HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters

by Hunt, Sabrina

  But then green eyes had flashed through the darkness.

  A waning moon had given just enough light for me to see the poor creature collapse. My brother had immediately understood, but our friend Irving Hackney had not. He’d been furious that we were going to save it, saying it was basically roadkill and would be dead by morning.

  I’d whirled on him in utter rage at that point. In an icy voice that still seemed to ring down the hours since last night, I’d snapped, “You can wait in the car, Irving. We don’t need your help.”

  Irving was a local veterinarian in town who didn’t deal with wildlife, whereas wildlife was my specialty. He’d always been a little superior about that, constantly teasing me about why I’d want to waste my time on such a non-lucrative career.

  And he wondered why I never wanted to date him.

  Beyond that, Irving was a smart, nice guy for the most part. And he’d been one of my first friends when we’d moved to Torlieu Valley.

  Yet I’d never told him or even hinted to him about my gifts or the unusual lineage of my family. As far as he knew, my father had died in a car crash. Sometimes that was easier than the truth. Sometimes I wished that was the truth.

  Once upon a time, I’d never planned on staying in Alaska. I’d wanted to go back to Montana. Tilting my face up to the bright blue sky, I tried not to sigh or think about might-have-beens.

  At the back porch, I fumbled with the door as the coyote panted next to me. Then I let him onto the small patio. It had shining wood floors and a tiny woodstove in one corner where I’d created a nest of pillows next to it for the coyote.

  For a second, I swear the beast cast an amused look at me, but then he tottered over and collapsed onto the pillows. My heart twisted. I hated to see any creature in pain. This big, burly coyote should have been loping up mountainsides, not shivering on my floor.

  Crossing the room, I entered my kitchen and closed the door behind me. While I didn’t think the coyote was in any mood to explore, the last thing I needed was to turn around and find the beast standing there. Moving slowly, I put together food for him, yawning the whole time.

  Saving the coyote last night had been a lot of work. Fox and I had worked into the early morning, stitching up wounds and setting the left front leg. Then we’d discovered the fractured ribs. I tried to use a little of my gift to heal those bones, even though it took a lot out of me. It was something I’d never mastered well – my prowess lay in communication; finding and soothing them.

  Re-entering the patio, I was hit with the stench of wet dog and dirt and winced. I’d wanted to wash the coyote today, but I didn’t think that was happening. Fox had called to say he had forgotten about a project due Monday and Juniper was working on his thesis. They’d try to come when they could, but I knew for a fact that trying to juggle college and our family’s heritage was not the best idea, so I’d told them not to worry about it. I could handle the coyote.

  By unspoken agreement, we agreed not to tell my mother just yet. She’d rallied within the last five years or so, a stronger, more familiar woman to me, but she was fragile for all that. She still had days where sat on her porch, staring out at the waters of Klingcook Sound, her eyes distant and weighed with grief.

  Realizing I’d stopped and was gazing out the windows, I hastily stepped over to the coyote. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. He’d fallen back asleep.

  Placing the food bowl down, I tentatively laid a hand on his chest, where his heart beat steadily under my fingertips. A sigh of relief exuded from me. Last night that heartbeat had been uncertain, fluttering like a butterfly. Now it was strong and even.

  Shutting the door softly behind me, I took off my boots and then walked through the kitchen to the airy, well-lit living room. It was my favorite place in the entire house. The ceiling soared up high and the windows held views of the snowy mountains, the forest, and the sea in the distance.

  Taking out my computer, I sent an email to work letting them know I wouldn’t be able to make it in on Monday. Since I was only a per-diem wildlife vet with the Refuge and Rehabilitation center of Torlieu, it wasn’t a big deal. It was such a laid-back organization that I could not show up and they wouldn’t even mind – just find someone else to step up. But I liked to be thorough. Then I checked my other messages, seeing if I had any odd-job requests.

  Even though I’d gotten a wildlife veterinarian degree, I’d known that the work couldn’t promise to be steady where I lived in Alaska. I was lucky there was a rehabilitation center nearby, but the full-time positions were filled and would probably be filled for years to come. So I’d also gotten a certification in coding – learning how to build websites and do basic graphic design. With even backwoods Alaska joining the rest of the world, I’d had a steady stream of clients.

  Beyond that, I’d also turned my barn into a small veterinarian office. Not everyone lived close enough to downtown Torlieu to want to hike all the way down there to get their pet looked at. Since I was halfway to the outskirts, I’d found myself in a perfect position to gain a little business from the serious mountain folk. Usually I dealt with dogs, but I’d also gotten the occasional bird or cat. Plus, people knew that if they found a hurt wild animal, they could call me.

  Whenever Fox and I would go retrieve any poor creature, we’d bring along tranquilizer in our pockets just as a precaution. Usually my presence alone was enough to soothe an animal, which is why my thoughts kept turning back to the coyote on my porch. In the cage, it had seemed agitated in my presence, slinking back and avoiding looking at me. That had never happened before.

  Sighing, I put the computer aside and laid back on the couch, closing my eyes. I’ll rest for fifteen minutes, then get to work, I thought. Check on the coyote again.

  As I lay there, again I wondered what had happened to it. Last night, with just a touch, I’d known it was no ordinary coyote. But I’d also sensed a malignance – a bitter poison coursing through it. Fox and I had done everything we could, but in the end, we couldn’t remedy it completely. We could only hope the coyote could fight it off. If he was a shifter, then his body should be more than capable of fighting it off. And his bones should heal within a week or so.

  My throat went tight with old grief as I thought about shifters and healing. There was a time where I’d thought that they were immortal in a way – incapable of being hurt. But for all their strength and quickness, for all their gifts, they could still be slain.

  And if I let myself, I would rage at the universe for dumping this creature into my care. It was a cruel kind of irony…

  I stopped myself from going any further. If I let myself sink into the darkness of those thoughts, I might never surface again. Instead, I listened to my breathing, telling myself I’d get up in another minute.

  Buzzing woke me and I sat up, looking frantically at the kitchen stove. Then I shook my head. I hadn’t put anything on. Glancing to my left, I realized it was my phone going off by my head.

  My head was swimming as I reached for it and I rubbed my face. I hated that half-drunk feeling from taking too long a nap.

  Without even looking at the screen, I answered, “Hello?”

  “Lolo, baby, hi,” my mother’s sweet voice came across the line.

  Yawning, I responded, “Hi, Mom. Sorry, I was napping. How’s everyone?”

  “Oh, yes.” She sounded distracted. I could hear the rush of the wind in the background and I pictured her walking outside, her eyes gazing across familiar mountains. “Listen…”

  As I began to wake up more, I started to realize my mother sounded strange. Her voice was cracking along the edges and cold chill zipped along my spine. “What is it?” I asked, trying to wake up more. “Juniper, Fox… Are they okay?” My voice was jumpy with panic.

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I knew you’d…” She trailed off. “Your brothers are fine.”

  Slumping back, I rubbed my face harder. “Mom, you’re scaring me, what is it?”

  She ble
w out a sigh. “Lolo, I know this is a touchy subject, but I have to ask you something.”

  Getting to my feet, I stalked into the kitchen, feeling like I needed to be moving when my mother finally got around to asking me whatever was bothering her. “Okay. Go ahead.” Walking to the patio, I opened the door a crack and poked my head in. The coyote was lying there, head on his paws and his eyes found me immediately. Something flickered in the back of my head.

  But before I could focus on it, my mother, who’d been hemming and hawing, asked in a rush, “Have you heard from Burr lately?”

  Anger crackled through me and my stomach clenched. “What? No.” I grit out. “Why?”

  “Lolo, Auntie Sil, she um…” Now, something in my mother’s voice was causing a new, colder feeling to rush through my chest. I turned back into the kitchen and began to pace.

  “Mom, please tell me already,” I said. “If you two are trying–”

  “He’s missing,” she said, a note of fear palpable in her voice.

  The floor tilted and I grabbed the counter. “What?” I whispered. “No, that’s not possible. Wait, Mom.” My voice cracked. “Are you telling me that Aunt Sil…?” Air vanished from my lungs.

  “Oh, Lolo, I’m so sorry. She wanted to call you herself, but I told her I would do it. I can cut my trip short, come home now. And we don’t know for certain, your brothers refuse to believe it – they’re out looking now…”

  A long moment of silence spun out between us and I could tell my mother was struggling to keep back tears. There was more.

  “Mom – can she sense him?” I asked finally.

  A sob escaped her. “No. And I tried to tell the boys, but–”

  I sank to the floor, my back to the wall as agony shattered over me.

  My mother was still talking. “She did say that something could be blocking her, but what could it be? He was up there for a funeral, then he went out with friends a few nights later – and then he vanished.” Her voice was shaking. “It’s been almost a week.”

  “Mom, I have to go,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Willow, do you want me to come home? Or do you want to come here?” she asked, her voice worried now. “Sil said you’re welcome and everyone would love to see you.”

  “I-I need some time alone, Mom. You know how I am,” I whispered. “Thank you though.”

  “Well, your brothers are coming over tomorrow at least. They’ll bring you breakfast.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding even though she couldn’t see me.

  “I love you, baby,” she said. “And remember, we don’t know for certain – and if anyone could track them, it would be your brothers…” But I could hear it in her voice.

  “Yes, okay. I love you, too,” I said, and hung up.

  A tear fell onto the screen and I gripped my phone. Grief warred with anger. And guilt.

  Burr Santana had been my best friend once. Then I’d ruined everything and we hadn’t seen each other in years. I’d known he was angry with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it was my fault or try to heal the rift.

  Sitting there, though, it seemed to crush me. I’d never thought I wouldn’t see him again, fix things, and somehow get back to how we were.

  I tried to stem the tide of images rushing into my mind, but I couldn’t. My chest heaved and shuddered. And suddenly I was nine years old again, walking with my uncle and father in the snowy Montana woods.

  A defiant boy, his green eyes as bright as the pines, appeared out of the shadows.

  “Blood. Fresh too,” my father said, squatting down and then staring into the quiet forest. “Should we follow it, Aspen?”

  “Who,” drawled my uncle Aspen, “would be fool enough to hunt on Auntie’s lands without permission? Of course we’ll following it. I’d like to see their face. See how much of a fool they are.”

  I’d giggled at that, my father’s lips had twitched, and we’d crunched through the crust of snow. Everything had smelled fresh and clean, but I couldn’t help worrying that an animal was hurt. Or worse.

  But I was safe between my father and uncle. They were both tall. Uncle Aspen was so tall he seemed to brush the treetops. And they could see and hear things that others couldn’t…

  As we got closer, my uncle had lifted his head, going still, and a light flashed into his eyes. I’d shivered with the thrill of it. Both my father and uncle were shifters, as was my younger brother Fox. Sometimes I was jealous that even though I was so close to this hidden world, on the edge of the Spirit Realm, I wasn’t able to change into an animal.

  But Auntie Sil had soothed me, telling me that I had gifts as well, and the hands of a healer, like my mother. “Now how can that be bad? Don’t waste jealousy on others,” she’d said.

  I thought my uncle was going to shift, but he didn’t, he stayed a man and stalked forward.

  We could hear raised voices ahead of us in a clearing. One was a clear, authoritative voice, loud and seemingly fearless, but with a note of nervous energy shooting through it. A young boy.

  The other was harsh and discordant, far too demanding.

  My father and uncle exchanged looks, then entered the clearing, my father holding me behind him. Uncle Aspen marched forward, towering as tall as an oak tree.

  “Afternoon, Roche,” my uncle said, his face mild, but his tone cold as ice.

  The man, a bearded hunter, small and rat-like, had frozen upon seeing us. “White-Eagle brothers, hello, I was just…” He trailed off, worrying his lip.

  “Just trying to hurt and hunt down this eagle! They’re endangered!” burst out another voice, the young boy I’d heard before. Peering around my father, I saw him for the first time. About my age, with a wild tuft of red-brown curls, flashing green eyes and shaking with rage. His face was white, lips chapped, and I stared at him, mesmerized. That’s when I’d realized he wasn’t dressed properly for the woods on a snowy day. He had on sneakers filled with snow, a pair of jeans, and a ripped hoodie. All his clothes were soaking wet and hanging off of him like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  And in his arms, nestled against his shoulder, was a bleeding eagle. I gasped a little. I’d never seen anyone outside of my family able tame such a fierce hunter of the sky.

  “Roche, not only is the boy right, but you’re also hunting on lands that are clearly marked as part of the refuge.” My father glared at him. “You’ve lived here too long to not know that.”

  Roche’s face twisted. “I shot that eagle on hunting grounds. Besides, you can’t claim the sky.”

  “Who says I can’t?” asked my father, his voice amused.

  Roche looked nonplussed, so my uncle spoke up then. “Leave the eagle and don’t let us catch you again. Otherwise, we’ll let Sil know and she will ban you. Trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

  Flushing red, Roche had glared around the clearing at us, but then begrudgingly scurried away, throwing the boy looks of loathing over his shoulders.

  “Can you help him?” the boy asked, proffering the eagle. “He’s in pain.”

  “Yes,” my father said, crossing over to the boy, Aspen by his side. I hung back. “How did you manage to convince this bird to trust you? I’m surprised you’re not covered in cuts.”

  The boy looked down at the eagle, his voice soft. “I told him I wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “What’s your name, son?” Aspen asked, his voice genial and friendly.

  Hunching his shoulders, the boy shook his head. “I’m no one. Here, take him. I have to go.”

  “Go where?” asked Aspen. “Technically you’re trespassing, did you know that?”

  I glanced at my uncle in surprise. While Auntie Sil was particular about who hunted on her lands and where, she’d never closed off the borders unless it was an emergency. Or so she said. Anyone was welcome to wander through here.

  His face went white as he stared at my uncle. “I am? Are you going to tell the police?”

  “Nah,” my uncle chuckled. “We’r
e gonna take you to our Auntie’s and get you fed. Look at you, boy, you’re skin and bones. Where’d you come from?”

  But the boy’s eyes were defiant as he stared from my uncle to my father. “I’m no one. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to take pity on me.” His voice was becoming harsh. “I can take care of myself.”

  Aspen and my father exchanged looks. Then my uncle looked back at me. “C’mere, Lolo.”

  Walking over, I eyed the boy looking at me for the first time. His eyes went wide, his jaw dropping, and I’d felt flustered. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

  “What are you looking at?” I snapped, folding my arms. “And you’re stupid if you stay out here in the woods. You’ll die. More snow is coming tonight.”

  “I’m not stupid! And I’m not dead yet,” the boy had flashed back at me.

  “‘Yet,’” I said with the delicate scorn only a nine-year-old girl could muster. “I don’t know why you’re turning up your nose at my Auntie’s cooking; it’s the best in Montana.”

  Above me, I heard a chuckle, but when I looked at my uncle, his face was solemn. Looking at the boy, he asked, “How about it? You don’t have to stay, but at least let us give you a meal for saving our friend.”

  “He’s your friend?” The boy looked down at the eagle. “What’s his name?”

  “Igasho. It means ‘wanderer’ – pretty good name, right? He likes to fly wide and far. Doesn’t like to be locked down to one place,” said my father.

  “I wish I could fly,” the boy muttered. “I’d never come back to earth.”

  “I’m Helaku,” my father said. “And this is my brother Aspen, and my daughter Willow, but we call her Lolo.”

  “Dad,” I hissed, not wanting a stranger to know my nickname.

  The boy looked at us, his gaze distant and empty. It was too old for someone so young. “I don’t have a name. Not one that matters anyways.”