Shifter's Destiny

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said now, in response to the question. “I wish I did, but I don’t. We’ll stay together, baby. Just like I promised you.” When their parents had died, at the shared grave among so many other graves, she had sworn that she would always be there, that she would not leave Maggie alone.

“Okay.” As simple as that, and to Maggie, the world was right side up and stable. Elizabeth wished, not for the first time, that she had her sister’s faith in her own abilities.

Cody had told her once that, if she put her mind to it, she could grow wings and fly. But Cody was dead. The police, called in from the nearest town, said he had committed suicide, too depressed by the spate of deaths in the Community to go on. Elizabeth knew better. No matter what, no matter how many friends they lost, he would never have done that, would never have gone without a word to her. Not after what she’d confessed to him. But nobody would believe her, thinking her stressed and grief-stricken.

If she had insisted, if she had uttered a single word about her fears, her dreams of something terrible about to happen, Ray would have had all the excuse he needed to take Maggie away from her.

Elizabeth didn’t know how long or how far they walked, but her feet were beginning to hurt, and Maggie was clearly fading.

“We’re going deeper in, not out,” her sister said, her fingers tightening around Elizabeth’s hand. “Is that okay? Shouldn’t we be going out?”

“I think it’s taking us around the reservoir,” Elizabeth said. “It must… smell water, or something. Or maybe it’s going back to its stable… it’s okay, Maggie. We don’t want to go back the way we came, so anything is better than that, right? Look, see those yellow flowers? They’re called lady’s slippers. They’re orchids. Do you remember? Mom had a pillow she’d made, it had those embroidered on it.”

Maggie scrunched her face, trying to remember. “It was green? On the rocking chair?”

“That’s right. The dog ate it, when you were, oh, about nine.”

“Poor Mickey.” The memory, as she’d hoped, made her sister laugh, and forget her exhaustion for a while. “He always ate everything, and Mom would get so mad…. I miss them, Libby. I miss them so much.”

Elizabeth’s heart ached. “So do I, baby.”

Their parents hadn’t been young—Maggie was a surprise late child—but the flu epidemic that swept the Community shouldn’t have taken them, not both of them, healthy adults still in their prime. So many people who should not have died, and yet they had, young children and adults alike.

Six months since those deaths, and the pain was still as raw as if the funeral had been yesterday. How much worse was it for Maggie, almost fourteen years younger, without the memories to console her? Elizabeth did her best, with photographs and stories, but eventually it would all be a faded blur, especially now that the photographs, like everything else, had been left behind. Elizabeth had taken a few photos, quickly pulled from frames and stuffed into her bag, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

Stories would have to fill the gap.

“You were too young to remember, the year that Mickey tried to jump the fire with everyone else during Winterfair. He almost made it, too, except his tail drooped too much, and he got all singed. You’ve never seen such an embarrassed-looking dog, his tail all bandaged, so every time he wagged it, he swatted someone….”

The stories flowed from her as they walked, the smell of warm dirt and pine in the air, the pine needles and dirt soft underfoot. It couldn’t have been all that long, in reality—maybe two hours, if that, since they’d been approached by Jordan and his men—but the light kept fading, the angle of the setting sun not making its way through the tall branches, until it became difficult to see where they were going. Maggie was leaning against her more than before, and she was about to tell her to get back on the horse’s back, when it tapped her—gently, carefully—on the shoulder with its horn, and then nudged her off to the left.

They left the path, faint as it was, and walked through a line of trees and down a small decline. Up ahead, as though waiting for them, there was a clearing, about ten feet in circumference, where the tall evergreens formed an almost perfect circle. Inside the circle there was a pile of leaves and soft branches piled in the middle.

“It looks like a bed,” Maggie said. “I think we’re supposed to sleep here?”

Elizabeth looked back at the horse, who stared back at her. “It’s not exactly Motel Six.”

“A lot cheaper,” Maggie said, for once being the practical one. “And we’re here.” She knelt down in the pile, testing it with her hand. “It’s actually soft,” she said, surprised. “And dry.”

“Is this where you sleep?” Elizabeth asked the horse, and then felt like a proper idiot. It might have a horn, and it might be leading them somewhere, but expecting it to suddenly answer her… She needed sleep as much as Maggie did, clearly. She hadn’t slept, really slept, in almost a week. Certainly not since they’d cut Cody’s body down from the tree.

“Thank you,” she said to the horse, anyway. “For… everything.”

Maggie was busy arranging their knapsacks to act as pillows, trying different positions to see if she could see the sky through the branches overhead. She was clearly taken with the idea of spending the night out of doors.

Sleeping in the woods wasn’t Elizabeth’s idea of comfort, but it was smart. Jordan wouldn’t stop looking, but he only had a few people with him, and searching the entire forest would take too long, especially since it would be dark soon. He couldn’t afford to bring in more people, or ask for help, since they would want to avoid any official attention as much as she did. Maybe even more. Cody’s death had been investigated by the police, if briefly. Having his best friend turn up missing a week after his death might send up official warning flags, make someone outside the Community take notice.

Anyway, nobody would believe that she’d keep Maggie outside all night, not when she’d been so sick. Jordan would be looking for her in town, under shelter. If they could sleep here, and get started early in the morning, when he’d be asleep, they could maybe slip past him.

It was the best plan she could come up with. And Maggie was already curled up in the makeshift nest, half-asleep from exhaustion but still trying to see stars through the overhead canopy of leaves. Elizabeth took off her jacket and draped it over the younger girl, then curled up next to her, snuggling for comfort. Maggie was right, it was surprisingly soft and comfortable. As her eyes closed, almost against her will, the last sight she had was their rescuer, a pale glimmer in the dusk, standing guard, his head up and alert to any sound or movement beyond the circle.

Reassured and oddly comforted by the sight, she slept.

Ever since the first wave of flu deaths hit the Community back in the autumn, Elizabeth’s dreams had been filled with faceless shadows moving around her, the sense of being caught in a whirlpool, spinning her around and pulling her down to some dire fate. It was all silent, as though the sound had been sucked out of the world already, except for her sister’s breath, labored and wet. It was the sound of a flu victim, trying to breathe, and no matter how terrifying the dream, waking to hear that noise in reality terrified Elizabeth more. Even now, when Maggie looked like the picture of health, the slightest hitch in her breath or faintest cough sent Elizabeth into a vague panic.

She had always dreamed, and always remembered her dreams, even as a small child. When something good was going to happen, or something bad, or merely a change in the air—she had known that her mother was pregnant with Maggie weeks before her mother realized, and had known that the small baby growing there would change her life forever. But she had never had nightmares—not until almost a year ago, when she woke screaming with the sense that something was lurking, just out of sight, waiting to catch her, to rend her apart with its claws. Nothing concrete, no specifics—only with Maggie’s birth had she ever known what change was coming, specifically. Only a sense of dread and distress that she could not shake, and could not prevent.

When her parents died, Elizabeth expected the nightmares to stop. Instead, they intensified. The night before Cody’s death, the dreams had been even worse: Maggie’s pale face alternating with Cody’s laughing one, and then her parents cold in their coffins, and a sense of menace no longer lurking in the shadows, but in midleap, claws outstretched. She had woken, not screaming but crying, her chest burning as though she’d been running all night, and been unable to go back to sleep. She had lain in bed for hours, waiting for the sun to come up, until the message came that Cody had been found, dead. She had not truly slept since then, unable to relax even in her own bed.

Tonight, curled up under a roof of trees while armed men searched for them, effectively homeless, guarded by an impossible creature and the future terrifyingly uncertain, Elizabeth slept, and dreamed not of menace, but of joy. In her dream, she stood under an open vista of clear blue skies and white-capped mountains, and felt the presence of peace and love around her, embracing her.

It was somewhere she had never been, a peace she never felt even in the best of times. Yet even within the embrace of that peace there was an uncertainty inside her, a sense that something would go wrong; that this contentment wasn’t meant for her. Not if she couldn’t take care of Maggie, make sure that Maggie was safe.

The dream faded, and she felt herself waking up in slow, comfortable stages: the warm crackle of their bedding underneath, the faint dampness of dew on her skin and clothing, the reassuring sound of Maggie’s occasional sleep-snort and the press of her body still curled under Elizabeth’s protective arm. Maggie was still safe. For now.

The light was dim around them, filtered through the leaves and barely enough to see by. Elizabeth guessed it was a little before dawn. At home, before everything changed, this had been her favorite time of day; before the controlled chaos of opening the bakery and getting the day’s orders started. Libby’s Loaves had been her own domain, her contribution to the Community at large. How proud she had been of it!

Her mother had taught her how to bake bread, back when she was Maggie’s age. There was another bakery in the Community, but it was Libby’s Loaves that everyone wanted for their table—she left the pastries and cakes to Asha and her husband, who owned the other shop across town.

She hoped they understood the meaning of the recipes—and the deed—she had left under their door, just before she and Maggie had left.

Those thoughts led to the awareness that they needed to be up and moving soon, and no time for reminiscences or regrets. Sliding her arm away from Maggie carefully, to keep from waking her just yet, Elizabeth got up from their makeshift mattress and looked around to see if the horse had stayed with them, overnight, or had wandered off as mysteriously as it had appeared. They hadn’t even thought to tether it—not that there had been anything to tether it with, since there had been neither bridle nor lead rope to use. Still…

The circle they had slept in was horse free. Elizabeth admitted to a sinking feeling of disappointment that didn’t make any sense. Whatever the animal was—horse, deer, fake or real—it wasn’t theirs, and while it had been amazingly, almost miraculously helpful, she couldn’t count on that help continuing.

“Just you and me again, baby,” she said, turning to wake Maggie and get her ready to walk again, and yelped in shock at the man standing across the clearing from her, watching her with a steady gaze.

Chapter 3

Her yelp woke Maggie in a rush, the teenager sitting upright and looking automatically in the direction her sister was staring. Maggie let out a startled noise as well, scooting backward on her knees to where her sister stood, instinctively seeking protection from this stranger. Fleetingly Elizabeth rued the loss of the little girl who was open and friendly to everyone, even as she was putting herself between this unknown man and her sister.

Better that Maggie be cautious. Better that Maggie be safe.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, trying to see if there was anyone creeping up behind them without taking her eyes off the immediate threat. He wasn’t very tall, with broad shoulders and a wide-set stance that made her think of gunslingers in old Western movies, and was dressed in faded black jeans and a dark red pullover. His hair was honey-blond, his skin tanned, as though he spent most of his time outdoors, and his eyes, watching her, were a deep, dark brown that stirred something in her, some sense of familiarity, of long-lost comfort. She distrusted the feeling immediately.

“Hush,” the stranger said, in a voice that was low and raspy, as though he was recovering from a sore throat, or didn’t speak often. “Those men are in the woods, looking for you again, and your shrieks carry like a siren.”

Elizabeth felt her jaw drop open, and then closed it again with a snap. The worried look in those eyes softened the harshness of his words, and the fact that he knew what was happening, and seemed intent on helping them…

Her ability to trust had been severely strained over the past few months, and there was nothing that said this man was any different than Jordan and his cronies, but… she had to make a choice right then and there. She chose to trust him.

“It’s all right, Maggie,” she said as quietly as she could. “Just be still.”

The stranger stood there, listening to something, then all of a sudden he seemed to relax, and Elizabeth felt herself breathing more easily, too.

“They’ve gone back to their cars,” he said, as though talking to himself, not them. “Getting you out of here is going to be tricky, now, but staying isn’t going to work, either.” His already square jaw firmed even more in annoyance. “Damn it, I don’t have time for this. If I get you out of here, you’re on your own.”

Elizabeth wanted to make a sarcastic retort to that, but she was still too shocked, and afraid to antagonize the one person who had been willing to help them, whatever his reasons.