by Mia Marshall
It appeared Sera wasn’t in the mood for conflict that night. Rather than change the music or even comment on its lack of a backbeat, she stretched across a couple of throw pillows, eyes closed, and appeared to actually relax.
I looked around for the stereo and CD case, wanting to know what we were listening to, and found nothing. Instead, I saw Vivian’s laptop, connected by a single cable to a pair of small speakers.
“So, this is an mp3, right?” I asked, fairly certain I had this one right. I kept thinking I was caught up on current technology, and then I caught the looks my friends occasionally gave me, looks that contained a mix of surprise and amusement. I was doing my best to not sound like someone’s elderly aunt inquiring about “the google,” but I knew I succeeded less often than I’d like.
Vivian shook her head. “It’s a Pandora station. It’s playing Feist right now,” she told me.
“What’s a Pandora?” I asked. Damn. There was that look again.
Sera was already stretched across several pillows, and she didn’t move or open her eyes. “If you tell her, Vivian, I’m going to double your rent.”
Vivian was unmoved by this threat. Considering she paid nothing, that wasn’t surprising. She patted the cushion next to her, and when I sat down, she tilted the monitor so I could see the screen. Quietly, she described the website to me, then ran through a series of other music apps, reminding me again how much I’d missed during my time away.
I refrained from saying, “Gimme,” and grabbing the laptop from her hands, but only just. My excitement must have been palpable, as she finally handed the computer to me, leaving me to it. A moment later, I was lost in a mad series of keystrokes and clicks, looking for music I hadn’t even known existed that morning.
“Steve Earle has a son making music and you didn’t even tell me? Someone’s getting fired.”
Sera cracked one eye open and briefly considered responding, then decided her world-weary expression was answer enough. Happily ignoring her, I started a new station based on “Harlem River Blues,” then stretched out next to Simon, enjoying the fire alongside him.
“Why country?” Vivian asked. “I mean, you grew up on an isolated island in the pacific northwest. That’s not a place I’d associate with country music.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t. Most of them preferred classical. Of course, most of them are so old, that was their version of pop music. I have one aunt, though, the youngest and craziest of the bunch. She loved human stuff, and she had a bunch of old records, Loretta Lynn and Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton.”
I paused, uncertain how to finish. Only Sera knew this story. “I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. You know the old ones don’t have many children, so there weren’t other kids on the island. I read and watched a lot of TV and movies, and those characters kind of became my friends, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to know more about the world I was missing, about the emotion behind it, and there’s no music in the world that can tell a story better than country music.”
Though I’d spoken in an even voice, I worried they’d view me with pity after hearing that story. I didn’t want them to guess how lonely I’d truly been. It was over now, and that was what mattered.
Simon rolled across the floor until his head was even with my knee, and he silently head butted my leg. Remembering his moment with Vivian earlier, I gently reached out a hand to scratch his head. He looked at me, and for a moment I thought I’d crossed a line, then he rubbed his cheek firmly against my hand, purring.
“You know he’s just marking you, right? You’re now owned by Simon.” I swore his small cat smile grew at Sera’s words. I kind of wanted to kiss her for knowing to change the subject.
I tugged lightly on Simon’s ear, then turned my own belly toward the fireplace, mimicking his pose. Unfortunately, the relaxed movements weren’t reflected in my next words. “What he’d want with such an unpredictable pet, I’ve no idea. If they knew what I was, my own people would put me down as a danger to society. That’s not doing wonders for my self-esteem.” I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the impact of my words.
I didn’t want my friends to fixate on my instability, and even I did my best not to think about it. Denial and I weren’t as close as we used to be, but we were still more than passing acquaintances. But between the peaceful vibe, the warm room, and the gentle guitars playing, my control had slipped and I’d aired my fears. I’d accidentally spoken the truth.
I felt my fire magic stir, reminding me how easy it would be to pull the flames to me, to warm and recharge myself in a way I’d never done before. I could be complete.
I determinedly avoided eye contact with the others, terrified of what I might see there. Support. Concern. Fear.
Sera pulled herself to a sitting position. “No,” she said.
I looked at her, eyebrows up.
“You’re not an animal. No offense, Simon.” If it was possible for a cat to shrug, that was his response. “You’re a thinking creature, in control of your actions. Well, most of the time. Or sometimes. Okay, on occasion you take the time to think before you act. Once or twice a year, at least.”
I knew the words were intended to comfort, but they were also intended to draw me away from the self-pity canyon I was threatening to fling myself into. It worked.
“You’re just pissed because I’m actually useful in this investigation, whereas you haven’t had the chance to set a single thing on fire.”
“I haven’t ruled out the Reno book club just yet,” she said. “Hope springs eternal.”
I laughed, and I was myself again, the fire within me once again as quiet as it had been all the previous decades of my life. We returned to our quiet evening at home. As the minutes passed and I didn’t feel the fire beckon again, I could almost convince myself I’d imagined its siren song.
A couple of hours later, just when I was ready to stop waiting, the door opened, and Mac walked slowly into the room. Normally, everything about his presence felt larger than life. Even more than his physical size, there was an aura that extended far beyond his bulk. When he was around, he seemed to take over any room in which he stood.
For the first time, Mac looked small. Sure, he was still approximately the same size as one of the local mountains, but his shoulders were pressed down and hunched, as if a series of weights were forcing him toward the ground. His strides weren’t long and confident. Rather, he shuffled into the room, head down.
When he saw us all gathered together, his eyes moved quickly to me. For a moment, longing flashed across his features, and I knew he wanted comfort as much as I wanted to give it. The moment passed, his face shuttering quickly, and he sat on the opposite side of the room. He pressed his back against the wall and tilted his head upwards, eyes closed. I thought he was trying to absorb some of the room’s peace for himself.
Simon shifted quietly and pulled on a pair of jeans. I appreciated the gesture. While I was growing increasingly accustomed to Simon’s nudist tendencies, it was a lot harder to have a serious conversation while steadfastly averting my eyes from Simon’s genitalia.
I didn’t want to rush Mac or interrupt his moment of calm in any way, despite being desperate to hear what news was bad enough to cause Mac to look weak. Fortunately, Sera had no such compunction. “Spill,” she demanded.
He rubbed his large hands roughly over his face, tugging at his skin and pulling at his hair until parts of it stood on end. It might have been comical, were it not for the heart-wrenching expression he wore.
“Is James okay?” I asked.
He shook his head, once, twice, then let out a harsh bark of laughter. “He’s calm again, if that’s what you mean. He’s talking. He can’t remember anything from the last couple days, but he’s eating and answering questions. We got him home, and he finally went to sleep a little while ago. The poor kid’s exhausted.”
The memory loss was worrying, and didn’t help us in our search whatsoever, but otherwise it all sounded like go
od news. There was nothing in his words to explain Mac’s attitude.
“What else?” I pushed.
He looked again toward the ceiling, perhaps hoping some new truth would descend from on high. He was not so lucky. Finally, he spoke. “James can’t shift.”
Simon went perfectly still. Even his eyes froze, and for a moment he seemed to disappear within himself, as if he was seeking his own magic that allowed the change, confirming it was still present. Slowly, his expression evolved into one of pure horror. “That is not possible,” he stated, as if to convince himself. “The animal is a part of us. It cannot be removed.”
Mac nodded, agreeing with Simon’s words, if not his conclusion. “I know.”
“He cannot even partially shift?”
Mac shook his head. “He feels the desire. He feels like he’s going to lose control. That’s what happened earlier. And then nothing happens.”
I watched the two shifters. I could only imagine what it meant to them. If I learned that my connection to water could be removed, I suspected I would look every bit as terrified as my friends did now.
Mac and Simon held eye contact for a long time, having a long, wordless conversation full of fear and confusion. This wasn’t something that was supposed to happen.
“I’ve never heard of this happening before,” said Mac, confirming my thoughts. “I’ve never even heard that it was possible.”
Simon shook his head. “Neither have I. You know more than I do, of course, having grown up with shifters, but I sought out a fair number of them in university. This is...” Simon tapered off, unable to finish. I’d never known Simon not to be perfectly precise and exact in his words.
“So, does this mean he’s human?” Vivian asked doubtfully. I was shaking my head even before Mac. Losing the magic that separated us from humans wouldn’t make us more like them. It would make us incomplete, unable to fully function.
Incomplete like I was, unable to access all of my magic.
I violently squashed that thought, refusing to pay it any attention, not now. Not ever. I was as I’d always been. That was more than complete enough for me, and right now, it really wasn’t about me.
“What happens if you don’t shift?” I asked. If elementals didn’t regularly access our element, we withered, much as a human would from lack of food or water. The magic is what connected us to the land, what recharged and repaired us. Without it, we were disconnected and weak. I hated the thought of that strong young man made powerless so early in his life. “Is his magic just gone?”
I felt a connection hover tauntingly out of reach, an answer I knew I possessed but was unable to grasp. I reached for it, but it flittered away.
Mac’s voice called me back to the present. “He doesn’t think so. James says he feels it, weak but still present. He just can’t access it. And no one can answer your first question, because there’s no evidence of this ever happening before. The most we can do is make an educated guess, based on the times shifters have deliberately refused to shift.”
Vivian was already putting the pieces together. “If you don’t shift, does that mean the beast has no release?”
Simon nodded. “We must give our animal halves free rein on occasion. It is what we are, and it should not be denied.”
Mac took a long breath and expelled it slowly. He met my eyes, and though I knew he didn’t want to ask for comfort, I tried to give it to him, tried to provide whatever support I could from across the room. “We know that, if we deny the animal, it only gains in strength. Hypothetically, it will become so strong it takes over. We think, if James is unable to shift, it’s only a matter of time before he becomes a wild animal that just happens to look like a human being.”
That night, sleep eluded me. My window faced the rear of the house, and the coursing river that ran behind the cabin, thick and heavy with melted snow, usually offered a source of peace and helped me find an easy oblivion. After the events of that day, however, I found no solace in the water’s gentle power. Every time my eyes drifted shut, they popped open again, as if the answers might be found on my bedroom ceiling.
When my eyes did manage to remain shut for longer than a moment, images of James projected against the lids. Not James as I saw him tonight, but as he would likely become. Mac had described the fierce battle that would wage within his cousin, as his human half fought desperately to maintain a foothold on James’s conscious mind, to repel the beast by pure force of will—a battle it was impossible to win.
One day at a time, the human intelligence would dim in his eyes. The upright body would hunch, seeking a return to the animal’s four-legged stance. He would become uncontrollable and irrational, eventually unable to form words. His speech would devolve into a series of growls or grunts. He would have all the desires of the bear and none of the physical strength or defenses. He could not be let out of the house, where he could harm others or find harm himself. James would live the rest of his life, trapped in his home. Caged.
It was a horrible image, made all the worse by the certainty that I could do something to prevent it. There was an answer hovering just outside my consciousness. I chased it, over and over again, trying to identify the smell I’d caught on James’s shirt, trying to match it with something that was scratching at my mind, urging me to put the pieces together.
Finally, a few hours before dawn, my anxious, exhausted mind finally gave up the fight, and I felt myself drift slowly toward sleep. In that space between the conscious and unconscious mind, that moment of drifting without purpose produced the answer I’d been actively searching for all night, a memory sharp and clear, though it was from a night I longed to forget.
The essence I’d found didn’t belong to a person. It belonged to a drug, one used on me the night Brian tied me to my bed and promised we’d be together soon. He’d called it a cocktail, and it was partly intended to knock me out and make me more docile. Given the circumstances, of course, nothing short of repeated blows to the head with a large mallet would have made me docile, but I had to give him points for effort. And somewhere in that cocktail, there was something I hadn’t consciously noticed at the time, so distracted was I with the more pressing issue of the madman at my bedside.
My subconscious, fortunately, had been paying attention, and it remembered the cocktail and its other purpose. Yes, it had made me sleepy and confused, but Brian had also used it to block my access to my magic.
I let myself breathe a quick sigh of relief. The drug’s effects weren’t long-lasting. In fact, they’d worn off within a matter of hours. With any luck, James would be fine in a day or two.
And yet, Brian had developed the drug for an elemental. Though our magic derived from the same source, it might work differently on shifters. It was too great a risk to ignore.
Also, Brian was dead. Someone else was using his concoction, and I could only think of one person who’d worked closely with Brian and also displayed a marked enmity for shifters.
I lay in bed and cursed loudly at the ceiling for several more minutes. Because, as much as I might wish otherwise, I knew of only one way to get more information about this drug, and to possibly learn more about the abductor himself.
I had to talk to my father.
CHAPTER 11
Once I made the disturbing connection between Brian’s cocktail and the shifter abductions, I was unable to sleep. In that final hour before dawn returned light to the world, I crept out of bed and made my way to the river.
Elementals slept and ate as humans did, and to a certain extent we needed it for survival. We were born from the union of magic and humans, and so we bore a human shape and possessed some human needs. And yet, our survival was far less reliant on those needs. We could easily go days, even weeks, without food or sleep, so long as we had access to our element.
And so I stood by the river for that last hour before daybreak, quietly pulling its power into me, letting it interact with the magic that resided in my core. I sought the peace I’d been un
able to find in the hours I’d tossed and turned in my bed
His approach was so quiet, I shouldn’t have known he was there, but I sensed his presence the moment he neared. He said nothing, merely stood with me, watching the water rush by. The river wasn’t as full as it would be in another month or two, when the majority of the snowpack melted and the summer sun had yet to claim the water for its own, but it was already stronger than it had been when I first arrived in Tahoe. We watched it rush by, the water growing lighter and less opaque as the sun slowly raised itself above the horizon.
For a long time, I was content to stand next to him, the warmth of his body nearly tangible, and the scent that belonged only to him drifting toward me on the morning air.
I saw a few rocks appear downriver, dark and smooth. I was feeling so calm that it took me a moment longer than it probably should have to remember that rocks weren’t supposed to move. They were familiar, too. I’d seen them before, in the river near Carmen’s house.
“They’re river otters.” Mac’s voice was low and gentle, doing his best to retain the peaceful mood.
I struggled a bit to do the same, because I kind of wanted to squeal like a hyperactive five-year-old upon learning there were otters living behind my house. The nature I loved could be immense and awe-inspiring—and I was glad to be surrounded by such majesty—but sometimes nature could just be downright cute, and that was every bit as wonderful.
The otters dipped below the water and vanished as easily as they’d appeared, leaving me feeling a tiny bit happier than I’d been before their visit.
“You can’t sleep, either?” I asked.
He gave a non-committal shrug, and then he let out a long breath, as if he’d come to a decision. “I heard you come down here.” It wasn’t a declaration, by any means, but it was still more than I’d dared to hope for. I turned to him in surprise. “Shifter ears,” he explained, misunderstanding my expression. With a small smile, he pointed to the body part in question. “They work great when there isn’t a thunderstorm interfering.” As quickly as it appeared, the smile vanished, lost in memories of the night Brian attacked me and Sera while he’d been only a hundred feet away, wholly oblivious.
