. Just a kid playing dress up, playing pretend.
Something else caught his eye, tucked away on a shelf. He carefully lifted it from the high shelf, carrying it to the table and setting it down.
It was a toy carousel with little figures of horses. He remembered that too, sitting for hours watching it spin around and around. He turned it on its side to look for the winding mechanism. There wasn't one. Or a battery compartment. That was odd. He remembered Shay had kept it up on a high shelf, afraid Dylan would break it. And Dylan would sit on the floor and watch it spin and spin. Until Shay had discovered him. Dylan remembered him shouting, remembered his hands squeeze hard on his shoulder as he shook him. Remembered him picking up the carousel and carrying it away.
He stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over in his haste to get away from the table. Returning to the bottom of the stairs, he stared longingly upward, willing Shay to open the doors and let him out.
"Grandfather, Grandfather, please," he called. He had a sudden vision that filled his eyes. Standing in the same spot, looking up and up, his grandfather towering above him at the top of the stairs.
"No more playing magic, no more playing pretend. If you show me you can be a good boy, then you can come out."
And the doors shut, leaving him in darkness.
How long? How long had he been trapped down here? And why didn't he remember it?
Curling up in the chair, he rocked back and forth as he tried to piece together his memory. He remembered the warmth of the sun when Shay had put him down here, so maybe summer time. He recalled standing at the bottom of the steps, and the wind whipping dozens of brown leaves down on top of him. Fall. He remembered shivering from the cold, icicles dripping from the taps in the sink and a little heater next to his bed. Winter.
And he remembered Shay leading him upstairs by the hand and out into the light. Shay showing him the garden where little green shoots were pushing their way above the soil "New plants, new life and a new little boy. A good boy."
Chapter Fifteen
Shay was working in a shed in the yard when Cal arrived.
"Hello," he called, standing at the fence and waiting for Shay to emerge.
He did, wiping his hands off on a towel.
"Mr. Hallan?" Cal asked.
"I think you know the answer to that," he replied. "And you must be Callix. Dylan has told me about you."
"Good things, I hope," he asked, playing along.
"You shouldn't have come back here. Dylan said he made it clear he doesn't want to see you."
"I think that's far from clear and something to be discussed between Dylan and myself."
"No. You should have stayed away from my grandson. You had no right to interfere, to trespass on our property."
"So I should have just left him there in the woods, trapped in that snare?"
Cal caught the momentary flash of guilt that crossed Shay's face.
"Where is Dylan?"
Cal listened but couldn't hear him in the house.
"He's gone. He was frightened after he saw your true nature and was afraid you'd come back. I woke up this morning and he'd taken off."
Cal paused, unsure if he was being given the runaround.
"Where would he have gone?"
"You think I'd tell you? You're a monster."
"I care about him."
"You shapeshifters are all the same, claiming you care about someone when all you really care about is yourself. If you really cared about him you'd have left well enough alone."
"I'm not the first shifter you've met."
Shay didn't reply, glaring at the ground.
"What did they do to cause you to hold such a grudge?"
"Get off my property."
Shay turned, stomping back inside the shed. Cal climbed the fence and followed him.
"Please, for Dylan's sake, tell me wher
e he went. It's not safe out there right now."
"It's never been safe," Shay spat out. "I tried to raise her right, keep her safe, but I couldn't keep her from the magic. And then he showed up, that monster, just like you did and tried to take her from me. And I lost her just like I lost her mother. I won't lose Dylan the same way."
And it all clicked into place. He was talking about Dylan's father. Dylan's father was a shifter.
"Those snares, out in the woods. Do you know who is setting them?"
The change of topic seemed to shake Shay from the memories he was lost in.
"Get out," he said again. "Get off my land. And keep away from my grandson."
Realizing he wasn't going to get any more from Shay, he retreated. If Dylan has run sometime during the night, there'd be a trail for him to follow. He caught Dylan's scent easily enough near the gate and set about following it. He gave up almost immediately on the first trail, realizing it was his and Dylan's from the day before. He found a second and followed that, but it only led back to the clearing he and Dylan had parted in. Returning to the fence, he circled the house slowly, looking for another trail. If Dylan had left the house on foot, there had to be some sign.
Dylan was curled up on the bottom step when he heard the voices. Cal was back. Scared for Shay and for himself, he retreated into the room, into the far corner where boxes were piled. He squeezed in behind them, until he was sure he couldn't be seen.
The boxes back here were old, the cardboard shredded and chewed at by mice. From one, the corner of a book stuck out and he tugged it from its hiding place. There was barely enough light to read by, but he was desperate to do anything to block out the argument he could hear happening above ground. What if Cal became a bear again? What if he lost control and hurt Shay? It was already hard for him to bear the guilt for having brought this man to their door.
He flicked the book open, feeling a pang of disappointment at what he saw. Not the type of a novel like he'd expected but lines of precise handwriting. He shifted position, angling to catch the beam of light that peeked in through the boxes. He skimmed a few lines, trying to make sense of what he was reading. A diary? He'd never kept one, so it wasn't his. And Shay wasn't a diary keeping sort of person. That left only two people and from the date printed neatly on the top of the page there was only one person this diary could belong to. His mother.
A word on the page caught his attention. Magic. Why would his mother be writing about magic?
The raised voices moved closer, and he bent his head, holding the diary tightly in his hands as he forced his attention on to the words. Maybe he'd find some answers.
He kept reading long after the voices disappeared. Each page told him something new, drew new lines onto the faint outlines that were his knowledge of his mother. She spoke of her sadness after her mother's death, of turning to her magic for solace and to something called a Coven for company. Only they turned her away, though she kept contact with one girl. She spoke of the woods, and Dylan recognized the places she described. The tone began to change, becoming lighter, happier as she talked about being saved in the woods by a handsome stranger. He came back to see her almost every day, and page after page were filled with recollections of the time they spent together. She used the same words he'd used when thinking about Cal. Kind, caring, different. Then he turned a page and saw the words written right in front of him. Shapeshifter. She described his animal form in detail, even sketched it. A large, beautiful striped tiger with soulful blue eyes. But when she spoke of him she didn't speak of fear or disgust. She didn't talk about monsters. She talked of love. The last line of her diary was at once confusing and illuminating. 'I think I'm going to have a baby. He'll be so pleased. But how will I ever tell Father?'
Shay had told him he'd never known his father, a man who hadn't wanted anything to do with a baby and who'd left long before Dylan was born. But his mother's diary said something different. Which was true?
He heard the sound of the chain being undone and struggled to get out from behind the boxes. He tripped at the last second, sprawling out across the ground and knocking a box over. From it spilled gleaming white wires, identical to the snare that had trapped him. What were they doing here?
Chapter Sixteen
This time, Cal didn't hesitate to vault the fence into the yard. Dylan was here somewhere, he was certain of it.
"Shay," he called. "I know he's here. I want to speak with him, and I'm not leaving until I do."
He waited, hearing the sound of someone just inside the back door. They didn't come out so he turned his attention to searching for Dylan, trying to see where his scent was strongest. The house was the most likely place, but as he crossed the yard a sound caught his attention, coming from somewhere to his left. He turned, scenting Dylan as he did, and seeing the door to a storm cellar set into the ground at an angle.
He strode toward it, reaching for the chain that held it closed. It was padlocked but would be no trouble for him to break.
He heard rather than saw the back door to the house swing open.
"I told you to keep off my property," Shay shouted across the yard and an unfamiliar noise had Cal glancing around. Shay held a shotgun in his hands, pointed unwaveringly at him.
"He's still here, isn't he?" he asked, keeping his voice level.
"I'm telling you to leave," Shay continued, moving toward him.
"Do you have him locked down there?" Cal asked, already knowing the answer. He could hear Dylan's fast heartbeat.
"Get out or I'll shoot!"
"What on earth did he do for you to treat him like this, like an animal? First, you lock him in his room, then you stick that tag around his ankle, and now this."
"It's the only thing that worked before. That cured him of his ungodly ways. It took months last time. This time, it might be years."
"What ways?" Cal asked, turning around fully so they were face to face.
"There was no sign when he was a baby. He was as you'd expect, bright and bouncing. Teethed but what baby doesn't. But then it started to come out. I'd find him playing with his toys, them all moving by themselves without being touched. And I started finding claw marks in his room, on the walls. He said he was playing pretend, but one day I saw… that, that thing inside him that he became. It was disgusting. It was wrong. I knew if I didn't stamp it out then and there, there'd be no helping him."
"But he was just a child. A special child, thanks to his mother and his father."
"I didn't hold to that magic nonsense, Elizabeth knew that and so did Emily. Not in my house. As for the rest, I told that shifter I didn't want to set eyes on him ever again. Unnatural beasts have no place on this earth."
Cal turned back to the storm cellar, starting to form a picture in his mind of what had gone on.
"How long was he down there?"
"Ten months to the day. I had to be sure, you see. The magic stopped after a month or two, but it was longer before the rest went away. When he came out, he was better. A good boy, human as they come. I knew I had to be careful. I couldn't let him mix with others like Emily had. That was my first mistake. She'd met others, people who thought she was like them. That's how I lost her. I couldn't lose Dylan too."
Shay's face was pained, his grip on the shotgun wavering.
"But it worked, it all went away and he's been such a good, obedient grandson. Did everything I asked and never questioned me. Until you. You infected him. He's started asking questions, challenging me. And I saw it again, the magic. I knew there was nothing else for it. The cellar worked before, it will work again. I'll rid him of it."
"But you didn't rid him of it. You can't. It's a part of him. All you did was force him to suppress it all, somewhere deep down inside. It takes such strength of will to do that, day after day, year after year. Who knows how much damage has been done?"
"No," Shay said, stepping forward again. He was so close, the muzzle of the gun nudged Cal's chest. "I saved him. You're the one who has put hi
m in danger."
Cal had heard enough. In one swift move, he grasped the shotgun and twisted it free. Shay pulled the trigger as he fell to the ground, but the muzzle was pointed away from them and it discharged harmlessly. Cal quickly checked to ensure it was unloaded, then tossed it to the other side of the yard. Shay lay where he fell, making no move to get up.
Cal yanked the chain apart and opened the cellar doors, light streaming into the darkness below.
"Dylan?" he called. There was silence from below. He climbed down the steps.
"Dylan, it's Cal. Please don't be frightened. I'm here to get you out."
The room below was small and cramped, there was a camp bed in one corner, a chair in another and a table in a third. The fourth corner was just a pile of boxes but it was from within that pile that the light caught one scared blue eye peering out at him.
Cal stepped forward slowly, holding eye contact, his hands held out palm up in front of him.
"Dylan, please come out."
The other man shook his head.
"I can't. I have to stay down here until it's gone."
"Until what's gone?" he asked, crouching down.
"The badness inside me."
The whispered words almost broke Cal's heart.
"There's no badness inside you, Dylan. Your mother was a Wiccan, that is a person with magic, and your father was a shapeshifter. What you are is a bit of both of them, I think. Only you've forgotten all that."
Dylan shook his head.
"I got rid of it before. I remember."
Cal slid to his knees, resting his hands on his thighs.
"No, Dylan. It's a part of you. There's no getting rid of it. But it's like anything—grief, anger— you can bury it inside you. But nothing ever stays buried, and now it's starting to come back. And that's a good thing. You can't hide who you are, it will only cause you pain."
"I'm scared."
"I know. But things will seem a lot less scary out there in the sun. And you won't be alone, I'll be right there with you, helping you every step of the way. And I have friends who know magic, who can help with that too. Just take my hand, Dylan. That's all you have to do."
Bound by Fate Page 8
