by H. K. Varian
Fiona raised her hand. Ms. Therian nodded at her.
“My brain says this isn’t possible,” Fiona began. “It defies every law of science ever written. But I saw . . . I saw . . .”
Fiona’s voice began to falter, but Ms. Therian waited patiently for her to continue.
“I can’t do that,” Fiona said finally, gesturing to Ms. Therian. “Whatever this ability is, I don’t have it.”
“You do,” Ms. Therian replied. “It may not have shown itself yet, but I assure you that it’s there. We find that most Changers experience their first full transformation at some point between their twelfth and thirteenth years. Of course, there will probably be signs you’ll notice before a full transformation occurs, such as—”
Darren suddenly whirled around to face Gabriella. “Your eyes!” he exclaimed. “I saw them—”
Darren stopped abruptly when he realized Gabriella’s eyes were an ordinary shade of brown.
“You didn’t see anything,” she snapped as she bent over her backpack. A small mirror glinted in her palm. “My eyes are normal.”
“Gabriella, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ms. Therian said firmly. “It’s a gift. It won’t always feel like this—changing bit by bit, out of control. You will learn how to master it in this class. I promise you.”
Gabriella didn’t say anything, but Darren saw her return the mirror to her backpack.
Fiona raised her hand again. “So . . . what kind of Changer are you?” she asked.
For the first time since the start of class, a smile flickered across Ms. Therian’s face. “You couldn’t tell?” she asked. “I’m sure Makoto knows.”
“Werewolf, right?” Mack guessed. “Also, could you call me Mack?”
Ms. Therian nodded. “Your grandfather used to say those comics of yours were a waste of time, but I told him he was dead wrong,” she said.
“Are we all werewolves?” Darren asked, forgetting to raise his hand again. It seemed like a reasonable question, but Ms. Therian smiled.
“Of course not,” she said. Then Ms. Therian reached for a leather satchel on the floor. “Would you like to find out which kind of Changer you are?”
Despite their doubts, an excited clamor arose from the kids.
With extreme care Ms. Therian reached into the satchel and pulled out an exquisitely carved box made of silver maple.
As Ms. Therian gracefully lowered herself to the floor, the students gathered around her in a circle. There was total silence as she carefully lifted the box’s lid and placed it off to the side. Darren craned his neck to get a better look at what was in the box. Nestled within folds of midnight-blue silk was a large, round stone, the size of a dinner plate. It was an opaque, milky white, but as Darren gazed at it, he thought he could see brief swirls of muted colors—gray and silver and dusky lavender. He realized in that moment that this was no ordinary stone; it almost seemed to pulse with life beneath its hard, cold surface.
“It’s a moonstone,” Ms. Therian explained, answering the unasked question on everyone’s mind, “a true moonstone, forged by Changer magic beneath the light of the full Eternity Moon, which comes once every thousand years. There are only two of these Changing Stones in the whole world. Here—Hold it and gaze into its depths, and your true form will be revealed.”
No one moved. Darren glanced at the others. He could only imagine that his face was a mirror of theirs—a mix of trepidation, eagerness, and intrigue. He was about to volunteer when Mack stepped forward.
“Me first!” he announced. There was a bit of a swagger in his walk as he approached the Changing Stone.
“Be careful,” Ms. Therian warned. “Whatever the Changing Stone reveals, don’t be afraid.”
“No chance,” Mack scoffed, but Darren had to wonder if Mack really felt so brave.
Mack sat down, holding the Changing Stone in his upturned palms. After several long seconds the Changing Stone began to emit a shimmering light that pulsed and quivered as the shape of a fox appeared above Mack. It was a fearsome beast, with unnaturally bright eyes and a long, plush tail. The fox’s red fur bristled as it growled. But the most remarkable thing about the fox was its paws: They blazed with fire.
“Kitsune,” Ms. Therian announced. “The kitsune comes from Japan, where it was renowned for the ability to fly, create illusions, and control fire . . . among other things.”
Mack whispered something—something that sounded like “my dream”—but Darren couldn’t be sure that he’d heard him correctly.
“Gabriella next,” Ms. Therian said.
This time the image appeared the moment Gabriella’s long fingers grasped the Changing Stone: a sleek and powerful jaguar with fur as dark as a moonless night. It prowled on velvety paws, staring at the kids with glittering gold eyes. The eyes, at least, were familiar to Darren; he’d seen them in Gabriella’s face just moments ago.
“Nahual,” Ms. Therian announced. “Hailing from Central America, mainly Mexico, many nahual take the form of the dog. A jaguar form is more rare. The black jaguar rarest of all.”
Ms. Therian paused, as if to let that information sink in. “Nahuals are renowned for their strength, speed, and powerful healing skills,” she explained. “That, and the ability to spirit walk into the dreams and thoughts of others.”
At last Gabriella looked up from the Changing Stone. Darren noticed right away that her eyes were flashing gold light—and he wasn’t the only one.
“Your eyes!” Mack exclaimed.
A quick look of panic crossed Gabriella’s face as she thrust the Changing Stone at Fiona.
“It’s all right, Gabriella,” Ms. Therian reminded her. But Gabriella’s eyes had already turned back to brown.
Fiona took a deep breath as she grasped the sides of the Changing Stone and peered into it. This time, the light that shone from the Changing Stone was different: watery, almost, like the reflection of the sun on the ocean.
There was the sound of a sudden splash, and for a moment Darren thought he could feel salt spray on his face; it was that real. The animal that appeared before them was clever and quick, darting in and out of the water with such speed that it was just a streak of gray. It paused at one point, staring directly at Darren with dark, glittering eyes filled with wisdom.
“The selkie; a seal,” Ms. Therian said. “From the coasts of Ireland and Scotland, the selkie has a unique magical connection; it can sense when other Changers or magical beings are nearby. Their powers are concealed within their songs, which they can use to control tides, summon weather, and even bind the magic of others.”
Fiona’s eyes were strangely shiny when she passed the Changing Stone to Darren. It was heavier than he’d expected. Darren felt so awkward, sitting there with a polished rock in his hands. “Uh . . . what now?” he asked.
“Just look,” Ms. Therian said. “The Changing Stone will do the work.”
Darren bent his head over the Changing Stone and gazed into its milky depths. At first nothing happened. As the seconds ticked away, Darren could feel the back of his neck prickle with apprehension, like he’d forgotten to study for a quiz or had blown off his chores. They made a mistake, Darren worried. I’m not a Changer after all.
He was about to push the Changing Stone away when, all of a sudden, his hands felt fused to it: Darren couldn’t let go. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
Darren stared into the shimmering light and watched as a shape began to take form. The light shook, stretched wide, and then contracted into a tight ball. Just when Darren didn’t think he could stand another moment of suspense, a bird burst from the Changing Stone. It was no ordinary bird, though: its eyes pulsed with otherworldly power from beneath a crest of sharp feathers that led down to a pointed beak. White feathers sat sleekly against the bird’s body, darkening into shades of gray and black along its massive wings. But Darren scarcely noticed them. All he could register was the bird’s claws: razor-sharp talons, glinting like platinum.
The
bird flapped its massive wings as it spiraled toward the ceiling. Then it threw back its head and shrieked so loudly that everyone covered their ears—except for Darren, whose hands were still stuck to the Changing Stone. Then it happened: crackling bolts of white-hot lightning burst from the bird’s claws and ripped through the air. They were about to make contact with the Changing Stone—and Darren. Even in that moment—that overwhelming, terrifying moment—Darren knew what would happen to him if lightning hit the Changing Stone while it was still in his hands: instant electrocution.
No, he thought, and just like that his fingers went limp, and the Changing Stone slipped from his grasp.
Everything happened at once.
Fiona gasped, turning her head away.
Ms. Therian cried out, a harsh word in a strange language, and dove across the floor to catch the Changing Stone before it crashed to the floor.
And the bird vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Total silence filled the gym, pressing down on Darren and everyone else. An uncomfortable warmth crept up his neck as everyone stared at him—everyone except Ms. Therian, who was frantically examining the Changing Stone. I didn’t mean to drop it, he thought defensively. It just happened.
“No harm,” Ms. Therian said at last. “Thankfully.”
“Sorry,” Darren mumbled all the same.
Ms. Therian continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “The impundulu,” she announced. “Or lightning bird, from the tribes of South Africa. Among the impundulu’s many powers, perhaps the most important is the ability to impact the weather,” Ms. Therian said. “The impundulu can generate thunder from a clap of its wings and—as we all saw—shoot lightning from its claws.”
Darren held up his hands, staring at them in wonder. His fingernails were ragged from where he chewed them, a bad habit he just couldn’t shake. It was hard to believe he’d be able to shoot lightning bolts from them.
“And so the first secrets have been revealed to us,” continued Ms. Therian. “A kitsune, a nahual, a selkie, and an impundulu. Starting tomorrow, we will begin your training. In time—yes, Mack?”
Darren glanced over to see Mack waving his hand urgently. “Can we transform today?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Ms. Therian replied. “Transformation is different for each of us. There’s no rule book; no set of instructions to follow.”
The hint of a frown flickered across Mack’s face. “But couldn’t you just tell us how to do it?” he pressed.
“No one can tell you how to transform,” Ms. Therian said patiently. “Could I tell you how to make your heart beat? Or how to make your bones grow? Such a thing would be impossible—and yet your heart beats every second, and your bones grow according to their own secret timetable, unknown to you. It is the same with Changing: when you are ready, it will happen.”
Mack didn’t look happy with the answer, and Darren had to admit he felt the same way. Before anyone else could ask a question, Ms. Therian turned to Fiona.
“It’s different for you,” she continued. “Selkies cannot change on their own. They need—”
“A cloak,” Fiona said in a quiet voice. “I know.”
An unexpected light flashed through Ms. Therian’s eyes. “You do?” she asked.
“My mother,” Fiona said. “When I was little she used to tell me stories about the selkies that swam off the coast of Ireland. I still remember the lullaby she used to sing to me at bedtime: ‘Lo, the poor selkie, alone and adrift, seeking her cloak by the base of the cliff . . .’”
Fiona’s voice trailed off unexpectedly, and a pink flush crept into her cheeks. She had a beautiful singing voice; Darren didn’t know why she looked so embarrassed.
“What else did she tell you?” Ms. Therian asked.
“Nothing, really,” Fiona replied, staring at the floor. “She died when I was three.”
There was a long pause before anyone spoke again.
“A selkie is born with a special sealskin cloak,” Ms. Therian finally said. “Without it he or she will stay in his or her human form forever. I take it, Fiona, that you don’t have your cloak?”
Fiona shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she admitted.
“You’d know,” Ms. Therian said. “So, for you, Fiona, the first step toward transformation will be finding your cloak. Without it, all this”—Ms. Therian held her arms wide—“will be of no use to you.”
There was something in Ms. Therian’s voice—a dangerous edge, hard as flint—that made Darren, and the others, pay close attention.
“But,” Fiona began, looking puzzled. “Where could it be? Why—why don’t I have it?”
Ms. Therian sighed. “It’s very common for selkies to have their cloaks stolen and then hidden by well-meaning humans,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I can guarantee that whoever did it loves you very much. But that doesn’t matter, does it, if you are forever trapped in your human form and never able to transform into your other self?”
Chapter 4
The forgotten Lullaby
The bell rang then, but no one moved. “It goes without saying that everything we’ve spoken of today is to be kept in the greatest confidence,” Ms. Therian reminded them. “I will see you tomorrow.” And with that she turned and then exited the gym, leaving the kids alone.
“Could this really be real?” Fiona asked, breaking the silence.
“I know what I saw,” Darren said. “She became a wolf. And even if that was some kind of trick, Gabriella, your eyes . . .”
Gabriella sighed. “I guess my eyes kinda make sense now.”
While everyone stood stunned, Mack’s face broke into a huge grin. “Guys, we have superpowers! Doesn’t any of this sound the least bit cool to you?”
“Maybe,” Gabriella said hesitantly. “Who knows? Maybe this might help my soccer game. Imagine what it would be like running faster, jumping higher, roaring as a jaguar . . . It seems kind of fun.”
“I just can’t get my head around it,” Fiona jumped in. “How could the Changers have kept their powers under wraps for so long? And what happened to make the Changers go into hiding in the first place? I mean, Ms. Therian explained the general reason, but there had to have been some kind of incident, or someone who turned the humans against the Changers. . . .”
“Looks like Ms. Therian left us with more questions than answers,” Darren said, standing. “Guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to ask them, though.”
The kids exchanged cell numbers and promised to text if anything out of the ordinary happened. Then they went their separate ways.
After she got her books out of her locker, Fiona went to her usual seat on the bus: right behind the driver, in the front row. She’d been sitting in that same seat, alone, since the very first day of kindergarten. Back then, Fiona used to be disappointed when no one wanted to sit next to her. Now, though, she didn’t mind. Having the whole seat to herself meant that she had plenty of room to spread out her books and get a head start on her homework. Fiona’s house, a shingled cottage just a block from the beach, was the very last stop on the bus route.
Fiona was the first one home, but that was no surprise; her dad had started school today too, teaching English at New Brighton University, which was an hour away. But it would’ve been nice if someone had been there to ask her about the first day of school.
Since she’d already finished her homework on the bus, Fiona hung her backpack on the hook next to the front door. Then she looked in the pantry. There wasn’t a ton of food there—her dad had been too busy prepping for his classes to go to the grocery store over the weekend—but Fiona spotted a box of spaghetti and a jar of tomato sauce. Perfect, she thought. Dinner is served. Her father didn’t exactly love spaghetti for dinner, but it was one of the quickest meals that Fiona knew how to make, and he always told her that she should never let dinner prep get in the way of her schoolwork. And finding my selkie cloak is my schoolwork, Fiona reminded herself.
Now, F
iona thought. Where should I look?
It would’ve helped if Fiona had any idea what, exactly, a selkie cloak looked like. The good news was that the cottage where Fiona and her dad lived was small. Snug, even. She might finish searching before her dad got home.
Fiona knew there was no chance the selkie cloak was in her own bedroom: she kept it impeccably tidy, with everything stored in precisely the right place. The living room was easy to search, too—a couch, two comfortable old chairs, a wall of bookshelves, and a television. Fiona peeked under the worn, woolen rug that covered the bare wood floor. Then she knocked on each floorboard, just in case one was loose. If she was going to hide something, tucked under the floorboards seemed like a safe place. But every board was securely nailed down.
Fiona wandered back into the kitchen, but she didn’t have much hope of finding the selkie cloak there. She couldn’t imagine hiding something as important and special as a selkie cloak over the oven or behind the fridge. Fiona thumped on the walls, just in case, searching for a hidden nook—and finding nothing.
That left the attic and her father’s room. Fiona tapped her lip, lost in thought. The attic . . . Now, that had potential. The dusty attic was full of castoffs—old school projects and broken furniture and Grandpa Murphy’s record collection. But to access the attic, Fiona would need to get the ladder, and she probably couldn’t search all of it before her dad got home, which would lead to questions about why she was even in the attic . . . questions she would rather not answer right now.
So her father’s bedroom was the next best choice.
As she passed the large bay window that overlooked the ocean, Fiona glanced at the driveway. There was still no sign of her dad’s car, so she continued on toward his bedroom. He’d never said she wasn’t allowed to go into his room, but Fiona knew she was snooping around. And that, she knew, was something her dad definitely wouldn’t like.