by Zoe Chant
“Do they bite?” Abby asked in horror.
“They can peck,” Jamie said, clinging to her dignity. She wasn’t used to the shoes or the tight skirt. “It leaves a helluva bruise. Usually they aren’t aggressive at this time of year, though, and they ought to be roosting right now.”
“Maybe they’ve eaten coffee grounds out of Dean’s compost or something,” Abby suggested.
Two of them began fighting, in a brief flurry of feathers and raucous squawks. The others were making all manner of noises, and clearly trying to intimidate each other.
“How’d they get into the yard?” Devon wondered.
“They can fly,” Jamie pointed out.
Abby gave a squeak of fear. “They fly?!”
“Why don’t they just fly out?” Devon asked.
“Let’s encourage them,” Jamie suggested. She opened the gate firmly, stepping forward with a stomp and a yell as she went, and the birds exploded into a swarming mass of flapping, calf-high, yelping bird chaos.
There were beaks and beating wings and flying feathers everywhere as the flock swirled towards them. Their gobbling cries were ferocious and their eyes gleamed. Jamie had faced down raging forest fire and charging moose, but she had never been so sure she was going to die as she was staring into this maelstrom of angry turkeys.
Abby bolted for the porch of the house with a shriek and Devon swept Jamie into his arms like she weighed absolutely nothing and pelted after his sister.
Abby fumbled at the lock with her keys, finally got the door open, and they all fell inside and slammed the door behind them.
The turkeys gobbled, muffled, outside the door.
All three of them collapsed into hysterical laughter as Devon put Jamie easily back down on her feet. Perhaps the jolt of adrenaline had given him extra strength.
“Maybe a cat chased them over here or something,” Jamie surmised, looking out of the narrow window by the door.
The creatures were milling at the base of the steps, looking far less terrifying than they had just moments ago as they pecked and fluffed their feathers. Some of them seemed to be drowsing in place.
She looked back to find Devon and Abby eyeing each other. Abby shrugged, though Devon didn’t say anything.
“How long do you think they’ll be out there?” Abby asked, coming to the window to look out with Jamie.
“This isn’t normal turkey behavior,” Jamie said. “I have no idea.”
They looked sleepy and completely harmless, now, but she didn’t really want to risk going out and finding out.
Abby apparently had the same thought. “Who wants to watch a movie?” she asked. “Maybe Hitchcock’s The Birds?”
“You’re hysterical,” Devon told her sarcastically. “I’m not letting you watch that.”
He tried to convince her to pick a Disney movie, she countered with a slasher. They finally settled on Ghostbusters, then argued over which version. Jamie cast the deciding vote for the original version.
She and Devon made popcorn in the kitchen, using an air popper so ancient it actually was 70s avocado green. Probably, it had been included in the purchase of Tawny’s house.
Jamie was keenly aware of his hot gaze as they moved around in the tiny space. She was still wearing her little black dress and he was still wearing his gorgeous suit, but somehow this was a more comfortable place than the fancy restaurant had been, even dressed so inappropriately.
They came out of the kitchen to find that Abby had found every spare blanket and pillow in the house and set them each up a nest and queued the movie. She had claimed the easy chair, leaving the couch to Jamie and Devon to share.
Jamie self-consciously tucked her bare legs up under her, and nearly fell into Devon when he sat next to her and the poorly sprung couch sagged towards the middle. Abby completely ignored them once she had her popcorn, and they started the movie.
Jamie regretted her choice when they got to the gross parts, and Abby giggled through the sexy and violent bits...it had been years since Jamie saw the movie, and she had forgotten some of the more graphic scenes.
By the end of the movie, they were all sprawled comfortably, Jamie halfway into Devon’s lap with the skirt of her dress hiked up underneath the blankets they were snuggled under.
“That was a terrible movie,” Abby scoffed as the credits started to roll. “I can’t believe they call it a classic.”
“It was kind of awful,” Jamie agreed.
“You’re both crazy,” Devon scoffed. “It’s one of the best movies in history! Who you gonna call?”
Jamie sighed into Devon’s arms, perfectly content for the moment and loathe to move from their comfortable den.
But something was bugging her, something she couldn’t put her finger on, until Abby said in alarm, “Do you smell something?”
Smoke, Jamie realized, starting to struggle free of Devon and their blankets. She smelled smoke. Then she heard a familiar sound, a sound she’d been ignoring, because sometimes she imagined it when it wasn’t there.
She heard flames, and the smoke detector began to scream.
13
It took Devon a few seconds to identify the problem.
“Where’s your fire extinguisher?” Jamie demanded, pulling away from him and throwing aside the blanket as she battled to her feet.
“Kitchen!” Devon said, after a blank-brained moment of worrying that they didn't have one. “In the pantry by the fridge!”
He could see the flicker of crackling light from the kitchen now, and terror made him clumsy as he staggered to his feet.
Jamie was already at the open door of the kitchen, coolly assessing the situation. “Turn off the circuit breaker,” she said, perfectly calmly. “Abby, call 911.” She had the wool blanket in her hands and before Devon could stop her, she was stepping into the kitchen.
Terror spiked in him and his lynx was a yowl of fear in his head. He wanted to rush after and stop her, he wanted to follow her, he wanted to protect her, he wanted everyone out of the house, and indecision rooted his feet to the floor.
Trust, he finally settled on. He had to trust her.
Abby was already dialing, and Devon bolted for the fuse box at the back of the house.
It took too long to fumble it open, and then he stared at the panel in consternation; everything was labeled in utterly ancient tiny scratching, and completely nonsensical.
In a few swift motions, he swept every switch to the off setting and the house went dark and silent, the movie credits very suddenly cutting out. He could hear the bang of the cabinet in the kitchen and a sudden, stunning whoosh of the fire extinguisher.
By the time he came back, everything was completely under control.
Abby was still on the phone, stammering their address to the dispatcher in the now-dark house, and Jamie was emptying the fire extinguisher blindly towards the kitchen counter, where the popcorn popper, no longer avocado green, was a half-melted plastic lump on a blackened, scorched counter. The cabinets above were streaked in black, and fine white powder was over everything. He could barely identify the items that had been on the counter next to the popper—a crisp bag that had been bread, some dirty dishes, melted tupperware, and several cereal boxes that were almost nothing.
The fire extinguisher gave a sputter and Jamie eased up on the trigger.
The whole room creaked and groaned in changing temperature and Jamie coughed. It was smoky, but not too thick.
“Do you have a flashlight?” she asked, as the last wisps of the extinguisher spray settled.
Devon realized that she must not have his lynx’s night vision, and it struck him all over again that he needed to tell her about being a shifter. It was still possible she was one, just one without night sight…
But now was definitely not the right time.
“Yeah,” he said, moving unerringly for the drawer on the far side of the sink. “Here.”
Abby came in with her phone turned to light the area just as he turned
the flashlight on.
Jamie flinched away from the sudden light. “Wow,” she said. “That’s a bit of a mess.”
“They’re sending the truck,” Abby said.
On cue, Jamie’s phone, hung in the closet with her coat, began to shrill.
Everyone jumped, then broke into hysterical laughter.
“That’s the fastest I’ve ever turned out,” Jamie said weakly, and Devon could no longer resist sweeping her into his arms, awkward fire extinguisher and all.
They all started talking at once.
“That could have been so much worse,” Abby said, shaking her head.
“We’re lucky you were here,” Devon said to Jamie.
“The lesson here is not to leave avocado green appliances plugged in.” Jamie squeezed one of Devon’s arms. “You would have done the same thing,” she said.
“Probably not as fast,” Devon said. Was she a shifter? “You had the experience.”
“This was the most excitement I’ve had since I moved back,” Jamie laughed. “Every other call-out has been a total waste of time. The closest we’ve gotten to an actual fire was an invitation to a retiree party with too many candles.”
For all of her bluster, Devon could feel an unexpected tremble to her. Abby was shaking more visibly.
Jamie’s phone was still going off. “I should answer,” she said, pulling out of Devon’s arms.
There was a pounding on the door, followed abruptly by a crash, and Dean came barreling into the dark, smoky kitchen through the door he’d just pushed open. “Are you okay? Abby? Devon? Er… Jamie?”
He’d brought a flashlight with him, sensibly, and had an extinguisher in the other hand. Jamie, in the spotlight, scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m still on call until after Christmas,” Dean said.
A siren rose up down the street behind him, wailing about a block and stopping at the sidewalk outside the house.
Turner came pelting up to the porch. He was wearing his full suit, but took off his helmet as soon as he gazed into the broken door. “Where’s your turnout gear, Dean?” he demanded. “Didn’t you just get a reprimand for this?”
“I was right next door!” Dean protested. “Yell at Jamie, she’s the one wearing an evening dress!”
“I was here already, you ingrates! And I saved you a lot of work, too!”
“You saved our house,” Devon pointed out gently.
“You’re welcome!” Jamie yelled, and Devon could tell that she was a bundle of nerves.
“Is it safe to turn the power back on?” he asked, fighting his impulse to try to pull Jamie back into his arms. Abby was looking equally shell-shocked, but when he put out an arm for her, she stubbornly ignored him.
Turner shook his head. “You should get a contractor out here to inspect it,” he cautioned. “Wires behind the walls could have melted. Insurance bean-counters are going to want to see it first, too. You guys got a place to stay?”
“They can crash with us,” Dean offered at once. “We’ve got a daybed in Shelley’s office, and a couch in the living room.”
“Grab what you need,” Turner said dismissively. “And I swear to God, Dean, if I catch you at another fire without turnout gear…” He didn’t actually sound angry.
Dean protested good-naturedly, and added, “Come on over when you’re ready. We’ll make hot chocolate.”
“Are the turkeys still out there?” Abby asked suddenly.
Dean and Turner looked at her blankly, only more confused when Devon started to chuckle and Jamie burst into laughter.
“Nevermind,” Abby said crossly. She vanished into her room as Dean and Turner shrugged at each other and left the house. Turner was muttering unhappily about incident reports, and Dean was chuckling.
The whole house reeked of nasty smoke, and Devon was glad not to stay. He gathered a change of clothes and his toothbrush, and found Jamie still frowning in the kitchen as she played the flashlight across the counter.
Her black dress was cloudy with the extinguisher dust, and her mane of hair was almost on end.
“I’m sorry our date didn’t end that well,” Devon said apologetically.
“Which part? The homicidal turkeys or the house fire? You know, I prefer to keep my work and romance separate,” she quipped.
Devon recognized her humor for the attempt to deflect that it was. He might have said more, but Abby emerged from her room with a giant duffel bag just then.
“My clothes smell like smoke,” she complained.
“Yeah,” Jamie sympathized. “It’s amazing how it gets in everything. I smell like a bacon smoker for a couple of weeks after every wildfire season. Doesn’t matter how many times I shower.”
“Our house wasn’t even on fire that long!” Abby said, shaking her head.
They went to the door and all paused on the porch. Devon realized that Dean had broken the deadbolt out, and he wasn’t going to be able to latch it, let alone lock it.
Shifter strength? And hadn’t Jamie moved with shifter swiftness? Not knowing was so nerve-wracking.
But it was Green Valley and most people didn’t even lock their houses, so he shrugged and went to the steps, where Abby and Jamie were both peering suspiciously out into the yard.
There was no sign of the turkeys except for the turf they had scratched up, and a few feathers in the brown grass.
Jamie went with them to the sidewalk in front of Dean’s house next door and then hung back reluctantly, shivering in her coat.
Her legs were bare under her short skirt, and Devon stayed back with her, not sure what to do until Abby turned around and said, “If you want to walk her home, I can…”
“No,” Jamie said swiftly. “I don’t need that.”
She started to pivot and walk away, but Devon caught her arm. “Wait,” he said desperately, letting her go at once.
“Thanks for a very exciting date,” Jamie said, too brightly. “The turkeys were a nice touch.”
“Jamie…”
“Much better than cops,” she joked, and in her high heels she barely needed to stand on tip-toe to put a swift, casual kiss on his cheek.
“Jamie…”
“Tomorrow at Shaun’s before your shift at Dean’s?”
Everything was too light, too off-hand.
“Jamie…”
“Good night, Devon. Your sister needs you.” Firmly. No room for argument. And she knew the only thing she could say that would keep him from following her when she ran away.
“Good night,” he said reluctantly, and then she was striding off and he followed Abby to Dean’s door.
They were greeted by Aaron, dressed in pajamas.
“You smell like smoke!” the little boy observed eagerly. “Smoking causes cancer, you know. And besides, you stink.”
“You want to take a shower first?” Shelley, Dean’s perfect-looking girlfriend, was holding a pile of bedding. “The bed in the office is made up, and I’ve got some blankets for the couch. Aaron, you’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I heard the sirens,” Aaron whined. “Daddy lets me stay up when he’s called out.”
“Daddy says you listen to Shelley,” Dean reminded him. He was making room on the coat rack for Abby and Devon’s jackets. “Nice suit. Big date tonight?”
Devon had forgotten he was wearing it. It was badly rumpled, between the car sex and the movie and the fire. “Yeah.”
Dean grinned at him. “Did it go well?”
Devon couldn’t help but grin back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Kind of a terrible ending, though.”
“Funny how lighting a house on fire puts a damper on things,” Dean joked with him.
Abby accepted Shelley’s offer for a shower and Dean took a protesting Aaron back up to bed.
Which left Devon alone with Shelley.
Dean’s girlfriend was terribly intimidating, with her chilly face and fashionable clothing. She looked like a mismatch for Green Valley most of the time, but Dev
on had seen how soft and vulnerable she could get with Dean and Aaron.
She didn’t look soft and vulnerable right now. She looked cool and vaguely irritated.
It was nearly midnight, Devon realized as he took his suit jacket off and glanced at his watch. Aaron had apparently stubbed his toe and was wailing loudly from upstairs in that over-tired way he remembered from when Abby was younger.
“Thanks for putting us up,” he said to Shelley, and then her face did thaw then.
“Of course,” she said more warmly. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If you need any help with the insurance or inspectors, just let me know.”
Devon lay awake a long time into the night, after Shelley vanished upstairs and Abby had retreated to her office toweling her wet hair after assuring Devon that she was fine and exchanging a swift, tight hug with him. Aaron’s wails were swiftly quieted, and after a while, the inevitable creaks and noises of people moving around in an upper floor going to bed went silent.
He wasn’t thinking about the fire, or the insurance, though any of that might have kept him sleepless.
He was thinking of Jamie, of the distance she’d dropped between them after saving their house.
Her mother had died in a house fire, he remembered, and he wrestled with his lynx’s desires to hunt her down and comfort her. Your sister needs you, she’d reminded him, and he didn’t know how to reconcile his warring needs to protect the people he loved the most.
He fell asleep at last, and dreamed of angry wild turkeys that tried to tear him in two.
14
Jamie was good at sleeping.
She had slept, without a tent or sleeping bag, on many mossy tussocks in the Alaskan wilderness, with the midnight sun trying to pry open her eyelids. She had slept on beaches in Hawaii. She had slept on uncomfortable cots, on awkwardly short couches, on airport and train station benches. She could make herself drowse off through sheer force of will, no matter how uncomfortable she was.
So she was surprised when she found no rest in a perfectly good bed in her perfectly good efficiency above the fire station.
