by Zoe Chant
Literally.
“Bob, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Busiest day of the—” He broke off in a coughing fit. *Busiest day of the year,* he continued telepathically, continuing to cough now he didn’t need to use his breath to talk with. *Couldn’t leave you to deal with it alone.*
*I’m not alone. Caine sent the whole pack over for the rest of the week, as apologies for stealing the huskies.* Olly glared at him from behind her computer screen. “You look like shit.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, favorite niece.”
Olly’s uncle Bob had gone gray early in life and cultivated a bushy white beard every year to help with the Puppy Express Santa look. Today his cheeks were ruddy red, but not from jolliness. He looked one decent sneeze away from collapsing.
He did sneeze, explosively, and Olly was around the counter in a flash. “You should be in bed! I thought when I got here and you weren’t here that you’d made the sensible choice for once. You had yesterday off. Take today off, too, like a normal person!”
“That’s be out of character, wouldn’t it? Ah—shit. Do you have a tissue?”
“Behind the front desk.” Olly pushed Bob in the right direction, then ran and tucked herself under him shoulder as he started staggering in the wrong direction. “You can’t even walk straight! How did you get down here? Please tell me you didn’t drive.” She thought again. “Please tell me you didn’t fly over and then get dressed in the parking lot.”
“No, no.” Bob waved her concerns aside and almost smacked over a postcard display. “One of Hannah’s nephews gave me a ride. Nice guy. Don’t worry, I told him you and Jackson were back together and I told him to tell Hannah that, too.”
Olly went still. Hannah was infamous for trying to partner off her endless supply of nephews, but—
“What do you mean, Jackson and I are back together?”
Bob shot her a look that shouldn’t have been so sharp, given how congested and blotchy he was. Then again, he was an owl shifter. Looks were what they were best at. *I figured, when you didn’t come home after you and Jackson got Fleance out of that pickle…*
“We’re not—” Olly tried again. “That doesn’t mean—and he—he’s not my mate,” she said at last.
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?”
“He’s here. And he’s making you happy. What more do you want?” He blew his nose. “Not to sound like an asshole about it, Olls, but you hit the goddamn jackpot here. Most shifters are lazy as shit about love. We just hang around waiting for our mate to turn up and think, great, sorted. Forget about mates. You’ve got someone who likes you just the way you are, and you like him back.”
“What if I decide to be with Jackson and then do meet my mate, though?” Olly bit her tongue. Could Bob tell this wasn’t just a theoretical question?
Her uncle was quiet for a few minutes. At last he shook his head. “Just because someone’s your mate doesn’t mean they’re the right person for you,” he muttered.
Olly stared at him. “But I thought the mate bond—”
“Look, I don’t pretend to know how any of this works. Frankly, anyone who does is probably bullshitting you. Where shifters came from, how we can have these creatures in our heads—hell, look at the Heartwells and their curse. How does something like that make sense?” Bob shrugged. “The world’s a crazy place. You’ve found a piece of it that works for you? Don’t let it go.” He exploded into another sneezing fit, blew his nose, and croaked: “I should have talked to you sooner.”
“Well, you’ve been sick—”
“Before then.” It seemed to take him a lot of effort to raise his head again. “All year. I thought maybe you needed time to sort through things yourself, and you’ve always been quiet, but seeing you these last few days, you’re so much more…”
He gestured as though he was searching for the right word. Olly stood frozen in place.
“…Happy.”
Olly swallowed. Had it been that obvious?
Bob was still talking. “I’m sorry, Olls. I should’ve noticed you weren’t in a good way.”
“I’m a grown up. I can look after myself,” Olly replied, and winced at how non-grown-up her words sounded. “Anyway, what did we agree when I moved up here?”
“That I was going to be the cool uncle and not stick my beak in your business,” Bob recited in a dull drone. “I think I understand why my beloved sister laughed so much when I told her that.”
He sighed so hard it set him coughing again. Olly sat up, watching him warily.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Someone needs to keep the hellhounds in line.”
Olly glared at him. “I’m keeping the hellhounds in line. With Meaghan as my backup threat. Go home!”
“It’s the busiest time of the year…”
“And you really feel up to harnessing up the dogs, and dealing with screaming children, and playing nice with the customers when the credit card machine goes down?”
“It’s not going to—”
“It’s Christmas Eve. Of course the system’s going to go down. And if Meaghan so much as blows her nose, all the dogs and all your staff are going to run off like their tails are on fire. Do you really feel up to sorting that out?”
“…No. Oh, God.”
Olly relented. “Why don’t you go sort out the post for tonight?”
“The…” Bob hauled himself upright, something approaching determination in his eyes. “Yes! Through wind and snow and… snot…”
Olly ferried him through to the back room. The Christmas sacks were stacked high, ready for the Christmas Eve delivery. She left Bob to his piles of postcards and dealt with the next two lots of customers, and the next time she poked her head around the door, he was fast asleep.
Good, she thought. That’s one problem dealt with. Until that evening, at least, when she’d have to convince Bob that no one wanted their Christmas postcards delivered by a snot-nosed Santa. She’d have to corral the hellhounds into doing it. If they all pitched in, they’d get the whole delivery done in no time…
Why are you wasting time thinking about postcards? her owl wailed. That’s not important! We have to—to—
Olly’s hands clenched. Her sense of her mate’s presence had faded, but now it washed over her again, like air pushed before a storm front. Her owl shrieked and hit its head under its wings. Olly’s chest ached. This should be the happiest day of her life—of her owl’s life, too—and instead, her owl was denying itself. For her. So that she could be happy with Jackson, and not her fated mate. Even though she’d spent all year lying to her owl, it still wanted to help her.
She swallowed. I won’t let your sacrifice be for nothing, she told it. And when this is all sorted out, we’re going to have the biggest plate of liver and kidneys anyone in this town has ever seen.
Her owl perked up. Olly’s mind started whirring. Bob was right: She didn’t want to let Jackson go. She wanted to go to him right now and…
…Not see his father.
Okay. But it wasn’t like they were joined at the hip, right?
She just had to stay out of Andrew’s way until she could talk to Jackson. She hated the idea of telling him what had happened… but she couldn’t lie to him. Not if they were going to make this work.
Tonight, the hellhounds would deliver the post. Jackson’s father would be at his accommodation, and Olly had done her homework on the Pine Valley gossip lines in between looking after customers—she knew exactly where he was staying. Far enough away that he wouldn’t be any more of a problem than he already was.
She just needed to wait for Andrew to get out of range, and then talk to Jackson.
Her own phone hadn’t survived its encounter with Sweetheart Lake. Olly grabbed one of the work phones that Bob kept stock for situations just like this, and dredged up Jackson’s number from her memory.
Was this a good idea? She didn’t know. But she didn’t have any b
etter ones.
She tapped out a message.
Meet me tonight at Sweetheart Lake? Send.
She put her phone away, fretted, and pulled it out again. Tapped out another message.
There’s something I have to tell you.
“What am I thinking?” she muttered to herself, and deleted it without sending. Of all the ways to scare him off… No.
She dithered, tidied a few shelves, sold a husky plushy to a customer, and checked her phone. Nothing. And—what was wrong with her? Jackson wouldn’t have the office cellphone number in his contacts.
This is Olly by the way.
And of course just saying ‘Tonight’ wasn’t enough information.
I’ll be there around five to pick up the post. There.
But—
Five was early. What if Andrew was still with him?
I just want to see you. By yourself.
That wasn’t giving too much away, was it? She sent one last message:
I love you.
She didn’t wait for a response. And if she sent any more messages she’d look like she’d gone mad. And even if that was true…
Olly pocketed her phone again and, to be sure, zipped the pocket shut.
26
Jackson
Bzzt-bzzt.
Jackson’s pegasus pranced in mid-air, and almost fell out of it. He dropped a good ten feet before the creature remembered its wings.
What was that? it fluted at him.
He was as confused as it was. Bzzt-bzzt.
The sound didn’t exist. He was sure of that. It wasn’t even in his head, like his pegasus’s voice or, he guessed, his own voice, given at the moment he didn’t really exist as anything other than a disembodied grumpiness inside the mind of a creature that shouldn’t exist at all.
That wasn’t a pleasant thought.
You exist! his pegasus cried encouragingly. I’m sure of it!
That’s reassuring. Jackson frowned, or thought he did. The sound that hadn’t been a sound had sounded like…
Let’s land, he said.
Okay! His Pegasus landed lightly on the mountainside. They were far from the valley where the small township and all its tourist trails lay—over a ridge and past enough impassable snow and forest that no humans would come across his flying lessons.
*What’s the matter, son? Wings getting tired?*
Jackson shook his head. Possibly. His pegasus flicked its mane, and he decided that would do for an answer.
Right, he thought as his father landed beside him. Shifting, but not just my body. Clothing.
He concentrated.
His human body, he decided, was tucked away in some sort of pocket dimension. All of him was still there, ready to exist in the real world again.
And so were his pants.
Human and pants, he thought desperately as lights began to twinkle into existence around his pegasus’s form. Human and pants, human and pants, human and pants and shirt and boots, for the love of God.
He transformed with his eyes closed. A puff of wind whistled against his face, his neck… and nowhere lower.
He opened his eyes and glanced down warily. Fully clothed. Thank God.
*Very smooth.* He couldn’t tell if Andrew was proud or disappointed. *But change back. We’ve got to focus on your landing technique.*
“Just a sec.” Jackson slid one hand into his jacket pocket and found his phone.
Bzzt-bzzt. Really, what else would it have been? He looked up, wondering if Andrew would be impressed that he’d managed to shift with his phone as well as everything else, but the other pegasus was busy trying to reflect the afternoon sunlight off his wings.
He unlocked his phone. The number wasn’t in his contacts… Oh. Of course it wasn’t.
His face went stiff as he saw who’d texted him. It was automatic, and his face stayed frozen as he searched for why that was. When the answer came to him, his mouth twisted.
He didn’t want his father to know about Olly.
But that wasn’t all. He didn’t want himself to know about Olly. Not this new him. He’d gone with Andrew to find out as much as he could about who he was now before he told Olly what had happened, but the more time he spent with his pegasus, the more he—
Who’s Olly?
—felt as though he was walking towards a bottomless pit.
He flicked open her message.
What does it say? his pegasus asked, innocently curious as ever.
He cleared his throat and pocketed his phone. Just a message, he replied. He checked the time. If he was going to meet Olly at five, he would have to shake off his father soon. Without crossing paths with Delphine.
His stomach gurgled. “How long have we been out here?” he asked, turning to his father and squinting slightly at the light reflecting off his silvered wings.
*Not that long,* his father said. He mantled his wings. *We’ve got a few hours to go, at least. Time to focus on that landing. Come on…*
“A few hours to go until what?” Suspicion prickled on the back of Jackson’s neck.
He’d taken up his father’s idea of a training day to give himself time and information to figure out what he was going to tell Olly. He could have hit himself. He should have guessed his father had an ulterior motive, too.
*Nothing important.* His father scuffed his hooves and tossed his head nonchalantly. *It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve made a dinner booking in town. Well, Delphine did.*
Jackson repressed another statue impression at the name of the winged lion shifter.
Wings? his pegasus chirped. Like—
Jackson pushed his pegasus back before he said or thought something he would regret.
*Not sure where she booked us in, but she said she’ll check in after her little family get-together. Now I had some thoughts about that, as well.* If a horse with wings could look shamefaced, this was it. *I admit I made a few mistakes with that first meeting, and I told you, I want to do things better. We’ll set it up all right. Candles. Music, if I have to strangle every DJ this side of the state to stop them playing that godawful Christmas shit. It’ll all go right, you’ll see.*
“You’re very certain she’s the one for me,” Jackson muttered.
*Well, see, I—ah, the hell with this.* There was an explosion of magical lights, and Andrew stood in front of him, his tailored suit at odds with the rugged mountain surroundings. He smoothed his hair back. “I told you, I have a good feeling.”
“A good feeling,” Jackson repeated as his father patted his pockets in a way that suggested—“You’re kidding me. You shifted with a drink in your pocket?”
Andrew unscrewed the top of the flask and shrugged. “What? No laws against it.”
“Drinking and flying? I can think of a few.”
“Not for shifters, though! And hey, at least I saved it for after our first lesson.” He took a swig and shook himself. “Brr. Anyway, dinner. Maybe you want to change first, get into something a bit more suitable…”
Jackson considered arguing, or even saying he didn’t feel like being wheeled out in front of Delphine’s family like a prize pigeon, but he just shook his head.
“If you’re booked in for dinner then we’d better head back,” he said.
“What?” Andrew snorted. “Maybe you knock off early on the force, kiddo, but here—”
“Here in the country people eat when the sun goes down, and town closes ten minutes later,” Jackson said calmly. He patted his pocket to reassure himself his phone was still there, with Olly’s invitation, and concentrated.
Four hooves. Wings. Would that ever feel normal?
*Better get moving if you want to eat tonight,* he told his father, and let his pegasus leap into the sky.
The world whirled beneath him. Clouds clung to the mountains up here, and to his wings as well as he soared through them. It was—incredible. Magical.
*I’m not saying you need to wear a tux.* Andrew’s voice cut through the magic. *But you must have a s
uit, right? Something with a jacket. I’ll lend you one of my tie pins.*
*You’d have to lend me a tie as well,* Jackson told him, *if I was going to join you. But I’m not.*
*What?*
*I’ve got something else to take care of.*
*To take care of first, you mean. You’ll meet us after.*
*I wouldn’t bet on it.*
He managed to shake off his father at his vacation house outside of town. By then it was dark enough that he felt safe flying closer to his own cottage. There was no shiver of awareness from his shifter senses—Delphine must have already gone back to town. He shook off his pegasus with a sigh of relief and walked the rest of the way.
A shower and change of clothes was almost enough to make him feel human again—hah—until he automatically reached for Ma’s watch, which he’d left on the windowsill.
Something for you to keep safe, she’d said, and laughed. Something you can keep safe. I won’t have to worry about you shifting and blowing it into a thousand pieces.
She didn’t have to worry about that now, either. His ribs tightened. What would she say, when she found out what he was? She’d always said there was nothing wrong with him not being a shifter.
He strapped on the watch with the promise to himself that he wouldn’t let his mother down. No more thinking he was a mistake.
He paused and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Any of those special pegasus feelings?” he asked his reflection. “Good or bad?”
I’m a little bit hungry, his pegasus replied.
Jackson chuckled despite himself, then shook his head.
I’m heading out to meet… a friend, he said. Someone who’s important to me. But I want to talk to her myself, first. I wonder, can you… make yourself scarce?
Scarce? A flutter of wings. Jackson winced. He still hadn’t gotten a clear look at his pegasus, other than his spindly legs and the occasional burst of feathers, but if it was anything as grand as his father’s, hiding probably wasn’t in its nature. Glittering, more like.
You know how we sensed… He swallowed. Our mate? Earlier?
Oh, yes! His pegasus’s joy fluttered in his chest.