by Zoe Chant
She pressed her eye back to the knothole—in time to see a wolf go trotting up the slope. This one had different markings than the one that—
A tiny voice finished, the Vanessa-wolf.
The cold air coming in through the knothole chilled her eye, and she turned around again, this time pulling her knees up inside her nightgown. She tucked her robe around her feet to warm them again, remembering how she’d sat right here as a girl, reading and rereading the battered books in the bookcase next to her elbow, books she hadn’t thought about in years. A Wrinkle in Time. A Walk Out of the World. Andre Norton’s Witch World books. They were all stories about anything being possible. But she’d slowly lost that assurance that magic might happen to her, and so she’d turned to the make-believe of the stage. There, at least, everyone around you cooperated in making the magic real for the length of the play.
She had to look once more.
Once again she turned, and peered. Nothing, this time.
Three more times she did that, seeing nothing each time, until her cold toes and burning eyes drove her away from the uncomfortable spot that had seemed so cozy when she was a skinny twig of ten.
Lon’s breathing had slowed into sleep.
Slowly Doris felt her way back down the stairs, keeping the attic door open. She also left her bedroom door open, in case either of the children woke and cried out.
She dropped her robe over the chair and climbed shivering into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to compose herself for sleep, but her mind raced and raced, keeping her up till dawn.
Eyes burning, she got up, wrapped her robe firmly around her, and found her slippers. Then she moved out, and crept down the stairs. Avoiding the kitchen (she saw light under the door), she slipped into the mud room, and eased the back door open.
Then she walked carefully out, her slippers sinking in the snow. Bits of it dropped inside her slipper, cold against her skin. But she ventured farther, until she rounded the corner to the blind wall, where the knothole lay up between the slants of the roof.
She turned around to survey the snow. At first she saw nothing out of the ordinary. But when she bent, she noticed irregularities, like the patterns sand made when wind blew it. But elsewhere the snow was a smooth blanket. Had someone wiped out the footprints?
She withdrew, noticing that hers were the only clear prints, and slipped back into the mud room, shivering. She looked in the corner where the broom and rake were kept, and bent down.
Under the broom, drops of water had pooled, as if snow clinging to the bristles had melted. As if someone had used that broom to smear out prints in the snow.
She heard Xi Yong’s and Isidor’s voices from the kitchen. Joey’s was not among them.
Unable to face anyone with what she’d seen—what she thought she’d seen—while in nightie and bathrobe, she fled back upstairs, kicked off her wet slippers, started to climb into bed … and then stopped herself.
No.
There was no way she could sleep after what she’d seen. She needed to know what was going on. She needed to know now. And that meant finding Joey, if he was in the house.
She got up, put on her clammy slippers and padded back downstairs.
When she walked into the kitchen, Xi Yong and Isidor were at the table, holding hands and gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes. Doris was so startled that she stopped in her tracks. There had been so much going on in the house that apparently that had been happening right under her nose and she’d never even noticed.
She must have made a small squeak of surprise, because the two young men jerked apart and shot her identical guilty looks.
“Oh, don’t act as if Joey and I aren’t in the same boat as you two,” she said tartly, and their expressions gave way to relieved grins. “I’m glad you’ve found someone, Isidor. Maybe this’ll get my matchmaking mother off your neck at last. And just let me know if you need someone to run interference with the rest of the family. Right now, though … do you know where Joey is? I need to talk to him.”
“He’s …” Xi Yong began, and hesitated. “Outside. Taking a walk.”
Her heart thundered. “Will he be back in soon?”
Xi Yong got an odd, distant look on his face, and then he said, “I think so. Yes.”
“Can you … have him come upstairs when he gets back? I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
Xi Yong hesitated, then gave a single firm nod.
“Thank you. I’m delighted for both of you. Really.” She got two happy, shy grins as she left.
Doris felt as if the entire household must be roused by now, but everything was still dim and quiet. She went back to her room and got dressed. It would be morning soon anyway. The household would be getting up. Where was Joey?
A door closed downstairs. She tried to stop herself from going to the closed door to listen to what was happening downstairs. Oh, heck, why not give in. She listened at the door, but heard nothing. Maybe if she opened it …
She opened it—onto Joey’s chest.
“Hi,” he said softly, looking down at her. His cheeks were pink with cold, and he was wearing the clothes he always seemed to go outside in, a sweater with no hat or mittens. As if he didn’t feel the cold at all.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly breathless. She was both very glad she’d decided to get dressed, and very sorry.
“Xi Yong said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” She stepped back to let him in. “Yes, please. We … need to talk.”
“I know,” he said, quiet and serious. “We do.”
SEVENTEEN
JOEY
Now that it had finally come to this, he was more relieved than nervous. She didn’t look angry or upset. Just curious.
He’d just discovered that Xi Yong and Isidor were mates. Joey was happy for them, but not surprised. Things like that tended to happen around him. It was part of his fox’s power, to help and catalyze love.
Speaking of which, his fox yipped impatiently. Our mate wants us! At last!
“Come in!” Doris exclaimed, and pulled him inside. She shut the door behind him. “Or else they’ll all be in here, and I want answers first!”
“I’m not going to argue.” Joey smiled at her.
He sat on the foot of the bed. After a moment, she sat at the head.
“Do you want to go first, or should I?” Joey asked.
Doris bit her lip, then clearly made a decision. She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. “Okay,” she said, and huffed out her breath. “I know this is going to sound weird. Which is why I didn’t want anyone else hearing it. Remember the kids were talking about wolves and red horses with antlers?”
Joey’s heart hammered. “The qilin.”
“Lon said one was a wolf, then suddenly, ah, wearing their skin. What that means in seven-year-old-speak is naked. One moment a wolf. The next a person. As in . . .” She looked away, as if she couldn’t quite get the words out.
He said slowly, “As in turning from wolf to human?”
Her gaze flew to meet his, her eyes wide and steady. Was that . . . relief?
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I see,” Joey said gently. “I guess Vic wasn’t as careful as he thought he was. He did say he kept away from windows.”
“Vic?” Doris asked, surprised.
But she didn’t look shocked.
Instead, she took a deep breath of . . . relief?
“He did.” Doris gripped her knees. Joey kept himself from reaching for her—letting her decide if she trusted him to come close again. “That is, he might have,” she added in a wondering tone. “But that isn’t where Lon saw it happen. And I, for that matter.”
She got up and walked to the wall, then bent and tapped it. There, between two toy cupboards, was a knothole in one of the planks. “Come see.”
Joey scooted over and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. He looked. The knothole had been hollowed out. The hole, even with the dim att
ic light shining through, wouldn’t be visible from below—it was barely the size of a dime.
Doris said, “My grandfather made it when he was in high school, and every generation since tells the kids about it. Syl and I used to spy on hikers through it. We called it the ‘spyhole’. Not that you can see much in summer, when all the trees are in leaf. But in winter, except for the pines, now that snow isn’t coming down, you can see all the way up the toward what we always called the millionaire house, up there on the hill.”
That was Cang’s hideout.
Joey peered through the knothole, and saw the exact section of the slope he and Xi Yong had thought safe from view. He could even make out the remnants of the tracks he and Xi Yong had made.
Doris went on, “When I was young, the house on the hill was owned by an old movie director. He was always having parties when we were little. Actually, I suppose those parties were probably sixties ‘happenings.’ They had live bands and psychedelic light shows made by Klieg lights. We could hear the music all the way down here. But when he died, the place went empty. It sold a year or so ago, and whoever is up there now really hates trespassers, so we never hike that way anymore.”
Joey sat back and faced her, trying to make his openness clear on his face.
“So . . . Vic is a . . . werewolf?” Doris asked.
“We call ourselves shifters,” Joey said. Now it was him gripping his knees.
“We?” she repeated.
He brought his chin down in a nod.
“You’re a shifter-wolf?”
“Actually, I’m a nine-tail fox,” he said, and decided it was time to go for broke. “Would you like to see?”
EIGHTEEN
DORIS
I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy had run through her mind every since she’d seen what she’d thought she’d seen.
And she wasn’t.
And Joey knew it.
He wasn’t telling her that she was a two fries short of a Happy Meal. Instead, he said, “Would you like to see?”
“Yes.” The word came out in a rush of breath.
And then her safe little box with its string of carefully planned days exploded, sending shards all over the universe.
Between one heartbeat and the next Joey shimmered the way the lake does when the sun first strikes it. The silver in his blond hair brightened and spread in a flash, and gone were his white shirt and worn jeans as his form altered to the graceful, proud form of a fox.
This silver fox was larger than she’d thought foxes were supposed to be, but perfectly proportioned, from the intelligent ears flicking at each side of his head, to the magnificent pewter-colored ruff that shaded down into the liquid silver of platinum at his chest, between his forepaws. The only touches of color were his elegant black nose and the glowing gold of his eyes. His head cocked, and there was that wonderful sunburst golden gaze she had come to love.
Lights glimmered around the edge of her vision, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it go, and met the fox’s eyes again. That gaze was so very much Joey. Even the fox’s grin was instantly recognizable.
The urge to touch—to throw her arms around him—brought her up on her knees, then she hesitated, hands faltering, not quite reaching. But then the fox moved into her shy embrace, his muzzle resting on her shoulder in invitation, and she hugged him to herself, burying her face in his soft fur, which smelled of sunlight and pine and Joey. She laughed, and maybe cried a little, too, dizzy with elation, and she said, muffled by his fur, “Oh, Joey.”
She laughed again unsteadily and let go so she could wipe her eyes. Another blink, and Joey was back in human form, sitting next to her. His arms tightened around her. “You’re all right with it?” he murmured.
She laid her head against his chest, loving the vibration of his voice. “It’s like the birthday of the world,” she said.
In answer, he kissed her, and then kissed her again. She kissed him back, and lost herself in the sweetness of his kisses as every cell of her body lit on fire. She wanted more—and from the way his hands drifted over her, he was right there with her.
But when she found herself fumbling for the buttons on his shirt, she forced herself to pull away, her breath as shaky as his. “No. Not here. Not with my family ready to barge in any second. And you know they will.”
He looked as disappointed as she felt—so much like a boy denied his candy that she had to laugh again. He smiled ruefully. “I think you’re right, dammit. Rain check.”
“Rain check,” she promised, a little of her happiness dimming when she remembered that she still had a confession to make.
But that could wait. A sudden thought occurred, and she set her hands on his shoulders, so she could see his face. “Xi Yong? You mentioned that Chinese creature, the—”
“He’s a qilin. They are even rarer than nine-tail foxes. And that’s rare enough. It’s why my family sent me to my Chinese relatives. I come from shifters on both sides, wolves and foxes mostly. But other animals can pop up in a family, as I did. My Chinese relatives had also had nine tail foxes.”
She blinked, wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket, and said, “I could have sworn I just saw one tail.”
He laughed. “I was afraid to bring all nine into the world, and risk knocking things over. Nine tails do take up a bit of space. When we are alone, I promise to show you all nine.”
“Great! But . . . you said bring them into the world?” she repeated, more amazed by the moment.
“We mythic creatures have more access to the mythic dimension than other shifters.”
“Oh, there’s so much I want to ask—I hardly know where to start! But . . . I take it you came here because there’s some kind of . . . kind of mythic shifter problem?”
Joey looked up, then down again. “It’s a bit complicated, and involves another shifter who should probably be left to name themselves, if they wish.”
Doris’s mind had been racing from question to memory, and she snapped her fingers. “Bird! She said the oddest things. Don’t tell me Bird is a shifter?”
“No. She’s not. But since you’re halfway there, I suspect she wouldn’t mind your knowing that Mikhail is a dragon shifter.”
“Dragon?”
“Yes. More to the point, there’s a renegade dragon shifter—we think—hiding in that house above you.”
Doris felt her way through this entirely new mental landscape. “It makes sense,” she said slowly, sorting out the millions of thoughts whirling through her head. And because she was who she was, she reached for logic first. “If dragons really fly, then of course they’d want to be on the tops of mountains.”
“Exactly,” Joey said, mock-solemn.
“You’re laughing at me,” she said, giving him a stink-eye that was ruined by a little grin.
His smile flashed wide. “No, I’m just adoring you all over again—there’s the practical Doris who so entrances me. When she’s not becoming a psychopathic killer with no more than a shift in posture and a change of expression. You’re so wonderful—you surprise and delight me every day. Every hour.”
“Me? You can’t get more ordinary! It seems to me that you’re the wonderful one,” she retorted. “The only magic about me is what I teach the kids to do on stage.”
“And your cooking.”
“Ah, that’s the kind of magic I love most. Loved most. I think yours has topped that. So let’s not debate who is the most wonderful. What can I do to help, if anything?”
“Keep your family away from that mansion. That’s the most important thing.”
“I will,” she promised, reality closing in around her. “Which means that, while there is nothing I’d rather do than spend the entire rest of the day in here with you …”
“We have places to go, and things to do, and people to protect.”
He held out his hand. She took it, and they pulled each other to their feet. Joey gave her a boyish grin as he straightened his shirt and
combed his fingers through his hair. Her hands ached to do that for him. Not yet, she told herself. Or they might never get out of this room.
She twitched her linen jacket straight, aware of a pulse of pride that she’d put it on instead of her usual sweatshirt. She’d designed and made it herself, with the deep pockets that designers never seemed to put in women’s clothing.
He looked admiringly at her, and hand in hand they started down the stairs.
With Joey firmly in her corner, dazed with the knowledge that there were such things as nine-tailed foxes in this world and she had kissed one (and planned to kiss him again soon), Doris found it easier than usual to navigate the cheerful family chaos surrounding breakfast.
They prepared an enormous mound of pancakes, and Joey disappeared somewhere in the middle of the meal. It didn’t surprise her that Xi Yong wasn’t in sight either, nor were Vic and Vanessa. With the chaotic whirl of people preparing plates of pancakes and arguing over the distribution of chores, no one else had noticed.
But by the time the dishes were cleared away and the family was arguing over whether they needed to be ready to clear out of the house today or tomorrow (it all depended on when the snowplow got there; Mom insisted she could hear it on the hill, while Sylvia insisted it couldn’t possibly be here before tomorrow at the earliest) she was starting to wonder where he’d gone. Maybe Xi Yong would know.
She wandered through the house looking for him, with the chaotic whirl of typical last-day family business going on around here (stripping the beds! looking for missing socks and toys!) but she hardly noticed any of it. She could have hugged herself with sheer delight.
Joey . . . a fox.
Not just any fox. A nine-tail fox.
She was going to have to find out the stories behind them—all the while knowing that at least some of them might be real!
She blinked, startled out of her reverie as something short and fast-moving darted past her legs. She turned, and caught sight of Pink—bundled up in coat and pompom hat and knit mittens—nearly to the front door, hugging the entire plastic bottle of chocolate syrup to herself.
