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Fire Drill. By Ian Hall1673 words.
Mia closed her eyes in frustration. The now familiar tingle had begun in her arms; she was going to shift.
She furtively looked round the room, wondering what had triggered her response. In geometrically straight rows, bowed heads were in studious concentration. Scratching pencils wrote feverishly on the pristine white examination papers. The two teachers at the front desk were in whispered conversation.
There seemed to be no reason for her body to want to change, but there was no denying the tremors under her skin. Something was very wrong. She was going to shift, and it was going to happen very quickly.
What fate could possibly have transpired here? And on exam day!
Mia slowly raised her hand, and was grateful for an immediate questioning look from one of the teachers. “Yes?”
“Eh, miss, can I go to the restroom please?” Mia was extremely conscious that every head was now looking in her direction.
The teacher looked up at the clock. 9.16. “I suppose so.” She shook her head in obvious displeasure. “Don’t be long.”
“Yes, miss.” Mia gave her an embarrassed grin, trying to hide the utter panic rising within.
As the room door closed behind her, the hairs on her arms tingled in waves, sending her running down the corridor. After the first few steps, she fell forward onto all fours, her nails scratching the polished linoleum. The restroom was now only yards away, but as her ankles twisted into their longer, wolf-like shapes, Mia could not be certain of reaching the door in time. She stumbled against the wall, sliding along the smooth glossy surface. Her shoes fell off, her clawed paws simply stepping out of her loose white socks.
Her back suddenly hurt like blazes; it always did when she changed. Her body stretched as she inched towards the door, and grew slimmer, her new canine form growing loose inside her human clothing. Before her hands became useless altogether, she reached behind her to unfasten her bra strap, the only usual barrier to easily escaping the clothes.
She thrust her fur covered frame at the door, and it swung easily inwards. The smell of disinfectant assaulted her nostrils, and they flared in defiance. With a practiced shake, she shed her clothes like water, then she nosed them tidily into a corner.
Enthused with energy, Mia let her new senses spread out from her body. She sniffed the air loudly. The restroom was empty of students, and there was no sound of pursuit from outside. She had made the transition without being discovered, but it was scant reward; her examination was over, and her day ruined.
Shaking her head, she slid forward to look down the corridor.
Something was very wrong. Sunlight streamed in the windows at the far end, but even with her distorted wolf vision, the light was somehow out of the ordinary.
Then the first whiff hit her nose, and she stiffened in fear.
Fire.
“Fire!” she shouted. Her bark echoed down the empty corridor.
Despite her first instinct to flee, Mia set off towards the source. As she rounded the corner, smoke puffed below one of the double doors. The acrid sting made her nostrils itchy, and she shook her head, sneezing automatically.
In the thick black suspension billowing under the doorframe she could sense burning rubber and plastic. Behind the door, the sound of crackling flames passed the sensitive hairs in her ears.
“Fire!” she roared, the loud howl reverberated between the corridor walls.
But even in the fire, something was amiss. It was almost as if there was a pressure building, like a balloon was being inflated past its normal size, and there was a sense of impending explosion.
With only one thought, she sped back to the classroom, her claws slipping on the floor.
As she came to the door, she gripped the handle with her teeth, her powerful jaw pulling downwards on the long, cold silver handle.
Once the latch was sufficiently open, she nosed the door ajar and swept inside.
“Fire! Fire!” she barked at the astonished teachers, then raced to the back of the room, snapping at the legs of the pupils as she ran.
“Holy Crap!” Jimmy said, jumping onto his desk, sending papers and pencils scattering to the floor. The room was in instant uproar. But insanely, some of the teenagers didn’t budge, frozen in fear of her large wolf frame.
Mia shook her head in disbelief. It was time to get serious.
Baring her sharp teeth, Mia treated them like sheep, barking and biting as she gradually corralled them to the door. At last they seemed to get the idea, and one by one they ran out into the corridor.
One of the teachers stood at the door, her hand on the handle, ushering the children outside. Despite her obvious fear, it was clear that she intended to trap Mia inside after the last child had fled.
Mia sprang at the door, just as the teacher pulled it sharply closed. The wooden edge hit Mia squarely in the side. “Argh!” she squealed, wriggling through the vice-like gap. She snapped her jaws at the retreating teacher, her teeth snapping on themselves.
Outside in the corridor, she could not believe her eyes. Pupils had scattered in all directions, some were even running in the direction of the fire.
Shaking her head at the stupidity of the humans, Mia raced past them, and turned quickly on the slippery floor. Her feet tried hard to keep her balance, but her back legs slipped from under her, and she hit the floor, sliding for a few feet before coming to rest.
Mia sprang to her feet, snarling at the terrified students. “Are you completely stupid?” she roared, springing to her feet. “Run outside, you morons!”
As if they’d understood her, the pupils turned tail, and ran back along the corridor, heading for the front door, screaming as they went.
“What’s going on here?” a low voice suddenly bellowed.
“It’s a wolf, sir!” Mia recognized the voice of Thomas Briggs.
“Nonsense!” the headmaster’s voice boomed again.
Mia made the biggest howl she could. “F-I-R-E!” she called, again and again.
The smell was now almost overpowering, the smoke beginning to drift along the corridor. Mia could sense the pressure inside the building easing slightly. Mia nodded as she smelt the inrush of outside air; people were filing outside. She looked back down the corridor and the hackles on her back rose instinctively.
From behind the smoke filled door, a vibration had begun. Not a hum, but a real ground-trembling shake. Mia was shifted from side to side, the pads on her feet picking up distant tremors. There was a sudden booming noise, and the ground itself seemed to swell upwards. Abruptly the floor cracked open; a huge fissure, tearing along the corridor directly at her.
Mia awoke from her temporary stupefaction, and turned in flight. Walls behind her shattered, sending splinters of wood and shards of glass over her head. She refused to look behind her as she ran for the door, but her inaction had allowed the students and teachers to get outside. The headmaster resolutely held the door closed, despite the chaos heading his way.
Mia bounded towards the barred door. “No! Don’t lock me in!”
She danced in circles in frustration as she watched their faces through the glass.
She threw herself at the window, but the frame didn’t even budge.
“Safety Glass.” She growled through gritted teeth.
She needn’t have bothered.
Mia felt the ‘pop’ before the shockwave hit.
The balloon had indeed burst, and the resultant explosion ravaged every sense she had.
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
From far down the corridor, she heard the rip of the huge canister as it burst forth, sending hundreds of gallons of fuel into the fire. Then the blast ripped the distant doors from their strong hinges and tore through the school, shattering every window. Mia’s ears tried to close her ears against the sound, flattening them to her head, but it shredded through them, crushing her hearing.
With a single resounding boom, the glass at the front of the school shattered. Each window instantly ripped into a million pieces, and flew outwards into the shocked faces of the students and teachers outside .
Mia turned her head away instinctively as a huge fireball raced along the corridor; a bubbling, rolling blast of flame, racing along the corridor like a bullet down a gun barrel.
She fell to the ground, but the wave crested over her, singing her back and tail.
“Argh!” she screamed, the heat ripping across her body, instantly curling her fur to a blackened, charred mass.
Then, as quick as it had arrived, the blast abruptly dissipated. An in-rush of fresh air replaced the flame. It was almost like someone threw a bucket of cold water over her.
Almost.
Their circuits tripped by the explosion, the alarm bells on the school walls sprung into life, their clanging metal bells adding to the cacophony of screams and groans.
Mia stood up watched the people. There was nothing more she could do to help. It was time to save herself, and trotted quickly over the glass shards to the safety of the outside world.
She weaved through the pupils and teachers, never looking back, keeping her head low.
Everyone was in too much panic to notice her bouncing form.
There was a fish pond at the front of the school, and Mia headed directly for it. The cool water soothed her stinging hide, bringing calm to her world once again.
Once back on the grass, she shook herself vigorously to rid her coat of the water.
Ten minutes steady running got her home.
She had a change of clothes in a bag behind the garden shed for such an occurrence.
As she settled into a ball to await the change back to her human form, she heard the growing chorus of police and ambulance sirens.
Sleep came easily.
July Writing CompetitionThe Shape Shifters Retreat by Ray Daley
29/6/12
1550 words
Yet again we gather together at the end of another long and hectic week to compare notes. Who has been what and when, sometimes why but that mostly never matters. Welcome to The Queens Arms, or what we jokingly call The Shape Shifters Retreat - it's a nice pub; even the youngest of us have frequented it since it opened.
When I say "since it opened" I don't mean since ten AM this morning. I mean since 1866, when they finally finished building the old place. Don't let yourself think by that point us shape shifters are immortal, far from it. We just live a damn long time.
Generally we do what we do to keep ourselves amused. When you have nothing but time, there's lots of it to fill.
Jackie is a thousand years old today, she doesn't look a day over thirty but we all lie through our teeth and tell her she doesn't look a day over eighteen and did the bar staff ask for her ID when she finally got her round in. She hates getting them in on her shout at the best of times, using her birthday as an excuse only held so far.
There were serious thirsts to be quenched.
This week Jackie has been shifting as a Primary School Teachers Assistant. Odd because she hates kids even more than she hates doing a nine to five day. Jackie has always been a night owl. Several times in the Harry Potter films too!
I've spent the last week in the museum, it'll take them a few days before they realise I am missing. They will wonder how an Iron Maiden that took a forklift and twelve strong men to move into position has just upped and vanished on them without any of the alarms going off. Nobody noticed the group from the Sisters Of The Immaculate Wound had gained an extra member when they left.
Monique has been having great fun at the expense of the Met Office shifting into a cluster of rain clouds, she has been raining off the cricket all across the country. She hates cricket with a passion so it's not really a working week for her as it is more a busman’s holiday. She told me she was considered raining Wimbledon off if she was bored over the next few days, a bit like an extra credit assignment if you like.
So if you see rain over Wimbledon on the TV, you'll know who to blame!
Simon has had a fun week working in Warwick Castle. He's really proud that not one of the tour guides noticed they had gained an extra Oubliette over the last seven days. They'll be scratching their heads over the mysterious appearance of a massive pile of the litter school kids had dropped down him though. He said he dropped all the coins they'd thrown down into the donation box as a kind of penance on his way out.
The door slams open and the barman clocks the young boy in uniform. "No children without an adult in the main bar young fella!" he calls across to him.
"Get stuffed George!" replies Andrew, for it is he.
"Changing Room is that way Andrew." George points it out, giving him the annoyed eye, furrowed brow and itchy ear in no particular order.
Andrew has been at the local private school doing extra Latin all week. Someone had bet him he couldn't learn a completely useless language, Andrew being Andrew replied "Welsh it is then!".
That didn't go down too well with Gareth and Huw who insisted Welsh was incredibly useful, not just for listening to old Max Boyce records. Apparently Dylan Thomas was considered to be quite racy in their mother tongue.
And they'd laughed when we told them Shakespeare wrote dirty jokes!
Some of the folks have been pranking like me, shifting into park benches, statues, even the occasional double decker bus. It's always a good laugh to prank the norms now and then, leave them scratching their heads as to why such odd things have gone missing.
They still haven't worked out that the crew of the Marie Celeste was entirely composed of us Shape Shifters. 1872 was a pretty dull year, a lot of us did the pirate thing, the sailor thing, and the getting very drunk in pubs thing.
We still reckon jumping off the Marie Celeste and shifting into Dolphins was one of the funniest pranks we've ever pulled.
Historically, our kind muck about like that all the time if you know where to look. My own great grandfather used to love to prank the Ancient Egyptians as a young man. As a child I recall him taking me on a tour through the Valley Of The Kings, as we walked past a statue of Anubis he nudged me and grinned as he said "That's one of mine!" with a twinkle in his eye.
I can imagine he must have driven them all absolutely potty. As much as it seemed the Egyptians would worship anything at all apparently Bast was a prank too far and they threw him into the Nile, luckily for him he had the foresight to shift into an enormous male crocodile as he went under the water.
Pranking has had its ups and downs, I once had a close call in 1920's San Francisco. I'd shifted into a local mobster to hustle a bit of his money and had been caught in a raid on a speak easy, the local cops had just thrown us all into Alcatraz on trumped up charges.
I was lucky, I only spent one night there. During the morning exercise period I'd found a nice corner and shifted into a seagull. They never did work out how I escaped. The Golden Gate Bridge looked lovely as I landed on it and walked away a free man that morning, I'll never forget it.
Another good head scratcher on my resume.
One prank some moviegoers might know me for was my highest profile spoofing. I'd met Bela Lugosi a few months before he died and knew he was down on his luck so I filled in for him on the Ed Wood movie. Bela spent the whole time in rehab and I gave him the money when he came out, sadly he spent it all on dope and was dead not long afterwards.
At least I can say I kept one of my personal heroes alive a little longer than life had intended for him. Somewhere I still have that photograph I took in his mirror of us together after I paid him, two Bela Lugosi's looking large as life and twice as cheerful.
Hollywood was a pretty good source of income for a while, I easily found work as a stunt double. I even formed my own "doubles" agency, our boast was we could find a double for anyone. And obviously with the ability to shape shift we could and did. The only guy I ever turned down was Charlie Chaplin, couldn't abide the man.
"Sorry Mr Chaplin, I'm afraid we just can't find anyone who looks like you at all sir." I hated to spoil our perfect record but I couldn't stand the idea of him getting credit for stuff I was going to be doing. So he ended up doing all his own stunts. Mind you, Harold Lloyd is a complete liar when he said he did all his own stunts. I did them. Or rather Reginald Rosenblatt did.
I once had a magic act that rivalled even the best illusionists today. It was a simple set-up, a series of revolving doors where I would shift when I got inside. I'd go in as myself in my stage tuxedo and exit as my own glamorous assistant in her skimpy spangly costume.
Obviously a lot of people thought "she" was already concealed inside the doors and I even once debunked that idea by inviting audience members up onto the stage to fill all but one of the door gaps. The night I did that was the last time I ever performed that trick.
Another great head scratcher though!
Michael joined us towards the end of the evening, he appeared to have not changed at all. "Did you not shape shift this week bro?" I ask him.
"Yes. And no." Michael is always a little enigmatic like that, he couldn't give you a straight answer even if you made sure he had a ruler before hand.
"Which is it Michael? Yes, or no? It can't be both mate" I say.
"Actually it can and it is. Mate. I kept this form and took a job as a cleaner in the local branch of The Early Learning Centre. I've spent the whole week shifting shaped blocks back into the soft play area."
Trust Michael to find a technicality that is Shape Shifting but also isn't either.
It's not his first time doing that but then I helped him out. Back in 2004 we decided it'd be funny to shift into musicians, form a group, try and have a hit. Sure enough, we ended up being number one in the UK charts with Lola's Theme.
The name of our band?
The Shapeshifters. Obviously.
Doggone It!
By Horace T. Ponii
7/8/2012
About 1915 words
"What do you want?" the thin, graying woman asked suspiciously through the screen door before Calvin stepped on the porch.
"Just had a few questions for Brian Williams about an incident last night, ma’am. Are you his mother?"
The woman nodded. "Brian isn't here, though. You the police?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's not in any trouble. I just need to find out if he saw anything."
The woman shook her head. "He didn't. We heard about it on the news this morning and he was horrified. He said he didn't see a thing, though."
"I need to hear it from him, ma'am. I'll just leave you my card. If he could call me when he gets back, I'd appreciate it." Calvin stepped forward. A low growl from behind the woman stopped him. He tried to peer into the shadowed room.
"Shut up, dog!" As quick as a snake strike, the woman opened the screen door, snatched the card from Calvin's hand, and was back inside.
"Have him call me as soon as he can, please."
"I told you, he didn't see anything." The woman said querulously.
Calvin's tone hardened dangerously. "Ma'am, either he calls me soon or I'll have the locals pick him for formal questioning."
Any reply the woman might have made was lost as the large dog behind her let out an ear-splitting howl and leaped for the door. The woman turned and caught the beast before it came through the screen. Its weight knocked her against the door frame, but she held the large, shadowy figure with surprising strength. "Get!" She yelled and slammed the solid inner door.
Calvin turned, head aching from the volume of the howl, and walked quickly to his car. As he turned the car around, he saw two people running in from the meadow below where they had been loading hay on a wagon. It was a hot, tough job and, like the dog's reaction to him, something he was too familiar with from his youth. He’d been fostered on a farm like this one during his teen years and hated it. Farming was nothing but hard, dirty chores in every kind of miserable weather. Land rich and poor in every other way, the people would fight for a few pennies or work for hours to save a dollar.
He spun wheels and drove up the pot holed gravel lane at a speed that threatened to tear the undercarriage out of his car. His passage scared the sheep in the field on the hill above him. He grinned without humor at them. Nasty things. Something else he had never wanted to see again and couldn't get away from fast enough.
The lieutenant had said this was an easy job, just a nice drive out of the hot city into the country to interview a drunken boy who probably hadn't been in any shape to see anything. He certainly couldn’t have committed the horrific murders in the alley behind the bar where he and his friends were celebrating. The interview was just a necessary formality and he was the lucky fellow who got to follow through with it.
"A piece of cake," Calvin muttered to himself, then cursed knowing he had to do the job properly.
Calvin slowed the car as soon as he was out of sight of the farm and looked for a good place to pull over. Finding one, he got out and walked the edge of a field next to a small patch of woods for a few hundred yards before he spotted the roof of the house. Then he took his time easing down a windbreak of pines. He could hear the woman yelling as he slipped over behind the vegetable garden, hidden by a fence laden with string beans growing up and through it.
"You had to get drunk! You! I swear --"
Calvin heard something behind him and turned just as a large dog leaped at him. He caught it by a foreleg, turned, and used its momentum to toss it into corner post of the garden fence. It hit hard and made a piteous yipping noise as it tried to get up, then collapsed with an almost human groan.
Calvin stepped out of the cover of the garden with his pistol in hand. An even bigger dog was charging up the hill at him. He thought it was the one that he'd seen the woman tangle with. "Stop or I'll shoot!" He yelled at them both.
The dog hesitated and then a blow hit Calvin hard in the chest knocking him to the ground as the crack of a shot rang out.
"I got him, Ma! Is Annie alright?" A young man with a rifle asked breathlessly as he ran toward her from the side of the house.
"Annie!" A larger, older version of the young man cried as he ran out of the house with a shotgun in hand. Although the others had a head start, he reached the piteously moaning dog first. He ran a large, calloused hand gently across the dog's head.
Ellie knelt next to him and ran practiced hands over the dog's body. "I don't feel anything too bad, maybe some cracked ribs and the wind knocked out of her. She'll be fine soon, Steve."
"Who is he, Ellie?" Steve asked in a low, tightly controlled voice.
"He's a cop. Brian's got to run now for sure." The graying woman began to cry as she stroked Annie's flank.
"Maybe not," Steve said with a dangerous look in his eye. "We'll make the cop disappear. You drive his car out to town and leave the keys in it. Jason can follow you in the truck. I'll bury the body under that old ewe that died last week. No one will find him there nor want to." He looked at Ellie as he spoke and she nodded her approval.
He turned to the large dog nuzzling the fallen one. "Brian, you change on back now. I know you're going to be tired, but thaw out a big roast for you sister so she can heal up, then meet me out in the field. We've got to get that hay in. It's starting to cloud up and if it gets wet, you won't be going back to college come fall. We just won't have the money."
The dog nodded and gave his sister a lick on the ear.
"Jason, get his car keys."
"Yes, sir," the young shooter said with a marked lack of enthusiasm as he strode slowly toward the body. He was still a step away when Calvin lunged from the ground, ripped the rifle from his hand and picked him up by the neck with one hand.
"Don't touch it, mister," Calvin ordered Steve as he reached for his shotgun. His voice deepened as he said, "You are going to hear me out or I'm going to beat you half to death with this boy." The last words came out in a rumble that they all felt as much as heard.
Calvin set Jason down with a hand that easily encompassed the boy's neck. They all shook their heads in disbelief as the rest of the glamour fell away and they saw what Calvin truly was.
"Ogre!" Jason gasped and the color in his face drained to a sickly white.
Calvin's large, lipless mouth formed something that might have been a smile. "Half, boy. A full one would have just popped your head off and drank from your neck." He said quite clearly, although how he managed through all the fangs was a mystery. He winced slightly and set the rifle carefully on the ground with an arm that was almost as big as Jason, before rubbing at his chest where the bullet had torn a hole in his shirt and bruised the huge chest below.
"How?" Steve asked in a choked voice.
"This isn't about me, just young Brian there." He pointed to the large dog that was peeking at him from between his parents. "I fixed things up so it looked like another gang killed those boys. They weren't any loss, but it was a lot of trouble. He tore them up something fierce. I want to know what happened."
"He drank too much and went out to walk it off. Those four tried to mug him, so he defended himself," Steve said.
"So he was drunk and taken off guard. Yes, that does explain the mess," Calvin said with a nod. "There could have been Hell to pay if I hadn't gotten the call. Why didn't you notify the Network?"
"What network?" asked Ellie.
Calvin shook his head in disbelief. "Farmers," he said it like a curse word as he looked at their blank faces. He released Jason and sat down with a sigh. "Magic is coming back. Why do think I came up here to ask questions the way I did?" He continued without waiting for anyone to answer. "I thought he might have been a singleton, a lone wolf. I didn't know he was part of a family. I thought we had all the families integrated by now."
"There can't be many singletons." Ellie said.
"More all the time. Science has gone too far and fast. Folks can't tell half of it from magic any more, so it's bleeding back as people get more confused by reality. The Network got started because of that. We all need to stay hidden until we can build up our numbers again. Then we'll come out and go mainstream."
"What? When?" Steve asked in shock.
Calvin shook his head again, "I don't know. That's way above my pay grade. I just try to keep a lid on incidents like Brian got into and recruit new members when I can."
Steve and Ellie traded a quick look. "I'm not so sure we want to join." Steve said carefully.
"A nice family of shifters like you can't stay out. We need you and you owe us."
"What do we owe?" Ellie asked suspiciously.
"Nothing too onerous. Like I said, we're getting more singletons all the time. Often they're young, just hitting puberty and don't know how to act. A solid foster family like you could help a lot." He looked up as a cloud darkened the sky.
Steve looked up, too. "We can discuss it over dinner. In the meantime, that hay needs to come in before it rained on and ruined. We don't have any gloves that will fit you, but then I don't guess you really need them, do you?"
"Hay?" Calvin asked in disbelief.
"This has cost us a lot of time. Surely you don't mind lending a hand?" Ellie asked him and then continued on before he could reply or even move. "Of course you don't. Give me your keys and I'll have Brian bring your car back here once he's changed. We'll feed you up good this evening and we can talk it out then."
Calvin looked around at the family before him. The fight was over and all animosity was gone as fast as it had come. Just like a bunch of damn dogs -- fast to anger and just as quick to forgive. If he didn't go along with them, he jeopardized them as assets and members. He didn't even want to think about the consequences of that. "Crap," he said, rising with a sigh. He’d probably get roped into helping with the damn sheep, too.
By Horace T. Ponii
7/8/2012
About 1915 words
"What do you want?" the thin, graying woman asked suspiciously through the screen door before Calvin stepped on the porch.
"Just had a few questions for Brian Williams about an incident last night, ma’am. Are you his mother?"
The woman nodded. "Brian isn't here, though. You the police?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's not in any trouble. I just need to find out if he saw anything."
The woman shook her head. "He didn't. We heard about it on the news this morning and he was horrified. He said he didn't see a thing, though."
"I need to hear it from him, ma'am. I'll just leave you my card. If he could call me when he gets back, I'd appreciate it." Calvin stepped forward. A low growl from behind the woman stopped him. He tried to peer into the shadowed room.
"Shut up, dog!" As quick as a snake strike, the woman opened the screen door, snatched the card from Calvin's hand, and was back inside.
"Have him call me as soon as he can, please."
"I told you, he didn't see anything." The woman said querulously.
Calvin's tone hardened dangerously. "Ma'am, either he calls me soon or I'll have the locals pick him for formal questioning."
Any reply the woman might have made was lost as the large dog behind her let out an ear-splitting howl and leaped for the door. The woman turned and caught the beast before it came through the screen. Its weight knocked her against the door frame, but she held the large, shadowy figure with surprising strength. "Get!" She yelled and slammed the solid inner door.
Calvin turned, head aching from the volume of the howl, and walked quickly to his car. As he turned the car around, he saw two people running in from the meadow below where they had been loading hay on a wagon. It was a hot, tough job and, like the dog's reaction to him, something he was too familiar with from his youth. He’d been fostered on a farm like this one during his teen years and hated it. Farming was nothing but hard, dirty chores in every kind of miserable weather. Land rich and poor in every other way, the people would fight for a few pennies or work for hours to save a dollar.
He spun wheels and drove up the pot holed gravel lane at a speed that threatened to tear the undercarriage out of his car. His passage scared the sheep in the field on the hill above him. He grinned without humor at them. Nasty things. Something else he had never wanted to see again and couldn't get away from fast enough.
The lieutenant had said this was an easy job, just a nice drive out of the hot city into the country to interview a drunken boy who probably hadn't been in any shape to see anything. He certainly couldn’t have committed the horrific murders in the alley behind the bar where he and his friends were celebrating. The interview was just a necessary formality and he was the lucky fellow who got to follow through with it.
"A piece of cake," Calvin muttered to himself, then cursed knowing he had to do the job properly.
Calvin slowed the car as soon as he was out of sight of the farm and looked for a good place to pull over. Finding one, he got out and walked the edge of a field next to a small patch of woods for a few hundred yards before he spotted the roof of the house. Then he took his time easing down a windbreak of pines. He could hear the woman yelling as he slipped over behind the vegetable garden, hidden by a fence laden with string beans growing up and through it.
"You had to get drunk! You! I swear --"
Calvin heard something behind him and turned just as a large dog leaped at him. He caught it by a foreleg, turned, and used its momentum to toss it into corner post of the garden fence. It hit hard and made a piteous yipping noise as it tried to get up, then collapsed with an almost human groan.
Calvin stepped out of the cover of the garden with his pistol in hand. An even bigger dog was charging up the hill at him. He thought it was the one that he'd seen the woman tangle with. "Stop or I'll shoot!" He yelled at them both.
The dog hesitated and then a blow hit Calvin hard in the chest knocking him to the ground as the crack of a shot rang out.
"I got him, Ma! Is Annie alright?" A young man with a rifle asked breathlessly as he ran toward her from the side of the house.
"Annie!" A larger, older version of the young man cried as he ran out of the house with a shotgun in hand. Although the others had a head start, he reached the piteously moaning dog first. He ran a large, calloused hand gently across the dog's head.
Ellie knelt next to him and ran practiced hands over the dog's body. "I don't feel anything too bad, maybe some cracked ribs and the wind knocked out of her. She'll be fine soon, Steve."
"Who is he, Ellie?" Steve asked in a low, tightly controlled voice.
"He's a cop. Brian's got to run now for sure." The graying woman began to cry as she stroked Annie's flank.
"Maybe not," Steve said with a dangerous look in his eye. "We'll make the cop disappear. You drive his car out to town and leave the keys in it. Jason can follow you in the truck. I'll bury the body under that old ewe that died last week. No one will find him there nor want to." He looked at Ellie as he spoke and she nodded her approval.
He turned to the large dog nuzzling the fallen one. "Brian, you change on back now. I know you're going to be tired, but thaw out a big roast for you sister so she can heal up, then meet me out in the field. We've got to get that hay in. It's starting to cloud up and if it gets wet, you won't be going back to college come fall. We just won't have the money."
The dog nodded and gave his sister a lick on the ear.
"Jason, get his car keys."
"Yes, sir," the young shooter said with a marked lack of enthusiasm as he strode slowly toward the body. He was still a step away when Calvin lunged from the ground, ripped the rifle from his hand and picked him up by the neck with one hand.
"Don't touch it, mister," Calvin ordered Steve as he reached for his shotgun. His voice deepened as he said, "You are going to hear me out or I'm going to beat you half to death with this boy." The last words came out in a rumble that they all felt as much as heard.
Calvin set Jason down with a hand that easily encompassed the boy's neck. They all shook their heads in disbelief as the rest of the glamour fell away and they saw what Calvin truly was.
"Ogre!" Jason gasped and the color in his face drained to a sickly white.
Calvin's large, lipless mouth formed something that might have been a smile. "Half, boy. A full one would have just popped your head off and drank from your neck." He said quite clearly, although how he managed through all the fangs was a mystery. He winced slightly and set the rifle carefully on the ground with an arm that was almost as big as Jason, before rubbing at his chest where the bullet had torn a hole in his shirt and bruised the huge chest below.
"How?" Steve asked in a choked voice.
"This isn't about me, just young Brian there." He pointed to the large dog that was peeking at him from between his parents. "I fixed things up so it looked like another gang killed those boys. They weren't any loss, but it was a lot of trouble. He tore them up something fierce. I want to know what happened."
"He drank too much and went out to walk it off. Those four tried to mug him, so he defended himself," Steve said.
"So he was drunk and taken off guard. Yes, that does explain the mess," Calvin said with a nod. "There could have been Hell to pay if I hadn't gotten the call. Why didn't you notify the Network?"
"What network?" asked Ellie.
Calvin shook his head in disbelief. "Farmers," he said it like a curse word as he looked at their blank faces. He released Jason and sat down with a sigh. "Magic is coming back. Why do think I came up here to ask questions the way I did?" He continued without waiting for anyone to answer. "I thought he might have been a singleton, a lone wolf. I didn't know he was part of a family. I thought we had all the families integrated by now."
"There can't be many singletons." Ellie said.
"More all the time. Science has gone too far and fast. Folks can't tell half of it from magic any more, so it's bleeding back as people get more confused by reality. The Network got started because of that. We all need to stay hidden until we can build up our numbers again. Then we'll come out and go mainstream."
"What? When?" Steve asked in shock.
Calvin shook his head again, "I don't know. That's way above my pay grade. I just try to keep a lid on incidents like Brian got into and recruit new members when I can."
Steve and Ellie traded a quick look. "I'm not so sure we want to join." Steve said carefully.
"A nice family of shifters like you can't stay out. We need you and you owe us."
"What do we owe?" Ellie asked suspiciously.
"Nothing too onerous. Like I said, we're getting more singletons all the time. Often they're young, just hitting puberty and don't know how to act. A solid foster family like you could help a lot." He looked up as a cloud darkened the sky.
Steve looked up, too. "We can discuss it over dinner. In the meantime, that hay needs to come in before it rained on and ruined. We don't have any gloves that will fit you, but then I don't guess you really need them, do you?"
"Hay?" Calvin asked in disbelief.
"This has cost us a lot of time. Surely you don't mind lending a hand?" Ellie asked him and then continued on before he could reply or even move. "Of course you don't. Give me your keys and I'll have Brian bring your car back here once he's changed. We'll feed you up good this evening and we can talk it out then."
Calvin looked around at the family before him. The fight was over and all animosity was gone as fast as it had come. Just like a bunch of damn dogs -- fast to anger and just as quick to forgive. If he didn't go along with them, he jeopardized them as assets and members. He didn't even want to think about the consequences of that. "Crap," he said, rising with a sigh. He’d probably get roped into helping with the damn sheep, too.
The Choiceby Denna Holm
07/12/12
2000 words
Rica stumbled on her crippled leg and cringed when the window rattled. “Good job, idiot,” she mumbled, winded after the long run. Her blood left several streaks across the glass. She started to wipe it away with her sleeve, but soon gave up. Useless. Fear had made her weak, careless, but the idea of making it easy for the bloodthirsty bastards pissed her off.
She couldn’t stop or Richard would die.
How long before they killed him? If only her chest would stop burning. She couldn’t hear over the heavy rattle, her lungs starved. A single drop of blood could lead the pricks right to her and she’d gone and left a whole handful of the shit on the window.
She fought down rising hysteria, her sanity hanging by a thread. Richard’s beaten face remained seared in her mind, his arms strung high above his head, blood flowing freely down his naked back, bare toes stretched for the floor. Rica choked on deep sobs, rewarded by painful hiccups. She hoped focusing on Richard’s pain would help keep her mind off the ragged gash across her inner thigh.
The bastards had laughed at her screams, her denim cutoffs offering no protection against a wolf’s sharp fangs.
She pressed on, toes squishing on blood inside her tennis shoe.
Would they play with her first, or turn the wolf loose to finish the job? They’d probably already killed Richard. Better if the animal had taken out her artery and ended her pain hours ago.
“Fuck the whole damned lot of you,” Rica growled.
She took a few deep breaths and changed direction, headed back toward Richard’s apartment. She’d face the bastards and laugh when the wolf launched. Better to die fast than live in a constant state of terror.
The suffocating heaviness in her lungs lifted.
* * *
It didn’t take long. Rica stood beside a full dumpster outside Richard’s apartment building. The foul odor of spoiled meat and shitty diapers floated free from the rusted-out metal container, leaving a nasty film coating her tongue. A light burned inside Richard’s apartment, shadows moving, though no one peered outside. They weren’t worried. No one would expect her to backtrack. She glanced up at the fading stars. One way or another her suffering would soon end.
Two Tom cats began to howl, sizing one another up. It helped mask her uneven steps as she scooted across the paved parking lot, her stride hindered by the injured leg. She crouched behind a decorative cedar tree for a few seconds, watching for a planted spy. The howls continued as she worked around to the back of the two-storey building, kneeling behind the stairs.
Rica’s luck held; no one stopped her. “Come on,” she whispered. “Just do it.”
As if on command, the Toms’ battle cries erupted, loud enough to wake the dead. She imagined flying fur as they fought for breeding rights to some stray female. The noise masked the thump of her foot being dragged up the stairs, both her hands tight on the rail. She crouched beside the sliding glass door, her gaze darting across the manicured lawns.
What if they’d moved Richard? But she couldn’t go there. Slip in the back entrance, grab a couple of knives and pray the element of surprise would be on her side. Try to take control over her situation, any chance better than none at all.
A stabbing pain in her guts made it difficult to breathe, a path of pure acid racing through her intestines. God, help me, she mouthed in silence. What now? She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. ‘Hang on, baby, I’m coming for you.’
Rica leaned forward, peering through the glass door, blessed with a dark kitchen. The shadows of the deck were also a welcome safe haven. Nothing but faint sounds from the television came through. Good, they wouldn’t expect her to break into the apartment.
She swayed for a second, dizzy, remembering.
‘Run,’ they’d said. ‘Stay alive until dawn and we’ll set Richard loose.’ What was wrong with these people, the vicious bastards?
No more procrastinating. If she didn’t make her move soon the trashed leg would stiffen, become useless.
She slid the unlocked door open an inch, waited, then pushed far enough to squeeze through. No one came to investigate. No mocking taunts from Richard’s torturers. No crack of a whip slicing across his shredded back. Rica fought down mounting sobs. Only last week he’d proposed marriage. They’d been out for a casual walk along the river when he dropped to his knee and held out a ring. A unique piece of jewelry, ancient, one that’d been in his family for generations.
Rica brushed her fingertips over the golden band, molded into a snarling tiger’s head with two diamond eyes and sharp ruby fangs, glistening. Richard had told her the cat symbolized strength and cunning, a promise of protection to the wearer. Though beautiful, and a perfect fit, she’d frowned when he slipped it on her finger, uneasy.
Would it protect her when she faced these wacko people?
No more time to screw around hoping for a miracle. Her luck wouldn’t hold forever. Eventually the bastards would hear, sense her presence, or smell the sickening stench of the gaping wound in her thigh. Once Rica slipped inside, she headed straight for the knife set beside the stove.
She opted for two steak knives over the more imposing butcher knife, thinking they’d be easier to handle. Armed, she crept forward, praying the television would continue to mask the drag of her foot. Breath held, she peeked around the doorway, expecting to see Richard still hanging from the beam. Instead she found a group of people standing in front of the television staring directly at her.
Hope faded. Richard gone.
She growled, despair replaced with sudden rage. “Where is he? You said I had until sunrise!” She focused on the suspected leader. “You lied! Bring Richard to me, now! There's still time. Do it, or I swear to God I’ll take some of you fuckers out with me!”
“Drop the blades, child.” The deep voice came from behind her right ear. “Obey me and no one need get hurt.”
Two huge hands closed over both her wrists and squeezed until she dropped the knives. Rica closed her eyes, defeated. They’d known she was there the whole time. “What will you do?”
“Go sit down,” he replied, his tone leaving no doubt who controlled the situation. “It’s time we talk.”
Rica limped forward, the game over. When she stumbled, he took hold of her arm, his touch gentle as he guided her toward the couch. Where had this guy been at the start of her nightmare?
“I had my doubts you would return,” the intimidating man said, not unkindly. “I find it refreshing to be proven wrong. I’d judged you shallow when Richard first approached me, a weak female, more concerned with her own comforts and beauty than the well being of her future mate.”
Annoyed, Rica remained silent, though her full lips thinned.
“Richard belongs to me,” he said, surprising her when he knelt in front of the couch. “And I protect what is mine, always. But there is a price, you see. As Richard’s alpha, he must obey me. Are you following, Rica?”
She frowned. “No, not really.”
“Everyone in this room is under my protection, including you, until I say otherwise. If one of mine is harmed, emotionally or physically, the transgressor must pay. Richard believes you are his mate. He believes you love him. As human you are weak in my eyes and not to be trusted.”
Human? What the hell did he mean by that? Rica bristled, offended, though not exactly sure about what.
“Bring Richard to us,” the man said, though never taking his attention from Rica. “Let’s learn if you can be trusted or not.” He smiled, though it never quite reached his glittering blue eyes. Frosty windows to the killer housed within.
Rica’s heart thumped harder. Did her captor notice the rapid tick in her throat? His eyes took on a hungry look, a red tint shining through. She tried to inch backwards, but had nowhere to go.
The crowd parted, giving Rica a clear view of the hallway. She gasped and tried to crawl over the back of the couch, but the scary guy moved faster. His fist closed in her hair and jerked.
“Sit still,” he growled. “Time to make your choice.”
“Oh Christ,” she said when the tiger jumped on the couch. He took up the whole thing, his platter-sized front paws in her lap. “Pl-please make him get down.” Tears burned in her eyes. Rica guessed they were toying with her, more sadistic games. What happened when they grew bored? She flinched when the tiger licked at the blood below the wound in her thigh.
“Please don’t,” Rica said, worried his rough tongue would peel off her skin.
“Look into the tiger’s eyes, tell me what you see,” their leader replied.
She frowned, somewhat taken aback by his gentle tone. Aware her growing hysteria might upset the cat, she couldn’t hold back a giggle when he pressed his head against her chest and purred. “It tickles,” she said, pushing him away.
“Look,” the leader repeated, his expression cold. “After all, the eyes are a window to the soul.”
Confused, Rica sniffled. Had he read her mind about the frosty eyes? She shifted her attention to the tiger. His golden eyes radiated warmth, intelligence. She saw hope there, not the fierce predator she’d expected.
Her stomach tightened, a growing suspicion taking firmer hold. Her muscles twitched, acid churning in her guts. Painful cramps struck deep. “No,” she said, breathless, searching for escape. “No, it’s not possible.”
‘Yes,’ came Richard’s familiar voice, but from inside her mind. ‘You have passed the alpha’s test and now you must choose, my love. He welcomes you to our pack. Only one detail stands between us and our future happiness together. Rica, you must choose your second form.’
“Richard?” She cupped a hand on each side of the tiger's enormous head. “Is it really you?” She hissed when another spasms hit, her blood liquid fire. “My leg, it’s bad, infected.” Rica turned from the tiger. “No, this is crazy talk!”
“You are a turned beast, not born,” the alpha said. “Only an alpha has strength enough to turn a human. But my beast is a wolf.” He nodded toward her wounded thigh. “You were hunted to help spread the infection, to raise your odds for a successful shift. You must become a member of our pack, or die. No negotiations on this matter. Out of respect for Richard, I give you the choice to take his tiger over my wolf, but you must hurry or nature will choose for you. Take care, Rica, a wolf and tiger are not compatible where children are concerned.”
Rica’s body began to shake, the muscles rippling beneath her skin. “It hurts,” she whispered, reaching for Richard. Odd that she’d already started to think of the tiger as him. She groaned, her fists closing in the thick fur on his neck.
The alpha nodded. “Call if you need me,” he said, rising. “Go,” he ordered the others, then followed them outside.
‘You must stop fighting against it,’ Richard whispered, his rough tongue lapping at her tears. ‘Open your mind, Rica. Join me.’ He used the sharp tip of his fangs to gently tear away her clothes.
Exhausted after the night spent running, Rica let go, exhilarated by the surge of power that rushed through her body. It soon faded, leaving behind a pleasant tingling under her skin. She rested a few minutes and then pushed to her feet.
‘Ready to run, my love?’ Richard sent.
‘I am.’ She glanced back at her twitching orange tail, mouth open in a wide, panting grin.
Return to Formby Dennis B. Boyer
7/13/12
Approx. 1375 words
The ever-changer stood at the edge of the cliff. He wondered if today would be the day that he would bring it all to an end. If today would be the day that he finally mustered the courage to bring his one desire to fruition. If today would be the day, after so many countless millennia, that he would finally rest.
Pensively he looked at the vast landscape spread out before him. There was a strong wind blowing. That was good; he needed that. He looked down at his feet which stood precariously close to the cliff’s edge. He had no fear of falling. He had only one fear and that was the bringing about of his own end, even though he so desperately yearned for it.
The unknown. That was his one fear. How could it not be, when everything but this was known to him? He had had so many experiences, lived so many lives. For eons he had existed in so many countless forms, experiencing everything that one could possibly experience. At various points he had been every kind of creature which walked upon the earth, swam in its seas, or flew in its skies. He had lived for centuries among the wild things, in packs of wolves, flocks of gulls, schools of fish. From the great lizards that ruled the planet so long ago, to tiniest microorganism that existed as but a single cell.
Of course he had spent the majority of the time in a form similar to the one he now inhabited. That of a man. Or woman, when he so desired. So many lives… It was as a man that he had the deepest of his experiences; no other form could stir his emotions in such a strong and vivid manner. He had loved the most truly as a man and he had taken countless partners over the vast span of his life. Spending what seemed like only an instant with them until they faded away, falling beyond his reach. And when that happened he would move on, changing forms, changing lives, and starting anew. It had been this way for so long…
And when even the experiences of being a man became dull and ordinary, he would reach for something new to cling to, something new to excite his senses. From his imagination he would create a unique form, a beast which had never been seen before, giving birth to the great legends of man. Dragons and angels and gremlins… they had all be he, seeking something to invigorate himself, some new way to reinvent himself. He had been worshipped as a god among men, many times over. He remembered the various names he had taken. The ancient Egyptians had called him Ra, to the Sumerians he was Anshan, the Romans had known him as Jupiter. Men came to worship him easily, deducing that only a deity could become whatever it wanted. But after such a long span of time even the worship of entire civilizations became ordinary and dull.
So he would take reprieve as a rock or a flower, spending a century or two simply being something still and quiet. He had spent over a millennia as a tree, growing taller than any of the others in the forest. These experiences however offered only a temporary respite.
Invariably he would begin to feel the pull of humanity, calling him to return once again. And he would take on a new life, living, loving, experiencing, until that too bored him once again. And so the cycle was repeated over and over for countless ages… man, rock, insect, tree… always changing… always changing…
Eventually there were no new experiences to be had. No form he had not previously taken, nothing left to see or do or know for the first time. When nothing is new, when everything is simply a rehashing of some other experience, the lust for life begins to wane. And it had been fading from his being for some time now. What was the point in going through the same endless routine, the motions always so redundant, so repetitive? He tried to think back to the last new experience he had known, but he could not remember. There was so much information to sift through, so many countless memories. They became blurred together until he could not distinguish his first experience from his twentieth, his hundredth. Who was the first wife he had ever taken..? He couldn’t even remember which one had been the original. The memories sloshed and swirled in his mind until they were indistinguishable from each other.
He had been simply “existing” in this dysthymic state for longer than he could now bear. He had learned to tolerate this state of apathy, but was this even living anymore? No, he reasoned, it was merely being. To live implied feeling, and he had stopped truly feeling long ago. There was no passion left, no fire in his soul. There was nothing new…
He corrected himself, silently. There was one thing he had never done, never experienced, never known. Death. He had never ceased to be. Only then would he find reprieve from the monotony of this existence. Originally he had not even thought it possible. How could he, the ever-changing one, the ever-lasting one, simply cease to be? No natural cause could cause him harm, his various forms were never placed in any mortal peril. How was it possible to extinguish the flame, to snuff it all out…
But like everything the answer eventually became known to him. When one has lived for as long as he has, in as many different forms as he had, there was nothing that could remain hidden from him forever. Eventually all things would come to be known.
He knew he could end it all with one more change. A final change, and the ever-changer would be no longer. He had come to the knowledge intuitively, like so much of what he learned. It was actually a simple matter. He only had to return to his original state, his very first form from which he was born. Once taken, he knew it would also be his last and he would cease to be…
And that was indeed what he wanted. But still, he was afraid. Unsure if he had the mettle to actually do it, to go through with what would be his final act. Doubt, fear, uncertainty… although disconcerting, he welcomed these feelings. They made him feel something, at least. That fact alone, assured him that this was the right course, the proper action to take. Eons had lead him to this point, here at the edge of a cliff, staring at the vista before him, contemplating his own demise. A demise which would not bring grief, like the ones of his mates had, but comfort. Rest. Peace after so much time…
Today would be the day, he decided. He would be brave enough, bold enough to carry through. He raised his arms and felt the wind whip at his body. The wind was blowing strongly now. Good; he would need that.
The ever-changer summoned every bit of his will, and through that will he changed. In a moment his human form collapsed upon itself and he became… dust. So many tiny particles of dust…
The wind caught these particles and began to carry them forth from the cliff’s edge. His form spread into countless directions, each particle being carried further and further away from the others. As he allowed the wind to carry him, he began to feel his grasp on the world slip away. His mind became clouded until he could no longer realize what was happening; he was no longer certain where or what he was. The dust particles blew across the landscape, the wind carrying them to whatever unknown place they would eventually reach and settle upon. It was as if he was evaporating, his sentience being spread across a great divide, like so many specks of dust. And the ever-changer knew, with his final coherent thought, that he had done it. He had ceased to exist and come into the embrace of his final mate, his last partner… oblivion.
I Will Be Your MirrorBy Jocelyn Nora Moore 2,000 words(Exactly!)
Ana had worked at the House of Mirrors kiosk for over two years, but she could still remember the first time she saw it—when she stood, suddenly suspended, under the mall’s central dome, blinded by the mirror seller’s u-shaped stall. It was plated in smoky silver surfaces that overlapped like scales, and they bounced fluorescent store lights back and forth off each other. She had wanted to crawl right into the middle of the reflective tent they created. She watched lots of nature shows about butterflies and lizards that changed colors, bugs that looked like leaves and sticks, fish that looked like sea plants, all to trick predators. But there weren’t any predators in the mall, just plain, ordinary people.
Carmel wasn’t a predator, strictly speaking, yet Ana wanted to hide from her on the days when she worked. As she spoke to Ana, her eyes darted like a hummingbirds, searching for reflections of her minimized clothing, her bleached white, severe bangs, and heavy eyeliner. Carmel talked very quickly, as though someone had hit the fast forward button to her brain, and a conversation with her mostly only required that parts of her sentences be repeated back to her.
“...And then, everything always has to be crazy here. I can’t believe that Sasha thought that he was going to take 10 of my hours, you know? ”
“Sasha wants your hours?” Ana didn’t care about Carmel’s hours. She didn’t care or want to hear about Carmel, or her life, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from seeming to care, from trying to make herself care. When Carmel was around, Ana was the mall friend she needed, the sympathetic ear to all of Carmel’s personal drama, most of which revolved in a sickening carrousel motion through every fruity drink special in town.
“Can you believe it? It’s like I don’t have enough trust issues, you know?”
“I know...” Ana lowered her voice sympathetically.
“Right?” Carmel whispered dramatically, her eyes sparking. ”God I need a coffee. Watch my stand for me? Mocha, right?”
Ana’s kiosk was very popular, although only the old fashioned hand mirrors were big sellers. Mall patrons were beckoned from the flow of human traffic around and through the stalls; they slowed, then stopped and fixed their hair, bit their lips, teenage age girls checked their boobs and abdomens, teenage boys nodded at reflections of their own grimaces. Almost no one was immune to the lure of dozens of reproductions of their own moving face and body, their own enchanting imperfections, the random marks that made them unique. Very few customers actually talked to Ana.
Jesse watched the girl who looked like a stripper trail away through the lines and knots of people, till she melted away in a smear of meandering movement. The Mirror Girl shrank back into her hiding place beside the register and picked up a book. The book blocked any view of her face. He hadn’t noticed the mirror girl when he had first gotten hired at the Fresh Issues store a few months back. Just a couple of weeks ago, on a slow afternoon, after he grew bored watching a 12-year-old boy in eyeliner pretending he wasn’t shopping with his mom, he had gazed out into the concourse and that’s when she came into focus. He saw it happening, and then wondered how he hadn’t before. At first he kept watching out of intense curiosity. But now he felt pretty sure she needed help.
Ana felt awkward on the days that Trina worked in the Sea Salt Marvel kiosk right beside her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Trina, an intelligent, charismatic pianist working her way through a music theory degree, in fact she truly cared when Trina launched into yet another impassioned spiel to yet another mall walker she had snagged about how sea salts could clear one’s skin of all blemishes, reverse the aging process, regulate the bowels, and give you super hearing. Trina went at it with such optimism and endless energy -- Ana had to root for her. It was just that she was pretty sure that Trina believed that Ana was biracial, like her. She didn’t want to give that impression. It was embarrassing. And after-all, Ana had no idea what her ethnic back ground was. The forms from the state home where she had been left read simply “AGE: 12-18 months RACE: Other”.
“Where are my women today?” Trina asked, looking around the shining concourse. “Is it father/son shopping day? Is that a new day nobody told me about? It’s so much harder to sell salt to men.”
“Tell them it’s the new Viagra.”
“You’re a genius!” Trina smiled her dazzling smile, which sold more salt products than all the snake oil promises of the manufacturers. Ana felt her face immediately form the same smile, her teeth buzzing as though someone were running a jackhammer near-by. “So, what’s up with you today?”
That was another awkward thing about Trina. She wasn’t at all self-absorbed. She asked about Ana with real interest
“Uhhh...”
“Ouuuu, Ana! That cute Fresh Issues boy is checking you out again!”
“I so don’t believe you.” Trina had been telling her this for weeks. Chances were far better that the cute boy had noticed the bright charming Trina.
“Oh no, incoming. Code Fuchsia.” It was Carmel. She looked more hung-over than usual.
“I’ll get mochas.” Ana announced as she propped up her Back in Five clock and whirled swiftly around as though caught in a whirlpool, swept away with a wave.
Jesse watched her flee like a frightened deer from the collision of Stripper Barbie and Charisma Girl. It made sense. When she was around Stripper Barbie her hair lightened to a streaked honey blond, her skin was pale, covered in intense makeup, and she was a little too skinny. When she was with Charisma Girl her hair was dark and wavy, she acquired a very deep tan in about a second, her body was healthy, and, he was pretty sure, shorter. He’d never seen her talk for more than a minute, tops, to a group. What would happen if she did? He imagined some sort of combination event, her face and body morphing back and forth like a CGI character in a film. He shuddered.
“Jess! Pretzel Chickie! 10:00!” Oscar stage-whispered across the narrow, cluttered, store to him. Oscar had worn his blue-tipped hair gelled up in clownish loops today, showing off the pattern shaved into the side of his head like hieroglyphs carved in clay. Fresh Issues employees had to work hard to be noticeable amid the tottering avalanche of gleaming spikes, rainbow glitter, dark plaid, leather, and ruffles they worked underneath. It was like wading all day through the overwrought closet of a death metal loving Scottish drag queen.
Oscar had gotten Jessie the job here. Jessie had almost not gotten the job, in spite of the red button gauges in his ears, because he was still too “clean-cut” looking.
Oscar was in love with the pretzel vendor. He was convinced that her employment at the pretzel shack somehow equated an unusual level of limberness and flexibility. But the pretzel vendor only had eyes for Jesse. He had a nice face, a face that looked caring and sweet. He suspected that this was what had gotten him the job in the end.
“Hi Jesse!” The Pretzel Vendor Girl bounced in front of him. Oscar bounced directly behind her making faces that seemed to indicate an uncomfortable level of constipation.
“Hey! I was just leaving to go get coffee. Want anything?” Jesse asked, sliding past her with a smile as she answered in the affirmative, and leaving her to Oscar’s manic, open-faced inquiries into her health and well-being.
An older lady worked the Coffee Cup most days. Talking to her, the mirror girl looked twenty years older than he’d ever seen her, she looked tired. How could he talk to her? How would he know if it was really her? If he talked to her, would her face become kind, inviting, reassuring? The type of face that propelled tween girls to purchase far more body glitter than they could possibly find a purpose for? And how seductive would such a reflection be? He didn’t want to know. He stood in line behind her but said nothing. Her shoulders looked frail, tired. But then, so did the barista’s.
“Money, money, money...” Franco, who owned most of the Kiosks in the mall, rubbed his fingers together in front of her face in order to make his point. He turned away to reexamine the profit printout for the month. “You did good, Ana.” He smiled, Ana smiled back, but he didn’t see, because he wasn’t actually looking at her as he spoke, he was talking to the lines of numbers on the perforated sheet. Ana felt the numbers run across her face like ants.
The Fresh Issues hottie had followed her into the book shop on her break and peered at her from behind the bestseller shelves. She could tell that he wanted desperately to approach her and say something, and he had looked so sweetly innocuous standing awkwardly beside a hundred copies of “Fifty Shades of Grey” that she found herself wishing he would. Which would be pointless. And dangerous. Ana had to fight any urge to hang out with one person more than any other.
“Trina needs next Friday off for a family thing.” She told him, her voice low and matter-of –fact, like a receptionist, or a computer.
“Trina is going to leave me, at the end of next summer. They all always leave me.” Franco looked up at her. “Except for you, Ana. You never leave, do you? Everyone moves on, dreaming of bigger, brighter things, but not my Ana, she knows better.” He smiled directly at her then, a calculating, sharp expression than extended no further than his cavernous nostrils. She felt her head jiggle like a bobble-head doll as the same conspiratorial smile flashed across her lips and pulled unpleasantly at her jaw muscles. Every pulsing vein beneath her skin twisted in nauseated revolt, but on the surface she was calm as the steady hum of the crisp mall air conditioning.
When Jesse finally introduced himself to Ana, he did so with one of the mirrors in front of his face. He still couldn’t see her true face, but she could. He didn’t know what she saw there but he could hear the pleased surprise in her voice.
“Are you shy?”
“Not usually. You’re special. My name is Jesse.”
“I’m Ana. Ana Sands.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ana Sands. Tell me about yourself.”
“Are you going to keep the Jade-Flower-Hand-Held between us?”
“For awhile.”
Ana smiled. She saw herself smile back. It was strange, terrifying and completely new.
Oscar noticed Pretzel Girl walking swiftly by. He watched as she noticed, in turn, Jesse talking to his new girlfriend. He sadly watched Pretzel Girl watch Jesse sadly, till she turned around a marbled corner and was gone. Jesse only had eyes for Ana. Oscar had never seen his friend so happy.
“Dude, you have love face.” Oscar had told him that morning.
“I think I am in love.” Jesse had said. He struggled for words. “It’s like...being with me has allowed her to be who she really is...but that’s not all...I feel like I’m finally who I’m supposed to be, she makes me my best self...you know? And she’s really interested in..in figuring things out...her life...she’s thinking about going back to school...like me…”
“You’re completely whipped, is what you’re saying.”
Jesse ignored him, caught up in his own thoughts.“It’s so amazing, we think the same about so many things...”
Oscar didn’t doubt it. As he watched them now, he wondered how he never noticed before they started dating how much the House of Mirrors girl looked like Jesse. Seriously, they could be related. They looked like twins.
Envious DivideBy: Brandy Nacole
WC: 1,629
I tried to calm my racing pulse but the screams outside did nothing to calm my fear. The screams could only mean that the Brutes had made it passed the infantry.
Glancing out my rain soaked window, I could see the fight escalating below. Most of the Brutes were in their animal forms. The ones that remained in human form probably didn’t have a strong familiar. The Hominids fighting against them were in the strongest human form they conjure.
This battle had to stop. Tears leaked down my face as I saw an innocent Hominid child get caught between the blows of a Brute and another Hominid. This is what has been happening between our races for decades. Ever since the split of our kingdom, the shifters have fought against one another. Neither side was willing to surrender. They just wanted the title of most powerful shifter.
My door burst open as my father, King Nabu, stepped into my room. There was a panicked look on his face as he swept my room looking for me. Once he spotted me, he rushed over grabbing me by the shoulders with a firm grip.
“We must leave. The Brutes have made it through the lines and are now scaling our walls.”
Tears ran down my face as I looked at my father. “We have to stop this.”
Gasping, my father releases me as shock covers his features and his steely blue eyes look at me with surprise.
“We most certainly will not. How could you even ask me of this Bloom? If I was the one to surrender it would make our kingdom look weak.”
I step toward my father pleadingly. My own blue eyes shine brightly with a new wave of tears. “We don’t have to look weak. We can reunite again; restore our power back to what it once was. I’m willing to do what’s necessary if you will just submit.”
My father furiously shakes his head, “I cannot allow my daughter to marry one of those cursed creatures.”
I will my voice to sound strong but I know the fear is there. “They are not cursed creatures father, we all are. Just because the Brutes can only shift into animals doesn’t change anything. We are all the same, we are all shifters.”
My father shakes his head and tightens his jaw. “We do not have time for this Bloom. We must leave, immediately. We will discuss this matter later.”
He grabs my forearm tightly and drags me down the stone lined wall. The torches flicker as we pass them. My father is practically running down the dimly lit hall trying to get me to safety.
When we come to the main balcony that overlooks the courtyard, I plant my feet to stop. Brutes and Hominids fight one another until one falls in death.
My chest tightens when I see the prince of the Brutes enter the courtyard. A grim look crosses his face as he looks at the bodies before him.
My father tightens his grip on my arm as he starts pulling me down the hall once again. I try peeking down the courtyard through the slim open windows in the wall. But I can’t see anything in the blur that passes me. My father is rushing us down the halls, through the corridor of stairs that lead to the underground level.
Once we reach the bottom step, my father is ripped away from me. A Brute, who is still in human form, grasps my father around the chest. He places a piece of gold over my father’s heart to keep him from transforming.
“Follow me Princess.” The Brute’s voice is deep. Although he didn’t verbally threaten me, his features and hold on my father told me enough. If I didn’t follow him, he would kill the King of the Hominids.
I don’t say a word to him. I just follow him back up the stairs and out to the courtyard.
The prince of the Brutes, Prince Caden, stands where he had before. I notice the Brutes that have an upper hand on the Hominids are only rendering them unconscious. The only one’s bringing a deathly blow is the Hominids.
The realization twists my stomach. Thinking back over the past few decades, it was the Hominids who had started acting superior to the Brutes. It was the Hominids who started enslaving the Brutes for work. All of this, all of it was our fault.
I knew what I had to do, even if my father disagreed with me.
Before drawing attention to myself, I look at the Prince. He meets my eyes for only a moment. His smile widens with a seductive satisfaction. He knew what I was fixing to do and he was pleased.
Looking away from the Prince, I elevate my voice as high as I can. “Seize this fighting, NOW!”
The Hominids stopped immediately and became ridged once they saw their King being held by a Brute.
The Brutes backed off but they were still growling at the Hominids next to them.
Prince Caden released his own order to his Brutes. “You heard the Princess, stand down.” The Brutes backed away and suppressed their growls.
The Prince nodded at me, encouraging me to continue.
Holding my head high, I spoke so I could be heard by everyone. “This feud has rang across the lands long enough. We have accomplished nothing except ripping each other apart. We have been separated for petty indifferences. Our race stood strong once upon a time. We were proud to be shifters together not separate.
The blood shed that has fallen is a shame. It fell for the worst of reasons: jealousy. We became jealous of one another and wanted to prove our differences held power. But the only power that rules us is envy. We envied one another for their abilities. The Brutes envying and wanting to take on the power of another human form like the Hominids. The same happened with the Hominids. They wanted to feel the air, the water, and the ground beneath their paws.
Our envy drove us apart and separated the kingdom. It’s time to restore the kingdom once again and end this envious battle. I stand here before you pleading for this change. A change that will bring the Brutes and Hominids together once again as I accept Prince Caden’s hand.”
The courtyard is filled with silence after I proclaim my acceptance.
My father’s eyes widen in dismay. “You most certainly will not.” He tries breaking away from the Brute, who still has a firm grip on him. He still holds the piece of gold over my father’s heart.
Breaking my view of the courtyard, I turn to my father. I know he fears what will happen if I accept such a union. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that he has been blinded by his own envy. I remember watching him when I was little girl, looking at his advisor with envy every time he took to the sky. He wanted to know what it was like to fly in the sky, to feel the clouds part as he broke through them. He cared nothing about changing into a woman, a child, or a younger man. He wanted the freedom of the sky.
His blind envy was still blocking his judgment now.
“Father, I must do this. Would you rather see your kingdom crumble before you as your loyal men fall in their blood?” I step closer to my father, placing my hand on his cheek. “You must let go father. You must trust me.”
The King says nothing but the tear that falls down his face says it all. He knows this must end but is afraid of what will become of me. He will soon see, like everyone else, that this is the right thing to do.
Prince Caden steps forward, “The Princess and I will unite this kingdom once again. I decree this battle to its end.” The Brutes bow to one knee before their Prince. The Brutes that had been in their familiar form moments ago now kneel in their human forms once again.
My own people seemed confused. They look to the king for reassurance. Looking back at my father, I see the resolve of my decision clearly on his face. The Brute that had a hold on him lets him go and kneels before his Prince.
The King raises his head with pride, “We will be one again. We shall no longer separate ourselves but will unite as one. We will rule the lands like the gods intended us to. The unification of our race will be complete when Prince Caden and Princess Bloom are wed in front of the entire kingdom, a kingdom that will hold Brutes and Hominids together again.”
Everyone is now on their knees, kneeling in acceptance to the new decree. Prince Caden comes to my side and places his hand in mine. I feel our energy sizzle like it did on those stolen nights.
Caden smiles down at me and I return the smile. We did it. We actually did it. The memory of our stolen kisses feels me with tingles that make me feel as if I’m flying. All those kisses intermingled with a plan for a new kingdom.
As we smile at one another we share our secret. Not only did we save the kingdom but we brought our souls together like they were meant to be. No longer will we have to hide in the shadows of the woods. We will be able to express our lives together in the way we dreamed.
Our kingdom may be restored but I know that Caden and I won so much more.
True Shifters By Cory BenningerWC: 1997/2000
A young man who had seen twenty years walked through the crowded sidewalks of the urban city he currently resided in. At five eleven, he could see over the heads of some civilians. Though sight wasn’t what the man was currently using to find his target. His senses were beyond that of normal humans, but at the current moment, his heightened senses were not to be of too much help. He was looking for a building where his target was living with her two parents.
‘They had to send me to one of the biggest cities in this state to find a twerp teenager who may or may not be one of us,” said Rain quietly. Rain Faith possessed green eyes, and his hair which was cut short was a combination of wavy and curls.
Rain lit a cigarette as he walked around the sidewalk. He didn’t smoke often, but when he did, it was a good sign for others to watch out. He was stressed out since his last mission had ended in utter failure. His target had ended up joining the very people he had been trying to save them from. Those people were part of an organization known as S.C.A.H. or also known lovingly as Supernatural Community Against Humanity. They were no more an official “organization” than a cult would be. Rain’s own organization though which comprised of his own kind, and others was known simply as Shifters. Rain’s kind was shape shifters, and that was the majority of workers in Shifters. There were a few vampires, succubae, necromancers, and all the other races that inhabited the Earth. Magic was always known about, but humans preferred to ignored it and rather rely on science as they put it.
Between Shifters which a few of the members who weren’t shape shifters complained about and S.C.A.H., the only different was ideology. One believed that humans and the supernatural community should live in peace and be mainstream as they put it. While the other simply wanted humanity to bow down to their superiors. To be frank, S.C.A.H. had the numbers over Shifters, but Shifters definitely had more talented agents.
Rain had failed in convincing the man that Shifters was the true way to living in a peaceful world. The dhampir (Half-human half-vampire) had managed to convince the young shape shifter that if humans were forced to bow down to them, they wouldn’t have to worry about keeping peace, or following some form of silly human laws, only their laws, supernatural laws which there were none. Rain still felt the loss; the higher ups had decided to send Rain this time to a more concentrated area when they had heard rumors about a young girl who had grown wings in the middle of her classroom. Only one form of shape shifter could morph parts of their animal in human form; a true shifter as shape shifters called them. A true shifter was a rarity in the supernatural world. It said that out of every thousand shape shifters, a true shifter would appear. A true shifter could access their one animal form just like a regular shape shifter, but also had access to shifting parts of their body into an animal part, and a mixture of a humanoid form mixed with their animal.
Rain was a true shifter and his form was a wolf. As a true shifter, he rarely used his humanoid form, for two major reasons. It drained a lot of energy, and it freaked humans out. None of the supernatural community were popular since they had “come out” ten years ago. Shape shifters had decided to reveal themselves in the late nineties and after that, all the other creatures of the shadows and dark had come out. Humans felt two ways. Some accepted the supernatural while others feared, hated, or believe in them.
Rain had come across every variance of human when it came to humans’ feelings about them, and he had learned that the feared, hatred, and not believing portion was more common, at least to him. In the city, accepting humans lived.
Rain soon found the building where Lucy West lived with her two middle-class parents. Shifters did very thorough background checks of people they believed to be shape shifters. There were other organizations that sought out the other supernaturals who inherited their abilities such as witches, necromancers, and everything else. Shifters often dealt with all the others, but mostly shape shifters.
Rain ended up just as he thought he would once he knocked on the door and announced who he was and what organization he was with. The parents had tried to slam the door in his face, but with a built body, Rain easily had stopped them. He merely smiled nicely and asked if he could simply see Lucy. He could tell they were afraid he was here to take their baby away, but that was from far it. The longest a shape shifter stayed away from home was one month, and true shifters two. Shifters wasn’t out to recruit; they were merely out to help those who were new to the community. The last target for Rain hadn’t bothered going to Shifters, and had simply accepted S.C.A.H as the truth. Shifters mostly wanted the best seeing as they had government funding. That was another story of how the government had become involved.
“Mom, dad, would you please stop being rude. He’s here to help me.” A young, feminine voice had come out from behind the two parents blocking the front door into their apartment.
“I’m assuming you’re Lucy West?”
“Yes I am.” Lucy’s parents gave in, but pleaded with Rain not to take away their baby. They thought that doctors could help her, but none had been able to. Rain explained about Shifters; about how they had doctors to help those who were new to the supernatural community. He even handed them the really stereotypical brochure. As they read it, Lucy had her own conversation with Rain. It turned out that Bryan had gotten to Lucy via e-mail and had explained to her what Shifters was and why an agent would soon be visiting her.
“So basically I’m a true shifter which is a rarity and also a shape shifter?” Rain nodded. “I’m a shape shifter because someone in my family tree was also one correct?” The girl knew what she was talking about. One good thing about Bryan; he made things easy to understand. “And finally, my powers coming in could have happened at any time in my entire life?” The Shifters agent nodded once more. “Ok, just covering my ground. I already know my form by the way. I kind of tested it out on the roof… It’s an eagle.” Rain’s eyes budged; new shape shifters rarely if ever attempted to use their forms after inheriting them. They were more often than not freaked out by the sudden transformation. Some remained in their animal forms until Shifters agent found a much bigger version of whatever animal they were.
“You’ve already shifted into animal form? That takes a lot of willpower. Though I wouldn’t get too cocky, you have yet to experience you third form and I’ll tell you know. It’s not something you want to use too much.”
“I understand the third form. Bryan informed me about it as well. Tell me though, one thing Bryan didn’t mention… are we immortal?”
“No… We’re just as mortal as any old human on this planet. Only certain races get that privilege.”
Lucy merely nodded. Rain looked at his target; the girl was no older than fifteen and was five eight. Her light blue eyes complimented her mid back length straight blond hair. As Rain looked at Lucy’s body, he couldn’t help but notice her toned arms and he noticed something else that troubled him; two marks that seemed to be caused by fangs.
He grabbed Lucy’s left arm and stared at it for a few moments. Lucy was a tad surprised by the sudden grab, but hadn’t protested. “Tell me, what gave you these?”
“Oh, they’re from a vampire I helped feed… He was hungry and passing out in the street, and it was almost done. I was headed home from work and well I only saw him as a man who happened to be sprawled out on the cement and who might be in need of help. He fed and then left. Of course, I saw him again the next day after I got off work in the same spot and well he was hungry so I fed him again. I did it the next day after that, and then he disappeared. That was about three days ago though. Why, did I do something wrong?”
“How fucking naïve are you humans! Wait… you’re not a human, but still! Son of a!” the true Rain had come out, the impatient, rude, and very vulgar Rain. “Do you have any idea what a vampire can do with just one bite!? After one, they can hypnotize you to a degree, With two bites in two days; they can enter your thoughts. With three in three days, well, you’re lucky he hasn’t called you to his side yet… You said he disappeared right?”
“Yes… I went the usual route from work to home where I kept seeing him. There was no sign of him.”
“He knew you were a shape shifter by the first bite, and with that third, he found out you were a true shifter. The more bites, the more a vamp can gauge your power… And now he’s gone off to report to S.C.A.H. Tell me do you know who they are?”
“I do… and I think it’s horrible. Why can’t the supernatural community and humans live in peace? I mean come on. We’ve been through the civil rights era, the LGBT rights era, and now this? Humanity hasn’t learned shit. Oops! Excuse my rudeness!” He had to smirk; this girl was kind of puzzling; she could take being a shape shifter, but saying a “bad” word was another?
“Well I’m fairly certain they’ve sent an agent or two to this city by now and they’re here to convince you to join them. Only thing is Lucy… they don’t take no as an answer… Do you know why Shifters sent me?”
“No though I’m aware that you’re very famous in the organization. Bryan told me I’d be very safe with you.”
“Damn right. Thing is though Lucy S.C.A.H has their own means of intelligence and they probably know I’m here, so they’ve probably sent someone very powerful. I’ve been up against him a few times, and I can tell you, if I say run away, you run. Got it?”
Lucy nodded. “Ok. We’re getting out of here now so your home isn’t destroyed and your parents aren’t hurt.” Lucy was about to ask if the other agents would take her parents hostage, but Rain assured her, Shifters had that covered. Rain hadn’t been alone on this mission; he had a partner this time, and outside they waited. They had been late, but then again, punctuality had never been a strong point of Crystal’s. Lucy explained to her parents best she could of why she had to get out, but they tried to object by saying the police could help them. They knew it was empty words though; the police could do nothing to a supernatural entity. Lucy packed a suitcase with Rain’s help with clothes, and a few other items. Within ten minutes, they were ready. Lucy had the typical teary eyed family goodbye, but Rain had a target to get out of there.
“Say goodbye to your old life Lucy… You won’t be seeing it for a while.” Rain got Lucy out as fast as he could, and to a place where she could perhaps truly learn and grow into what she was; a true shifter.
Shifting Sidesby Erin O'Connor Fetters
WC 1966
Promise me, you will not hate them. Her mother’s dying words echoed through Akievah’s head, bouncing around the empty space, as she gazed up into his face, her hand tight around his wrist. The deep blue-black eyes, shimmering copper hued skin and the waves of ebony that framed the regal face before her could be nothing else.
Shapeshifters.
That was the name she learned from her mother’s bogeyman stories. They had gone by many names in other cultures. Skinwalkers. Lycans. And of course, werewolves. No matter the title of incarnations, the horrors wrought by their bloodlust was the same.
A sharp cuff on the back of her head jarred her back into the moment. Scrambling as quickly as she could, she half crawled away, frantically trying to escape from prying eyes and what would soon be another skin blistering beating.
“You damned useless git. Look at the mess you have made and how dare you touch his lordship? Get out of my sight. I will deal with you later.” She knew the rest of the threat by heart. She had heard it ringing through her ears more times than she cared to count.
She sputtered her heart felt apologies as she finally made it to the door, pushing it open and regained her feet inside the kitchen. Gulping a couple breaths, she brushed off her skirts and held back the tears on the falling.
This was it. She was going to die tonight.
**
Lord Alric blinked several times as the female disappeared into the bowels of the castle’s kitchens. His keen senses picked up on several interesting things, but her overriding fear outweighed them all. As one of the Lord of the Wolvestrike Clan, he was used to watching the serfs scatter before him, but this one. She was different. Her fear tasted of something else.
Knowledge.
She knew why she feared him.
His midnight blue eye narrowed, tunneling his vision past the bricks and the moldings. Through the cracks in the walls, he found her. Her heart beating hummingbird fast as she pressed her back against the door, thinking the brittle wood offered her some solace.
Lifting his arm to his nose, inhaling deep, dragging her scent into his lungs, imprinting her fragrance in his memory. Later. The head cook was still blathering at his elbow. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the old woman, his face still fixed on his newest query’s escape path. Her eyes. Something about her eyes gave him pause. A hand on his shoulder drew his attentions back to the banquet laid out in their honor.
“Come, little brother. This will be a night not to be soon forgotten.”
**
The clatter of dishware helped to keep Akievah’s mind focused on her task, but not completely.
Here?
How?
How could this be possible? Had he tracked her somehow?
Each time a new question flitted through her mind, she reached into the soapy water to scrub another plate. Dish after dish disappeared from the tub until at last her hand reached down and came back empty. Shaking her head out of her reverie, she discovered the daunting stack of dirty pots and dingy pans to be gone. Her eyes drifted down to her hands, staring as they trembled like leaves in a windstorm. She squeezed her eyes shut as the memories flooded in.
The rain, the screams, the howls, and the blood. Her mother’s mangled body in her arms and her dying words that bubbled out in a crimson foam.
Do not hate them, my child. You must end this cycle. Promise me, you will not hate them. In her haste to make her mother’s dying moments peaceful, she nodded repeated.
“I promise, mama. I promise.” As the light fled from her mother’s sad grey eyes, she feared she had told the worst lie. But once the dawn arose, the terror of the night receding to the shadows once more, her life turned into something else. The soldiers arrived, gathering up any survivors from her village and the eternal servitude began. She was young, no more than ten cycles when the shifters had slaughtered her family and her life.
Now, with the passing of another ten cycles, the Lords of the Wolvestrike Clan had returned and her life was soon to be forfeit. Soon, they would know who she was.
Soon.
Akievah pressed her eyes shut, blocking out the growing panic, praying to her mother and her mother’s gods for guidance. “By the great Ash and noble Rowan, give me strength on this night.” The simple benediction whispered from her lips, as one single tear slipped down her cheek.
I do not want to die.
**
As he restlessly paced his room, Lord Alric thought upon the terrified beauty whose face had plagued his vision for the whole of the feast. His brothers, as well as his father, had quickly dismissed her as a simpering kitchen wench who, by now, was probably suffering the lash for her actions.
“Actions?” He has scoffed at his Tybor’s choice of words. She slipped and reached out a hand to steady herself.
Making another lap around the room, his boot heels muffled by the thick rugs as his mind spun faster still.
Those eyes. What was it about those eyes of hers? Yes, her face was sweet, but there was something more. Closing his eyes, he opened his senses, using her scent as a guide line. Shimmering into a mist, he followed it. The walls flew by in a blur until he found her. Soft sobs reached his ears just as his hand touched the latch. Without another thought, he slammed his shoulder against the wood, splintering the old timbers and spilled into the room.
**
The punishment Akievah had received for dishonoring the lord had been more severe than she had been prepared for. She was ready to have her food withheld, as well as added duties, neither of which was anything new, but the five lashes at the blacksmith’s hand was something new. Now, huddled in the corner of her tiny closet of a sleeping space, crying as silently as possible, she felt herself give into despair.
She let out a tiny shriek at the roaring crash against her door and the shower of kindling that followed. Drawing her knees closer to her chest, she gaped at the massive form filling the entire opening.
Those eyes.
Those burning eyes.
Her hand rose to cover her mouth as panic froze her body. The mouth beneath the eyes moved and her mind struggled to make sense of the sounds.
“Are you hurt?”
Blinking slowly, she fought against her body, urging it to move in some fashion. Finally, her head shook from side to side.
“I heard crying. Are you sure you are not hurt?”
He…he was asking about her? Relaxing a fraction, she listened with her heart as her mother had taught her to do. There was no venom, no hate in his words. Only concern. But the massive creature before her still called forth memories of that dark night these ten cycles past. What did this mean?
**
Alric forced the air into his lungs in deep swallows as he fought to keep his beast at bay. The wide leaf green eyes that peered at him from behind the pale arm pierced his soul as surely did the sharpest steel, her fear a visceral force driving the blade deeper still. He extended a hand cautiously, hoping his slow movements would not cause her any further terror.
Green.
Her eyes of green.
She was human. Fully human.
Probably, one of the last of her kind. His father’s foolish hatred of them had spurned this damned war that had raged for a hundred cycles.
“I know you have no reason to believe this, but I mean you no harm, child. What is your name?” Calling his beast back deep inside him, he once again took the form she had seen earlier. The long lashed lids flashed up and down gracefully as she lowered her arm.
“I am called…Akievah, s-s-sire.” Her voice was like the soft tinkling of bells to him. He nodded at her hesitant response, placing his hand on his chest. “I am Alric. How did you some to this place, Akievah?”
She regarded him warily before answering. “My village…was destroyed and I was taken here.”
He dropped his head, sighing heavily at the expected news. “I am sorry, child.”
**
“I am not a child.”
Akievah surprised herself by her bold words, but this lord was different from the others. There was an honorable tone to his voice. She watched awestruck as his shifted from the great beast to the man she knew him to be. His voice was kind.
The corners of his lips tilted up in a cocky grin. “No, indeed not. But to me, young one, you are.” His rumbling voice warmed her skin and fired her blood as well.
She sat still as he sat on the edge of her narrow cot, his immense size nearly overtaking the whole room. Digging deep for her courage, she willed her voice to work.
“Will…you kill me? Sire?”
His eyes of the darkest night sky pinned her with an unreadable stare.
“Do you wish me to, little Akievah?” Again, she could sense no evil in his words. Shaking her head adamantly side to side, she was rewarded with another breath taking smile.
“Good. Neither do I.” He reached down, taking her hand in his. A sharp hiss escaped his lips. “You said you were not hurt.”
Her cheeks flushed. The lash marks. He sensed them.
His brows pulled together as she felt the painful welts on her back throb only once, then they pained her no longer. “Better?”
Her jaw dropped on its hinge as her head bobbed in response.
Was this real?
**
What was he doing? His father would have slaughtered her in her sleep, not healed her. Or worse, help spirit her from the castle as he was now planning. Something in those green eyes changed his heart. He had to get her to safety.
“We have but moments. Stand back, but do not be afraid.” He called forth his beast, skin and bone flowing like water until his beast crowded her inside the tiny chamber.
“Climb upon my back and hold on tightly. We must be quick about this.” He dropped to all fours, lowering his back as must as he could. He felt her fingers lace into his fur as her legs clamped down around his sides.
As fast as a thought, he charged down the corridors, twisting and turning, his keen sense of smell keeping them out of sight from any late night wanderers. Slowly down, he cloaked them in deep shadows as the nightly patrols passed close. Her body pressed closed to him and not once did she cry out. She was strong and deserved to live free.
In his vision, he caught the edge of the secret passage. Long forgotten by all save him, he rose onto his haunches slowly, feeling her slide down the length of his body. Another time, perhaps. Calling his beast back to him, he reached for the handle with human hands. He turned the knob, letting in the pale moon’s glow before turning back to her.
“Stay safe, little Akievah, and do not hate all of us.”
**
She could barely believe her eyes. A shifter.
Helping her. A human.
Her eyes stayed wide open during their flight to the door where she now stood. Now, at the threshold, one foot away from freedom, she understood her mother’s words.
Now, she believed.
Standing up onto her toes, she placed a kiss on his cheek. “I promise,” she whispered and she ran out into the night.
Time For ChangeBy Delia MacDonald
Word count 1519
Have you ever had one of those days where everything seems to go right? Well today was not one of those days. Not that very many days have gone right recently. But one can always hope. It’s not that I’m expecting it to be easy. They never have been before, but for some reason I always thought that by the time I was 20 everything would have worked out.
Now I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess you should explain why today of all days is going to cause so much trouble. Being the only 5-foot tall, nearsighted Canissapiane, aka werewolf, with frizzy hair you would think I would be used to things not going my way. All of the other wolves my age seem to have rippling muscles and perfect hair. They mostly resemble Greek gods and goddesses. It’s not that I’m jealous; it’s just that I don’t fit in.
Of course everyone has been really nice. In fact they go out of their way to be nice which makes it even worse. It doesn’t help that I’m the only daughter, of the clan leaders only son. That of course puts me right inline to be the next clan leaders mate. My mom, on the other hand, is a mystery to everyone especially me. She died while giving birth to me, only a few months after she came to the clan. Distraught over his mates’ death my father had gone off and gotten himself killed in a territory war. That left his two-month-old daughter in the hands of his well meaning but often times overbearing younger sister, my aunt Rose.
Everything seemed to be normal, other than the fact that I was the only one who needed glasses in the whole clan. That is until I hit puberty. Now this is an important fact that every good Canissapiane learns; pups starts to shift as their hormones change. Unfortunately for me all the hormones changing did was give me acne. So when the rest of my junior class was heading out on clan retreats and learning to hunt I was sitting at home waiting for my first shift to overtake me. I spent a lot of weekends home alone.
Since I’m now 20 and sitting in my aunts car headed to yet another witches house I’m sure you can guess that shift still has not decided to show up. This was going to be our sixth and final try. Aunt Rose was ready to call it quits. Not that driving all over the country, visiting witches was my idea of a fun summer either but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. Who wants to be a wolf that can’t shift? I can’t imagine that would put me on the top of the most desirable mates list. Even wanting to be clan leader probably wouldn’t be enough to sway any of the guys I know.
Pulling into the witches’ driveway two things were abundantly clear. Number one she seemed to really enjoy classic Greek architecture, if the columns and statues were any indication. Number two this was definitely not your average dark and scary witch.
Esmeralda greeted us at her front door. If the clan witch looked like the witch of the west then Esmeralda looked like one of Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers. Shorter than my five feet, she was dressed from head to toe is bright purple fabrics. Her wild black curls were being held back from her round face by a purple bandana. Instead of the typical black cat, Esmeralda had and adorable white dog sitting at her feet. His fur was clipped in a purple bow at the top of his head. This was one witch who loved purple.
Smiling she took my hand and lead us inside.
“So your the shifter who can't find her form” she asked when we were seated in her working room. Candles burnt brightly all us. Esmeralda really enjoyed candles and incense. There didn’t seem to be an inch of free counter space. The dog didn’t seem too bothered by the candles or the visitors and curled himself up on the small couch close to his master.
“I’m Kara” I replied
“Wolf, not shifter” Aunt Rose replied somewhat harshly.
“We shall see” was Esmeraldas only response as she began chanting in front of me. I wish I could say magic filled the air, or something fun like that. But mostly I just felt awkward sitting in front of the purple witch as she chanted what sounded like a children’s song. Straining to hear the words I leaned forward just as she reached out and poked me right in the middle of the forehead.
“Ow” I said as I rubbed the spot with my hand. Not bothering to respond to my displeasure at being poked, Esmeralda grabbed both of my hands and pulled me towards her. The dog seemed to come to alert and sat up staring at us both. Looking into my eyes she said, “All better, you can shift now”
I have to admit I got a little hopeful. After all who doesn’t want a quick fix? So closing my eyes I tried to focus on my inner wolf. Years of practice allowed me to easily slip into the meditative state needed to shift but after a few moments it became clear that I was not fixed. Signing I tried to pull my hands from hers only to have her pull them back.
“No, No, No your problem is fixed your just trying to call up the wrong animal” huh? “Silly girl you’re a fox not a wolf”
“What? How could that be?” I looked to my aunt for some backup but from the look on her face I wasn’t going to get any from her. The dog seemed a tad bit more helpful. He just looked me in the eye and yelped, the kind of yelp only a little dog can muster. “What?” I said to the dog, great now I had resorted to talking to a dog. Turning back to my Aunt I hoped she would have something to add. It seemed like an eternity before she spoke.
“My brother was a wolf, but your mother, we never really knew. She couldn't shift while she was pregnant and well you know” I stared at my aunt in disbelief. All this time I'd been beating myself about being strange and I never knew I wasn't just strange; I was different, very different. Looking back at Esmeralda I didn't know if I should scream or cry or jump up and down. The one thing I did know was that it was time to shift.
Closing my eyes I again focused my breathing. Willing my body to take its other form. This time instead of the focusing on the howling of the wolf I thought about the little fox I had seen once running across our backyard. Even now I could see his soft red fur and fluffy tail as he made his way towards the woods. It only seemed to take a moment but suddenly I was no longer a twenty-year-old awkward girl.
Opening my eyes I saw the world clearly for the first time. Vibrant colors stood out as a scanned the witches room. Breathing in deeply the smell of candles and incense was almost suffocating. I looked down to see small red paws. A quick look back revealed a fluffy red tail. I had done it! I had become a fox! Excitement overtook me as I looked into Esmeralda’s eyes, it was clear from her radiant smile that she was happy for me. The dog seemed just as pleased, smiling at me with his doggie grin. He jumped down off the couch and headed towards the door.
Part of me wanted to follow him and explore the world with my new senses. The urge to run and jump overtook me. I wanted to explore every inch of the witch’s room using my nose to guide me. The sights and smells were intoxicating. Its no wonder the wolves enjoy their retreats so much. There truly was something magical about being in your animal form. The world suddenly felt so different. For the first time I truly felt alive. Overjoyed I turned towards Aunt Rose.
One look to where my aunt had been sitting caused me to shift back immediately. Aunt Rose had gotten up and left the room. It seemed she wasn’t as excited as I was about my being a fox.
Retrieving my glasses off the floor I thanked Esmeralda for all of her help. After paying her, I headed out to the car. Aunt Rose was already sitting in the driver seat and ready to leave. She kept her eyes forward as she started the car and headed towards home. As we neared clan territory I realized that learning to shift wasn’t the answer to all of my problems. It was now time to face the clan not as a hapless wolf but a fox, although somehow I felt more like a sheep among the wolves.
The Scent of the Darkby Timothy Niedermann
1981 words
He dreamt of Catherine. They made love. He drank her in as if he were a desiccated husk. His every shriveled membrane swelled as her moisture revived it from the hardened limbo into which he had folded himself. He submerged himself in her, and she permeated him. He filled the recesses of his emptiness with her. He breathed her essence, traveled the length and breadth of her body, extracting tremors of pleasure, returning them gratefully tenfold. Then the blissful nothingness of completion.
* * *
He awoke exhausted but alive, alive as he hadn’t felt in a long time. His eyes kept closed to savor it, trying to sink back into the dream, to taste it one last time. But the light on the other side was too strong. The day was here, and so was the loss. The dream was gone. Catherine was dead. The accident that had taken her consumed the present once again.
The familiar sadness passed. He stretched. A sensation of ease infused him. From his neck through his back down to the bottoms of his feet, there was no tension, only the pulse of, what was it? He felt strong. That was it. He flexed his hands and marveled at their sinews. A ray of sunlight hit his exposed skin. It was electric and zapped him further awake.
He flicked the sheet aside to get out of bed and gently hit something that he knew wasn’t there: the curve of a sensuous hip, naked under the sheets. He wondered for an instant if he were still asleep and still with Catherine. Should he fight to wake up or let himself fall into the depths of that unreachable bliss? But it wasn’t her. Another scent was clawing into his mind, another essence trying to mingle with, trying to overwhelm the tattered vestiges of Catherine he so desperately held onto. He took in the curve of the other still-sleeping body under his sheets. Tousled ashen hair spread out over the white pillow. It was Stephanie.
He reached out and almost touched the sheet on her thigh. He had the urge to stroke its ridge, to reassure himself that it was real and that maybe his dream had somehow been real, too. But he pulled his hand away and just stared at her form. Memories battled in his vision. Catherine’s face rose but gave way to Stephanie’s smile. What had happened? How had Stephanie gotten here? Why couldn’t he remember clearly? He lunged out frantically with his mind to try to grab hold to even a small piece of this maelstrom of flashes of dream and memory, all swirling so fast he had no idea what was real and what was illusion.
Stephanie moaned and stirred. He touched her thigh. It was real. His hand, at first tentative, became assured. His strokes lengthened, down the slope of her thigh, up to the trough of her waist. She moved again and her body stretched as she turned, slowly, with eyes just opening. The twin swells of her breasts rippled the sheet, and she turned her face up to his.
“Hi.”
“Good morning. I guess it’s still morning.”
He furtively looked at his alarm clock. Yes, it was just after ten.
“How do you feel?” he heard her asking.
“Okay.”
Lehmann wasn’t sure what to say now. She was here, in his house, in his bed. They had made love. But how, why? He struggled to remember and just couldn’t. He propped himself on one elbow and found he was shaking his head slowly back and forth. He forced himself to stop and just stared at the floor.
“How’s your stomach?”
This puzzled him. He actually felt a bit hungry.
“My stomach? No, it feels fine. Why?”
“You don’t remember?”
He tried to think back.
“No, not everything anyway. I must have drunk too much.”
He said this hopefully. He had no recollection of drinking anything.
“Not as much as you ate.”
This puzzled him further.
“My stomach feels fine,” he repeated, vaguely.
“I’m glad. But then what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I’m just worn out I guess.”
But he knew it wasn’t that.
“Well, I guess I’m not surprised, then.”
She smiled at him conspiratorially and put her arms around him. He expected her to say something more but was pleased, even relieved when she didn’t. She seemed content to hold him next to her. It should have been a wonderful moment. They had shared physical love and now had to see if there was something more to it, even just a little bit, enough to say that last night wasn’t a mistake.
He struggled to remember, but there was so much—smells and tastes and images. Echoes of hunger and lust. As he breathed he could smell Stephanie. Her scent spoke to him in a language that was new but that he found he understood completely. Without looking at her he could sense her form, her substance. The scent reached out to him. He drank it in and realized he felt no guilt.
The memory of Catherine was not haunting him. He thought it would have. He had made love to another woman. He hadn’t expected to be able to. Passion was a gray presence in his memory. He had once lost it and believed nothing could bring it back. But it had returned. He felt passion again.
But love, the love that echoed ever more distantly in his memories of Catherine? That wasn’t what he felt now. He stopped thinking and just let the sensation well over him. Then he knew what it was, and it disturbed him
What he felt now was hunger. No, more. Deeper. It was a ravening, for Stephanie, her body, for her flesh. For any flesh. The awareness stunned him as he found himself stifling the urge to mount her once more. The urge abated. It was okay. He was master of his impulses for the moment. Perhaps only because he was so exhausted. His body could not respond, leaving his mind in control. But for how long?
Stephanie kissed him gently on the cheek gently.
“Any better?”
“Yeah. A little. Do you want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
Lehmann pulled on a bathrobe, and Stephanie followed him downstairs into the kitchen. He made a pot and when it was ready, they took their mugs out to the back porch and sat down more or less obligatorily on the porch swing together.
The coffee nauseated him, and he put it down after a couple of sips. They rocked together in silence for a long while, the faint twitter of the birds kiting over the cornfield interrupted only occasionally by the squeak of the ropes holding the swing. The sun was high.
Lehmann’s mind was empty. He just stared out at the field. He could hear the leaves of the corn scraping each other, the piercing cry of some sort of insatiable field bird, swooping for bugs as they rose to feed on the next plant in the long, vibrantly green rows. He imagined he heard the crunch of the insect’s carapaces and the sturdy bills cracked them before they were swallowed whole. Or maybe he could hear them. Brushings and crackings, the accelerated beat of urgent wings on humid air. There were scents too, a lot of them. Dry smells of hidden life in the fecund heat.
Stephanie leaned next to him.
“It was nice, you know. When we made love. I figured it had been a while for you.”
He turned his senses toward her.
“Yes, it had.”
“For me, too.”
“I hope I wasn’t too rough.”
“No, at least not you. There were a couple of rocks on the ground that dug the wrong way, but not for long.”
“Rocks?”
“Yes, at the picnic. We made love on the ground next to your car.”
“Jesus! Did anybody see us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Jesus!”
“You do remember at least a little bit, I hope?”
“Sure.”
She squinted impishly at him.
“Liar.”
He sighed.
“Guilty.”
He sat there indecisively for a few moments.
“Tell me. Tell me everything.”
Stephanie looked at Lehmann quizzically, not quite understanding the gloom in his tone.
“Well, you ate a lot you know. I mean a lot. You kept going back for ribs, and you tore at them like you hadn’t eaten in a week. I thought you were going to explode. I got you a couple of beers, and you drank them and a couple more, but you didn’t act drunk.”
“How did I act?”
Stephanie frowned.
“Fine. Not rude or messy or anything. You just didn’t stop moving. You were talking, going to get more ribs, then eating, drinking. You got some beers yourself. You still didn’t act drunk. You were always moving.”
“Did people notice?”
She considered for a second.
“I don’t think so. Things were pretty loud. The band started playing and you couldn’t hear much. It got dark, too. The moon was bright, though. Almost full.”
“So we listened to the music?”
“Yeah. Danced, too. You’re a good dancer.”
Danced? He hadn’t danced since college.
“That’s a new one on me.”
“No, really you are. Sexy, too. We’re sort of lucky it was so dark.”
“So people couldn’t really see me?”
“Well, no. We talked with my sister and Reverend Rainsford for a while, but that was early on.”
“I hope I sounded lucid.”
“Perfectly. You were pretty funny actually, before you got to eating. Then you didn’t talk so much. But you were fine, don’t worry.
“Sorry. It’s just that I don’t like not remembering. I’m sorry if I was rough.”
“Sometimes I like it rough.” And she smiled to confirm this and touched his arm lightly.
“What’s this?”
The bite scar barely showed now. Deep, only a month old, but it had healed fast. No rabies, thank heaven.
“Nothing.”
“I had a good time,” she suddenly insisted. “I kept thinking how much fun you were, like you had dropped the loner act and were letting loose.”
She stroked his arm again.
“But it was like you couldn’t relax. A little hyper, you know, moving like you couldn’t get enough of anything, the food, the beer. Me. We made love and you pretty soon wanted to make love again. It was all I could do to get you back here without crashing the car.”
“Jesus.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” she reassured him again.
They sat together a while longer before she eased herself reluctantly off the swing and looked at him.
“I’ve got to get dressed. My shift at the hospital’s in an hour.”
“I’ll drive you.”
* * *
After he returned he felt exhausted and slept again, waking up just before sunset. He got a beer and sat on the back porch watching the sun sink behind the trees in the distance, beyond the cornfield. Twilight began to darken the sky. He found himself flexing his hands unconsciously. They were strong. He was starting to feel hungry. He took a sip of beer. Brushing the top of the trees to the east, the moon had appeared, and its light was bathing the landscape. Lehmann was transfixed by it. As the orb rose, he saw, in some distant part of his mind, that it was full. But his awareness had submerged. Each moment now had no memory. His consciousness was overtaken by the sensation of sounds and smells in the twilight around him. The simmering in his gut stirred and he felt not just hunger, but something more elemental, primal. It was like the need to breathe, only deeper. It was craving, for flesh, for life.
And then he was running, at full speed across the fields, drinking his lungs full with the wild night air, plummeting toward the scents, the creatures, the intoxication of the dark. They would nourish him.
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