Dearborn

by Jenni Moen

  Directions: Chant three times through:

  A human may be all you see,

  A human may all he be.

  But in his presence your powers grow

  Until he decides it isn’t so.

  Note: The spell will naturally expire when and if his two-natured abilities bloom and he accepts himself for who he is.

  Finally, I had my explanation. Quinn was under two spells, but the cloaking spell masked them both so he projected only human characteristics. The reason Ryan and I had never sensed he was a shifter was because the cloaking spell prevented it, but she’d attempted to counteract it with the second spell. The second spell was why Ryan and I both felt Quinn was a screamer. Ryan heard his thoughts louder, and I felt his emotions stronger. It was the cause of what I’d come to affectionately refer to as the Dearborn Effect. I was sick and saw colors when he felt strongly about something because the spell amplified his emotions. Janice had wanted to make sure that someone like me wouldn’t miss someone like Quinn.

  I sifted through piles of journals again to find the one for 2001. The recipe book from the same year was still upstairs hidden in the cabinet where I’d thrown it to keep Quinn’s prying eyes out of it. But I wanted more than just the recipe for Willow’s Tea. I wanted to know the story behind it.

  When I found the book, I flipped it open to the entry that also included the tea, and then I backed up a week before that. I skipped briefly down the pages until I found my name on October 3rd.

  October 3, 2001

  I watch the way Willow stares at the boy and the way he laughs at her jokes, and I regret everything I’ve done in my life. I see in them what Clive saw in Clara: a future. I will not resort to magic to make sure they find their way together for I know in my heart now that some things are destined. For these two, it’s only a matter of time.

  That doesn’t mean I can’t in good conscience give them a little push, but I shall do it the old-fashioned way with my wallet and some elbow grease. Margaret told me the other day that Quinn is having trouble in math. My Willow is a whiz at math, so I have arranged for her to tutor him.

  I can’t think of a better investment than in Willow.

  My heart swelled. Not only had Janice encouraged me to take the tutoring job, but she’d also created it. She’d invested in me as I’d invested in her. She’d known before anyone that Quinn would make me happy.

  I flipped to the next page.

  October 5, 2001

  Ghastly deeds. Quinn’s protection spell is making my Willow ill. I have done this, and I must find a way to fix it.

  October 6, 2001

  All is right with the world again.

  Willow’s Tea:

  Ingredients:

  ~ Chamomile

  ~Ginger

  ~Cinnamon Bark

  Directions: Brew a pot of water. Mix all ingredients together and pour them into a coffee filter. Tie the coffee filter shut with thread and make sure it’s tight. Put the tea bag into a metal bowl and pour boiling water over it. Allow to steep for 6 minutes. Stir and say:

  As I stir, three times three,

  All who drink this magic tea,

  Shall feel well and whole,

  For serenity lies within this bowl.

  I hopped up from my spot on the basement floor and took the stairs two at a time with the three books under my arm.

  The house was oddly dark and quiet. It was only as I pulled my keys off the hook by the door and peered out the window that I realized how much time had passed while I was in the basement. A blanket of snow now covered the ground, and the sun, wherever it was behind the thick blanket of clouds, was setting, turning the world a magical and iridescent silver.

  Quinn’s truck was gone. My guess was he’d tried to get to the paint store before it closed. By tomorrow, the snow would likely be too thick to be passable. If I knew Quinn, he would have the dinner and wine waiting and be ready for the game of strip Clue when I returned. I just hoped he was still fully dressed because my hope was I wouldn’t return alone.

  I grabbed my heaviest coat from the hall tree on my way to the front door. In the car, I gripped the icy cold steering wheel and reversed down the driveway. I would never agree with Margaret Dearborn’s decision to hide his true nature from him. She’d done more than deny him his father. She’d denied him his destiny and attempted to change fate; something I now knew could end disastrously. If things continued down the path we were on, the same karmic forces that had stolen Clara from Clive might steal her son from the both of us. I couldn’t bear to think about that outcome, but luckily, I didn’t have to. The wrong could be righted before it was too late.

  I didn’t know how Margaret would feel about my plan, but I had to give her the opportunity to step up and do the right thing. Like Janice, I didn’t doubt her protective motherly intentions. She hadn’t done this to hurt him, and I was going to give her the opportunity to help him. One way or another, Quinn would find out tonight who and what he truly was.

  The road to New Town was slick and my wheels spun before finally gaining traction. When I got to the main intersection, a traffic accident and police barricade blocked the road to New Town forcing me to turn left instead of right. I would have to take the long way along the back of the convent and cemetery. I was nearly to the turn off when a truck parked along the fence line caught my eye. Even with a sheet of snow over it, I knew it belonged to Quinn. The old rusty tailgate and faded red paint were a dead giveaway. I pulled onto the gravel drive leading into the Reyburn property and considered my options.

  Ryan’s warning earlier in the day played through my head.

  Quinn’s buddies are all headed back out to the Reyburn land again this afternoon. Some stupid ‘first snow’ nonsense. Apparently, it’s a tradition or something to kill something on the first day of winter.

  The snow was here, and no doubt, they were now up to mischief, but I didn’t understand why Quinn would be here too. He’d been sincere in the museum when he’d sworn off hunting any more deer. What had brought him out here when he knew the men would be hunting?

  Panic gripped me and had me shrugging off my coat. Quinn was here to find the little doe that had rescued him. My heart twisted and thumped as it filled with dread. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind.

  Magic surrounded the property.

  Either Quinn had shifted or he was not alone.

  Or worse—both.

  QUINN

  AS WAS OFTEN THE CASE, I’d fallen asleep and awoke on the run again. But this time, it felt different. I wasn’t running from something. I was running to something. Or someone.

  A thin layer of ice covered the snow and crunched with every footfall. The wind had died down and the sun had set while I’d slept, but the air still hung heavy over Woodland Creek. More snow would fall overnight. This, the first snow, marked the beginning of months and months and inches upon inches of dismal cold. I welcomed it though I couldn’t tell you exactly why.

  Always on a mission, my feet traveled fast over the frozen surface. They’d run on more treacherous terrain than this. The mountains of Afghanistan had prepared me well for my current task. No heavy boots. No weapons. No packs. I’d never felt lighter on my feet. A branch slapped me in the face, and I barely felt it.

  I am free.

  There’d been a time when running was the only way to quiet the noise following me day after dreaded day. It couldn’t always find me out here. It was a sweet relief after enduring the awful, clanging, never-ending racket that came with the memories. They wouldn’t let me go. I was bound to them as I was bound to the people in them. For a long time, running had been my only real relief, and sometimes, even that didn’t work. Luckily, I’d found an even better therapy.

  I am not alone.

  Willow was my new quiet. She’d crept silently into my life and was rearranging the way I looked at everything, including myself. This morning, I’d handed her a piece of my broken, battered soul and told her about the nightmares and th
e midnight runs and the embarrassing reality of waking up lost and naked every morning. She hadn’t even flinched. As she always did, she accepted my truths and apologies and pulled me forward. She’d taken the offered piece of my broken soul and tucked it away for safekeeping. There was more where it had come from, but it wouldn’t be long before she held them all.

  I was in love with her.

  It had been inevitable. She was as perfect as I was bruised. She was as pure as I was soiled. She was my perfect counterpoint, and I was in love with her. I would try harder to be whole again because she deserved that, but there was freedom in knowing that the broken pieces were as valuable to her as the whole would be. She hadn’t told me as much, but I already knew she was in love with me too. Knowing it and knowing I could and would tell her about this run when I got home filled me with happiness.

  I leaped over a stream and found my footing. It would be a skating rink soon, making it harder to find water. Something instinctual told me it was something that should concern me, but it didn’t tonight. Nothing concerned me as I neared the spot where I’d seen the doe last.

  She is here.

  Somehow, I could feel her presence ahead of me. I burst through the last line of trees and into the clearing with more gusto than warranted. My feet pounded across the ground until I slid to a stop by the big cedar tree where I’d laid covered in leaves just days ago.

  Big brown eyes peered at me curiously from across the way.

  Just as I remembered, she was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. Dainty but still somehow powerful. Graceful and lithe. Long, thin legs looked as if they might snap under the weight of her, but I knew they were stronger than they appeared. I longed to watch her run.

  Large, pert ears stood tall on her head, not missing a thing. She blinked at me and then cocked her head as if to size me up. I knew you’d come back, she seemed to say.

  ‘Of course,’ I wanted to tell her. ‘I came to thank you.’

  I wondered how close she would let me get today. I took a tentative step, and she watched me.

  She seemed to blink her submission. Go ahead. Come closer.

  It was delusional to think she was actually speaking to me. Obviously, no audible words were exchanged, but in my head, I could hear her as clearly as if her thoughts were my own. It was almost as if there was a direct line between her soul and mine. Some thread that tethered our hearts and gave me access to her thoughts. Is it okay?

  We can’t stay. It’s not safe here.

  I took a few slow steps in her direction and waited. She followed my lead and then stopped. We repeated this dance until less than a few feet separated us. I held perfectly still as she circled around me, suddenly seeming unsure. She craned her long neck as if listening to something behind me.

  Shhhhh. Her fear was tangible. Her big brown eyes blinked in warning. Yet, I couldn’t comprehend the danger even as it struck.

  The arrow pierced flesh with a thud that shouldn’t have sounded so hollow for the damage it was causing. It sliced easily through her chest and protruded awkwardly. Instantly, she was gone, bolting away from her attacker and away from me.

  I followed because I had no other choice. The invisible line tethering us pulled me along behind her as she ran. What I hoped were her words echoed in my head. Come closer. Come closer.

  ‘I am coming,’ I wanted to call to her. ‘I will help you somehow. Take you somewhere. I will take care of you.’

  “Damn it. I think I got the wrong one.” The voice was a familiar one, and I didn’t have to rack my brain long to place it.

  Tim had shot my beautiful doe. I hated him for it, though I would’ve done the same thing only a week before.

  She jumped the fence line not a minute too soon, and I winced at the pain in my chest when she landed. I ran behind her as we quickly put needed distance between Tim and us. As we ran north through the western part of the cemetery, I pondered how I could make good on my promises. Where do you take an injured deer? Were there veterinarians, possibly large animal doctors, who would be willing to help her? Would she even allow me to touch her? I didn’t know how to save a wild animal. She wasn’t a bunny I could put in a box and take home to nurse back to health. She was beautiful but wild.

  And possibly mortally wounded.

  I followed her through the outskirts of the cemetery, losing sight of her from time to time as she wove in and out of trees. She crossed the road near where I’d parked my truck, and I wanted to yell at her to wait because it was the best chance for her survival. But there was no way for me to communicate that and no chance of her listening anyway.

  Flashing lights marked the scene of an accident to the west, but she didn’t get close to it. We ran for what felt like miles, parallel to the major roads but just far enough away from them to remain unseen. I was vaguely aware after all of my late night and early morning runs of where we were, and I questioned why an injured animal would head directly into town rather than away from it.

  Even when I couldn’t see her, the pain in my chest never abated, letting me know instinctually she was there, ahead of me, and that her heart still beat in her chest. The same instinct drove me forward as we headed north, but it brought me to a sudden stop before we reached the creek, which marked a familiar property line.

  My doe stood on its banks, unable to make the final leap over it. The house loomed dark and empty behind her.

  Not like this.

  I wasn’t sure which one of us had thought it. It was ludicrous to think it was her, anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if our entire conversation had been only in my mind. Or if she didn’t exist at all and was merely the creation of my fragmented mind.

  Those beautiful, soul-searching eyes blinked at me. I’m as real as you are. Help me, Quinn.

  Before I could get to her, her knees buckled. She wobbled and then fell to the ground, rolling on her side so that the arrow pointed up at the milky gray sky. Her chest rose and fell with every labored breath. I listened for her voice but heard nothing more.

  A familiar whomp, whomp, whomp intruded on our moment. I closed my eyes and wished it away. It grew louder and I imagined it was the sound of her heartbeat, assuring me she was going to be okay. I had myself nearly convinced when it became harsher, turning into something that didn’t belong here.

  As I had so many times before, I looked up to find the bird in the sky and was surprised to find it was sleek and white with the name of a hospital printed on the side. It flew low, on a mission too, and within seconds, it disappeared over the treetops. The sound of the rotating blades faded but left in its wake the debris of my life. All of the noise I’d successfully evaded had found me again.

  I pushed and shoved against it, trying to rid my head of it all. I had to keep it together. The doe was dying in front of me. Our roles had reversed, and I was her only hope. I stared at her, trying to come back to the here and now, all the while knowing the better parts of me were still lost on a continent thousands of miles away.

  She let out a bleat that sounded like a plea, and it triggered something in me—a survival instinct I thought I’d never find again—and snapped me out of the fog the helicopter had dropped over me. In its place, the brittle evening air sparkled and shimmered off the reflection of the snow, promising me that, together, we’d survive this night.

  The air around the doe suddenly glittered and shook, and I dropped to the ground beside her as she disappeared before my very eyes. In her place lay Willow, naked and bleeding. The arrow stuck out of her chest now rather than the animal.

  My heart thumped out a beat of shock even louder than the bird’s blades had been. It’s an episode, I told myself. A fucking episode and you’ve finally lost it. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clear my head.

  “Quinn.” It was Willow’s voice though it sounded smaller somehow.

  I opened my eyes again to find nothing had changed. Willow was as beautiful and lovely and naked. Blood streamed down her torso, and the end of the arrow po
inted horrifically at me. All at the same time, I wanted to worship her and cover her and heal her.

  “Please, Quinn,” she pleaded hoarsely. “There’s something wrong.”

  Something’s wrong? I shook my head, and it suddenly felt so heavy. Everything is wrong.

  “Please, Quinn!” she said again, more desperate this time. Tears welled in her eyes, and she coughed a ragged cough. “I need you to change. I can’t hear your thoughts like this.”

  Change? Hear my thoughts? I shook my head again, more vehemently this time, not knowing how to respond even if I could.

  “Look at yourself,” she begged.

  I looked down at my broad chest and my legs folded beneath me. Four legs were where two should be. Hooves in the place of feet. Short rust-colored fur instead of skin. It was preposterous.

  “You are magnificent,” she whispered.

  There was no me, as far as I could see.

  I needed to run away from the abomination around me. I stood up and counted each time a leg straightened to support me. Four in all. It was a complete annihilation of everything I knew to be true. What was I? A monster? Would that make my sweet Willow one too?

  I stamped my feet on the ground and took off running. I hit a nearby tree hard enough I bounced backward. I winced and moaned as the crack echoed through the forest. Neither of the sounds was familiar. The crack wasn’t brittle enough to be a tree. The moan was a noise I’d only heard when the animals I’d shot hadn’t died right away.

  “You have to accept it, Quinn. I can’t handle this right now.” Her voice was as labored as her breath.

  Accept it? What was she asking me to accept? That I was a monster? I looked at the tree, now marked by my disbelief, and my eyes drifted to the ground. A broken stick lay near the base of the tree. It was too pale and too smooth to be a part of the tree. But how was it possible it was a part of me?

  I turned again to Willow. I could see the pain in her eyes but somehow she managed to smile. “If you want to be human again, just wish for it,” she said. “The change is uncomfortable at first, but it doesn’t hurt exactly.” Each word came out slower than the next. Her breath hitched, and her beautiful features twisted on her face. I wanted to tell her to stop talking, but I sensed there was no way to do so.