by Tia Louise
It’s not a path I want to revisit, but when something’s in your blood…
“Yeah, I know boxing.” My voice is quiet, reflective. “I can teach whoever wants to learn.”
Jim takes off for the front, and I give the small room a final survey before following him out. None of this makes sense to me.
Discovery
Mercy
Dylan didn’t come to the house at all yesterday. I’d wandered around waiting to talk to her, waiting to clear the air, but I learned from a nervous Penny she’d left for Chicago and wouldn’t be back until next week.
“Okay,” I say, turning on my heel and walking the long halls of our parents’ mansion.
When I was a little girl, I used to wish Dylan or Autumn would spend time with me, talk to me, make me feel like a part of this family. Instead, Dylan was too busy proving herself as the alpha of the Quinlan pack, establishing herself as a worthy part of Woodland Creek society.
Autumn was too busy doing everything in her power to get the hell out of here. A fashion designer, she landed a job in the DKNY house, and it was the last we heard of her. I had only Penny and the occasional visiting cousin to ease my loneliness. It was a pretty sucky childhood.
Once I finished high school and graduated from HAU, I decided I didn’t care anymore about the family name or our place in society. I had my own dreams and things I wanted to accomplish, and I intended to do them.
It was around the same time Hayden showed up, and Dylan instituted Thursday night dinners. Speaking of which, I hadn’t heard from Mr. Cross in almost twenty-four hours. It must be some kind of record, and I’m hopeful his little scheme has been derailed by Grant’s drunken slip.
As if I’m interested in getting married — and to Hayden of all people. I couldn’t be less attracted to anyone. The thought of attraction floods my mind with images of last night. Koa’s hands on my ass, his mouth on my clit… Whoa — getting hot in here.
I’m standing in front of a mirror when my eyes land on the faded pink bite mark on my shoulder. I should have bit him back, I think with a little grin. Jesus, Mercy. Shaking my head, I push my dark hair off my shoulders. It’s ridiculous to even think these things. I’ll never see him again.
Aunt Penny’s soft voice cuts through my reverie. “When your mother was alive, your great, great aunt Persephone lived with us.”
Smiling up at her, I shake my head in confusion. I know I had an aunt Persephone, but I don’t know why Penny’s mentioning her. “I never met her.”
“No, she was very old and very sad.” She walks over behind me and combs her fingers lightly through my dark hair. “She passed on before you were born.”
Studying her reflection, I meet her grey eyes in her pale face. Her hair is also grey, but I can see her lynx in her expression. I by contrast am darker brown and black, and while I share our family’s blue eyes, mine shimmer like water.
“She didn’t have a choice either,” Penny continues. Her face turns sad. “But it wasn’t like that all her life. We shifters outlive everything except the gods and vampires.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Dylan said there aren’t any vampires.”
“What?” The old woman laughs, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why of course there are vampires. They just don’t live around this area.”
I take her hands in both of mine and face her. “What else do I not know about?”
She won’t meet my eyes. “Oh… I’m sure you’ll know about everything in time.”
Lifting her hands out of mine, she holds her palms up as if in surrender. As if I’m holding a gun on her as she backs away. “It’s time for my nap.”
Pressing my lips into a frown, I watch as she quickly leaves me alone in the vast hallway. I don’t have anything else to do here today, so I throw my hair over my shoulder and head for my room.
“That right there, Phoebe?” I say to the small grey tabby sleeping on my bed. “That is why I’m leaving. Absolutely no point in me lurking around this house like a ghost while everyone else pursues their lives.”
The small feline blinks lazily as she watches me, undisturbed. I’m slamming my drawers open and closed, pulling out an old, faded pair of jeans. They’re torn at the knees and they fall low around my hips. Another drawer jerked open, and I lift a threadbare tee out and pull it over my head, not even bothering with a bra. I grab a hair tie and twist my long, raven locks into a high ponytail.
I’m barefoot as I storm down the hall this time. Out the back door and across the manicured lawn to a small workshop hidden under a sprawling river birch. It used to be a gardener’s shed, but now it’s my pottery studio. I’m pretty sure nobody even knows it’s here.
Walking to the back, I open the metal breaker box and push the heavy black switch up, flooding the shack with light. Going to a tall cabinet, I lift out my wheel and carry it to a low table in the center of the room in front of a stool.
A few years ago — the same time I started mingling with the “townies” — I came out here and pushed all the long tables to the perimeter of the building and made space in the center for me to have a wheel.
I emptied out the metal cabinet to use for storage and bought a few bags of dry clay. I found a small kiln at a garage sale, and I slowly began building my supply closet.
I have different types of glaze, grips, and even an extender so I can make large platters. Walking to the old laptop in the corner, I sit on a tall stool and click through my favorite pottery websites until I find the designs I want to try. For a few hours, I sit and read the different techniques, noting shortcuts and tips from masters. I want to know everything before I leave here and start my new life on the coast.
After a while, I notice the sun is starting to set, not that it matters. I go to the cabinet and scoop dry clay into a large bowl. Then I walk over to the deep sink and turn on the water. Several minutes and quite a bit of stirring later, I’ve got a nice, thick ball. Going to the center of the room I drop it firmly on the bat.
My wheel is operated with my foot like a sewing machine, and I gently apply pressure to start the lump spinning. A small bowl of water is nearby, and I dip both my hands in it before placing them around the lump of clay, cupping it.
As it spins, I apply pressure with my fingertips and the heel of my palms pulling up to form a cylinder. With my thumb on the top, my arms are in a ninety-degree angle as I press downward.
Another dash of water, and I’m using the heel of my left hand to form a flat top. A light force on the sides, and it’s taking shape. Thick shavings of clay appear at the tips of my fingers. I flick them away as the lump is centered.
Using my thumb, I sink a hole right in the middle. Then I reposition my hand in the center and my thumb on the outside and pinch them together, drawing up the sides of the bowl as the lump spins quickly. I’ve always loved this part. The smooth undulating way the clay moves as I shape it.
A little more water, I keep my fingertips pressed on the inside, and the lump has grown taller with a nice center. I swab it with a sponge to refine the inside, foregoing the rim tool. I don’t necessarily want it to be perfect this time. It’s a wide-open dish with the smallest imperfections from my work.
Reaching for my wire, I slow the speed of the wheel as I pull it under the base of the bowl. A rinse of my hands, and I reach for the towel to dry them before spreading my palms flat down against the bat, and with my thumb and forefingers I gently lift it by the thick clay base. Carrying it over to the ware board, I leave it to finish drying. I’ll glaze and fire it in the kiln later, then paint it.
I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. I just wanted to sink my hands in the soft clay and pull something to life. Enough clay remains in my mixing bowl to make something different. Flipping off the wheel, I lift out the lump and begin to shape it with my hands.
First I roll it into a thick column then I slide a finger from one end, swooping deeply to the other. Resting my cheek on my knuckles, I play around with the figure, slowly molding broad
shoulders, pinching out a narrow waist. At the bottom, I start what would be a powerful, lashing tail, when I realize what I’m doing, Shaking my head, I roll the male panther figurine back into a shapeless lump.
“I’m quietly going insane around here,” I sigh to no one. A glance out the glass windows tells me it’s completely dark now and late. The moon is slightly bigger than it was last night, but it won’t be full for another week.
Carrying the supplies back to my closet, I empty the bowl of grey water down the sink and rinse it clean. My wheel is stashed, and I spend a few minutes washing my hands. Everything is stowed away, and I lock the door before strolling slowly to the house, hoping for a late supper.
Our enormous, three-story mansion blazes like a lighthouse as I walk across the sea of soft dark grass to my elegant prison. Every light seems to be on, and I ponder how inexplicably, my aunt doesn’t care for shadows at night.
It’s odd because as cat shifters, we’re nocturnal by nature. Still, Dylan supports Penny’s fears. Dylan doesn’t like us to act like “creatures of the night,” as she puts it. I can’t even remember the last time my sister shifted, and I can’t help wondering if she’s trying to erase who we are altogether.
Looking around the expansive yard, I inhale the clean night air. It’s elemental. It’s a part of us, and it gives us strength. I love what we are, our way of life, and our powers.
I stand a moment longer letting the evening wash over me, when my heart ticks a little faster. My eyes flash open, and I sense I’m not alone.
Scanning the open area, I don’t see anything unusual. Still, I’m breathing faster, knowing something or someone is out there watching me. Sniffing, I try to catch the scent, but nothing familiar meets my nose. I’d know better if I were in my lynx form.
Calming inhales, I work to ebb the adrenaline pumping in my veins. In my human form, my senses are not as sharp, my night vision is impaired and my hearing is weaker. Still, I’m strong, and I can protect myself.
I know you’re there, I project my thoughts. I’m not afraid of you.
A breeze sweeps through the space, and the sensation recedes. Whatever it is, whoever it is, is pulling back, leaving. I only wait a moment longer before I turn and jog up the steps into my family home. Last night I had one pleasant encounter with a stranger. I’m not looking to push my luck.
It’s late, and Penny’s already in bed. A crisp white envelope is at my place at the table beside a small plate of food. I pick it up along with the dish and head upstairs. Once I’m in my bedroom, I turn the envelope over and open it, sliding out the linen card embossed with a large black C.
Mercy,
Please forgive Grant for what he said at dinner last night. You might not have guessed it, but he tends to be a romantic idiot when he’s had too much wine.
Nothing is more important to me than our friendship. I hope you won’t allow his words to make things strange between us.
I care about you, little thing.
Your friend,
Hayden
“He does write a good apology note,” I say, running a finger down Phoebe’s belly as she rolls onto her back on my bed.
Tossing the note on my dresser, I shimmy out of the baggy jeans and throw my dirty tee on the pile of laundry in the corner. Pushing through the soft sheets on my bed, I stretch out, noticing my muscles are no longer sore from last night’s activities. I’m asleep before I remember to turn off the light.
* * *
Koa
The walls in Doris’s garage apartment are thin, and it probably doesn’t help that I’ve got all the windows open. I’m not bothered by the small size of the place, but I don’t like feeling trapped. I crave open air.
As a result, I’m treated to the noise of Ted and Lydia shouting to each other from opposite floors of their house. Blinking at the ceiling, my hands are behind my head. Can’t you two go to the same room to talk? I think.
Doors slam and cars drive by. I can handle those random sounds, but when a baby continues screaming for what feels like an eternity, I throw back the thin sheets and trot down the back stairs to the alley.
Leaving my one pair of loose jeans hidden behind the steps, I drop to my knees and spring into my panther form in the blink of an eye. Stretching out, I dash into the thin woods surrounding the area and head up toward the Observatory.
Thoughts of Mercy fill my mind, but I’m not intentionally looking for her. I’d love to see her again, but the chances of that are slim to none. I don’t even know where she lives.
Scouting the area, I look for a dry shelter where I can sleep. I’m not far from the little creek near the clearing where we made love when I’m stopped in my tracks. Danger.
My fur shoots up on my back, and I lift my nose to scent the air. Something very wrong is here. A supernatural being is moving fast through the woods, and it’s not a shifter. I don’t know what it is, but negative energy is rippling off it in powerful waves.
I drop back into the shadow of the trees. My black coat hides me in the night, and I wait, watching, on guard. The air turns unnaturally cold all at once. My thick coat protects me, but my breath rises in gusts of steam. Death.
Moving deeper into the darkness, I lower my body, resting my head on my paws. He isn’t coming for me this night, but I don’t know what he wants.
I don’t blink, I barely breathe as I wait for him to pass. He’s closer, and my insides tighten. Then it goes still. The presence seems to move away. I have no desire to pursue him, but I’m curious. Why would Kanaloa be in this forest?
Suddenly, a loud roar cuts the silence. A flash of purple, and a wave shoots across the grass at me, faster than I can get out of the way. He must have sensed me. The blast hits me right in the face, knocking me down. Arms flailing, I’ve shifted back, but it’s too late. I’m slipping into darkness…
Next thing I remember, bright sunlight warms me. I’m lying on my back in my human form blinking up at the sky. Lifting my head, I look around. I’m in the same meadow as before, but from what I can tell I’ve been alone the entire night.
Sitting up slowly, I rub my eyes. Pushing off the ground I walk a few paces before resuming my shifter form. I need to know more about what happened last night, but I can’t be late for my first day at Andy’s. I’ll be back here tonight.
I’m still shaking off the effects of the night, trying to understand what happened. Was it a dream? Perhaps I dozed off by the creek. It doesn’t explain how I ended up unconscious in human form.
Walking down the hall toward the weight room, Jim stops me from behind the juice bar.
“Dude, you can’t wear jeans to train,” he says.
Holding out my hand, I shrug. “I wasn’t expecting to get a job as a trainer.”
He nods his pale head and disappears for a moment before returning with a pair of black nylon pants and a tank. “Andy said these would incentivize me. I don’t know what that means, but they don’t fit. You can have them.”
Taking the workout clothes from him, I hold up the pants. “Thanks,” I say, looking down. “I actually think they’re my size.”
“Of course they are. You’re made for this stuff.”
I step into the men’s locker room and quickly replace my jeans and tee with the more gym-appropriate attire.
“Hey,” Jim says, tossing a pair of training gloves at me. “See what you can do with that boxing equipment.”
Shaking my head, I stuff the thin trainers in my back pocket and walk back to the weight room. It’s early, and only one guy is in the place. I nod, and he proceeds to get on the treadmill and start jogging. For now it looks like I’m on my own killing time.
Nothing else to do, I pull the gloves from my back pocket, pull them on, and hit the heavy bag. Left, right, left-right-left.
I clip the heavy canvass, stepping back and in, feeling the soothing burn of energy in my muscles. I’ve always loved to fight. It’s all I ever wanted to do until that night. Right, left, right-left-right.
Lowering my fists, I turn and take a surprised step back. Mercy is in the middle of the room gorgeous as ever, her shining blue eyes round.
“Mercy,” I say, stepping forward.
She walks straight to me, but she isn’t smiling. She seems angry, although I can’t imagine why. She’s dressed in a black jog bra and yoga pants, her lined torso exposed. She’s so fucking hot, I can’t help the flood of pornographic images flickering through my mind. It’s only been two days since I had her all over me.
“What are you doing here?” her voice is a soft growl.
Wasn’t expecting that. I haven’t seen her since our night in heaven, and I’m pretty confident I left her one satisfied customer. I decide to be honest and see if I can figure out what the hell’s going on.
“I decided to stay.”
“Well, if this is about me, you’re wasting your time.”
“Actually, my decision had nothing to do with you.” My voice is low, but it’s not a whisper. Now I’m getting annoyed.
“Stay away from me.”
My brows shoot up, and it’s official. I’m pissed. “Don’t worry, princess. You’ve got all the space you need.”
Her eyes flash, and she turns on her heel stalking back to where a pale, mousy girl is waiting. I turn back to the bag and resume punching. My strikes are a bit more forceful, but I’m doing my best to keep the anger off my face.
The last time I saw Mercy, she was thanking me for blowing her mind. No idea what changed between now and then, but it isn’t the first time I’ve encountered a psycho female.
The description turns in my stomach. It doesn’t fit. I’ve tasted Mercy, and she isn’t crazy. She tasted good, strong and focused. My thoughts drift to last night and my experience in the forest. Something isn’t right in this town.
