Stolen

by Cheree Alsop

  Five years ago on my grandfather’s invitation, we had moved from our small town house to his home to help care for him before he passed away. The house was built on some of the finest land in Charlton and he had willed the land and house to Dad when he died on the condition that we never sell it.

  I loved the forest and the freedom I felt there. On our many long walks through the trees, Grandfather had described the area as once being surrounded by fields upon fields of alfalfa, barley, and corn, land which had been sold to money-savvy investors and turned into space-saving apartments, skyscrapers, warehouses, and factories. Grandpa always said he owned one of the last slices of heaven in Charlton.

  When he passed the house to his daughter and son-in-law, it was with the strict command that no land was to be sold and no trees cut without good reason. The first had given Kip his spending money with the hours it took to take care of the lawn. The second had given us years of shade, fruit, and a privacy and seclusion seldom found in a big city.

  The trees became companions as dear to me as they had been to Grandfather. I knew every ancient oak and new sapling by heart, and walked through the thick grass with the familiarity of being among old friends.

  I followed the path that had slowly become overgrown through the years but still showed the indent of hundreds of footprints. My footsteps slowed when I neared the tree. I touched the ladder uneasily. Taking a steeling breath, I made my way slowly up the worn rungs. The memory of the night before weighed my steps as I neared the top. I paused, uncertain of what I would find. I blinked in the half-light of the tree house, blinded after the walk through the sun.

  “Come in. I won’t hurt you,” Marek said quietly. “I never meant to scare you.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied, relieved. He sat at the table looking out the window at the forest of trees. I stepped off the ladder and crossed to him. “I understand. I just didn’t know.”

  Marek shook his head without meeting my eyes. “You shouldn’t have to understand. You saved my life and I repay you by attacking you?” His voice dropped. “What kind of an animal am I?”

  I set the sodas on the table and sat down across from him on the other rickety chair my grandfather had built by hand. “Marek, you were hurt and being hunted. You had a fever last night and didn’t know where you were. I was the one who should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” I watched a drop of condensation as it made its way slowly to the bottom of my can.

  Marek stared out the window, his brow creased behind his disheveled black hair. When he turned back to me, the tug of a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. “You are a very brave girl, Kyla. Thank you.”

  My cheeks grew red at the unexpected compliment. “Well, just don’t scare me like that ever again, okay?”

  Marek held a hand over his heart. “I vow to never scare you again,” he said, his blue eyes bright.

  I laugh and slid the second soda toward him. Marek opened it and took a drink. When he set it back down, he was solemn again. “Kyla, I want to show you something.”

  “Okay,” I replied uncertainly.

  “Can you go with me somewhere tomorrow?”

  I hesitated, but something in his eyes begged me to agree. I finally nodded. “I can’t go tomorrow because I have school, but I can go on Saturday. I just need to come up with an excuse for my parents.”

  “Will they worry?” he asked with concern.

  I smiled. “They always worry. It’s what parents do. But they’re great, you know?”

  He shook his head, his eyes averted, and I realized that if he had parents, he would have called them when he was hurt. Instead, I was the one who found him.

  I felt awful for mentioning my parents, but then I had an idea. “Do you want to meet them?”

  “Who?” Marek asked warily.

  “My family. They’re great. You’d like them,” I urged.

  Marek shook his head quickly. “No, I shouldn’t. I mean, you know what I am. I shouldn’t be here.”

  I held up a hand to stop his protests. “Tell you what. Come have dinner and if you get too uncomfortable, we can go.” He didn’t answer so I gave him a teasing smile. “My mom cooks a great meal. Much better than the sandwiches I make,” I said persuasively.

  He fought back a smile, and I knew I had won. “You make good sandwiches,” he tried to protest.

  “Come on, we’re going.” I rose and tossed him the spare shirt. He slipped it over his head and eased his arms through it, then paused and smelled the fabric. “Whose is this?”

  “My dad’s,” I replied. At his troubled look, I laughed, “Don’t worry. He won’t recognize it; he hasn’t worn it for years.”

  Marek climbed down the ladder slowly, but outside the tree house he seemed happier, more alive. We wandered through the trees toward the house, the shadows of leaves pirouetting at our feet and the evening breeze at our backs.

  “Which one is your favorite?” Marek asked as he ran his hand along the bark of a maple tree.

  I didn’t answer. I had been teased ruthlessly by Kip for all the time I spent in our private forest. He thought it was hilarious that I had a favorite tree; but a sideways glance showed that Marek wasn’t teasing. He seemed as in awe of the swaying giants as I was. “You really want to know?” At his nod, I smiled. “Come on, I’ll show you. We still have some time before everyone’s home anyway.”

  He followed me along the path worn by my countless trips through the trees. The sun, close to setting, shed only fleeting light through the thick canopy. The air was cool and smelled of rich loam and ivy. I took a deep breath.

  Marek did the same. “You know, no matter how hard it is to be a Shifter sometimes, I’ve never regretted it.” I looked at him. His eyes were closed and he faced the direction of the slight breeze that made the trees sway gently overhead. “Some things are so much more than they would be if I was completely human.” He glanced at me, his expression slightly embarrassed.

  Intrigued, I pressed him. “Like what?”

  “Well.” He shrugged and brushed his hair back from his eyes in a self-conscious gesture. “Like smell and sight. Even as a human,” he paused, then glanced at me and continued, “I still have my wolf senses. I can smell a mouse crouched under that bush in the hopes that we’ll pass by without noticing it.” He turned away from me and took another deep breath. “I can smell the factories and warehouses, and stagnant water in the pond at North Park. I smell rain on the breeze, not the rain that will come tonight, but a thick, drenching storm days away. I smell the sun.” He turned back to me, his blue eyes searching mine. “You know the smell the sun brings when it dries everything after a rain?” I nodded. “It’s all those things,” he concluded softly. “A love for life. Sometimes I wonder if they knew what they were doing when they starting experiment with wolf DNA.”

  “Why is that?” Basic knowledge about Shifters that had circled around at the beginning of the Falconan time was that a lot of them were part wolf. It hadn’t occurred to me until now to wonder why.

  “How much do you know about wolves?” Marek asked.

  “Not much,” I admitted with a shrug.

  He gingerly picked up a stick and began to peel off the bark. “Wolves are pack animals and intensely loyal to the others within their pack. I think that’s why they chose the wolf, because they wanted that type of loyalty and unity in their soldiers. Wolves know how to follow a leader, and how to band together to protect their territory. They’re fierce and strong, willing to give their lives for their pack. But they overlooked something.”

  I waited, afraid to interrupt in case he closed up again. He seemed so alive in the forest, as if he was in his element. He took a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly. “Wolves don’t do well in captivity, or forced training. Above anything, a wolf loves its freedom, its territory, and its pack. The wolf and the pack choose each other and are usually made up of a big family. They aren’t forced to be submissive, meek, and led around b
y a collar.” Marek snapped the twig. He glanced back at me, his eyes cautious and guarded once more.

  “We’re almost to the tree,” I said quietly. I pointed through a small grove of aspens. “Just through there.” I let him go first. He stopped inside the tree line and stared at the massive, ancient oak. Its branches, hung with ivy and moss, spread out over the aspens like protective arms. The lower branches were thick and smooth, worn through years of climbing.

  I couldn’t help but smile. The tree had always been a sanctuary to me. It made me feel calmer just being near it. “This tree was my grandfather’s favorite. It’s the reason he kept this place and asked us to never sell.”

  “It’s amazing,” Marek agreed softly. He walked up to the massive, gnarled trunk and put a hand on one of the worn branches. “You come here often?” He asked without looking back at me.

  I nodded though he couldn’t see me. “When I’m not at school or the clinic, I’m usually up there reading.”

  “It’s peaceful here,” Marek said. He glanced at me. “I can see why this is your favorite tree.”

  The sound of a ringing bell broke the hush of the forest. The not-so-gentle clanging startled birds above us; they began to chirp in protest. Marek backed beneath the branches as if he belonged with them. The fading daylight dappled his hair in light and shadow. His eyes shone gold in the half light of dusk as he looked warily through the trees toward the source of the bell.

  I held up my hands. “It’s okay. It’s my mom letting me know it’s time for dinner.” I stared at him, hoping I wasn’t about to see part two of last night.

  He stepped forward, his gaze cautious. He glanced in the direction of the house again, then back at me. A smile tugged at his lips, surprising me. His eyes were blue again. “A dinner bell?” he asked.

  I nodded, still wary.

  “She rings it like it’s the end of the world,” he commented.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “If we miss dinner, it will be!”

  We hurried through the trees. When we reached the house, I saw Marek glance at the old triangle Mom loved to use because it reminded her of her mother. I wondered if Marek’s hearing was as sensitive as his sense of smell and if he could still hear it tolling. He caught my gaze and gave me a knowing look as though he knew what I was thinking. I blushed and led him to the garage so it would appear like we came from school.

  When we reached the kitchen, Mom and Dad were already seated and dishing up chicken and stuffing while they waited for their tardy children. Rosie played happily with a pile of green beans in her highchair, squashing them between her chubby hands with obvious enjoyment. When Marek and I entered, all three stopped and stared.

  “Uh, Mom, Dad, this is Marek.” I forced myself not to scuff my shoe on the floor like an errant child. I gave Mom a look I hoped said please try to act like it’s not weird that I’ve invited a boy home for dinner.

  Luckily, Mom got the message. “Marek, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with such a smooth, casual warmth it took the awkwardness away. I grinned at her in relief. “Please sit down and make yourself at home.” Mom rose and grabbed the extra chair from the computer desk in the corner and set a new place next to mine.

  Dad still stared. Marek looked at the floor uncomfortably. I sat quickly in my usual spot and motioned for Marek to take the seat next to me. “Dad, Marek’s been helping me with my Biology homework.”

  Dad’s eyebrows rose, but he finally nodded. “Biology’s her worst subject,” he said, watching Marek. “She prefers Zoology.”

  Marek smiled in understanding. “Can’t blame her. Given the choice between looking at slides under a microscope or identifying the types of birds in your amazing forest, I’d take the birds any day.”

  Mom and Dad both smiled and it was my turn to stare. In one smooth breath, he had complimented the forest dear to Mom’s heart, and gotten Dad’s approval through his interest in animals. What happened to the half-wild fugitive I had found at the clinic?

  Kip opened the door to his room and made his way noisily down the stairs. Fellow reached the kitchen ahead of my brother and then froze, his short nose twitching. He stared at Marek, then started to bark in a frenzy.

  “Fellow!” Mom scolded. “Stop it. That’s not nice!”

  “Who’s the stranger?” Kip asked in his tactful way.

  “A friend of Kyla’s,” Dad said over Fellow’s yapping.

  “Kyla has friends?” Kip replied. He spooned enough stuffing onto his plate to feed a small army.

  I ignored the remark; I was too busy watching Marek’s reaction to Fellow. He seemed interested in the little black dog, but not alarmed. Fellow grew bold in his self-appointed station as protector of the family. He inched closer and closer to Marek, barking all the while. Marek turned so that he faced the little dog directly and stared at him. Fellow’s barking slowed. Marek bent down slowly while still sitting on his chair. His eyes glinted gold for the briefest second. I glanced around to see if anyone in my family had noticed.

  Everyone was watching Fellow instead. The little dog immediately stopped barking. He settled down submissively and rested his chin on the floor between his paws, his bright eyes on Marek. Marek turned back to the table, suddenly aware that everyone was watching him. “Nice dog,” he said as nonchalantly as possible.

  “He’s never been this good around a stranger,” Dad said in amazement.

  “He’s never been this good, ever,” Mom echoed with a laugh. “He’s usually begging for scraps by now.”

  Marek shrugged. “Dogs always seem to be good once they’re used to me.”

  I realized then why the dogs at Dad’s clinic hadn’t barked when Marek broke in. They felt a kinship to him. His ability to shift must somehow make him seem unthreatening to them.

  “Man, we should get him in with Tank, eh, Kyla?” Dad said with a nudge.

  “Tank?” Marek asked politely.

  “A junkyard dog,” Dad explained. “His owner couldn’t handle him anymore. Too mean. I just haven’t had the heart to put him down.”

  “He terrifies the other employees,” I explained. “But Dad’s a big softie.”

  “And you’re my accomplice,” Dad shot back with a grin. He wasn’t the only one who hoped the feral dog could be tamed.

  At Mom’s invitation, Marek helped himself to some mashed potatoes. He poured gravy over everything and began to eat with obvious relish. Mom looked pleased.

  “What’d you do to your hand?” Kip asked after a few minutes of silence.

  My heart slowed, but Marek didn’t miss a beat. “Hockey,” he said, using the injured hand to sweep the hair from his eyes. “Caught a stick. You play?”

  Kip sat up. Marek had hit on his favorite topic and carried battle wounds from it. Another point for the stranger. “Me and some friends play every day after school in an empty lot by the library. You should join us sometime.”

  “Maybe I will,” Marek replied. I was surprised to hear that he really meant it.

  Rosie threw a handful of stuffing at Fellow. It landed with a satisfying thunk inches from the dog’s nose, but the little terrier didn’t budge. He kept his eyes on Marek, and his short tail wagged enthusiastically whenever the young man glanced in his direction.

  “Maybe I should be serious about bringing you in to meet Tank,” Dad commented as Mom scooped the stuffing up in a napkin. She spooned some potatoes onto Rosie’s plate, then sighed when they took up residence where the stuffing had been.

  She gave up and turned to Kip. “The lawn needs to be mowed tomorrow. The rabbits are making their way from the trees to my garden under cover.”

  Kip sighed but didn’t protest because mowing meant more spending money. He shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth and spoke around it to Marek. “Hey, do you want to come over for movie night tomorrow?”

  My forkful of green beans froze on their way to my mouth, but Marek looked at Mom and Dad. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Oh, we�
�d love to have you over,” Mom said sincerely. “The more, the merrier!” I could see the sparkle in her eyes that meant she would make cookies and popcorn since we would have a visitor. Maybe having Marek over wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

  “Great!” Kip accepted for Marek. “You can help me pick out a movie!”

  “Anything but Indiana Jones or Star Wars,” I pleaded with a sigh. “We watch one every time it’s your turn.”

  “I don’t know, Kyla,” Marek said with a shrug and a teasing gleam in his eyes. “A guy with a whip searching for lost treasure while being chased by other guys with guns. Indiana has a lot going for him.”

  I rolled my eyes as Kip, Mom, and even Dad laughed.

  By the end of dinner, it felt as though Marek had spent countless evenings with our family. He and Dad talked about various breeds of dogs and what they were raised for, a topic upon which Marek was surprisingly well-versed. Kip made him promise to play hockey someday soon, and Mom practically glowed when he asked her how she made such perfect lemon meringue bars. He even made Rosie laugh by making her cracker disappear and then reappear behind Kip’s ear.

  It was a great evening, the best in a long time. Usually everyone ate and ran, rushing to evening appointments, school activities, friends’ houses, or paying bills, but today everyone seemed content to relax and talk. I found myself watching the black-haired stranger even closer. I felt as if each side he revealed led to a greater mystery. He fit in so well and was a perfect gentleman; yet I saw him glance out the windows more than once as though he had to remind himself where he was and why he was there. He couldn’t let his guard down all the way. He was still being hunted.

  Marek finally rose from the table. “Well, I should head home so I can get ready for school tomorrow. I’ve still got some homework to do.”

  “Do you need a ride?” Mom asked anxiously.