Chasing Thunderbird
Page 6
“This is amazing. Yeah, yeah, what kind?” On sudden inspiration I spun to my printer, hauled out the paper tray, and snatched a few white sheets free. “I mean, there are several myths and stories over the centuries about people or creatures that can change their forms. There are the werewolves and vampires folktales in Europe. There are several Native American stories about people who take on the form of animals, and the skinwalkers of the southwest tribes. The kitsune in Japan.” I gripped the paper in one hand and the fabric of Ford’s T-shirt in the other. “Oh my God, the fox on the rock. Was it a kitsune?”
He guided me back until my thighs hit my desk chair. A little more pressure on my shoulders and I sat. “Whoa, slow your roll.”
“Don’t tell me to slow my roll, whatever that means. This is fantastic. Don’t you get it? If there are people who can physically transform into animals, imagine what we can learn from their physiologies. How do they do it? Imagine what this could mean for medicine. If a body’s cells can realign so completely…. What kind of studies have been done? Will anyone talk to me, do you think?”
Pressure built in the room and my ears popped, distracting me from the thousands of questions racing through my head. Ford glowered at me, hands fisted at his hips, shoulders looking impossibly wide. Fury poured off him in waves so strong I could have sworn I saw lightning flashing in his dark eyes. He loomed over me, and I scooted my chair back until it hit the wall. My finicky lamp and ceiling light flickered.
“You want to know why no one knows?” He took a step closer, his shins brushing my bent knees. “Because people like you use words like study and tests. People—yes, people—like Bethany would become nothing more than test subjects, animals for scientists to poke and prod. Why would anyone sign up for that?”
Terror was a jackhammer in my chest, the greasy slide of guilt an added bonus.
He sucked in a breath, then deliberately took a step back. Ripping the blank sheets of paper away from me, he snarled, “Not a word. To anyone.” His hair flew behind him like a cape as he stormed out of my office, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Five
I SENT a message to the department secretary, letting her know that I would be out sick for the rest of the day and asking that she post a note in the classrooms to notify the students. Not a good thing this early in my contract, but there was no way my brain was going to be able to concentrate on anything. Not only did it have to deal with the impossibility of what I’d just seen, but it also had to get a grasp on Ford’s reaction.
Okay. I got it. I really did. My words made it sound like I wanted to experiment on people. I didn’t. I wanted to talk to people. I wanted to find out why and how and when. I was a scientist; a desperate desire to know was ingrained in my very DNA. But even as an ornithologist, I preferred to observe my subjects, not interact with them.
But, yeah, I’d let my enthusiasm get the better of me.
I locked my office door and hunkered down at my desk with my laptop. Using an encrypted connection, I accessed my favorite cryptozoology sites. If anyone had a legitimate lead on humanlike beings who could transform into animals, it would be these guys. I scoured the articles and research, regularly looking for a hit of a thunderbird sighting. It was through one of these sites, actually, that I first became aware of the phenomena near Cody back in November. Instead of my usual assortment of search terms, I started digging for articles about shape changers, werewolves, skinwalkers, anything that might lead me to girls who could turn into eagles.
There was a lot more out there than I’d expected. In next to no time, I was sucked into a Byzantine maze of rumors, unexplainable happenings, and murky evidence. I’d always discounted the folklore and word-of-mouth info sharing surrounding vampires and werewolves as supernatural mumbo jumbo. While thunderbirds were the center of many Native American tribes’ mythical tales, I’d never actually considered that the thunderbird I’d been chasing for so long was paranormal. Nor did I think the girl turning into a bird in my office had been caused by any paranormal or magical means. Thunderbirds were just extremely rare raptor-like creatures whose very scarcity prompted their near-legendary reputation. Similarly, shape changers were most likely a physiological mutation or evolutionary adaptation.
A knock sounded at my door, pulling me from a fascinating account of a trapper in the 1800s who claimed to have seen a naked man emerge from a den where a beaver had holed itself up. When he’d checked the beaver’s den, it hadn’t been big enough for a human, and there were no tracks to indicate where the man had come from. I’d found dozens of personal accounts of similar situations. Until Bethany, I’d have discounted them out of hand. Beavers, for crying out loud. But maybe…. I tagged the article to come back to it later.
Whoever was at the door knocked again, louder this time. I shut my laptop, blinking at the windows. The sun hung low on the horizon, lighting the sky a vibrant orange. Crap. Twilight already? Had I been there all day? The stiffness in my back and the ache in my shoulders registered for the first time. My stomach grumbled in syncopation with the muscle twinges.
I had to pull with more force than should have been necessary to get the door to open up once I’d muscled the sticky lock loose.
Ford loomed over me in the doorway, a fast-food bag in one hand and a drink carrier with two sodas in the other. Saliva pooled in my mouth at the scent of greasy fries and seared beef. Though I was drawn to the food—I still couldn’t believe I’d spent the entire day so buried in research that I hadn’t stopped to eat or drink anything—I stepped away from Ford. He’d been livid when he’d left that morning, and his face was so neutral I couldn’t even guess at his current mood.
“Have you been holed up in here all day?” The sardonic twist of his lips made me want to ignore him. His eyes darted to my closed computer. “Let me guess: research.”
He could sneer at me all he wanted. I was mostly immune to that look. I saw it often enough on my peers’ faces. “Given what I saw this morning, can you blame me?”
His expression softened. Then he shrugged. “I guess not.”
He strode to my desk and set the food and drinks on top. “We need to talk.” He dug into the bag and pulled out two cardboard clamshells and two sleeves of fries, divvying up the goodies.
“And talking requires hamburgers?” Not that I was upset by the meal, but it was the second time that day he’d brought me something ingestible.
He scowled. “I was hungry. You haven’t left your office all day, so I assumed you’d be hungry too. I knew where to find you, meeting locations that will ensure us privacy are scarce, and I don’t know where you live. It seemed like the best opportunity.”
I didn’t know how to deal with him taking care of me. All those excuses he gave about why he was there were probably true, but that didn’t negate the fact that three times over the last twenty-four hours, he’d gone out of his way for me.
I decided not to give him a hard time. Mostly because he brought me food, but also because we did need to talk. I had questions, and I hoped he’d have some answers for me. The temper that rode him hard when he’d left that morning had dissipated, helping me make that call.
And, because we were in my office and he was my TA, it put the balance of power in my favor. Not by much, I thought, remembering the forceful way he’d spoken to me that morning, but enough.
“Couple of things first,” I said, popping a straw into my drink.
“Okay.”
“First, thank you for the food. And the coffee. Seriously, that’s above and beyond, especially given the… situation… this morning.” Maybe it came across as extra polite and a tad formal, but I really needed him to know it meant something.
He waved my gratitude aside. “I was picking up for me anyway. An extra sandwich is no big deal.”
This next bit was going to be harder. “Second.” I paused to clear my throat. “I wanted to apologize for what I said this morning. I can assure you I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did, but for a moment
there, I admit I didn’t look beyond the possible scientific implications to see the consequences to the people. You were right about that.”
Ford had picked up his sandwich but set it back down before he’d taken a bite. “I get it. Once I cooled off a bit, I realized my reaction was a bit… strong. But there’s a reason shifters keep their secrets to themselves.”
This morning, he’d said “we.” Now he was talking about “their” secrets. I wondered if it was deliberate. Maybe he’d think I’d forget. But I’d work my way back to that point. “You said ‘shifters.’ Is that what they’re called?”
He fisted a chunk of hair that had fallen over his shoulder, something I’d noticed he did when frustrated or perhaps nervous. “Look, I’ll tell you what I can. It’s not much. It could be dangerous to a lot of innocent people. But I need you to promise me first. Promise you won’t share the knowledge in any way, shape, or form with anyone who is not a shifter. And promise me you won’t start doing some kind of field study on them.”
“You’ll answer my questions?”
“Those that I can.”
I considered my options. He was asking for a lot. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but asking a scientist, especially one whose work primarily focused on wildlife biology and evolutionary biology, to not study something as fascinating as human/animal metamorphosis was like asking me to sacrifice a lung.
But if the alternative was years of ignorance and wondering, I guessed curtailing my study habits wasn’t too much of a sacrifice. I nodded. “I promise not to treat the impacted individuals like lab rats, and I promise not to share this knowledge with anyone not already aware of the situation.”
“Impacted individuals?”
I shrugged. Until I knew what the right word for what I saw was, I was stuck. Were they transformers? Morphers? Shape changers? Clearly he hadn’t appreciated “impacted individuals,” but he hadn’t yet offered an alternative.
He shook his head. “Whatever. I’ve got an hour before I have to be at Buddy’s. You have until then to ask as many questions as you want.”
I’d have done better if I had more time to prepare my questions, but somehow I didn’t think I’d struggle at all in filling the time. “Bethany.”
His brows shot up. “Bethany?”
“Is she all right? She seemed upset this morning before—” I waved my hand. I still had trouble coming to grips with what I’d seen, so actually putting it into words was a struggle.
The stiffness left Ford’s shoulders. “I figured you’d jump right into the how of it.”
“Believe me, I’ll get to that, but I want to make sure she’s okay first.”
“Bethany’s going to be fine.” He popped a french fry into his mouth. After he’d washed the bite down with a sip of soda, he continued, “Some people struggle with their dual natures more than others. Bethany’s lived in a fairly isolated place most of her life. This is the first time she’s been away from home, the first time she’s had to work so hard to control expressing both sides of her nature. Stress can bring about an involuntary shift, and there’s a lot of stress in her life right now.”
“Why did she come looking for you?”
“Her uncle is the only relative she has who’s local. Most of her family lives in the Aleutian Islands. He asked me to be a sort of emergency contact in case she ran into any problems.”
“Who’s her uncle?”
Ford’s face twitched. “Dr. Tierney.”
“Doesn’t he know what she is?”
“Oh, he knows all right. He’s a shifter too.”
Definitely shifter, then. Much better than “impacted individual.” Wait a minute…. “Dr. Tierney changes too? Is he also a bald eagle?”
“Yeah. Haliaeetus leucocephalus.” Ford sneered when giving the scientific name of the bird.
“Then why didn’t you want him to know about Bethany’s struggle this morning?” There. Struggle was a much better word than metamorphosis.
“He’s a dick.”
I couldn’t suppress my snort at that pronouncement. “Agreed. So?”
“Like I said, Bethany’s been pretty isolated. On top of it, she’s a little high-strung, a little fragile, and that means she tends to lose control of her shift sometimes. One of the reasons she’s going to school here instead of somewhere closer to Alaska is that Cody College has the largest population of shifter students in the US. Between that and her uncle being the head of the largest department at the school, her parents hoped she’d have a good support network around her while she learned to live among humans without drawing attention to herself.”
“Okay. And?”
“And, Tierney’s a dick. If he found out she lost control of a shift, and in front of a nonshifter, he’d have her on a plane back to Alaska. She’s a good kid, but, like I said, a little high-strung. I don’t think she’s got enough confidence to deal with Tierney on a rampage.”
“What set her off this morning?”
Ford rolled his eyes. “She saw the dude she’s been crushing on walk out of some other girl’s dorm this morning. Apparently it was pretty obvious they’d been screwing around.”
“And that was enough to set her off?”
“Like I said, a little fragile. And she didn’t say it in so many words, but I think she and the dude had screwed around a bit too. Not that she was going to share those details with me, but there was plenty of embarrassment and hurt in her jealousy.”
I took advantage of the pause in the story to grab a bite of my burger. It was starting to turn into a congealed mess while we’d been talking. Ford had gone out of his way for me, and I was hungry, so I didn’t want a gift of food to go to waste. I snuck a few more fries and grimaced. I could eat a cool burger, but icy fries were gross. I pushed the carton away.
Ford leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze darted to the clock propped against a pile of books on a shelf. I hadn’t gotten around to hanging it yet. Partly because I hadn’t found the time. And partly because my office was a cave made out of cinder blocks. I didn’t have the right tools to pound a nail into cinder block.
“You’re really going to spend all your time asking about Bethany?”
I shrugged. “I was worried about her. I may prefer studying and researching wildlife, but people matter. You seem surprised. Should I be insulted?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. I’ve heard horror stories about nonshifters finding out. And discovery by scientists has always been the ultimate cautionary tale.”
“I guess I can understand that. Especially given my initial reaction this morning was to discover anything and everything I could.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but the big question, the one you’re dying to ask, I don’t have an answer to.”
“Which question is that?”
“How.”
“That’s one of my top questions, but not the one in the number one slot.”
He straightened in his seat, hands landing on the armrest. I really had startled him this time. “What’s the number one question?”
I waited a moment so I could get a full read on his reactions. “Are you a shifter?”
His fingers tightened around the edge of the armrest. “Yes.”
Excitement coursed through me. It was one thing to theorize. Having that theory validated was something else altogether. “Can I see you change?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
Sure, he’d corroborated my theory, but I still needed proof. Call it scientific method or burning curiosity. “Why not?”
“I’m not a carnival attraction or a celebrity. I don’t perform on command.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t going to budge. That was okay. I could be patient. If I had to. I’d just bide my time and try again later.
“Can you at least tell me what you change into?”
He sighed. “No offense, but I don’t know you well enough to share that kind of information. For a lot of us, shifting is a very private thing.”
“Scientists—shifter scientists,” he clarified, “have been trying to figure that out for years. Some believe it’s a physiological mutation, some believe it’s an evolutionary adaptation. Some maintain it’s magic.”
I choked. “Magic?”
“Yep. How else can you explain how a hundred-pound girl turns into a ten-pound eagle? Where does the extra ninety pounds of mass go?”
“Don’t tell me you believe in magic.”
“It’s not like card tricks or whatever. It might be an adaptation, like the marine iguanas in the Galapagos Islands that shrink in response to low food availability.”
“Marine iguanas change over a period of time, not instantaneously.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I don’t have the answers.”
I’d had all day to try to wrap my head around it. But though the shock had mostly worn off, I still couldn’t quite reconcile the idea that a human could change into an animal. Biologically, were they still human? Or some kind of human-animal hybrid?
“What kinds of shifters are there?”
“Kinds?”
“Yeah. Bethany turned into an eagle. What other animals are represented? When they’re in animal form, how complete is it? Do they still think and feel like a person, or are they 100 percent driven by animal instincts and imperatives? Does it hurt to change? How long have shifters existed? Is it a relatively new phenomena or have there been shifters throughout all of known history?” So, yeah, I had a couple of questions. I’d have kept going, but my body required oxygen, and I needed to breathe to talk.
Ford took advantage of the pause in my tumbling words. “Hold up. If you want answers, you’ll have to give me a chance to speak.” He waited a second, probably to make sure I listened. “You wanted to know what kinds of shifters there are?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, the half-dozen questions that just crossed my mind would spew out.