by Amade, Melle
“Where’s Dad?” I ask warily, my palms clammy.
“Cleaning up.” She looks like she wants to kill something. But, they’re all dead.
“It’s the chickens,” I say to Henry. “Just the chickens.”
“One more thing to ruin the sale.” Mom spits the words out. “We have to clean all this up. If the buyers hear our house was overrun by wild animals, they’ll pull out.”
I soak in the details of our yard; entrails hang from the wooden fence, strung like some thoughtless Christmas decoration; a severed chicken head lies with its beak in a muddy puddle trying for one last drink. My stomach heaves again, but it’s empty. I have to get Henry back in the house.
Dad comes into the yard pulling a hose and a couple of gunny sacks. His steps halt as he takes in Mom with the gun and me standing in front of Henry. Our eyes meet. I really want Mom to put the gun down. Dad gives a slight movement of his chin as he squats down in his baggie old sweats and points at a paw print full of dirty, bloody water.
“Mountain lion,” Dad mutters.
“The mountain lion was here!” Henry exclaims, pushing in front of me, the white puss of his sties shining against the bloodshot red of his eyelids. I grab him as ice floods from the crown of my head bursting down my face and into my arms and hands.
Vasquez.
“Ow!” Henry says and pulls away from me. I yank my hand back from where it clenches his shoulder. My nails have put red marks on his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“Damn it!” The rifle twitches in Mom’s hands.
“Dad,” I say, pointedly eyeing the rifle. He stands up and slowly puts down the hose and gunny sacks.
“Least we’re all safe.” Dad’s voice is soothing, but he doesn’t take a step towards Mom. She squeezes her eye lids together and spit forms in the corner of her mouth.
“Mom?” Henry asks. “Are you okay?”
He leans forward to go to her, but I carefully grip his arm and hold him in place.
“Take him inside, Shae.” Dad motions us off the porch. I keep Henry clutched against me as I pull him towards the dark safety of the house.
“Put the gun down.” Dad’s voice is soft and low like Mom’s a spooked animal. I want to turn back and help, try and do something, but protecting Henry is my job.
I just pull him inside when the gun goes off.
“Dad!” I scream, yanking the door open as Henry bursts into tears.
“Shut the door!” He’s yanked the rifle away from Mom and he’s pulled her tightly against him.
The gun’s safety latch clicks into place, the sound ricochets across the yard as the cool shadows of the interior envelope us. I gaze through the crack in the closing door.
“Now, let’s clean this mess up.” Dad puts the gun on top of the wood pile, out of Mom’s reach, and tries to hand her a gunny sack, but she doesn’t take it. She stands there, arms hang forgotten at her sides, she stares at the yard, at the blood, at nothing.
I pull the door shut.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to Henry. “It’s all okay.”
***
The walk to school doesn’t calm the angry ice cloud suffocating my brain. The closer I get to confrontation; the more numb I get. I don’t care about the danger. Murtagh needs to call his dog off my family. If he wants the Van Arends, then he should go after them.
I storm up the front steps of the school like a blizzard, but my wrist is torqued backwards and I stumble to a halt.
“Where are you going?” Zan snarls as she yanks me down the stairs, through the bushes and around the side of the building to where the stoners hang out, but it’s too early for them. It’s a deserted dirt patch littered with cigarette butts.
“Vasquez killed my chickens.” I wrench my arm out of her grip.
Zan frowns, her nose wrinkles as she sniffs the air, then looks down at my shoes. There are splatters of blood around the soles.
Zan lets out a low whistle. “All of them?” she asks.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Murtagh needs to stay away from my family,” I insist.
“And you’ll waltz in there and tell him that?” The furrow in Zan’s brow deepens.
“No one else is doing anything about it.” I lower my voice as some stoners turn the corner. I hear one snicker. If they’ve listened to the rumors, they think this is about Aiden. I don’t care what they think.
Zan shoots them a look and they slink off. When she turns on me, I almost want to do the same thing. But, she cocks her head to the side sizing me up. “You’ve got more courage than I thought.”
“Thanks so much,” I say.
“It was a compliment.” She’s her usual unflappable self.
“You can’t stop me,” I say.
“Get ahold of yourself,” Zan frowns.
“Me? I’m not the one who bit off a bunch of chicken heads. Why don’t you tell them to back off?”
Aiden and Roman come around the corner. I used to feel better with all of them, safe, but my stomach is still pinched.
“They killed her chickens.” Zan ducks her head towards my shoes.
“They what?” Roman pushes his glasses off his eyes and up into his gelled hair.
Aiden motions for us to keep it down. “Callum’s behind us,” he says.
“Are you okay?” Roman asks me.
“No.”
“You can’t do anything, Shae,” Roman says. “They are trying to get a response.”
The hysteria rises, but I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
“They’re pressing you,” says Zan.
“Well, it’s working,” I say. “What if they go after Henry next?”
“Calm down.” Aiden’s fingertips are warm against my wrist. I want to grab them and rip them off.
“I need to know if I’m a shifter,” I say.
“No.” Zan is like a brick wall. “I won’t risk your life.”
“Take me to this Zaragoza guy,” I say to Aiden.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “Zaragoza’s a badger.”
“And?”
“Only Zan knows where he lives,” explains Roman. “Badgers like coyotes. Coyotes dig the burrows and badgers steal them.”
“I won’t do it,” Zan says.
“I need this, Zan.” I grab her arm. Callum’s walking over.
“No,” she insists. “We’ll find another way.”
“When?” My face begins to chill. “After Henry has to pick my pieces up out of our yard?”
“No!” she says.
“You have to take me to Zaragoza,” I insist. “I’m powerless against them.”
“I can’t do it, Shae,” she says.
“You have to help me. Tomorrow I turn sixteen. The least you can do is give me a fighting chance.”
“And, what if Aiden and Roman are wrong?” she asks. “What if you die?”
“Zan, you know I am going to die anyway.” I plead with her. “At least give me the dignity of choosing my own path. I would rather die trying to transform than die in fear and hiding.”
Zan stands in silence. I wait on edge, but don’t dare say more. She squints, puts on her sun glasses, and looks away.
“Meet at the Cross Trails at midnight. Don’t be a minute late.”
Without another word she jumps to the bottom of the stairs where Roman is waiting. She grabs his elbow and pulls him along. He glances back, but faithfully follows Zan.
There’s an empty space in my chest. Zan has agreed to take me to Zaragoza. It feels like such a hollow victory. What if we are wrong? What if I’m not a shifter? The evidence seems oddly flimsy in the broad daylight.
“I see you two are friends again,” Callum smiles. I stare at him, it’s impossible to put all the pieces of our lies back into place.
“Yeah.” It’s all I can say.
“Looks like you didn’t break her heart.” Callum throws the words at Aiden.
“Guess I wasn’t much of a catch.”
Aiden tries to angle between me and Callum. But, Callum cocks his head sideways to look around Aiden.
“Our chickens were all killed last night.” I say it out loud to remind myself it’s real.
“By?” Callum asks.
Despite my resolve, I’m relieved he didn’t know. “The mountain lion,” I say.
“The mountain lion was in your yard?” He clasps my shoulders, concern simmering over his face. But, then I remember how he told me in the woods that he wasn’t a raven… right before I made out with him. I free my shoulders from his hands and turn to go to class.
Callum’s the best liar I’ve met.
17
The air has changed from tepid and drafty to hot and stale, even in the dead of night. I arrive at the Cross Trails with a parched throat. I should’ve brought water. Hard to do when you skip dinner and sneak out your bedroom window. Mom must have been in quite a state about the real estate agent. She didn’t even check on me. Henry tried to, but I locked the door and told him to go away. There’s no way I could see him. I can’t get it out of my head that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we’re all wrong, and maybe I’ll die tonight.
If I’d seen Henry again, I would have just lost it.
I take a deep breath.
If we are wrong and I die, problem solved. If we aren’t wrong and I’m a shifter, problem solved.
Win. Win.
But, there’s a pain in my chest as my rib cage grips my heart, hoping this won’t be the last night we’re together.
The night sounds of Topanga used to comfort me; now they creep me out. What if the chirping crickets are spies for the Order? What if the scurrying lizard is an assassin?
Breathe in the flowers, blow out the candles.
I plant myself on the dead tree trunk that lies by the trail. This was our place before Dad built the Sanctuary. My fingernails tap against the dead tree.
I wonder if they’re still there.
I’m down on my knees in the dirt looking into the hollow of the trunk. It’s too dark to see anything, but I know where they should be. I reach my hand into the black hole and grope around the moist, crumbling interior. My hand finds them. Bundled together waiting for the next time we would come here, our “swords”. I pull out the bundle of sticks and turn them over in my hands.
Life was so simple then.
The faint sound of footsteps raises the hair on my neck. I stand up quietly and ease back into the shadows. I stand there, ears peeled, hoping it’s just one of us and not a Ravensgaard, not Callum. The clearing of a throat tells me it’s Aiden. Dust always makes his throat scratchy.
Instantly my hands turn clammy damp. I hate how my body responds to my feelings for him elevating my awkwardness and discomfort. Like everything I say or do is wrong. He enters the space and stops still, his gaze pinned on me.
“Zan and Roman are checking the perimeters,” he says.
I don’t know what to say. His feet fidget in the dirt. Maybe, maybe he’s as uncomfortable as me...
He clears his throat again. “Callum’s off limits,” he says.
“What?”
“I saw you.” He folds his arms over his chest. I press down the smile that is rising from my heart. He’s jealous! I’m not crazy.
“What do you care?” I taunt. I want to hear him say more than just “I can’t let anything happen to you.”
His muscles tense, lightning flashes in his eyes.
“You’ll get Callum killed,” he says.
Jerk.
A gust of wind blows through the black sky, but blood rushes in my ears and drowns it out. I have to push the words out of my mouth before I choke on them.
“What is this between us?” I ask.
“A mistake,” he says.
“What every girl wants to hear,” I say. “You don’t feel anything, do you?”
He stares at me. I see the tiny, almost imperceptible twitch by his left eye, but my heart is dropping and I can’t believe it.
“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter.
“It’s not - I - I - have a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, my best friend.” I barely notice he’s stammering.
“Shae…” He steps towards me, heat from his body coming at me in waves. It lights my heart up, drawing me forward.
“Stop.” I raise my hand, but he’s already so close, it presses against his chest and warmth radiates into my body. He’s too close. His hands are on my shoulders as he brings his face closer to mine. “No.” I have to say it. I don’t want to but I have to. I have to.
“No!” I take a step back, breaking free from his hands.
“I - I -” he stammers again.
“I know,” I whisper. “You didn’t mean it.”
He stands pained, his hands rubbing against his jeans anxiously. “No, Shae,” he says. “I - I do mean it.”
And, before I can stop myself I’m against him, face upturned lost in the scent of rain-laden skies that seems to emanate from him. My hands grip the velvet folds of his jacket, pulling him against me as his mouth descends like a wave against mine. He’s scooping me up towards him, my back arching as electricity pours through me.
“All clear.” Roman’s voice carries through the dark.
My fingers splay out, releasing Aiden’s shirt. He tilts back a bit, trying to pull me with him, but I can hear their footsteps in the undergrowth. I push him back and turn away, moving to the other side of the tree trunk in the seconds before Roman and Zan enter. I’m leaning against it, arms folded over my chest, eyes trained on the ground.
I’m such a Jezebel.
“You two okay?” Roman’s tone is cautious.
“She’s scared.” Aiden’s voice is smooth like he’s just out for an evening walk. Zan looks back and forth between Aiden and me. I narrow my gaze so she can’t see into my eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Let’s go, then.” Zan grabs Aiden’s hand and they move off down the trail.
Roman slips his hand into mine. His glasses are stuck in his hair; his eyes are large and luminous in the moonlight. I glance up. “How did you know we needed a warning?” I whisper.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s obvious.”
“Does Zan -?”
“No,” he says. “She’s way too in to him.” My heart shrivels a bit.
“But… why?” I ask.
“Why is he with Zan if he’s into you?” Roman asks.
I can’t breathe. I can only nod.
Aiden is into me.
“Zan and Aiden just happened at camp,” Roman says. “And, you know Aiden, he’s a stand up guy.”
“But, how can that just happen if he’s into me?!” I want to scream at the injustice.
“You were always, always, always off limits, Shae,” Roman says.
“Because I’m human,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” Roman says. “Maybe.”
“Hurry up.” Zan’s voice carries back to us on the hot air.
I cringe as we speed up.
We move low and fast on the trail. I glance at Aiden, but his head is down and he moves in a quiet, determined line behind Zan as the path narrows. There’s an eerie scent in the air, like mulched leaves with a tang of… something. I can’t quite figure it out. My steps slow down as I try to get a better whiff.
“Keep up with them. I don’t know where the badger lives.” Roman pushes me forward.
“Can you smell it?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s mountain lion.”
“He’s here?” Alarm squelches my voice.
“Keep moving.” Roman’s voice is earnest. “We can’t get lost.”
“But…” A cool chill moves through my body.
“Forward.” Roman pushes against my lower back. “That’s his after-scent. Damn cat sprayed somewhere, probably a mile away.”
“Come on,” Zan says from the darkness ahead. “We have to get to Zaragoza’s burrow.”
Zan and Aiden wait for us in front of an impenetrable wall of blackberry
brambles. I glance at Roman, but he waits for Zan’s instructions. “Through there.” Zan nods at the imposing barricade of thorns. The leaves wither dead on the spikey vines.
“The thorns…” My voice tapers off. Am I the only one who sees the chance at mutilation here?
“Do you want this or not?” The weight of Zan’s question hangs in the hot, dark air.
Do I want this or not? They all stare at me, full of nervous energy. None of them are going to make me go through with this unless I want it.
I get sudden flashes of mountain lion attacks, severed chicken heads, and Murtagh’s face as he breathes down my neck trying to make me a victim.
“Yeah,” I nod.
Zan doesn’t hesitate. She turns and disappears.
“Where’d she go?” I’m lost.
“This way.” Aiden’s hand slips into a narrow gap in the thorny barricade you can only see from a certain angle if you knew it was there. This is when I see Aiden’s shifter powers as he uses them in his human form. He is able to twist and mold himself in seconds to the gap in the thorn bushes and move inside unscathed.
I glance at Roman to see if he will go next, but he nudges me towards the barbed wall and I’m in.
It was hot on the hillside, but it’s suffocating in here. The spikes protrude from the vines and press into my skin slowing me down as I strain against them to catch up with Zan and Aiden, but they are gone, somewhere deep in the bramble. I’m alone in the dark and it’s closing in on me. The world goes silent as I clutch the blackness in front of me, trying to free myself from the vines that are holding me back. My breath is crushed from my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
“Duck.” Roman reaches above me and pushes a branch up. I clutch at him, lowering my head, but stumble as I struggle for breath.
Roman half carries, half drags me out of the bramble. I take in huge gulps of air as if I’ve been underwater, unable to breathe. I push away the claustrophobia overwhelming me.
Everyone is focused on the clearing we’re in.
Roman gives a low whistle.
“You were right, Zan,” Roman whispers. “He sure does live the old ways.”
The dusty clearing has dead bramble bushes surrounding it and a strange altar of sorts in the center. A bunch of branches are bound together in some sort of a teepee. Hanging from the top of the poles are bones, feathers and stones. We stare at it as a hot breeze rustles the bones against the branches.
