by Kat Quinn
“Kier,” Stepping up into the agitated wolf shifter’s face, my body is a barricade to his view of the woman currently flipping her biscuits in fine form. “A word?” A less capable healer may have feared for their life given the pure rage foaming at the corners of every aspect of the snarling man’s features, but I’ve been in enough tussles to know I can hold my own. And cheat just a little when I can’t.
With a smile, I rest my hand on Kieran’s shoulder to help gently turn him away from the temptation to bite back at the lady of the household. He slaps my hand aside forcefully, but turns on his own anyway, stalking off towards the tree line of our property. By the time we’re at a safe distance, Kieran is taking strong, controlled breaths. Both hands are gruffly buried in his wavy orange hair while he presses his forehead punishingly against the rough trunk of a tree.
“That woman!” He growls, “She’ll be the death of one of us, I swear!” One fist pounds against the abrasive, craggy bark, then again and again and again until his knuckles are split, thin rivulets of red trickling down his bulky forearm.
There’s despair in Kieran’s eyes as he turns his head slightly to look at me, “Monty, how do I stop it from happening? It’s driving me crazy. I can’t handle my own feelings half the time, let alone hers on top of it. And I know we’re just feeding into each other, making things worse, but every time I even remotely think about a threat to the pack I lose all logical sense and dive straight into the worst possible instincts. Instincts that I’m sure will keep us alive, but probably won’t keep us together.” He huffs a sigh and forcefully turns his head back, jagged bark digging into the flesh of his forehead until Kieran’s face is hidden by a waterfall of orange locks.
“Well, it’s good that you recognize that.” I take a careful step closer, resting a hand on his hunched shoulder blade, “But, we can’t keep going like this. She might not have said it the best, but Dizzy does have a good point. If there’s important information regarding our safety, everyone needs to know it. No excuses.” Kieran grunts his assent. “And this obsessive training? We’re used to it. She’s not. Plus, the frustration she feels with her own lack of progress isn’t going to get better by forcing her to try, fail, and try again. Not every brick wall is meant to be punched to pieces; some you’re supposed to climb over instead. We’ve all seen it-she can’t land a hit to save her life-so let’s figure out a way to help her climb the wall instead of trying to crash through it.”
Skeptically, Kieran huffs. “What else is there? The best defense is a good offense, period.”
“Says the man who painstakingly spent well over a year building our defensive perimeter,” I reply, eyebrow arched pointlessly towards a man who can’t even see it.
“One of the two men,” Zeke’s voice corrects from behind. “I’ve been contemplating something.” My cheeks heat as I look at the tattooed interloper, a small cube in his hand. The same cube he developed to monitor the testing of Dizzy’s powers he and I conducted on her in our workshop. An interaction that got… heated… in more than one way. “Between the results of our tests, and my observations since her arrival, I suspect that Dizzy is capable of powerful and controlled attacks, but only under certain conditions. Her abilities differ from what we’ve come to assume is normal function. There may be interference from them.”
Thinking on it, his idea isn’t without merit. While we were testing her powers, Dizzy managed to instinctively shoot out a fireball that precisely targeted a series of dangerous charms that would have probably killed me if they’d had the chance to be fully activated. And when we trapped and confronted David, the shadow who appeared to be hellbent on murdering us, she summoned another fireball despite having no innate elemental capabilities. Ultimately, that one missed its target and partially obliterated a nearby apartment unit, conveniently made vacant that morning by none other than Lilly and Miss Fern.
Those are both instances of times when she’s used her powers on instinct, without being able to consciously duplicate the effect. But even when she does something intentional, like manipulating plant life, her methods are worlds apart from how I’ve been taught to control the same abilities. She helps unlock the inherent potential of whatever flora she communes with, encouraging it to grow if it so chooses with its own energy. Conversely, I use my internal power stores to direct a plant to grow how I tell it to. In a way, her method is nurturing whereas mine is more demanding.
“You’re right,” I tell Zeke. “Of course she’s different, we’ve known that from the start.” Loose dreadlocks whisper roughly across my cheeks as I shake my head slightly, smiling. “What do you propose we do differently, Z?”
“She can’t hit things if she tries. She can if she does not, or doesn’t think about it. Instinct. We have to make her react instinctively.” He taps one of his fingers against the cube in his hand, a small metallic clinking rhythm playing as the edge of one of his rings clips the corner. “Once we prove the hypothesis, we need to replicate it and harness it intentionally.”
“You see, buddy, climbing the wall instead of crashing through it.” I pat Kieran’s back firmly, “Why don’t you two sort a plan out together. Some of us could use a break to get our mojo back. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to wrangle us up a proper meal. One night off won’t kill us.”
“It might,” Kieran mumbles halfheartedly under his breath, inhaling deeply afterwards to compose himself before straightening to face us.
I cringe at the deep scratches marring his forehead, blood trickling down the bridge of his nose. Holding it out to him, Kieran rolls his eyes and accepts my hand so I can quickly mend his wounds with a small stream of energy. Hopefully, a few hours apart will help calm things down between him and Dizzy, which really isn’t doing any favors for the overall atmosphere of our household.
Confident that Zeke and Kieran can work out a solid and much more logical plan between them, I swivel back towards the house to help collect my future sous-chef, who seems to be done flipping that tray of biscuits of hers and calmed down significantly. Always fight dirty using cute animals if the option is available. Always.
16. Lin
“Looks like it’s just you and me for now, stud muffin,” I wink at the lanky blonde man who seems a bit flummoxed at the change in itinerary. “Why don’t you show me your moves, hmm?” Casually, my body shifts smoothly into a somewhat unassuming defensive stance, center of gravity ensured by the diagonal parting of my feet. As if it’s no bother at all, I curl a finger at Connor, beckoning him to brave an approach.
Connor’s gentle face contorts into a wince, angelic features marred horribly by such a wretched expression. His shoulders are nearly wound up to his earlobes, thin arms crossing his long midsection with each elbow tightly clutched; back hunched in a submissive and thoroughly unintimidating posture.
“Now now, my duck, none of that,” I tut at him. “I’m a big boy and can surely hold my own against such a dreamy powerhouse of man meat as yourself.” Winking, I step forward coolly to bridge the gap between us, stretching out to link one of my hands with his. With the other, I reach behind him and loop around his waist, slamming our bodies together firmly and forcing his spine to stiffen. Savoring the closeness, I slowly lift our joined hands, rapt attention on our interlaced fingers until they’re risen to the dizzying altitude of his noticeable cheekbones. His gentle, clean, and slightly citrusy scent fills my nostrils, heart pining to be enrobed in its delicate freshness.
In the years since I’ve known him, I’ve always found Connor a delicious enticement, but these last few weeks he’s almost become an indulgent obsession. Such a precious little 26 year-old cinnamon roll has no business getting mixed up with a wicked old cad like myself, twelve years his senior. And yet, I’m finding my flirtations becoming less antagonistic and more terrifyingly genuine.
Smooth as silk, I release him from my grasp and slide away, but not before booping him on the nose with one taunting digit. “Has that mother of yours taught you nothing?
Keep your defenses up, sugar dumpling. Wouldn’t want that gorgeous face of yours getting sliced up.” As the words leave my mouth, I’m reminded too late that his body is covered in hundreds of such scars. Tact has never been my most graceful skill, but distraction is one I’ve surely kept well-honed. “And separate your legs slightly to keep your balance, or am I going to need to come back there and part them for you?”
Pink blooming across his milky cheeks ever so delicately, Connor raises both fists to his face while stepping one foot backwards slightly, mirroring my own stance. Shame. Would have loved to help guide him more intimately. Still…
“Good, now follow the drills Kieran’s had us practicing,” I encourage, “I’ll defend this round.”
A wretched wince, again, tightens the delicate man’s features. “Lin, I’m not really sure… Maybe we should wait for Monty?” His fists start to loosen and lower incrementally, “Or at least anyone else, just in case?”
Straightening sharply, hands snapping to my hips, my chin dips downward in a display of shock and hurt, “Are you saying you don’t trust me, my dear?”
Frantically, he waves both hands placatingly and steps forward to prove his ease. I take the moment to snag one of Connor’s outstretched arms and yank him forward, flipping the towering man onto his back in less than a blink. Following him down, I land like a cat with all four limbs pinned tightly along his outside, trapping him as I form a dome above. “Because you shouldn’t. Trust me, that is.” Quickly, I snip my teeth at the tip of his pointed nose, then spring back to both feet, out of reach. “You shouldn’t trust any opponent. Which is why I will, of course, stay on guard with you to the best of my ability. And my ability is quite stellar, I’ll have you know. We’re both perfectly safe in each other’s care.” Knowing full well the man’s true concerns, I add, “I trust you to keep the nightmares contained. Trust yourself, too.”
Silently, but with the distinct clumsiness that comes from a body you’ve never been truly comfortable in, Connor rises to his feet once again, this time keeping them slightly parted and guarding the sides of his head with both raised fists. His inhale is shaky, but at its conclusion he blinks purposefully and nods ever-so-slightly. Then, springs into an attack.
17. Dizzy
“Come on Diz, why don’t you help me with dinner? Or you can just hang if you want, either way, looks like we could both use a break from training tonight.” Monty reaches one strong, deep umber hand down to where I’m whispering my frustrations to Aria. Obviously, she totally gets it so she’s been nodding and humming along. Even whistled us a tune for a little while that’s absurdly catchy and distracting. By the time she’d gotten to the second verse I’d nearly forgotten what I was grumbling about.
Wait, oh, right, take the hand you’re offered, Dizzy. Silly girl, if they hadn’t invented the screws that keep heads on tightly back in 1404, yours would be rolling off a cliff and jettisoned into the sea by now!
Grunting softly, Monty yanks me up off the ground just firm enough that I’m settled on my feet, but not so strongly that I’m shot from a daredevil’s cannon through a fiery hoop onto a trampoline, into his warm embrace. Instead, I’m just in a regular old backyard, holding the steady hand of a guy in workout shorts instead of ringmaster tails and a top hat. No embracing to be found. Colonel Stubbs nips happily at my heels though, so I may still be in a circus of sorts if it turns out he’s been a lion in disguise this whole time.
I eye Stubbs skeptically. Jury’s still out on this lion business; he is awfully fierce for a little guy, after all. To ensure I stay in good favor when his final form is revealed, I scoop him up and employ the mighty excessive-behind-ears-scritchins technique, which all beasts are powerless to defend against. That’s a science fact!
Right. Back to reality. Stop getting distracted, Dizzy, keep walking towards the house. “Thanks, Monty, I think my mind would have gotten lost and gone tumbling into the sea no matter how good my head screws are if I had to get thrown on my ass over and over again.”
He nods and hums in agreement, “Yeah, seemed a bit like that was the case. Want to lay it all out for me, or ignore it while we get to work?”
“What, you didn’t get a big enough ear full already?” I ask.
Monty shrugs casually, “Doesn’t mean there isn’t more you’d want to get off your chest.” He slides open the glass back door and waves me in first. Well, first except for Colonel Stubbs, the lion-disguised-as-a-little-white-Frenchie, who prances in ahead of me like he’s the king of all kingdoms. Might be true.
Plopping my butt onto one of the barstools around the kitchen island, I fling both arms above my head in exasperation, “I’m losing my shit being here!” Mockingly, I start, “‘You need to kick more ass, Dizzy,’ Kieran keeps saying, ‘your ass might get kicked some day,’ he always insists. But first of all, I’m totally kick ass! As far as I know, I’ve never died, and didn’t need any help not doing that before! And second of all, the only one kicking my ass is all of you!” Before I can become too snotty of a brat, Aria snips at my hand.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, and I know it’s all for the greater good and to help or whatever, but I feel like all of my skin is covered in fire ants from staying still for so long! And if I’m supposed to be learning to defend myself so I can actually sit put, but can’t ever actually land a single damned hit?” I ask it like it’s a question, even though there’s no answer. “Every day I don’t scratch that fire ant itch and get on the move feels like a day where the creepy crawlies multiply and I become an agitated, itchy, cranky, whirlwind of complaints.” Sighing, even I know this is all pretty ridiculous.
Spending almost half my life on the run has made it more than just a way to get away from danger, it’s been a way to get away from… everything. But, that’s definitely not normal. As not normal as I’m proud to be, maybe even a little bit of average, ordinary, every-day something-or-other could be good for me. But even this ‘normal’ that we’re cultivating here seems more like a bucket of spicy Cheetos rather than mild mystery-cheese ones, since there’s all the fight training and the secret night-time missions and the screaming at each other while avoiding dudes with big mustaches. Which I totally should have been told about beforehand, by the way. Don’t even care if there ‘wasn’t any time,’ there was definitely time and the whole situation was all kinds of jacked up like a car at the mechanic when it’s on one of those super high-powered hydraulic lifts. Because then it’s super jacked. Or maybe super jacked like shirtless Kieran at the beach, oiled up and takin’ us all to the gun show.
I crinkle my nose at the thought. Despite it being a perfect visual, I’m still pissed and don’t want to be letting my fantasies sneak in to smooth things over on his behalf.
“That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” Monty comments while reaching under the kitchen island and producing a glass bowl.
“Hm?” I question. “Oh, right. Ant skin.” I’d already moved on. “And I’m really not ready to let go of all this ‘we have to protect ourselves and each other’ crap, since what happened today was totally hypocritical. And yes, I know I’m going on and on about the same things, but it’s frustrating! Like, why am I doing this? Why am I doing any of it? I was fine on my own before, without anyone but Aria around. Aside from that spell you guys did going wacko with my curse, sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.”
Monty’s eyes widen ever so slightly at that, a breath catching briefly in his throat as his hand pauses on its way to pulling out a jar of flour. He schools his features to something more neutral while scooping flour onto the empty counter. “Do you not want to be here?” He asks.
“I don’t know…” I start, “It’s not like I DON’T want to be here. You guys are really, really, REALLY great and it’s not like I want to leave you lot behind, but it’s also… I don’t know how… Standing still is hard.” Blowing a raspberry and casting my eyes up towards the ceiling, I try again. “It’s like I was a bird, and woke up one day with wings but no sky to fly
. And even if I do take off, there’s hawks up there with invisible fighter jets and Dizzy-seeking missiles so it’s better for me to stay with the flock, but the flock stays grounded and tells me to keep my head on a swivel but only while buried in dirt. So am I a humming bird or am I an ostrich? Because I feel like a big, dumb, roly-poly, useless, chunky ostrich. Or a penguin, but those are cooler and they know how to slip-n-slide even if they can’t fly.”
“Ah,” Monty says while nodding slightly, “You slammed into a brick wall after a lifetime of momentum and even though your feet, themselves, are free of the rubble, you feel trapped by the sudden change in pace on a road strewn with dangerous obstacles.”
“See! You get it!”
Monty opens the fridge and pulls out a couple of eggs, then cracks them into a well in the center of his countertop flour-pile before scrambling it all together with a fork. “But what I’m hearing is that while you didn’t expect to hit that wall, you aren’t mad at it for being there? Walls don’t really get to choose where they get built, but folks need them so they get built all the same. Particularly when it comes to homes, which have quite a few of them.” Casually, Monty chucks the fork into the sink and starts kneading the yellow dough together, muscles flexing with each commanding move.
“Well, yeah, you’ve been a particularly welcoming wall, Monty. And I’m not mad at you, or… really at any of you,” I realize as I’m saying it, it’s true. Even Kieran, who I’m peeved with on some level but probably doesn’t deserve all of it. “I think I’m just… frustrated. And maybe scared? There’s always this looming doom gloom over us because of all that ‘David is a shadow monster trying to kill us’ stuff,” I say while making air quotes. “Each day the doom cloud gets bigger and bigger, and now there’s like this whole ominous storm of spookiness towering over us. And the bad news is, my umbrella is broken so I’m probably going to get wet when it finally pours, and nobody mentions the weather to me anyway so I can’t even try to get the pitiful, ratty thing open before we’re drenched.” My fingers get caught in tangles as I try to rake them through my curls. A frustrated groan rumbles in my throat, “I’m useless. Or I’m feeling useless. And I’m feeling like the storm is only gathering because of me, so it’s a mess I’m making and don’t feel prepared to clean up.”
