Shifter's Destiny

by Anna Leonard

  “It’s my fault,” the younger one—Maggie—said suddenly, as though hearing his thoughts. “I called you.”

  “Maggie!”

  The older girl—woman—sounded scandalized.

  Maggie refused to be silenced. “He deserves to know, doesn’t he? I didn’t mean to, I was just so scared when those guys showed up, and then he was within reach, and...” The girl shrugged helplessly, and he revised his estimate of her age—she couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. No wonder his instinct kicked in; she was barely a yearling herself. But what did she mean—called him?

  “It’s a gift,” she said, hearing his thoughts again, somehow. “I’ve always been able to do it. Call animals, I mean. Libby doesn’t want me to tell anyone, because people get scared, but you should know. Because I’m sorry. It’s one thing to call an animal, but not a person. That’s not polite.”

  Josh felt like someone had punched him in the chest. “You called me. Right.” Nobody called him; he was broken to no damned halter. No Mustang ever answered to any call but their own desires.

  “I did.” She sounded almost insulted that he didn’t believe her. “I didn’t mean to, but you were there and you heard me, I guess. You don’t believe me. That’s okay, nobody ever does. Watch.”

  She turned away from him, a defiant tilt to her shoulders, and stared into the limbs of the tree above them. He turned to the older girl—a young woman, closer to his own age than her sister—but she was watching Maggie with a worried expression on her face. Because she was crazy, both of them were crazy? Or because the girl was about to do something that worried her? He turned back to watch the younger girl, waiting for an answer.

  “There,” Maggie said, speaking up into the tree. “Hello, little one. Come down here, please?”

  He got the feeling that she was speaking out loud for his benefit, not her own, and then all thought fled as a large reddish-brown squirrel jumped down from the branches and scurried across the ground to wait at Maggie’s feet, beady black eyes bright, plump tail fluffed in anticipation, perched on its haunches as though awaiting further instructions.

  “Be careful,” he found himself warning her. “It might have rabies, or...”

  “It doesn’t,” she said confidently, and bent down to pick the squirrel up. It not only allowed her to handle it, but the rodent also ducked its head under her hand as though anticipating a caress. He would have sworn it was a domesticated pet, except that there was no way...

  “All right, Maggie,” her sister said. She sounded tired, still worried, but amused at the same time. “You’ve proven your point. Now put greykins down—you know full well that even the gentle ones carry germs and ticks, and all sorts of things that you can’t protect yourself from.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said, and let the squirrel go. It paused, as though disappointed, and then its natural caution resumed and it scampered up the nearest tree, an outraged chittering floating down back to them.

  “It didn’t like being summoned,” he said dryly, his mood made worse, not better, by proof of her claims. He had been yanked off his course by a teenager’s whim?

  “Oh, it’s just cranky,” Maggie said airily. “Squirrels are always cranky. Are you? I’m sorry, I really am. I just never thought the animals minded so much, being summoned—they never seem to object.” Her expression changed as she suddenly considered that they might, indeed, object.

  “I’m not an animal.” Was he annoyed? Josh thought that he might be, now that he’d had proof shoved in his face; this slip of a girl had managed to pull him away from his own agenda, tangling him up in whatever was going on with her and her sister without so much as a by-your-leave or pretty-please.

  Still. Remembering the man who had been threatening them, the cruel grip on the woman’s hair, the way the other man had twisted Maggie’s arms...he couldn’t regret coming to their aid, no matter how he had ended up there.

  But it ended now. They were safe, and he had his own plans to follow through on. Plans that carried their own urgency.

  “Maggie.” The older girl, Libby, sat on a fallen tree trunk and shook her head at her sister in dismay. “You’re hopeless.”

  Despite his annoyance, there was something about the older girl that intrigued him even more than her unusual sister. He eyed her carefully. Tall and lean, he had noted that already. Striking more than pretty. Lovely long dark hair past her shoulders, loosed from the ponytail, and now tangled with leaves and twigs like a dryad. Wide dark brown eyes and dusky skin, a full mouth and a proud Roman nose that was somehow more enchanting than any upturned pug or cute button could ever be. His gaze traveled lower. Her long-sleeved T-shirt didn’t disguise a rounded chest, neither too large nor too small but just about right for cupping in his hands, and a long waist that tapered to hips his fingers itched to span. And those legs, stretched out in front of her...

  He’d already felt how those legs felt, wrapped around him, her lower half molding to his as they moved. He’d had people—other women—on his back before, but they had mostly been his own herd, cousins and second cousins, the occasional human who knew their secret already. Never a stranger. Never a stranger with eyes that heated his imagination as much as his body.

  “I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?” he asked suddenly.

  Her jaw fell open, and a blush stained her cheeks, visible even in the morning light. “No.”

  She was quite certain about that and he shrugged inwardly. Oh, well. It had been a long shot, anyway.

  “And you said I was rude?” Maggie asked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  He didn’t explain why he had asked, but scowled at them again. “So why were those men after you, anyway?” He didn’t care, really. But it was a way to put them on the defensive, rather than mocking him, or asking questions.

  Libby stared at him, her scowl not quite a match for his own, but close. “We appreciate your assistance,” she said, not answering the question, “but we need to be on our way now.” Her tone was frostily polite, a verbal slap. “I don’t suppose you could point us in the direction of the nearest police station? Then you can find your horse and be on your way.”

  Apparently, she was less convinced than her sister of his dual nature, or just determined to be contrary. Josh wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or annoyed. Not that he went around announcing himself to strangers—to anyone—but he didn’t like being doubted, either.

  But this gave him the perfect excuse to leave. Why then, suddenly, did he not want to?

  “Libby, I told you!” Maggie looked as though she was about to stomp her foot on the ground, very much like a frustrated yearling.

  “Hush, child,” he said. “Your sister is quite right, you two need to be on your way, before your hunters come back. I’ll finish the job my...horse started, and get you out of the woods. But after that you’re on your own, understand?” He looked at Maggie as he said that, and she nodded once in understanding. There would be no more summoning of him, however she had actually done it.

  Did he believe that she could call animals, control them? Even if he denied that she had influenced him at all—he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea—he had seen a sample for himself, and...really, who was he to question other people’s oddities? The Mustang family was nothing more than legend and fairy tale to most folk, but he was quite real. A girl who could talk to the animals was commonplace, compared to his bloodline.

  “There’s a stream down that way—” He jerked his chin toward the slope. “You might want to wash up there, make yourself a little more presentable.” Unable to stop himself, he reached out and plucked a twig from Libby’s tangle of hair, holding it up in front of her face as evidence. “A comb or brush wouldn’t hurt, either, if you have one.”

  She pursed her mouth as though about to say something, then shook her head and sighed, reaching down t
o pick up her backpack, a rugged olive-drab thing scuffed enough that it might have seen actual military service at some point. Maggie giggled, for the first time sounding like a girl her age, and picked up her own knapsack, a bright blue one that looked like it should be holding schoolbooks and lunch, not...whatever she had crammed in there. A toothbrush, he hoped.

  He needed to reclaim his own pack, stashed in a tree when he had shifted to go to their rescue. Thankfully, clothing on his two-legged form merged into four-legged hide somehow, but the things they carried, even in pockets, the magic did not recognize. Even his wallet and spare change had to stay in his pack at all times, or risk being magicked out of existence. He was used to improvising, after a shift. He ran a tongue thoughtfully across his teeth, and grimaced. He really wished he had his toothbrush with him right now, though.

  Libby took her sister’s hand and led her through the circle of trees. He couldn’t see them anymore but he could hear them—and scent them. If they ran into trouble, he could be there in an instant.

  Not that he was still protecting them. Damn it.

  * * *

  “He’s cute.”

  “Maggie, go dunk your head.”

  The stream wasn’t deep enough to actually bathe in, and the water was cold enough to feel sharp against her skin, but Elizabeth washed her face and rinsed her mouth, rummaging in her bag for the travel kit she had shoved in there the day before. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

  He was cute, their grumpy rescuer. She was a breathing heterosexual female; she wasn’t going to not notice that. But he was also clearly impatient to be rid of them, and she wasn’t going to rely on a stranger, not when even those she’d called family had turned on them, the town she’d been raised in had gone dark and threatening. No, it would be best to take his help and then be gone themselves, as fast as possible.

  Wash-up done as best she could, Elizabeth got out a brush and sat down to attack her tangled hair. Her father used to call her hair black silk, but right now it felt more like wool, rough and gritty, and in dire need of carding. Thankfully, once she picked out the leaves and twigs the worst of it was quickly tamed, and she braided it. Her sister’s wash-up finished with considerably more splashing and face-making at the cold, and she motioned Maggie over to sit, cross-legged in front of her, while Elizabeth redid her braid in the same fashion. The stranger—she didn’t even know his name!—was right; they needed to look presentable, if they were going to try to make the police believe them.

  That gave her pause, fingers holding three strands of hair motionless as she realized what she was planning. Was she really going to go to the police? She was, yes.

  “Libby?”

  “Yes, baby,” she said, her fingers moving again, tying off the braid with a scrunchie from her pocket.

  “He was the unicorn. He really was.”

  “Maggie...”

  “He was.”

  She couldn’t see her sister’s face, but she could hear the halfhearted pout in the words. A man who changed into a unicorn. A were-unicorn?

  Elizabeth tugged slightly on the braid, to indicate that she was done. Her baby sister talked to animals. She herself dreamed the future, however confused and clouded. Did she really have room to deny the possibility of weirder things out there?

  “Then where were his clothes, when he changed? And...how can he be smaller than the horse? The laws of physics, baby.”

  “Libby...” Now her sister sounded exasperated, staring out across the creek. “It’s magic.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Okay,” she said, neither agreeing nor denying anything her sister said. “Come on. Let’s go back before whoever he is gets tired of waiting, and leaves us here.”

  The self-appointed guardian was pacing back and forth when they got back, not worried so much as...alert. Elizabeth had a sudden flash of a stallion, proud and wild, standing on a cliff, looking out across the plains, then the image was gone, and it was just the three of them, surrounded by pine trees and danger. He gave them a once-over, and nodded. “This way.”

  There was no conversation as they walked, accompanied by the early morning sounds of birds and other small animals. Maggie was good and kept her attention focused on where they were going, so not a single creature kept them company—at least, not obviously. The daylight grew brighter, and Elizabeth felt more and more aware of the fact that she had slept in her clothing. There were pine needles in her socks and down the back of her shirt, and her jacket was still damp from the dew, and she just felt unbelievably grimy and wrinkled. At this point, she would trade all the sleep she had managed last night, even with the good dreams, for ten minutes under a hot shower.

  Soon they heard the distant whoosh of cars passing by, and an airplane flying overhead, breaking into the peaceful silence of the reserve. Elizabeth felt her body tense at the reminders of civilization, and then the trees thinned, and they came to a high wire fence, blocking them in.

  It was twice the height of the fence they had gone over on the other side of the forest, and there were jagged curls of barbed wire on the top. How were they supposed to get over that?

  “This way,” the man said, gesturing to a small slice in the fence.

  Elizabeth wondered how their guide knew about it, or if he had made it himself, but thought better of asking.

  “They should repair that,” Maggie said primly, even as she was slipping through, her bag held low to fit through. Elizabeth went next, and then their guide followed, having to maneuver his broader frame carefully to avoid being snagged on the wires. The fence was at the top of a small grassy rise alongside a paved two-lane road, lined at intervals with telephone poles.

  “This is the county road,” he said. “There’s a town about a mile or so down that way.”

  “Thank you,’ Elizabeth said again, and suddenly remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, we never formally introduced ourselves. I’m Elizabeth. This is Margaret.” She didn’t give their last names, just in case.

  “Good luck” was all he said in return, and then turned and went back through the fence, and disappeared into the woods.

  “Wow,” Maggie said, watching him go with a disappointed look on her face. “I really liked him better as a unicorn.”

  Chapter 4

  While the girls were traveling south through the woods, they were the subject of a heated discussion back in the Community, where the Elders had gathered for an emergency meeting.

  “What do you mean, you’re not doing anything?” A man’s voice, high-pitched and showing annoyance, filled the meeting room, demanding an answer.

  “That is not what he said, Alan,” another man said, but his expression was one of annoyance, as well. “Ray, don’t you think...”

  “I share your concern, everyone.” The voice was smooth and practiced, without being too polished, and matched the man speaking. He was tall and solid, dressed, like the others, in jeans and shirt, both well-worn. Standing at the head of the long, wood-paneled room, his gaze met theirs evenly, squarely, and his shoulders were open even as his hands moved as he spoke. “Alan, Mark is correct, that was not what I said. Everyone, please believe me when I say that I too am concerned. Those poor girls, the past year has been so difficult for them, first losing their parents and then, well, poor Maggie just hasn’t been the same since then, has she?”

  The others in the room nodded, sobered by the reminder of those who were lost to the flu epidemic the year before. Every member of the Community had lost a loved one, it seemed, but some were harder struck. The survivors—younger, stronger children like Maggie—still bore evidence of their illness, in their lungs and their limbs.

  Ray nodded as well, his body language perfectly echoing their own sorrow. “And in times of stress, we often act out of character. Elizabeth should have come to us first
, of course, but she is a sensible girl—” all of eleven years younger than he, but decades younger than most of the others in the room “—and she will take good care of her sister, I am sure of that. And that is why I am not convinced that we need to do anything, specifically, to bring them back, or otherwise interfere with their lives.

  “However, because it is...a world full of dangers, I’ve sent Jordan to find her, and keep an eye on them, make sure that they don’t get into too much trouble.”

  That seemed to satisfy most of his inquisitors, but one woman refused to be consoled.

  “But why did they leave? And to abandon everything, for Libby to just leave the bakery like that...” Judy sounded as though she was near to tears. “It’s so unlike her!”

  Ray leaned forward, catching her gaze and holding it like a snake charmer might his snake. “Oh, Judy, you know that sometimes we need a little distance, to understand what things close to us truly mean. It’s how we learn, how we grow.”

  Ray had a soothing voice and a calming conviction that seemed to melt worries away, without dismissing the fears as foolish or unworthy, and Judy was no exception. Her expression visibly smoothed out and calmed down, and she patted her husband’s arm as though he had been the one who was upset. “That’s true. We forget...we came to the Community as adults, but the girls were born here, and it’s all they’ve ever known. Even the Amish go away when they’re teenagers, to see the outside world before they make their final choice, and we can’t claim to be more reclusive than they are!”

  There was some muted laughter from the others in the room, seven total. His fellow Elders had come to him that morning, worried about the seeming disappearance of two of their younger members, so suddenly. Judy and her husband, Mark, were personal friends of the Sweets; he suspected that they had pushed the others into speaking up and forcing a meeting.

  Thankfully, he had received word of the girls’ departure before anyone else, and had been ready for the appearance of his fellow Elders and neighbors, an answer smooth on his tongue.