by Jasmine Walt
“Pay this lughead no mind at all,” Barrla said sweetly, holding out her hand for me to shake. I grasped her delicate fingers, and she held on just a little bit longer than necessary. “All that time he’s spent away has addled his brain, I’m afraid. Your secrets are safe with me.” She winked.
I highly doubted that, even though my shifter nose didn’t detect a lie in her words. Barrla was likely the type who thought she could keep a secret but would blurt it out to her friends at the first opportunity.
“Is that Marris I hear?” a voice boomed from the back. A large man with a bald head and a thick mustache came out, his white shirtsleeves rolled up to expose brawny forearms. His bushy red eyebrows rose at the sight of me. “And who is this?”
“Jalen F. Shelton,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m the new owner of Ackleberry Farm.”
“Is that so?” he boomed, and I had to suppress a wince. Was the man hard of hearing? “Sallia, come meet our new neighbor!”
A woman who was the spitting image of Barrla, but twenty years older, came rushing from the back as well. “My goodness,” she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took me in. “A shifter! My, I don’t think we’ve ever had one of you around in Abbsville.”
“Ma,” Barrla scolded. “That’s so rude!”
“Well, we haven’t.”
“It’s all right,” I said, holding up a hand. “I am aware my presence is unusual around these parts.”
“I’ll say,” Mr. Kelling said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I heard rumors a shifter had bought the property, but I didn’t pay them any mind. Did you really buy the farm with cash? I know the Ackleberrys were asking a pretty sum for it.”
“I did,” I said, the back of my neck prickling beneath their avid regard. Barrla wasn’t the only one bursting with questions. “I came into an inheritance after my uncle died, and with no one left in the family to tie me to the city, I decided a change of environment was in order.” I pulled a gold coin from my pocket and placed it on the table. “Is this enough to start an account here?”
Barrla’s eyes widened. “It sure is, Mr. Shelton,” she said, sounding awed. “You can buy anything you like with this.”
“And then some.” Mr. Kelling laughed, clapping me on the back with enough force that a human would have stumbled. “I imagine you’re tired of letting us talk your ear off, so let’s get down to business. How can we help you?”
Despite Mr. Kelling’s words, he and his family continued to pepper me with questions about my past as they retrieved the items I requested and rang up my order. Which city had I come from? Did I have any experience with farming? Was there a Mrs. Shelton? Barrla seemed particularly interested in the answer to that question, though her mother frowned at her. It did not surprise me in the least to know Mrs. Kelling did not want her daughter getting close to a shifter, but it seemed strange a small-town girl like Barrla would be interested at all. One of the reasons I’d chosen this town was because the human females here would not have any romantic interest in me—it was one thing to blend in, quite another to start a family among humans. It was a complication I certainly did not need in my precarious life.
I ordered enough food and supplies to last a good month, and Mr. Kelling promised to have everything delivered to my farmhouse by the end of the day. With a loaf of bread and a round of cheese tucked beneath my arm, I bid them all a good day and headed out of the store.
“Wow,” Marris said, hot on my heels. His smile seemed a little forced as he regarded me. “Seems like you’ve got a potential sweetheart already.”
I bit back a grimace. “Barrla is simply fascinated by the novelty of meeting a shifter,” I said lightly. “I appreciate you taking me to the general store, Marris, but I think I’ll walk home from here. It’ll help me familiarize myself with the place.”
“Oh.” Marris seemed a bit put out, but he quickly recovered. “Fair enough. Still coming to the card game this Tuesday?”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
We parted ways. I walked up the road, the tension that had crept into my neck and shoulders melting away. I felt as though I’d just escaped an interrogation. Was everybody going to ferret out my life story as soon as they met me? I would have to make doubly sure I had my story straight, because I couldn’t afford to slip up. Just one inconsistency would spread like wildfire throughout the place.
And it would be a damn shame if I had to leave just after I’d gotten here.
2
Mina
“There, there,” I soothed, rubbing my patient’s furry jaw. He whined, flicking his tail back and forth on the operating table, so I used my other hand to gently rub the top of his head to distract him. Magic seeped through the tips of my fingers, through his cheek, and into the abscessed molar that had pained him for the past week, according to his owner.
“Good boy,” I crooned as the dog finally relaxed. His jaw slackened as the spell took over, deadening the affected area. Now that the numbing spell had taken effect, I focused on the cantrip spell, letting the magic seep into his brain. Soon, his eyelids drooped as doggy fantasies danced through his mind—not a hallucinogenic, but close enough.
A sleep spell would have been better, but my magical repertoire was extremely limited. Even so, I was grateful for the spells I did know—they saved me a fortune in sedatives.
“Mina,” a voice called just as I was picking up my forceps. Startled, I dropped them back onto the metal tray with a loud clang, whirling around just in time to see Barrla burst through the doors into my surgery.
“Barrla,” I scolded, and she stopped short. “You can’t just burst in here like that while I’m in the middle of an operation. What if I’d accidentally cut this poor dog’s face open?”
Of course, there had been no danger of that happening—I hadn’t been holding a scalpel and wasn’t anywhere near the dog’s face. The real reason my heart was pounding was because Barrla had nearly walked in on me while I was doing magic. If she’d come in just a minute sooner…
“I’m so sorry, Mina.” Her cheeks colored as she realized her mistake, and she seemed to notice the dog on the table for the first time. “I was just so excited that I had to come talk to you now. But I can come back another time…”
“No, no, it’s fine.” The crushed-puppy look on her face was making me feel guilty. Besides, I was curious. I waved her over to the stool near the counter. “This isn’t a complicated operation. Just hang out for a few minutes.”
“Great,” she chirped, bouncing back onto the stool. I bit back a wince as she pulled one of her romance novels out of her skirt pocket to read, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t ask me if I’d finished the one she’d lent me. Barrla had an entire shelf full—they were all from a series called Furry Nights, and each story centered around a shifter and human pairing. Naturally, the women at our bi-weekly book club made fun of Barrla for her taste in “low-brow smut” when she’d read a few passages from one of her favorite novels. Since she was my closest friend, I’d jumped to her defense.
No good deed goes unpunished, I thought as I gently pried open the dog’s mouth. Barrla had taken my defending her right to read whatever she damn well pleased as a sign I would be interested in reading a shifter romance, and she had eagerly pressed the book into my hands. It was still sitting on my nightstand, collecting dust, nearly two weeks later.
Thankfully, Barrla was too absorbed with the book in her hand to remember to ask about the one she’d lent me, or pay attention to what I was doing, so I was able to extract the rotten molar in short order. I was going to have to lock the doors to the surgery next time, I reminded myself sternly as I sewed up the dog’s gums. Barrla was my closest friend, but even she could never learn my secret.
“All right,” I said after I’d finished washing up. “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee, and you can tell me all about the latest scandal?”
“Ooh, you’re going to love this,” Barrla gushed as she followed me through the
back and into the living room. The modest house I’d been renting for the past couple of years doubled as my veterinary clinic and my home. The front half of the house was private, with a small living room and kitchen that shared an open floor plan and one bedroom. The rear half had been converted into a surgery with a small waiting room with its own entrance. It was cramped and far from ideal, but since I couldn’t afford to have my own clinic, I made do.
I brewed a pot of coffee on the stove, then brought two steaming cups—Barrla’s laden with cream and sugar, mine black—to the sitting area. Barrla was already sitting on the frayed but comfortable yellow couch, and I joined her, careful not to spill the hot brew in my hands.
“Okay, so do you remember the plot of Falling for the Wolf?” she asked eagerly.
“Huh?”
“Oh, come on, I must have told you about that one a thousand times!” Barrla flipped her hair over her shoulder with a huff. “It’s the one where a strange shifter moves into town, buys a huge house with an inheritance from his great-grandfather, and falls in love with a local human girl.”
“Right.” Barrla had told me about so many of the Furry Nights romances that I’d lost track. “So, what does this have to do with your big news?”
“Because fiction is finally becoming reality,” Barrla squealed, her eyes sparkling. “A shifter has moved to Abbsville, and, just like in the book, he’s got this great big inheritance and he used it to buy a farm out here. He was just at the general store, and I got to talk to him for a good ten minutes while he was ordering stuff.”
“What?” I jolted in surprise, nearly spilling my coffee. “Are you talking about that Mr. Shelton who bought Ackleberry Farm?” It was hardly my notion of a rich man’s mansion, but it had a lot of fertile acreage.
“The very same.” Barrla leaned in, a conspiratorial look on her face. “Mina, he put a solid gold coin on the table and asked if that was enough to open an account. He’s rich!”
I stared. Everybody in town had heard of the mysterious Mr. Shelton who had purchased Ackleberry Farm. We’d been on the lookout for him for the past two months, expecting some vehicle laden with furniture to roll into town. But there’d been neither carriage nor steamvan these past few weeks. How had he already moved in without anybody noticing? Abbsville was a tiny town, especially when one considered that most of its eight hundred residents lived on their ranches and not in the small cluster of homes located near the general store and post office.
Maybe he came in on foot, I thought. He’s a shifter—he could have run here, or even flown, if he’s a bird shifter.
That last bit was absurd…bird shifters were quite rare. But it did beg another question. “What kind of shifter is he?”
“A wolf, of course!” Barrla leaned back. “Weren’t you listening? The book is called Falling for the Wolf.”
“Of course it is.” Chuckling, I leaned back against the cushions. “And do you plan to be the leading female in this real-life romance?”
“Well, the leading female in the book was a redhead, so how could I not?” Barrla fluffed her curls, and I choked back another laugh. “I can already tell he’s hot for me, Mina. He was so attentive, and polite, and so handsome…” She trailed off with a sigh, stars in her eyes. “Do you think our babies will come out furry, or will they look normal?”
That sobered me right up. “Barrla, just because he’s similar to the shifter in that romance novel doesn’t mean you ought to marry him. He’s a shifter, and you’re a human. He’ll outlive you by at least two hundred years.”
“A longer lifespan just means he’ll be virile forever,” Barrla declared. “There’s no need to be such a wet blanket, Mina—romance will always find a way, regardless of age or class.”
I shrugged. “Well, it’ll be up to you to convince him that you’re his mate.” There was no point in arguing with Barrla—once she had her mind made up, it was nearly impossible to change it. I wondered how Barrla would react if I told her that, as a born mage, I might live even longer than her new shifter beau.
“Even if you’re going to pooh-pooh my romance, you have to admit Mr. Shelton’s arrival is fascinating,” Barrla said, drawing me away from my thoughts. “Why do you think he’s come out all this way? He must have known he would stick out like a sore thumb, moving to such a small town with only humans.”
“Indeed,” I mused, running my tongue over my teeth. “If he’s running away from something, surely he’d want the anonymity of a big city, where he could blend in?”
“What, you mean like a criminal?” Barrla scoffed. “No, our dear Mr. Shelton is far too noble for that. He’s an educated man—you can tell by the way he speaks.”
“An educated man?” I blinked. “That’s unusual for a shifter. They are not very interested in studying, as a general rule.”
“Well, I would bet you a silver coin that this one is. Smart, rich, and handsome.” Barrla sighed again. “I suspect he’s recently widowed and came out here to start anew. There was a touch of sadness about him, so he’ll need time to grieve, of course. But I’ll be there when he’s ready,” she said with a sly smile.
“I think you ought to find out if he really is a widower before you go jumping to conclusions,” I said dryly. But I didn’t give her too much of a hard time about it, because even if Barrla was wrong, this was still fascinating. What if he’d had a falling out with his clan and run out here to escape his troubled past?
You’re projecting your own issues onto him, I thought. Not everybody has crappy family skeletons in their closet.
I let Barrla gush about Mr. Shelton for a bit longer, then kicked her out as tactfully as possible—I had a cat coming in ten minutes who needed to be spayed, and my complete concentration was required for that. As I closed the door behind her, I couldn’t help but wonder if the newcomer would be able to fit in as well as I had. For me, blending in hadn’t been much of a problem—I looked human and had done an excellent job hiding my meager magical skills. But with distinctive shifter eyes, Mr. Shelton would have no way to easily disguise himself. He was bound to run into some prejudice, especially from Abbsville’s older residents. A few, like old Mrs. Roor, were bigoted and hated any non-humans, whether shifter or mage.
I’ll be extra-welcoming when I meet him, I resolved as I headed into the back room to prep for surgery. He was another outsider, and outsiders had to stick together, right?
Even if I could never tell him my own secret…
3
Fenris
Despite having the pantry fully stocked with ham, jerky, cheeses, and bread, I decided to go hunting. Mr. Kelling and his daughter had come by to drop off the provisions and had dawdled a good half hour longer than they needed to, the daughter doing her best to pry more information about my past from me. Dealing with her questions had been exhausting, and since I did not want to appear a surly curmudgeon by rebuffing her on my first day in town, I’d been forced to humor the young woman.
By the time they’d finally left, I’d felt confined, my wolf itching to be set free. I waited until the sun had set, then shifted into my beast form, trading human skin for thick, coarse brown fur, square teeth for sharp fangs, and blunt fingers for padded paws that moved soundlessly in the night.
When I’d first become a shifter, the wolf and I had been two distinct beings fighting for purchase in one body. The animal had been an unwilling victim of the experiment Iannis and I had plotted, and it had taken time to gain his trust. But over the years, the two of us had gradually merged into something like one being—“I” but a distinctly different “I” than when I had been just a mage. While I was in human form, the wolf lurked in the background, coming forth only when something of interest piqued his senses. And in beast form, I was content to sit back and let him roam free, only reining him in when we encountered other humans.
Tonight, I let him loose, running silently through the fields as I hunted for prey. I was careful to steer clear of pastures—the last thing I needed was to be sh
ot or stabbed by an angry farmer who feared for his chickens or sheep. That would certainly get me driven out of town. I stuck to empty fields and the thick forests beyond them, enjoying the rush of the wind through my fur, the crunch of dirt and leaves beneath my feet, and the scent of prey thick in the air. There were squirrels and rabbits, hedgehogs and pheasants, even the occasional deer, though they mostly roamed further north, avoiding the human town.
The scent of rabbit caught my nose long before I heard the rustle in the bushes. I bounded forward, my jaw already outstretched, and caught the hare between my teeth as she leapt from her hiding place. The crunch of neck bones between my teeth was more satisfying than I liked to admit, but the wolf side of me felt no shame. The hare was prey, nothing more.
As I ripped into the freshly killed animal, gorging first on the intestines, I reflected on how that element of savagery colored the way mages and humans looked at shifters. Of course, mages had created all shifters at one point, as cannon fodder and spies in their wars, culminating in the great and final Conflict. Though shifters were no longer slaves, mages tended to look down on us as primitive, only a step above real animals. When I’d been a mage myself, my own attitude had been one of tolerant condescension.
It did not help the shifters’ cause that they had hardly any magic beyond the ability to shift, and most of them shunned schoolrooms and higher learning. For all that, shifters were powerful and often cunning, and their—our—talents were more useful than that of the average human. If not for the fact that humans outnumbered shifters ten to one, shifters could easily overpower the race from which they’d been created.
