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I was about to be murdered by humans.
As one, all three tigers lunged. I was their target. The chase was on.
My hind legs bunched and pushed, and I leaped through the air. A pair of gleaming, outstretched claws thrust upward and raked harmlessly through my fur, mere millimeters from flesh, but then I was free, bolting across the dirt road toward a gaping black rent in the earth.
I gauged the distance across the massive fissure, slowed my pace, and when the tigers were practically on top of me, leaped, gliding through a wall of icy air that hovered above that yawning hole. I did not leap straight across the long, skinny mine shaft, but at an angle, hoping the tigers would do the same. They were heavier. If I was right, they couldn’t leap as far.
I misjudged the distance and came down too soon. As my hind half entered the mine shaft, my front legs flew outward, claws extended and searching for purchase in the rocky ground. My body slammed to a painful stop, so hard that my claws almost lost their tentative hold in stone. Yet they held. A swoosh of air ruffled my fur as a tiger missed the edge of the mine shaft and plummeted to its death far, far below.
I managed to heave my aching body up a few inches and sink my claws into the thick, tough bark of a gnarled tree root when fire exploded in my back. A pair of claws was entrenched in my flesh. They clung there, supporting the massive weight of a tiger.
I screamed. The sound echoed to the depths of the shaft and back. The tiger clung desperately to my skin, just as my claws clung to the tree root. Inch by inch, those claws ripped downward through my flesh as gravity dragged down the tiger’s body. I screamed again, almost willing to give up my hold on the tree root and plummet into the shaft below if it meant the end of pain. But then the claws slipped from my skin. Frigid air blew against my fur as the tiger plunged into the hole. The third and final tiger, though, did not stir the air around me.
A shadow, almost impossible to see even beneath the full moon, silently crept around the edge of the sunken mine shaft. Fear gave me the energy I needed to scramble up out of the shaft, though my back burned in agony every time I moved so much as a claw.
The moment I stood on solid ground, the last tiger jumped. My ribs strained and cracked as the monstrous beast landed atop my slight body, its momentum rolling me onto my back. Before its whole weight settled, its teeth sank into my shoulder. I screamed and clamped my mouth down onto the tiger’s neck, biting as hard as I could.
My teeth sank into fur and met flesh, but the tiger shook me off as if I were a cub. It studied me with midnight eyes, showing me its fearsome teeth, giving me a glimpse of its power.
A noise shattered the night—gunfire. The tiger, about to take my life with its jaws, jerked up and looked in the direction of the echoing shot. And I, with the last bit of strength I possessed, lifted my front leg, thrust out my glorious claws, and swung up and into the tiger’s throat.
Like a hangnail snagging on silk, the tiger’s skin caught under my claws. It wasn’t until hot blood poured over me that I realized I had actually done any damage. And then, as lifeless as a sack of feed, the tiger collapsed on me. A spasm tore through its body as it struggled to breathe.
I clawed my way out from under the beast. Every bit of me hurt, except the tip of my tail. My ribs were broken, my shoulder was bleeding, and the skin on my back was sliced to shreds and streaming blood—I could smell my own blood mingling with the stench of other human blood. I began licking the disgusting foreign blood off my golden fur. I didn’t know what else to do, I was in such a state of raw animal instinct. Just sat there and licked and licked and licked.
I probably would have sat there till the sun came up if I hadn’t been snapped back to reality. Gunshots, three in a row and getting closer, reminded me of my humanity.
I turned to take one last look at the tiger, but it was gone. What I saw shattered my already broken heart.
Lying naked atop the giant striped skin of a tiger was a muscular middle-aged man with thinning brown hair. I had seen him once before, in the mug shot the police had given Naalyehe of the man who’d been loitering in front of his store and searching for me—Rolf Heinrich. Blue tinted his dead lips and the moon reflected brightly against his glazed, frozen eyes. Blood coated his neck and half his torso, blood from three jagged wounds slashed in his neck by a pair of razor-sharp claws. Mine. And barely visible in all the blood was a turquoise choker digging into his flesh.
Panic overwhelmed my better senses. I clamped down on the ankle of the naked corpse, felt my teeth slide into the cool skin, and pulled. It didn’t take much to drag the body to the mine shaft and nudge it over the edge. The empty tiger pelt followed. And then, as easy as sprinting the fifty-yard dash, all evidence of murder was gone.
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I don’t know how I made it home, but somehow, with the sun just above the horizon, I found myself wandering aimlessly around Mrs. Carpenter’s property, searching for an animal to eat. Shash was barking inside the barn. I was still a cheetah and my wounds were about to drive the lingering bit of sanity I possessed right out of reach. I yearned to be me again.
I almost couldn’t change back. It took a lot of energy, I guess, and mine was almost gone—had bled out of my body through the gashes on my back. Had I not been so scared of staying a cheetah forever, I never would have been able to use that last, tiny bit of adrenaline surging through my blood to make the change possible—even so, it just barely made the difference.
Naked, blood covered, and shivering, I skulked into the barn, to the joy of Shash, and stumbled toward the stairs. And then I realized … I had left my clothes and my key near the mine. Big lazy tears began making their sleepy way down my cheeks. Then I remembered: I’d replaced the spare key under the bottom step.
With shaking hands, I groped through cobwebs and dirt till I felt cold metal. It took two tries to get the key into the narrow lock, but I did.
In six stumbling steps, I was across the room and staring at my body in the mirror. My shoulder had four tiny puncture scabs. Four long, blood-framed welts shone on my pale back, like I had been whipped. But my skin was whole. I remembered the night Mrs. Carpenter had found me after I was attacked by dogs. I had healed before her eyes. This morning, it was the same. As I watched, the welts on my back faded and then disappeared. My broken ribs were the same. They just stopped hurting, as if they had never been cracked. And the tooth punctures on my shoulder? Gone.
I fell onto the bed, buried myself in blankets, and slept.
When next I opened my eyes, it was dark. I sat up in bed, frantic, and stumbled dizzily across the room to the light switch.
The light blinded me, making it impossible to see for a moment. When I could finally keep my eyes open, I looked at my watch: 9:57. I had missed my shift at work.
My gaze moved from my watch to my naked body, and I gasped. I was covered with brittle brown blood and dried mud. I ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Not waiting for the water to heat up, I stepped into the icy onslaught.
I scrubbed every inch of my skin with an entire bottle of body wash, then the entire bottle of shampoo, and still I didn’t feel clean. My skin seemed permanently tainted. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move as panic set in. I sank down to the shower floor and huddled there with my head leaning sideways against the wall. Tears mingled with the water dripping down my face as I realized it was the end of the world, the end of my world. The world I had known. I had killed someone. And he had tried to kill me. Nothing would ever be the same and I could never go back to how things used to be.
When I finally regained control of myself, the hot water had run out. Cold water pelted my skin and I was shivering. I got out of the shower, wrapped myself up in a towel, and stumbled back into my bedroom.
Hunger pangs clenched at my hollow stomach. If I didn’t eat, I thought I might die. And I smelled food. On the dresser, beside the bowl of ash, sat a plate with scrambled eggs and two pieces of toas
t on top of a handwritten note. Ignoring the note, I grabbed the plate. The eggs were cold and rubbery, the toast hard, but nothing in my life had ever tasted better.
With my belly nearly full, I picked up the piece of paper.
Maggie Mae,I worried sick about you all night because you forgot to tell me when you got home! I almost called the police to go up to the mine and look for you. I tried to wake you, but you hardly stirred, so I thought I’d leave some breakfast. Glad you’re home safe. —Mrs. C. P. S. I forgive you. Just never forget to wake me again! The thought of her coming up and down the stairs to my room made my heart hurt. She had done so much for me, and yet I was the reason she was injured—because I was being hunted. And based on the graduation night attack, the creatures knew where I lived. Mrs. Carpenter had already been attacked once. What if they came to the house looking for me and found her again instead?
I climbed from the bed and went to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, I peered into the dark night. Moon shadows shivered over the yard. Past Mrs. Carpenter’s house, something gleamed, like the flash of animal eyes, but when I looked harder, I saw nothing but shadows.
I put my right hand on my left wrist, expecting to feel the juniper bracelet—for the yo-ih, Naalyehe’s gift of protection, was a gift worth more than he’d ever know. But the bracelet was gone, left at the mine in the bag with my clothes. I clenched my teeth. How could I have been so stupid? Protection was what I desperately wanted. But it was Mrs. Carpenter who desperately needed it. Because I, at least, could fight back.
I got dressed and scribbled a quick note. Mrs. Carpenter would be safe as long as she stayed away from me. I just needed to ensure she kept her distance.
Mrs. C. ,I think I’ve caught something, maybe the flu, and I don’t want you to catch it, so I’ll be staying away from you for the next couple of days. Don’t worry about the chickens. I’ll take care of them. And Shash. And thanks for the scrambled eggs. I’ve got a few things up here to eat, so don’t worry about feeding me! I don’t have much appetite anyway. —MM I left the bedroom and crept through the barn, out the door, and to the front porch. Folding the note, I taped it to the edge of the front door so when Mrs. Carpenter let Duke out, she’d see it.
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