But part of it, too, was that the Frenchman intrigued her. She'd seen more than a few like him in her visits to the village of her family. The French were ever-present, trying to convert her people to the ways of the Church. For the most part, the people of her clan had gently, and with a good amount of amusement, rebuffed their attempts. Few had decided to at least hear of this God the white men spoke of. Migisi had used the opportunity to pick up the French language, which the missionaries were more than happy to teach her, believing, as they did, that teaching her a “proper” language would bring her around. She'd smiled, and learned, and let them think what they wanted. Besides the French, there had been Brits, and she found that language fairly easy to pick up as well. She found the Europeans amusing. They made everything so difficult for themselves all the time.
So it wasn't because he was intriguing in that way. She'd been around plenty of his kind. There was more. She found his form pleasing to her eye; he was tall, easily towering over her compact frame, she figured. His dark brown hair curled at the ends under the fur hat he wore, and his clear blue eyes, the way he inspected things so carefully, spoke of a certain intelligence, she supposed.
But it was those moments in which he'd discovered her tampering, those moments when he cursed, and, if the mood was right, laughed in consternation, that she saw more. The way his face lit up, the way the hard planes of his jaw softened, and those eyes held a warmth she found intriguing.
So her game continued, because it pleased her. And he knew, by now, with so many moons having passed, that it was much more than animals thwarting his enterprise. Sometimes, when he talked, when he cursed, he addressed “the ghost” and leveled promises as to what he'd do if he ever found his nemesis.
And all she could do was smile. Because she was power, and Light, and these woods belonged to her.
Here, she had nothing to fear. Especially not from him.
She crouched on the rocks above, her pliant leathers keeping her both warm and camouflaged in the spring forest. Her boots, made by her own mother, barely made a sound as she trailed her prey. He was bent over yet another empty trap, and he held it to his nose, as if he was scenting it. Migisi watched, tilting her head, trying to get a better look at his baffling actions.
The shrubbery off to her left rustled, and she was distracted by it for a moment, watched. Some small animal, most likely. She turned her attention back to the trapper.
He was definitely sniffing the trap.
It went on for several moments, and when he finally re-set the trap and moved along Migisi was sure he was possibly insane.
Perhaps her games had gone on too long.
And then she smiled to herself and turned toward the simple camp she called home. They hadn't gone on long enough, apparently. He was, after all, still in her woods.
Luc set the last of his useless traps, irritated the entire time that he continued to waste his time in a place where he'd had nothing but failure. The fact of the matter was that his enemy, his fantome, had continued to confound him at every turn. He'd set the traps in new locations, tried camouflaging them better, even tried spying to discover his adversary, all to no avail.
Today, though… today, he'd managed something he hadn't before. He'd detected a scent, barely there, as if his enemy was so much a part of this very forest that its scent was indiscernible from his own. It was hard to describe; the same as the fresh scent of the forest, but, more. A warm undertone of something he couldn't quite identify. Luc trudged back toward the camp he shared with two of the other voyageurs. He'd come out later that evening and do more investigating.
As he entered the camp, he was met with the two Robillard brothers arguing, as always. Robert, the elder, was ready to move on to more fertile ground. Aaron, the younger, was determined to stay, as they'd managed to keep their location secret from the other trappers, and despite their bad luck, knew well that the area was full of mink and raccoon.
“Put it to a vote, then,” Robert said, spying Luc as he neared the fire. “Stay, or go?”
Luc studied the two brothers. “I am staying. I can understand, however, if you choose to move on. We are losing money as we sit here.”
“And should we work it out, we stand to be rich,” Aaron said, looking pleadingly at his brother. “You know this, man.”
“We've not trapped a single thing while we've been here,” Robert said with a sigh. “Meanwhile, others are settling into areas probably nearly as good as this one, but without the unfortunate interference we seem to be facing. I still vote to move on.”
Luc clasped his hands. Honestly, he would be thrilled to get rid of the argumentative brothers. “Here is a thought. What about the area we passed through on the way here?”
“Where the river divides?” Robert asked, and Luc nodded.
“That area was full of raccoon. And we were successful trapping there.”
“Excellent. We move tomorrow,” Robert said, clapping once for emphasis.
Luc shook his head. “I have a better idea. You two settle there, and begin trapping. Meanwhile, I will continue to work here, keeping our claim on this area. I can work at discovering the cause of our misfortune. And, if and when it is eliminated, you can come back and we'll get to work. And if not, then you've already established our presence to the west of here, and we can make our fortunes there.”
“It's dangerous to be out here alone,” Aaron began. Luc gave him a look of disbelief, and he shook his head. “I forget who I'm speaking to. Never mind,” he added, and Luc let out a short laugh. The brothers eventually agreed to go and give it a try, and Luc barely repressed his sigh of relief. He'd met the brothers on his way north from Detroit, and, having learned they were all from the same area, the men struck up a quick, relaxed friendship that had eventually developed into a business relationship.
Luc grimaced. That would teach him to enter into agreements during alcohol-filled meetings.
Arguing aside, the brothers were actually very good trappers and decent businessmen. It would have been a fine arrangement if Luc ever felt the need for companionship for long stretches of time. But he didn't, and their constant presence grated on him.
After sitting with the brothers into the night, he excused himself.
He needed this.
He strolled into the woods, in the direction of his traps. Specifically, the one that had had that scent on it. Before he reached it, he began shucking his clothing: heavy hide pants and boots, a warm cotton shirt, heavy leather coat and hat. As soon as he was free of his clothing, he focused, and he felt the quick yet always-painful sensation that came with turning. Fur sprouted, and his already bulky body grew until he stood well over eight feet tall. Claws sprouted, bones popped, grew, re-formed. It left him breathless every single time, yet grateful.
He never felt so alive as he did when he took his animal form. Like his father and grandfather before him, he shifted into a bear, but one unlike any he'd seen in the wild. He had the size of the polar bears he'd observed on his seal hunting trips to the north, the deadly claws and long fur of a grizzly, and the pure, black coat of a native black bear.
In full bear form, he approached the trap, sniffed at it, focusing on the scent that had no business being there. A few moments later, the scent firmly in focus, he began following it; along the stream, through the woods, and finally, to a small clearing. He sat on his haunches, lifted his nose into the air. His trap vandal was here, for sure. A smallish structure, built with wood and covered in animal skins, sat in the center of the clearing, a wisp of smoke coming out through a hole in the top of the tent. As he watched, he could see the flap of the tent open. A small figure came through; thin, petite, dressed in warm-looking leathers, a long wool cloak thrown over the shoulders. Long black braid, and a voice murmuring words he did not understand.
A female voice.
He tilted his head in surprise, then ventured closer. She stilled, zeroing in on him. This woman was much more attentive to her surroundings than many peo
ple he was used to. They stared one another down. He nearly forgot his irritation over her continual sabotage of his traps. She was stunning, in every way. Long raven hair that shone in the moonlight, warm brown eyes, a narrow nose, and full lips. And her scent… no wonder he'd picked up on it so quickly earlier. She smelled better than anything he'd ever experienced: wild, warm, clean. An herbal scent clung to her like a veil, and he lifted his nose and sniffed at the air, breathing it, breathing her, in.
She was watching him.
She spoke words in a language he didn't understand, and he tilted his head.
She smiled, showing a flash of straight white teeth. She said more words in a language he did not understand, though this sounded, perhaps, like English. He tilted his head again.
She shook her head, and spoke a third time. “Je ne ai jamais vu un ours aux yeux bleus.” And, finally, he understood the words. She'd never seen a blue-eyed bear before.
Luc raised his head and sniffed again.
She continued in French. “I have been harvesting herbs. Is that what you're sniffing?” She smiled. “You. You are not all you seem to be, are you? I have never seen a bear as magnificent as yourself in my woods. And a bear that seems to understand French, no less.”
He tilted his head at her in acknowledgment, sauntered closer to her small dwelling. She sat on a nearby rock and studied him.
“You are magical,” she said breathlessly, admiring him, and it took everything in him not to puff out his chest in pride. “Stunning.”
They sat in silence for several long moments, bear and woman taking one another's measure. “Shapeshifter?” she asked. “I have heard of your kind.” Then she laughed, and the sound of it lifted his spirits. “I wonder if the man is anywhere near as magnificent as the bear.”
He huffed out a breath, and she laughed again. And then, she stilled. He tilted his head at her again.
“Those eyes. Are you my adversary from the stream, perhaps? Have you come to exact your revenge on me?”
He knew then, that moment, that even if he had intended to hurt her, there wasn't a chance in all of Creation that he could now. He stepped behind some native holly bushes, wishing he'd thought to bring his clothing along. Taking a breath, he shifted back. He was impressed by how still she sat, though her eyes widened when he started shifting.
Once he was back in his human form, he and the woman studied each other in the cool night air.
“I am Migisi,” she said, perfect French flowing from her lips. “And I think the man does the bear justice.”
Luc smiled and bowed his head. “I am Luc, and I am freezing my testicles off.”
She laughed, loud, clear, and full of such joy that he found himself laughing too. She went inside, then came out with a thick blanket, which she tossed toward the bush where he was sheltered. He wrapped up then stepped toward her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, even if you have destroyed my business for the past several weeks,” Luc said, and Migisi smiled.
“Well, don't try to trap in my woods, and we won't have a problem.” She gestured toward the fire, and he nodded, seating himself on the ground nearby. He watched her, and knew, the way he seemed to know where the best places were to trap or when the weather was about to go bad, that this woman would change his life forever.
“Remind me why we're doing this again?” Sophie asked as she, Layla, and Cara rolled out their yoga mats on the wooden floor of the sunlit studio.
“Tourist season is over. This is how we help keep our friends in business until the next tourist season,” Cara said simply.
“Yeah, but shifters don't need yoga,” Sophie said, tugging at the elastic waist of her black yoga pants.
“We don't, but you like it and you need some relaxation in your life. And then Bryce gets to keep working until the summer people flood in again,” Layla said, throwing a glance toward the front of the room, where Bryce was unrolling his own mat. He caught Layla's glance, threw her a smile. Cara and Sophie looked at one another and rolled their eyes.
As they did, they could hear two of the local non-magical women tittering, admiring Bryce. There was a reason the town's only yoga studio was so popular among the female residents of Copper Falls, and it had just about everything to do with the prime specimen of manly goodness standing at the front of the room. Sophie hid a smile when something sounding like an irritated growl came from Layla's direction.
The girl had it bad.
“Did you talk to Calder more about the curse yet?” Layla asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah. If I talk about it right now, yoga isn't going to do a damn bit of good for my mood.”
“All right. Later,” Cara said in her “don't even argue with me” voice.
Sophie gave a small nod. She'd slept like crap the night before, trying to work out Calder and his curse and panicking over what would happen if she lost everything. She had some savings, but they wouldn't get her far. She hated that she'd come to depend on the house she'd inherited from her crazy aunt Evie to be her lifeline. She'd never expected to actually feel safe there, or to feel her power steady, just a little, on land that generations of her family's witches had inhabited. She'd never expected to rediscover old friends or find creative, soothing work she was actually good at.
She cursed Aunt Evie again for letting the taxes pile up. And then she cursed Calder (though apparently not in the same way her ancestor had) for taking advantage of it all.
But at the same time, more than her own situation, she worried about Calder. From what he'd said, the curse was essentially torture. And as angry as she was with him for putting her in what was pretty much an impossible situation, she felt sorry for him.
Not to mention the fact that she'd dreamt about him every single night since he'd shown up on her porch, and she'd dreamed various degrees of things she shouldn't even be thinking about doing with Calder. She couldn't even think of the man without wanting to scream or cry.
Stupid hormones. Stupid stress. Stupid ancestors and their stupid curses.
She let out a breath and did as Bryce instructed the class: she tried to clear her mind, get rid of negativity on her exhales, take in positivity with her inhalations. Within a few minutes, she was still doing her best just to keep her shoulders away from her ears and unclench her jaw.
“Stiffer than a board, Soph,” Bryce murmured when he walked past. “Relax.”
“Trying,” Sophie muttered, giving him a glare as she settled into a downward dog.
“Yes, I can tell,” he said with a grin. She heard Layla laugh a little off to her side and rolled her eyes. She heard the tiny bell on the front door to the studio tinkle, and then she heard what sounded like a strangled growl behind her. She craned her neck to the side, still in her downward dog, and saw Calder there.
And his eyes were on her.
She stood up straight, glancing at him once more before turning toward the front, where Bryce was instructing them to raise their arms. As she did, he walked toward Calder. Sophie tried to focus on what she was doing, almost hyper-aware of Calder and the feel of his gaze on her.
“Hey, man,” she heard Bryce greet him.
“Hey,” Calder said, his voice a low growl. “I was around and just wanted to let you know those parts came in.” Sophie heard the jangle of keys.
“Oh, thanks. I'll get the money—“
“I'll pick it up another time. I know you're good for it,” she heard him say. And then the bell on the door tinkled again, and he was gone.
And it felt like she could breathe again.
She glanced to her left to see Layla studying her. She gave a tiny shake of her head, then faced the front again as Bryce started the next sequence.
Any relaxation she'd been heading toward was gone. She went through the motions, but the appearance of Calder, that growl, that expression on his face — there was no way to feel settled after that. That look had called to her in a way she couldn't have imagined, and she knew she was past the point wher
e she could set aside any feelings she might have once had for Calder, because after just a few days, she'd developed new, stronger, less rational ones. She loved her memories of the boy he'd been. But the man he'd grown into was something else entirely, and he both thrilled and frightened her. And she had no idea what to do about that.
They finished, and then the twins dragged Sophie down the street to the diner their family owned. The Mine was a homey little place, decorated with mid-century Formica tables and chrome and vinyl chairs, a cheery combination of buttery yellow and vibrant red. A long red counter ran the length of it, with chrome stools arranged along it. The big front windows looked out onto Falls Street, which was pretty much where everything happened in town. The twins' mother, Joyce, hugged Sophie hard and told her they were there if she needed anything, and then she prepared some of her heavenly chocolate-banana smoothies and Sophie and her friends settled into a corner booth with them.
“Okay. Spill it,” Layla said, stirring her smoothie with her straw.
Sophie took a breath, and she told them everything. Calder's ancestors, her ancestor, what the curse did (which immediately put both of the twins in defense mode, not liking the idea that Sophie lived so close to him in that condition). She left out her dreams about him, and the way he'd looked at her at the yoga studio. Layla hadn't missed it, though.
“I think you need to watch yourself,” she said, choosing her words. “He wasn't looking at you like a man in a business negotiation, which is really what this is supposed to be. And he wasn't acting like an indifferent party at the bar the other night, either.”
“I know.”
“He wants you.”
Sophie shook her head, waving it off. “I can't think about that now. I can't lose the house. And on top of that, I feel guilty by association. No matter how much I agree that his ancestor was a jerk, it seems a bit much for Migisi to have cursed him so completely that his family is still paying.” She paused. “I mean, really… I get being hurt, but that seems like an amazing over-reaction.”
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