by Alexia Purdy
“We’re going to find out what kind of bird you are and trace the thread of power laced on this from the caster of the spell that turned you into a shifter. Every spell has a signature stream, so if a curse must be reversed or if someone was killed by a spell, the perpetrator can be found by tracing the streams of power.”
“Can these signature streams be cloaked or hidden somehow?” Malachi asked the one question percolating in my mind.
Leonard scrunched up his face. “I would love to say no, but it can be done. It’s very difficult and can deplete the caster to the point of near death, but yes, it can be done. It’s extremely risky to both the caster and victim involved.”
My face paled. That had to be why I’d been flying about confused after I shifted the first time. Maybe the person who cursed me did a cloaking spell on their signature stream so I wouldn’t be able to remember or discover who’d done this to me. The tiny thread of hope I had inside was diminishing with each word Leonard spoke.
We sat in silence as we watched Leonard produce several packets of herbs and place them on the coffee table between us. He even brought out a small dish from his jacket and placed the feather gently on it. There, he sprinkled several of the dried plants and powders directly onto the white fluff and muttered indistinguishable words. Finally, a small fire spontaneously flashed across the dish, sucking up all the ingredients in a single volatile second. All that was left was a burnt streak of ashes and soot.
Leonard stuck a finger into the tiny pile, moving it around several times before examining the ashes closely.
When the minutes felt like they wouldn’t end, I had to interrupt him. “Well?” I asked.
Leonard paused and glared at me above his glasses, which had slid to the edge of his nose. “I was just about done, miss. Never interrupt a caster mid-spell.”
I shrank back down, mortified. Malachi threw me a rancorous look that told me I’d crossed a line. I wasn’t cut out for this supernatural crap. I could have lived my whole life happily ignorant of its existence.
“Sorry.”
Leonard kept digging in the pile of ash, offering no answers as the moments continued to tick on by. My patience was done, and I wanted to leave, but I didn’t want to be rude again. This was obviously a hoax, and the Whitmans were just full of it. I couldn’t believe Malachi would bring me to these frauds. It made me question his sanity too.
“Done.” Leonard straightened and gave me a disappointed glare. “I’d be careful what you let float about your mind. There are those who wouldn’t like to hear your opinions on things.”
Stunned, I began to stutter. “What? How did you—”
“Onward!” He flicked a wrist, and the mess of soot disappeared. The tiny dish was now pristine.
That left me at a loss for words. I’d offended him, and he’d dismissed it as though I’d been thinking nothing. I hoped I hadn’t angered him too much; I needed help with this.
“Unfortunately, the caster who cursed you did, in fact, piggyback a cloaking spell onto the charm which turned you into a shifter. I’ve had difficulty tracing them. Fortunately, it wasn’t a strong one, and I was able to break through.”
I sat up, my heart racing from his words. “Who did this to me?”
Leonard frowned as he flicked his eyes from me to Malachi and back. So it was obviously very bad news. I held my breath, feeling the knot in my stomach grow in size.
“It’s another shifter. Apparently you work with her. I think the name is Oprah? Orlah? Something like that.”
“Orpah,” I muttered. “She’s my coworker in the emergency room. A nurse, like me. Why would she do that? She’s a shifter?” My eyes widened in terror. I’d worked with the woman for years! How had she hidden such a thing, and why had she done this to me?
“Yes, she’s a very unique shifter. A vengeful spirit. I’m actually not exactly sure what kind of shifter she is, but it’s not pretty, let me tell you. She’s a rare one. Stay away from the likes of her.”
“You’ve seen what she looks like?” I asked, surprised and intrigued.
“Not exactly. Your memories embedded in the feather are what I used for the spell. I got a glimpse of her, but it wasn’t exactly clear. There were snakes. A dark tangle of them in her hair. And her skin was a dark gray. Not much else, really. I just kept hearing this one thing repeating in your mind.”
I glanced at Malachi. He, too, was now vested in the story, listening with the utmost attention.
“What was that?”
Leonard frowned, pulling off his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, drained even. Did spells do that to wizards? Suck the life force out of them? It could be possible.
“You kept telling yourself to not look her in the eye. ‘Don’t look in her eyes, don’t look.’”
I was mystified. Nothing made sense. Every clue left more unanswered questions. More and more, this situation looked like it was connected to something bigger than me, and the pull to figure it out and do something about it was maddening. But his answers did nothing to help me. In fact, it made everything ten times worse.
“Don’t look her in the eyes?” I repeated. “What the hell does that mean?”
Malachi
“See anyone that could match the description? Black snake hair, gray skin?” I shoved the large ravioli down my throat as we continued to stare out the window of Drake’s Diner, one of Phoebe’s favorite eateries. I thought the place would be comforting for her since she mentioned how she missed her favorite pasta dish from this place, and she hadn't had some in ages.
But her meal sat mostly untouched as she picked at it and forced several mouthfuls down. I doubted she tasted any of it, for she kept her eyes on the window, studying every face that passed by. This place was the perfect spot to people watch since it was in the center of town. One could say the entire population walked past this area in the course of a day.
I hadn’t mentioned the nightmare I’d had to either Phoebe or Leonard. It was too much of a coincidence to have dreamt of a woman who matched the description of Phoebe’s attacker, but it wasn’t much help. Whoever this person was, neither one of us knew of her well enough yet.
The diner bustled with energy. Everyone was oblivious to our plight.
“No, I don’t see anyone familiar. I don’t see how anything Leonard said was of any help. I thought you said that wizard was going to tell me what I needed to know.” Her voice was low, and she flicked her eyes around the room in the hopes no one had heard her. “I don’t know if I believe him about Orpah.”
“Sometimes help isn’t what we expect, and it’ll make sense later. You’ll see. We didn’t have any clues on who we were looking for before we visited Leonard, remember?”
Phoebe frowned and placed her fork on the table. Her bottom lip stuck out slightly as she sulked. I felt for her, really, but I wasn’t going to take her dwelling in a puddle of despair. We had to fight this and find out who this Orpah was and why she was doing this to Phoebe before she could do it to someone else.
I eyed her unfinished pasta as I chewed thoughtfully on another bite of mine. “You need to eat something. Remember how I told you shifting sucks up calories like you wouldn’t believe? You’ll be looking like a starving orphan kid in no time if you don’t eat.”
She ignored my atrocious habit of speaking with my mouth full and peered out the window once more, leaning on her hand.
It was Saturday, high time for shopping, tourists and weekend festivals in the square. There was a jazz band playing, and they were setting the small dance floor in the rotunda on fire. People were dancing like there was no tomorrow. Some were expert dancers, looking like they practiced for this event each week. Others were clearly amateurs, enthusiastically bumping into one another. I eyed the crowd as I finished my food and then asked for the bill. Phoebe wrapped hers up in a foil dish and waited with me as the waitress went to charge my card.
We both watched the festival in silence. Its upbeat tune failed to lift our sull
en spirits.
“Here you go.” The waitress placed the receipt in front of me and waited as I signed. “Nice day outside! You guys heading to the festival? I would if I was off, but there’s food to be served. It’s our busiest day of the week.”
Scratching my signature on the paper, I handed it back and left a hefty tip on the table. I didn’t fail to notice the woman’s half-lidded, dreamy smile as she peered down at me. She wasn’t bad looking, just not my type. However, I also caught Phoebe steaming at the attention I was getting.
I grinned widely back at the waitress. A smidge of jealousy is good. It reminds a person how much they want something or someone.
“No, we’re headed home. It’s been a long day. Thank you.”
The waitress tried to conceal her disappointment as she glanced in Phoebe’s direction. She quickly moved aside and began to gather our dishes as we slid out of the booth, avoiding her gaze. Phoebe eyed her with an icy look but redirected her eyes to the crowd once we were headed back outside.
“She wanted to serve you up on a nice silver platter for her own dinner tonight,” Phoebe muttered. I glanced her way, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her vacant stare out into the town’s main street had me wondering what was wrong with her. I failed to see what was wrong with being lusted after. It rarely happened to me.
“I guess. She’s all right.”
“Do you like her?” Phoebe watched the crowd sway around us as we made our way past the center square. It was difficult to walk, for there were people all over the place; on blankets picnicking, some trying to get by, some dancing in place and in the way. We had to weave in and out of the crowd to get through.
“Hey, she’s pretty, but I’m not looking right now.”
Phoebe bumped into me as the crowd thickened, and she was pushed my direction. Holding onto me for balance, she blinked up at me. I could feel the heat of her body next to mine and hoped she wouldn’t pull away too quickly. She did.
“How come you’re not with anyone?” She turned away and continued walking. “Who did those sweats belong to that you gave me?”
I barely caught her quiet words in the roar of the crowd as the music ended. Luckily, my hearing was much better than a regular human’s. I had the wolverine advantage, and it wasn’t a wasted talent.
“Well, that would’ve been Patricia. She had a habit of leaving her things laying around all the time. I think she tried marking her territory, if you catch my drift.” I made quotation marks in the air, and it brought a tiny smile to Phoebe’s face. “But she left abruptly without really explaining why after all that effort. It was downright disorientating how she could act that way and just leave without saying a thing. I don’t know. I’m kind of a recluse. There’s just a lot of stuff that happens in a small town that kind of sticks if it’s not the good kind of stuff, if you know what I mean. She didn’t like it and didn’t stick around to confirm if it was true or not.”
“What, like rumors?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to get into it in public. Never knew who’s prying eyes and ears were about.
When we reached the edge of the square where the roads meandered out of the main shopping district of Woodland Creek and crowd thinned, she urged me on for more information.
“What sort of rumors?”
I shaded my eyes and waited for a young couple to stroll past, hand in hand and barely dodging us in time to avoid colliding. All the reasons I wanted to leave Woodland Creek spun in my head, but I couldn’t pinpoint anything specific that would have prompted my need to leave. It wasn’t just one thing.
What could I tell her? Did I tell her everything from the very beginning? I pondered this for a moment and decided it the beginning was the best place to start. I confessed it all like I never had before. From my parents being total strangers to each other when they met, to my conception being an utter surprise, to my parents marrying spontaneously at the court house and attempting to make it work for my sake. Then I told her about my mother, a complicated woman who could never find happiness in anything, who ended up leaving me with my incompetent father, a distant man who was never really home and had never cared about my wellbeing.
The more I spoke, the more the memories rushed back in, bursting through the dam I’d built to hold them back in the past. I’d gotten my shifter blood from my absent mother, and my father neither wanted to nor knew how to deal with my “special” abilities. In response, I kept it hidden from his sight, for the most part, but he knew what I was and didn’t know what to do with me. Because of that, I’d grown up alone, avoided making friends for fear of being found out. I was effectively labeled an outcast by all the other children in town, and by the age of seventeen, I was the kid everyone avoided.
It most definitely didn’t help my cause any when at seventeen, I was the one to find my father dead in our driveway, his neck twisting the wrong way after a night of heavy drinking. He’d tripped over the pile of firewood I had been working on earlier that day. I always put it in the same spot, but this one night, he’d completely forgotten about the pile and had taken a fatal stumble, landing right on the blunt edge of my ax, which was sticking out of a tree stump. How the hell does one explain that to the cops?
Talk about being dealt a bad hand of cards. If my father had missed that stump entirely, he’d been okay, sleeping off the alcohol in the frost-covered grass. Instead, I had to call my estranged cousin, Sheriff T.J. Rickman and tell him my father was probably dead by ax. Can you imagine what the townspeople thought of me after that? Regardless that I was still a minor and the incident had been labeled an accident, no one viewed me the same ever again from that day on. Whispers and speculation that I’d killed my own father spread like wildfire. There were no shutting people up. Even years later, whenever I walked into the town’s center for supplies, the residents of Woodland Creek would all hush up and whisper in each other's ears about the kid who killed his father. Some even crossed the street whenever I was around just to avoid brushing past me like I was contagious or something.
Luckily, I’d been smart enough to graduate early and had left the harassment and ridicule of the kids at my high school behind. It only fueled the flames, since I kept to myself even more. My job at the local car repair garage let me keep to myself and avoid public interaction since most customers didn’t care who was working on their cars as long as it was done quickly and perfectly. For that reason, I wasn’t ever allowed to work the counter. No one had to see me at all, so everyone was happy.
I stopped, feeling lighter even though my mood had darkened reliving the past. It was cathartic in a way, but it also brought back so much pain. Explaining most of the story to Phoebe felt good. She listened and nodded at all the appropriate times. Maybe because she worked at the hospital, it was easier to convince her that I hadn’t killed my father. There was no judgment or fear floating in her eyes, only empathy. It was something I hadn’t realized how badly I had wanted for all those years. I craved it.
“So what about you?” I asked, shaking off the cobwebs of memory. “Before this craziness happened to you, what was your life like?”
Phoebe tipped her head in deep thought, enjoying the sun’s rays on her face, no longer jealous or insecure. Being alone with her relaxed us both. She wasn’t a classic beauty, but there was something definitive about her that drew me in. I wanted to know more about her. I craved it like the blood in my veins needed oxygen. Not knowing anything about her just made me want to return to her again and again until I did know something, and by then, I knew it’d be too late to ever let her go.
It was a crying shame she didn’t feel that way about me yet. I fell in love way too fast, and all it had gotten me was a broken heart. I hoped that wasn’t going to be the problem this time. There was too much to risk, yet so much to gain. I wanted to have what love could give me, and I was placing my bets to see if this woman would take a shot at it. I hoped she would.
“Well, you know I’m a nurse at the hospital. I’ve done it for a f
ew years now, and I love it. It’s an exciting job, and I feel like it’s meaningful and I’m doing something worthwhile, you know? I’ve wanted to be a nurse since I was, like, three. I had my tonsils taken out at that age, and the nurses were so nice to me and kept me feeling safe, warm, and pain-free, especially since my mother was in a car accident right after she left the hospital, after my surgery. She was okay but had a broken arm, and she couldn’t be there for a whole day since they were observing her for a head injury.
“The point is, the nurses played games with me, gave me all the ice cream I wanted, handed me toys donated to the hospital. Kept me so busy I was tuckered out when my mom did come in. I hate to say it, but I barely got time to cry and miss her. They even took pictures of me and showed them to my mom on the other floor so she wouldn’t feel bad for not being there. They’ll never know how much their caring meant to us both.”
“What about your dad? Where was he at that time?” I asked.
“My mom left him before I was born. He was not interested in being a parental unit, so she raised me on her own.”
“Does she still live here in Woodland Creek?”
Phoebe shook her head, glancing down the street with a forlorn look on her face. “No. She died last year. She had a heart condition.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s all right. She was ready. I wasn’t, but I was lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I did. Her condition was congenital, and she was lucky she lived as long as she did.”
A minute passed as she let herself get lost in the memories. Her glazed look was only interrupted by a nearby scream coming from the park up ahead.
“What was that?” Her eyes widened as we both glanced at each other before scanning the horizon. Without a word, we both took off toward the noise.
I knew I definitely liked her and hoped she’d never leave this place without me. Never one to fear danger, this was what I was made for, and I would love it if I could face life with someone like her.