Swathed in black like a dream you hate to love, he acted like I never asked the question. "You came over last night."
"To see your father."
As unwilling to move as two statuaries for a minute, Blaire finally broke our standoff when he held out an open palm. "I found this on his dresser."
The pendant.
"It gets around faster than you on a Friday night, Blaire. Take it back. I gave it to Abram."
Trying to walk around, he cut me off. "Yes, you did." His head hung low as he moved in, the tips of his black curls taunting my skin. "Why?"
I didn’t want to get into family history, but I had the impression Blaire wasn’t going anywhere until he had a full explanation.
"Years ago, my father left because your father thought it would defuse the damage from his infidelity. Afterward, Abram spoke to the entire lepe of loyalty and the importance of justice. I was so pissed I walked out before he finished the speech."
Blaire started to interrupt, but I waved him off. Shifting my bag to the other shoulder, I continued. "I hated both of them for a while. And it took a long time to realize Abram wasn’t attacking my father. He was protecting the rest of his people, no matter how difficult the choices he had to make.
"I gave him Conrad’s charm because I want him to know that, even though I walked out, I heard the message." Quieter, I requested, "So please return it." Blaire agreed, and I was thankful he saw the truth in my words…
Even though it was only a half-truth.
Chapter Seventeen
I was the only lepe in the clearing. Actually, I was the only non-pride in a seventeen-mile radius. Toasty.
Burnt rather than warm.
There was a shit load of pride. They gathered from every region for Jack, who would have been the next pride leader for the entire state if Linay couldn’t earn the honor. Even elderly folks stood naked, waiting to shift. There comes a point in each shifter’s lifetime when turning is dangerous. Heart valves can burst. Aneurysms have been known to occur. Not to mention shift-locks, when someone becomes stuck in a half human, half animal form. Rare, but gruesome enough to remind even the most stubborn shifter to use caution. Yet twenty-five graying shifters, at least, stood willing to sacrifice their health to honor Tomas’ fallen boy.
Feeling the prickly energy ripe in the air, I rocked from one foot to the other restlessly. Deflecting snickers and whispers with my head high, it was a surprise when a man stopped beside me and looked down.
"That’s a nasty bite."
He was referring to the gnashed up meat on my thigh, the leftover outcome of my last pride visit.
"You looking to make something of it?" I asked, readying.
"Naw, just wanted to apologize." He was a solid mass of beef so thick and rich I practically blushed. And his Southern accent complimented the package.
"Drey?"
"That’s me." His smile was a swirling fusion of gratification and pain. I could tell he was trying not to smile, but he needed to. He was a happy motherfucker by nature, but the turn of events challenged him to the core.
"Well, hell yeah. You nearly tore a chunk out. I wouldn’t have looked right in a mini-dress ever again."
I would have said he smiled, but it was more of a ‘happening.’ One small pull of his lips caused his cheeks to rise and totally change the shape of his eyes and chin. Unable to stop myself, I beamed right back, listening to his roiling voice say, "That would’a been a goddamn shame."
"You don’t have to tell me." We chuckled, but as I looked around, the unfriendly glares chased away the last of the moment. "So this was Jack’s run?" The trees were full, bursting with green and movement; a giant umbrella to cast out God and his flying creatures. The grass was more like a type of moss. And it smelled of earthly pleasures only shifters know.
"That boy spent more time here than on his mother’s teats."
"God, you have a way with words, like restroom poetry."
Drey didn’t find my sarcasm offensive. "Jack never turned away from this land, ‘specially if a good storm brewed overhead. We always joked he was a natural born lightning chaser. If he was ever scared, he never showed it."
"I wish I could have known that Jack."
He studied my face, mulling my words before saying, "I don’t understand it, but I believe you."
Jared Tomas appeared from the shadows and leapt up onto a large boulder. His voice carried as well as a secret to an ear.
"First, thank you all who have come for my boy’s death walk. I’m sure everyone’s noticed our guest." He didn’t physically point, but all eyes shifted to me. "And she is a guest." There was a threat in his words. "It is an honor to know that Jack, in his short years, changed a piece of the world beyond his pride… Jack never got the chance to walk his favorite piece of land in true pride form, so we’ll do it for him. Run as fast as his ghost and as light as his spirit."
Jared Tomas shifted into the largest lion I’d ever laid eyes on. His mane bushed out, his coat pure gold. Still on the boulder, he was a grand sight to behold. If a human happened upon such a sight, it might look out of place to see a lion in the middle of the thick North Carolina woods. But I guess that was part of shapeshifter charm. We could seem so out of place and feel so unexpectedly right at the same time. We were beautiful oddities of nature’s grace.
Taking Tomas’ cue, we shifted. It was bizarre to see nothing but lions through leopard eyes. But I reminded myself, again, that we’re beautiful oddities of nature’s grace.
No matter our form.
What the hell. I looked into Drey’s deep eyes in the middle of his gigantic fuzzy face and took off behind the rest of the pride. Drey followed my rear, closer than I was comfortable with, honestly. But I can’t lie. I never experienced such an exhilarating feeling. Shifting and running with strangers in a strange place cut loose a hidden wild piece in my heart. It was irreversible. It was clearer with each panting breath and galloping paw landing beside a different type of paw.
The older shifters chose a slow gallop, remembering when Jack fell from the crooked tree branch when he was five and a half. Others—even older—sauntered slowly, tails swaying, noticing the missing bark on many trees where Jack had peeled it away during an annoying phase when he was five.
Cutting new pathways between slower pride and hard trunks, we created pox in the earth under paw faster than cheetahs. Drey and I pushed ourselves to the limit. For the thrill. For the pain. For Jack. Because he couldn’t.
And when it came to an end, too fast for my taste, no one stared. No one questioned, any longer, why I was there. I had run with them, and I was grieving in my own way, too. Sometimes that’s more personal than crying on a friend’s shoulder.
Tomas walked up as I was leaning against my car, slipping heels on to match the funeral attire. He was dressed in the customary color, as well.
"I’m glad you came." He rested against the edge of the trunk.
"I almost didn’t. Decided to take some good advice, though."
"Well thank your friend for me."
My lip pulled tight to one side. "I don’t know if I’d call him a friend."
"You trust him?"
"Yeah," I shrugged, "I guess so."
"It’s not holding hands or borrowing money, but trust has gotta count for something."
All I said was, "Mm-hm," and nodded. The subject of Nash proved to be a conversation killer, so I asked, "How is your wife?"
Tomas crinkled his nose for a minute, pondering a slew of emotions and possible answers. But what he said was, "I’m scared to find out." A long sigh filled the air. "She won’t leave him. That’s why she isn’t here. She hasn’t spoken since he came home. I’ve caught her singing to him under her breath, but that’s it. I don’t know what to expect tonight. Tomorrow…"
Having no words of wisdom or comfort, I hugged him. And behind the scent of shaving cream and shampoo was a deeper, ancient smell. One that naturally repulsed me. Up close and personal, it was my cat smelling h
is cat, recognizing we weren’t a matching set. I ignored my senses and squeezed him a bit tighter before letting go.
When we parted, I said, "I’m sure she’s stronger than either of you know."
"I’m counting on it." He turned, speaking too low for the others to hear. "You’re in uncharted territory and I’m worried someone might try to bite your ass for it."
"Other than Drey?" I was trying to make light of his point, but he was too serious to let it go.
"Shifters don’t help each other. Keep to your own. It’s how we’re raised. You blew that shit out of the water, and people are talking. Not just pride. I shouldn’t have invited you today for your own good, but a change needs to be made. If our communities had been aware of the missing kids sooner…we might not be going where we’re going."
"I don’t understand."
"I’m saying," he closed the gap between us, "You’re the person to make those changes. My pride will back you."
"Do they know that?"
"They do what I say." Jared Tomas was completely earnest.
Comprehending his suggestion, I tried to let him down gently.
"Tomas, I’m not that woman. I’m just a fighter who got wrapped up in a nightmare." He stared into my eyes. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. "I belong in the ring."
"If you believe that, you really don’t see it."
"See what?"
"People are genuinely enraged by what you did, but some are starting to talk like you’re a hero. A legend."
"Well, that’s bullshit!" I caught the attention of some pride close by, so I dropped my tone. They resumed their conversations before I said, "Look," between gritted teeth. I held out my hands. "Look, Tomas. That’s your son’s blood stuck under my fingernails. Are these the hands of a hero? Not in the fucking least, so drop it."
He flinched at the sight of the blood and I felt bad, but not bad enough to become some marauding savior for his pride and the future of shapeshifters everywhere.
Under a few layers of depression, Tomas found the energy to say, "Think about it."
Shaking my head like a robot, I said, "No, I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation," and turned my back to him.
Walking away, he repeated, "Just think about it." Then he disappeared into a group of naked shifters.
The pride did stare when I hiked up my dress and hopped through the broken window of the Mustang. At least the engine started. I picked Marisa up at her home and headed to the funeral, all the while trying to forget my conversation with Tomas like I swore I would.
Marisa wore a black button-up blouse, black shorts, and a pair of black and white sneakers. There was a small bundle resting on her lap. She didn’t say a word.
It was my turn to stare when we pulled into East Memorial Park and saw Darien, the house crew, and—Christ almighty!—Blaire. It wasn’t a cozy reunion. The men, adorned in the dress suits from the house, stood like the hangers had been inserted up their asses. Gage appeared as natural as a bulldog in a sweater vest. Warren and Joshua looked like they expected someone to beat the shit out of them at any moment. And Lydia twitched with the need to counsel the grief-stricken. No matter their shifter backgrounds, she had a sick need to comfort. We adopted a stray cat a year ago. She decided to care for it. When it died for reasons unknown, the joke in the house became that she had enough love to kill anything.
Blaire stood on the other side of Darien, not sparing a glance. What an ass. Maybe he hadn’t bought the explanation I spooned him earlier. Choosing to ignore him, I turned as Tomas, his wife, and a handful of others approached, sitting in the only chairs. The chairs reserved for family. I noticed there were no other children present.
There was even more pride at the funeral than the walk. The gravesite was in a massively open area of the cemetery, though, so everyone had room. The sun fell behind the trees, giving us a minor break from the heat of the day. Truthfully, though, no one gave a shit. The pride probably would have boiled alive before leaving Tomas and his family to close their affairs alone.
A balding man in glasses rambled for some time, shuffling through a novel of notes in hand. It was the usual "too young," "too soon," "what a shame" speech that ended with the clichéd "But his spirit lives on" shpeal. Then the oak coffin was lowered into the ground.
When Tomas stood, I straightened, ready to listen. But he didn’t address the crowd this time. Uninterrupted, the birds chirped and the wind blew as he grabbed his wife’s hand and led her to the hole where she dropped two roses from the tips of her willowy fingers. They stood there, heads down, drawn into silence. It was their chance to convey what they felt in their hearts. Maybe they were silent because their hearts were being buried in that casket. Words wouldn’t save them from the long darkness ahead.
After returning to the white folding chairs, a few pride members stood to share memories and teary goodbyes. As they came to a close, Marisa anxiously approached the pit. A buzz fired through the crowd before Tomas lifted a hand. Silence.
Marisa’s auburn highlights outlined her round face, ending right above her shoulders. Her eyes were impossibly round as they peered at each person standing on the lawn.
Swallowing, she released a breath and stared down at the coffin until the action was borderline awkward before looking up again. Her voice was meek. Her words, anything but.
"Jack was my friend. A lot of you probably don’t like that, but I don’t really care." Tomas had to flag a few outraged gasps before Marisa continued. "He died trying to help me because we were friends." More voices rose from outrage. Tomas stood to find the culprits. "That’s why I wanted to bury this with him. With Jack." She held out the bundle, but Linay sprung from the crowd and knocked it from her hands.
"You’re not burying any piece of lepe trash with my nephew!" Linay wasn’t even dressed for the funeral. She wore a pair of ratty cut-offs and a baggy poppy seed shirt. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail.
Marisa withdrew, visibly shaking. That’s all it took. I jumped in front to block her from Linay’s rage.
"So you think it’s right, now, to pick on a traumatized teenager? Are you that fucked in the head, Linay? This is a funeral."
"Yeah, a pride funeral. You got no place here, leopard."
Tomas stalked toward his sister, struggling with the urge to choke her. "You have no place to question my decisions. You didn’t run with us, and now you think you’re dominant enough to make demands at my son’s funeral? This has already been decided, and it will happen."
She scoffed, "I didn’t run because of her!" and pointed at me.
"No!" He was becoming unhinged. "You didn’t fucking run because it was your decision not to fucking run! Lepe or not, you should have been there. You’re my sister. You’re his blood! What kind of person are you?" Veins were popping from his forehead and neck. This was the first time I ever thought it wise to consider Tomas a dangerous man.
His wife never left her seat, never looked up, never bothered with any of us. She was in a different version of this world. One where butterflies and tears cohabitated.
When Linay refused to stand down, and others were beginning to protest our presence and close in, Blaire and our lepe began physically backing them off. Things were getting out of control very fast. Voices got louder. Bodies threatened to shift. And in the midst, Marisa began rambling, unsure of what else to do.
"I was really, really scared when I was with them." Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she carried on, eyes shut. "Jack let me talk about stupid things, like how much my sister gets on my nerves and the time I cheated in History and almost got caught. It was only that one time. It’s not a habit or anything. I’m not a cheater…"
People were starting to take notice as she talked, but they weren’t listening. Not at first.
Staring at nothing particular, she continued, "We figured out we both liked math, so we made a game out of who could recite the times tables from one to twenty the fastest. I won a lot. When it got too easy w
e started doing fifty to ninety-nine. And after we were there long enough, we did it to keep our minds off the pain. When they were there with us, we tried to see how far we could get before we screamed. Sometimes I only made it to fifty-four." Smiling, she bragged, "But Jack made it to seventy-seven once." Suddenly, she looked startled as if just realizing she had been talking out loud.
Now people were shushing others so they could hear her better. Tomas nodded his head, signaling her to continue.
"Jack held my hand at night so I could sleep because it was dark and we never knew when they would come back for us, to do these horrible things to us." Her voice cracked, but still, she kept talking. "And I would get so, so scared that I couldn’t sleep, so he would hold my hand and stay awake so I could sleep. He did that for me.
"I had never met a lion face to face before Jack so I was even scared of him at first. He thought that was funny." There was a new glow to Marisa’s face as she reminisced. "But after he changed, he let me pet his mane. It felt kind of course like the long grass that grows on the dunes at the beach. When I rubbed it against my nose it smelled like pressed daisies. I was surprised by how tall he was, too. But I wasn’t scared of him anymore."
No one breathed. Marisa, unaware of the impact she was having, was giving Jack’s pride the only description of his lion self they would ever know. They were memorizing every word, visualizing every detail, thankful that someone had paid enough attention to share such a treasure. Linay just looked pissed, realizing she had lost another battle.
Jared Tomas retrieved the small parcel Linay had knocked to the ground and handed it back to Marisa. Standing in the middle of such sorrow, this little girl flattened all of our egos.
Hugging her carefully wrapped severed tail, Marisa, channeling a much older version of herself, said, "Conrad didn’t hate anybody. He just didn’t like what he was, and they promised him a cure they didn’t have. I like being lepe. Jack liked being pride. But that didn’t make us hate each other. So why is it so hard for everybody else?" She turned, opening her hand. Her tail landed on top of Jack’s coffin, next to the roses. Turning back, she confessed with tears streaming down her face, "I was the last person he ever kissed."
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