by Chant, Zoe
“Yes. But usually I come in daylight. Dry off in the sun. Here, use the silk lining of my jacket.”
“It’ll ruin the jacket,” she protested.
“If it does, I’ll get another one.” He shook out his jacket and closed it around her, adoring the way it engulfed her, leaving her charmingly dimpled legs bare.
That led to toweling each other off, an exercise accompanied by shared smiles. Her sensitivity to his comfort, the sense of easy companionship without expectation hollowed him out behind the ribs.
He had to be honest. He had spent his life being careful, conscientious, focused, controlled, sometimes bored, sometimes angry, profoundly disappointed. But he had never, until this moment, been afraid.
* * *
For a time all Jan could think of was how smoking hot JP was.
Then she marveled at how this amazing guy was attracted to her, out of all the more successful, prettier, slimmer, more charismatic women in the world. For once the howling ghosts had gone silent, smashed flat in the tidal wave of bliss.
Even more astounding, he’d not only liked her in many hot ways that she already wanted to repeat early and often, but he seemed to like her as a person. She knew he liked her singing, but she had sung on stage enough for that to be less important than the fact that he listened to the person behind the voice. He listened with all his attention, as if her words mattered.
So why did she sense a silence growing between them right now, after all that incredible sex? She studied him covertly, her awareness so heightened she heard the rustle of his clothing as they got dressed again. It was a reflective silence, as if his thoughts had turned inward. His gaze certainly had.
She considered that as they walked out of the grotto. She wondered again why it was so far from his home, and yet he’d mentioned not only going there frequently, but his family had for generations. It was like the place was a retreat—a sanctuary.
Then Shelley’s words hit her from a few hours before: They might have sanctuaries somewhere outdoors, above their hoard.
Hoard? That was about phoenixes. Memory again: the brief flash of ruddy color in his eyes . . . and then, during that last sizzling hot moment when he took her from behind, she had glanced back to see his eyes really glowing.
Like fire.
Thunk. JP opened the door to the Porsche, and she stared at him, almost dizzy. Everything, everything had changed so very fast.
Was it possible that JP was another shape-shifter?
In the time it took for her to buckle her seatbelt and JP to come around to the driver’s side and get in, she had all but convinced herself. So . . . if he was, would he hide it from her?
Shelley knows, Jan thought next. Memory hit the replay button: Shelley’s tone shifting when she mentioned pelts, and during her conversation with Mick at breakfast that day. And when Shelley told her that story about shifters.
Jan knew that tone now, the self-conscious pitch of a person’s voice when they know they've nearly stumbled into breaking a promise. Or a secret.
As JP began to maneuver the car away from the grotto and down the sharp curve at the top of the road, she said, “So tell me about your family.”
He sent a glance her way. In the darkness she couldn’t read it, but she heard question in his voice. Caution. “Not much to tell. We came here in the mid-1800s. Stayed. Traditionally my family has served on the town council, and frequently as mayor.”
“Your mom is the mayor, not your dad. But you say traditional. Does that mean your dad adopted your mom’s name? Except we met your grandmother, Mrs. Nair. Are the Nairs the family you're talking about?”
“Yes and no. The LaFleurs are traditionally mayors, but other families have married into them over the generations. My ancestor, Pierre LaFleur, was an adventurer, possibly a pirate. Became a gold miner.”
He handled the car expertly, soaring down the curves. The left turns had become right turns, and each time the town lights reappeared they were lower and closer. “He had four daughters, one of whom married an Indian prince. That is the Nair connection—it is as old as LaFleur. Most of the Nairs settled here, though there are cousins who go back and forth from California to India, and so forth.”
“So a lot of the town has ancestors here?” She wondered if that had something to do with shifters.
“There are reasons why a lot of people don’t move away,” he said slowly.
His tone, so careful, tentative, as if handling something as fragile as a soap bubble, convinced her she had been right.
And so she said, “Would it have anything to do with a golden feather?”
His hand tightened on the wheel. “Why do you say that?” He stared straight ahead at the road, which flashed by at blurring speed.
“Because I found one the other night.” And to protect the little Shelley had said, she added, “I wondered if it was a phoenix feather.”
He sent her a quick look, his mouth compressed.
She exulted, Got it in one.
But would he trust her enough to tell her?
The car was slowing. He pulled over to the side of the road, shifted into neutral, and turned to face her. “Why do you say that?” he asked gently, still in that careful voice.
“Because I saw out the motel window that we were being guarded by a wolf and a bear, who both turned into humans. And I saw a girl who I am pretty sure is also an egret. And a man who turned into a hawk.”
“But you haven’t said anything to anyone?”
“This week is about Shelley. I thought, if I’m having hallucinations, I would as soon wait until next week to be clapped in the funny farm.”
“You’re not crazy,” he breathed. Then looked away, and back. “You’re right.”
“And so the entire town is full of shifters?” she asked. “Um, I guess you might not be able to answer that.”
Silence fell. She heard the hoot of an owl somewhere outside the car. And wondered if a human mind somehow rode inside that owl body. Excitement surged in her. Oh, she wanted it all to be true!
“Not an entire town,” he said in a low voice. “It’s only a few of us. The phoenix feather was mine.”
She drew in a breath, aware of heat and cold and giddiness, as outside an owl hooted again. This is real.
“Do you know that owl?” she asked, taking her first step into this new and wonderful reality.
He sent her a quick glance. “No. That is, I’m pretty certain it’s just an owl.” Then, “Either you’re accepting this really well, or you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you.” She studied his dark eyes, his compressed mouth, and sensed how much this conversation meant to him. How much it cost. “I saw that wolf and bear change. Transmogrify. Whatever you call it.”
“We say shift.”
“Shift. Thank you. Maybe it’s all those years of fantastic stories in music, but I’ve just always thought the world full of unseen wonders.” She remembered something he’d said earlier, and chuckled. “Is that why you didn’t go dirt bike riding with Mick and Dennis? Because you could fly?”
“Yes.” He let out a slow breath.
“Can I just say that I think this is the awesomest thing ever?”
He reached for her wordlessly. She unbuckled her seatbelt so she could lean in for a long, sweet kiss.
After a few more, she said, “And the grotto is your special place, right?”
His voice was low and rough, his gaze steady in the shadowing darkness as he said, “It is the place you take your family . . . or your mate.”
Her nerves jolted and glittered. “Mate,” she repeated.
“I don’t want you feeling coerced in any way,” he said quickly. “I have no experience with this—I can’t impose my feelings on yours. I want you to understand—”
She kissed him.
“That there is no obligation—”
She kissed him again.
“Or—“
Another kiss, and she uttered her own low laugh at how r
aw his voice was getting.
“Jan!” His tone broke on laughter, like the sun splashing on water.
“Yes . . . mate? I like that word. Mate. It fits exactly how I feel.”
Another, longer kiss.
Chapter Eleven
She reveled in the knowledge that she’d broken through at last.
He started up the car again, which roared down the road. Once he began talking, it was as if he had unleashed a cataract.
“My mother is the mayor because she is also a phoenix. She’s a direct descendant through the female line—her great-great-grandmother was a LaFleur.”
“So your father isn’t a shifter?”
“No. My grandfather was. We need a shifter because it’s traditional, every spring and fall before the planting seasons the phoenix makes a flight to strengthen soil and water. My mother is going to retire soon, which is why I have taken over all the shifter duties. We have a shifter council, which deals specifically with shifter business, called the Consejo. The city council does not know about it.”
“So does every family always have shifter children, of the same kind?”
“Some families have certain animal natures repeatedly show up, though not all the children in a family are shifters. Even if two shifters mated and married.”
“So if the egret girl and the bear man marry, what will their children be like?”
“They could be anything, or single natured. It’s more likely that a child will either be a bear or an egret.”
“Are babies born shifting?”
“No, it usually happens around puberty, though sometimes as early as ten, or even eight. I manifested my phoenix at ten, and so I grew up knowing that my future would be to serve as mayor when my mother retired. And I was expected to marry to the benefit of Sanluce, as all my ancestors have.”
A sick feeling gripped her. “So you are telling me . . .”
“Nothing, Jan,” he said quickly, light from a street lamp flashing over his worried glance. “That is, I’m only telling you my history. I grew up knowing that I had to marry to benefit the family, and the town. My intended and I grew up together with that expectation. But last year she found her mate, and stood up to her family—and mine.”
“I hope that wasn’t too hard on you,” Jan said, the knot in her stomach slowly loosening.
“No,” he said slowly. “We were friends, even lovers, but not in love. And we both grew up watching adults who had nothing much in common carefully negotiate their relationship like a couple of countries not quite ready to go to war. She did not want that. I didn’t want it for her—I could see her happiness, though I did not ever expect to find it for myself. Neither of my parents have.”
Her sensitive ear caught the rawness of old pain in his voice, despite his attempt to hide it at those words I did not ever expect to find it for myself.
She would have kissed him again, but he was driving. She settled for laying her hand lightly over his right hand on the gear shift. “How do you fit your Hollywood career in all that? I know you work for a big record company.”
“And several film companies, and theater companies as well,” he said, smiling again. “My career is regarded by the family as a hobby. Though music has always been my passion.”
His voice had tightened again, she sensed that no, she didn’t have all of it. Something remained. She heard it, she saw it in the tightness of his beautiful hands on the wheel.
“So you go back and forth between here and LA? That has to be hard, even in this awesome ride.”
“I usually fly,” he admitted. “This car is for getting around here in human form.”
“Fly. As in . . .” She mimed a plane moving through the air. “Or . . .”
He moved two fingers, like wings, one side of his mouth quirking.
“Wow. Wow.”
“Life is not always . . . smooth. As it happens, we’re experiencing a little trouble right now.”
“Related to that hospital stay of yours?” Was this it?
“Yes,” he said. Then his voice became brisk. “But as you rightly point out, this is Mick’s week—Mick’s and Shelley’s.”
Oh, yeah. If this wasn’t it, it was a big part. She sensed it was something fairly dire, and that he struggled with expressing it.
I can wait for dire stuff, she told herself. She didn’t want anything spoiling the most amazing twenty-four hours of her life.
He went on. “I’m hoping we can lock down the trouble. That’s what the egret and hawk are doing. Among others. I’ll have to have a word with them about being more vigilant in their shifting,” he added with a quick smile. “They are so used to no one ever looking up, or out, and changing only in shifter space. When there is . . . trouble, they sometimes forget there might be others around. It’s not as if we’re a trained force.”
The Porsche had reached the outskirts of Sanluce. He slowed down to a safe, sedate pace once again. She was glad because it gave her a little more time with him. She’d been half-hoping that they could spend the night together, but understood he had way too many pressures right now. They both did—she knew she should be up early warming up her voice, so that she would be ready for the rehearsal when the quartet showed up.
And directly after that would be the pre-wedding dinner at the sports barbeque place, which Mick had rented out for the evening. A very long day.
Having reminded themselves of their respective wedding duties, they confined themselves to one really long kiss, but before it got too hot she forced herself to break if off.
They were both breathing heavily when they said good night.
She let herself into the quiet motel room, and listened as he drove away. The other rooms were blessedly quiet. She flung off her clothes, and didn’t even bother with her pajamas, but flopped straight into bed.
* * *
He slammed his hand against the wheel. Coward! Idiot!
But he had not been able to bring himself to admit the truth about the fire dragon.
After the wedding, he promised himself. He had an entire night to find the right words.
* * *
She woke to the sun streaming in stripes over her bed. She was late!
She threw off the covers and reached feverishly for some clothes, when her phone rang.
It was Shelley. “Where are you?”
“I just woke up,” Jan croaked.
“Oh, good. We’re about to leave for breakfast.”
“I was going to the music room to warm up my voice.”
The phone made muffle noises, then Shelley was back, talking low against the sound of a lot of people talking behind her. “Listen, Jan, go ahead and do that, but please, don’t go wandering at night, okay? Mick asked me to pass that on. There’s been, um, some muggings. If you want to walk, let me come with you, or Mick. Okay?”
“Sure,” Jan said, knowing that Shelley, who had studied martial arts since middle school, could take on any mugger.
“Come up here to the Volkovs’ after you’re done. I’ll bring you back some breakfast and coffee.”
“Coffee,” Jan breathed.
They rang off, and Jan got ready, then walked out into what was already a hot morning. The humidity was rising—she hoped that meant the weather would break.
She zigzagged between the shade of the trees dotting the LaFleur land. As she did, she spotted a pair of huge, shaggy hounds trotting side by side, ears up and alert, eyes moving about. One raised its snout and sniffed the air as he gazed her way, then turned its head away again.
She continued on to the music room, and worked through warm-ups and her solo. She kept hoping that JP might appear, then she remembered all that he was responsible for. He’s probably hunting muggers. So she hugged memory of their wonderful grotto visit inside her, and she heard her own happiness as she sang.
When she was done, she walked back, having seen no humans. Right before she reached the parking lot, a huge hawk sailed overhead and away.
When she r
eached the Volkovs, she found out that except for Grandma and Mrs. Willis, Mick had taken everyone else miniature golfing.
Jan ate breakfast, after which Shelley suggested they look at the Volkovs’ old photos from Russia. Jan was somewhat surprised, until she reflected that these were probably activities designs to keep everybody in one place while the authorities (whether shape-changer or regular) dealt with the mysterious muggers.
At a quarter to four, Shelley walked with Jan to the motel to pick up her music again. As they walked, Jan considered telling Shelley what had happened, but Shelley clearly needed to vent about wedding details. So Jan kept quiet and listened.
They arrived at the shell to find it in the process of being transformed by gardeners into a fairy bower of different kinds of white blossoms twined on arches. The fragrance was heavenly as busy people carried ladders and tools and buckets of plants.
Jan’s heart leaped when she saw JP with a cluster of people who he introduced as the quartet, as if Jan couldn’t see their instruments set up in a spot separated from the audience by one of the bowers.
His eyes met Jan’s, and he gave her a private smile. Warmth shimmered through her as she smiled back. As she turned away, Shelley muttered, “Did the temperature just shoot up a couple thousand degrees?”
Jan smothered a grin. “I was going to tell you. But we’ve been not been alone.”
“So there was an invisible someone walking across the property with us while I blabbed about Mom’s feet and all the errands Mick’s had to do?” Shelley retorted.
“Yeah, well, there’s that, but this is also your wedding, and . . .”
“Jan. You don’t have to explain a thing. I was teasing. Let me just say this, if you and JP hit it off, I want to go on record to say that that would be the most amazing thing ever.”
She walked off the stage to take a seat, and Jan turned to find the quartet busy tuning their instruments and looking at her expectantly.
JP sat beside Shelley, his steady gaze buoying Jan. The flute and clarinet began softly, the violin and cello joining. Jan drew in a breath and began singing to him.
