Jaguar at the Portal

by Aimee Easterling

  Let's hope that battered old journal was right....

  The missionary who'd recorded the were-jaguar legend considered the tale a charming piece of native folklore. And Finn would have thought the same...if he weren't able to stretch out his arm and watch the air glimmer slightly as skin gave way to fur and nails turned into claws.

  Not a very functional arrangement for managing his laptop, of course, which is why Finn was currently stuck in human form, tailored black suit and charcoal-gray shirt unbuttoned around his neck to capture the evening breeze. Because every cat knows that stalking should be done in style, never mind the discomfort....

  But as the catnip aroma grew stronger in the air, his feline form called more and more to his human mind. Not one to ignore his urges, Finn secured his laptop using the velcro he'd attached to the device and to the rough tree bark. Then he stood and submitted to the urge to shift.

  Finally, the feline thought, stretching his back mightily and feeling his whiskers spread out from his face at last. His human skin often felt so cramped.

  And don't get me started on those torture devices that humans call shoes.

  On huge black paws, the jaguar padded along the branch until the tree began to bend under his weight, then he leaped down to prowl along the earth. The tremendous Olmec statue that had connected this site to the journal entry towered a little higher over the dig every day as its base was slowly unearthed. And even though the misplaced Mexican sculpture was far too close to the action for safety, the shifter was drawn to the sight like a bee to honey.

  Finn had once thought that this stone head might be the artifact he was looking for. But if so, he'd yet to find any indication that the sculpture impacted his abilities in the slightest. Still, Finn figured he might as well make contact once again while he was waiting around for the archaeologists to turn up something more interesting.

  Of course, that journal was particularly vague about how exactly the artifact was supposed to function, Finn reminded himself. Ignoring his better sense, the cat-shifter waited until the lead archaeologist finished talking into his cell phone and walked back into the dig, then he crouched and sprang onto the top of the carved head. Perhaps I just need to spend more time getting to know this old stone dude.

  As much as he enjoyed lounging atop the carved boulder as the day descended into dusk though, Finn didn't honestly believe that he'd found his much-sought-after artifact. After all, if the journal was to be believed, his ancestor had carried the artifact in question most of the way across the continent. In contrast, this boulder had obviously been carved in situ. No, the answer must be that the true artifact hadn't been discovered yet.

  Either that, or this crew of inept archaeologists had overlooked the item as they sifted through the dirt.

  Or perhaps the artifact was made of wood or cloth and simply rotted away.... In which case Finn would be left alone as the only were-jaguar among humans for the rest of his life. No, that option was simply unthinkable.

  "Oh!"

  The exclamation brought Finn to his feet before the girl's lips had even closed. Strain as he might though, the shifter couldn't quite make out what had been uncovered from his vantage point on top of the stone head. Still, the flurry of activity converging on one square of the dig certainly suggested that the intern in question had exclaimed over more than a broken fingernail.

  Maybe....

  The smart course of action would have been for Finn to return to his laptop so he could figure out what was going on without attracting undue attention. But the jaguar's whiskers were tingling...and he knew the cutoff switch wired into the electric system—his key to solitary dig access should he need it—was waiting right there in his pocket. Good thing items carried on the were-jaguar's person came along during each of his shifts. Otherwise, changing forms would wreak such havoc on his wardrobe....

  Standing up on two human feet, Finn pulled out the little key fob, hit a button, and smiled as everything went dark beneath him. Only then did the shifter realize that he'd neglected to jump down off the ten-foot-tall sculpture while he still had flexible feline legs to cushion his fall. Perhaps that catnip was messing with his mind more than he'd given it credit for....

  And why, exactly, is there such a strong scent of catnip in the middle of a dig out in the wilds of West Virginia?

  The thought was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by an excited roar of voices as the archaeologists stumbled out of the now darkened burial mound while doing their best not to trip over each other or some priceless artifact in the process. Humans are so very terrified of the dark, Finn thought smugly.

  "Someone's gotta have a flashlight," one intern said, turning circles in the trampled grass outside the dig as he peered into the faces of his compatriots. "I have to see the entirety of that statue...."

  "In the morning," the head archaeologist countered, silencing the chatter. "I won't have my dig ruined by a herd of people running over it in the dark. John, call the electrician. Mary, get the security company on the phone for me.

  "And, as for the rest of you, don't mention what we found to anyone. We'll uncover the statue under the light of day. And then...we'll see."

  "But, professor," voice number one countered. "We can't just leave it here unattended. A find of this magnitude..."

  "...Will wait until morning," the head archaeologist replied. "After all, it's already waited over two thousand years...."

  ***

  As soon as the last car rumbled out of the parking lot, Finn stepped from behind the Olmec head, laptop in a messenger bag slung across his torso and headlamp across his brow. The bulb wasn't on, though, and not just for reasons of stealth—Finn preferred to keep his eyes attuned to the moonlit night even while walking on two feet. But he might not be willing to wait until he'd reached the safety of his hotel room to explore the artifact more closely. Thus the head lamp.

  The shifter knew that the wise course of action would consist of transforming back into feline shape and taking a few laps around the grounds to make sure he was truly alone before walking into the dig. But he'd waited so long for this moment, and he'd watched every last intern and graduate student drive away, even catching the head archaeologist speaking with the security company as he pulled out onto the main road. Trusty Security had promised to send over a pair of guards within the hour...which gave Finn plenty of time to carve the artifact the rest of the way out of the packed earth and then take to his heels.

  The dig stretched in front of him like a booby trap in the dark, pits of varying depths all carefully excavated with perfectly square corners. The pursuit of science had just about driven Finn mad over the course of the spring months as he watched the archaeologists painstakingly delve and brush through one small area at a time.

  The were-jaguar, on the other hand, had known right where the artifact was from the beginning. Something had called him toward the area just left of center even before the first groundbreaking. And, sure enough, that square had been dug deeper and deeper as intriguing findings continued to come to light.

  Now, Finn could see a small shape right in the bottom of his favorite hole, a rough stone figurine no bigger than his hand. Unable to wait the thirty seconds it would have taken to walk the easy route around from the other side, Finn leaped straight down, falling more than a meter and landing on his toes without needing to so much as drop a hand to the earth to steady his landing. It was good to be a cat...even when he technically wasn't one.

  The figurine was still mostly embedded in the soil, but Finn's multi-tool made short work of the surrounding earth. After all, he wasn't an archaeologist, worried about disrupting buried clues to the past. Plus, he'd known the artifact could handle some rough prying as soon as he touched the hard stone surface.

  The little statue quickly popped out of the ground, but dirt still encrusted every curve, making the markings hard to decipher. Finn's best guess was that the figure represented a seated human, hands and head resting on pulled up knees. And pe
rhaps those were larger-than-human ears pointing up out of the being's head?

  Just as Finn was about to activate his head lamp to peer a little more closely at the figurine, the dig's lights blazed on above his head. Then the unmistakable sound of the safety being flicked off a gun came from behind his back. Which is when Finn knew that his cat-like curiosity had been played against him.

  The drugging scent of catnip suddenly made more sense. As did the head archaeologist being willing to leave the dig unattended without even taking the time to pull this Mexican artifact out of West Virginia soil. Add in the man's willingness to wait an hour for a security team to arrive, and Finn had to ask himself—was it possible that someone knew were-cats existed, and that one was hovering over this very dig in search of clues to his ancestry?

  Possible, but unlikely, Finn decided, even as he closed his eyes to expedite the shrinking of his pupils. For now, he'd have to assume that his deepest secret was still hidden. Which meant he needed to act like a human.

  Still, when the shifter heard a finger squeezing a trigger, he didn't hesitate to use his cat reflexes to save his skin. Although Finn didn't change forms, the shifter did use his superior muscles to leap to the side and to put his shoulder—rather than his heart—in the way of the bullet.

  Cursing silently in order to counteract the overwhelming pain, Finn wished once again that he could flee on cat paws. But what if there were other were-jaguars out there in the world who were counting on his stealth to protect them from humanity? And what if the human behind him became so intrigued by Finn's cat form that the were-jaguar was decanted out of the intruder box and tossed directly into the precious-artifact box? What scientist could resist tracking the first credible sighting of a were-jaguar, even if the quest took him to the ends of the earth?

  So, instead of shifting, Finn gritted his teeth, slipped the figurine into his coat pocket, and turned to face his attacker.

  The head archaeologist, Martin Mirabelle, stood above Finn, rifle resting in the crook of one arm. A smile on the older man's face seemed to indicate that he'd meant to simply disable rather than kill the looter all along. "Now that I have your attention," Mirabelle said, "why don't you come up here so we can talk?" His words were cordial, as if the two were simply associates meeting to talk business over sushi. Cat-like, the man seemed to enjoy playing with his quarry, a weakness that Finn shared...but was also quite willing to exploit.

  "Perhaps you'd give me a hand up?" the shifter replied, silently working through his options. If he toppled Mirabelle into the pit, would the surprise allow Finn to escape despite his injury? The shifter hugged his wounded arm closer to his side, feeling blood soak through the fabric of his shirt and then his coat.

  His favorite shirt and coat. That thought, as much as the pain, made him grumpy and less willing to play the archaeologist's game.

  But Mirabelle only laughed and pointed to the less direct route that led in the other direction. "Do try not to step on any priceless artifacts," the older man offered, before walking around the pit to block Finn's exit.

  The shifter rolled his eyes, but obeyed. After all, it wasn't as if he was a heathen totally untouched by the glamorous promise of archeology. Finn wanted to know how this Olmec head came to be located in an Adena burial mound as much as the next guy—it was only the artifact in his pocket that exceeded the importance of his cat-like curiosity. So, no, the shifter wouldn't accidentally stumble and kick apart an ancient burial arrangement, even if the archaeologist voicing the order had shot him in the arm.

  Shot him! Wasn't Mirabelle supposed to be a harmless college professor? Good thing Finn had brought his own favorite weapon along....

  "Look, I can explain," the shifter said, maintaining a light tone in hopes Mirabelle would keep that rifle pointed up into the air. "I read about this place in the paper and I was just curious...."

  Knowing that Mirabelle's eyes were focused on his good arm, Finn ignored the pain and used his other hand to reach surreptitiously into his pocket. Then he continued to fill the air with harmless patter as he ever so slowly thumbed off the safety on his canister of pepper spray.

  Then, in a move so sudden that it sent waves of agony rolling through his body, the shifter lunged forward and depressed the button inches away from his captor's face.

  Mirabelle's high-pitched scream made up for Finn's own misery, and the feline smiled as he shifted into cat form and loped away into the night. After all, with pepper spray in his eyes, Mirabelle wouldn't be able to see how his quarry had made his escape...and a jaguar would reach safety much faster than a man.

  Plus, now Finn had an excuse to pay a call on that tantalizing veterinarian.

  Chapter 3

  Jaguars like to swim, but an eternity spent treading water was making even Tezcatlipoca weary. The deity's imprisonment also left him plenty of time to think about topics he'd far rather forget. Such as the way he'd become trapped in this world so completely devoid of all potential worshipers.

  My old buddy Q was involved in that chicanery, Tez thought, and not for the first time. Despite his efforts to ignore old memories, the betrayal still stung.

  He's just jealous, the god thought to himself. I've always been the more enticing deity. No wonder poor old Quetzalcoatl felt threatened by my awesomeness.

  And yet, two millennia after being trapped in this empty world, Tez knew that he would no longer win out over his brother god in a beauty pageant. No, Tez's charisma had drained away over time, falling like a rock to the bottom of this new world's endless sea until he could barely remember being dropped two-legged into the salt water.

  Yes, he could barely remember ceremonial robes and feathers buoying him up. He could barely remember being a feared and prayed-to god. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, every hint of the trapped deity's powers had faded into the oblivion of darkness until even the memories of his power were disintegrating.

  It hadn't taken long for Tezcatlipoca to regress into his core essence—a jaguar with one obsidian foot. Make that a lonely, grumpy, wet jaguar, who continued to tread water even though he knew that no rescue was eminent.

  So when the first voice emerged out of thin air and drifted into his mind, Tez could almost feel his powers expanding. They're praying to me at last! Somehow, a lowly human being had made his way into Tezcatlipoca's domain and was speaking to his god, albeit in a language completely foreign to the jaguar deity's experience.

  But when Tez continued to lack the power necessary to shift forms, he was forced to admit that the voice didn't have anything to do with him after all. Still, it was intriguing to have someone to listen to within his watery domain. So the jaguar god focused all of his prodigious brain power on deciphering the code of this strange tongue.

  By the time the air was filled with what Tezcatlipoca now knew were radio and television waves—and, more recently, with cell phone signals—Tez had become fluent in English and had settled into a daily routine. In the morning, the god took in the news, catching up on the happenings around the world and doing his best to exercise his brain. Later, he drifted on a wave of day-time soap operas and afternoon cartoons, then he whiled away the rest of his hours with late-night TV.

  I've become a couch potato, Tez thought, amused by his own modernity. And that was the day when the signals began to subtly shift.

  At first, the god thought the new voices were simply another form of long-distance communication used by the humans so near his world and yet so far away. But the speech didn't seem to tell any story at all. Instead, the experience resembled the way Tez used to feel when eavesdropping into the thoughts of other gods' followers.

  Then, as now, the humans' words didn't increase Tezcatlipoca's power the way prayers of his own worshipers did. And yet, the words seemed real. Not canned entertainment, but living humans walking around somewhere up above his world's darkened sky.

  "...room together next summer," one human was saying. "And he told me that.... Oh!"

  "What is it?" The other
voice seemed bored at first, but then delight filled the male human's tone as he spoke again. "Whoa! Professor!"

  Soon a medley of voices, male and female, young and not-so-very-young, rose up, bouncing around within Tez's watery cavern. For the first time in thousands of years, Tezcatlipoca could see! And what he saw was walls encircling his watery abode, a vista that wasn't a world at all but a prison.

  Even though the view should have made Tez's hopes sink into his heels, it instead filled him with exultation. Because if his cell came complete with walls, then that meant there was something outside those walls. The god of hurricanes, temptation, and discord should have no problem breaking out into that external world.

  And when I do, Quetzlcoatl...and everyone else...will feel my wrath. They'll be sorry they ever tried to capture the Enemy of Both Sides...

  Chapter 4

  It just figures, Ixchel thought as she felt the knife continue to prick into her skin. I flee the inner city, work two jobs to pay my way through vet school, scrimp and save to open a practice in a nice community, and this is where I get robbed at knife point.

  Despite her best attempt at sarcasm, though, the vet's heart was racing every bit as fast as little Jason's budgie's had been pumping that morning. The winged pet had escaped from his cage in the waiting room and battered his beak against the windows for five solid minutes before flying right into Ixchel's hands...moments before Miss Gracie's cat could pounce upon her prey.

  Terror doesn't help anything, the vet had cooed to the little bird then, and she repeated the same mantra to herself now. But the admonition definitely wasn't keeping her knees steady or preventing her vision from tunneling down as her body prepared to black out.

  This is officially worse than coming face to face with a huge black cat that shouldn't live in West Virginia, she thought. Particularly since the vet didn't currently have a defenseless animal to protect, so she was forced to focus on her own feelings for a change. It was always better to stay outside her head's endless scattered ruminations, especially when the going got tough.