Stone Cold Fox

by Evangeline Anderson

  Lady Moon had given a silvery laugh.

  “Why indeed, Warrior?” she replied. “Wise you shall be, but never defenseless. I grant you the ability to change your Shifted form. You will be able to shrink to the size of the smallest mouse or grow as big as the cave lion at will. Go and use your power wisely.”

  Reese hoped he was using his power wisely now. His instinct told him that the girl in his shed would respond better to him in Fox form than as a human. Also, he was taking care to use what he thought of as his “little” size. He thought for a moment of going tiny—the size of a mouse—but rejected it. She would think that size was strange and he was too vulnerable in it. Likewise, he wasn’t about to show her his largest form—what he thought of as his “holy shit!” size. Seeing a red fox the size of a cave lion—which had been a huge prehistoric beast that put modern lions to shame—would only scare her.

  No, Chihuahua size was about right, he decided. Leaving his discarded clothing in a pile, he trotted out from around the side of the house and headed back to the shed.

  * * *

  Jo kept a firm grip on her athame and watched the door of the shed alertly to see if the huge man with the reddish-brown hair was coming back. She didn’t trust his seeming kindness or his promises not to hurt her. She’d heard such promises before—many years ago.

  “What’s the matter, baby? Where are you going? Stay here and just talk to us—come on, we won’t hurt you,” whispered a voice from her past.

  Jo shook her head, her long hair whipping around her dirty face as she tried to push the memory back. No—I won’t think of that now. I swore never to think of it again!

  It had been so much easier when she lived with her coven. Back at Avalon, the all-female retreat and commune she’d lived in for the past twenty-two years, she knew her place and her station in relation to her sister Wiccans. She’d had the Elders to look up to and the respect of the younger members of the community as she taught them spell-craft, weaving, meditation, and healing. On every Tuesday and Thursday she had ventured into town to teach a children’s Yoga class at the local YWCA. And best of all, she’d never had to come into contact with any men.

  Men. Jo shivered with disgust. Since being kicked out of Avalon, it seemed like men were the only people she saw. She’d been traveling in the forest alone in fear for her life for what felt like years—though it was really closer to two weeks. In that time she’d been attacked three times—every time by men.

  Jo frowned. Well, she thought all the attackers were male. The group in the forest certainly were men . . . until they suddenly weren’t human anymore.

  She thought of the male voices that had turned thick and growling, of the hungry howling and the blur of shadows in the moonlight as they became . . . something else, Jo didn’t know what. She’d heard of Skin Walkers before—evil beings that could skin an animal and wear the pelt to take on the form of the beast they had killed. But she’d never encountered them until the horrible night of the full moon—the first night after she’d been kicked out of Avalon, the only home she’d known from the age of nineteen.

  She’d escaped, but just barely and then the pain had started—the awful, burning, tearing sensation that made her feel like huge hands were trying to rip all her limbs out of their sockets. It felt like she was falling apart—like she was dying. And after a while, Jo had wanted to die—had wished for death and begged the Goddess to take her. A request that had not been answered, or she wouldn’t still be here wondering what was happening to her.

  The pain had been just another sign that something was going wrong with her—something terrible and possibly fatal. But Jo didn’t know what her mysterious new disease was or how to stop it. She’d only known that she had to keep moving somehow, despite the pain. Had to keep the Skin Walkers—if that was what they were—from finding her.

  And they weren’t the only ones stalking her either.

  Stumbling through the forest with the howling pack behind her and her body in agony, she’d come upon a white ash tree that had been struck by lightning. Knowing the magical properties of the wood—associated with protection and wisdom—Jo had rubbed her skin with the ashes she scraped from the tree’s blackened husk.

  The horrible pain had eased some and the pack of Skin Walkers had run past her in the night, mercifully oblivious to her presence as she crouched in the shelter of the dead tree’s split trunk. She’d stayed there all night, shivering and alone, yet not alone because always, always she felt a presence at her back—a menacing something that was glad to see her pain. The shadow creature coming for her . . .

  Jo pushed the thought aside. The shadow creature which had chased her into the safety of the shed couldn’t come out during the daylight hours—it was a thing of darkness, she was certain. Somehow she’d survived last night and she would again—she just had to find another safe haven before the sun set.

  Her mind returned to that first awful full-moon night. The ashes from the holy tree had helped hide her scent and the awful, tearing pain hadn’t reoccurred . . . so far. But there were other pains—less pressing but still enough to make her miserable—that the white ash tree’s ashes couldn’t help. Like the headache in her temples that wouldn’t go away. Or the strange throbbing between her thighs that seemed to grow worse all the time.

  Despite her pain and fear she had journeyed on, though she felt worse by the hour and the shadow creature kept drawing nearer. There was no repeat of the pack of Skin Walkers in the forest but a man had tried to pick her up as she walked wearily down the side of the highway. He seemed nice at first, then grew angry and grabby when Jo declined his offer. She’d had to fight him off with her athame, which wasn’t meant to be used as a weapon at all, but only a tool for ceremonies.

  The attacks had brought back bad memories—ones she’d kept buried for twenty-two years. She didn’t want to remember—didn’t want to think of that awful night in the park. And yet the present kept bringing back the past.

  She’d run back into the woods and done her best to avoid the shadow creature and get back to civilization—although she had no idea what she would do once she got there. Civilization, after all, appeared to be full of lustful, abusive men who wanted to take what she wasn’t willing to give. Clearly a woman alone wasn’t safe—not even a Third Level Wiccan like Jo. But where would she be safe? Where could she go now that the woods were too dangerous to enter?

  After making sure she was safe in the shed, she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep and woken in the afternoon with her temples throbbing and her aching head full of questions.

  Who am I? What am I? Where do I belong? What should I do next?

  These questions—once so easily answered—eluded her now. Her life was a mess and she had a strange disease—one she couldn’t even diagnose, though she had searched through both her own Book of Shadows and her old mentor’s for clues. She had no place to go and no one to love or care for her. Miranda, her mentor from the time she’d been nineteen, was dead and Jo hadn’t allowed anyone else to get close to her. Her life, once so grounded in routine and tradition, was out of control.

  I don’t want to live like this, Jo told herself. And then, somehow, she’d found the athame was in her hand with the sharp silver blade poised over her wrist. Most Wiccans kept their athames dull, the edges deliberately blunted. But Jo liked to keep hers sharp. She felt that chopping the herbs she used in her spells with the implement she used to cast greatly enhanced her magic.

  It wasn’t the first time in her desperate journey that the sharpened edges of her ceremonial dagger had come in handy, but Jo told herself it would be the last. She’d been just about to make the first cut when that huge man had showed up and scared her half to death.

  Jo had felt frightened and cornered—there was only one way in or out of the shed and he was blocking it with his big, muscular bulk. What was she going to do when he attacked, as she was certain he inevitably would?

  And then, to her surprise, he had backed off. H
e’d even offered her food. Goddess help her, she’d almost been hungry enough to trust him and accept it. Luckily, her sense of self-preservation was stronger than her hunger—just barely.

  He was just trying to lure me out of the shed and into his house so he could attack me there, Jo told herself. And yet . . . his aura hadn’t looked violent or lustful. Not that she’d had much time to study it—she was too busy trying to defend herself.

  Her stomach rumbled when she thought of the grease stained paper sack and the scent of a hamburger and french-fries that had come from it. The food at Avalon had been strictly vegan, but Jo wasn’t above grabbing a fast-food burger from time to time during her bi-weekly trips to town to teach Yoga to the kids at the YWCA.

  Stop thinking about it, she ordered herself. Stop it—it was a trap! He probably wanted—

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a short, sharp bark—more of a yip, really.

  Jo jumped in surprise and looked down. Standing there, in the open door of the shed, was a fox no bigger than a teacup Chihuahua.

  “Hey . . .” She looked at it uncertainly. It was a red fox with a flame-colored coat, a sharply pointed muzzle, and a white tuft at the end of its bushy tail. Despite its small size, she didn’t think it was a kit—it seemed more like a full grown fox in miniature. It yipped at her again and tilted its head to one side, showing the snow-white ruff of its throat.

  “Hey, you . . .” Somehow Jo found herself taking a step towards it. She had always been good with animals—beast lore was one of her sub-specialties, and she’d acted as a kind of unofficial veterinarian at Avalon. The other sisters had brought her their familiars to heal when they were sick or wounded.

  The fox turned and trotted out of the shed. It went a few feet and then turned its head as if to see if she was following it.

  “You want me to come with you, little guy?” Jo asked it.

  The fox yipped and did a little dancing step on its tiny black paws. Clearly it was impatient for Jo to join it.

  It could be a trap, a little voice whispered in her head. But Jo didn’t really believe that. Men she didn’t trust a bit, but animals were pure. The Goddess had made them that way—innocent and beautiful. Looking into the little red fox’s big brown eyes, she couldn’t resist.

  “Hang on a minute, buddy,” she told the fox. Going to the back of the shed, she grabbed the battered blue knapsack that held her magical paraphernalia and pretty much everything else she owned in the world and came out through the sagging door.

  The fox danced and yipped some more and then frisked away on its little black paws through the tall green grass. It led Jo to a huge, rambling Victorian mansion—white with green trim—and stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the wrap-around porch.

  Here Jo stopped.

  “I don’t think so,” she told the fox when it scampered up the steps and poked its sharp little nose at the screen door. “I’m not going in there.”

  The fox whined a little but when she shook her head firmly, it seemed to accept her decision. It came back across the porch, its nails tap-tapping on the wooden boards which were the same deep green as the trim, and jumped back down the steps.

  There was a brown paper sack that looked suspiciously like the one the huge man with the reddish-brown hair had been holding. It was sitting on the bottom porch step and the fox nudged it hopefully. Looking up at Jo, it whined softly.

  “What are you saying? You want me to open that?” Jo looked up at the back door of the house, expecting the owner to come out at any minute. She wondered if he had left the bag of food deliberately for her and then sent his fox to lure her out to eat it. Was it a trap?

  The fox pawed at the brown paper sack and whined again. He sniffed the sack, his miniature muzzle wrinkling as his long, black whiskers twitched.

  Jo’s stomach twisted in hunger—she hadn’t eaten in three days and nights and she was nearly faint with the need for food.

  “All right,” she said at last. Throwing herself down on the bottom porch step, she opened the bag and reached inside.

  The food was amazing. Even though it was more warm than hot by the time she sank her teeth into it, the burger was still juicy and cheesy, the bacon crisp and salty and the lettuce and tomato tart and tangy.

  Once she took the first bite, Jo found she couldn’t stop. Good . . . so good, so good, so good! she thought deliriously as she gobbled the huge burger hungrily. All thoughts of the big, scary man who had confronted her in the shed were gone. For a moment, she wasn’t scared or wary anymore—she was just a starving creature finally getting something to eat.

  As she finished the burger and started on the fries, the fox came up and nudged her leg with its little, pointed head.

  “Hey, you . . . hey, boy.” Jo put out a hand to it and it sniffed her fingers, licking away some of the burger juice that remained.

  She didn’t know how she knew it was a male. It just seemed obvious somehow, even without looking. But that didn’t bother her—male animals were pretty much the only kind of males she trusted. She’d had a tomcat as a familiar for many years at Avalon. When Rufus died, she had mourned him as though he was a person and she missed him still.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said to the fox again, stroking his flame-red fur and scratching around the bases of his big, pointed ears. The fox closed his eyes in apparent delight and nudged her hand, asking for more attention. He was obviously tame and Jo wondered again if he belonged with the big man who had confronted her in the shed.

  “Where’s your human?” she asked the fox. Anyone else might have said “master” or “owner,” but as a Wiccan, she didn’t believe in owning or mastering other living creatures. “Is he nice to you?” she asked the fox. “Is he a good guy or a bad guy?” Then she gave a sarcastic snort of laughter at her own question. “What am I saying—he’s a guy. A man. That’s bad enough, right?”

  The fox opened its eyes and yipped sharply. If Jo hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the little animal understood her and was disagreeing with her statement.

  “Okay, all right,” she told it. “Sorry if I offended you. I just . . . don’t have the best track record with men. I’ve been attacked several times since I got kicked out of my home.” She sighed. “Seems like the other sex hasn’t changed a bit since I swore them off twenty-two years ago.”

  The fox whined softly and rubbed against her hand again, then he leaned over her to nose at the brown paper sack hopefully.

  Jo reached into the sack and pulled out some fries. They were lukewarm but still smelled amazing.

  “You want one of these?” she asked, holding out a single french-fry to the fox. “Are you allowed to have them? I don’t want you to get sick.”

  In answer, the fox nipped the fry out of her fingers and ate it in two quick bites. Then he stared hopefully at her for more.

  Jo smiled.

  “Hey, so you like fast food too, huh?” she asked, giving him another fry.

  The fox yipped and spun in a circle, then danced on his hind legs, begging adorably for more.

  Jo couldn’t help it, she found herself laughing at the little animal’s antics. It was the first time she’d smiled or laughed in weeks and she was surprised at how good it felt.

  She gave the fox another fry and ate some more herself, feeling the heat of the late afternoon sun warming her skin as she sat on the creaky wooden porch step. It felt good to feel good again—even for just a minute. To let go of her worry and laugh and relax a little after the long, stressful journey to nowhere she’d been on for weeks.

  “Thanks little guy,” she told the fox. “You’re a sweetheart.”

  The fox yipped in agreement and came closer. He put his little front paws on Jo’s leg and looked up at her inquiringly.

  “All right.” She patted her lap. “Have a seat.”

  The fox gave a little hop and curled up in Jo’s lap, turning himself into a warm, furry donut as he buried his sharp little muzzle in the snow-white tuft of h
is tail.

  Jo felt her heart melting. “Maybe your human isn’t such a terrible guy after all,” she told the fox as she stroked the flame-colored fur gently. “Anybody attached to a guy as cute as you can’t be all bad.”

  A soft wind was blowing, bringing the scent of autumn from the forest just beyond the backyard. The nights had been getting colder lately and Jo shivered when she considered where she might sleep that night. Probably buried in a pile of dead leaves, like she had the past several nights—if she could find a secluded spot outside the forest, that was. She’d thought she might spend the night in the shed when she found it but that hope was dashed now.

  She wished she had a jacket or even a sweater to keep warm but she’d been forced to leave Avalon so suddenly she’d been lucky to grab her casting paraphernalia and her athame, let alone anything else. She had a few other clothes but nothing that kept away the night chill.

  “I wish I had a fur coat like you to keep warm with,” she told the fox, who was still cuddled in her lap. “It’s going to be freezing tonight and it’s no fun camping out in the cold.”

  Just the thought of sleeping in the open for yet another night made her feel sad and lonely and scared all over again. She couldn’t help thinking of the past—nights spent in the warmth of Avalon, snug in her own chamber or performing the Great Rite in the moonlight, or simply sitting by the fire trading spell-craft with her sister Wiccans.

  And even worse than the loneliness and cold was the fear she felt every time the sun went down. What if the shadow creature came back? She’d be helpless against it if it managed to come out of the forest and attack her.

  She couldn’t help the terror that overcame her at the thought. Her happy mood abruptly fizzled and her eyes stung with tears.

  “I don’t want to go back out there,” she whispered and a sob caught in her throat. “Back out into the cold and dark. I don’t want to—I’m afraid.”