Secret Shifter

by Louise Cypress

  Natalie sat behind her desk with a stack of papers in front of her. Her hair was wet, like she’d just taken a shower. She held herself with perfect posture and an air of confidence that I didn’t think I would ever possess.

  Van stood beside his mother, his hands clasped behind his back. He tapped his foot impatiently, like I’d kept them waiting, even though it had only been a couple of minutes since he’d come to get me.

  “Good,” said Natalie. “You’re here.” She pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “Please, Kate. Take a seat.”

  “Okay.” I sat down and pulled my knees together so my legs wouldn’t shake from nerves.

  “When we offered you a provisional invitation to come to Slayer Academy, neither Van nor I were certain of how you would perform once you arrived.”

  “Your whip fighting skills are horrible.” Van cocked his head to the side and chuckled. “I’ve never seen anyone trip themselves on their first try.”

  Natalie gave Van a sharp look. “We’re teachers, Van, not critics.” She turned her attention back to me. “While it’s true there are several mechanical skills you need to work on, like whipping, knife throwing, and stabbing, as an athlete, you’ve proven that you have the stamina to match any challenge.”

  “You pay attention in class,”—Van nodded—“and are good at noticing things other people miss.”

  “I try.” I dug my toe into the carpet.

  “But most important of all is your ability to get along well with others.” Natalie rapped her fingers on the table. “Slayers always work in pairs, and they don’t necessarily get to choose their partners. Sometimes the slayer with the best technical skills is the one with the prickliest disposition.” Natalie slumped forward slightly and looked at a framed photograph of Cassandra on her desk before she sat up straight again. “I’ve been watching; you seem to interact well with all of the first-years, including Gretchen and Cassandra.”

  I nodded. “I think Gretchen and Cassandra got off on the wrong foot. They have more in common than either of them realizes.”

  “Oh?” Natalie raised her eyebrows.

  Shoot! Why’d I say that? I wracked my brain for details about why my subconscious had spewed that forth. “Both of them care about their family a lot,” I said. “Gretchen wouldn’t be here if she didn’t love her mom, and Cassandra’s admiration of you is obvious.”

  Natalie smiled slightly. “I’ve always thought the same.” She shuffled the papers in front of her. “I called Munich this afternoon and conferred with my brother. Jared speaks for all of Helsing Incorporated of course, as well as the Slayer Council. We’d like to offer you a permanent position here at Slayer Academy effective immediately.”

  “Really?” Excitement bubbled up inside me like boiling water. My cheeks burned. It took every ounce of willpower to not leap up from my chair and shout for joy. “I get to live here for the next two years?”

  Natalie nodded. “That’s right. Summers too.”

  “And you’ll train me to be a slayer?”

  “Helsing Incorporated wouldn’t invest money in you if we didn’t believe you were capable,” said Van.

  “You seem like a slayer who’ll be able to work well with any partner.” Natalie pushed papers forward and handed me a pen. “We definitely want you on our team.”

  I looked down at the contract in front of me and saw my name. I scanned it quickly, picking out the details. Helsing Incorporated will cover Kate Canus’s expenses for two years, whether or not she continues in the Slayer Academy program. It was great to see those words written on paper, but it wasn’t like they could hold up in a court of law, right? If I brought a contract with ‘Slayer Academy’ on it to a law office, the lawyer would think I was pranking them.

  “In addition to paying your tuition,” said Natalie, tapping the contract with a pencil, “we will pay you a living stipend, so you won’t need a part-time job.”

  I stared at the figure on the paper and my eyes bulged out. It was twice what I made at Barktacular. “This is extremely generous,” I stammered.

  “It’s not a handout,” Natalie said quickly.

  “We’re going to make you work for it, that’s for sure,” added Van.

  “There will be no time for TV or vacations or late-night parties with friends.” Natalie leaned back in her chair. “This boy you’ve been seeing. Joshua, is it? You won’t be able to breathe one word to him about what you’re doing.”

  “Joshua and I aren’t really together.” I shrugged. “Although we do have plans for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Then tomorrow would be a good opportunity to tell him goodbye,” said Natalie. “End it. Whatever you want to call it.” She pointed at the papers. “If you sign this contract, your only free time for the next two years will be Thursday nights. Do you understand? You can take your college courses and squeeze in some time for The Triton, but that’s it. The rest of your time belongs to Slayer Academy.”

  I nodded. The thought of belonging to anyone made that warm feeling rise in my heart again. But a dark question tempered my happiness. If Natalie knew I was a shifter, would I be her welcome guest—or would I be a target for her next slay?

  I picked up the pen and flicked off the cap. Sure, I had a secret to hide, but I wouldn’t let the truth stop me from getting what I knew I deserved—a real home.

  Chapter 16

  As excited as I was about joining Slayer Academy, when I arrived at my lit class Monday morning I realized I had a major problem. Slayer training had kept me so busy all weekend that I hadn’t found time to read the first half of No-No Boy by John Okada. If it had been a big lecture hall, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but this class was a seminar. There was no place to blend into the crowd and pretend that I’d read the book. It was about an important topic, too: the lingering impact of Japanese-American internment during World War II on American society. Of all the books to skip, this wasn’t one of them.

  I bluffed my way through the discussion the best I could, mainly by dog-earing the pages and memorizing the synopsis on the back of the book. Still, I spent most of the two-hour discussion feeling like an idiot. It didn’t help my anxiety level knowing that Joshua was right next to me, giving me admiring looks every chance he got.

  It was official. I felt no spark for him whatsoever and truly regretted our late-night make-out session at Barktacular. I squirmed in my seat when I realized I’d need to break up with him at lunch, or maybe before lunch. Which was better? I honestly had no idea.

  What I did know was that as soon as class ended, I’d cut ties with Joshua. I’d already emailed Mr. Sherwood my two-week notice for Barktacular, and Cassandra was coming to help move me out of my room at Tioga Hall tonight. By this evening, I’d be a full-fledged student at Slayer Academy and my whole new life would begin. The only downside would be that Lacey, the most horrible roommate in existence, would get our dorm room all to herself for rest of the quarter. Of all the people at UCSD, she was the last person who deserved a single.

  “Is Foodworx okay with you?” Joshua asked me as soon as class ended. “It’s close and we could sit on the patio and enjoy the sunshine.”

  I stuffed my computer and book into my backpack. “Um… About lunch.” I took a deep breath. We were still in class and I didn’t want the people around us to overhear me trying to let Joshua down as easily as possible. “The thing is—”

  “Wait. Don’t say it!” Joshua put his hand out to stop me. “You just like me as ‘friends,’ right?” He spoke loudly enough that everyone who was still in the classroom stared, including our post-doc instructor.

  Shit! I couldn’t humiliate him in front of all these people. Sure, I didn’t have feelings for Joshua, but I wasn’t cruel.

  “That’s not what I was going to say at all,” I lied.

  “Oh.” Joshua turned beet red. “Sorry. I just assumed since you were busy all weekend that you were probably trying to brush me off and—”

  “Foodworx sounds great,” I blur
ted out. “But I only have an hour for lunch before I need to swing by The Triton, so let’s hurry.”

  “Awesome.” Joshua jumped up and hung his backpack over his shoulder, accidentally bumping me in the face. “Sorry!”

  “No problem.” I walked out of the classroom as quickly as I could.

  “Where were you this weekend?” Joshua asked as we walked to the restaurant. “I stopped by your room, but your roommate said you were gone.”

  “You stopped by my room?” I raised my eyebrows. “How’d you know where I lived?”

  “Because of that article you wrote in The Triton about how everyone in Tioga Hall uses the elevator instead of taking the stairs, and how that’s a reflection of our—how did you put it? ‘Our increasingly sedentary society.’”

  “Oh.” I put on my sunglasses. “That’s right. It was an article about how the stair-machines at RIMAC gym were always taken, and the university refused to add new ones. I wrote that last year. I’m surprised you remember it.”

  “I’ve read everything you wrote.” Joshua blushed. “You’re a great writer.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up my pace, eager to get this lunch date over with so I could move on with my life.

  “So, did you have a fun weekend?” Joshua asked. “Where’d you go?”

  I’d prepared an answer to this question ahead of time, just in case. “I stayed with some friends off campus, and we watched movies, ate cinnamon rolls, and hung out. It was fun. How about you? Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Kind of. My parents drove down from San Francisco and took me out to the Hotel del Coronado for brunch.”

  We were at Foodworx now, and I opened the door before Joshua had the chance to do it for me. “The Del sounds like fun. That place is expensive.”

  Joshua shrugged. “The all-you-can-eat shrimp was good, but it would have been more fun if you could have come with us. My mom wanted to meet you.”

  “Your mom wanted to meet me?” I squeaked.

  “I know, that sounds weird. But my parents don’t come down to San Diego very often, so it’s a timing thing, that’s all.”

  I ordered a turkey sandwich with extra pickles. “I’m paying for my half,” I said when Joshua brought out his wallet. I passed my cash over to the server. After I received my change, I filled my cup from the soda machine and found a table outside. A small flock of pigeons attacked a leftover hoagie roll until two crows came and scared them away.

  Joshua waited at the counter for our food, and I plotted my escape. I absolutely had to end things right now with him—because he was clearly crazy. Who invited someone to meet their mother after only a couple of dates? I couldn’t ghost him unless I dropped out of Asian-American Lit. Besides, ghosting was a jerky thing to do, and I wasn’t like that. I could break up with him over a text message, but that was lame too. Maybe I could invent an old boyfriend who came to town and tell Joshua, “Sorry, but history…”

  Or I could tell him the truth. This was moving too fast for me, and the whole ‘meeting his mom’ thing freaked me out. Crap. That was what I needed to do. I had to be honest, even though it was the hardest thing of all.

  Joshua carried a tray crammed with dishes to our table and smiled when he saw me. “Food’s here!”

  “Looks great.” I took my sandwich off the tray and began wolfing it down.

  “Wow.” Joshua chuckled. “You must have been hungry.”

  “Sorry.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Like I said before, I don’t have much time before I need to show up at The Triton.” I crumpled the waxed paper that had come with my sandwich. “Look, Joshua, I need to tell you something.”

  “What?” His chin quivered. “Is this about my mom wanting to meet you because—”

  “Yes,” I said decisively. “It is. And—” I paused, suddenly losing my courage. “It’s a good thing I didn’t meet her because I saw my old boyfriend this weekend and I’m not sure if we’re going to get back together or what, but I probably shouldn’t keep seeing you until I figure that out.”

  “Old boyfriend? You never mentioned him before.”

  “Well, of course not. You never mentioned your old girlfriends.” I stood and picked up my plate. “You’re a great guy and I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I won’t give you a ‘let’s just be friends’ speech because I know how you feel about that. See you in class on Wednesday.”

  Joshua looked back at me with stunned silence.

  I schlepped my dishes to the bussing station as quickly as possible and hightailed it out of there. As soon as I was outside and far enough away from Foodworx that Joshua couldn’t see, I clicked the chest strap of my backpack into place and ran. Once the blood pumped fast in my veins, I felt better. I hated awkward conversations, but there was no point in stringing Joshua along when I wasn’t interested in him. And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have made up the lie about the ex-boyfriend, but I’d panicked.

  The Triton offices hummed with activity when I arrived ten minutes later. Reporters and editors typed furiously on computers. Most people were working so intently that they didn’t hear the door open and close. The photographers were at the far side of the room, huddled around a circular table laden with camera equipment.

  “Canus,” someone called. “You made it.” A six-foot-tall senior named Mario Gonzalez waved me over to his desk in the corner. Mario was executive editor of The Triton and lived and breathed two things: journalism and golf. Devoting himself to The Triton and caddying on the side at Torrey Pines Golf Course meant that Mario hadn’t earned enough credits to graduate on time. He was a fifth-year senior. That was fine by him, though, because as newspapers shuttered all over the country, journalism jobs were becoming increasingly hard to find. For the meantime at least, Mario enjoyed following his passions without worrying about building a career.

  I loved working at The Triton too but kept a close eye on my total unit count so that I would be able to graduate in four years.

  “I got your pitch for the campus safety piece and I think it’s a great idea.” Mario shoved a bag of Cheetos toward me. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

  “I just ate. Thanks anyway.”

  Mario tossed a handful of Cheetos in his mouth and kept talking. “How soon do you think you can score an interview with the head of campus security?”

  “I’m not sure.” I pulled my notebook out of my backpack. “I also want to talk with the officer in charge of the campus police department.”

  “Great idea.” Mario twirled a golf tee on his desk. “Have you considered interviewing the president of the Greek Council?”

  “No. Why? What’s the angle?”

  “The first victim was walking home from a frat party, right?”

  “Oh. Good point. But we still don’t know where the second woman was coming from on Thursday night. Most frat parties happen on the weekend.” I scribbled in my notebook. “Contacting the Greek Council is a good idea, though. If people leave their parties wasted, that’s on them—not that it’s the victims’ fault that they were attacked.”

  “No. Definitely not.” Mario tapped the tee on his desk. “Maybe end the piece with a list of safety precautions students can take when they walk across campus at night. Use a buddy system, that sort of thing.”

  “Got it.” I added that suggestion to my notes. “Mario, one issue I want to explore further is that so far we know of two assaults on campus, but”—I paused, choosing my words carefully—“I’ve heard that there have been five similar attacks in the past year. I’m not sure where, though. They could have happened in La Jolla, or maybe they were in San Diego.”

  “What do you mean, similar? I don’t mean to sound like a jackass, but women get attacked all the time.”

  “True. But I mean the way the women were attacked. According to my source, each victim had bite marks.”

  “Bite marks?” Mario raised his eyebrows. “Like a dog got them?”

  I shrugged. “Or a snake? I don’t know the details.” I didn’t want to r
eveal the existence of vampires, but I did want my readers to be vigilant about personal safety.

  “A serial killer with a snake would be a major news story.” Mario spun around his chair and opened the small refrigerator behind his desk. He pulled out a can of Red Bull and popped the tab. “Want one?” he asked.

  “No thanks.”

  “I really need to cut back. This is my third can today.” Mario pounded the soda and tossed the can in the overflowing recycling bin at the side of his desk. “You know what my mom says?” He continued, not waiting for me to guess. “She says, ‘If you don’t give a shit, how can you expect anyone else to?’ There could be a serial killer on the loose in La Jolla right now and nobody’s connected the dots.”

  Chills raced up and down my spine. “Exactly.”

  Mario slammed his fist on the table. “I want answers. The students of UCSD deserve the truth.” Mario pointed his finger at me. “You’re a journalist-watchdog. Sniff out the truth and give us the information students need to be safe.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Turn it in to by Thursday. Got it?”

  I nodded. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  Mario smiled. “You never do. Oh, and hey… Do you need a photographer? What image should we run?”

  “I’m not sure the director of Campus Security will let me take his picture, but that’s what I’d want. I can ask.”

  “Do it. If he says no, we’ll figure something else out. We could find a picture of a broken streetlight or one of the 911 call boxes.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I closed my notebook and smiled. I knew my journalism professors said that newspaper jobs would be hard to find after graduation, but I’d never let that stop me from dreaming of seeing my name on a byline. Even if it meant working a part-time job like Mario did while I waited for a position to become available. But then my smile faded almost as quickly as it crossed my face. If I became a slayer, what would happen to my dreams of becoming an investigative journalist?