"So this gift should be more special," Mamá continued, pulling out a little black jewelry box. "But your grandmother died in Mexico without being able to pass her own charm down to you. Here in los Estados Unidos, jaguars aren't so common, and this was the best I could find to replace your abuela's lost charm."
Ixchel wasn't sure what to expect when she opened the box, not after such a subdued introduction. But, inside, the girl simply found a little metal cat figurine attached to a silver chain. Nothing special, but the teenager hadn't been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and she was grateful for any gift, no matter how small. "It's very pretty, Mamá. Thank you."
"It's not the looks that count," her mother said mysteriously. "Now lift up your hair."
When Ixchel dutifully obeyed, Mamá clasped the necklace around her throat and then stood back to survey her daughter. "You're all grown up now," the older woman said, her eyes a little teary, and that made Ixchel feel good. She was sick of being the baby in her massive, sprawling family. Having Mamá recognize that Ixchel was a woman at eighteen seemed long overdue, but the affirmation was satisfying nonetheless.
"There are words to go with the gift...the responsibility," Mamá continued, looking even more glum. "But I've forgotten them, and there's no one left to ask for a reminder." The older woman paused and stroked the thin metal chain that ran around her own neck, giving Ixchel a jolt of curiosity about what hung at the end of the silver loop. Why had she never taken the time to notice her mother's ornamentation before?
Well, that was obvious—because Mamá and Papá were simply part of the landscape that made up the backdrop of Ixchel's life. It's high time I grow up if I want to be treated like an adult, the young woman decided. She'd ask her mother more about her own childhood in Mexico at a later date, once Mamá had regained her usual smiling face.
"Never mind the words," Mamá said at last. "It's the intention that counts. Now, promise me you'll never take this necklace off."
"If that's what you want, Mamá," Ixchel said dutifully. "I'll never take it off."
And she hadn't. Because that night was the last time the veterinarian-to-be had seen either of her parents alive. The last time she'd laughed with her brothers. The last time she'd felt like part of a family.
Afterwards, and every day for the next nine years, Ixchel had obeyed her mother's command to wear the cat charm come rain or shine, day at the beach or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Like her once-taken-for-granted mother, the figurine had become part of the scenery and the veterinarian only thought of the ornament on her birthdays.
But on May 3, the vet's melancholy musings inevitably returned to her mother's admonition. And she wondered what exactly Mamá had meant to accomplish with her uncharacteristic drama.
Too bad Ixchel would never find out the answer to that question. Not with her mother and father both gone.
"...would you be willing to sign up for life insurance to protect your loved ones in case disaster strikes?" Sophie/Sofia finished her spiel, coming up for air at last.
What the heck. It wasn't as if Ixchel had anyone depending on her if she kicked the bucket, but at least the vet could improve the telemarketer's mood on this anniversary of her natal day.
"Sure," Ixchel answered. "Sign me up."
But the bliss of helping out someone less fortunate faded fast after Sophie/Sofia finished collecting her billing information. So the vet completed the mopping up quickly and headed out the front door without giving the rooms more than a lick and a promise. She had a date with a box of brownie mix in her apartment, a thought that raised her spirits a bit while also rushing her steps.
All Ixchel needed to do was to lock the practice's front door and then head to the stairs around back before she could end this long, exhausting day. But as the veterinarian bent down toward the keyhole, something pricked through her blouse at the small of her back.
Reaching behind herself to unhook the fabric from what she assumed was a thorn, the vet instead gasped as her hand came in contact with the cold blade of a knife. It looked like Ixchel's past had caught up with her despite every attempt she'd made to throw angry brothers off her trail.
Yep, this is officially a very bad day.
Chapter 2
Mmm, catnip.... The herbal aroma drifted up into the tree where Finn manned the controls for an array of security cameras. And as he inhaled with pleasure, the jaguar-shifter could feel muscles tense from several long days of stealth surveillance slowly begin to relax.
Too bad that vet isn't here to keep me company. The woman had been so cute, standing up to what she thought was a voracious wild animal, all to protect that shaggy being she called Mr. Fuzzy. Finn had to wonder whether, if he'd really been a hungry jaguar, the woman would have fended him off with a stick.
Finn liked her spunk, but the vet was only a backup plan that he hoped never to use. His attention should instead be focused on the archaeologists laboring away in the half-buried site that he was monitoring from a distance with the help of a dozen stealthily applied cameras.
Flipping to another view with the click of a button, Finn quickly cycled through the information being broadcast by lenses arrayed throughout the archaeological dig. The workers had rigged electric lights to make up for the fact that they were now digging deep enough into the mound to create more of a cavernous work environment than the traditional open-air dig. Yes, they'd delved deeper...and closer to the level that held interest to a shifter who liked to believe he couldn't be the only creature of his kind left in the world.
Let's hope that battered old journal was right....
The missionary who'd recorded the were-jaguar legend considered the tale a charming piece of native folklore. And Finn would have thought the same...if he weren't able to stretch out his arm and watch the air glimmer slightly as skin gave way to fur and nails turned into claws.
Not a very functional arrangement for managing his laptop, of course, which is why Finn was currently stuck in human form, tailored black suit and charcoal-gray shirt unbuttoned around his neck to capture the evening breeze. Because every cat knows that stalking should be done in style, never mind the discomfort....
But as the catnip aroma grew stronger in the air, his feline form called more and more to his human mind. Not one to ignore his urges, Finn secured his laptop using the velcro he'd attached to the device and to the rough tree bark. Then he stood and submitted to the urge to shift.
Finally, the feline thought, stretching his back mightily and feeling his whiskers spread out from his face at last. His human skin often felt so cramped.
And don't get me started on those torture devices that humans call shoes.
On huge black paws, the jaguar padded along the branch until the tree began to bend under his weight, then he leaped down to prowl along the earth. The tremendous Olmec statue that had connected this site to the journal entry towered a little higher over the dig every day as its base was slowly unearthed. And even though the misplaced Mexican sculpture was far too close to the action for safety, the shifter was drawn to the sight like a bee to honey.
Finn had once thought that this stone head might be the artifact he was looking for. But if so, he'd yet to find any indication that the sculpture impacted his abilities in the slightest. Still, Finn figured he might as well make contact once again while he was waiting around for the archaeologists to turn up something more interesting.
Of course, that journal was particularly vague about how exactly the artifact was supposed to function, Finn reminded himself. Ignoring his better sense, the cat-shifter waited until the lead archaeologist finished talking into his cell phone and walked back into the dig, then he crouched and sprang onto the top of the carved head. Perhaps I just need to spend more time getting to know this old stone dude.
As much as he enjoyed lounging atop the carved boulder as the day descended into dusk though, Finn didn't honestly believe that he'd found his much-sought-after artifact. After all, if the journal was to be believed,
his ancestor had carried the artifact in question most of the way across the continent. In contrast, this boulder had obviously been carved in situ. No, the answer must be that the true artifact hadn't been discovered yet.
Either that, or this crew of inept archaeologists had overlooked the item as they sifted through the dirt.
Or perhaps the artifact was made of wood or cloth and simply rotted away.... In which case Finn would be left alone as the only were-jaguar among humans for the rest of his life. No, that option was simply unthinkable.
"Oh!"
The exclamation brought Finn to his feet before the girl's lips had even closed. Strain as he might though, the shifter couldn't quite make out what had been uncovered from his vantage point on top of the stone head. Still, the flurry of activity converging on one square of the dig certainly suggested that the intern in question had exclaimed over more than a broken fingernail.
Maybe....
The smart course of action would have been for Finn to return to his laptop so he could figure out what was going on without attracting undue attention. But the jaguar's whiskers were tingling...and he knew the cutoff switch wired into the electric system—his key to solitary dig access should he need it—was waiting right there in his pocket. Good thing items carried on the were-jaguar's person came along during each of his shifts. Otherwise, changing forms would wreak such havoc on his wardrobe....
Standing up on two human feet, Finn pulled out the little key fob, hit a button, and smiled as everything went dark beneath him. Only then did the shifter realize that he'd neglected to jump down off the ten-foot-tall sculpture while he still had flexible feline legs to cushion his fall. Perhaps that catnip was messing with his mind more than he'd given it credit for....
And why, exactly, is there such a strong scent of catnip in the middle of a dig out in the wilds of West Virginia?
The thought was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by an excited roar of voices as the archaeologists stumbled out of the now darkened burial mound while doing their best not to trip over each other or some priceless artifact in the process. Humans are so very terrified of the dark, Finn thought smugly.
"Someone's gotta have a flashlight," one intern said, turning circles in the trampled grass outside the dig as he peered into the faces of his compatriots. "I have to see the entirety of that statue...."
"In the morning," the head archaeologist countered, silencing the chatter. "I won't have my dig ruined by a herd of people running over it in the dark. John, call the electrician. Mary, get the security company on the phone for me.
"And, as for the rest of you, don't mention what we found to anyone. We'll uncover the statue under the light of day. And then...we'll see."
"But, professor," voice number one countered. "We can't just leave it here unattended. A find of this magnitude..."
"...Will wait until morning," the head archaeologist replied. "After all, it's already waited over two thousand years...."
AS SOON AS THE LAST car rumbled out of the parking lot, Finn stepped from behind the Olmec head, laptop in a messenger bag slung across his torso and headlamp across his brow. The bulb wasn't on, though, and not just for reasons of stealth—Finn preferred to keep his eyes attuned to the moonlit night even while walking on two feet. But he might not be willing to wait until he'd reached the safety of his hotel room to explore the artifact more closely. Thus the head lamp.
The shifter knew that the wise course of action would consist of transforming back into feline shape and taking a few laps around the grounds to make sure he was truly alone before walking into the dig. But he'd waited so long for this moment, and he'd watched every last intern and graduate student drive away, even catching the head archaeologist speaking with the security company as he pulled out onto the main road. Trusty Security had promised to send over a pair of guards within the hour...which gave Finn plenty of time to carve the artifact the rest of the way out of the packed earth and then take to his heels.
The dig stretched in front of him like a booby trap in the dark, pits of varying depths all carefully excavated with perfectly square corners. The pursuit of science had just about driven Finn mad over the course of the spring months as he watched the archaeologists painstakingly delve and brush through one small area at a time.
The were-jaguar, on the other hand, had known right where the artifact was from the beginning. Something had called him toward the area just left of center even before the first groundbreaking. And, sure enough, that square had been dug deeper and deeper as intriguing findings continued to come to light.
Now, Finn could see a small shape right in the bottom of his favorite hole, a rough stone figurine no bigger than his hand. Unable to wait the thirty seconds it would have taken to walk the easy route around from the other side, Finn leaped straight down, falling more than a meter and landing on his toes without needing to so much as drop a hand to the earth to steady his landing. It was good to be a cat...even when he technically wasn't one.
The figurine was still mostly embedded in the soil, but Finn's multi-tool made short work of the surrounding earth. After all, he wasn't an archaeologist, worried about disrupting buried clues to the past. Plus, he'd known the artifact could handle some rough prying as soon as he touched the hard stone surface.
The little statue quickly popped out of the ground, but dirt still encrusted every curve, making the markings hard to decipher. Finn's best guess was that the figure represented a seated human, hands and head resting on pulled up knees. And perhaps those were larger-than-human ears pointing up out of the being's head?
Just as Finn was about to activate his head lamp to peer a little more closely at the figurine, the dig's lights blazed on above his head. Then the unmistakable sound of the safety being flicked off a gun came from behind his back. Which is when Finn knew that his cat-like curiosity had been played against him.
The drugging scent of catnip suddenly made more sense. As did the head archaeologist being willing to leave the dig unattended without even taking the time to pull this Mexican artifact out of West Virginia soil. Add in the man's willingness to wait an hour for a security team to arrive, and Finn had to ask himself—was it possible that someone knew were-cats existed, and that one was hovering over this very dig in search of clues to his ancestry?
Possible, but unlikely, Finn decided, even as he closed his eyes to expedite the shrinking of his pupils. For now, he'd have to assume that his deepest secret was still hidden. Which meant he needed to act like a human.
Still, when the shifter heard a finger squeezing a trigger, he didn't hesitate to use his cat reflexes to save his skin. Although Finn didn't change forms, the shifter did use his superior muscles to leap to the side and to put his shoulder—rather than his heart—in the way of the bullet.
Cursing silently in order to counteract the overwhelming pain, Finn wished once again that he could flee on cat paws. But what if there were other were-jaguars out there in the world who were counting on his stealth to protect them from humanity? And what if the human behind him became so intrigued by Finn's cat form that the were-jaguar was decanted out of the intruder box and tossed directly into the precious-artifact box? What scientist could resist tracking the first credible sighting of a were-jaguar, even if the quest took him to the ends of the earth?
So, instead of shifting, Finn gritted his teeth, slipped the figurine into his coat pocket, and turned to face his attacker.
The head archaeologist, Martin Mirabelle, stood above Finn, rifle resting in the crook of one arm. A smile on the older man's face seemed to indicate that he'd meant to simply disable rather than kill the looter all along. "Now that I have your attention," Mirabelle said, "why don't you come up here so we can talk?" His words were cordial, as if the two were simply associates meeting to talk business over sushi. Cat-like, the man seemed to enjoy playing with his quarry, a weakness that Finn shared...but was also quite willing to exploit.
"Perhaps you'd give me a hand up?" the shifter repl
ied, silently working through his options. If he toppled Mirabelle into the pit, would the surprise allow Finn to escape despite his injury? The shifter hugged his wounded arm closer to his side, feeling blood soak through the fabric of his shirt and then his coat.
His favorite shirt and coat. That thought, as much as the pain, made him grumpy and less willing to play the archaeologist's game.
But Mirabelle only laughed and pointed to the less direct route that led in the other direction. "Do try not to step on any priceless artifacts," the older man offered, before walking around the pit to block Finn's exit.
The shifter rolled his eyes, but obeyed. After all, it wasn't as if he was a heathen totally untouched by the glamorous promise of archeology. Finn wanted to know how this Olmec head came to be located in an Adena burial mound as much as the next guy—it was only the artifact in his pocket that exceeded the importance of his cat-like curiosity. So, no, the shifter wouldn't accidentally stumble and kick apart an ancient burial arrangement, even if the archaeologist voicing the order had shot him in the arm.
Shot him! Wasn't Mirabelle supposed to be a harmless college professor? Good thing Finn had brought his own favorite weapon along....
"Look, I can explain," the shifter said, maintaining a light tone in hopes Mirabelle would keep that rifle pointed up into the air. "I read about this place in the paper and I was just curious...."
Knowing that Mirabelle's eyes were focused on his good arm, Finn ignored the pain and used his other hand to reach surreptitiously into his pocket. Then he continued to fill the air with harmless patter as he ever so slowly thumbed off the safety on his canister of pepper spray.
Then, in a move so sudden that it sent waves of agony rolling through his body, the shifter lunged forward and depressed the button inches away from his captor's face.
Shifter Origins (Series-Starter Shifter Variety Packs Book 1) Page 59