Shifting Silence

by Laura Bickle

  I ran an animal sanctuary, but my animals were local varieties. Mostly unwanted dogs, cats, goats, and horses. I currently had a skunk and a semi-feral peacock who liked to chase cats in the barn. I only kept creatures that were too tame or injured to go back in the wild. In my time at Summerwood Sanctuary, I had taken care of squirrels, rabbits, and even a falcon once.

  But I had never had something truly exotic. Something truly magical.

  And I had no idea of where to begin with this.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Well, fuck.”

  I sat back in my chair at the kitchen table, staring at my laptop computer. On the table in front of me, Orion slurped her water from a bowl, dribbling some in an ever-growing lake that threatened my laptop. But I ignored the risk, transfixed and stymied by my discovery.

  “Fuck what?” Celeste said. She put a plate before me full of French toast. My stomach rumbled, but I didn’t take my eyes off the screen.

  “This.” I showed her a series of X-rays. “Minus the injuries, my films are identical to those taken by a Brazil zoo of one of their maned wolves. I think we have an exotic on our hands.”

  “Well, that’s what you always wanted, right?” Celeste said softly. Her back was turned to me as she flipped eggy pieces of bread over in the cast iron skillet. The brick wall behind the antique stove was burned black from hundreds of years of smoke and failed recipes.

  I rested my chin on my hand. “Yeah. Once upon a time.”

  I looked out the window. Just beyond, my aunt’s herb gardens and cutting gardens were beginning to bloom. They’d been my grandmother’s, and when she died, Celeste had taken them over and expanded them. Beyond that, a meadow rolled around a barn and fenced-off fields and the remains of an overgrown apple orchard. I had let the chickens, horses, and the goats out, and the early spring sun shone down on the bucolic scene. To most people, it would have been perfect.

  It was not what I would have chosen for myself, if I were being honest. It was a fine life, certainly. But I felt as if I could have been more, much more, without the obligation to this place tugging at my mind and heart. I had given up on my future to stay in the past. I tried hard not to think about it.

  Celeste sat down at the table beside me, staring down at her own plate of French toast. She’d tamed her silver hair into a perfect chignon, and she wore an embroidered dress that brushed the floor. “Luna. You’ve given up a lot to stay here. And I haven’t made it easy.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You help me at the clinic. I wouldn’t be able to run it without you.”

  She sighed. “When your mother died, when you came here. You were the oldest, and did a lot to take care of Halley and Starr.”

  Suddenly, I became very interested in cutting my French toast into perfect squares. “You took care of us. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

  Celeste shook her head. “I wanted children of my own. It’s just...it didn’t happen. And to be honest, I felt envious of your mother for having three brilliant daughters to carry on the Summerwood magic. I was alone, and she...she had you. And when she died, I felt guilty that you three were here. As if I’d made a wish that came true in an awful way.” She bit her lip and looked at me. “I would never have wanted that.”

  I reached out and took her hand. “I know. I know. We all did what we could do. And you loved us.”

  “I do,” she said, squeezing my hand. “But I sometimes feel as if what I wanted eclipsed what you wanted. Like with Dalton.”

  I swallowed. “It wasn’t going to work out with Dalton.”

  “I could have been nicer to him.” Guilt twitched across her pink-tinted lips.

  “Yes, you could have, but...” I glanced down at the tattoo on my shoulder, exposed by my sleeveless shirt. It was a stylized moon, dripping jeweled tears. Every Summerwood girl, when she became a woman and voluntarily accepted magic for the rest of her life, had to make a permanent offering to the Goddess. This was mine; I’d offered up my own skin. Skin seemed to be the least of what I’d given up, but it was a tangible thing that satisfied the requirements of the ritual.

  I took in a breath and let it out. “Dalton doesn’t believe in magic. That’s a fundamental difference in beliefs that we couldn’t really bridge, no matter how much you needled him about it.”

  “Did you ever tell him that you’re a witch?” Celeste asked.

  I rubbed the tattoo. “No. He wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head. “It’s over. It’s for the best. We’re better as friends.”

  Celeste clasped her hands together. “Luna, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

  That had the heavy tone of something like a medical diagnosis. I placed my fork down. “Tell me.”

  “I was thinking about your sisters, how they have been able to follow their dreams. Starr’s in college and Halley became a pilot.” She gave a small shrug. “You stayed here, and I know you did it out of obligation. But you don’t have to. Not anymore. I’m thinking I’m going to sell the farm.”

  I sucked in my breath and my brows drew together. “No. You can’t,” I said automatically.

  Celeste smiled. “It would give you the freedom to go stick needles in giraffe butts in a zoo somewhere. And I could go west. Buy a camper and travel all the National Parks.”

  I stared hard at her. “This land has been in our family for generations. It’s the seat of our power. It’s...” It was everything. Wasn’t it?

  “You won’t be less of a witch for not sleeping in your childhood bedroom,” Celeste said. “You’ll be able to make a greater contribution to the world, your way. And the magic...if there aren’t witches here, it will sleep. It won’t take away what it’s already given you.”

  I shook my head. “No. You raised us here. You and Mom were raised here. You can’t give it to someone else.” And I was conscious of the debt I owed to my family. Celeste had kept us out of foster care. I needed to repay that.

  “To anyone else, it will just be a farm, a place to raise some children and some chickens.” She smiled, looking wistfully out the window.

  “What if I told you I wanted to stay?”

  She looked at me with those wise brown eyes that knew me better than I knew myself and smiled. “But I know the truth.”

  I WASN’T ABLE TO CONVINCE Celeste of anything. She truly thought that selling the farm would be what was best for my sisters and me. I couldn’t say she was wrong, not really. But I was still going to do my damnedest to talk her out of it.

  I sent e-mails to my sisters. I heard little from them these days. For all I knew, Halley was half a world away, climbing Mount Fuji. And Starr was probably working on an art project. She hadn’t decided if she wanted to be a graphic designer or a fashion designer. Her room at the farmhouse was still full of her school sketchbooks and dolls dressed in elaborate costumes. It was intended to be a guest room now, but it still resonated strongly with her personality. I kept that door closed, feeling a pang of jealousy sometimes when I saw it.

  Halley had sold everything she owned, and her room had become storage for bits and bobs that the Summerwooods had accumulated over time but never gotten rid of, furniture and dishware, mason jars and extra towels. It was as if she hadn’t really existed at all. That door, I kept closed, too. Mostly because it was hard to fish cats out from behind boxes.

  I started calling around to the zoos in the state, asking if anyone had lost a maned wolf. The first zoo answered me curtly that they kept excellent track of all their animals. The second told me that I clearly didn’t know what I was looking at, since no zoo in the state kept maned wolves. I fumed when I hung up. I wasn’t an expert on exotics, but I knew how to identify an animal.

  I left a message with the state department of wildlife. Perhaps they knew of a private individual who had a permit to keep an animal like this. It was farfetched, but possible.

  When I’d exhausted all my options, I went back out to the clinic
to check on my charge. If the maned wolf was awake, maybe he could tell me what happened. I wondered if he might tell me a tale that had been similar to my dream. My magic with animals had so far involved conversations in my head. Maybe my power was shifting a bit to encompass dream communication. I was betting this one would have a lot to say once he was conscious.

  I passed the guinea pigs. Beast was awake, gnawing on a carrot.

  The new guy’s been quiet, he said.

  I made a face. That didn’t sound good. I knelt beside the maned wolf’s cage and peered in.

  Red fur was curled in a ball around itself. Only black ears peeped up over a fluffy tail.

  “Hey, there,” I said softly. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna take care of you.”

  An amber eye peeped at me, pupil dilated from fear or pain or both.

  “You were hit by a car. But you were found by a friend, and you’re now here in a place where animals are healed. My name’s Luna.”

  He just stared at me, stubbornly silent.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” I said.

  And I meant it.

  PRETTY MUCH EVERY DIME I made as a veterinarian went back to the local feed store and my student loans. After my appointments that afternoon, I headed into the nearest town, Greenville, to load up on chicken feed and cat food. I got distracted by an excellent bulk deal on potato chips and bleach before finally dragging my cart to the checkout line behind a guy with a Labrador retriever.

  The yellow lab circled my cart, snooting at the cat food. You have a cat? Where is it?

  “Hi, Buddy!” I said, trying not to sound like a total nutbar in public for holding a conversation with a dog. “Yeah, that’s cat food! I have a great big yellow tank of a cat and an old lady cat at home. The tank eats like a horse.”

  I have a horse, the lab announced, his ears drooping. But he has to stay in lately.

  I gave him a questioning look. I knelt before him.

  My dad says that trespassers are coming around. I smelled them. They smelled weird.

  “Yeah?” I whispered, rubbing his ears.

  The dog’s eyebrows twitched. I haven’t ever smelled anything like that before. Like...a cat. But bigger. Or a really big dog. Or something. I could see his brain working, trying to articulate. A predator. A big predator.

  I whispered. “Oh, my.”

  The lab nodded so hard his ears flopped inside out and his tongue smacked the side of his face.

  “Time to go, Bristol! Say bye to the nice lady!”

  Bristol’s owner whistled for him, and Bristol loped away. I watched him go, brow furrowed. Dogs were very truthful creatures. Bristol had smelled something that spooked him. Judging by the condition of his glossy coat, Bristol was a happy indoor dog. Maybe he hadn’t smelled a coyote or a bear before. If his owners were keeping Bristol’s horse in, I hoped Bristol was staying in, too.

  I paid and left to load my bags into the back of my pickup truck. As I chucked the last bag in, my cell phone rang. I picked it up and answered automatically: “This is Dr. Summerwood. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, I, um...was hoping you could help with an emergency.” A woman’s voice sounded flustered on the other end of the line.

  I bumped the tailgate closed with my hip. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “I went outside to check on the pigs and...something awful has happened.” She choked back a sob.

  “It’s okay, ma’am. It’s okay.” I tried to be soothing. I managed to get the address out of her, but no additional information.

  “Please hurry,” she whispered.

  I jumped into the cab of my pickup. I kept a large metal toolbox drilled into my pickup truck bed full of veterinary supplies for emergencies. I was the only vet in thirty miles, and weird things came up because I was always on call. I’d been summoned in the middle of the night to handle the breech births of calves, and called on holidays to soothe owners whose cats ate bows. Cats hated being unzipped to extract them, and I often made enemies for life over such things.

  I wound down two-lane country roads that dropped away to gravel. Eventually, I reached a small house standing on the edge of a field, dwarfed by a larger barn that still had a faded tobacco advertisement painted on the side.

  A woman in her fifties rushed out to meet me. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and her fingers wound in the hem of the shirt. Her face was wet.

  “The pigs,” she gasped, pointing to the back of the house toward the barn. “The pigs.”

  I grabbed my veterinary kit from the toolbox and rushed behind the house.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  A pig pen hugged the barn's side, wooden fencing designed to keep the pigs and mud contained.

  But the pen was splashed with blood and the pigs were gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  Red stained the fence surrounding the pen. It stood in puddles and dotted overturned feed pails. My stomach flipflopped.

  I sucked in my breath. “How many pigs do...did...you have?”

  “Three,” the woman wailed. “Louisa was pregnant.”

  I didn’t see any pigs. But the mud was thick, churned up in clods, shoved into runnels and ditches. It was entirely possible that the pigs were still in here, covered in muck. I could see their cloven tracks, but also drag marks in the mud.

  I waded into the pen, up to my knees. Plunging my hands into the cold mud, I searched for life. I turned over a trough and buckets, my heart in my mouth. I began to dig with a bucket, searching for a sign of life.

  I paused as I stepped on something hard, something that bit into the rubber sole of my boot. I lifted my foot, balancing precariously, to stare at a knife jammed into my boot tread. I pulled it out. Fortunately, it hadn’t penetrated my sole.

  I rubbed at it with my sleeve, and my skin crawled. This wasn’t a pocketknife or a hunting knife. The silver blade glittered in a finely tooled hilt, displaying a figure that looked like an infinity symbol, inset with cabochons of moonstone.

  This wasn’t just any knife. It fairly hummed with blood and magic and Goddess knew what else. I gingerly tucked it behind the fence post so I wouldn’t lose track of it. But I rubbed my hand on my jeans, trying to remove that sticky aura from my skin.

  Then, I heard the tiniest little squeal next to the fence. I slogged over there, dug in the mud, and lifted out a baby pig.

  She was no bigger than my hand, very premature. She still had part of her umbilical cord attached, and she was covered in mud and blood.

  “I need water,” I said to the woman.

  “This way.”

  She turned on a spigot to the hose near the barn. I knelt and washed off the piglet. I was afraid of what awful injuries I’d find. But, to my surprise, she was whole and unmarked, perfectly pink. But she was too young to be born. Her eyes were still closed. I thought that it must have taken her last bit of energy to make the little sound she had.

  I wrapped her in my shirt. “She needs to be kept warm,” I told the woman. “She needs to be fed milk every two hours. Can you do that?”

  The woman seemed to have gotten a grip and nodded vigorously. “I have...I have a heated chick mat for the chicks and a heat lamp. And...kitten milk replacer? Will that work?”

  “Let’s try it.”

  We got the baby wrapped up in a towel and placed under a heat lamp. I mixed up the milk replacer and sucked it up into a syringe with a cannula. I placed it into the piglet’s mouth, but the piglet gagged and spat.

  “C’mon, little girl,” I said to her. “You can do it.”

  Mama, she cried softly. Mama.

  I held her, despairing. She was too young to survive. I think the owner, whose name I had learned was Sara, saw it in my eyes, and she lowered her head, sobbing.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” she said. “We don’t have wolves around here, do we? My pigs were more than hundred pounds each...too big for coyotes to hassle.”

  I thought back to the pen
. The gate had been closed. If it had been a bear, some damage would have been evident. It looked to me as if someone had come in after the pigs.

  “I think you should call the sheriff,” I said.

  Sara nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve and went back to the house.

  Is that a baby?

  I looked behind me to see a calico cat exiting the barn and heading toward a full dish of water near the spigot.

  “It’s a baby pig.” I turned to show her the piglet in my lap. “But she’s not doing so well.”

  The cat came over and sniffed it. I noticed that her nipples were visible; she’d been nursing kittens.

  I have milk, she said. I can try to nurse her.

  “Thank you,” I said, brushing my hand over her back.

  I followed her up to the hay loft, climbing up the ladder while she jumped nimbly on a pyramid of stacked hay bales. She had a litter of three kittens tucked back in a corner of the loft, snuggled down in a nest of hay. They looked to be perhaps a week old. I could barely fit behind the hay bales into the area she kept them.

  “Your babies are beautiful,” I said, sitting down beside them. There was one calico, one orange, and one grey and white kitten.

  She slow-blinked at me. They are, aren’t they? They’re my first litter.

  She lay down beside her kittens, and I gently placed the piglet against her belly. The calico licked the pig’s head. The pig rooted around for a little while, then seemed to latch.

  I leaned back against the splintery barn wall. “Is she nursing?”

  Yes. The calico began to purr as her three babies nestled in. I lost one kitten. This is...soothing.

  “Thank you for helping her,” I said. I sat in silence, feeling this moment. Animals could be so much more kind to each other than people. I didn’t know how this was possible, but I felt the ordinary magic of that so much at this moment. I rubbed away a tear.

  I didn’t know she survived. The cat said finally, resting her cheek against the floor.

  “What happened?”