Dead Shifter Walking

by Kim Schubert

  “You are to stop all medication to her this instant,” I said to her shocked expression.

  She recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, but unless you have a license to practice medicine, I do not take orders from you,” she finished smugly.

  “You’re fired,” Darren said. “Pack your belongings; Mark will drive you home tonight.”

  She was stunned silent; truthfully so was I. I must be his last hope, and he was placing all of his faith in me; no pressure. I took a long inhale.

  “Darren,” I said gently, “I might be able to change her mind.” The threat of being fired, I am positive, had just helped my cause.

  Not losing the scowl, he nodded, moving towards his daughter and reaching for her hand. “Don’t,” I whispered.

  He looked up, shocked. I took another deep breath, coming to stand by his side. “Every emotion you feel right now will be transferred to her with your touch: your fear, your hopelessness, your guilt, everything. She will feel it if you touch her,” I explained.

  He looked like a puppy I had just kicked. Pressing my hand to his, I said, “I can help her,” infusing into it all the hope I could muster, “but you have to listen to me.” He nodded, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

  The nurse stepped forward and demanded, “How do you know that?”

  “Because she is exactly the same as me,” I said, meeting her stare.

  She scoffed. “She is a shifter, not a succubus,” she said with extra emphasis on that word, indicating her disgust for my kind.

  “Get out. You are not to be in this room without my supervision,” I said. “As soon as her feeding tube and the breathing machine have been removed, your services will no longer be needed.”

  I nodded to Mark to remove her; without hesitation, he took her arm, ignoring her squawking.

  Turning back to Darren, I slipped his hands in my own. “She is a shifter, Darren, she just has an extra power, being part succubus,” I finished, worried he would view his daughter differently. Seeing no change in his worried gaze, I pushed on. “I’ve sent Jerry back for supplies for him and myself. I need a room for him, and I’m staying here with her.”

  I wasn’t sure he heard me, still watching his pale sleeping angel. Even her blonde hair looked dingy. She was dying; I couldn’t deny it.

  “What did I do wrong?” he questioned, looking at me with a broken heart.

  I squeezed his hand. “Nothing. You did the best you could.” I sighed. “I’m guessing your late wife had latent power, and when she died, Hannah’s own came into full bloom. It’s overwhelming when it happens like that, especially if you don’t know what’s happening. The sedatives she was on helped to give her extra time, but eventually, the continual dimming of our emotions led to death, every single time.

  Mark came back in the room, looking at us.

  “Jerry will need a room prepared,” Darren said softly, not looking away from Hannah. “Have the rollaway brought in for Olivia.”

  Mark nodded, heading out. I pulled my hand away from Darren, and he finally looked at me, nodded once, and left.

  I breathed a sigh of relief; I had my work cut out for me.

  I checked my phone to find a text from Grams. Trouble?

  I answered back, noting the time was after 5 a.m., No worse than the usual. Coverage for Kitten?

  She responded, Rose is better.

  Perfect, that was one item off my plate. My phone buzzed again, Don’t forget, Morgan and Tate both wish to speak with you. They called again inquiring after you.

  I had forgotten all about them. One crisis at a time; right now they don’t rate.

  I set the phone down as a maid came in with the bed and set my watch alarm for three hours.

  Chapter 3

  The soft ping from my watch had me instantly alert and aware. Hannah’s breathing still came from that awful machine, but, without the drugs, I could feel her emotions stirring slowly, as though underwater.

  Pulling down the comforter, I made use of the facilities. Jerry had been back during my nap with my favorite duffle bag. Sorting through it, I saw that it was relatively untouched by Grams's cleaning. I changed into my favorite yoga pants and pulled my now dry hair out of my braid, letting it fan around my shoulders in waves. Checking my jacket pocket from last night, I found my mp3 player; scrolling through, I put my classical mix on, breathing deeply, and shaking out my limbs.

  What I had to do next was critical, absorbing her emotions since her mother had died, when everything began. I hated this part; I had so much of my own misery, I didn’t want anyone else’s. Pushing out a breath, punctuated by my nerves, I shook out my arms.

  Sitting cross-legged on the end of Hannah’s bed, I picked up my phone and sent a text to Jerry. You here?

  Yes, you need something? he replied.

  Don’t let anyone in until I text you, I responded, turning my phone on silent.

  Had I mentioned I didn’t want to do this? Trepidation left a sickening lead weight in my empty stomach; no time like the present to dive into crap that could kill me. I swallowed the fear, anxiety, and insecurity that threatened to bubble up and choke me. I asked myself the same question I always did, was I willing to die for her? The answer predictably was yes, so I began breathing deeply and centering myself, making sure my tightly woven core was quiet.

  On my third exhale, I pushed my focus outside my body, hovering just above my skin in perfect golden color. Fourth exhale, I formed a tendril of my consciousness into a whip I needed to break the bubble of Hannah’s emotions. But if I drew too large a hole, I wouldn’t be able to contain it all, and she would feel the burden of the excess trying to get out, hampering my ability to keep her calm.

  Fifth breath, I pulled my whip back cracking it against her core, and thus began an onslaught of a year’s worth of emotions that ripped toward my soul like a tornado. The first wisps were as dark as night, and, once they made contact, I fought to maintain my ability to breathe.

  Inky coils of tar coated my very existence with hopelessness so deep and vast there was nothing else, a despair born of loneliness and the inability to understand why her mother left or why her father had such potent and volatile anger.

  The ache cut a clear path across my chest, burning into my heart until tears spilled down my face.

  Gritting my teeth, I fought against it all, braiding and coiling until my eyes ached from being clenched closed and my nails stabbed angry cuts into my palms. Still I pushed on, shaking my head and pulling in a clean breath, my tank top felt damp from the sweat pouring down my back.

  Onward I pushed with no sense of time or release, seeing only darkness until there was nothing left to pull. The silence weighed heavily; the air felt stagnate and overly warm. Behind my closed lids, I pushed everything I had pulled from Hannah into a metal ball, sealed the edges in fire, and dropped it into the pit of emotions that weren’t mine. It made a loud clank to my own ears. How many more could I pull from? How many more emotions that weren’t mine could I absorb? I was worried I would tap out someday, be too full to help anyone else; but realistically, I wouldn’t live that long. I pushed that thought away as well.

  Dropping my chin to my chest, I felt around for my phone, slowly opening my eyes to ward against the rolling of my stomach and the dizziness in my head.

  I texted Jerry, I need the nurse.

  The door slowly opened; I didn’t turn to look. “Get everything out of her,” I commanded hoarsely. Crap, had I been screaming?

  The nurse shook as she complied with my instructions. There was a form behind her, but I couldn’t focus long enough to see who. Once she had completed the task, I pulled my energy from Hannah like a blanket being withdrawn from her sleeping form, and miraculously, her eyes opened.

  I finally lost consciousness.

  The emptiness was a welcome reprieve but it still couldn’t drown out the voices around me.

  “How?” Darren asked. “How?” he repeated shock registered in his voice.

  �
��Ain’t my place to know,” Jerry replied.

  “It’s been a full twenty-four hours and she hasn’t moved at all,” Mark stated, slightly worried.

  “She’ll be fine,” Grams answered. “She did a draining pull; this is to be expected.”

  “Do you know how?” asked Darren.

  I heard the rustling of fabric and the patter of tiny feet that could only be Hannah's. Gently, she pressed her tiny lips to my cheek, and then patted my head a little roughly. “My Olie,” she proclaimed.

  I would have smiled had I the ability.

  “It’s your brother, Darren, he’s sending out a representative, given Hannah’s sudden improvement and enhanced abilities,” Mark warned.

  “That selfish bastard,” Darren said softly.

  In the background, Hannah’s baby talk sounded innocent and gentle.

  I never met Darren’s brother Logan in person, thankfully. We traveled in the same circles occasionally when I worked security for Grams during political meetings and such boring events. He was the head of shifters for the entire United States. Why was he interested in Hannah? He was her Uncle; I understood the emotional attachment, but the representative did not bode well.

  As succubi, we did not advertise our existence to supernaturals or humans, but those in certain circles knew who we were and what we did. Well, I should amend that; the majority simply thought of us as magically gifted strippers and/or whores, and I was perfectly content with that undervaluation of our skills. Hannah’s enhanced abilities rolled around in my brain as darkness descended yet again.

  …

  It wasn’t the yelling or the thumping outside my makeshift sleeping quarters that did it. Hannah’s soft sobs broke into my private darkness, forcing me out. I was on my side, facing the door and the empty medical bed when my eyes finally did open into partial daylight.

  I scratched my three-day-old hair, maybe four days old; oh, who was really counting, anyways? Sitting up, I tried to get my body to start cooperating.

  “Olie,” Hannah screamed, her tiny feet pounding as she ran from behind into my arms.

  I kissed her blond locks, inhaling jasmine. “Hi, baby girl,” I croaked, looking for water.

  Jerry came from my side, handing me a cup. “How long have I been out?” I asked, noting the strain on his face and worry, as the noise outside the door started up again.

  “Three and half days,” he answered, not looking at me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  He sat down next to me on the rollaway bed. “Hannah—” he started then stopped as Hannah’s head popped up glaring at him.

  “They say I wrong,” Hannah said, her bottom lip pouting out.

  “Really?” I asked, stroking her hair. “Why is that?”

  “Cause I make…” she screwed up her face, not sure of the words, “I make them all feel like me.”

  I nodded in understanding, holding her close. “There is nothing wrong with you. That is our greatest strength, being able to make people feel like we do, but we can’t do it all the time.” She pulled away to look at me. “That’s why you will have a special teacher to help you.”

  She smiled, bouncing in my arms. “Really?”

  “Yes, but right now, I think we need to deal with the commotion outside,” I said, turning my attention towards the door.

  “Jerry,” I asked gently.

  He grunted his response, worry clouding his normally carefree eyes still staring at the door.

  “Thank you,” I said. I had known him for less than a week, and he stayed here with me, ignoring the risk to himself and keeping Hannah and me safe. I think he might even deserve a raise.

  He took a deep breath. “They told the shifter representative the same explanation; he wants to take you and Hannah for testing in Chicago.” Now he turned his attention to me. “I wouldn’t ever leave you.”

  I smiled and sighed. “Why can’t you be straight,” I demanded playfully. “Bi maybe?” I asked hopefully.

  He smiled as his carefree youth returned. “Sorry, darling.”

  “Oh, well,” I sighed dramatically. “Guess I better go deal with this representative.”

  I stood, stretching my stiff limbs.

  “You sure you’re alright?” Jerry asked as I reached the door.

  “Eh, aside from needing a shower, right as rain.” I smiled, opening the door.

  Darren and Mark were doing an excellent job, keeping two goons away from the door as another, I assumed the representative, waited impatiently for his opening.

  “Gentleman,” I said, closing the door quietly behind me and crossing my arms defiantly over my chest, “your services are no longer needed.”

  I smiled uncoiling long thick braids of rope the mental exercise feeling long overdue after three days of rest. Rolling my shoulders, I leaned a hip against the doorframe looking for a fight.

  Darren and Mark looked a little worse for wear, but nothing that would leave a lasting mark.

  “Who are you to make such demands?” asked the representative, his waves of insecurity poorly hidden by his pathetic attempt at abusing his authority.

  My smile widened, my confidence bolstered by the little angel awake and alive behind me. “Darling,” I said, moving past Mark, Darren, and the goons with a slow walk, “I am the beginning, the middle, and, if you keep pushing, I will be the end of your story,” I said softly, never losing my smile.

  He took a tentative step back, his shock of bleach-blond hair rising a bit. Fear and violence were the only tools I kept with me. “A little birdie said you wanted to take me and mine away for testing?” I hissed the last word out, my contempt and disgust pulsing in the air.

  He paled as he became flustered. “I am Steven and I…” he stressed, pulling himself up straight, “was sent by Master Logan to assess the damage done by you, changing Hannah into a monster like you. She was sick and on her death bed; you ruined her,” he hissed back, attempting to meet my hatred with his own.

  Yep, that pushed me over the edge, and I pushed him over the railing to the floor below, enjoying the terror in his scream as I landed squarely on his chest; the breaking of his ribs brought a smile to my face. The all-powerful Steven attempted to dislodge me, flailing as I looked down at him smugly, feeling his desperation to get away from me and his anger at his inability to do so.

  “Get off of me, you whore,” he hissed at me as I stepped off of him.

  “Tsk, tsk, Steven, that’s no way to talk to your superior,” I goaded him, smiling as he pushed into a sitting position, disgust, hatred, and pain contorting his features.

  I distantly heard the pounding on the stairs as the others took the less dramatic way down. I smiled, watching Steven writhing on the floor.

  “Olivia,” Mark said, keeping Darren behind him.

  “Finish him,” Darren said, deadly serious. The fucker had just said his daughter was scheduled to die.

  I smiled, moving forward gladly.

  One of the goons precariously stood between me and my kill.

  “Easy,” he said, holding his hands up in supplication as his buddy pulled Stevie off the floor. “We didn’t come here for this.”

  I tilted my head. “What did you come here for?” I asked, genuinely interested.

  The man grimaced, his dark eyes looking slightly embarrassed. “Our official capacity was to see Hannah and judge the effects of you being present around her.”

  “Why the testing?” I asked.

  “Steven went a little off the reservation,” he said meekly with a shrug.

  I took a step forward and he held his ground uncertainly. Leaning forward, I whispered inches from his face, “If anyone Logan sends steps off the reservation again, he will be notified by their head on his front lawn.” I leaned back, watching the sick look on his face.

  He nodded once and moved to help his partner make a quick exit with Steven.

  I really need to kill something, I thought, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.

/>   Mark was still on the first floor, watching me.

  “You have issues,” he stated.

  I feigned shock, rolling my eyes as I moved past him upstairs to Hannah and Jerry.

  “All clear,” I said, knocking on the door.

  Hannah rushed out wrapping her arms around my knees.

  “Olie, you stink,” she proclaimed.

  I laughed, heading to a shower.

  Chapter 4

  The steaming hot water helped sear some of the irritation from my blood, but it remained just under the surface, waiting to jump out at any slight misstep.

  Jerry handed me my bag as I exited the bathroom in fresh jeans and a sea-green fitted t-shirt. “We gotta go,” he stated, moving on.

  I trusted him, but I really didn’t like taking orders. Sitting in the passenger seat, I kept my silence, knowing full well my irritation wasn’t really at him and I didn’t want to burn this bridge. Not many people tolerated me as long as Jerry; that spoke volumes for my nonexistent people skills.

  So I sat and watched the countryside pull into the view, the city replaced by a two lane highway. I felt myself relax only twenty minutes outside the city limits and, already, I felt my anger and fear for those I protected begin to dim.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked Jerry, shifting in my seat.

  He spared me a glance. “Back to town,” he answered, pulling a U-turn.

  My face must have given it all away. “Something pretty bad went down while we were protecting Hannah.” He sighed. “I know you can handle the graphic gore, but for my own sake, I needed to take a drive.”

  “What are you?” I asked him, worried he just might be able to read my mind.

  He gave a halfhearted smile. “Good ol’-fashion magic dabbler.”

  I snorted. “Sounds dangerous.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Hence, why I am your driver.”

  I outright laughed.

  An hour later, we were at the county morgue and I was grateful for the long drive. A stout close-cropped blond man with deeply embedded crow’s-feet met us at the door.

  “Olivia?” He said with no emotion. He had to be ex-military, standing at a parade rest, his eyes tracking my every move while managing to also scan the deserted street.