by Ann Mayburn
Even the witches had been unable to help. They simply said it was the will of the Mother Goddess, and that was it. Rumors had it that witches could cure or do anything, for the right price, but not a single one I went to could help me in any way. It had been one of the lowest points of my life, even worse than when I was bullied so bad in high school that my mom pulled me out to homeschool me instead. I could escape my bullies, I couldn’t escape my own betraying body.
The train pulled back out into the sunlight and my pupils stung briefly as they readjusted to the bright glare. My image vanished, leaving me staring at the river passing by, trapped in my dark thoughts. Guilt twisted through me like a vile worm, but I was helpless to stop the emotion squirming through me. In my quest to be normal I’d done something that I wasn’t proud of, and thinking about it still shamed me.
Out of desperation, I had tried to force myself to fall in love. A great friend of mine named Adam had been asking me out for years, so I finally said yes. We were both mineralogy majors in college together, and I honestly enjoyed spending time with him. He was an amazing boyfriend, attentive and doting, and I knew he was really into me.
People seemed relieved that I had a boyfriend, and I finally fit in with the rest of the human race. The only problem was, I didn’t feel one iota of attraction to Adam. My relationship had been one big fake out on my part. I tried to be into him, I really did. I tried every trick I could to feel even one spark of passion, but it was useless. When Adam attempted to make love with me after we’d been dating for six months, I freaked out so bad I ran into the bathroom and threw up.
Guilt curled through my heart and I closed my eyes against the sunlight, my inner-lids shining orange with the glare. Adam was such a nice guy. He hadn’t deserved to have his heart broken—and that was exactly what I did. I could still feel his anguish as I ended things with him, the way he’d teared up. I hated myself for doing that to him, and that loathing kept me from ever making the mistake of using someone again. My friends didn’t understand why I broke his heart, and I lost a few after we split up. Nobody, other than my mom, my aunts, and my doctors, knew about my problem.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I’d told one girl when I was a sophomore in high school. My supposed best friend, and she’d spread it around that I was frigid and a total freak. The emotional abuse got so bad my mom pulled me out and home schooled me.
An announcement came over the speakers that we’d reached my stop and I stood, gathering my backpack and making sure my French braid was still under control. My bright pink and green sneakers looked out of place with my professional black slacks, but my boss didn’t care. Honestly, I could probably get away with wearing casual clothes to work, but it just didn’t feel right. I’d busted my ass for my job and I took it very seriously. I was a very junior level mineralogist and curator of gems and minerals at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Even though the pay wasn’t the best, and I did a lot of menial work, I loved my job. It provided me with instant access to one of the greatest collections in the world, and allowed me to interact with some brilliant people. While my love life may be non-existent, my academic life was rich with excitement and energy. Yes, I know, most people wouldn’t find research on minerals exciting, but I did. There was something intensely satisfying about unlocking the secrets of the earth.
Being surrounded by friends that felt the same way gave me a feeling of belonging, of acceptance. It was a warm and soothing emotion, knowing the group of people you were with liked you. I still had to pinch myself a little when coworkers invited me to do things after work. I was the unpopular girl who never got asked to prom, and now I had more friends than I could count on both hands. Truly, I was blessed, and the reminder helped me let go of my pity party. I may not know romantic love, but I was surrounded by the love of good friends and an awesome family.
Joining the flow of humanity, I trudged my way up the steps out of the Metro station and took a deep breath once I reached the surface. The Smithsonian Natural History Museum was only a block and a half away and I paused for a moment to adjust to being above ground. The light morning breeze stirring the branches of the cherry trees nearby was a welcome relief from what was already promising to be a scorching hot day. My body went on autopilot and followed the familiar course through the urban jungle to the staff entrance at the side of the building. Lovely plants and rose bushes bordered the brass double door entrance, making the armed guards seem out of place.
As I approached, a massive guy who was probably in his late forties and wearing a museum security uniform turned in my direction. With a big barrel chest and thick arms, he was intimidating as heck. He flicked his gaze over me, his narrow brown eyes scanning me from head to toe as I tried to appear harmless. I mean, I totally was, but for some reason I always felt like I was guilty of something beneath the guards’ suspicious gazes. With his black tactical gear, he cut an imposing figure against the creamy white marble forming the archway of the doors. His dark brown eyes seemed to absorb the light, and he stood at constant attention. Rumor had it most of the guards were shifters, and looking at Doug, the hulking current keeper of the proverbial gate, I could believe it.
His nostrils flared as I came closer then he dismissed me as not a threat, per usual. The first time I’d walked into the museum a few years ago for my interview, I’d been too intimidated to even make eye contact. The guards here were so big they could squash me like an insignificant bug. I walked past with an awkward wave he didn’t return, then put my backpack onto the conveyor belt to be scanned once I was inside the large foyer. A domed two-story ceiling arched overhead, encircled with windows and casting plenty of light into the large, circular room below. The foyer was filled with guards checking everyone that entered and left the museum. Back in the 70s, before security had undergone a serious overhaul, someone had broken into the museum and stolen a bunch of priceless stuff. After that they’d beefed up security to the point that the museum had to be one of the safest places in the world.
As my bag was inspected, a familiar witch with one hell of an afro smiled at me as she motioned me over. Wearing the same black tactical gear as the rest of the guards, she somehow managed to make it look fashionable. To the right of the machines stood a bank of what almost resembled big dressing rooms with no doors. Inside there were countertops along the back, filled with carefully arranged potions and ingredients. Sunset yellow, tangerine orange, and gleaming silver liquids sat in their glass vials, waiting to be used at a moment’s notice if needed. While the machines took care of detecting most of the manmade threats, it was the witches who guarded the museum against negative magics.
The witch smiling at me right now was one of my favorite people. Judy had been working for the museum since the early 90s, and was rumored to be one of the best spell casters in D.C. She was also an almost zealously social woman, and had the uncanny ability to remember the personal details of everyone she’d ever met. Whenever I talked to Judy, I felt like I was visiting with an old, dear friend I’d known forever. The feeling must have been mutual, because she always made it a point to say hi whenever she was in my area of the museum.
Stepping into the room, I shrugged off my backpack and stood in the middle of the big pentagram painted on the floor. A shiver raced over me as the circle closed, sealing Judy and me inside. I knew from previous conversations that the shield was to keep any bad juju I might have carried in from spreading into the building. Evidently someone had come in with a magical virus at one point and infected half the staff. They’d been able to save most of them, but the resulting scare had been unpleasant to say the least. Now all inspections were sealed, and if Judy felt really threatened, the shield could implode on us, killing us both.
Yep, just another day at the office.
When I held out my hands to show they were empty, Judy’s head jerked back as she spotted the bruise marks my nails had left behind thanks to my nightmare
Pursing her lips, she gently held my hand and gl
anced up at me. “What happened here?”
“It’s nothing,” I pulled my hand back. “I had a bad dream.”
Her dark eyes glinted. “That must have been one heck of a nightmare.”
“Yep.” In an effort to change the subject, I smiled and said, “So how did Lavina’s birthday party go?”
“Wonderful. She loved your idea for using rock candy on the birthday cake so it looked like crystals, and my husband loved that rock candy is cheap and easy to make.” She smiled as she began to scan me with a small, buttercup yellow crystal ball, and the streaks of silver in her kinky ebony hair glinted when she moved. “Made her sweet 16 extra sweet. Speaking of birthdays, yours is in a few days, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” I smiled and held out my arms, patiently waiting for her to finish. “The big twenty-five.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured as she knelt down, her knees popping alarmingly while she scanned my calves and feet. “That is an auspicious day in a woman’s life.”
“Really? How so?”
“Well, in some cultures it’s considered the time when a young girl finally becomes a woman. When she enters her power, so to speak. It’s also the last year that a shifter can get their animal.”
I looked down at her while she helped me lift my foot so she could scan the bottom. “I thought shifters were born with their spirit animal?”
Judy gave an unflattering snort. “Like in those terrible bear shifter romance movies that are all the rage? Primal Passion? Please tell me a smart girl like you doesn’t watch those cheesy things. My daughters love ‘em and it seems like every time they have their friends over they’re either watchin’, or talkin’ about, those movies.”
I nodded, giving her a sheepish grin. “I’ve seen them all, though in my defense one of my friends is rabid about them, and she makes me watch them with her. Because of her, I had to stand in line for three hours on opening night when the last of the trilogy came out.”
“You’re a better friend than me. I’m too old to have the patience to put up with that bullshit. I realize they’re fiction and all, but they get almost everything about shifters wrong. You’d think at the very least they’d get actual bear shifters to play the leads, not humans all pumped up on spells and steroids.”
“They’re not really shifters?”
“The Teddy Bear Brothers?”
I nodded at their nickname. “Yeah.”
“Child.” Judy shook her head in disgust. “You have got to get out more. Those boys are human through and through.”
“How do you know they’re not bear shifters?”
“I’m a witch, I can see through illusions and those pretty young men, prancing around shirtless on the screen with their fake roars and tight rear ends, are not the real thing.”
“The roars of primal passion are fake as well? No way. My friend is going to be so bummed. She has one of them roaring as her ringtone.”
Judy shook her head. “Don’t tell her. No need to rain on her parade. She likes that shit, more power to her. Everyone needs a little romance in their life, even if it’s in the form of a truly terrible teen angst-fest with fake fur.”
Giggling, I nodded. “You’re right. I’ll just let her continue to believe that one of the Teddy Bear Brothers will come and declare her their mate.”
“Good call.”
I resisted the urge to chew on my thumb, something I did while caught up in my thoughts. “If shifters aren’t born with their spirit animal, when do they get it?”
“Oh, they’re born with it in most cases, but the spirit animal sleeps until the host is ready for them. And that’s a damn good thing for shifter mamas.”
“What do you mean?”
The older woman chuckled, the brass pentacle necklace she always wore gleaming as she switched on a handheld ultra-violet light. “Little girl, can you imagine having a baby with shifter strength in your womb? Hell, how about a two-year-old that was strong enough to tear down doors. No thank you.”
“Good point, so how does it work?”
“While they’re born with a hint of their spirit animal, it remains sleeping until after the shifter hits puberty. Then the animal both awakens and forms a bond, or there is no spirit animal. There’s some kind of spiritual journey involved with attaining their animal, but that’s between the shifters and the Mother Goddess. I, being the smart woman that I am, don’t mess ‘round with her business.”
“What happens if a shifter never gets a spirit animal?”
She shrugged. “They’re no longer a shifter and are labeled human. Most end up leaving their homes and family behind, startin’ anew. I guess it’s hard for them to be around powerful elemental guardians and know they’ll never walk that path.”
“What’re elemental guardians?”
“Girl, don’t you know anything outside’a those powerful crystals you love so much? Didn’t your fancy school teach you about magic?”
“Hey now,” I protested, “I paid attention in my philosophy and religion classes. I know what the four elements are, but I’ve never heard of them used in reference to shifters.”
She muttered something about college being a waste of money. “Let me educate you. Some believe that the Mother Goddess created the shifter demi-Gods to protect the world.”
“There are shifter demi-Gods?”
“How do you not know any of this?”
I rolled my eyes at her judgy tone. “Sorry, oddly enough we don’t talk about the Goddess much while discussing mineral composition.”
“But she did make those minerals you studied.” Judy continued with a raised brow. “As I was saying, the Mother Goddess made the shifters to help her keep the universal balance between the elements.” She tapped her nail against the top point of the pentagram necklace that she wore. “Earth, the ferocious hyena. Air, the cunning raven. Fire, the regal lion. Water, the mighty polar bear. She created the witches to guard over the Spirit element, and together they work in harmony to keep our world safe.”
The conversation was pricking my curiosity, and I ignored the pointed looks of my fellow coworkers urging me to hurry the heck up. “Do shifters worship the Mother Goddess?”
She rolled her eyes and ignored the growing mutters. “Darlin’, we all worship the Mother Goddess. Just in different ways. Most modern-day shifters have moved away from the old religions, but there are those that still hold dear the deities of their ancestors.”
“Wow, I had no idea.” My shoes squeaked on the marble floors as I shifted my weight.
“Most people don’t. The shifter community tends to keep to themselves. Why, I bet you’ve met dozens of shifters in your life, and you never even knew it.”
I leaned forward so she could lift my hair and check for any hidden spells. “Probably, I just haven’t really paid attention. I mean, it never occurred to me to wonder if someone is a shifter. Obviously I suck at detecting them if I believed the Teddy Bear Brothers were real.”
“Don’t feel bad, sugar. Most people wouldn’t be able to pick a shifter out of a lineup. They are very good at blending in with humanity.” The soft scent of her floral perfume enveloped us as she said, “That’s why the shifters have survived as long as they have. They like, for the most part, to remain anonymous and just live their lives like anyone else.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I’m a live and let live kinda girl myself.”
“Me too. You ain’t botherin’ me, I’m not gonna bother you.” After giving me one last look, she said, “You’re free to enter. Happy almost birthday, darlin’.”
“Thanks.” Conscious of the now louder rumblings from the growing crowd, I gave Judy a hasty wave. “I have to get going, but thanks again for the interesting talk.”
Judy gestured to the next person in line with her wand. “Anytime.”
Reaching the massive employee locker room, I shucked off my backpack and spun open my tan locker. I had my own office, but it was as small as a dorm room and filled with stuff. My private locker off the
gym on the same floor as my office was a luxury I took total advantage of. Most of us used it to store more than just gym gear, and I mused that I needed to take my winter boots home, now that it was July.
“Synthia! There you are!”
I jumped when my friend Diana dramatically fell at my feet in an elegant heap. She worked in the PR department for the museum and had personality to spare. With curled dark hair and deep blue eyes, she kind of resembled the old cartoon character, Betty Boop. Diana was a few years older than me, but sometimes seemed ten years younger. A bit on the theatrical side, she always made work fun.
“What the hell?” I squeaked as she grabbed my legs and clung to them, her long black skirt pooling around her like a dark flower.
“Syn!” she near yelled in a melodramatic wail, the rhinestone barrettes in her hair sparkling, “You have to do me a huge favor, please. Help me, Synthia Rowley. You’re my only hope!”
“Did you just use a Star Wars line on me?”
Diana was one of my fellow nerds obsessed with all things Star Wars. And by obsessed, I mean she has a dedicated room at her house. Hey, I had a thing for unicorns and glitter filled snow globes, so who was I to judge? We’d been working together at the museum for four years now and had developed a close friendship.
Which meant she knew exactly what to say to make me give in.
“Please, you have to help me! Joya has the flu and I can’t have her barfing all over the VIPs at the grand opening party tomorrow night. I need you there to chit-chat the muckity-mucks and give them tours of the exhibit if they request it.”
I pulled away from her, removing her clinging hands from my legs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back the bus up, sister. You want me to give a tour, tomorrow, on a subject I know nothing about, to VIPs? At some big party? You’re out of your mind.”
“You’re the only one that can do it!” Diana remained on her knees and held out her hands in a beseeching manner. “You have an unbelievably good memory and the exhibit is all about jewels. Well, jewels set in religious artifacts, but you know more about gemstones than any of my people. And I know I’ll only have to give you the tour twice and you’ll have it down. Please, Syn. We really need to make a good impression with this exhibit and I know you’ll do us proud. This is the first time the Bissonette collection has been seen in public in hundreds of years.”
