by Cathy Clamp
The water in the bog heated as the fire soared all around them, but stayed below the temperature of a hot tub as they waited out the flashover. When the fire finally moved on, leaving behind an eerie stillness and the scent of scorch, eight pairs of eyes rose from the water like a military assault team.
“Okay,” said an older man who smelled of owl, “I think we’re in the clear. Watch for hot spots and let’s head back to the truck and get our tools.”
“If the truck hasn’t burned to a crisp too,” a woman said wryly. Judging by the natural kinked hair under the soggy kerchief, she would have dark skin under the coating of muck. The others pulled out of the pond with wet, sucking sounds, using their hands to scrape down their skin and clothing, flinging mud back into the water. It was just him and his rescuer left.
Anica stared at him with amazingly large, expressive eyes. “Can you speak? What is your name?”
“Ris—Tristan.” He’d nearly given his real name without thinking. Idiot! Why would he give her a name, much less an identity, that he hadn’t used in hundreds of years? At least he could avoid giving his last name until he had a story put together in his head.
She nodded and held a tiny hand toward him. Everything about her was tiny, except those eyes. “Anica. I am glad you are safe. How is your leg?”
How was his leg? He was lying on his side in the water, holding his weight on one elbow, deep in the mud. He tried to straighten his leg—big mistake. Sparkles blazed to life in his vision, and flaring pain made him mutter curses. “Pretty sure it’s broken.”
She frowned, pursing rosebud lips in concern. Anica was cute, which wasn’t really a good thing. He seemed to have a weakness for those brown eyes, which weren’t really brown, but a hundred different shades of gold. “I am sorry. But we have healer at camp.”
He recoiled at the word. “I don’t use healers.” That would be bad. A true healer would see right through the lies he was going to have to tell to get through this investigation. “But I’ll need to see a doctor.”
Anica nodded. “Yes. Doctor is healer. Healer is doctor. She fix your leg.”
Time to change the subject. “Where are you from? You can’t be a local.”
When she smiled, her whole face lit up. “I am from Serbia. New to America. You are also not local. Your accent … where are you from?”
He needed to shut up. Now. He shifted his position as though his elbow had slipped. His leg hit the muck hard and he slid under the water, coming up sputtering. “Motherfu—” It was loud enough to bring the others.
The dark-skinned man came to the edge of the water and offered his hand. “The truck survived. Let’s get you out of there and get those cuts healed.”
“His leg is broken, John,” Anica said. “Please, we should help him to walk.”
John nodded. “We have a stretcher in the truck. Wait here.”
Really what Tristan needed was for all these people to leave so he could get back on the job. Tristan twisted his lips a little to get the trace of his native Indonesian out of his voice. It had taken five dialect instructors and a hundred years to remove his natural accent, but one beautiful woman later and—“Actually, I’ll be fine. Why don’t you guys go on ahead?”
Out of the corner of his vision, he watched Anica’s face grow confused as his words came out with a very midwestern American accent.
John looked bemused as he handed Tristan a blanket to cover himself. “Leave you here? With a broken leg in the middle of a forest fire? I don’t think so. C’mon. We’ll get you back home, wherever that is. Grizzly, right? Are you part of the National Guard? What sloth are you with? We’ll call your Alpha … let him or her know you’re okay.”
For as casual as the words came, the questions were very probing. And his eyes. Those unwavering owl eyes were even more piercing than a falcon’s. “I don’t really have a group. I was an only child. Grew up in Kansas.”
“Got the truck fixed, Dad.” The woman who had called through the smoke appeared next to John. “The fan belt melted, but there was a spare in the back. At least the tank didn’t blow.”
“Full tanks don’t generally explode,” replied another man who appeared just behind the woman and put a possessive hand on the daughter’s shoulder. What a nice, happy bird family.
“Our new friend was just about to tell us about himself.”
“Tristan,” Anica said, touching his shoulder, “do not worry. They are friends. You can trust them.”
Trust? No. There was no trust when he was working. But he smiled anyway. Worked to get his scent lighter. “Okay, sure. I guess I could use some help. My leg probably should be set, even though it’ll likely heal next time I shift. But I need to get my clothes and pack.” He pointed behind him. “They’re back that way. I’ll get them and meet you at the truck.”
“No, no,” Anica said with a cheerful, helpful note in her voice. “You go. Get leg fixed. I will find clothes. I have very good nose. Is not far back to meet place.”
John touched his daughter’s shoulder. “Rachel, you and Dalvin stay with Anica. Put out any hot spots you find. I’ll leave shovels and a foot pump and bucket. You can use the bog water on smoldering trees. Try to protect any rare plants that might have survived the fire. Rachel, you know the ones. Meet us back at the lake.”
The lake. Had he finally made it to Luna Lake? He couldn’t afford for anyone to find his pack, if it had even survived the fire. But sure, it would be good to have his leg set. It would be hard to finish the job while limping. “That sounds great. Thanks for your help.” He turned to Anica. Those wide eyes sucked him right in again. So deep and expressive. “And thank you for saving me. I’d be a pile of charcoal if you hadn’t found me.” He pointed toward the edge of the mountain. “I stashed my pack in the rocks that way. It would really help if you could find it.”
Again, her face looked confused, but she nodded. “I will.”
The three new acquaintances left in the direction he’d pointed, as John and two other men arrived with a portable stretcher. “So,” John said conversationally as he walked into the knee-deep water and lifted Tristan as easily as if he were a child. “Tristan, is it? Welcome to Luna Lake. Tell me about yourself.”
He went with the story he’d planned to tell, with a twist. “Not much to tell. Like I said, I was born in Kansas. I’m the only shifter in my family … apparently a recessive gene. And a big, dark family secret. I was sent to live with my uncle in Canada. I was just heading back home to see my family when the fires started.”
He paused, waiting to see if he’d made the story believable. It wasn’t just the words that came out of his mouth when talking to other shifters. Everyone could smell lies.
John didn’t respond for a long moment, and when he did the response gave Tristan no indication whether he believed the lie. “Okay, then. Let’s get you back to town and get that leg looked at.”
“That would be great. It hurts like crazy.” It did, so no lie there either.
As they bounced down the dirt road, he did his best to ignore the pain in his leg. He watched the scenery so he could find his way back to this place. The random pattern of the fire was like the aftermath of a tornado. One stand of trees would be charred to sticks, while just a few feet over the trees were untouched. Soon he began to smell the fresh scent of water and green grass. Slowly his coughing turned to cautious sniffs of smokeless air and then to deep breaths that made his head finally stop aching. After a week of hitching rides and walking through the fire zone, he’d forgotten what it was like to be able to think clearly.
Tristan lifted himself onto his elbows so he could see out of the truck bed as the road smoothed out. As they rounded the next corner, an opening in the woods revealed a small town. The buildings were either log cabins made of what appeared to be native pine or prefabricated metal buildings. Rows of single-person tents were scattered in every open space available. Firefighters, black with soot, slept on the bare ground or sat at picnic tables, their eyes gl
assy and half-closed, shoveling food in their mouths as fast as they could chew.
The truck came to a stop next to the police station, even though there were plenty of open spaces around other buildings. If the goal was to intimidate him, it wouldn’t work. Better than this lot had tried.
In fact, that kept him focused on his goal. If he succeeded, he would be righting a great injustice by capturing a serial killer.
CHAPTER 3
Rachel patted the back of her shovel on the dirt she’d just dropped on a smoking patch of grass and then leaned her weight on the handle. “So, are we going to get this guy’s pack or what? I’d really like to get back to town and get some lunch … or dinner. Whatever time it is. Where did he say it was?”
Anica turned in a circle again. This was absolutely the place she’d found Tristan. Tristan. It was an interesting name, because it didn’t match his appearance at all. The name seemed so French, but he looked Asian, or somewhere close to that part of the world. His hair was very black, like hers, but his eyes were an odd gray-green, like where the faster river met a still pool. Even his accent when he first spoke didn’t match how he’d later spoken to John. Something was very wrong, but he didn’t feel evil. She knew what bad people felt like. He seemed both lost and confident, if that was possible … like when Bojan was forced to work on cars when he would rather be in the kitchen. He could do the work, but it took much concentration. More than chopping and seasoning food.
She could smell the direction he’d come, but it was nowhere close to where he’d pointed that he’d left his pack. Anica wanted to find that pack. Somehow she knew the mystery of him would be solved inside. She pointed to the mountain, toward the fire. “That way.” Anica shook her head. “But it cannot be.”
Dalvin Adway took the kerchief from around his neck and used it to wipe his face. “Why can’t it be? Wouldn’t he know where his own pack was?”
She poked her shovel blade into the soft muck and let it stand on its own. She tried not to be frustrated with them, but they just didn’t understand. “You are owls. You fly and you see. Very good eyes. But I am bear. I smell.” She held up a finger. “One drop of blood, one tiny drop, I can smell, kilometers away. I smell the bugs and worms under your feet where you are standing. Right now.” She pointed at the ground. “This dirt, it tells me a story.” She took a deep breath and sneezed before pinching her nose and sneezing again. “But smoke up here, it fools my nose. I must have my nose down there with dirt. Then I can find pack.” She couldn’t help but sigh. “But Papa is fighting fire, and Mama is back home. They cannot help change my nose.”
Dalvin shook his head. “Wait. Are you saying all you need is for someone to shift you so you have your animal nose? Heck, I can do that.”
Anica felt her jaw drop open. The smoke painted her tongue. “But I am bear. You are owl. How can that be?”
She looked at Rachel, who only shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t have any idea how it works. But the town Alpha for years was a bobcat and he shifted me every month, so I presume it has nothing to do with the animal you are.”
“Why would you think—” Dalvin began with a bemused look on his face like her brother Samit used to have when he would mock her, but Rachel held up her hand.
“Dalvin, we’ve already had this talk, remember? It’s a privilege thing, which isn’t just about money. Cultural privilege sucks. People like me and Anica … we don’t know shit about the Sazi world. We’ve lived in a knowledge vacuum.” She put her finger in the air, twirled it in a circle, and then pointed it at Dalvin with her other hand on her hip. “Don’t judge.”
Anica didn’t understand exactly what conversation they’d had before today, but she did understand that knowledge was power and not to judge people who didn’t understand. “Yes. Rachel tells truth. I do not understand many things.”
Dalvin let out a slow breath and then walked over to Anica and touched her on the shoulder. He squeezed lightly and smelled sad. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re attack victims. You came into this life the hard way. I’ll try really hard to answer questions when you have them.”
She patted his hand and nodded. It was good to have friends in this new country. “Thank you. So, it is not just my alphas who can turn me during the full moon?”
“Not at all.” Dalvin backed up and leaned his shovel against a tree. “It’s easier for your own Alpha to do it, because you’re tied to them. But any Sazi with alphic abilities of sufficient power can help you shift forms.”
“Or force you to,” Rachel added with anger in her voice, turning to look at her. “We’ve already met a lot of those.”
A shudder of revulsion crawled up Anica’s spine, because she knew exactly what Rachel was talking about. The nightmares still happened too often. “I would like not to talk of that.”
“Of course,” Dalvin said. “Part of the problem is that it used to be a high crime to attack someone and turn them into a shifter. Nobody dared to risk bringing Wolven or the Council down on them. It was so ingrained in our society that it didn’t happen often. But then Sargon started his camps and now the world is flooded with new shifters who don’t understand the process or our history.” He let out a frustrated screech that seemed like it came from the wrong kind of owl. It echoed through the trees and made her flinch. “We don’t even know how many there are. And I know it’s not your fault. I know that. But it makes me so mad that you had to go through that hell. Shifting should be natural, a treasured part of you. Not something to be embarrassed about or feared.”
She paused to think before speaking. “I do not fear my bear. Not now. At first, yes. Yes, I feared the pain and the not remembering. But when my femily become like me, there is no more pain and they remember for me.” She knew now that following Papa’s command to make them like her was wrong too. But they’d all agreed. Or so she’d thought. Yet, even now, months after his death, Samit made her heart hurt. Dead, and she had blamed him for causing it. “I think they all agree, Rachel. I truly did.”
Her friend smiled sadly. “I know you did. I was there. Remember?”
“Yes.” She had been, and through Rachel’s magic, along with their families, the other woman had seen into her mind … her heart, and helped locate the caves where she had been held captive and turned into a bear. “But I should have thought more … about how their lives would be not good. Samit would still live; my parents would be together.”
Dalvin waved away wispy smoke hanging in the air and used the inside of his jacket to rub one eye. “I wouldn’t bet on that. One of the things I’ve learned since working in Wolven is that it’s not the animal at fault … well, hardly ever, anyway. The animal inside doesn’t want much. Food and water, shelter, sleep, and family. People are what screw it up. That’s when you get greed and hate and the wrong kind of pride involved. You wanted your family. That’s all. You were afraid and your parents wanted you safe. What better way to keep you safe than to be like you?”
“Yes.” Anica nodded in agreement. “This is true. Papa told me not to fear. He would make it right, keep me safe.”
“From everything I’ve heard since Samit died,” Rachel added, “he had some mental problems before, when you were kids.”
“The cat doctor, Amber, she ask me about this. Samit was a quiet boy. I was younger, and girl, so I do not play the same games. But I did not like the boys he plays with. They hurt other children, younger ones. Samit, he does not. But he also does not stop them. I never liked that—that he would just watch the others hurt little ones.” Rachel and Dalvin frowned. Maybe I should have said something to Papa or Mama, the things I saw. But I never considered Samit dangerous. Just a little odd. Anica started walking toward the direction her limited human nose told her to follow, and the others picked up their tools and fell into line behind her. “I like to think that Samit got sickness. Others have gone rogue who were not bad people, so maybe Samit is not either.” She wasn’t really talking to her friends, more to herself. But Dalvin resp
onded.
“There’s really no clear answer on why Sazi go rogue. All the healers and seers have tried to find some connection. But other than the moon magic becoming chaotic and driving the person insane, there’s nothing the people really have in common. Not race, or geography, or kind of shifter animal. It just … happens. So, yes. Maybe Samit was a good person who just got sick.”
Anica stopped, her nose so full of the smell of smoke that she couldn’t go any farther. She pulled a cloth kerchief from her pocket and blew her nose to clear it. The tears she blinked back had to be from the smoke as well, didn’t they? “Thank you.” The lump in her throat said perhaps not. With a catch in her voice, she said, “Could you maybe make me bear now? My nose is stuffy. I cannot smell so good.”
“Sure.” Dalvin’s voice was gentle; Rachel’s face and scent held sorrow, wet and soppy, like just-rinsed laundry. He pointed to a still-standing group of bushes. “Why don’t you undress over there? I don’t need to see you to shift you.”
Oh! She hadn’t considered that possibility. “Yes, that would be good. Papa would not be happy.” In fact, she had gotten to know Rachel because Papa wouldn’t let her stay in the same house as the unmarried school headmaster during the mediation between the sloths—even though all the rest of her family were living there. Papa meant well, she knew. She was his only daughter. But even though she was twenty-four, he didn’t think of her as an adult, which was frustrating. She was far more adult than he imagined. There were many things Papa did not know about her. She undressed quickly, feeling very human. There was no pull from the moon at all. Was Dalvin’s magic really strong enough to make her a bear not only days before the full moon, but in full daylight?
