by Melle Amade
“But the collars?” Roman pressed.
“Deponte experimented on shifters before he killed them. That’s when he discovered that iron meteorite would hold the shifters prisoner in their human form and prevent them from shifting.”
“I thought he wanted them all dead?” I ask.
“Yes, but to develop new weapons and have target practice, he also had to keep some alive and control them somehow. And the collars did that.”
A chill crawls across my skin.
Roman sighs, clearly disappointed that Hercules had reached the end of his story. “Great story, but you don’t know how to get them off?”
“No,” he says. “No, I don’t. But I bet this piece of fried bread she does.”
Our eyes all turn to Jacqueline’s mother who is resting in a circle of people, her eyes closed.
12
We’re quiet in the truck driving back to the house as the sun begins to sink towards the western hills. I don’t even know how to process everything. No one would let us get close to Jacqueline’s mom, Lydia, before we left. I couldn’t ask her about the collars or her magic. Instead I think about Guinevere and how she must be a child of the Coyote clan, Zan’s family. It must be hard in these smaller clans to keep the blood all together. But the Quails didn’t seem bothered by it.
Maybe it is just better to mate with your own kind. Less risky. I wouldn’t wish my Nuverling experience on anyone.
“Have you ever met another frog?” I ask Roman in the quiet cab of the truck.
“Yes,” he nods. “We have a big clan down in Costa Rica.”
“Is that where…” My words falter because I don’t know how to ask. So, I just blurt it out. “Is that where you’re going to get your wife from?” I can’t believe I’m talking about this. I mean, we’re only sixteen, but then again, a few months ago I wouldn’t have believed I was talking about humans as if I’m not one.
Roman’s mouth stretches wide. He looks down at the gray road shining in the headlights in front of us. “Yeah,” he says. “We don’t do it from birth, like the people with power, but my parents will pick somebody out. I’m sure they already have someone or a few in mind.”
I take a deep breath. This is the world my friends were raised in. This is their culture. It happens in the human world, too. It’s just- it’s not the way I was raised. That doesn’t make it wrong. “Do you get a say?” I ask quietly.
“My parents are cool, they’ll ask my opinion at some point, but they’ll really have it all mostly arranged before they bring me into the conversation.”
“Don’t you want to choose who you marry?” I ask.
“I guess I get to now,” Roman agrees. “No shifter is going to have me now. I mean, no shifter committed to the Order would be allowed to marry me, or for that matter would want to be with a shifter that couldn’t shift.”
I suck in my cheeks. Callum says he still wants to be with me. Does that mean he’ll have to give up the Ravensgaard? I know he says he wants me now, but I can’t imagine he’s going to be happy giving them up forever. The close comradery I’d seen with the Ravensgaard, it was similar to what we saw tonight with the Quail clan.
“Is it like that where you come from?” I ask Roman.
“Like what?” He eyes sweep off the road and onto me. He was a million miles away.
“You know, in Costa Rica. With your frog clan. Is it like the Quails?”
“Well, we don’t walk on fire for the fun of it,” he says “But yeah, it’s a little bit like that. Lots of family, lots of food, lots of laughs.”
“You know, it reminded me of Topanga,” I say into the darkness.
“What’s that?” Roman asks, staring off at the dim headlights glowing in the night.
“The sanctuary.”
“Did they have a treehouse?” Roman innocently asks.
“You know what I mean,” I say. But maybe he doesn’t. It seems like so long ago since my friends and I all hung out there.
“Remember how we could just hang out there and be ourselves? How there wasn’t anywhere else in the world we should be? And if one of us was gone, then something vital was missing? Now look at us. We’re nothing like that. We’re all just trying to survive. Sometimes it feels like we’ve lost everything.”
I glance at Roman who glows slightly dark blue in the light from the dashboard. His lips are pressed in a tight line that he seems to have to pry open to speak. “We have,” he chokes the words out.
“Maybe there’s still a chance,” I say. “Maybe there’s a chance we can…” My words fade out.
Roman is unresponsive and I don’t have the energy to make it sound like we can beat this thing. I grab the worn door handle as the truck jostles along the old country roads. I don’t know if we’ll ever find stability in our lives.
And now, I don’t know how to change it.
When we arrive at Spotswood Ranch there’s a lot of activity going on. It feels like we’ve been gone forever. But to my surprise Cooper doesn’t really seem to care and Zan is in a corner of the barn hooking up a computer.
“Did you guys go to town?” I ask curiously. Last time I checked, there wasn’t a computer anywhere near the shifters.
“You think you can buy a computer in town?” Cooper laughs. “No, we ran into Bob over in Redwood Valley. He’s always got a thing or two for sale.” I raise my eyebrows. In L.A. that would be like falling off the back of the truck, but here I guess it’s called recycling.
“Are you actually hooking us up?” I ask Zan cautiously. She’s been so somber and quiet since we arrived, I don’t really want to disturb her with anything new. She looks at me but she doesn’t smile, just nods. “Yeah. I figured out what we’re missing for the connection to work.”
“A computer?” I shrug.
She rolls her eyes. “Needed this little gadget here.” In her fingers is a small black box, which she connects to the computer and then runs a cable from it to a new router.
I look sideways over at Cooper. “Your friend Bob just happened to have one of those around?”
“Nope,” Cooper says. “But he knew a guy who had one. We finally nailed him down and went up there and got it.”
“Since they made marijuana legal, there’s a lot of the stuff growers no longer need to protect their online conversations,” Zan clarifies as she powers the new system up.
“Pretty cheap, too,” Cooper swinging his arm over Zan’s shoulder. I can feel Roman sag next to me. Cooper is pretty chummy with Zan. It’s not even making Roman mad at this stage. Depression. Great, just what we need. Zan getting over Aiden by hooking up with her cousin. Roman probably never had a chance. I can’t believe he doesn’t get one. Everyone should get a chance to at least ask someone on a date.
“That’s it,” Zan says.
Her fingers type away at the keyboard. It’s covered in dust even though it hasn’t been here long.
She must’ve thought a lot about what she was going to say to Aiden over the last couple weeks, because she doesn’t hesitate or seem to feel very self-conscious in front of all of us, even though for all intents and purposes she is reaching out to her ex-boyfriend; on our behalf.
“How are you going to keep track of his responses if the computer’s in here, and we’re all in the main house or feeding the sheep?” I ask.
“There’s an app for that.” And Zan actually smiles. At me. I can’t believe it. Feels like a whole bunch of good things just happened at once.
“And I’m guessing you wrote it?” I ask, grinning back. Enjoying the moment.
“Yep.” She nods, tapping out a text. “Just sent it to you. Click the link in the text.” She hits send.
“I didn’t get it,” Cooper taps his massive finger against the glass of his screen.
Zan doesn’t even think about it. She shakes her head. “No point in everybody having the app,” she says. “It kind of defeats the purpose of having protected conversations.”
Cooper’s face is a little crestfa
llen. And I know exactly how it feels. I remember how it felt when I was the outsider. “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’re totally in the loop. Just not on the app.”
“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt.” Roman pats Cooper on the shoulder with no remorse or deep concern whatsoever.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sharp jangle of metal on metal sails across the yard and into the barn. The supper bell. I still can’t quite get used to it. It so… Old-fashioned. Practically archaic.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Everything here is so tactile and non-digital. I run my hand over the computer before turning to leave. We don’t have data plans on our phones anymore. Everything had to be shut off. I guess that’s what happens when you get banished. Zan said she could get us new identities, but without all her parent’s equipment in Topanga or even a passport photo booth nearby or any of the normal amenities, well, that hasn’t happened yet either.
Mom is standing outside the barn doors as we file out towards the house. There’s only one reason she’s come out here and that’s to see me. She doesn’t need to tell me. I slow down and she falls into step next to me.
“How are you doing?” Even after all we’ve been through, it’s still a strange question for me to hear coming out of Mom’s mouth. She hasn’t always been the one with the gentle touch or the focus to check in on me.
“Okay,” I say, without much conviction. What am I supposed to say? Every time I look at her I think about how Dad sacrificed himself for me. After I made the worst decision of my life. Nothing’s ever going to make it right until I figure out a way to get him back. And that won’t happen until I figure out a way to get this stupid collar off.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
“That sounds like a line from a bad movie,” I smile.
“Hey. I’m trying here,” she says. “I’ve never had to parent under these conditions.”
“Right. Single-parenting a mutated, banished child. I’m guessing there’s not a book for that.”
“I’ll google it later,” she chuckles.
I feel like smiling back. Lately Mom has had this really strange effect on me. She used to just put me on edge, like I was having to walk on egg shells. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve been here, it’s totally different. Every time I see her I don’t want to run the other direction. Now she represents what Topanga used to mean for me. I can’t go back to that home. But I can always go back to Mom. Wherever she is.
“You’re not going to like to hear this, but I thought I should tell you,” I say. “But the rules around shifting when you’re sixteen, they don’t seem to apply across the board. I saw a twelve-year-old girl shift.”
Mom doesn’t say anything at first, she stares thoughtfully down and grinds her toe in the dust. “You’re sure?” She asks.
“Completely sure, and you know what else? That twelve-year-old girl is a Nuverling like me. She didn’t have any of the issues I had, though. She just shifted between both animals.”
Mom frowns, but then why was it so hard for you?” Mom frowns as she tries to puzzle it out. “And it wasn’t just hard for you, Zaragoza’s daughter died because she was a Nuverling.”
“I don’t know how she did it,” I say. “Not really. But, there’s so much we don’t know, Mom. It’s like everything we know or need has come from the Order, that they control the whole shifter world, but they aren’t all that is out there. Yes, the coyotes are by themselves here, but they’re just surviving on the edges and always in fear of what the Order threatens or takes away. The Quail clan, they know something different. They live something different. And, if we’re going to stand a chance of going up against El Oso and getting Dad back, we’re going to need to learn from them. I mean, a twelve-year-old shifter…”
“I don’t –”
“I know, I know,” I grab her hand as Aunt Emma steps out onto the porch. “You don’t want Henry to become a shifter.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” Mom’s long thin fingers squeeze mine.
“Food’s getting cold,” Aunt Emma calls.
“Come on,” Mom smiles. “We can talk more later.”
13
The next day is Saturday and Zan’s family all have commitments in town at the fairgrounds to try and get things ready for the upcoming livestock show. Mom decides to tag along with them. Callum stays to help Cooper get the Spotswood Ranch chores handled.
Zan is more pleased than I think she realized she would be, that she has a computer again. She volunteers to find out more information about El Oso’s background.
“Like that’s going to be on the internet.” I point out.
She looks at me like I know nothing. “It’s not on the internet you surf.” Her curls bob as she turns to the screen and starts typing code into a black box. I raise my eyebrows, but still turn to go. There are some things I don’t really want to know about.
Roman and I decide to head back over the hill and into the dark womb of the forest. We really need to get in with the Pomos. It’s not hard, I really like them, or well, the two who actually speak to me.
We park the truck a bit further away and walk in. When we drove up before, it seemed like we were disrupting the peace of the woods, disturbing something. This time, we chose to walk through the quiet cool air, breathing in its dampness. Approaching the village, well, you wouldn’t even really know people were there, it’s so quiet. There’s the odd hammering of metal on metal, the thunk of an axe hitting wood, but the village itself is so tranquil, almost as if the residents themselves don’t want to disturb the forest.
I head straight to the sound of the axe. Hercules is exactly where he was the first time we met him; building up the pile of firewood. I scan the village. People work quietly alone and in small groups. Those who work together aren’t talking, they’re using minute hand gestures to communicate. Maybe something like texting without phones. Reminds me of the way Guinevere was communicating to her brother.
I don’t see Jacqueline. Just as well. I know she’s not a fan. She might even be a downright hater. I definitely haven’t worked her out yet.
“Getting ready for winter?” Roman asks casually as we walk up.
“Sometimes it snows up here,” Hercules says. “We like to be prepared.”
“Can we help?” I lean over and start gathering some of the scattered pieces of firewood. It’s a lot like the chores back at my house in Topanga.
Hercules cocks his head to one side, taking in me and then Roman. “Sure,” he drawls. “But I’m guessing you didn’t drive up here to stack our firewood.”
I shrug. “It’s nice up here.”
Hercules shoulders soften. “Could be the safest place on earth for you two.” His gaze lands sympathetically on my collar. If…when we get my dad away from El Oso, we might just need a place like this. But can I live my whole life so remote? So quiet?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman asks.
“Well, we don’t get a lot of, you know, visitors here,” Hercules shrugs, the dappled light rippling off his shoulders. “We’re almost impossible to find.”
“No one is looking for us,” I say. “They’re like the opposite of looking for us.”
The dark pupils of Hercules’ eyes bore into me. “If you say so.”
Roman moves the next log onto the splitting stump and takes a step back. Hercules acknowledges the help with a raise of his chin and lifts the axe over his head.
“Why was your sister doing that ceremony?” I ask.
Hercules stops, mid-swing. “Ceremony?”
My fingers drum against the log in my arms. Isn’t it obvious what I’m talking about? My skin crackles with cold, soaring up to my collar, burning where the warm metal and tingling skin touch. It’s annoying he’s playing dumb. “The firewalking ceremony that turned her into a Nuverling. Where you guys tested her walking on hot coals and then Jacqueline’s mom wafted sage smoke all over her body. What was that about?”
“Strange
.” Hercules lowers the axe. “Never saw it like that. It’s not a test or a ceremony. It didn’t turn her into anything.”
“What was it,” I ask.
The smile that unfurls on Hercules’ face sends a tremor of discomfort through me. Like he can see something I can’t see and it’s really amusing. “It wasn’t anything like that,” he drawls. “It was an invitation and Evie accepted it. Maybe when you learn to listen, then you’ll understand.”
Great. That’s just what I need to be told by some twenty-something guy. I don’t listen. I feel like I’ve been listening my whole life. He obviously hasn’t met my mother.
“Sure,” Hercules continues as if he can hear my thoughts. “You listen to what people say. But what about what is not said?”
“What do you mean? Like a look? I think I read people pretty well.”
Hercules’ laughter is so loud a few people look around to see what’s going on. “People aren’t the only ones around here speaking,” he says and continues his swing to deftly cleave the unsuspecting log into two pieces. I almost feel like he wants to say “child” or something at the end of his comment. I dig my nails into the palm of my hand and bite my tongue. I’m not about to say anything, But I hate how he makes me feel like I don’t know anything.
“You’re obviously not from Potter. So, what do you city-slickers do where you’re from?” Hercules changes the subject neatly.
“Well, we used to go to school,” I say. “But lately, well, we mostly just train.”
“Train?” Hercules’ interest is piqued.
Roman grins, striking his best ninja, kickass pose. “We train with the Ravensgaard. The best of the best.”
“Oh, really,” Hercules says as if Roman has just challenged him. Maybe in guy speak he did. “Why don’t we have a bit of a sparring match?”
“Mano y mano?” Roman grins, sizing up Hercules.
