Blades of grass under my pawpads, which I was sure I didn’t have before. Tree branches scraping through my fur. The painful burning of overexertion in my chest.

“It’s just a dream.”

The bitter cold night air. The heavy panting of the beast behind me, a brief glimpse over my shoulder revealing little more than it was much bigger than me and probably much stronger. All of my instincts screaming at me to run for my life.

“It’s just a–”

The creature’s very real jaws snapping at my heels, causing very real scrapes. A fresh burst of adrenaline coursed through me, and I was able to surge forward again, just out of reach of the thing.

“…A very realistic dream.”

I squinted into the distance. There was something weird with my eyesight, all I could see was black and white. It did have its advantages– I was able to see in contrasts well. No wonder I could see in the dark this well. The disadvantage was I could very clearly see I was about to run off a cliff.

“Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod…”

It extended as far as I could see. Looking back, I was probably on a mesa or something, but my geographical location was the least of my concerns then.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.”

My own thoughts set a cadence for my run. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore how incredibly vivid everything was, and hoped it would all be over soon. And finally my paws hit thin air.

I didn’t fall. I was soaring above the ground, clumsily flapping the wings I didn’t know I had before. I laughed in spite of myself, a strangely human sound given I didn’t feel human at all. Despite the muscle strain and stress, I was half-crazed with relief and beyond feeling pain.

Or at least I was until I heard the beating of wings not my own. I didn’t even have time to look behind me before a great, clawed, heavy something slamming into me, sending me spiraling to the ground as its jaws bit into my neck, making it impossible to breathe. With oxygen deprivation creeping in and strangling rational thought, I had about enough time to note that the ground was rushing up much too fast for asphyxiation to be a concern.

I was wrong. Just when I was inches from the ground, I flinched. And when I opened my eyes again, I was on the kitchen floor, tangled in my bedsheets, and not breathing.

I’d almost drowned once– hit my head on the edge of a pool when I was diving in. That was almost peaceful, because I didn’t even realize I was dying until they dragged me out of the water, with everyone but me screaming and panicking. I was numb and far away and (in retrospect) way too comfortable with it all.

And this was nothing like that. It felt like there was something crushing my chest, even though there was nothing there, my muscles ached like I’d ran for miles, something was grabbing my throat, and my lungs were burning in agony.

Somewhere inbetween me frantically thrashing around, a tiny bit of air forced its way through my windpipe, and the pain subsided just a bit. Then a little more, and a little more, and finally I was breathing normally again.

Even after all that, I still couldn’t move. I knew I probably looked ridiculous, but my parents knew about my “sleepwalking.” They didn’t know I was having nightmares all the time– nobody did. I just couldn’t tell anyone. Scary dreams were things that little kids got worked up over, not someone in high school.

It’d never been this bad, though. Then again, I’d never died either. Weren’t you supposed to die in real life if you died in your dreams? I’d come so close, so maybe that was why…

The clock caught my attention. Four in the morning. My mom was going to be up soon, and the last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this. I picked myself off the ground, bundled the blankets around me, and trudged back to my room so I could pretend to sleep for another four hours until I had to get ready for school.

The nice thing about having attention span issues is you can entertain yourself for hours with your own thoughts. The downside is it’s very easy to have those thoughts interrupted by things like a dog jumping on your bed and otherwise trying to get your attention.

“Go away, Soraya.” I shoved my head under the covers and tried my best to ignore her. So she tried to hide under the covers with me.

It’d never occurred to me before, but her name now struck me as strange. Soraya was an Arabic name, and she was an American Water Spaniel– not true to her heritage. And it always seemed like such a noble name. Noble was something American Water Spaniels aren’t. They’re silly-looking dogs whose main purpose in being was to bring back dead animals to hunters who would be otherwise too lazy or preoccupied to pick up what they shoot in the first place.

She’d always been something of a neurotic dog, which was why she was hiding in the first place. Half the time I didn’t even bother trying to find out what spooked her, but I was always the one who had to calm her down.

I felt her nudging in closer to me, so I reached out to pat her head in kind. “You’ve got it so easy.” It was true– I guess on some level I envied dogs, I had for a while. It was on some emotional or spiritual level I couldn’t quite describe. Dogs made sense in a way people didn’t, and they seemed so carefree.

I didn’t want to be a dog though, much as I liked them. There was something else out there that was better, I realized in a half-asleep epiphany. Something more me. Something like…

There was a loud creak as the bedroom door opened, and whatever answer I had slipped away. Mom was up. And I needed to pretend to be asleep. I closed my eyes and I drifted into periods of brief, fitful minutes of sleep interrupted by jerking awake, and then starting the cycle anew.

I shouldn’t have to tell you how incredibly miserable I was when I had to wake up. But energy drinks were made for people like me, and after a highly nutritious breakfast of Saltines (I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep any other solids down) and a combination of liquid sugar, fruit juice, and lots and lots of caffeine, I had about enough to make myself go to school without fainting along the way.

To my credit, I’d only ever fainted once, and that was attributed to a terrible diet. I can’t remember the last time I’d stepped into the cafeteria. I usually just skipped lunch. It was too noisy there, too loud, and too much high school politics. I didn’t want to bother with all the cliques. So I just hid out in the library. The librarians liked the company, I liked the books and relative solitude. It was mutually beneficial, so they never told the SROs.

The forty-five minutes I got to spend in there were almost always the best part of the school day. But it was over three hours away. And I had Advanced Algebra first period. I already hated today.

Of course, therein lies the advantage of being hungry and tired most of the time. It’s really easy to zone out when you’re like that.I could just glide through all my classes, not needing to comprehend anything because you’d have to be lobotomized to not at least marginally pass core classes, and I’d be fine with just marginal. If you haven’t inferred as much, I just want out of school.

So I shuffled into class, collapsed in the desk, and hoped the teacher wouldn’t notice me dozing off. They usually don’t. As long as you show up and don’t fail the tests, they’re not to concerned. I like things that way.

I had my head nestled in the comfiest part of my hoodie when I saw someone walk in out of the corner of my eye. A very tall someone with nondescript black clothing who I’d never seen before at school. He was wearing sunglasses, but I could tell he was staring right at me. Usually I don’t care if someone is, but there was something just wrong about that guy. I don’t know how to put it, he just weirded me out– there was something predatory about him. And he didn’t look strong, he was built like a scarecrow, but I got the impression he could rip me apart without trying. So much for my nap.

The teacher ran through the roll. There weren’t any new names on there, and he didn’t even address the creepy guy. Nobody else even seemed to notice him; the kid behind him seemed to just stare right through him.

I looked up the clock. Only five minutes into class. On the bright side, I was starting to feel a bit sick. Maybe I could call home and say I was coming down with something. It wouldn’t even be a lie for once, because the clock was now sliding in and out of focus. And my chest was tightening and my heart felt like it was going to explode I was starting to feel like I would be sick in the middle of class.

I staggered out the door without bothering to give an explanation. I think the teacher was yelling at me to get a hall pass, but I was beyond the point of paying attention. The world wasn’t just blurring now, it was sliding completely out of focus. The colors were all starting to blend together. The only reason I wasn’t running into anything was I’d been through these halls too many times to count.

I rubbed my eyes– it didn’t help. And I wasn’t tearing up or anything like that, so there wasn’t anything in my eyes. I still managed to stumble into the bathroom and turn on the faucet. I splashed water onto my face– it was ice cold and I didn’t really care. If anything, it made me feel a little better.

I took deep breaths in and out. The panic and sickness started to subside. I checked the mirror– I looked pale and gaunt and sickly and…

…And I was seeing things, because my ears had gone all pointy and furry. I stumbled back, blinked…and they were still there. I slumped against a wall, not daring to look at the mirror as if pretending they weren’t there would make them go away. Morbid curiosity drove me to touch the side of my head.

But nothing was there. Nothing weird, anyway. So of course when I looked in the mirror just to make sure, there was something weird behind me. Or someone, rather. He was only there for a second, his eyes seeming to bore right through me beneath his sunglasses. And then he was gone.

It took a few moments to sink in. And then I ran. I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t what was happening, but it was just the only thing it seemed like I could do.

Next thing I knew I was hiding between some lockers on ground floor practically hyperventilating. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths.” I told myself. “It was just a panic attack, it’s over now. Calm down. Nothing’s wrong with you. Nothing’s wrong nothing’s wrong nothing’s wrong…” I eventually was able to make myself believe it, enough I could shakily stand up.

The intercom crackled to life. “Connor Glendon, please report to the administrative building, Connor Glendon, to the administrative building, please.”

Awesome. My truant ways were catching up to me.

“Doctor Reese is expecting you.” Or not. I guess the little incident earlier could have just been passed off as one big panic attack (and maybe that was what it was in the first place? Though I’d never felt like I was sick during one) and he was just worried about me. That didn’t seem so bad.

I flashed my ID at the SRO standing in front of the administrative building. It was probably unnecessary, I had to go here a lot, but policies are policies. I was halfway down the hall when the SRO yelled “Stop!”

I spun around– but it wasn’t me he was addressing, thankfully. It was two girls I didn’t recognize. One blonde with baggy shirt bearing the name of a band I didn’t recognize and a redhead with a scowl that seemed permanently set on her face.

The blonde girl smiled at the SRO. “I’m sorry. We’re new here, we just haven’t had a chance to get our IDs.” Her eyes flashed for a moment, and they turned bright yellow all over, with tiny, slitted snake-like pupils in the center. “Trust us.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. Actually, that was an understatement. I’m not sure how to describe how seeing that felt otherwise, but I’ll try. It’s like looking at something that can’t exist, but does. Yeah, I know some people will wear weird contacts that look kind of like that just to shock people, but this was different, more natural-looking.

And just a few minutes ago, I’d grown dog ears. Either I was going crazy or…well, I was probably just going crazy. But I was running a fever, maybe that just meant the heat was frying my brain. Which meant I was probably going to die soon. That didn’t seem much better.

The SRO’s eyes glazed over. “Well, alright.” And just like that, he let them by. Now that just wasn’t right. I mean, everything about it, right down to this weird gut feeling that she was scary and dangerous. And the officers here were supposed to be really strict, thanks to the fact we’d gotten school shooting threats and things like that. They strolled on right by me. The blonde one smiled and waved at me before they both disappeared down a corridor.

God, what a day. And I had to think of a way to diplomatically express the fact I might be having hallucinations to Doctor Reese really fast. I slumped into a chair outside his office. I just needed a few minutes–

“Connor!” He was standing right in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Sorry.” He did one of those fake-y laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you. But we’ve been calling you for the past ten minutes, I was getting worried.”

“Sorry…” Was all I could come up with.

“Well, come on in.” He gestured inside. “I’ve got some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

I had a sinking feeling about that. But I went inside anyway, it was better than being in class. Reese was shuffling some papers at his desk, one of those ‘I-know-something-about-you-and-I’m-not-going-to-rest-until-you-tell-me’ smiles about him. “You missed some of you classes today.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.” I stared out the window. Eye contact just felt uncomfortable.

“Have you been feeling well lately?” More paper rustling.

“Well…” Diplomacy or honesty? “I’ve been having nightmares again, so I didn’t sleep much. And I think I had another panic attack in class today.” Mom always said honesty was the best policy, and it’d be a nice change of pace.

A glint of concern flashed through his dark eyes. “You haven’t been having panic attacks often, have you?”

“This was the first one in a while.” Several months, really, I’d had one the first time I tried to take the SAT.

“And the dreams?”

“A lot. Almost every other day.” I tried not to think about the jaws closing around my windpipe. And failed. I reached my hand to my throat. “They’re usually vivid. But sometimes I just wake up afraid of something and don’t know what.” He seemed to take notice of that, his eyes settling on my neck. I jerked my hand back down.

He still got the picture. He was really good at that. “Are there any recurring themes to these?”

“I guess. I’m usually running from something.” This was getting uncomfortably Freudian for me. I took Intro to Psych, I knew where dream analysis went.

“And do you escape, or…?”

“I don’t.” And I wanted to leave it at that.

He went ‘hmmm’ again and leaned back in his seat. “So your anxiety’s been worse than usual?”

Well, thank God, and here I was thinking he’d ask be about what my relationship with my mother was like. “I guess, yeah.”

“It’s entirely possible that’s just a reflection of that.” He steepled his hands. “You see, dreams often resemble our waking experiences and parallel then, though sometimes in abstract ways. If you’d like, you could tell me a bit more about them.”

I sighed. “I don’t know, it’s pretty generic. I’m running through a forest trying to get away from a monster, and I…I don’t get away. Then I wake up. But I’m pretty sure I sleepwalk during them. I don’t wake up in my bed.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Have you gotten this checked out by a doctor?”

“The medicine didn’t help any.” And it made me sleep so deeply my alarm clock didn’t wake me up.

His phone rang. “Sorry, one second…” He checked the screen and went ‘hmmm’ for what must have been the tenth time in the past five minutes. “I have a question for you that might seem strange, so I’d like to apologize in advance if I’m off-base here.”

“Shoot.”

“In addition to these dreams, have you been having any hallucinations?”

My stomach lurched. “How’d he know?”

And of course he noticed that too. “Perhaps that you’re becoming something else. Maybe you’ve even felt like that was true for a while, and it’s only just now these hallucinations have started happening.”

I was still too stunned to say much of anything.

He paused as if waiting for the inevitable confirmation. “It’s alright if you are. It isn’t your fault. But these are symptoms of a rare mental disorder–”

“So what? I’m schizophrenic?” I cut in.

“No, nothing like that.” He held up his hands. “This is much less permanent and much more manageable. It’s called therianthropic psychosis, I’ve worked with it before.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It hasn’t passed DSM review yet. But it’s very real, I’m sure of that. I get the feeling you can attest to that.”

“If I have this, what am I supposed to do–” Someone started slamming at the door. Reese jerked up, looking stunned. Obviously this wasn’t part of his script. Whoever it was– sounded like a she– started yelling, though it was too muffled to make out. “Shouldn’t you, like, call security or something?” There was a shrill edge to my voice I really didn’t like.

He was already reaching for his phone again when the door broke open. Literally. It just splintered.

The red-haired girl standing in the doorway seemed innocuous enough, except for the shards of wood in her hands. I’d seen her a few minutes ago trying a more subtle approach to breaking and entering. “You!” She hissed. She lunged at Reese, yowling like some kind of animal…and she looked like one too, she’d grown ears and a tail. Like I had earlier, except feline instead.

To be continued…

I woke up to a soft,‭ ‬red glow all around me,‭ ‬and the sound of air rushing past my ears.‭ ‬The glow looked like flames,‭ ‬and the wind was blowing them past but they weren’t touching me.‭ ‬It looked like I was inside a bubble‭ ‬…

800‎ ‏feet

…‎ ‏and it‭ ‬felt like I was standing inside of a hurricane.‭ ‬Except that my feet weren’t on the ground.‭ ‬I was still drowsy,‭ ‬so it felt surreal.‭ ‬Where was I‭? ‬Why couldn’t I remember how I’d gotten here‭?

600‎ ‏feet

What’d happened to my‭ ‬arms‭?‬ I looked down at them,‭ ‬dimly lit by the fire in front of me.‭ ‬They were bare and covered in fur.‭ ‬That didn’t seem right at all.

400‎ ‏feet

If my arms were covered in fur,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬then why weren’t they burning‭? ‬Why wasn’t‭ ‬I burning‭? ‬Where were the flames even coming from‭?

200‎ ‏feet

And what was that‭ ‬thing‭ ‬coming at me‭? ‬It looked like an enormous black wall,‭ ‬its surface rippling like‭ ‬…‭ ‬water‭ ‬…

20‎ ‏feet

OH CR-

Ugh.

My whole body felt heavy,‭ ‬like I’d just been dragged out of a‭ ‬swimming pool.‭ ‬I was sprawled out on top of something hard and damp,‭ ‬unable to get up,‭ ‬barely able to think.‭ ‬Water crawled past my feet up to my chest,‭ ‬and back again.‭ ‬It was warm.

Okay,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬so I washed up on shore somewhere.‭ ‬There were about a million things that could’ve gone wrong with this.‭ ‬I could be on a deserted island someplace‭; ‬I could have some huge gash or internal injury,‭ ‬that I wouldn’t even know about until I tried to move.‭ ‬Then I wouldn’t just be tired and limp,‭ ‬I’d be tired and limp and bleeding to death.

The thought made me scared enough to try moving to check,‭ ‬but I managed to lift my face about an inch from the sand before flopping back down and wincing.‭ ‬Wet sand shifted and ground beneath me,‭ ‬and there was something‭ ‬on top of my face,‭ ‬like a washcloth covering my eyes.‭ ‬I could hear waves and seabirds,‭ ‬but I couldn’t see anything even when I opened my eyes,‭ ‬and I‭ ‬smelled something salty and briny.

I lay there just breathing for a long moment.‭ ‬Then‭ ‬I made myself flop my arm up, from down at my side to over my shoulder,‭ ‬all in one motion.‭ ‬I could feel my hand hit the hard sand,‭ ‬but the pain barely registered.‭ ‬Slowly,‭ ‬I reached up with my fingers without moving my arm,‭ ‬and peeled wet,‭ ‬sickly orange seaweed off of my face.

I tried to toss it aside with a flick of my limp hand‭ ‬but just ended up dragging it farther over me.‭ ‬At least it wasn’t covering my eyes,‭ ‬though,‭ ‬and the sun seemed to be behind me.‭ ‬I could see down the beach‭; ‬there were tree-lined cliffs not far away,‭ ‬and what looked like a lighthouse past them.

You’d think I would’ve been happy to see a sign that I wasn’t alone here.‭ ‬But‭ the lighthouse ‬wasn’t what caught my eye.‭ ‬Instead,‭ ‬I was staring at my arm.‭ ‬It was covered in black fur,‭ ‬just like when I was falling.‭ ‬And it was matted,‭ ‬salty,‭ ‬and wet,‭ ‬but it was still fur.

There was something in front of my vision‭; ‬a muzzle,‭ ‬with a tiny black nose.‭ ‬I groanedand closed my eyes again.‭ ‬I wondered if I should feel hurt or betrayed‭ ‬…‭ ‬or giddy.‭ ‬But all I could feel was shock,‭ ‬and my heart beating fast against the sand.

I wasn’t stupid‭; ‬I knew what had happened to me.‭ ‬But for the life of me,‭ ‬I couldn’t remember how my transformation had happened.‭ ‬I couldn’t even remember if this kind of thing was unheard of,‭ ‬or if there were other people like this.‭ ‬I couldn’t remember my name.‭ ‬But it wasn’t like total amnesia‭; ‬it was like trying to recall how to say‭ “‬Hello‭” ‬in some language you’d barely heard of.‭ ‬There were hints of it there‭; ‬I could taste them.‭ ‬But my brain had somehow misfiled it.‭ ‬I couldn’t‭ ‬clearly remember anything‭ ‬…‭ ‬anything,‭ ‬that is,‭ ‬except falling.

Those had been re-entry flames around me.‭ ‬How the heck had I survived‭ ‬that‭?

Minutes passed.‭ ‬I focused on the soothing water behind me, still lapping at my legs,‭ ‬and I felt my heart rate go down. But the briny,‭ ‬seaweed smell was starting to get to me,‭ ‬and it was hard to breathe while laying on my chest.‭ ‬Worse,‭ ‬my back was getting warm from where the sun was shining on it.

I didn’t want to move.‭ ‬I knew I could make myself,‭ ‬but I didn’t want to.‭ ‬I just wanted the uncomfortable things to go away,‭ ‬so I could go back to sleep.‭ ‬But I knew that that wasn’t going to happen,‭ ‬so I groaned and tried to get up.

My arm lifted for a second,‭ ‬before flopping back down to the sand beside me.

Okay,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬let’s try that again.‭ ‬I got my other arm into position,‭ ‬then I tried to push off of the sand to sit up,‭ ‬grunting with the exertion.‭ ‬It worked,‭ ‬and the seaweed slid off down my back.‭ ‬Then I looked down at myself,‭ ‬just to get an idea of what’d happened to me.

Fur covered my whole body‭; ‬which was good,‭ ‬because I wasn’t wearing any clothes besides my gloves and my shoes.‭ ‬It was a glossy,‭ ‬unnatural shade of black,‭ ‬with tufts of white on my flat,‭ ‬male chest.‭ ‬Neon‭ ‬teal‭ ‬accents rimmed my arms and legs.

Those do not look like natural colors,‭ ‬I thought.‭ ‬What am I‭?

I felt something thick and bushy on the back of my head as I turned it to look around at myself.‭ ‬Not hair‭; ‬more substantial than that.‭ ‬I reached behind me to feel what it was,‭ ‬and my hand came back with stiff quills.‭ ‬Was I a porcupine‭? ‬Maybe a hedgehog‭; ‬the quills weren’t that pointy.

Then I looked up.‭ ‬There were people,‭ ‬a ways down the beach.‭ ‬Lots of them.‭ ‬Humans.

For a second,‭ ‬my heart leaped.‭ ‬There were people here‭! ‬I could get help‭! ‬I could remember I’d used to be human,‭ ‬too‭; ‬that had to count for something,‭ ‬right‭? ‬But then I remembered something else‭ ‬…‭ ‬a feeling of suspicion,‭ ‬of distrust.‭ ‬Like a hurt,‭ ‬upset animal would have.‭ ‬I remembered not liking humans.‭ ‬How could I not like them if I’d used to‭ ‬be one‭? ‬Was it even safe to approach them‭?

It’d better be,‭ ‬I thought.‭ ‬My energy was starting to come back,‭ ‬and I felt more clear-headed now that I was sitting upright.‭ ‬But I still felt tired and thirsty,‭ ‬and my fur was too thick for this weather.‭ ‬I realized that I was panting,‭ ‬even though my tongue was dry‭; ‬I was probably dehydrated.

Slowly,‭ ‬I made myself stand up,‭ ‬then started out down the beach‭; ‬limping at first,‭ ‬as pins and needles left my feet,‭ ‬then at a steady pace.‭ ‬I tried to think through the haze,‭ ‬to figure out what I should do when I got up to them‭ ‬…‭ ‬who I should talk to,‭ ‬what I should say.‭ ‬Unwritten rules came back to me:‭ ‬Don’t ask random strangers for help.‭ ‬Don’t talk to them,‭ ‬don’t look at them,‭ ‬don’t bother them with your presence.‭ ‬Especially since you’re not normal.‭ ‬It’s your fault that you’re not normal. You’re being weird just to offend.

Wow.‭ ‬No wonder I didn’t like humans.

Sure enough,‭ ‬no one offered to help me,‭ ‬even as I limped right past them.‭ ‬Instead I got lifted sunglasses and bewildered stares,‭ ‬from people laying on their towels.‭ ‬Parents called their kids to come away from me,‭ ‬and the kids stared,‭ ‬too,‭ ‬once they saw me.

This is ridiculous,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬my face turning red beneath my fur.‭ ‬I wanted to just ask one of them if I could have something to drink,‭ ‬or if they’d seen me fall from the sky or wash up on the beach or knew what had happened to me.‭ ‬But what I guessed had to be a lifetime of conditioning prevented me,‭ ‬and made me feel their stares on my back.

I wanted to just grab someone and start asking questions.‭ ‬Somehow,‭ ‬I wasn’t afraid of doing so‭ ‬…‭ ‬they didn’t seem like a threat.‭ ‬I just felt like it wouldn’t be worth it.‭ ‬As long as there were humans around,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬there’d be humans in charge that I could talk to.‭ ‬Humans in uniforms,‭ ‬or sitting behind counters.‭ ‬Those were okay to demand things from,‭ ‬I remembered.‭ ‬Even unreasonable things.

There were shacks set up,‭ ‬farther down the beach.‭ ‬Their signs advertised hot dogs,‭ ‬ice cream and sno-cones.‭ ‬And once I got in line,‭ ‬the family in front of me quickly got out.‭ ‬It made my face burn again,‭ ‬but I was okay with that,‭ ‬I thought,‭ ‬as I strode to the head of the line.‭ ‬At least now I could get some ans-

“Justin‎!”

That was my name‭! ‬And I was a human,‭ ‬wearing a t-shirt and jeans.‭ ‬The otter who was calling it was being pulled away towards a cage,‭ ‬his arms and legs bound to his sides,‭ ‬tail limply brushing the black metal beneath.‭ ‬But what was doing it‭? ‬I couldn’t see anything‭!

I ran to him,‭ ‬my footsteps clanking on metal deck plates,‭ ‬and tried to free his arms from whatever was holding him.‭ ‬I felt‭ ‬something around him,‭ ‬like invisible claws wrapped tight around his fuzzy chest and his arms,‭ ‬and I tried to pry them away but they wouldn’t budge.‭ ‬I couldn’t even get a firm grip on them‭; ‬they felt like fast-rushing air,‭ ‬and they were slippery like ice.

I dug in my feet and strained,‭ ‬trying to pull him away,‭ ‬my face turned towards the stars past the consoles.‭ ‬Then I saw him:‭ ‬a bird of prey,‭ ‬with grey and white feathers and a black‭ “‬mask‭” ‬of feathers around his sharp beak.‭ ‬One of his taloned hands was clutching a deep blue jewel on a chain around his neck,‭ ‬and the other was stretched out towards‭ ‬–‭ ‬what was my otter‭ ‬friend’s name again‭? ‬–‭ ‬and gripping the air in its claws.

I could put two and two together.‭ ‬I ran at the falcon,‭ ‬head down,‭ ‬getting ready to tackle him-

WHAM.‭ ‬Something hit my side while I was running at him.‭ ‬I was sent sprawling on the floor,‭ ‬hands and feet twitching,‭ ‬smoke coming out of my charred clothing.

‎“‏Can’t let you do that,‭ ‬human.‭”

Smugness dripped from the silky male voice.‭ ‬I wanted to look,‭ ‬to see who it was,‭ ‬but I was paralyzed‭; ‬my limbs and my head just weren’t working.‭ ‬Besides that,‭ ‬I thought I remembered.‭ ‬It was right there just past-

Cage bars slammed into place,‭ ‬outside my field of vision.‭ ‬All I could see were the windows,‭ ‬and the blue arc of the world beneath us.‭ ‬The falcon relaxed his grip,‭ ‬and turned to look as a black cat stepped into view‭ ‬…‭ ‬the one who had just‭ ‬shot me.

Something was wrong about him.‭ ‬Something was crawling across his sleek fur,‭ ‬something black and oily and alive.‭ ‬It turned into a belt and a holster,‭ ‬as soon as he put his gun by his waist.‭ ‬I remembered that wasn’t the real threat,‭ ‬though.‭ ‬It was something I couldn’t see right now,‭ ‬something-

The room began to glow green,‭ ‬from somewhere past where I could turn my head.‭ “‬Oh hey,‭” ‬the cat said,‭ ‬turning to look.‭ “‬What do you know‭! ‬Brighter than ever,‭ ‬this time.‭ ‬The God of Destruction must like it when we‭ ‬destroy things.‭” ‬He grinned.

The falcon coughed,‭ ‬one fist to his beak.‭ “‬The human is still alive,‭ ‬sir.‭”

It was true‭ ‬…‭ ‬I was struggling to my feet,‭ ‬shaking my head to clear it.‭ ‬Ignoring the ringing in my ears,‭ ‬and the stinging pain in my side.‭ ‬The cat just gave me an amused look.‭ “‬Chaos must favor this one‭!” ‬he remarked,‭ ‬to the falcon.‭ “‬Or else‭ ‬you are more than you appear,‭” ‬he told me.‭ “‬Some kind of Adept‭? ‬A wild Talent‭?”

I looked to see where the glow was coming from.‭ ‬There was a dark,‭ ‬green gem,‭ ‬the size of a grapefruit,‭ ‬set into a console in front of the wall.‭ ‬And the ringing in my ears got louder‭ ‬as I squinted into its bright glow.

‎“‏You could always just shoot him again,‭ ‬sir‭ ‬…‭ ”

“Quiet,‎ ‏Tachyon.‭” ‬The cat waved one hand to hush his pet‭ (‬how did I know that‭?)‬.‭ ‬Then he looked at me.‭ “‬Well‭?” ‬the cat asked.‭ “‬Chaos has given you another chance.‭ ‬What are you going to do with it‭?”

I looked between him and my friend,‭ ‬inside the cage.‭ ‬His eyes were wide and staring at me.‭ ‬Then‭ ‬my eyes fixed on the gem again,‭ ‬now glowing brighter.‭ ‬It seemed familiar somehow‭ ‬…‭ ‬I remembered my friend finding it,‭ ‬showing it to me,‭ ‬wondering what he should do with it.‭ ‬Being kidnapped because of it.‭ ‬But the familiarity was more than that‭; ‬it was more like seeing your favorite old keyboard,‭ ‬or game controller,‭ ‬after digging it up in the attic.‭ ‬Remembering it,‭ ‬and realizing what it was for.

I began to stagger towards it.

‎“‏Ooh‭! ‬Going for the prize,‭ ‬are we‭?”

“Sir‎ ‏…‎ ”

“Hush‎!”

I was still staggering toward it,‭ ‬wishing that I could move faster.‭ ‬Then I stepped over a circle design on the floor,‭ ‬and a glass tube shot out from it all around me,‭ ‬going right up to the ceiling.‭ ‬The cat had his hand on a button,‭ ‬on one of the consoles,‭ ‬and the falcon had clasped his hands behind his back and was looking away.

‎“‏Chaos seemed to like it when you got shot,‭” ‬the cat said,‭ ‬his voice muffled and echoey.‭ “‬Let’s see how he likes this‭!”

My friend screamed,‭ ‬as I got shot out into space.

Everything was quiet for a moment.‭ ‬I floated there inside the tube,‭ ‬my hair and clothes drifting,‭ ‬no longer held down.‭ ‬I could see the huge planet below me,‭ ‬blue and white,‭ ‬and could see the tiny space station we’d left,‭ ‬tethered down to the world by a thread.

Then I saw something glow,‭ ‬on its surface.‭ ‬And a second later everything was fire and noise.

“Can I help you‎?” ‏the otter girl asked,‭ ‬from behind the counter.‭ ‬She was wearing an apron and cap.

I blinked,‭ ‬uncomprehending.‭ ‬Then something caught my eye,‭ ‬from below.‭ ‬A tablet,‭ ‬still turned on,‭ ‬that someone had left on their towel.‭ ‬Its screen was in the shadow of a nearby umbrella,‭ ‬and it was open to a news website,‭ ‬with a familiar picture on the front page.

‎“‏Sir‭?”

I picked up the tablet and looked at the picture,‭ ‬holding it beneath the umbrella.‭ ‬It was a grainy,‭ ‬satellite photo of the space station I had just left,‭ ‬and the explosion that I remembered.‭ ‬The headline read‭ “‬Hostage Meets Tragic End.‭”

“Sir‎ ‏…‎ ”

I caught a glimpse of my name,‭ ‬there in the first sentence.‭ ‬It was still bright out, so it was hard to read‭ ‬…‭ ‬and the shock I was now feeling was making it surreal.‭ ‬But even though I was distracted,‭ ‬my eyes scanned over the article looking for clues.‭ ‬Cultists‭ ‬…‭ ‬Tether Station‭ ‬…‭ ‬God of Destruction‭ ‬…‭ ‬Chaos.

‎“‏Hostage Meets Tragic End.‭”

The shock was beginning to crystallize,‭ ‬as I looked down at my arms holding the tablet.‭ ‬I could remember who I’d been,‭ ‬but it seemed so far away now.‭ ‬What’d happened‭? ‬Why did I look like this‭? ‬How the heck had I survived‭?

Somehow,‭ ‬I wasn’t sure it was important.‭ ‬It felt like I‭ ‬had died up there.‭ ‬Or the person I’d been had died,‭ ‬anyway.‭ ‬All that mattered was saving my friend‭, and beating the daylights out of that stupid cat‬.‭ ‬All that mattered was getting back to that station.

The otter behind the counter had gone back to cleaning it off.‭ ‬I held up the tablet to her, and pointed at the picture on it.‭ “‬Tell me how to get here,‭” ‬I said.‭ ‬My human life seemed like a blur,‭ ‬and I couldn’t remember things like that.

‎“‏Tether Station‭? ‬Um‭ ‬…‭ ” ‬Her eyes flicked out to the horizon,‭ ‬and I looked behind myself out where she was looking.‭ ‬There was an island,‭ ‬out there in the bay.‭ ‬And a thin,‭ ‬black line,‭ ‬stretching up from it into the sky.

‎“‏Thank you,‭” ‬I told her,‭ ‬remembering my manners.‭ ‬I set the tablet back down on the towel,‭ ‬before another phrase came back to me.‭ “‬Do you have free ice water‭?”

For some reason,‭ ‬my instinct was still to try things the human way first.‭ ‬That’s why I spent the next hour or so trudging through grassy sand,‭ ‬heading towards the dock for the ferry that went to the island.

Of course,‭ ‬it was closed.‭ ‬It‭ ‬would be closed,‭ ‬given what was happening up there.

The boat sat there moored in the water,‭ ‬past a shack and the vacant parking lot.‭ “‬It looks kinda low-scale and tourist-y,‭” ‬my human memories told me.‭ “‬The people who can actually afford a ticket to the Station probably get to the island by air.‭”

Well,‭ ‬that wasn’t an option,‭ ‬seeing as how I couldn’t fly.‭ ‬For a moment I thought of commandeering the boat,‭ ‬but my human memories protested that I wouldn’t know how to operate it.‭ ‬So that ruled that out,‭ ‬too.

I stood‭ ‬there at the top of the hill overlooking the parking lot,‭ ‬my arms folded,‭ ‬looking out at the island.‭ ‬The sun was behind clouds now and the wind was starting to pick up,‭ ‬and the breeze fluffed out my quills.‭ ‬It was refreshing,‭ ‬and I closed my eyes and enjoyed it for a few seconds.‭ ‬I was still hungry,‭ ‬but I was more impatient.‭ ‬Somehow,‭ ‬I needed to get out there.

Seagulls called overhead as I‭ ‬hopped the barrier across the road and walked down to the parking lot.‭ ‬Then I sat down on one of those concrete speed bumps‭ ‬at the end of each parking space,‭ ‬took off my shoes and emptied them of sand.‭ ‬As I did so,‭ ‬something clicked,‭ ‬and I knew how I was going to get across.‭ ‬And for a moment it was surprising,‭ ‬but then I realized it shouldn’t be.

Looking back on it,‭ ‬I’m surprised I didn’t have an existential crisis right there.‭ ‬What did this all mean‭? ‬What had I become‭? ‬Was I myself anymore‭? ‬As it turned out,‭ ‬I had been all along,‭ ‬not that I knew that at the time.‭ ‬I just wasn’t concerned with thinking about things like that.‭ ‬All that I was concerned with was getting up to that station and saving my friend.‭ ‬I could worry about the hard questions later.‭ ‬For now,‭ ‬if my instincts helped me get up there,‭ ‬I would act on them.

I put my shoes back on and walked back up to the gatehouse,‭ ‬then turned around and fixed my eyes on the island out in the distance.‭ ‬I leaned over and assumed a runner’s crouch,‭ ‬my mind clear of distractions,‭ ‬my eyes still locked on the island.‭ ‬Then I started counting in my head.

3‎ ‏…

Go.

I took off.

It felt like riding a bicycle downhill.‭ ‬In seconds I’d cleared the parking lot,‭ ‬and was out on a sandbar running past the boat.‭ ‬I was going fast and my feet were pumping like mad,‭ ‬but it felt like they weighed nothing.‭ ‬There was no effort involved.

I pushed myself,‭ ‬as my feet touched wet sand.‭ ‬Wind screamed past my ears and flattened my quills to my forehead,‭ ‬and it began to feel like a physical barrier that I needed to push past.‭ ‬So I did,‭ ‬putting on a sudden burst of energy right as I cleared the shoreline.‭ ‬I shot out over the water like a rocket,‭ ‬a comet-like field of energy flowing around my front half like a bubble and trailing behind me in streaks.‭ ‬The air around me felt calm,‭ ‬and the water felt like it was solid,‭ ‬even though I was barely touching it.

I put on another burst of speed,‭ ‬suddenly afraid of the water,‭ ‬not wanting to slow down and drown.‭ ‬When I got within sight of the island’s shoreline,‭ ‬I could see it was much bigger than it’d looked‭ ‬…‭ ‬there were boats,‭ ‬landed airplanes,‭ ‬a whole slew of buildings.‭ ‬And there were army vehicles parked just past the beach.‭ ‬Would I have to fight my way past them to get up there‭?

Not if they can’t catch me,‭ ‬I thought.

The lines and dots on the beach resolved into fences,‭ ‬vans with antennae on top,‭ ‬and camouflage-colored vehicles.‭ ‬I jumped as soon as my feet touched the sand and then I somersaulted in midair,‭ ‬clearing the barbed-wire fence and landing back in a run without breaking my stride.‭ ‬A person carrying a microphone and talking into a camera had her hair blown back as I ran past,‭ ‬ignoring them and the soldiers in uniform and making my way towards the tether.

Alarm sirens sounded as I ran in a spiral,‭ ‬up the road that led to the tether.‭ ‬A truck was blocking my way,‭ ‬right up next to the gate,‭ ‬so I sidestepped around it and ducked under the road barrier.‭ ‬Then I ran towards the base of the tether:‭ ‬a big,‭ ‬square platform,‭ ‬indented into the ground and made of black metal.‭ ‬It reminded me of subway tracks.‭ ‬Something that traveled the tether was meant to land here,‭ ‬I thought.‭ ‬Something big.‭ ‬And it wasn’t parked here,‭ ‬so that meant it was still up there.‭ ‬Because I took it up there,‭ ‬I thought.

The sirens kept wailing as I stopped at the edge of the platform,‭ ‬looking down at the bowl-like indentation inside it and at the exposed machinery.‭ ‬Then I looked up at the tether itself.‭ ‬It was less than an inch thick,‭ ‬and made of black cable.‭ ‬How was I supposed to get up that‭? ‬Would I even be able to survive if I could‭? ‬That shield I’d created had seemed to trap air around me‭ ‬…‭ ‬would it block out cosmic rays,‭ ‬and scorching temperatures‭?

Somehow,‭ ‬I still wasn’t worried.‭ ‬I was still just acting on instinct.‭ ‬People were shouting at me from behind,‭ ‬and I heard weapons being cocked and machines being moved into position,‭ ‬but none of it bothered me as much as the fact that my friend was still in trouble.

I remembered reading about how the tether tram used magnetic levitation,‭ ‬like trains.‭ ‬Somehow,‭ ‬that was all that my instincts needed.‭ ‬I jumped down into the‭ “‬bowl‭” ‬inside the platform and curled into a ball as I did so,‭ ‬rolling inside it and starting to pick up speed.‭ ‬My fur and my quills stood on end,‭ ‬and the air around my ears crackled,‭ ‬as something inside me reacted with what I was rolling on.

I kept going around in circles,‭ ‬faster and faster,‭ ‬propelled by the reaction.‭ ‬And the crackling became more intense‭ ‬until I broke through just like I had while running,‭ ‬and could feel myself surrounded by the comet trail again.‭ ‬I couldn’t see or hear anything outside of the ball I was rolled in,‭ ‬but just felt the rush of speed and energy,‭ ‬and the circular track I was rolling in.

I leaned myself towards the inside of the track,‭ ‬towards the tether itself.‭ ‬Then gravity shifted,‭ ‬and all of a sudden I was flying upwards,‭ ‬not even touching the tether but somehow guided along it … rolling around it in circles, as I continued to shoot upwards.

I did not‭ ‬dare open my eyes.‭ ‬I didn’t do anything except try to force myself to keep making that field around me,‭ ‬and it didn’t help that I didn’t know how.‭ ‬All I know is that as I kept going the light around me got brighter and brighter,‭ ‬and I could feel burning warmth on one side of me and freezing cold on the other.‭ ‬The only thing that kept me from dying to either was the fact that I was still spinning around so fast.‭ ‬It felt like a carnival ride,‭ ‬and I was pretty sure I was going to throw up afterwards.

I don’t know how long it lasted.‭ ‬I just remember long minutes of silence.

Eventually I thought‭ “‬What am I going to do when I reach the end‭?‬” Then I reached it,‭ ‬as the tether drifted away behind me and I reflexively uncurled.‭ ‬To one side of me was a bright,‭ ‬white and blue wall,‭ ‬three-dimensional wisps of cloud casting shadows on the world beneath.‭ ‬To the other side was the Milky Way,‭ ‬every last star visible.

There was no station in sight.‭ ‬And the shield still around me was dim,‭ ‬and starting to flicker.

Now,‭ ‬you know I survived,‭ ‬or I wouldn’t be telling you this.‭ ‬And frankly,‭ ‬after seeing what’s already happened,‭ ‬I doubt if you’d be surprised anyway.

At the time,‭ ‬though,‭ ‬I was freaked out.‭ ‬My backside was numbing with frostbite, while my face‭ ‬–‭ ‬and the hand I‭ was ‬shielding my eyes with‭ ‬–‭ ‬felt like it was next to the oven,‭ ‬with the door left hanging open.‭ ‬I had only seconds to figure out what to do,‭ ‬but I couldn’t think of anything.‭ ‬I was really scared for my life.

But on another level,‭ ‬I was annoyed.‭ ‬I didn’t feel like I’d just been spaced,‭ ‬I felt like I had been cut off in traffic.‭ ‬Or scratched by an annoying black cat.‭ ‬It was running off with something important to me,‭ ‬and I wanted it back.

I could feel the emerald out there.‭ ‬And as the station crossed between me and the sun,‭ ‬I looked up at its silhouette,‭ ‬and‭ ‬…‭ ‬it’s like I grabbed onto the emerald,‭ ‬somehow,‭ ‬and started pulling myself towards it.

‎“‏Um,‭ ‬sir‭?‬” It was that bird’s voice! Tachyon’s. It sounded tinny and metallic. Was I hearing what was inside the room where the emerald was?

“One step ahead of you,‭” the cat said.

I saw bright flashes on the underside of the station.‭ ‬Then there was fire and noise again,‭ ‬deep rumblings as my shield shook.‭ ‬Sparks filled my vision as I was sent tumbling.

I didn’t care.‭ ‬I made the gem inside the station‭ “‬down‭” ‬and fell towards it again,‭ ‬face-first,‭ ‬my shield glowing like a comet’s trail.‭ ‬Sparks flew off of it,‭ ‬and I could feel myself being deflected by whatever that thing was shooting at me.‭ ‬But as it floated past the sun,‭ ‬and everything‭ “‬beneath‭” ‬me turned into a blaze of light,‭ ‬I just made myself keep falling towards it.‭ ‬Pulled to it by the emerald.

The sun was blocked out by black metal,‭ ‬a solid shape in the light.‭ ‬It got bigger and bigger,‭ ‬until finally-

SLAM

I‭ ‬bounced off of it.‭ ‬Well,‭ ‬not exactly bounced‭ ‬…‭ ‬I smashed through it like a bullet.‭ ‬And I got a brief glimpse of lights and deck plates before I was shot back out the way I’d came,‭ ‬the explosive decompression sucking me out into the vacuum.

‎“‏Okay,‭” ‬I thought,‭ ‬in between being shot out and being pulled back by the emerald.‭ “‬This is a little silly.‭”

Some kind of blast doors were closing across the hole that I’d made.‭ ‬I flattened myself horizontally,‭ ‬and‭ “‬fell‭” ‬inside just as they shut,‭ ‬tumbling sideways across the deck as the station’s gravity pulled me that way.‭ ‬Then there was a sound like a dozen blow-dryers,‭ ‬and my fur and quills were fluffed out by air jets before I heard a robotic male voice:‭ “‬Hull breach in sector‭ ‬208‭ ‬sealed.‭ ‬Sector‭ ‬208‭ ‬repressurized.‭ ‬Intruder in sector‭ ‬208.‭”

I could hear the voices in the room with the emerald talking again,‭ ‬but somehow it seemed‭ ‬noisier inside the station.‭ ‬I couldn’t make them out.‭ “‬Oh well,‭” ‬I thought,‭ ‬as I stood back on my feet and my shield flickered out.‭ “‬I know what direction the emerald is in‭ ‬…‭ ‬and that’s all that I need to know.‭”

“Hull breach in sector‭ ‬114.‭ ‬Hull breach in sector‭ ‬58.‭ ‬Hull breach in sector‭ ‬27.‭”

My spines were like chainsaws.‭ ‬I made myself spin in place somehow,‭ ‬just like I did to get up there,‭ ‬then I shot myself through closed doors and uncurled on the other side.‭ ‬I tried on the walls once or twice,‭ ‬but weird liquids and sparks shot out before I’d even broke through.‭ ‬The doors just folded and clattered in pieces around me.

Everything was black metal and colored lights.‭ ‬Alarm sirens and map displays,‭ ‬in multi-level hallways with windows set into the walls.‭ ‬I couldn’t believe anyone could live someplace like this‭ ‬…‭ ‬even the potted plants were plastic.‭ ‬It was so sterile and fake. Sort of like human social rules.

Another locked door.‭ ‬I smashed through and uncurled to see silver,‭ ‬four-legged robots,‭ ‬stopped in mid-strike,‭ ‬looking at me and shining red lights in my face.‭ ‬A corner of my mind could remember being scared to death by these things‭; ‬sneaking down hallways behind them,‭ ‬shooting at them just to distract them,‭ ‬bullets clanging off of their armor.

Right now,‭ ‬I just wanted them‭ ‬gone.‭ ‬So I charged through them,‭ ‬into an explosion of noise and gunfire and shearing metal,‭ ‬and sparks flying off of my shield.‭ ‬I came out the other side and looked back at the wreckage,‭ ‬just in time to see one robot collapse.

There was a scythe in my hand,‭ ‬shining metal with a jeweled hilt.‭ ‬It weighed nothing.‭ ‬Where had it come from‭? ‬I guessed that it must have appeared somehow,‭ ‬when I’d decided to destroy those robots.‭ ‬I tried to tear into the next door with it,‭ ‬but it got stuck there and I struggled with it.‭ ‬So I let go,‭ ‬and it disappeared.

I stopped there for a moment to catch my breath,‭ ‬and I jumped as something sparked.‭ ‬Deep down inside,‭ ‬I was still frightened and numb with shock,‭ ‬like I’d almost drowned.‭ ‬I still remembered‭ ‬running for my life from those things.‭ ‬And from Shadow,‭ ‬and Tachyon,‭ ‬and‭ ‬…‭ ‬and‭ ‬…

I looked down at myself,‭ ‬at my gloved hands and furred arms.‭ ‬What was I‭ ‬doing here‭? ‬What’d happened to me‭? ‬I’d-

Another loud spark,‭ ‬and an explosion from inside a dead robot’s chest.‭ ‬I jumped,‭ ‬and shielded my face.‭ ‬Then,‭ ‬after a long second of cringing,‭ ‬I smacked myself to snap myself out of it.‭ “‬Argh‭!” ‬I said.‭ “‬What am I thinking‭? ‬I can’t afford to have a crisis right now‭! ‬I need to get upstairs,‭ ‬to that emerald,‭ ‬to my friend‭ ‬…‭ ”

SLAM.‭ “‬Hull breach in sector‭ ‬8.‭”

I didn’t want to accidentally maim my friend‭ (‬what was his name,‭ ‬anyway‭?)‬,‭ ‬so instead of sawing through the door with my spines I took the scythe to it.‭ ‬It took me a second to get it to appear‭; ‬I had to just want to break down the door, without thinking about how.

I lodged my scythe in the door,‭ ‬then tore it out of the wall and sent it flying down the hallway.‭ ‬On the other side was a startled-looking Tachyon,‭ ‬his feathers ruffled and wingtips clutching the gem around his neck‭ ‬…‭ ‬and past him,‭ ‬a cat giving me an angry glare,‭ ‬next to the cage that my friend was in.

‎“‏Tachyon,‭” ‬Shadow said,‭ “‬destroy him.‭”

The falcon looked up at my scythe,‭ ‬then back at Shadow.‭ ‬After that he stepped out of the way.‭ “‬You first,‭” ‬he said.

‎“‏Fine.‭” ‬Shadow grabbed up Chaos‭’ ‬Emerald,‭ ‬from the console it was set into.‭ “‬I’ll just kill you next.‭”

He held out the emerald,‭ ‬clawing it in a vicelike grip.‭ ‬And my fur and my quills stood on end,‭ ‬as there was this rush like air across a cave entrance,‭ ‬and everything in the room except him and the glowing gem faded out and became dark.‭ ‬It was surreal,‭ ‬and I think that if he’d done that when I was human‭ ‬I would’ve grovelled for mercy right there.

I could remember being afraid of Shadow.‭ ‬There was part of me that was still scared of him.‭ ‬But even as ominous as he seemed,‭ ‬I didn’t feel like I was heading for certain death,‭ ‬or even a climactic showdown.‭ ‬It felt more like I’d cornered an unruly cat beneath a stairwell. He’d scratched my friend and run off with something of mine,‭ ‬and I wanted it back.

I launched myself across the void at him, and brought my scythe down hard enough to pierce metal.‭ ‬A shield bubble came up around him out of the gem,‭ ‬like mine but emerald green,‭ ‬and it rippled like water but didn’t break.‭ ‬Streamers of energy danced between it and the gem in Shadow’s claws.

I swung my scythe at his shield again and again,‭ ‬and I could see Shadow strain but his shield wasn’t breaking.‭ ‬Then it disappeared and he leaped at me,‭ ‬his claws slashing bright green arcs through the darkness.‭ ‬The trails of light burned into my retinas and nearly blinded me,‭ ‬as I tried to sidestep and parry using my scythe.

Sparks flew,‭ ‬as his claws clashed with my shield and the handle.‭ ‬Then he tore my scythe’s handle in two and brought his claws across my chest,‭ ‬before pouncing me with his back feet and jumping off that way,‭ ‬rolling and coming up in a crouch.

I touched my chest,‭ ‬where his foot-claws had drawn blood,‭ ‬and it stung. My gloves came up stained red.

I looked up at Shadow,‭ ‬and he hissed and held out the gem at me.‭ ‬And it began to draw energy into it,‭ ‬as if focusing for an attack.

‎“‏To heck with this,‭” ‬I thought,‭ ‬and tossed the pieces of my scythe away.‭ ‬I spun in place the way that I’d done to break down the doors,‭ ‬revving and charging and building my shield around me.‭ ‬Then I let myself fly at him,‭ ‬right as he released the energy he’d been building up.

There was a smashing noise,‭ ‬loud as a thunderclap,‭ ‬as I bounced off of him and across the floor and smacked into the wall.‭ ‬When I came up on one elbow the room was normally lighted,‭ ‬and there was a black scorch mark on the floor where we had collided.‭ ‬I had a headache,‭ ‬but Shadow looked even more out of it than I was.‭ ‬He was on his back moaning,‭ ‬his tail twitching,‭ ‬the gem a foot away from his hand.

Tachyon‭ stood ‬right next to me,‭ ‬watching the gem.‭ ‬He looked down at me nervously,‭ ‬and for a second it looked like he was going to go help Shadow.‭ ‬I grunted and got to my feet before he could move,‭ ‬and went over and picked up the emerald in one gloved hand.‭ ‬I tucked it under my elbow before grabbing Shadow by the scruff of his neck,‭ ‬holding him out in front of me and shaking him.

‎“‏I don’t remember why this blasted gem is so important.‭ ‬But I remember I used to be human.‭” ‬Somehow,‭ ‬I couldn’t look at my friend while I said that.‭ “‬Tell me what’s happened to me‭!”

“ …‎ ‏hwah‭?” ‬It looked like he was cross-eyed.‭ ‬He tried to rub his face with both hands,‭ ‬but his movements were slow and sluggish.

‎“‏Tell me what’s going on‭!‬” I screamed it at him.‭ ‬I hadn’t realized how mad I was,‭ ‬or how scared.

He just giggled,‭ ‬drunkenly,‭ ‬and made a clumsy attempt to reach for the emerald in my other arm.‭ ‬I threw him over the consoles,‭ ‬and he smacked into the floor next to the window.‭ ‬Then I stood there fuming,‭ ‬still unable to face my friend,‭ ‬still unable to so much as remember his name.‭ ‬After a long moment of this I realized I was clutching the gem in both arms and hugging it like a plushie,‭ ‬but I didn’t care.

‎“‏He thinks he’s Chaos,‭” ‬said a quiet voice.‭ ‬I looked over to see Tachyon next to the door,‭ ‬one wingtip pressed to the edge like he was getting ready to leave.

‎“ ‏…‎ ‏and he isn’t‭?” ‬I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

‎“‏Chaos,‭” ‬Tachyon repeated.‭ “‬The God of Destruction.‭” ‬He said it like this was supposed to clear things up.

I gave him a long,‭ ‬annoyed look.‭ ‬He gulped audibly,‭ ‬and tried to explain,‭ ‬looking away and edging closer to the door.‭ “‬Shadow believes that he’s Chaos reborn.‭ ‬There are legends‭ ‬…‭ ‬and things‭ ‬…‭ ” ‬A sweatdrop had formed on his feathers.‭ “‬He was trying to fulfill them.‭ ‬He thought he’d assume his true form.‭”

“What‎ ‘‏true form‭?’”

Tachyon brought his eyes up from the floor,‭ ‬and gave me a long,‭ ‬meaningful look.‭ ‬And my face turned red beneath my new fur,‭ ‬as‭ ‬I realized what he meant. I had become this Chaos that they were obsessed with. That Shadow had thought he was.

It felt like I’d just been told I was on a hidden-camera show.‭ ‬Everything I’d done up to that point,‭ ‬everything since I’d fallen from the sky,‭ ‬all of it was living out this cat’s dreams.‭ ‬My friend had been used,‭ ‬I had been‭ ‬killed,‭ ‬and the only reason they were taking me seriously now was because I wasn’t‭ ‬me anymore.‭ ‬I was‭ ‬…

But wait.‭ ‬Hadn’t he said‭ ‘‬true form‭’? ‬Then that would explain why everything came so naturally‭ ‬…‭ ‬and why my memories were so hazy.‭ ‬It wasn’t like normal amnesia,‭ ‬it was more like I’d just woken up from a dream.‭ ‬And the dream world was starting to fade,‭ ‬as I remembered the waking world.

In that case,‭ ‬this‭ was what‬ I’d always been,‭ ‬before I’d fallen asleep somehow.‭ ‬And these jerks had some kind of whole stupid belief system where I was an icon to them.‭ ‬Because I couldn’t care less if that cat didn’t get to live out his precious power fantasies,‭ ‬and pretend to be me‭ ‬–‭ ‬or try to become me‭ ‬–‭ ‬and hurt people like my friend.‭ ‬I just wanted to get him out of there,‭ ‬and wait for my head to clear and my memories to return before I decided what to do next.

God of Destruction‭? ‬If I met any more people like that cat,‭ ‬I’d show‭ ‬them a God of Destruction.

I gave the falcon a cold glare,‭ ‬and he cringed,‭ ‬literally hugging the edge of the doorway and trying to shield himself from me.

‎“‏Tell me the quickest way off of this station,‭” ‬I told him.

‎“‏C-‭” ‬He coughed.‭ “‬Chaos‭’ ‬Control‭?”

“Which is‎?”

He cringed even further,‭ ‬as though unable to speak.‭ ‬But his eyes locked on the emerald, and memories of how to use it came back to me.‭ ‬“Okay,‭” ‬I said.‭ “‬Get out of here.‭”

He stumbled around the corner and fled,‭ ‬claws clicking.‭ ‬Then I turned around,‭ ‬and looked down at the cage that my friend the otter was crouched in.‭ “‬Hey,‭” ‬I said.

‎“ ‏…‎ ‏Justin‭?” ‬His eyes were wide.

‎“‏Kinda.‭” ‬I made the scythe appear again,‭ ‬and he jumped back.‭ ‬But I just used it to cut off the padlock,‭ ‬then tossed it away and pulled open the door before helping my friend out.‭ ‬He was a little taller than I was,‭ ‬and his fur was ragged and unwashed.‭ ‬I hugged him anyway,‭ ‬and while I could feel his heart racing it seemed to have settled down a bit by the time that I let go.

‎“‏W-what happened to you‭?” ‬he asked.

‎“‏I don’t know,‭ ‬and I don’t care.‭ ‬Now,‭ ‬hold still.‭ ‬We’re getting out of here.‭”

I held the gem up in one hand,‭ ‬and took his hand in the other.‭ ‬The cat started moaning again,‭ ‬and I turned to glare at him for a second before closing my eyes‭ ‬…

…‎ ‏and vanishing.

The light from the window behind my hospital bed was in my face, but I did not want to get up. It was probably midmorning, but I’d had a horrible night … and a horrible nightmare. About glowing, red eyes surrounding me, while screams echoed in the distance.

It probably had to do with what’d happened the day before, I thought. I’d spent all day throwing up and losing my hair. The chemotherapy hadn’t helped any, though. I’d started the day with a nose and mouth; I’d ended it with the painful, pinched beginnings of a muzzle. And let me tell you, it hurts to throw up when your nose is as long as your face. I could see it in front of my eyes now, inches long, black-tipped and sporting red fuzz. And I sighed, but it hurt to sigh, so I whimpered instead and closed my eyes again.

The best I could hope for was that it was cyclical. But if that was the case, then I’d have to go through this again twice a year … three times a year. More. However often it ended up being. At least there wouldn’t be chemo involved.

I felt so tired and disoriented. How long had I been here? Was it yesterday that I’d been throwing up … or the day before? Or sometime before that?

And why was the building so quiet?

I tried to sit up, but my head spun, and I groaned and flopped back down again. Doing so pulled on the tube attached to the needle inside my arm, and it stung and I winced. I lay there just breathing for awhile, feeling every inch of my weary, sprawled-out body; my new, strangely-shaped feet, and the tail that was lumped up and numb beneath me. My fur, that was thin and fuzzy but making the sheets uncomfortably hot.

My nostrils flared, and while they’d grown used to the scent I could detect the hints of all kinds of messes, including the blood I’d thrown up. I winced again, and pitied whomever had to clean the room. And change my sheets.

If there’s anyone out there …

The thought came to me unbidden. My ears twitched, and I listened intently. There was nothing but silence.

Loud, ringing silence.

No white noise. Not even machinery humming.

My eyes flicked open, and glanced around nervously before settling on the IV bottle next to my bed. It was empty.

How long had I been in here?

I groaned and tried again to sit up, straining to push myself upright. Then I tried to gasp for breath once I sat up, but it hurt as I opened my muzzle. Worse, my throat was completely dry, and there was a lump when I tried to swallow. I needed water and food. A shower, too. Where were the nurses? Where was my family? Why was no one else here?

First things first. I reached over and pressed the call button. The light from the windows was bright, so I had to cup my hand over it to see that the light hadn’t come on. Okay, that settled it … there was a power outage, and they’d evacuated the place because of whatever’d caused it. But what had happened? I wondered. The IV stand was still upright, so it probably wasn’t an earthquake …

I went to undo the bandage, then stopped. My arm had thin, red fuzz on it, and my fingers looked gnarled and had dull claws on them. I turned my hand over, and there were pawpads on the palm.

I looked at it for a long moment before my vision started to blur. Permanently disfigured, the voice in my head told me. Permanently scarred …

And what about mental changes? Was I a dog? A fox? How much of me was still left inside? I remembered reading a rabbit’s online journal, and how his whole life had changed because he was scared of everything now. But I couldn’t tell if I was having new feelings or not. I was just physically worn out, and in need of pretty much everything food- and hygiene-related.

Argh, I didn’t need to be thinking about this. I especially didn’t need to be crying, I was going to dehydrate myself. Maybe I should just close my eyes, and let myself be … think about nothing but the animal I was, and what it needed at the moment.

Okay. I shuddered. Okay. I can do this.

I carefully detached the IV needle from my arm, then patted the bandage back down around it. It was old and blood-stained — my skin had probably stretched while it was attached. I would take care of that when I could.

I removed the bedcovers, and my fuzzy skin was still way too warm beneath the hospital gown. The air conditioning seemed to be off. How long had I been sweating? How had I not dehydrated?

I slowly shifted around and put my bare feet to the floor. They touched something fuzzy, and I leaned forward and looked down, becoming a little light-headed as I did so. There were huge clumps of hair all around my bed.

I could feel the loss, and I knew I’d start crying again if I thought about it. But it seemed far away, and the floor also reminded me of a barbershop after a haircut. I just let it be that, in my mind, and tried to make myself stand, leaning on the IV pole for support as I balanced on unsteady feet. Then I gripped it tightly and winced, as my tail turned into pins and needles behind me. I’d slept on it for who knows how long, and it hurt.

I looked behind me at it, and it was surprisingly long; a couple of feet already, with bright red fur. It looked like it’d be fluffy if it wasn’t so matted. Was I a fox, then? They had neat tails …

I gasped as the pain sharpened. Then I reached out behind me, wincing and holding on with my other hand, and tried to straighten my tail out. It was limp and lifeless, and had been bent at a painful angle, still on top of the bed. I pulled it off and let it fall down behind me, and then cringed as blood rushed into it. But that seemed to help; it began to sway a bit as I tried to balance myself. I could feel it doing that without my thinking about it.

I looked behind me and tried to make my tail move on my own, and could see it do so about as feebly as I was moving the rest of myself. Then I took a deep breath, and tried to step away from the IV pole, one hand on the bed to catch myself if I fell.

My eyes went to the furniture, as I moved. The chairs were tipped over, and one of them was smashed. And it wasn’t just my hair on the floor, either; there were thick clumps of gray, black, even red hairs. Or was it fur? It looked like a cat had shed all over the place.

When I got to the end of my bed I let go of it, and held out my arms to balance myself as I walked the few steps to the doorway. With the way that my lower legs were reverse-jointed now, it felt like I was walking on stilts. I stumbled and nearly tripped, but caught myself on the doorway and took more deep breaths to steady my heart.

I looked up at the edge of the door where I’d grabbed it and saw deep clawmarks scoring it. Below that, I saw a dark stain.

My eyes went down to my hand, and I slowly lifted it from the doorframe. Dried blood crumbled beneath my fingertips.

My heart began to race, and the room began to spin. I lurched downward, not fighting it, and sunk down next to the door, my back pressed up against it. My head pointed upward and my eyes were squeezed shut, as I gasped for breath through my dry muzzle. One hand was still holding onto the doorframe, and I slowly let it drop, then tried to adjust my tail behind me.

Oh man, I thought. Oh man.

I remembered that rabbit’s journal again, and could feel that same fear inside me: the fear of being a small, helpless animal. Was it because I was half fox now, or would I have had the same reaction as a human? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I couldn’t.

A thought came to me, and I winced at the irony. All the survival horror games that I’d played, and I couldn’t make myself look around the corner.

Then I heard a voice, from outside the room.

*whisper* *mumble* *hiss* *whisper*

Huh?

*mumble* *hiss* *whisper* *mumble*

My knees started to shake. This was not making me feel better about leaving the room.

I found myself trying to think how long I could survive in there, and what my chances of rescue were. Of course, I had no idea if anyone even knew I was alive, but at the time I really wanted to be talked into just sitting there. How long could I go without food and water? I thought.

My muzzle convulsed in a dry swallow, and I nearly gagged on the lump in my throat. I whimpered again, this time without tears, and tried to talk myself into going outside. There’s a water fountain down the hall, I told myself. There will be lots of food in the cafeteria …

*whisper* *mumble* *whisper* *hiss*

I clenched my fists, feeling dull claws press into my pawpads. Then, on all fours, I crawled to the edge of the doorway and peeked outside.

A long moment later I pulled back slowly, still on all fours, staring off into space. My mind had just numbed with shock. I couldn’t feel anything except my fox body.

Fortunately, it knew what to do. Without thinking about it I hopped onto two feet and stood up slowly, letting the blood slowly clear out of my head, letting my tail swish behind me to balance. Then I walked outside, and examined things more closely.

Now that I was up close to them, the smears of blood on the floor and the walls didn’t seem so huge. There wasn’t much else left of him or her, either. A few scraps of fabric and other materials, and bits of loose hair (or fur). Oh, and a cellphone. The cellphone was making the noise.

I picked it up carefully, between two claws. There was still blood on it.

As I lifted it, I could see it was smashed, and pieces of it were scattered. It broke apart in my hand, and I put out my other hand and tried to catch the pieces but most of them dropped to the floor, plastic bits and glass shards skittering everywhere. I only managed to catch a few pieces …

… including the MicroSD card.

“Day One of the Feral Apocalypse,” a high-pitched male voice said from right next to me.

Whoa! I tripped, fumbled, sent the fingernail-sized chip flying and barely managed to catch it. As soon as I did, the voice started talking again.

“-many have been infected so far?” the voice asked. “Of course, it always starts with one. Then some idiot fails to contain it, and everything goes straight to heck. We’ve seen it in movies, and we’ve seen it in computer simulations that compare it to other diseases. All it’ll take is a mutation that allows zooanthropy to be transmitted by infected humans instead of animal. Then it’ll spread, whether we want it to or not.”

I stared at the card as it talked, and I could almost feel the fox and human sides of my brain being separately bewildered by it. I turned my head, cocking an ear towards it. Then I recoiled as the voice started again, loudly this time.

“You’d think that someone would have listened to me by now!” he complained. “I mean, it’s not like we already knew of an animal-borne disease that turns people into animals or anything. It’s not like it kills half the people it touches, without hospital intervention. And the ones who survive untreated become warped, twisted, and feral. Oh, no.

“I knew that it’d happen, and I knew that it’d start in a hospital. Doctors think they’re immune to everything. Peh, they don’t even wash their hands properly.”

I wasn’t hearing a voice in my head. I was hearing a physical voice from the MicroSD card. But when I turned it around in my hand, or held it between my claws instead of next to my skin, I could hear it modulating; growing softer and louder, then softer again. What was going on?

My subconscious figured it out before the rest of my brain did, of course. You’ll have to forgive my conscious mind. All the blood that it’d seen in video games, and none of it had prepared it for what’d happened out there.

What had happened out there? And how come I could hear the card? No clue, my subconscious mind told me. What now?

I tried to figure out what to do with the card, as the male voice went on about how nobody listened to him. My hospital gown didn’t have any pockets, though. And it was missing certain other important pieces of fabric, which was convenient for someone who had a tail, but very drafty. I finally just held the card in my hand, and tried not to think about what I was stepping over as I slunk down the hall to the water fountain.

The plumbing was still working. I lapped thirstily for more than a minute, getting splashed all over my muzzle as the voice on the card lectured me.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “Patient One’s going to get checked in at the hospital, probably in the advanced stages. He’s got the mutated form of zooanthropy, but nobody knows it yet.”

Go on, I thought. I heard the voice coughing, away from the microphone.

“They start to treat him, but it’s too late. He’s flapping and flailing around, having seizures, throwing up contaminated blood-”

My stomach wrenched.

“-and making everyone around him instantly infected. They don’t know it, he doesn’t know it, nobody knows what’s happened yet. They’re just continuing to treat him. And when they start to show the first symptoms, they don’t realize what it is. The doctors and nurses drive home, his family drives home, and they infect other people by accident. So by the time anyone realizes what’s going on-”

I’d started to cry uncontrollably, still while drinking from the fountain. I had to turn the water off, and lean up next to the wall.

“-it’s too late.”

I could hear background noise in the audio, and I realized that he was driving. Not that it mattered that much to me. I had curled up into a ball, my tail wrapped around me, and was rocking back and forth with my head in my arms.

“Yup, there is is,” the voice said over the engine. “Hagerstown, Maryland. Population: The walking, furry dead.”

It was a while after that before I regained my senses. I think it may have started about at the time that the guy on the card mentioned using plastic explosives.

After that I ran (well, more like staggered) back into my room and climbed up on the bed, to look out the window behind it. Sure enough, there was a big freakin’ hole in the side of the building the window looked out on.

What the heck?

“Because when you’re being chased by zombies-” He coughed. “‘Scuse me, zoomorphs — you just can’t open the door fast enough. Better safe than sorry! Besides, explosives are awesome.”

I heard him picking his way through the rubble, kicking rocks aside and coughing through the smoke. Was this guy … had this guy been for real? And why was I hearing all this? How was I hearing all this?

I looked down at the card again. Something must have happened while I was asleep, while I was changing, so completely out of it that not even an explosion could wake me up. Something that somehow had to do with this new mutated infection … an infection that I had gotten just enough intervention to survive.

Either that, or I was as bonkers as this guy was. What was he even after? Or what had he been after?

“Night vision online … ” he said, voice trailing off as if adjusting something. I heard Velcro straps and a metal bolt being pulled back. “Buckshot loaded. Time to confirm a hypothesis.”

I still wasn’t sure what he was going on about. Had he come here to rescue someone, or what? I was pretty sure most “zombie apocalypse” nuts weren’t the kind of person to be going inside a contaminated area. But that’s what the guy on this card was doing.

The next sounds that I heard from it were footsteps. I knelt there on the bed, looking at the card in my hand for awhile. Then I remembered how icky and dirty the bed was, not that I was any better. I got down from it and tried to figure out what to do next, my tail swishing behind me.

My stomach growled, and twisted so much that it hurt. I winced, and put a hand to it. Then I stepped back out into the hallway, my mind made up for me.

It took me awhile to find the hospital cafeteria. I’d been rushed in the emergency entrance, and I hadn’t been to this hospital before so I didn’t know where anything was. On top of that, the elevators weren’t working, and it took me much longer to climb down the stairs than I’d thought it would. After a minute, every step started to hurt, and I had to lean on the rail as I went.

My stomach kept twisting in knots. I was starting to numb to the pain. I was so hungry I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat anything, if that makes any sense. And I felt so weak and fragile, like my skin was stretched out too tight. I’d probably lost a lot of weight.

I stood there thinking about all of this, gasping for breath for the umpteenth time, and all I could think was how absurd it was for me to be in this situation. What was my life expectancy, here? Five hours? Five minutes? Was there anything even alive in the building besides me?

I hoped not.

I heard something break, and almost jumped. Then I realized it was on the card. “What are they doing?” the voice whispered. “It’s like they’re going around breaking all the computers on purpose. No, that wasn’t a computer, it was a … some kinda … three-letter-acronym hospital equipment. Thing.”

Another smash. I strained to listen to the guy’s voice; he was whispering into the microphone. “They’re smashing anything electronic, but they’re leaving the furniture intact. What’s up with that?”

I was almost to the landing when he said something that stopped me in my tracks. “It’s like they can detect electrical currents … or magnetic fields, the way birds can. Are the computers driving them crazy, or something? And if that’s the case, will they be able to sense my-”

Something growled, on the card. “Oh crud.”

I heard a feral growl, something big and animal and alien, and it made my fur stand on end from head to tail. Then I heard gunshots, and running footsteps and slamming doors. After that was some kind of commotion I could barely make sense of, then more footsteps.

I was shaking when I made it to the foot of the stairs. For a long second I could do nothing but wrap my arms around myself and shiver, leaning up next to the door to the ground level. I’d just gotten a glimpse of what could be waiting for me, and I didn’t want it. I wanted to un-hear it, and pretend there was nothing out there. It’d have to have moved on, right?

… right?

I almost opened the door before I realized something: if he was right, and they could “hear” electronics like I could, then I didn’t need that card giving me away. There was a tiny ledge on the wall, a sort of a decorative horizontal striping that stuck out just under an inch, and I set the card there and made a note to myself to pick it up later. Then, taking a deep breath, I opened the door and crept in.

The sunlight was bright, through the glass doors of the lobby. I pressed my paws and nose up against them, looking out at the hospital parking lot … it almost looked normal. Just dead quiet.

The doors were closed.

“They went out another way … ” I whispered to myself.

But the doors were still closed.

There were houses across the street from the hospital. Even with the smashed windows, they still looked inviting, and I stared at them longingly. Then my stomach tightened again, and my pawpads squeaked on the glass as I tried to hold onto it, cringing. I couldn’t wait. I needed something now.

I turned around and hurried, clutching my stomach, past the door of the gift shop and the empty reception desk. There was a sign that said “CAFETERIA,” with an arrow pointing to the right … I found the door, and pushed on it.

It was locked.

I started to sweat, already anticipating the next hunger pangs. Then I thought “What if there’s a back entrance?” I hurried again, back to the hallway and around the corner. There, at the end, I saw double-doors, closed almost shut but held open by a fallen mop. I walked toward them as fast as I could, driven by instinct.

The hallway leading up to it was dark. The doors were just open a crack, and what there was inside was pitch-black. I’d almost got up to them when I stopped, suddenly nervous.

“Don’t go in there.”

I could hear it inside my head. It was as if someone had said it, but I knew it was my own instincts again. I stood there, hesitant, looking wistfully at the doors. Scared, but starving to death.

“Don’t go in there.”

Another pang tightened my stomach, and I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard not to cry. It hurt so bad. I didn’t care what was in there, I just wanted-

“DON’T GO IN THERE!”

And then I realized what I was smelling. It was masked by disinfectant, metal trays and utensils, and a thousand hospital smells, but it was strong right next to the door. There was something alive in there, possibly more than one something.

I heard it breathing.

All of a sudden every muscle in my body locked up. My breath froze and held there, and my tail stopped in mid-twitch. My eyes were wide, and fixed on the door.

It took another breath. Three. Four. Regular, steady, even.

Asleep.

I was still frozen in time. It took all of my effort to make myself move, to start running back out of that hallway, each step as light and as urgent as possible. I almost slipped and ran into the wall, but my tail swished and I held my arms out to balance, wobbling as I rounded the corner. I made it all the way back to the front before taking a breath, and I started gasping, slumping down next to the glass doors and leaning on them. Fogging them up with my breathing.

I had to get out. After I’d caught my breath enough I stood up and braced myself, rubbery pawpads gaining traction on the tile floor, then pried at the doors with my claws. My arms were rail-thin and I weighed even less than I usually did, but I put everything I had into it. Then I took another deep breath and tried again, not making a sound as I strained against the doors.

They didn’t budge. I tried different ways of getting purchase on them; using my hand pawpads, digging in as deep as I could with my claws before prying them apart. No dice. The doors wouldn’t open. For a moment, I considered throwing something through the glass … but that thing way back there would hear it, and I’d step on the glass with my bare feet trying to get out.

I still needed food before I could do anything else. I looked at the gift shop entrance, but the sign said “closed” and it was probably locked up. I tried it anyway, before looking back at the door to the stairwell. What other choice did I have? I sighed, one ear still perked toward the hallway.

But where could I go to get something to eat? Then I remembered visiting my great-aunt at the nursing home, and how the nurses’ station out in the hall had cartons of dry mixes. And cans of nutrition drinks and the like.

I carefully opened the door, and picked up the MicroSD card before pulling myself back up the stairs.

“What I wouldn’t give for an elevator,” I thought, as I pulled myself up the rest of the way to the first landing. I couldn’t feel my stomach or my misshaped feet anymore. My heart felt like it was threatening to give out, too, although that was probably because of what’d happened downstairs … at least the voice on the card was being quiet.

I pushed the heavy crossbar on the door, leaning into it until the door opened enough for me to slip inside. Sure enough, there was a nurse’s station, and while the chair was way out in the walkway the shelves looked pristine. I wheeled the chair back into the station, then climbed up on the counter and started opening cabinets, peering around paperwork to try to find something that looked edible.

At one point I heard a door creak open, and jumped and nearly fell off the counter. But a second later I realized it’d sounded recorded, and then it’d come from the card I’d set down next to me. I sighed.

“Going to have to figure out what to do about you … ” I muttered, as I found what I was looking for. I pulled out the cardboard box of brand-name “balanced nutritional drink,” feeling loose cans clanking inside of it. Then I set it down on the counter, before hopping down and taking my dull claws to the box’s seams.

As I got out a can and fumbled with its tab, I found myself wondering if I’d be able to digest this. Shouldn’t I be looking for something made for zoomorphs, instead? Then my stomach began to tighten again, just as I got the tab open, and I put the can to my muzzle and drank greedily. It tasted like vanilla chalk; it spilled down my chin onto my dirty hospital gown. I didn’t care. It was the first food-resembling-thing I’d had in I didn’t know how long.

I started to get out another can, when I heard a door opening down the hall. And this time it took me a second to realize it wasn’t coming from the card.

Something took two deep sniffs of the air, so loud I could hear from the end of the hall. Then it growled, a bass rumble that shook the floor.

It sounded like angry purring.

The thing snorted, and stepped towards the landing where I was at, claws clicking on the floor. And I realized I was just standing there, still messy and leaning against the counter. It was like I was seeing myself from far away. I was so scared that I couldn’t move, could just watch myself shake in third-person mode and feel my heart pounding inside.

There was so much tension and nervous energy in me that if I moved, I knew I’d just freak out. I’d scream and run and bounce of the walls, and claw at the windows as I got eaten. Or would I? I could feel another impulse, alien and familiar at the same time. And as I looked at the desk in the nurse’s station, the space underneath started to look like a burrow. Or den.

I dove silently into it, muscles tense and movements as precise as I could make them, just stopping myself from hitting the side right as the thing stepped out. There was an inch or two between the side of the long, L-shaped desk and the floor, and I could see claws the size of my fingers … on misshapen, nearly-furless paws the size of my head.

I went through every swear word I knew just watching those giant paws, and hearing the thing they belonged to taking deep sniffs of the air. It growled again, and I couldn’t do anything but watch and wait for it to find me. My heart didn’t even let up when it started to turn back around and go back down the hall …

… but when the voice on the card started up again, I nearly jumped.

“Okay … ” The voice sounded out of breath. “I think that confirms my suspicions!”

I couldn’t hold still anymore; could only try not to bump into anything while I was shaking, watching the things balance shift on its paws. Seeing matted fuzz on the tip of its pasty white tail, swishing in and out of my vision.

“That virus is mutating fast … already it’s making them into some more advanced form of life. Where by ‘advanced,’ of course, I mean ‘more than a match for the rest of us.’ And why shouldn’t it be?”

The growling started again.

“After all, virii can evolve faster than macrobiotic life. And this one’s like a super-virus. It copies and retains genetic traits from the animals that host it. And now that it’s spread through infected humans as well, it’s making some rapid progress!”

The pawpads came towards me, turning around the corner of the desk, and I held my breath and tried to press myself against the inside of the desk without making a sound. I didn’t look — I couldn’t make myself — I just tracked it with my ears as it walked past me, up to where I’d left the card on the counter behind the desk.

“The only thing that makes sense now is for me to-”

Run.

I wanted to be stealthy. I wanted to somehow do a Metal Gear Solid right behind the thing’s back, and ninja out into the hallway while it was distracted. (What I would’ve given for a cardboard box!) But I couldn’t. My nerves were too shot, my muscles were too tense, and I was too panicked to do anything but hide there trembling or run like heck. No. I’d hid long enough.

Of course, it noticed. It made a noise like a growling bark, and I heard and felt it turn towards me as I skidded around the corner into the hallway. Doors were open, doors were closed, claws were clicking behind me, no time to think. I grabbed the inside of one of the open doorframes to check myself, then flung myself into the room and shut and locked the door. It looked like the room I’d woke up in, except that it was even more of a disaster. There was a mess of some kind on the bed, and flies buzzed up from it in the window light. The IV rack was overturned, and there was a smashed EKG machine nearby. Had someone been sick? Had they gotten eaten? Was I next?

Probably.

“It’s right behind you,” my instincts said, as its footsteps stopped outside the door. I held my breath, knowing this was my last chance.

Then it pounded the door, loosening hinges and throwing me forward away from it. I almost fell onto the mess on the bed, but I deflected myself off the mattress and stumbled into the wall, pressed up against it with eyes shut. My fur was standing on end, and all of my strength was leaving me. “This is the end,” I thought.

“I’m so bad at this game.”

The door smashed, splintering open, and the thing snorted as it tore it aside. I could feel its eyes on me, I could smell its breath in the room, and the worst part is? I could still hear the guy on that card going on.

“It’s like I’ve always said.”

Big, powerful footstep.

“If there was a zombie apocalypse … ”

Another footstep. I could hear the creature’s weight shifting as it stepped over the door, could almost feel its tail swishing to balance.

” … the zombies would become the dominant ‘life’ form in under a decade.”

It stopped, right above where I’d curled to the fetal position. And I realized I had like a second to decide if I wanted to look before it ate me.

I chickened out. I squeezed my eyes even tighter. But then I felt something tiny drop onto my headfur, and I realized that it was the card. “My bunker isn’t completed yet,” the voice on it said, “so I guess there’s just one thing to do. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!”

A long second passed, before I looked up.

It was wearing night-vision goggles.

A blue light turns on, on its rim. Then its glass front lights up, and on top of its menu of apps an overlay reads “1 NEW MESSAGE” next to an envelope icon. After a moment it blanks, and the blue light pulses softly as rain continues to pour outside.

I did not want to get up that morning.

Yes, I heard that one tiger going around the camp shouting for everyone to get up. That’s what woke me up in the first place. I’ve always been a light sleeper, and he has a good set of lungs besides. I just didn’t want to climb out of my sleeping bag. Because I was still groggy, and because I’d been having the most amazing dream.

I was an anthro in my dream, but I wasn’t an anthro animal. I was an anthro dragon. As in golden scales, leathery wings … that kind of dragon. I was flying over a bay somewhere, right up next to the water’s surface, getting the spray in my face. Dipping my clawtips into the water as I flew past it, feeling my wingtips touch it as they beat. I took a deep breath and breathed fire in front of me, an enormous jet like a flamethrower, and I inhaled the mist that it kicked up and felt it on my scales.

I remember I was flying towards a city across the bay, someplace huge with a lot of lights. Then I was inside the city, and these people were trying to catch me for some reason. But I instinctively used some kind of magic powers, shooting these things like ball lightning at them and leaping so high I could clear traffic lights. I still remember the rush from jumping up so high, and then coming back down and touching the pavement.

They were still on my trail somehow, so I used some other ability to make myself blend in with the crowd, even though I still looked like a dragon to myself. I remember my pursuers pushed past me, looking for me, and I just grinned at them-

“GET UP!”

He was right outside my tent that time. I jumped, entangling myself in my sleeping bag, then flopped back down and groaned. My heart was racing and my hair was frazzled, but my eyes did not want to open.

I fumbled around for my glasses, putting them on and trying to straighten my hair out. Then I stepped outside of my sleeping bag, and into a puddle right next to the door. Moaning, I dug in my pack for a towel while trying to keep my foot still, so as not to get anything else wet. I put the towel down and used my foot to push it around a little, trying to dry my toes off …

That’s when I noticed the light on my phone was on.

A minute later I ran out of there, rushing to finish my morning routine and get breakfast. I didn’t think about the pancakes I was eating, the sun in my eyes, or the inchworm crawling up the bench next to me. And it didn’t even bother me to have to sit next to Ann and Aisha. The two coyotes were gabbing on like they always were, but my eyes were on the phone’s screen, thumb scrolling through text as I ate there on autopilot.

Aisha’s hairbeads jangled as she turned her head to look down at me. “What’re you looking at?” she asked.

I immediately locked my phone, the screen blanking. “Stuff,” I said.

“What kind of stuff?” Ann asked, from around her.

“Just stuff,” I said, even though it wasn’t just anything. I was speaking on auto too, my mind still on the message.

“I bet it’s his SpaceBook page.” Aisha nudged Ann. “He got a new girlfriend online, and now that’s all he can think about.”

They squealed, and started talking about who she might be and what she must be like. I finished the rest of my breakfast quickly, and put my dishes into the bin where that one deer was scrubbing them before walking to a safe distance. I quickly read the message, remembering the time before It had happened.

I remembered the homeschool group my mom used to have me in. She taught me at home, so my only classmates were my brother and sisters. But every few weeks we’d get together with the kids from the other families in our group, and do something like bowling or roller skating.

I know the stereotype of the homeschooled kid is that he doesn’t know how to socialize. But a lot of the kids there were friendly and outgoing. I was the odd one out because of how shy I was and because of my interests. And I remembered the girls that I’d wanted to talk to — the ones who’d occasionally taken pity on me, and asked me to dance or asked what I was working on — and wondered which one had emailed me. She’d remembered what group we’d been in, but she hadn’t mentioned her name. Not that I remembered any of their names; I’m horrible with things like that.

Work began as usual soon after breakfast. The horses and bears and other big anthros chopped wood, lugged things around, and drew plows through the muddy fields. I heard gunshots echo through the woods, as that tiger and his brother brought down their new kills. And I got soaked with sweat and with condensation, dragging coolers and ice around and biking them out to the fields where the anthros were working. A couple times I had to turn back around, because I was so lost in my thoughts I just about rode out of camp.

What would I say to her? I wondered. How would I answer each question? I mean, I knew why I wasn’t an anthro yet — the kinds that were easy to get didn’t appeal to me, and the tougher ones didn’t make sense. All the species I actually liked were too hard for me to get, and I liked being human, besides. I wouldn’t trade it for dragging a plow through the mud like the cattle were, at any rate, and living in close proximity to members of the other local species had taken away much of their appeal. I didn’t know what I wanted … I just knew that I wasn’t ready yet.

My legs were sore from biking through mud, as I walked my bike up the hill for lunchtime. I kicked off some of the crud on the tires and tied my bike to a post before walking to Alvin’s trailer to get my phone back from him, shielding my eyes from the glare on his solar panels. My phone had recharged, and I knew I would need it at lunch.

For lunch I sat next to Melinda, the big cow anthro who runs the camp and sews half of everyone’s clothing. She was talking to her husband while eating, and I kind of pushed around my mac and cheese while thinking about what to say. I kept scrolling through words on the screen, writing and rewriting answers in my head but not ready to put them down yet.

Before I knew it, Melinda was stacking her dishes and getting up. “Zach?” she asked.

I looked up, my face blank and my mind elsewhere.

“Zach, finish and put up your dishes. You can play with your phone later.”

That was Melinda … everyone’s mom. But there was no arguing with her. I put my phone up and kept thinking about what to say while I ate.

The rest of the day’s chores took way too long. I kept checking the time on my watch. Every now and then I would steal away and try to type something out, but someone would always catch me and ask me to help them with something. I’d gotten a reputation last year for tiring easily and taking breaks to play games on my phone, so I got teased about that a lot that afternoon. I just ignored them, lost in my thoughts.

Dinner was yet another outdoor meal, since there were no signs of rainclouds. I ate slowly, tired and worn out, and tried to focus my brain on the message. But it wouldn’t, and I knew that I’d have to just finish and sit down someplace quiet. I put up my dishes and wandered off, knowing that I would miss out on dessert. Knowing I needed some time to myself to think.

I sat down on the big stump that they use for chopping wood. Then I leaned back on it and looked up at the sky. I lay there for a long time, long enough to notice it start to get dark.

Finally, I sat up and wrote.

“Hello!

“And no, I’m still a human … don’t want to be one of the horses or oxen (ugh), don’t like the other local species that much.”

I paused for a moment, thumbs poised above the glass screen, thinking. Remembering my dream from last night.

“If I had the choice I’d go with something like ‘dragon’. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Seriously.

“– Zach”

I tapped “Send,” and looked up at the sky. It was dark, and I could see the first stars now. It occurred to me I was chilly.

People shouted to each other in a friendly way, from the fire way back at the camp. I waited another long moment before pocketing my phone and heading back there, hoping they still had some homemade marshmallows.

That night, Zach has the dream again, the one where he is a dragon. This is the fourth time now that he’s had it. His pursuers still haven’t caught him, and he’s learned even more abilities.

“How would you like to become a dragon?”

Crickets chirped. Owls hooted. Mosquitoes buzzed next to my ears.

I shooed them away, then straightened out my headset and made sure it was attached to my phone correctly before laying back down on the stump. I could see the full moon overhead, but it only disgusted me. The full moon was supposed to be good for transformations, but nothing had happened last night.

I sighed. “This hasn’t been working … ”

“It will,” said Laura, over my headset. Her voice sounded older and more determined than mine.

“This is the third time you’ve tried to walk me through this.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to argue. I didn’t have any energy left. I’d spent all day hauling ice water back and forth, and had been up late two nights in a row already, trying to do this. I finally just groaned and let my body go limp, sprawling out across the wide stump and trying to get comfortable. Another mosquito buzzed at my ear, but I was too drowsy to care.

“Okay,” she said. “Close your eyes, and take five deep breaths.”

I counted them, exhaling right next to the microphone. One … two … three … four … five.

“Let your body go limp, and relax.”

I’d already done so most of the way. Now I withdrew all of my energy from it, controlling nothing except for my breathing.

She spoke, setting the stage … making it seem like I was someplace else, a place where anything could happen. Then describing the changes; skin turning to scales, fingertips becoming claws. Wings sprouting. Face elongating.

It was the same routine as the last couple of nights. The same hypnotic suggestions. But something different happened this time. I actually felt it. Not in the hazy way that you feel things in dreams, either. I mean my skin was crawling, my breath was racing, and I was excited but scared because something was happening to me. I gripped the edge of the stump with my hands and felt claws dig into it, as wings unfolded where I lay and spread to either side of me.

I think she could tell what was happening to me, because her voice seemed more confident than last night. “Now, stand,” she commanded. And I obeyed, slowly, not wanting to break the spell.

Looking back on it, that’s when things started to get murky. I mean, the feelings were all there, of having tight scales and claws and new limbs. But my muzzle was blurry in front of me, and while I could see golden scales on bare arms in the moonlight I couldn’t focus on them.

Laura asked me a question. I don’t remember what it was. I was still exploring these new feelings, my wings folding and tail swishing behind me. Worried that talking, or moving my muzzle, would make everything go away.

She asked me another question, but I still wasn’t listening. There was something I had to do, despite how fragile everything was … something I needed to know.

I got out my phone, the screen blanked to save power during a call. I turned around slowly, until the moon could shine on its glass face. Then I tilted it in my hand until I could see my reflection.

My eyes met with a dark, shapeless mass.

That’s when the world fell apart. It was like my new body shattered; like all my scales were torn off. I writhed on the grass clutching my ears and my arms. Everything, from the soft grass to my clothes, stung and burned where it touched my skin. I cried out in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Laura asked. But her voice seemed a million times louder. I tore off the headset and threw it aside, still attached to my cellphone. Then I started whimpering, still rocking back and forth, in so much pain that I was starting to grow numb.

I should’ve known, I thought. I should’ve known.

They found me the next day. I’d spent the whole night in agony, surging and waning as I tried in vain to ignore it. By sunrise it had mostly gone away, but every time that one tiger shouted I had to clutch my ears, even through it was a long way away.

I was completely useless that day. I tried to curl up in my tent, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. The sunlight was too bright, the inside of my sleeping bag was too warm, and every sound was too piercing. I alternated between covering my eyes and ears until my arm muscles got sore, wishing that I had earplugs, or a real bed, or even a snack. But I couldn’t make myself get up. I had no energy. I felt terrible.

The worst part was I was so tired that the whole world seemed like a dream. I could remember that wonderful dream, could remember the feelings I’d had last night, but I couldn’t make them come back. Why couldn’t I? The world seemed so unfair.

I thought of all of the anthros out there in the camp … bigger, stronger, and seemingly more important than me. I thought of them all, and I wished that I could be a dragon.

That evening I finally caught a few hours of dreamless sleep. I staggered out while everyone was gathered around the firepit, and managed to get leftovers out of the coolers. I wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought I was, but it’d been awhile. I didn’t go anywhere near the fire because it was so bright and the people around it were so loud.

Finally, it occurred to me to check my email and voice mail. I hesitated at first, because of what’d happened last night. But I had one new voice message, so I finally put on my headset, turned the volume almost all the way down, and listened.

“Hi, Zach,” said Laura’s voice. “I don’t know what happened last night, but it sounded like you got hurt. I hope you’re okay.

“I wanted to make sure that you’re one of my kind before telling you about this. That’s why I asked about your dreams, and why I used the ancient rituals to awaken your dragon side. You can put it to sleep again, just like it’s been sleeping your whole life and living in dreams. I won’t blame you if you do. But if you don’t, then please come with me. I need your help.”

There was a pause. I could hear her breathing, and feel sweat dripping down my sides.

“Don’t tell the humans,” she warned. “Or the animals they’ve become. Because if you do, I’ll come back here as a dragon, and I’ll kill you myself.”

There was a click, and the voice mail ended.

I sat there limp, leaning up against the outer wall of the shed, feeling as scared and powerless as I had last night.

Feeling afraid of her. And feeling afraid of myself.

Somewhere in between the camp and the city, a red-haired young woman curses, and throws her smartphone into her pack. “Argh, I’m so stupid!” she shouts. “Why did I tell him that? Why did I say all of it? No one would ever believe me!”

Finally she sits down on her sleeping bag, digs out her smartphone and starts playing a game to distract herself. It’s going to be a long night.

“Melinda?”

“Yes?” She looked up from her knitting. Her husband was apparently getting ready for bed or something; she was one of the only ones left at the fire.

I hesitated for a long moment, not sure how to go about this. But she was still looking down at me, so I tried to swallow my fear. “Um … have you ever heard of anyone becoming a mythical creature anthro?”

“A mythical creature? Like what?”

“Well, like a dragon … ” I sweated harder as I spoke the word. “Or like a phoenix, or gryphon, or something,” I quickly added.

“I’ve seen a gryphon before,” she said, resuming her knitting. “She was a cross of a hawk and a mountain lion. Sort of like how Mark got a coyote-deer soulgem.”

“Well, yeah … but what about dragons?” I hated having to say it again. It felt like I was giving myself away. And looking up at her, taller than me even while sitting down on a log, I felt like I was talking to a dragon … or something equally powerful. I felt so small and afraid.

Melinda just kept clicking her needles around the rug she was making. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one,” she said. “I’ve heard rumors, but they’re from so far away that they could have been monitor lizards.”

What she said next startled me: “Not that I’d rule it out, mind. The world is a different place now.”

My heart skipped a beat at that, and I tried to calm myself down. I was still tired, still in shock … knowing that what Laura had told me was unbelievable, but feeling deep down that it wasn’t. The world didn’t seem quite real at that moment.

It was a while before I could speak again. I coughed to clear my throat, and said “D-do you think … ”

Melinda looked down at me, concerned.

I hurried to finish. “Do you think it’s possible that some people are meant to be a certain kind of animal? Or mythical creature,” I hastily added.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, still looking down at me. “I’d hope not. It would be sad to get stuck as an anthro you weren’t meant to be.”

I fidgeted.

“Why?” she asked. “Do you feel you’re a dragon inside?”

My face turned red, and I began sweating all over. I looked away from her, trying to think of a response, but I couldn’t come up with one.

“Zach?”

I just stood there, dumb and unable to speak, feeling like she could see right through me and knew what had happened and everything. And knew how I felt inside. I couldn’t deal with it … I just turned and walked away, feeling her eyes on me as I did so.

I tried to make sure no one was following me as I went back out to the stump. No one usually paid much attention to me, but after what had happened I was paranoid, and scared that I’d given myself away. It didn’t help that anthros could be so stealthy that I’d never see one if it were there.

Shaking, I used my phone as a flashlight, shining it all around the clearing where the stump was and trying to check around trees at the edges. I knew that it’d do me no good, since I was so slow and so obvious, but it’s like my brain wouldn’t let me not do it. I spent five or ten minutes checking like that before finally sitting down on the stump, putting on my headset with shaking hands and dialing Laura’s voice number.

“Zach?” she asked, and it startled me.

“Yes,” I whispered, shaking.

“Have you, uh, given any thought to my offer?”

“I felt it … ” I was still whispering.

“Hm?”

“Somehow, it worked. I could feel it, all of it. But then I tried to look at my reflection, and something went wrong … ” I explained as best as I could, leaving out the part where I’d tried to talk to Melinda about it.

“Ah … I’m sorry. The ancient powers can be … unpredictable like that.” She sounded uncomfortable.

“I believe you,” I told her, and swallowed to moisten my mouth. “I believe that you’re a dragon. And it scares me, but I believe that I am too.”

“You do?” Laura sounded like she was caught off-guard by that. “I mean … that’s good, that you do.” She coughed. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Why can’t they tell?” I asked. “When they look at each other through soulgems. When they look at me. Why can’t they tell that I’m not human?”

“Well, you know that the word ‘soulgem’ is a misnomer.” She sounded like she’d expected to have to answer this question. “They don’t see your actual spirit when they look at you through them, and they can’t use them to absorb animals’ spirits, either. All soulgems can detect or absorb is a sort of spiritual residue that’s given off by living bodies.”

“Ah, and since my body is human … ”

“You’re giving off human energy, correct.”

“So I guess that it wouldn’t do you any good to kill me and absorb my energy, then.”

“Huh?” She laughed, nervously. “Oh, no, no … ”

“Okay, then.” I was nervous, too.

“So … ” There was a pause. “I guess you need some time to think about it?”

“No, I’m coming with you.” I rushed to explain. “Those were the most amazing feelings I’ve ever had. It just felt right to be a dragon. I’ve always known that most animals weren’t for me, but I didn’t know what I was until last night. Now I know, and I want it. And if you’re a dragon inside too, then I want to help you as well.”

” … okay, then!” She let out her breath, seeming relieved. “Here’s what we have to do … ”

The next day is another busy one. The spring sowing still needs to be done, and the big, important anthros are moving about, calling out to each other and hauling loads back and forth. They notice when they don’t have ice water, and they think it’s because that scatterbrained kid is playing his video games again. They don’t ask what he was up to when he returns. They just chastise him and drink thirstily.

An hour later she thanks him for his help, and he nods quickly and departs. First at a brisk walk, then at a run. There’s so much he still needs to do to get ready, and he’s already late.

It was a long hike into the city. A couple years ago I wouldn’t have been able to manage it, but after spending those last few months running and biking around camp I was in better shape than I’d ever been. Which was good, because if I hadn’t had that “runner’s high” from walking so fast I would’ve been scared to death, trying to pass through the suburbs. There were fires in the distance and the shadows were long, and I didn’t dare turn on my flashlight.

I knew that I was no match for an anthro. Fortunately, I’d brought a secret weapon. I just hoped I’d have the time to use it if things came to that.

There was no traffic, downtown. There were no insects, or other people around. Cars had been swept to the sides of the street, or crumpled to bits by things that had rolled over them. It was my first time in Chicago since It’d happened, and it felt like I was in an ancient, petrified forest. If there was any life here, it was either hiding or moving fast, trying not to be seen. Sort of like me.

I caught up with Laura around 7 AM, four breaks and three energy bars after setting out. (My sleep schedule was still messed up from staying awake the whole night that one time, so it felt more like late evening.) I saw her downtown from a ways off, and called her on my phone to make sure it was her. When the tiny figure in the parking lot answered her phone, I stepped up the pace.

“What took you so long?” she asked, over my headset. She sounded upset.

“I was kept after dinner,” I said, short of breath as I hurried to meet up with her. “Plus I’m not used to this. Sorry.”

“I stayed up here all night, and I almost fell asleep … ”

I let her rant, and concentrated on maintaining my pace and breathing rate. I would’ve been upset too, to be left out here … I could sense fear under her words. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked.

“You didn’t pick up,” I said. “Did you leave it on silent?”

There was no answer. I hurried the rest of the way up to her, hanging up my phone as I did so.

I would’ve been more nervous about meeting her in person if I hadn’t been so exhausted. As it was, catching up to her was a relief. She was a bit shorter than I was and dressed all in black … not exactly a professional catburglar, but trying her darndest. Her face was lined with stress, and didn’t look much older than mine.

There was one thing that confused me, though. “Did you dye your hair?” I asked.

She blinked at me. “Huh?”

“It’s bright red,” I told her. “I don’t remember any redheads in our group.”

“Oh, um, yes … ” She coughed. “And you’ve grown a lot, haven’t you!”

We both stood there awkwardly, for a moment.

“So … ” she said. “Are you ready to go now?”

I sat down on the curb, wincing, and stretched my legs. “Give me a few minutes to rest … ”

“Okay, then.”

I was still sore when we set out the rest of the way. But she assured me it wouldn’t be dangerous. She hoped.

As they walk, they come to a part of the city that looks more rundown … and torn down. Skyscrapers have toppled over or crumbled in half, crushing smaller buildings beneath. The top of one of them is blocking the street, and the two squeeze around it, careful of the broken glass.

The sun rises over the buildings behind them. And the crystal shines, its rays lighting the streets and the buildings around it in a strange, transcendent glow.

My stomach had tightened in knots, and my legs had just given out. I was slumped down next to the wall, gasping for breath, while Laura did the same on the opposite site of the alley. It was awhile before either of us could say anything.

“I thought … ” I was still trying to catch my breath. “I thought we weren’t going to make it.”

She just nodded, too worn-out to say anything else.

More long minutes passed. I turned my head and saw the street we’d just left shining, walls and windows seeming to sparkle.

On instinct I turned away from it. I wanted to look, but it was more dangerous than staring at the sun. Instead I looked up at Laura, who was starting to get to her feet.

“It’s right down here,” she said. “Come on. Help me move the generator.”

” … the generator?”

It turned out to be an old gas-powered generator, with a blanket and things piled on top of it to disguise it from view. The rags around it smelled like gasoline, and the smell got to my head and made me dizzy.

After what we’d just been through we could only move it a few feet at a time, and it seemed like it took forever to get it to where we were going … even though it was just around the corner, an unmarked door in the side of the alley. The steps leading up to it almost killed my back.

Finally we set the thing down just outside the door, and she fumbled with lockpicks. “You’ve got fuel for this,” I said. “Right?”

“Enough.” She opened the door.

The lights were off, inside. It smelled hollow and cavernous; cold and damp. All I could see for awhile was the floor pattern, as we hauled the generator inside. Then Laura shut the door, and I could see tiny pinpricks of light … and hear running computers, inside.

“Wait … ” I said. “This place has power already? Then why do we need-”

Laura turned on a flashlight, and I squinted and looked where it was pointing. “That’s where they’re keeping them,” she said.

It looked like a blast door … solid metal, heavy and big. There were dents and scrapes all over its surface, especially around the seams and the edges. And there were places where it looked like a blowtorch had been taken to it. Not that it’d done a lot.

There was a computer terminal of some kind, in the wall right next to it. It looked like it’d been cut out and then hastily crammed back in, and its lights and the screen were dead. A panel beneath it was open, and cables and drywall were spilled out beneath.

“This place is running on emergency power,” Laura said. “It’s been this way since It happened.” She started hauling the generator again, and I picked up the other end. “I tried to … hack the terminal,” she grunted, “but it didn’t work.” We set the generator down next to it, and she looked up at me. “I just ended up cutting the power to it.”

“So, wait … ” I was trying to catch my breath, too. “You just needed me to help you haul this thing in here? Or … ”

She didn’t answer.

I watched her work with the cables beneath the terminal. They were a mess, but it looked like she knew what she was doing. Pretty soon she had them spliced around some kind of adapter, and plugged it into the generator.

“Cover your ears,” she said.

I did so, just in time. The generator was loud, especially in that enclosed space. It gave off smoke like car exhaust, and I found myself wondering how long we’d have before we got carbon monoxide poisoning.

I was looking away when she gestured to me. I looked back and she was pointing at the terminal, while looking at me. She tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear it over the noise.

I gave her a confused look. She gave me an irritated look and said something again, still pointing at the terminal.

I pointed at myself and shook my head, helplessly. What’d she want me to do? I thought. Hack into the terminal? Everyone back at camp thought I was good with smartphones, but that was just because they didn’t know how to use them.

Laura rolled her eyes, and stepped over and pulled me by the hand over to the terminal. Then she held my face up to it.

I didn’t struggle, because I figured she knew what she was doing. But I was confused. And my eyes were so close to the screen and the cameras right over it that I couldn’t see anything … except for a scan line tracing down it, along with a 3d picture of my face, as Laura held the flashlight on me.

Finally a green light came on, and she pulled me back. “DR. ASHCROFT — VERIFIED,” the screen said. And it showed my picture, in stereoscopic 3d, next to … another stereoscopic picture of me, this time wearing a white lab coat.

Huh?

I stared at Laura, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she was looking up at the door.

It was opening.

I held my breath. What was inside? Vials of DNA samples? Unhatched eggs? An entire, underground kingdom of living-

I saw Laura recoil first. Then the stench hit me, too. It smelled like rotten eggs and rancid milk, and it was almost overpowering. I found myself leaning against the generator to steady myself, but the way it was vibrating was not helping my stomach any. I felt so sick I didn’t have anything left to be heartbroken with.

Laura went inside, and a moment later I followed, holding my breath before I went in.

I could feel the cold and the stench on my face as I entered, like walking into a clammy mist. There were row upon row of industrial freezers, some of them with their glass doors open and fluids spilling out from mysterious containers. Also eggs, cracked open and rotten and smashed on the floor. Some were smaller than hens’ eggs, others were bigger than ostriches’.

All were smashed, or warm and decaying. All of them … except one.

We both saw it at the same time. It was on the shelf in the last operational freezer, the only one with a light on in front. Laura nodded to it, urgently, and I hurried to the door and opened it. The inside was like a meat locker; the air smelled fresh, but it burned my lungs it was so cold.

The egg was one of the larger ones. I tried to pick it up, but my fingers almost stuck to it, scraping a layer of frost as they did. Thinking quickly, I took off my coat and wrapped it around the egg, then took it in both arms and hurried out of the room.

Laura turned off the generator and left it there, then held the front door open for me. I ran outside and gasped for breath, then looked around just in time to see Laura throw up over the stair railing. I looked away fast, and tried not to think about it as my own stomach lurched.

Finally, she finished, although she looked and sounded queasy. “This way,” she said, and hurried down an alleyway, clutching her stomach. I followed her.

We sat on opposite sides of the fire she’d started beneath an emergency stairwell, the egg bundled in my coat like a nest. Water dripped down its outside.

“Turn it around,” Laura said, without looking up.

I rotated it. The side that was facing the fire was burning hot. “Are you trying to cook it?” I asked, incredulous.

“I’m trying to let it thaw.”

I moved it farther away from the fire.

She sat there, motionless, arms wrapped around her knees. Looking down at the fire. I looked up at the sky and the roofs of buildings, and my gaze lingered on the sparkling shine of the concrete edges above for a long moment. Then I looked back down at the egg.

It was awhile before either of us said anything.

“I guess a printout didn’t cut it?” I asked.

“Huh?” She looked up.

“For the biometric security. A printout of his face wouldn’t work because the scanner was stereoscopic.”

“Laura” looked back down at the fire, and shivered.

“How long did it take you to find me?” I asked. “To find someone who looked enough like him?”

She hesitated a moment before admitting “Three days.” She didn’t look up as she spoke. “There were a half-dozen matches online, but most of them had disappeared. When I found you, and you lived so close to Chicago, I … I thought it was a sign.”

“From whom? The ancient dragons?”

She sighed, and then nodded.

“Bull.”

“Zach-”

“What story would you have used if I hadn’t bought that one? Would you have tried to tell me there were jewels in there? Shown me a treasure map? Told me you’d found my parents!?” My voice got more shrill until I was screaming at her. It echoed.

“When you had that dream, I thought it was a sign too … ”

“So you lied to me.”

She looked up. “I was trying to help-”

“You lied to me. You made everything up. You made it all up as you went, and didn’t bother to say you were playing pretend.” I turned the egg over, again. “So what’s this from, then? An emu? A roc?”

“Laura” stood, suddenly furious. “You listen to me, boy. That egg is a dragon egg. And I don’t know about you, but I am a dragon inside.” She pointed at herself. “I’ve had those dreams almost every night since before It happened. I saw dragon civilization. I lived it. Those filthy humans took it away from me, and I want it back.”

I shook my head slowly, feigning sadness. “You’re so good at lying, you’ve managed to lie to yourself.”

“What did you say?”

I just looked up at her, calmly. It was a while before she spoke.

“Give me the egg,” she finally said.

“Fine.” I unwrapped my coat from it, and slung my coat over one shoulder before picking the egg up and handing it to her.

She took it and smashed it against the wall.

“What did you do that for?” I shouted.

“What, you think I can raise one of these things? It would just suffer and die, if it even hatched. The only reason I came here was so I can do this.” She took out a clear soulgem, and held it over the remains. And I looked down, down at …

It looked like a blur at first, and it reminded me of the blur in my screen when I looked at my reflection. The shape that didn’t make sense … that didn’t match to anything I could recognize. For a long moment, I worried that she was right.

Then it’s like something clicked, in my brain, and I started to recognize what I was seeing. The teeth, claws, pebbled scales slick with half-frozen slime … the eyes squeezed shut, forever. And I realized what I was looking at.

“That’s not a dragon!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, it is!” Laura hissed.

“No, it’s not!” I shouted back at her, as the mists swirled in her crystal to create a true soulgem. “It’s a dinosaur! That was some kind of genetics lab!”

“Of course it was! And where do you think dragon stories come from, anyway? Huh?” Laura snapped.

“So, wait.” I folded my arms. “Did you have dreams of being a dragon dragon or a dinosaur dragon? Because I was the kind that flies and breathes fire.”

She didn’t answer, but just looked down at her soulgem.

“How much of this did you make up? Do you even know where the line between your pretend games and the real world is, anymore? How do you-”

“I know what the humans did to me!” she yelled.

I watched her clenching and unlenching her fists, like she was trying to say something else but couldn’t. “I know what they took,” she finished.

On another day, I would’ve felt sorry for her. At the time, though, I couldn’t care less.

“From you or the ‘dragons?’” I asked, making air quotes.

“Both.”

“You know humans supposedly weren’t around at the same time as the dinosaurs.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice became growl-y and snarling. “That’s all you creatures ever do. You take and take and destroy everything, and you kill what you can’t take.”

I glanced down at the egg. “Well, then it looks like you finished our job for us. I hope you’re happy.”

She screamed, and shattered the soulgem at her feet.

That’s when I took off running.

Back at the camp just outside the city, people are starting to notice that Zach is missing. No one can find him or his smartphone, and they get an error message when they try to call.

Meanwhile, someone in a shed is opening a lockbox, and counting the dim soulgems slotted into the top, held tight to the foam padding by elastic bands. One of the loops in the middle hangs slack, empty. The label taped to the foam rubber behind it reads “Six-Lined Racerunner.”

I’d never used a soulgem before, not even the “dim” kind that didn’t cause permanent change. I’d been given the chance once, but I was too shy.

Right now I didn’t have time to worry, or even to think about it. I threw the gem down as I ran, jumping through the cloud and trying to keep running in the couple of seconds it took me to change. I stumbled a moment, scraping my hands on the ground, but they healed over as they became slick and leathery. My glasses fell off as I ran, but my eyesight and vision changed at about the same time that I grew a whiplike lizard tail. And after that I took off like nobody’s business, running out of the alley and turning right down the street.

A minute ago I’d been exhausted. Now I felt full of energy, more alive than ever, air rushing past my earholes as I ran faster than I’d ever biked. I wondered if this was what it was like for other anthros, and couldn’t believe that I hadn’t done this sooner.

I looked back just in time to see something run out of the alley and crash into an abandoned car, kicking off of it and stumbling after me. It was shaped sort of like her and wearing her clothes, but it had a long rigid tail, and was leaning almost all the way forward as it ran. Its arms were spread out like pincers, and its bare feet had huge sickle-claws like curved daggers.

I was still disoriented by having my eyes on the sides of my head, but I could see rows of sharp teeth, and a murderous face that I remembered from countless dinosaur movies and games. It was catching up alarmingly fast now that we were both on a straight track, even though I was in Racerunner form. I remembered phrases like “cheetah speed,” from the dinosaur movies and games, and realized that I needed to do something fast.

Up ahead of me, a skyscraper had fallen over, and crushed the buildings on the other side. I took a deep breath and sprinted towards it, changing lanes before running up the back of a car and jumping from it to the van in front; then leaping up to the open windowframe and grabbing on, pulling myself through the part that wasn’t rimmed with broken glass.

Because of the angle the building was at, it didn’t look like a structure at all to me. Just an obstacle course, with parts that were shaped vaguely like furniture. I took a half-second to get my bearings before running through the first open, side-tilted door that I saw, using my tail and my hands to steady myself and push off of things. When I got to a stairwell I started climbing on the sideways bars. I’d never been good at climbing, but when I heard her crash into the room I’d come in at I took off up that rail like nobody’s business.

A moment later I saw her much closer as she tore into the stairwell, clawing drywall and wood framing aside. “Come back here!” she shouted up at me.

“Heck no,” I breathed, panting with exertion as I tried to climb. I saw a doorway above me and started making for it.

“Stupid human mess,” she said to herself, surveying the landscape, before climbing the railing behind me. Her sickle-claws had wallpaper stuck to them, and kept clanging on metal and getting stuck in the rails. “I’m glad I’m not human anymore!” she called out, while trying to untangle her feet. “The world doesn’t need you! You’re an endangered species, and you’re going to die out!”

I paused, hands on the edge of the doorway above me and feet on the railing, and looked down at her. “The world needs humans,” I growled, just loud enough that she could hear me. Then I pulled myself up through the doorway.

I’m still not sure what I meant by that. Did I mean “humans” as in the species, or “humans” as in people? I was kind of going on instinct at the time. Either way, it sure got her mad. Her hiss echoed across the stairwell, and the sounds of claws clanking on metal sped up.

More rooms, more furniture. It didn’t take me long to get to the end, not with adrenaline pushing me. It occurred to me, as I pried open the window on “top” of the building and pulled myself through, that I shouldn’t be trying to goad her; I should be trying to lose her. Oh well, I thought, too late for that. Then I set both feet on the rough stone outside, and looked up.

The fallen skyscraper was tilted at a shallow angle, and there were only two ways I could go: down or up. I looked down first, but only saw a steep dropoff and sharp-looking wreckage beneath. So I took off running the other way, hoping I’d find some cover to take. I looked at windows as I passed by them, trying to find one that was open.

By now I was starting to tire, and by that I mean that even through the adrenaline rush I was becoming shaky. My breathing was getting ragged, and my legs were threatening to give out. But then she jumped through the window that I’d come out of, landing lightly on her feet and shaking herself off before looking up at me. That gave me the burst of fear that I needed to run even faster.

Where to go? I thought. But I started to realize there was no place to go, and that even if I found someplace to dive into she’d be on me before I could get inside. So I just put everything into running a straight track between windows, hoping that something would happen.

I passed out of shadow and into the Glare from the crater, and for a moment I thought This is it; at least it will be less painful. But then I remembered I was an anthro at the moment, and the air and concrete seemed to sparkle around me but I was unaffected. The next thing that came to my mind was those nature documentaries where the predator leaps on their prey, and I didn’t look behind me but I knew that was going to happen. My heart rate sped up, and I squinted through tears.

I looked up just in time to see the edge of the building, and for a split-second my brain said Jump! But I stopped just in time, dropping to my knees and scraping to a halt right in front of it.

Right then, two things happened.

First, Laura jumped … and went right over me.

Second, I reached out and caught her hand.

What!? my lizard brain thought, just as I smacked into the side of the building, pushed flat against it by her weight. My arm felt like it was being pulled from its socket, claws dug sharply into my wrist, and I heard more claws scrape on the flat concrete roof. Starting to scrape and slide across the wall, I grabbed onto the edge of a window and tried to hold myself in place, my own claws digging in and scraping across the rough stone.

My shoulder hung over dead air, and my arms were about to give as her weight pulled me towards the edge. Then her claws found purchase on something and she jumped, landing next to me and yanking me up with her. We tumbled for a second and landed in a heap next to each other, plastered to the side of the building and gasping over and over again.

It was probably five or ten minutes before either of us said anything. I could feel my legs, arms, and shoulders cramping up, and could feel the raw skin and the cuts on my hand sting, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was spent.

Finally she looked up at me. “Why … ” She swallowed, and gasped again. “Why did you do that?”

I wanted to give her a reason, but I couldn’t. I’d done it on instinct, when I saw her flying over the edge. So I just said “The world needs dragons, too.”

Then I fell asleep, the Glare shining off of my scales.

People are starting to get worried. They haven’t seen Zach all day. Nobody knows where he’s gone. Most of them don’t know him personally, but word starts to spread that a human kid disappeared.

It’s not until late evening that somebody notices a figure walking slowly up to camp, from the road that leads to the city. The spotter does a double-take, when he sees what species she is. And he does another when he sees who she’s carrying in both arms.

I barely remembered being carried back up to the camp. I’d slept through most of that day, and was groggy and incoherent for most of the trip back. I slept through all of the next day too, and when I woke up I didn’t know what time of day it was. I just knew the sun was getting in my eyes.

I moaned and reached up to rub my eyelids, and then I saw that my hands had claws and scales. I stared for a long moment before remembering. After that my long tail started to get cramped up, so I staggered out of my tent and stretched drowsily.

The sun was beginning to set. I could hear the fire crackling and smell the food cooking, and it smelled more delicious than ever. I wondered how long I would stay this way, as I went to get ready for dinner. I also wondered what’d happened to “Laura.”

It was a little while before I got my answer. Someone tapped me on the shoulder while I was finishing eating, and I looked up and jumped. Melinda was standing behind me.

She handed me a crumpled sheet of paper, and said “The girl who brought you here left you this.”

“Huh … ” I took it in one hand and looked over it, holding it to the side because of how my head was now shaped. The writing was hard to make out, and kept trailing off into squiggles as though she’d slipped and lost hold of the pen.

“Everyone thought you’d been kidnapped,” Melinda said. “We had people searching the woods for you.”

“Er, sorry … ”

“You can tell us what happened whenever you’re ready.” She walked off.

I looked more closely at the paper, and read it from the beginning:

“I wish you hadn’t said what you did. Not the last part; the part that got me angry at you.

” — Maya”

I paced back and forth in front of the fire long after the others had gone to bed, my tail casting a shadow behind me. I kept thinking of what to say, writing long, rambling letters in my head. I wanted to comfort her; I wanted to chastise her; I wanted to make her problems go away and make her feel guilty at the same time. A couple of times I started to type something in awkwardly, trying to press the onscreen keys around my clawtips, then deleted it.

Finally, I wrote this.

“Hi maya

“Thanks for taking me back. Sorry to here what happened to you. I hope things turn out well”

I paused for a long moment, frustrated with my phone’s spelling corrections, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“You are a dragon now. The world needs you in it. Don’t get hung up on what happens tomorrow. Just be yourself.

” — Zach”

I pressed “Send.” Then I banked the fire and poured water on it, and left to get ready for bed.

That night Zach has the dream again. Except this time, he’s not a dragon. He’s the lizard that he became, using the soulgem, and he’s using his speed to escape his pursuers. The feeling of running seems real, but this time he’s not scared. He’s confident and full of energy, and they’re not. He taunts them the way he did Maya, and they make amusing mistakes.

He’s going to become a Racerunner. And he’s going to be the fastest thing in the camp.

His black shoes and brass buttons shine, and the blue collar of his uniform is neatly pressed. A wrinkled hand comes up to the brim of his spotless cap, and beneath it eyes narrow, and a pinched mouth frowns. She is late, and he does not like to be kept waiting.

Two sets of tapping sounds echo all around him, then come up beside him. The tapping of metal legs stops as the tiny robot arrives next to him, but its fingers keep on tapping the typewriter keys attached to its front, as though it were programming itself. No paper comes out the top, but its lamp-like head looks up at him, questioningly.

He ignores it and turns around, as though to go back inside. But then …

* * *

“Hello?”

The man across the ledge from Feather squinted up at her, and frowned. For a moment she thought “Is there something wrong with my dress?” and adjusted her straw hat nervously. Then she realized that she’d kept him waiting awhile, and strode up to where he was.

“Hello!” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Feather-”

“Cowl,” he said, barely moving her hand with his own. “Mister Cowl.”

“Do you have a first name?” she asked, letting go hesitantly.

“Yes.”

She stood at attention, starting to sweat, as he examined her as if inspecting a uniform. “Your appearance is not appropriate for the inside of the Machine,” he said, as he paced around to her side.

“Oh heck, there really is something wrong with my dress!” “W-what’s wrong?” she asked, and wondered if the small creature beside her was typing out a list of demerits.

“This,” he said, and pulled off her beak with a THOCK. A human nose and mouth were beneath it, and she looked startled. “You’re meant to be a Handler, not an animal yourself. Please try to remember that.”

“Y-yes, sir!” she said. Her leonine tail whipped back into the folds of her dress as though it had never existed, just as he walked back behind her.

He made a full circle, grim and dispassionate, the typewriting robot hurrying out of his way as he did so. Finally, Cowl nodded to her, then turned around and started walking back inside. “This way,” he said.

She hurried after him, low heels clicking on the metal floor, and looked over her shoulder at the small creature carrying the typewriter. It looked so out of place. She wondered if it was lost.

* * *

They step inside the steel elevator, and the folding door slides shut accordion-like. Then he pulls the lever, and it lurches to a start and descends. He’s already steadied himself on the handrail, but she stumbles a bit and nearly trips on her low heels.

Part of the elevator car is floor to ceiling glass. It looks out on a cavern, brown rock receding into the darkness, lights shone on its face by small spidery robots with welding tools. They’re patching up bundles of wire, soldering some of them together and removing others. And there are lights that play in the darkness, like tiny fireflies. They’re hard to make out until you look out there and realize they’re more robots, way off in the distance, so far away you can barely see them.

One of them does something to join two wires, and the whole network lights up brilliantly, multicolored light streaming out into the distance. Flickering, glowing, gleaming to life across a space as big as a world. And the spiders all look up and take notice for a moment, before getting back to their work.

The woman stares outside at it all, her breath fogging up the window. She’s captivated, he notes. And she continues to stare, transfixed, gripping the rail as the elevator car shakes.

She turns away and looks at him, a moment before another spider gets shocked by the wire it’s holding. It falls off the rock face and smashes into the ground, just as the surface comes up and obscures the window. “It’s beautiful,” she says to him.

“The Machine is possessed of a terrible beauty,” Cowl says, running his finger along the doorframe and frowning at the oil that stains it. “But which parts are terrible and which parts are beautiful is not for me to say.”

He braces himself again, and she notices a second too late and trips and falls backwards as the car slams to a stop. The door opens, and he steps forward and holds out one hand for her. She takes it, and he pulls her back upright, then steps out as she’s getting her feet back into her shoes. “This way,” he says.

* * *

They stepped out into a damp, underground grotto, phosphorescent moss and glowing mushrooms covering the walls about five feet out from the metal path. Their footsteps clanked on it, and her gaze lingered on sparkling spores drifting out from a cap. It wasn’t as spectacular as the cave she’d looked out on, but it had its own beauty.

They followed the glowing vines in the ceiling, around the bend towards the sound of water. Then they came to the source. The walkway hung out over a deep stream that went past, and turned into a roaring waterfall just below them. It was only about ten feet high, but the sound reverberated inside the chamber.

There was movement on the edge of her vision, and she looked out to see what it was. Then she rubbed her eyes, and did a double-take. There were flying snails, all throughout the cavern, hovering over the walkways and the bridge over the stream. One eyestalk stuck out from their shells, and they paddled the air briskly using tiny feet-like things beneath.

“What are they?” Feather said, stepping back as one floated past. It turned to look for a second and blinked at her, then resumed staring straight ahead as it paddled.

“Cordbiters,” Cowl said, frowning.

“Why are they called that?”

There was a shower of sparks, as one of them bit into the glowing vines using a mouth just beneath its eyestalk.

” … oh.”

“Kindly place them all in the cart, please,” he said, and she saw what looked like a mine cart on rails just past the walkway over the bridge.

“How do I get them in there?” she said, turning around. But he’d already stepped around the corner.

“You’re the Handler. It’s your job to figure that out.” His voice echoed, and his shadow receded across the wall.

Feather took a deep breath, then turned back around to face her task.

It wasn’t hard to move the “cordbiters” at all. They were light — as a feather, she thought — and their eyes widened and feet paddled frantically when she pulled them from their places. She turned one over in her hands to look at it, but it just retracted and huddled inside its shell.

The ‘biters were just big enough that it was awkward for her to grab hold of them in one hand, so she had to use both hands to move them. For a few minutes she ran back and forth, grabbing them up one at a time and putting them into the cart. But after she’d done this a few times, she came back and saw that they were just swimming lazily back out. The only things to keep them secure were two straps across the top, and the flying snails just swam around them.

A spark-spray lit up the cavern, as one of them bit into the vines again. Feather mopped at her forehead, chilly and sweating at the same time, and turned on the indigo backlight on her watch to check the time. A ‘biter peeked over her shoulder, curious, and stared at it for a long moment, the light reflecting off of its glassy eye. It turned to look at her just as she turned to look at it, and after a second it whipped back into its shell and lay still.

Feather’s eyes lit up.

A moment later she whistled, and it echoed off of the rock as all of the snails turned to look at her. “Hey! Over here!” she said, and held up her glowing watch in one hand.

As one, the snails stared at it. Then they started swimming towards her.

“That’s right … ” she said, moving slowly, leaning her arm down into the cart. The slower she moved, the less the snails noticed her, and the more they focused on her watch.

Steadily they moved towards her, crowding around and into the cart. The first ones made a circle around her watch and stared at it, transfixed. The next ones inside jostled to try to get a close view of it, and ended up peeking over the shells of the others.

Feather watched as the last of the ‘biters swam closer slowly, unable to see the source of the glow anymore. As she waited on it, one of the ones in the circle around her hand opened its mouth, inch-long needles shining in the glow.

She yanked her hand out just as it bit down on the air, then grabbed hold of the straggler and stuffed it down into the cart with the others. They all yanked back into their shells as she pulled the straps tight, and the shells clacked into each other with a sound like billiard balls.

Feather leaned up against the cart to catch her breath, tense and exhausted. Then she put her watch back on and checked the time again, before heading back towards the elevator.

Just before she rounded the corner, she looked back towards the cart full of ‘biters. Eyestalks peeked out of it, and blinked at her. She turned away, hoping that they’d be alright until somebody else could take care of them.

As she left, the cart began to move.

* * *

“Go on, shoo!”

A gothic-looking towering vault, with a high, domed ceiling far up ahead. Metal coils snake in and out of old windows, and long rays of light shine in, through the arches supporting the dome overhead. There are large, flamingo-like mechanical birds in Feather’s way, clustering around her on the floor, flapping their feathered wings agitatedly. More of them line the galleries, high above, looking down at her and the movement around her.

Mister Cowl sets his tea down, on a stand just beside the cart, and strides swiftly over to where she’s trying to get the birds to move. Some of them see him, and they start waddling away, their clumsy, hopping gait and bobbing heads making them move much more slowly than him. One doesn’t make it in time, and he kicks it out of the way with a “SQUAWK!” before gesturing towards the tea cart.

“After you,” he says, to a shocked-looking Feather.

She steps towards it hesitantly, looking back towards the limping bird. “Why don’t they just fly away?” she asks. “They don’t look like they’re meant to walk very far … “

“Because they’re stupid,” Cowl says, stepping back up to the cart and taking his tea and sipping at it. Behind him, a couple of birds awkwardly hop up spiral steps towards the galleries, right next to a door that’s marked “ELEVATOR.”

“They seem pretty animated for stupid birds … ” Feather looks up, at the ones watching her still.

“A lot of things are.” He lifts a teaspoon. “Sugar?”

“Oh … uh, no thanks. I drink coffee.”

“Your loss.” He takes another sip.

The birds are still watching her. A few of them flutter their wings.

She looks away. “Anyway, uh … the ‘cordbiters’ are all taken care of. Did you need me to do anything with these birds, here … ?”

“No, thank you, madam. That will be all.”

She’s startled. “Are you-”

“Yes.”

“But it’s been less than an hour … ” She squints at the screen of her digital watch.

“There are more things in heaven and earth than you could ever dream of, and more situations in the Machine than you could ever attend to. But your time is tied to mine right now, and my time is limited.” He takes a long sip, and then checks the gold pocketwatch at his waist.

“Oh … “

Cowl snaps the watch shut, and pockets it. “Come back tomorrow at the same time,” he says.

“Alright … ” She nods. “I will, thank you.”

“Mind the birds.”

They cluster around her again, as she walks to the door that’s marked “EXIT,” and he finishes his tea as he watches her elbow through them. She’s still trying to be polite to them, he thinks. She’ll learn soon enough.

* * *

Feather disembarked next to her mailbox. A huge thing like a cross between a bus and an elephant galumphed away just beside her, smog coming out of its trunk. She coughed and waved it away, setting out across the dirt path, the forested hills in the distance just outlines against the sunset.

Gravel crunched beneath her shoes. She passed by a pond, and heard frogs singing and saw glowing dots floating in midair. One of her feet stepped in a puddle, but she shrugged and smiled as she walked past.

Her cottage was tiny, with circular windows and a treated roof that looked like brightly-colored clay. The electric light outside the front door buzzed as her silhouette walked up to the porch, growing lighter until her beak, tufted cat ears and lion’s tail could be seen clearly. She started to open the screen door, then saw her reflection in it and laughed, shaking her head to herself.

Kicking off her shoes, Feather dug out the keys from her purse and fumbled with them for a moment, trying to unlock the door. Then from inside the cottage came a pained moan, like a person struggling to keep from emptying her stomach. Feather’s eyes widened, and her beak fell off, revealing an open mouth. She hurried to unlock the door as her ears folded back into her hair, and her tail whipped back into her dress.

She left the door open, walking past the fireplace embers and holding her hands out to keep from bumping into furniture silhouettes. “Rissa-” she called out, before stubbing her toe on something and hopping around it. “Rissa, dear, are you alright?”

The door to her room was most of the way closed, a sliver of light all around it. It creaked as Feather pushed it open, and crept around it into Rissa’s room.

It wasn’t much bigger than a large closet, with barely enough room to stand behind her chair. Her shelves were lined with strangely-shaped toy models, and pictures and thick books of all different sizes. In her enormous chair, nearly swallowed up by it, a young girl in a white t-shirt and shorts was slumped back, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed.

Feather stood there for a long moment, watching Rissa fight off her latest attack. Rissa’s face was pale white, and just as the color seemed to be gone from her skin, it was gone from the rest of the room as well. The wallpaper was dull gray, and the shadows behind her bright telescreen and between the raised keys of her touch-typer were ominous. Crumpled up pieces of paper and old dirty dishes littered the desk, and even the toys and pictureframes on it seemed dark and menacing as they loomed over her.

There was no sound except for her breathing.

Finally she swallowed, spent another few seconds breathing fast to catch up and then tried to sit back upright. Feather moved in quick to help her, but she brushed Feather off and brought herself up, pulling the chair back towards her desk as she did so.

Feather tried to step up beside her, but the room was too narrow. It was a long second before she spoke. “Are you doing okay?”

The corner of Rissa’s head that she could see shook side-to-side. No.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

No.

“I made some soup this morning, before I left … “

No. No. No.

Feather reached around carefully, to take the dirty dishes from her desk. As she did so, her eyes fixed on a (fading, black and white) photograph, of a very young girl standing in front of a magnificent four-legged gryphon. The gryphon’s beak and eyes were shining and its wings were spread proudly, and the girl was grinning and holding onto tufts of its fur.

Feather smiled, sadly. “Remember when we … “

Her voice trailed off. She saw Rissa double-click on something, and begin to type on her ‘typer. The words appeared on the screen: “Yes, I remember what it was like. You’re an excellent flier, when you let yourself be a gryphon.“

“Someday, do you think we could … “

But Rissa had already started to type. “No, I don’t. Gryphons weren’t allowed at your school.“

“Or at work.” Feather sighed, and looked down while Rissa kept typing. When she looked up, she’d already finished a sentence.

“Or more or less anywhere. But it was fun while it lasted,” she wrote. “Kids should have fun and games. Grown-ups have more important things to worry about. Like tending the Machine, and their sick little sisters.

“It’s okay. I’ll be alright. I’ve got schoolwork to do anyway.“

Her eyes were still looking straight ahead, up at the screen, and her limp arms rested on the desk that was too tall for her.

Feather played with a strand of her hair for a moment; dry, dull, and lifeless. She let it settle, and remembered that it hadn’t always been that way.

“I’ll get you some water,” she said.

Rissa said nothing.

Feather finally stepped back around her chair, and went out and closed the door softly.

* * *

The next day, Feather got dressed in her work clothes (a pair of ratty old sweats and mudboots, perfect for the underground parts of the Machine) while Rissa was still asleep. Tossing her keys and other essentials into a fanny pack, she stepped out the front door quietly, into the cold air and hard dirt path lit by the sunrise. Then she jogged out to the stop at the end of the road, past the pond where the frogs were still singing; past the mailbox that hadn’t been visited yet.

And there she waited.

She set two new high scores on the games on her phone while she waited.

She kept checking the time, so she knew how long it was taking. After an hour and a half the sun had risen, and the frogs had hidden, and the air was starting to get warm. The mist had disappeared from the road, and so she stepped out and looked in both directions. Nothing.

If only she hadn’t had to sell her jalopy! Or maybe … but no. As much trouble as she’d get into for showing up late, Feather would be in even more trouble for showing up as a gryphon. It wasn’t just a thought, or even a feeling; it was a state of mind, and it was hard to break into and out of. It stayed with you all day, or all week even, and it got in the way when you tried to do things. Things like get along with people who weren’t as fond of magical creatures as Rissa was.

Feather waited a long time.

She spent the next few hours pacing up and down the path that led up to the stop, looking up from her phone whenever she heard an engine noise but never seeing the right one. Pretty soon it was getting uncomfortably warm outside, for someone who was wearing sweats, and she was getting uncomfortably hungry. So with a last look over her shoulder, she headed back towards her house, half relieved and half disappointed.

Feather considered calling her workplace to tell them what’d happened, but she knew that it’d do her no good; they almost never answered the phone, and even if they did they wouldn’t listen. So she was just putting her phone up as she got up to the front porch. The main door past the screen was open, and the smell of frying bacon was coming from inside.

She pulled the screen open, and took a deep breath of the sizzling grease smell. She thought she detected eggs, too. “Rissa?” she called out. “Are you making breakfast?”

“Brunch.” It was the electronic voice of her assistive communications device. “Would You Like Some.“

“Yes, thank you … “

Feather stepped into the kitchen, and saw her thin, wispy sibling up next to the stove, one hand slowly stirring the eggs and the other hand typing on a small keyboard she had up on the counter. “What Are You Doing Home,” it asked.

She sighed. “They didn’t show up.”

“That’s Too Bad.” Rissa turned over the bacon without looking up.

“Do you need any help?”

They talked, and made and ate brunch together. Feather realized how much she’d missed talking to her; all these hours they could’ve spent with each other put into the both of their classes, instead. Then her job search, and now her new job. How much longer did they even have left? How much longer did she have left?

After brunch, Feather asked Rissa if she wanted to go out to the pond together. Rissa’s face was impassive as always, and her hair was tangled and unwashed. But she finally nodded to Feather, and after a few moments’ preparation the two of them stepped outside.

Rissa’s footsteps were fragile and awkward, and she was hesitant about leaving her sandals behind. But she finally stepped out onto the cool, wet grass; then, nearer the pond, let the mud squish between her toes. She ran her fingers contemplatively over a willow branch, her other arm holding her lightweight keyboard, while Feather picked ripe white swampmallows. Then the two of them ate them, sitting down by the pond, getting their feet wet and behinds muddy.

“Remember when Brianna was here?”

“Yes.“

“Those were the days.” Feather grinned, and splashed her feet into the water.

Rissa typed for a moment before hitting Enter. “I Was Thinking Of Different Days.“

“Oh?” Feather looked over at her.

“Before I Was Stuck In This House. Before I Was Stuck In This Sick Body.“

“I’m sorry … ” Feather said, but Rissa’s face was still blank. And she was still typing.

“It Doesn’t Matter. None Of It Matters. You Have Your Work. I Have My School. The World Isn’t Here For Us To Experience. We Are Here To Survive In It. Anything Else Is Secondary.” Rissa slammed the Delete key a couple of times, as she corrected what she was saying. Someone else might have dismissed that, but Feather knew she was frustrated.

A Nipper grabbed onto Feather’s foot, in the pond, and she kicked it away before looking back at her sister. “Aren’t there things that you’d like to experience?”

Rissa sat there for a long moment, staring straight ahead, before typing it out without looking. “Yes.“

“What are they?”

“It Doesn’t Matter.“

“Rissa … “

“Your Work Is More Important.“

Feather knew then what she was talking about. But she had to weigh the consequences, in her mind. Would she be able to show up for work tomorrow that way? Would she be able to show up at all?

Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she hid her beak and her tail.

Maybe a coat would cover up the feathers.

Maybe shoes for her claws, and gloves for her talons, and wings pressed close to her sides …

“And I Have Work To Do As Well,” Rissa finished.

Feather took a deep breath before speaking. “Rissa,” she said, “would you like to fly today?”

Rissa was silent a long moment. Then she lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she typed, long fingers stabbing the keys.

“Alright … ” Feather stood.

She closed her eyes and imagined flight; silky fur, and downy white feathers, and pointed ears and a beak. She imagined walking on all fours, wings outstretched on her back, seeing farther than anyone can. She imagined herself as she’d once been, as she’d once let herself be, as-

HONK!

She jumped, and her leonine features grew back into themselves, retracting so fast she had whiplash and leaving her in a cloud of feathers. She was on hands and knees in the grass, breathing hard with exertion, looking up to see what had …

The bus.

The bus.

HO~ONK!

Feather looked up past her beak at Rissa, tail swishing behind her. Rissa’s face was impassive; guarded, again. She looked up at Feather, and then looked down the path towards the stop.

Feather jumped to her feet, brushing herself off and trying to get mud and grass stains off of her clothes. She walk-hopped towards her shoes and socks, one paw still leonine, then grabbed them up in one hand and hobbled towards the dirt path. “I’m sorry … ” she said, out of breath. “I’m sorry … “

Rissa watched her go, barely moving or blinking, and waited until the engine had roared and then died away into the distance. Then she typed out a word, and hit Enter.

“Goodbye.“

* * *

Feather spent the entire ride next to a large, impressive man in a suitcoat. He sideyed her while reading his newspaper, as she tried to brush off the grass stains from her knees and mud stains from her hands and her bottom. And she grinned sheepishly up at him as she noticed that he was looking at her, sweating profusely and trying to make her beak and her tail go away.

They were still there when she showed up at work. Mister Cowl tugged on both, trying to get them to come off, but nothing happened except that it hurt. So instead he just frowned at her, and gave her a look that said “What am I going to do with you now?“

If he hadn’t seemed to have much time to babysit her yesterday, he had all the time in the world today. Cowl watched her wrangle the cordbiters, sweep up the dustbunnies, and shoo all the pogo-stickbugs into their pens. He took his tea while he watched her wrestle the birds in the atrium, the ones who were too stupid to know they could just fly up to where she was trying to get them to. He didn’t offer her a cup this time, and she didn’t ask for one, either.

He let her go at midnight on the dot, and by then Feather was hot and dirty and exhausted. She nodded off on the bus, and nearly missed her stop when they called it out. Finally she made her way up the long and winding dirt path toward her house, each step heavier than the last one, and took a long, warm shower before tiptoeing into the kitchen to get something to eat.

There were no lights on in the house. Quiet snoring came from the door to Rissa’s room. Feather took an electronic candlestick from the wall and flicked it on to look in the cupboards for dishes, then set it aside to get some leftovers out of the fridge. There were still cherry buns left over from yesterday’s breakfast, and she devoured two of them before realizing what she was doing.

As she threw her trash away, looking close with the light to see what she was doing, she saw something that caught her up short. It was the package to this morning’s bacon. The label said that it had expired awhile ago.

At this, Feather had to stop. Do I feel sick? she asked herself. I don’t think so … what if it takes awhile, though?

Then her eyes widened. What about Rissa? Is she doing okay? If something happens to her-

A loud snore punctuated her musings.

Feather looked up, and sighed. Calm down, Feather … you were always a worrier. She’s going to be alright, and you probably are too. If anything, waking her up in the middle of the night will be bad for her.

More snoring.

I’ll get up early and check on her tomorrow … I’ll set an alarm, and if her breathing seems irregular I’ll make sure she’s okay before leaving for work. And if something happens, I’ll take her straight to hospital. That’s what I’ll do …

SNO~ORE.

Feather took a deep breath. Right, then. On to bed …

Five minutes later she crawled under the covers, having forgotten to set the alarm.

* * *

A sound startled Feather awake. She jumped, under the covers, then flailed about for a moment, knocking things off of her nightstand before finding the lamp’s “on” switch. It took her another long moment of sitting upright, waking her brain back up, before she realized that what she’d heard was a pained human moan.

“Rissa?”

Another moan, louder this time.

“Rissa!” She got up.

The moans were coming from Rissa’s bedroom, but Feather didn’t go there right at first. There was a special tea Rissa drank, one that helped her with her digestive problems. If there was anything Feather could do to help, making that would be it.

“I’m coming … ” Feather called out, sliding her pink slippers on and shuffling into the house’s cold main room. She made for the kitchen and hurried to get the tea ready, as the moans became more frequent and more intense. This was the worst that Rissa had been in awhile, and it worried Feather.

Teacup and saucer in hand, Feather shuffled back out of the kitchen. As she did so, Rissa gave the most awful, pained, gagging moan that she’d ever heard, trailing off only slowly.

Feather laughed nervously as she pushed the door open, trying to quell her own fear. “I’m sorry, I know it’s taking awhile … “

The sheets were rumpled, and the quilt had been thrown off. Rissa lay on her side, motionless, clutching her stomach with both arms. And it took Feather until she’d set the tea down on the nightstand to notice that she wasn’t moving. Or breathing.

” … Rissa?”

Feather nudged her arm gently. She did not move.

“Oh. Oh … ” Feather started to shake.

“What was it?” asked a voice in her head. “Was it the bacon? But it couldn’t have been, because I don’t feel sick … “

Her feet had already started to move. She’d made it back to the kitchen and started dialing the emergency numbers on the phone when she realized she had to give CPR. So she ran back to the bedroom, falling and kicking off her slippers and stretching the phone cord, and got to the foot of Rissa’s bed before remembering she had a beak.

“Hello? Hello?” the phone said.

Feather tugged at her beak with her free hand, then smashed it into the door frame a couple of times. Nothing.

Sweat poured down her sides.

“Hello?“

Feather threw the phone down and screamed.

* * *

Insects glow and sing outside. The pond’s still surface reflects the moon, and a frog eyes one of the hovering motes of light and licks her lips.

Suddenly there is a noise, shrill and piercing and angry and pained. The frogs are silent, some of them turning to look in the direction of the noise. Then there is another scream, a sound like an angry predator, and its dull bass roar shakes the earth. The frogs scatter, hopping and splashing to get away, and after a moment even the insects are silent.

Drywall smashes, wood splinters and panes of glass break into shards. A taloned arm crashes through one of the outer walls of the house, then a whole section of roof lifts up, as an angry gryphon rears back and cries into the darkness. Its ears are pointed, its eyes are glowing teal gems, and its fur and feathers are pearly white.

Finally it reaches up and tears down the wall, revealing a bed with a crumpled human form on it — one which is now all covered in sawdust. The gryphon reaches down and tenderly takes it by its clothes in its beak, and then steps outside before transferring it to one taloned arm. Then it spreads its wings wide, wider even than the house itself, and takes off, turning around in midair and speeding towards the road and the bus route.

* * *

Feather knew the general direction the town was in, but she didn’t know any way to get to it except by following the road. There were no cars or streetlights beneath her, and the trees obscured the road. Moonlight glinted off of the upper branches of the trees, and their brightness stung her eyes. She could see in such detail; could feel the wind slice through her fur and feathers, and hear its roar over her racing heart. But the light on the trees nearly blinded her, as she tried to squint down at them to see where the road had gone, realizing too late that she’d lost it.

Feather looked back for a moment, dismayed, beak hanging open and wingbeats slowing. Then she looked down at the limp form in her claws, and held it close to herself as she pressed on, determined. She could feel Rissa’s body up next to her heartbeat, and she willed her own vitality to affect her somehow, to give life to her failing organs.

The lights of the town were far in the distance. She could see them just past the lights of the Machine. From here it was a giant shape, black and ominous, which blocked out a big chunk of the sky and blotted out the glow of moonlight beneath. Feather flew over the edge of the Machine to get to the distant town, and she found herself coughing from its noxious fumes. Then whiplike organic tendrils snaked out from below and tried to grab hold of her limbs, and of Rissa. She grappled with them, cutting them with her claws, and pressed herself even harder to fly past.

She kicked the last one free just as she finally cleared the dark area. But by now Feather was exhausted. The lights of the town were ahead, but they were still far away. Feather found her wingbeats slowing, her head drooping, her eyes squeezing shut in spite of herself. Feather shook her head and pressed on, conserving her energy, trying to stretch it to last until she arrived.

A whole minute passed as she barely flew at all, gasping air into her lungs, catching her breath. That minute stretched into two, and then three. The lights were closer, but not close enough.

Feather took a deep breath and then pushed herself toward the lights, flying bulletlike at them with her limbs (and with Rissa) held close to her sides. After a minute the town spread out underneath her, building and lights and parked carriages, and she flew in between wisps of smoke coming up from the stacks of the buildings that were just near the hospital. As she was about to touch down she spread her wings like a parachute and flapped them with all her might, trying to slow down enough to land safely.

It didn’t work. She clutched Rissa to her chest as she tumbled end over end on the cobblestone street, crashing through men-at-work barricades and smashing a melon cart parked up next to a wall.

Feather unfolded onto her back, her ears ringing and her feet covered in sticky juice. And on her downy chest lay her sister’s form, laying still as if sleeping.

* * *

Cowl opens one eyelid, unamused, at the flapping and beating sounds over his roof. Then he sits up in bed, at the bashing, crunching noises outside, which go on for a second and end in a THUD.

He lights a match over his nightstand, then touches it to the stub of a candle that’s still in its holder. After that he takes it and stands up, feet finding his slippers, and huddles in his nightclothes all the way to the front door, where he looks out the glass window. The window is murky and it’s dark outside to boot, but he can see something large just across the street, and people all ’round running up to it.

A hand grabs his coat and his blue cap, and he puts them on before taking his candlestick back up and shuffling on outside. Now he can hear people calling to each other, and he can see the commotion: There’s an enormous gryphon laying prone on the street, its wings flat to the ground and its chest heaving with exertion. It looks to see what the people around it are doing, as men run from the hospital carrying a stretcher.

One of Cowl’s eyebrows rises.

The doctors and nurses lay someone out on the stretcher, right there on the street, and start working on him or her. After a long moment, the gryphon heaves and stands up on all fours, scraping melon rinds from its feet and shaking itself dry. Cowl holds up a hand, but he’s too far away to get wet, and the doctors don’t seem to mind.

They continue to work, and the gryphon watches them closely, its feathery head just over their shoulders. Cowl looks around at the street, at the dim lamps overhead casting shadows on them, and shivers before fumbling to check his watch. Another long minute passes.

Finally one of the doctors shakes his head and removes his stethoscope, and closes the fallen form’s eyes with one hand. The gryphon blinks, as through disbelieving, then again as it fights back tears. It screams, and the sound is so loud that everyone jumps, as it echoes off buildings and across town. Cowl drops his candlestick and cringes, peering through his arms as the gryphon’s scream dissolves into screeching sobs.

It takes Cowl a moment to realize what’s happened. Then he closes his eyes, and places his hat over his heart.

* * *

Wind blasts through the upper reaches of the Machine’s atrium, as “stupid” birds flock together from floor to rafters, huddling to stay warm. In the cold winter light Cowl takes his tea from beneath a thick coat, sipping at the hot liquid and stirring to cool it down.

A huge creature behind him snorts. Cowl’s teacup smashes to the ground, as he whirls around and presses himself up against the cart to look. Across the room from him is a feathery white gryphon, the same one from that night. The same one from the papers.

“H … ” He coughs. “Hello, Feather! G-good to see you again!”

Her claws click on the floor as she paces up to him. “Things h-haven’t been the same without you … ” he goes on. “How have you been? I’d offer you a cup of tea if you could take it that way … “

She glances over at the tea cart, then back at him, unamused. By now he is wringing his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t express my condolences … about your sister.” He coughs. “Terrible tragedy, really … “

Feather looks away, and closes her eyes.

“You’re welcome to take time off for grieving purposes … ” He’s backing away, putting the cart between him and her. “Take as much as you like! And you can come back any time … “

Feather snorts again, derisively. Then she spreads her wings wide, feathers gleaming in the sunlight, eyes closed and head held high. Her beak shines.

She takes off, wingbeats echoing throughout the room, blasts of displaced air knocking Cowl onto his behind and nearly tipping the cart. In lazy circles she flies upwards, through rays of light coming from tiny windows. And as she does so, the birds all look up at her, their glassy eyes comprehending.

They take off after Feather, circling with her, flying up into the light. And as she leaves the Machine and looks out on its vast gray expanse, giant tentacles stir but flop back to the roof, exhausted. They don’t have any strength in the sunlight. They don’t have any strength to fight back.

The birds land on them, and pick at them with their beaks. A second later, Feather joins in, her claws gleaming as she pounces.

I’m writing that down first because it’s the hardest thing for me to say. You know how it is with some things. They mean so much to you that even if no one would think them odd to say, you feel like you’re exposing yourself just by saying them.

You’re probably scratching your head right now, wondering what’s got me so worked up. Okay, let’s back up and try this again …

I love wolves. Not in that way, you. I’m in awe of them. And I’m … I …

Oh, man. I can’t say that part yet. I’m sorry.

It wasn’t like this when I was little. When I was little wolves were just fun. I liked them a lot, but that’s all they were, was fun. My parents took me to the zoo and I’d read the whole plaque in front of the wolf exhibit. And I’d howl at them and they’d howl right back, and I’d grin to myself.

It wasn’t until life got hard that wolves started to mean more to me. The things I was going through, in high school and with my parents, were so taxing that I had to come up with a whole new way of coping with them. I didn’t have any human role models, because I didn’t know any humans like me … none that I wanted to be, anyway. So when I imagined something surviving what I was going through, it was a wolf.

They’re survivors, you know. Not bloodthirsty killers, survivors. And you could say that that takes away from their beauty … that they’re not mystic fairy-creatures, either. Just animals struggling to stay alive. But at the time, I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than a creature that could live through anything, without losing sight of the goal of survival. Without losing — or needing — hope, because it just kept going no matter what.

Wolves are beautiful because of the stress nature puts on them. And I knew I wasn’t … I couldn’t be as awe-inspiring as they were. But I could try. And in my best moments, I saw myself as one. I didn’t draw or write or roleplay online, but I invented my own separate life where I was a wolf on the inside, who just happened to have a human appearance and human reasoning powers. And my wolf-self didn’t understand why all these things were happening to me, or why people were so cruel to each other. But I forced myself to accept that I was this world’s omega, or punching bag. And that someday I’d get through it, and find my own pack.

That’s how much wolves meant to me … how much they still do. So whenever I find a wolf plushie in stores, or hear people talking about wolves on TV, or see anything else about wolves, I have to hide how interested I am. I don’t wear wolf t-shirts or accessories, and I don’t ever talk about wolves in casual conversation. Not because they’re not important to me, but because they’re so important I’m afraid of embarrassing myself. At best I’d get tongue-tied, and at worst I’d be making myself vulnerable to someone who could use that to hurt me. It’d be like a real wolf baring her throat to a wild dog.

That may seem surprising to you. But high school’s just as dangerous as any natural environment. Except that there’s nothing natural about it, and there’s no beauty or reason to it.

Wolves are shaped by their circumstances, and I was shaped by mine. That’s why they’re all majestic beings, and I was an unhealthy young human female, with a bad sleep schedule and a lousy chemical-filled diet. And that’s why I knew, deep down, that no matter how hard I tried I could never be like one of them.

So when I actually became one, I freaked right out.

There. I said it. I became a wolf.

As near as I can tell, I am one right now, in exactly the sense that I imagined it to help me to get through high school. I look like a human, and I’m pretty sure I think like I always have too. But I physically changed into a wolf, a real flesh-and-blood one that walks on four legs. Also some kind of two-legged hybrid. And whatever let me do that, I still have it inside of me. I’m a wolf inside right now, and I was outside just a few hours ago.

Does that make me a were-wolf? Or a skin-changer, or some kind of anime nature spirit? I don’t know, and I’m scared right now and I’m sweating a lot and I’m trying to write this all down really fast before I can lose my nerve. And I’ve got wolf ears and a tail right now, so maybe I am an anime character. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what’s happened to me. I’m grateful beyond words and terrified at the same time, and it makes my throat seize up and I start whimpering just to think about it.

Can’t write, I’m too scared …

Deep breaths. Deep, shuddering breaths … letting myself calm down. Swallowing, and gasping for breath afterward, still trying to settle down.

Settling … settling …

Okay … as you can see, I’m kind of a wreck right now. Hopefully, by writing this down I’ll be able to think clearly about it.

Let’s start with what happened last week …

It started last Sunday. I made the mistake of deciding not to go to church with my parents, and that set them off. We’ve been having these “discussions” about religion lately, and I really don’t want to describe this one except to say it was bad. They had a lot to say to me when they got back, and because I’m … er, because I was still living with them, I had to sit there and listen.

I should’ve known better than to protest. I should’ve known better than to do anything other than what they wanted me to. That’s what omegas do, they’re punching bags and they just take what they’re given …

Okay, that sounds really self-pitying on paper. But I’ve never been much of a rebel. I just happened to disagree with my parents, on religion, politics … just about everything. But I didn’t want to pick fights, I just wanted to ask honest questions. First so I could understand what was going on, and then later, when I’d made up my mind, to try to get my parents to consider a viewpoint besides their own.

That got them really upset, and every single time I’d be kicking myself afterwards. I’d tell myself how stupid I was for opening my mouth to them, or for being / believing differently from them. But no matter how many times I did this to myself, I couldn’t make myself not be different. I was stuck with my feelings and conscience just like I was with my hair or my legs, and in the house where I lived they were disabilities.

You could ask why I didn’t leave sooner. The fact that I was in high school and did not have a job helped. But that night, while they were watching TV, I put my boots and coat on and slipped out the back door. I had to get out and be by myself, and I was hoping not to come back until they had both gone to bed.

It was cold and wet out in the sticks where we lived. Fog shrouded the trees and obscured the road, dark grey in the dim evening light. I did not have a flashlight, but I knew where to go. I’d gone out like this many times.

Do you know what it’s like, out in the woods in upstate New York in midwinter? I mean when it’s not snowy. Inside it’s all warm, sickly smells, and angry guys talking on TV. But outside it’s just … quiet. You’re the noisiest thing out there, crashing through brush and crunching on fallen leaves, and every time you stand still you can hear lots of nothing. Your own breath is the loudest thing out there, and it freezes your lungs just like your fingers and toe-tips are already becoming cold. So you start moving and making noise again, and thinking about where you’re headed.

There’s a tiny clearing I like to spend time in. I mean tiny as in “about the size of your living room.” There’s a big rock in the center of it, like the size of a sofa or love seat, and there are pine needles all over the ground. The trees are so close together you can only see bits of the sky even when standing on top of the rock, which you shouldn’t do when it’s wet and dark out or you might fall and hit your head on something. But I sat on it and pulled my knees to my chest, and rocked back and forth just a bit.

It looked weird, but there was no one around and it helped me to destress. So I sat there awhile, rocking on top of my rock. And I’m trying to think of more ways to use “rock” in that sentence, but you’re groaning at me so I’ll just continue.

Anyway, that’s where it happened. Not a werewolf attack … nothing bit me, as far as I can remember. I just got started thinking about what it’d be like to be a wolf. Even a lone wolf, without a pack. This place would be my reality, I thought … this cold outside would be my daily experience. Not the noise inside. Not my parents.

I had no illusions about it. I spend lots of time outdoors. I’ve even been camping before, and not in a motorhome. I knew it’d be cold, and wet, and windy, and if I found some kind of shelter I’d have to defend it. I’d have to struggle for food and kill things to get it, and deal with things that wanted to kill me. I might even have to deal with humans, and they’d fear me worse and hate me more than they already do in real life.

I probably wouldn’t have lived as long as I already had, if I’d been a wolf. But somehow, it seemed more real to imagine myself as one, out here. It wasn’t “communing with nature” so much as reminding myself that wildness still existed, and it was out here all around us. And our little soap bubble of civilization, of organized cruelty, would be gone someday … whether because it popped or I left.

Someday I would live where it’s quiet, I thought. Someday I’d be myself, and do things that mattered, and actually live like the things out here do. Instead of living this fake high school life.

Like a wolf, maybe? came the thought. And I nodded, and unfolded and crouched up there on the rock, as if surveying the darkness for prey. I felt so alert out there, so alive and aware. So un-sheltered. And young things ought to be sheltered … but then, my parents’ lives seemed as fake as mine. I knew I didn’t want to end up like them.

What do you want to end up like? It’s like I imagined the words. So the next thing I imagined was myself as a wolf, standing there on the rock.

“Okay.”

This time I heard it. Not out loud, but so clear in my mind that I had to check, to see if someone was near me. I was slightly creeped out …

… but not so much as I was just a second or two later.

It started with a strange feeling in my stomach, and an itching on top of my head and in the small of my back. I reached up and around to scratch, and one hand brushed pointed, furry ears on top of my head, while the other took hold of a tail. It pulled, and felt it attached to my spine.

I froze. My brain took long seconds to process this. And before my conscious mind even knew what was happening, I became uncomfortably warm, and started sweating all over.

After that the real changes came, slow enough that I felt them happening but fast enough that they all blended together. And my mind underwent a change, too. It was called a nervous breakdown.

My thoughts were like “No … no, please! I don’t want this! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry … help! Please help me!” And I started screaming and crying, but I don’t know what I said, or if any words even came out. I was scared to death, because this felt as bad as dying, if not worse.

I don’t remember everything that happened. I don’t even know where my clothes went. I just remember that my screams ended with a howl. And then I choked up and covered my head with my front-paws, crying and shaking and whimpering.

The feelings did not go away. My four-legged body was still there, and I was still in it, and nothing was changing or undoing itself. I screamed in anguish, and it came out as another, long howl. Then I started pacing the top of the rock, back and forth, bare paw-pads feeling the rough stone and lichen.

It’s over, I thought. Everything’s over. My dreams are shot, my life is … is … I tried to look back at myself, and saw only black, fluffy fur, and a nervously-wagging tail. I whimpered again.

This is not me, I thought. It can’t be! I mean, it’s something I like, but … how? Why? What happened? I’d planned to spend that evening outside in the cold, and then go back inside to dream about living this way. Not to actually be a … a …

It was too much. I broke down and started shaking and whimpering again, huddling there on top of the rock. The awe of seeing, of being this animal, just made what was happening all the more cruel. I could no longer use the thought of creatures like this to inspire me to face my challenges. Instead I had to face its challenges, and would probably die in less than a year. And everything I had looked forward to was gone.

Wolves in the wild can be playful and happy, and live what seem to be fulfilling lives. But if you’d told me that right then, I would’ve bitten your throat out.

I’m not sure how long I was there. Long enough to get cold, I know … long enough to feel the freezing cold wind start to blow around me, and fill my cupped ears and chill me through my fur. I flattened my ears and huddled there, paws and neck pressed down to the rock, tail twitching and freezing off out in the cold. (At least, that’s what it felt like. You know how your fingers and toes always turn into lumps of pain in the cold, even when you’ve got gloves and boots on? With tails, it’s worse.)

I knew I needed to take shelter. Even being just beside the rock, instead of on top of it, would have helped. But I was so scared that I didn’t want to move. It was like my brain had locked up.

It didn’t help that the whole world seemed alien now. I could see farther into the darkness, because it didn’t seem as dark anymore … more like a muted gray. But that only made me more conscious of how alone I was, and how there could be anything out there. I could see a dim glow through the trees — the light from a streetlamp, I eventually realized, way down by the road — and I could hear the car engines, whenever anything drove by off at the edge of our land. They hadn’t used to bother me, but now they sounded different; louder, more menacing. Angrier. At first I thought I was imagining things, but then I realized I was hearing frequencies humans did not. No one had bothered to make things appeal to a wolf’s senses, so even the familiar seemed jarring to me.

Don’t get me started on the smells.

I could only imagine what it’d be like to try to go home. I remembered when Eustace got turned into a dragon in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and how he’d spelled things out in the sand. Some of the people I knew could get away with that, I thought. They had friends, parents, or siblings who would listen to them, even then. But I knew my parents wouldn’t. Everything they listened to, from their TV shows to their religious leader, taught them that things that weren’t normal ought to be hated and feared. They already didn’t like me that much, and I could only imagine how they’d react to this … if I even got the chance to explain.

So what options did I have left? Wolves had hard lives, and they needed years of practice to be able to live them. Even then, they didn’t live as long, and they rarely died of natural causes. I seemed to be healthy, but for how long? Was I seventeen in wolf years or human years?

I knew what I’d have to do to survive, if I couldn’t turn human again. I’d watched enough documentaries. And I was pretty sure I could live off of raw meat, if it was that or starve to death. I wasn’t sure if I knew how to do all those things, though. And beyond that was a bigger problem: I didn’t belong here.

There haven’t been wolves in New York in forever. So how long until some human saw me and decided to get rid of me, I wondered? It didn’t help that I looked distinctive — curse my fantasies of having a glossy black coat! And even if I stayed far away from humans, and managed not to get shot during hunting season, I’d still have to deal with packs of wild dogs and other dangerous animals. Animals that I wasn’t equipped to deal with, physically or mentally … any more than I was equipped to deal with what had just happened.

I say this because I also felt like I didn’t belong there, in that body. I was trying my best to ignore every feeling I got from it, because I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be having them. The sights and the sounds and the smells were inescapable, because they were part of the nightmare that I’d gotten into. But the feel of my pawpads and claws on the rock, of the shivers that ran down my spine to my tail, of breathing and swallowing inside my muzzle … these were all things that I tried to block out. I just couldn’t handle them.

That was another big part of the reason that I did not want to move. It was like acknowledging that this wolf body was there. And I knew that I had to, but I was so scared that I couldn’t make myself.

I finally had to disassociate. I was like “Okay, there’s this wolf here, and I need to move her down out of the cold.” Then I took a deep breath, and jumped down without looking, the wind rushing fast through my ears.

I nearly twisted my paw. As it was, I landed on it the wrong way. So I hobbled into the lee of the rock, walk-jumping over cold ground and feeling sharp pain that I tried to ignore.

It didn’t work. I whined, and flattened my ears, and pressed my feet, neck and stomach to the icy ground, trying to warm it up. I felt cold wind blowing across my nose, so I kind of scooted backwards a bit. Then I felt it on the tip of my tail, and I tried to move it out of the way but it just didn’t want to stay still. It was so cold that it had to keep twitching.

I whined again. Why couldn’t I be inside?

There wasn’t anything else I could do, so I waited. I waited for the ground to warm up … I waited for the wind to stop blowing. I waited for this wolf form I didn’t deserve (in a bad or good sense) to go away, and be replaced by my old one.

All that happened was the ground warmed a little, even as the moisture on the tip of my muzzle turned into ice. Despite that, I started to drift off, and I didn’t know if it was because I was sleepy or freezing to death. Would I be able to tell? I wondered.

In the end, I decided that it didn’t matter. Nothing made any sense anymore, and I didn’t have any better ideas for where to go to find shelter anyway. I let myself drift, and I welcomed oblivion, because it meant that I wouldn’t have to deal with this any longer …

… or so I thought.

I was still a wolf in my dreams. I can’t tell you how much that disappointed me.

I was in a huge clearing, the trees packed close in around it. The air was still, and the moon was full, and there were howls in the very near distance. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled around me, and I turned every way, trying to see where they were. But I only caught fleeting shadows.

I eventually heard crashing footsteps, but they were all headed away from me. The howls went into the distance. I sat there on my back legs, looking in the direction they’d gone, and feeling awful self-doubt. What was that? Who were they? Was I supposed to be going with them or not? I felt like I’d made the wrong decision, and I didn’t even know I was supposed to be deciding something.

The air all around me was quiet. I finally got up and paced towards the moonlight, towards a glint of it on the ground.

It was a lake. Either that, or a really big pond. I could see the treetops across it, but just barely, because the light on the surface was so bright. It would’ve been mesmerizing if it wasn’t so painful to look at.

I looked beneath it and saw my reflection, and my breath just stopped in my throat. It was black and fluffy and beautiful, with bright green eyes and a moist, healthy muzzle. It was me … the way that I’d always imagined myself. And its eyes were wide open with shock.

I stood there, frozen, not moving or taking a breath. And slowly, those eyes began to water.

I broke down and cried. And it felt weird and sounded unearthly, but I had to do it anyway. I wasn’t in a panic from what was happening to me, like last time. Instead, I knew what had happened, and I was tortured by it.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t always wanted this. If I hadn’t spent half my childhood pretending, and dreaming that I was a wolf. If I hadn’t read books and played games and watched TV shows about wolves, and lurked on online forums where people pretended to be wolves and kicked myself for not having the courage to join in. It wouldn’t have been as bad if they weren’t so beautiful that I knew I could never be anything like them.

And yet, here I was. It was too much for me. I cried my eyes out, and wished that I knew what I was or what’d happened or what I was supposed to do.

That’s when I heard the voice.

It was speaking in words, real words that I could hear with my ears. I just couldn’t hear them well enough to make them out distinctly. But it sounded like the one that’d spoken in my mind just before I had changed, soft and patient and kind.

Try as I might, I couldn’t tell what it was saying to me. But somehow, it didn’t matter. I stopped crying and sat there and listened, perfectly still from my ears to my tail. And it was like my whole insides melted, and became pure peace and contentment.

After all the fights I’d had with my parents, I didn’t know if God existed, what he was like, or even if he was a he. But it felt like I was sitting on his lap. And everything that I’d been worried about did not seem to matter anymore.

You could’ve told me right then that I was a wolf from now on, and I’d never be human again, and I would’ve been okay with that. As it was, I just knew that everything was going to be alright. It was okay for me to be this way, I was supposed to be this way, and I had always been this way inside … I think. That last part was a bit fuzzy, perhaps because it was so hard to accept. But I felt like I had been given a gift, and I was grateful enough to accept it. Sublimely grateful, and flattered.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

When the howls started again, my ears perked. Then I looked up and caught sight of them, in the distance. Eyes and ears and noses, and tufts of fur and wagging tails. I gave a happy bark and got up and ran towards them, and they ran off and I followed this time, followed them into …

Something tickled my nose. I woke up.

I was human again, and was huddled up next to the rock, with my clothes and my coat all in place. The wind had stopped, and the air was barely moving. And the ground was all covered in snow, at least a half-inch of it.

Another huge puff of it drifted right into my face, and started to melt. I reached up to brush it aside, but my mittened hand was all covered in snow, too.

I jumped up and shook myself off. There was a tiny brown patch of grass where I’d been sitting, and a lot of snow came off my back, my arms, the cap on my head. How long had I been there? It was still dark, but the sky seemed brighter somehow. Was it because of the snow?

The snow kept falling around me, quiet and drifty and wet. And I remembered my dream, and what’d come before it.

There was a poignant sense of loss, like I’d been handed a beautiful Christmas present and dropped it. But then I wondered if that all hadn’t been the present … if I hadn’t been meant to feel what it was like. If I hadn’t needed to, after those past few weeks.

I wondered who or what that voice had been, and what had really just happened to me. Then I started walking back towards the house.

A few minutes later, laying back in my warm, fuzzy bed, I couldn’t help but grin to myself. I tried to forget the transformation, and the feelings of terror and shock, because they’d been so traumatic that I didn’t want to relive them. They’d felt real, on a level that I didn’t want to acknowledge just yet. So instead I thought of the feeling of being a wolf.

I knew what it was like. If it hadn’t just been a hallucination, I’d physically been one. It was the greatest gift I could ever have asked for. I just never would have, because I’d known it couldn’t have been. And yet it had.

The feeling of peace I’d had afterwards overrode my desire to figure out what had happened … or rather, the nagging worries that I would’ve otherwise had, since there was no way I could figure it out. I didn’t know what had happened, and I was okay with that. I was just extremely grateful for it. And I knew that I’d always treasure it.

That night, when I fell back asleep, I thought that it’d been just a one-shot occurrence … like seeing a UFO, or being visited by a dead relative. The kind of thing that’s once in a lifetime, if that, and would never happen again.

I was wrong.

You know how mortifying it is when you get to school, and you find out you had your shirt on backwards and the tag’s sticking out? Okay … now imagine you had real wolf ears and a tail, and you didn’t know it.

I was in tears in the girls’ bathroom. I thought for sure that my life was over. And I was glad there was no one there to see me, not only because I kept tearing off more paper towels and blowing my nose onto them but because they were still there, and I didn’t know how to make them go away. I concentrated on them and tried to make them go away, and they finally did, but then they came back a minute later when I wasn’t paying attention. I had to consciously hold them in, while I was walking through public areas, then finally get outside the building.

I got so many absences that day.

For the rest of the week, I wore a cap and a long, baggy jacket into class. I looked like a member of the Trenchcoat Mafia or something. The only reason I got away with it was because the heating was flaky and everyone else was dressing warm too … they were just doing it in a way that made them less likely to get picked on. I still got odd looks and smirks and pointed comments and things, but at least now I knew why. I was just glad that apparently no one had realized what they had seen, and called in spacesuited government agents to take me away.

If that Sunday night had been the high point of my life, then the following week was one of the lowest. I still spent it the same way, trying not to be noticed at school and then trying not to be noticed at home. But I was more afraid than ever, and persistently depressed. And I didn’t dare go outside.

You’d think that after what I went through, I wouldn’t be like that anymore. But that’s the thing about … for lack of a better word, spiritual experiences. When you have them they’re amazing, and you feel like you’re on top of the world. And you are. But then you have to go back down into the world, and get slowly taken apart by the futility and despair. High school and what I went through in that clearing may as well have been in separate universes.

Okay … it did help me once. I was at school, and I was stressed out and scared, and I needed to be by myself but I had to stay there in class. And I couldn’t hear anything they were saying, because all I could think was how unbearable life was going to be if it was always going to be this pointless and cruel, and I was always going to have to hide these wolf ears and tail.

I started imagining some really creative ways of killing myself, because I hated it all and I was scared and tired and sick of it. But then I thought Why don’t I just run off and become a wolf instead? And, I mean, I didn’t know for sure if I could … but after that night, the world seemed just magical enough that I could believe it could happen.

Obviously, I didn’t do that. But just the thought that I could, that it was even an option, made me feel so much better. I just barely got through the rest of that Friday, and stayed up late that night researching wolves online.

(Did you know that the whole thing about pack organization, with alphas and betas and constant fighting for dominance, and omegas as Acceptable Targets and all … it’s never been seen in the wild? It only exists in captive wolves, when they’ve been thrown together against their will from all different families and backgrounds and made to stay there for no apparent reason. Then the assertive ones start jockeying for position, and the most passive ones get picked on cruelly. Remind you of anything?)

Anyway, I slept in late that Saturday, and when I got up my family was out of the house. Which meant I got to play my music really loud, and bake cookies and watch whatever I wanted on TV (which was usually nothing). Except this time, I drew all the curtains and let my wolf ears and tail show the whole time. It felt daring, but the longer I went that way the more comfortable I felt with it … I actually thought they looked nice, when I saw them in the mirror.

Of course I about had a heart attack when my family showed up, and had to pack up and clear out really fast. But that’s just par for the course.

I stayed up late again that night. This time I actually posted on one of those role-playing forums, and created a character and everything. I wanted to put what I’d learned to good use, and maybe become a bit more comfortable with myself and what’d happened to me. I was still living from day to day, and had only the faintest idea of what I had become. But I thought that this was a step in the right direction … and that at any rate, I’d have a while to figure things out.

As it turned out, I had only a few hours left.

I woke up to pounding on my door. My brain was still half-asleep, and it took me a long second to realize I was not still in my dream. The inside of my muzzle was completely dry, and it hurt when I tried to swallow.

Then I realized I had a muzzle.

“Rebecca!” More pounding. My dad’s voice. “Get up. You’re coming to church with us.”

I sat up with a start and looked down at myself. There was a muzzle in front of my field of vision, just like when I was a wolf. And my hands and my arms were covered in fur, the same black fur that I’d had then. My fingers looked gnarled and had dull claws at their tips, and they and my hands had thick pawpads.

The sensible thing to do would have been to try to change myself back, the way that I’d made my ears and my tail retract. The intelligent thing to do would have been to tell my parents I was sick, or come up with some other excuse.

Instead, I started to hyperventilate.

“Rebecca?” The pounding stopped. “What are you doing in there?”

I couldn’t control my breathing. I didn’t even have the strength to sit up, and just barely managed to scoot backwards and lean up against the headboard. I was having a panic attack, and there was nothing that I could do about it.

“Do you have someone in there with you?” He was stern.

I wanted to try to communicate, but I was so scared that I didn’t know what to say. And I was taking such deep breaths so fast that I couldn’t have made words come out, muzzle or no. Instead I whined like a dog, loudly, then stopped and held my breath because I realized what I’d just done.

“She’s got a dog in there,” my mom said. “Get the keys.”

I heard his footsteps go fast down the hall, and the jangle of keys on a keyring. The whole time, my breath was still caught in my throat, and my lungs convulsed and tried to draw air but it was like I was underwater. Then I heard the footsteps on their way back, and finally I took a deep breath before screaming “Don’t come in!”

It was the worst thing I could have done. Not that I had many options.

When they opened the door and saw me, they screamed. I screamed, and started to cry. Then my dad dragged my mom down the hall, and I got up and followed them all the way to their bedroom, trying to say something, anything coherent. Begging them to listen, to understand.

When I saw my dad loading the shotgun, I ran. I tripped and fell all the way down the stairs, got up without even feeling the pain, then wrenched the front door open and took off.

I almost made it to the end of the driveway.

I lay in a writhing heap in the snow. It felt like my whole back was torn open, raw skin and flesh exposed to the cold. I screamed and convulsed, as my blood stained the snow and my heat escaped into the air. Snow got into the wounds on my back. My pawpads were sticky and red.

My dad could have finished me off. I don’t know why he didn’t. I’m not sure what he was thinking. Did he realize what he’d done? Did he regret it? I may never know.

All I could think of was how hurt I was, physically and emotionally. My whole life, everything around me had made me feel that I was not welcome. That I was an aberration which shouldn’t exist. Now I knew that the world had finally killed me, and the fact that the blow had been dealt by my family just made it even worse. I wanted to die, to just make this awful thing that I was go away. And I was so furious at myself for still living, and for still feeling this pain, that I did the impossible.

I got up, on hands and knees. Then just my knees, arms wrapped tight around myself, claws pressed into my shoulders so hard that I drew blood. I shook, with fury and self-hatred. And I could feel something happening, but I didn’t know what it was until I finally stood up and screamed; at myself, at the whole world, at everything.

I wanted to make it all die.

For as long as I’ve lived at my parents’ house, there’s been this huge rock at the end of our driveway. I mean huge like the size of a coffee table. Except that it seemed smaller now.

I walked over and picked it up in both hands, and I flung it back towards the house.

My parents ducked, but my aim was off. It clipped the corner of the house, sending splinters flying, and demolished the swing set that had sat there broken since I was little. I screamed again, filled with hatred, and looked for more things to throw. But the only thing I could see that wasn’t attached to the ground was the old station wagon, and it was up too close to the house.

From the wagon my gaze went up to the porch, and my parents. And our eyes met.

I could have killed them. I wanted to kill them. But the fear in their eyes stopped me. They were helpless and terrified, and that made me hate myself even more.

I screamed at them, but it came out as a roar, awful and pained. If I could’ve translated it, it would’ve been something like “See what you did to me!?” And I couldn’t have, but I think they got the message.

After that I took off on all fours, down the road and into the brush.

I’m sweating and uncomfortable right now, just thinking about what I did and what must have happened to me. But I’m going to try to finish this, before I … do anything else.

I’m sitting in my “friend” Laurel’s house. And I used quotation marks there because I really don’t know her that well. She’s one of the popular girls, and we’ve barely spoken to each other. But she’s shared her lunch with me before, and she’s told her friends to stop teasing me. More importantly, she invited me to a party once, which is how I knew her address.

I showed up there naked and injured, completely in human form, and when she answered the door I begged her for help. She got a blanket for me and took me inside, and her mom checked on my wounds. My arms were still bleeding from where I had gripped them, but my back had completely healed over.

This was just a few hours ago. I’m staying here with her mom right now, writing this on their dining room table while she’s doing something in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure that she’s cooking, because something smells good. Anyway, she volunteered to stay here and look after me while Laurel and her brothers and dad are at church. My wolf ears and tail are out, because I can’t keep them in all the time … she hasn’t seen them yet, but I’m not going to try to hide them from her. I just don’t have the energy.

Laurel said that she’d try to find help for me while she’s at church. She goes to a different one than my parents do, so I believe her. I don’t know what she’s going to do; maybe they’ve got a battered women’s shelter or something. I told her my dad had fired a shotgun at me. I didn’t say what else happened.

They’ve been gone for a long time now. Long enough for me to finish all this. What kind of church is this they go to?

I hope she’s not talking to the police.

*sigh*

*deep breath*

*struggle to hold back tears*

I’m not going to be here when she gets back. And I don’t mean I’m going to run away. I wanted to, when I was at school, but I can’t anymore because now I know that I’m dangerous. I’m not just a wolf, I’m a wolf who’s not afraid of people, not as much as she ought to be. Who tried to kill them, and could do so again.

I’m scared that I’ll hurt someone. I’m scared that the rest of my life will be short and violent, and end with somebody showing me why I ought to be scared of humans. And I’m cursing myself for not learning that to begin with. For not accepting my place and the scraps I was given, and for begging and being uncooperative instead of thanking them for it. I should have done that. I should have learned. And now I won’t have the chance.

I’m not giving myself the chance.

I’m going to

Hello, Rebecca.

Thank you for listening.

I cut off there because they got back from church. Then we ate, and played on their Wii, and I spent the whole day at their house. I was tired and depressed at first, but somewhere along the line I forgot what I was planning to do. I’m sitting in bed now, in their guest room, huddled up next to the nightlight.

I don’t know who wrote that last part in here. It’s not my handwriting. And somehow I was able to keep my wolf ears from showing to Laurel’s family, so they can’t have known what I am.

My heart tells me it’s the same voice that spoke in my dream, only it’s taken me this long to make out the words. I believe it.

I don’t know if I’ll talk to my parents again. Or go back to school, or their church, or anything. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I’m going to keep on living. Whatever that voice is, it gave me a beautiful gift, twice. The least I can do is to do what it asks.

I’m sorry for what I wrote earlier, and for the damage I caused. But I’m not sorry for being myself, right now. Maybe I will be again, later on, but I’ll try not to be. I’ll try.

If that voice is listening, thank you. I’ll wait until I hear from the person like me to decide what I’m going to do. And I hope that I hear from you again soon.

Good night.

The clock over the fireplace ticked, nearly drowning out the TV in the corner.

tick-tick-tick-tick-TOCK-tick-TOCK …

The female newscaster was standing in front of a bookstore. “But it’s now been two months since he’s sequestered himself away in that cabin, and there’s still no word from him or his publisher.“

TOCK-tick-TOCK …

A man in a suitcoat, in an office lined with books. The caption read MR. HOLMS’ AGENT. “I haven’t heard from him either! But I’m dying to read his new book, just as much as you are.“

tick-tick-tick …

A man in a winter coat, standing just next to the bookstore. “I was in line for The Rewair’s Orb, and I’ll be in line for the next one. They just need to say the word.” He grinned.

“What do you think’s taking him so long?” said the voice behind the microphone.

“I dunno. I guess his muse just hasn’t struck yet!“

TOCK.

TOCK.

TOCK.

The Great Author looked up with a start, from the pile of papers that he’d been buried in on his desk. His bleary-eyed gaze flicked back and forth, from the windows that looked out on the forest to the rough-hewn wooden inside.

They fixated on the clock.

He got up, sending papers flying everywhere. Then he jumped over his desk and stepped around the wicker furniture in the small living room, before grabbing the clock and sliding open the glass door to step outside.

* * *

SPLASH!

The Author’s muse raised one paw to shield himself. He was a short, stocky anthropomorphic raccoon, in a blue vest and a jaunty red cap. And he did not look happy about getting splashed.

He looked back behind himself, down the pier towards the shoreline, but the Author was already walking back to the house. The Author’s muse hmphed, adjusted his cap, and got back to fishing.

The water rippled from where the clock had been thrown in. But besides that, the lake waters were still. Evergreen trees reached shadows out to almost where he was, and the sun shone down on him, making the fur on the back of his neck warm even though his toes and fingers were cold. He opened the bait box and got out a sandwich, then started munching it, kicking his legs and showering crumbs next to his line.

His raccoon ears perked, as he heard the door slide open and closed back at the cabin. Then again a minute later, and footsteps crashed through the brush, shoshed through the sand, then clomp clomp clomped down the pier.

The muse pretended he didn’t hear anything.

The footsteps stopped a few feet behind him, and he found himself tensing up, waiting for another splash. But instead there was a sound like someone was unscrewing the lid from a jar, then pulling the cover off the inside. Something was set down beside him, and he tried to ignore it but a smell twitched his muzzle.

He sniffed at the air, then looked down beside him to see a glass jar filled with dark brown spread. “What is that?”

“Some kinda snazzy new peanut butter.” The voice came from behind him. “It’s made out of chocolate and hazelnuts.”

“Really, now.” The muse set down his sandwich, then dug a clawful of spread out of the jar and licked it clean. It wasn’t bad, and was very sweet.

“There’s more in the cabin,” the Author said.

“I’ll bet there is.” His muse began reeling in his line.

Behind him, the Author smiled.

The muse detached the fuzzy-shaped thing with eyes from the end of his line, and set it back in the bait box. Then he crammed the hook into the jar, and swung his line out into the lake, jar and all. It splashed, and his legs got all wet.

The Author’s face fell. “Geo, why must you be so unreasonable?”

“I’m not the one who’s being unreasonable, Mister Holms.” He turned around to scowl at the man, who looked younger than he sounded and was wearing a old sweater. “You’re the one who dragged me along on book tours, and signings, and interviews. You made me stretch out that story into a three-volume masterpiece, and now here you are back for more. Well, maybe I’m done for this year.” He turned back to his fishing. “Or this decade. Either way.”

“I thought you liked writing … “

“I liked writing when it was fun.”

“It doesn’t have to be fun when you’re getting paid for it!” the Author shouted.

“Talk to the tail.” His ring-tail swished. “The rest of me ain’t listening.”

After a minute, the footsteps clomped back towards the house. Geo picked up his sandwich and took another bite, but it had been splashed with lakewater. He spat it out, and tossed the sandwich away. Ducks couldn’t eat peanut butter, he knew, but they’d all flown south for the year.

He wondered what a sandwich with that chocolate spread would taste like.

Geo was almost ready to go back to the house, when the door slid open again. He turned around to see the Author carrying a large duffel bag with him.

Geo’s ears flattened as he turned back to his fishing, listening to heavy clomps up the pier again. The duffel bag unzipped, and something big that smelled of oil and metal was pulled out. There were clicks and latches and bolts pulled back into place.

A last switch was thrown, and Geo’s raccoon ears perked as the Author spoke. “Alright, no more mister nice-guy. Come inside and help me, or face heat-seeking missiles!”

Geo tugged on his fishing line, and the pier rumbled and started to shake. The bait box rattled and nearly fell off, and the Author struggled to keep his footing. Then there was a SPLASH that washed over the pier, and Geo held his cap onto his head and gritted his teeth into the spray as an enormous black metal shape came to surface. It stretched across the horizon.

“Oh look,” he said. “I’ve caught a nuclear submarine. Now what should I do with it?”

The Author stared, as a hatch opened out in the lake and a confused-looking man peeked outside.

* * *

The Author slid the glass door shut behind him. The air smelled like cooked butter, and on the TV a loud ad was playing. He walked over and turned it off.

Out in the kitchen, a thing like a short, humanoid wolf wearing goggles floated up from behind the counter, as the microwave popped popcorn. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“If a guy in a fur hat comes calling in Russian, tell him we gave at the office.” The Author slumped down into the chair at his desk, sending a couple more papers flying.

The wolf-thing floated towards him, paddling in midair with his hindpaws. “Blender and I came up with something that might help,” he said.

“You and-” He looked up. The other was carrying a blender under one arm, its cord trailing just above the floor. “Oh, right. What is it, Zippy?”

Zippy set down the blender and picked up a big gun-looking thing, with a barrel half a foot wide and a bunch of lights and dials and gauges on it. “It’s the Inspiration Machine!”

“I thought that was your Annihilation Machine.”

“It was. I changed it. See, you just set it from ‘frappé’ to ‘blend’ … ” He swung the machine in the Author’s direction, and the Author dove under his desk, kicking his chair aside with a clatter.

“Don’t worry,” Zippy said, “you don’t use it on yourself!”

The Author peeked out from underneath.

“You use it on the thing you want to be inspired by. Like, say you want to recapture the excitement of your old novels. You just aim it at them, and- May I?”

The Author winced. “Knock yourself out.”

“Okay!” Zippy’s face lit up. “Just aim it at them and pull the trigger, like so!”

The BLAM sent the Author reeling and clutching his ears, and the shock wave sent half of his papers flying. Zippy was sent flying backwards and hit the refrigerator, and the punch bowl fell off the top of it and knocked him unconscious. It rattled to a stop on the floor as the Author stood up and took stock of things.

There was a huge burn mark on the front of his hardback copy of The Rewair’s Orb. He sighed.

Picking it up, he checked it over and stopped at the ad copy on the back. “Riveting! Spellbinding! George Holms’ Dementor-like creatures will capture your heart, if they don’t steal your emotions first. Evocative of Harry Potter and Twilight-” The Author groaned, and made a mental note to hunt the reviewer down with a spork. “-but able to stand on its own two (or four) feet, The Rewair’s Orb is in a class all its own.“

But was it, really? he wondered. The Author thumbed through his work, ignoring the scorchmark inside. Most Authors hated their older work, but The Rewair’s Orb had been written just a couple of years ago. He still liked it okay. More than that, he thought it was genuinely a decent book.

But in a class all its own? He’d have to think about that one. He knew it was good, of course. But it wasn’t substantially better than the stories he’d been writing online for years. In fact, he could think of one of two of those that he liked better than it. And the only reason its sequels had got written was because it had become a bestseller … a fact that seemed to have nothing to do with how good it actually was.

The Author turned pages absent-mindedly. Why am I trying to make myself write even more of this? he wondered. This story is over.

He shut the book, and set it on top of the old Thinkpad on his desk. His gaze lingered on the computer, and he remembered staying up all night reading fanfiction based on his work. Some of it had been scary, but some of it had made him think Why aren’t these people writing the next book? They know where it’s going better than I do. More than that, they’re enjoying themselves. I just want to get the wretched thing finished.

The Author mused on that for a moment before picking up the phone, as the microwave dinged and the smell of burnt popcorn seeped out of it.

* * *

A man in a suitcoat, in a room lined with books. He sat at his desk, leafing through a stapled-together manuscript. The bored look on his face changed to one of disgust when he saw the $100 bill in between the papers. He threw it all back on the slush pile, and woke his computer from sleep mode to send out another rejection notice.

The phone rang, and he reached over to hit the transfer button. Then he saw who was calling, and put it on speaker. “George!” he said, in a let’s-do-lunch kind of voice. “Good to hear from you! How’re things going out there on Lake Superior? Getting chilly this time of year, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah, uh, listen … ” George said, in a lost-my-train-of-thought-when-I-opened-my-mouth kind of voice. “Is there somebody else who could do this book? ‘Cause I,” he coughed. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“Of course you’re cut out for it,” his agent explained. “Just look at the Rewair trilogy! You’re the only one who can do it.”

“Uh, no,” George said, “I’m not.”

His agent gave the phone a patronizing look. “Oh, really,” he said. “So who else is going to write the next Rewair book? Please, do tell.”

George coughed again. “Well, um, there’s this person called … uh … ” He mumbled something.

“Speak up!” his agent said.

” … LatinoFurry87,” George finished.

His agent blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s what he’s called on the Internet,” George went on, in a rush. “He wrote this story based on The Rewair’s Orb-”

“He’s not authorized to do that,” his agent broke in.

“Well, somebody ought to have told him that, ’cause he wrote it anyway.” George sounded exasperated.

“Tell him what ‘copyright law’ means,” his agent said, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair. “I think he could learn a lot.”

“Will you just let me finish?” George huffed.

His agent said nothing.

“He wrote this epic fanfiction based on my stories, and it continued the Rewairs’ tale better than I could have. I was done with it at the end of the first book, Malcomb, you know that. And it was like pulling hens’ teeth trying to stretch it out into a trilogy.”

“Or laying golden eggs,” Malcomb mused, looking up at the crystal-and-glass awards on his bookcases.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Carry on.”

“This boy — I think he’s a boy — is talented. He’s at least as good of a writer as I am, probably better. And my readers deserve better, or at least better than two-month hiatuses.” He spat out that last past. “Your job is to find the best talent. Find this boy, and sign him up.”

His agent tsk’ed, and shook his head. “No can do, George.”

A sigh. “Yeah, I expected as much. So go ahead. Tell me why we can’t do this.”

“Because they want a book with your name on it.” His agent stabbed a finger at the phone, leaning forward all of a sudden. “Why else do you think you get top billing over the name of your own freaking books?”

“So give him a pen name, or something!”

“Signing somebody else to ghostwrite for you would be like replacing Coldplay with lip-synchers. It’s just not done.” He folded one leg over the other as he sat back again.

“Well, what do you want me to do, Malcomb? Fill two hundred pages with drivel off the top of my head, and leave the other two hundred blank? Because that’s what the fourth Rewair book’s going to be like if I write it.”

Malcomb shrugged. “An Author’s gotta do what an Author’s gotta do. Just put something on paper. We’ll clean it up in editing.”

“Good Gates, man, do you realize what you’re saying? Whatever happened to ‘George, you’re the greatest,’ or ‘George, this is one of a kind?’ Does quality count for nothing? Does craftsmanship? What sets our published fiction apart from his fanfiction?“

“The fact that you’re getting paid for it, and what he’s doing is illegal.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“That’s what it’s been like as long as there’s been a market, George. I hate to break it to you, but it’s true.” His agent took off his suitcoat, suddenly hot in the enclosed room.

The voice on the phone was quiet. “Somehow, this was more fun before I was being paid to write garbage.”

“It doesn’t have to be fun when you’re getting paid for it.”

The Author hung up.

* * *

The evening was quiet as the Author went back down to the dock, the submarine having disappeared back into the depths of his imagination. No crickets were chirping; the waves were gentle and faint. There was only him and his muse … or in other words, he was alone with himself.

He stood there watching the raccoon fish for some time. So content … so unconcerned. So uninterested in anything that wasn’t fun.

The Author knew what was going on in his muse’s head as well as he did any other of his characters. And he knew what Geo was going to answer before he said “There’s nothing I can do to persuade you to help me, is there.”

Or did he? His muse surprised him with “Actually, there is.”

“Oh?”

Geo clicked a button on a remote in his bait box, and a hundred-foot neon billboard lit up out on the lake. It read “WRITE SOMETHING FUN.”

The Author sighed. “We’ve been through this already.”

“Yep, we have.” Geo clicked the sign back off. “And you still won’t see reason,” they both said at the same time.

The Author looked out at the lakewaters, still and silent and dark. “I guess I’ll have to write it myself, then,” he said. “And the next, and the next, and … ” A lump formed in his throat. He looked down at his muse, and realized that it would be for the last time.

“Remember what it used to be like?” he asked his muse. “The snark, the wit, the fantasy … ” And for a moment he was Geo, sitting there on the dock kicking his furry feet in the air, listening to this strange human state the obvious.

The Author shook his head, and brought himself back to reality. Things didn’t work that way in real life. If you were lucky enough to get famous IRL, you rode it as far as you could. Because you didn’t know when it would give out, and you’d be back to writing fanfics because no one would publish your work.

He looked down at the dock. Geo was gone.

The Author sighed, and began the long, slow walk back to his cabin.

* * *

He threw out the burnt popcorn, and microwaved some leftover spaghetti for dinner. After that he sat in the living room, polishing off the rest of the ice cream with a spoon while watching TV.

The Author stayed up too late watching it. In between he surfed the web on his laptop. He didn’t visit his online journal or microblog, or anything remotely related to his work. Just RSS feeds and webcomics, and leaving comments anonymously.

Finally he got ready for bed, still leaving all the lights in the cabin on. He left the downstairs light on as he climbed into bed, and left the door open enough to see. But after ten minutes of tossing and turning, he knew he couldn’t sleep since it got in his eyes. So he slid out of bed, feet probing the cold hardwood floor for his slippers, leaving the covers still made to keep from losing their warmth.

The air was as chill as outdoors, except right by the space heater. He hurried like he was taking the trash out in winter, sliding up to the door with arms tightly folded and pushing it shut. Then he hurried back, and sat down on the bed and kicked off his slippers. First the one, then- wait, where did it go?

Something wrapped around his leg.

He tried to grab onto the covers but was pulled right off of his bed, kicking and flailing and clawing at the smooth hardwood as it dragged him underneath. A moment of struggle at the edge, and then he was brought face-to-face with …

A penguin.

“Heh-wo,” it said, or something much like it, and waved a flipper at him.

“Hi, Fluff,” he said, still gasping for breath. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

The penguin shrugged.

“M-may I … ” The Author gestured at the space outside.

Fluff said nothing, so the Author crawled back out on bare hands and feet. Then he jumped back into bed, and shivered for a moment before calling out to him. “What was that all about, Fluff?”

“Squaawk!“

The Author covered his ears for a moment. “Er, I didn’t quite catch that … “

Fluff exclaimed a long chastisement at him, in the language of penguins that goes from melodic trills to harsh squawking. An exact translation would be as long as this whole story, but the gist of it was “Are you out of your mind!?“

“Fluff … “

“Squaa-awk!“

“Fluff, listen!”

“Squawk!“

“Fluff!” The Author leaned on one elbow, and talked over the side of the bed as cold air seeped in to where he was. “Look, I know this is bad. Alright? I know what I’m giving up! But it’s not like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Hmph.”

“Do you see this place, Fluff?” The Author gestured around. “Cabins don’t just build themselves.”

“Squawk.”

“Build, buy, same difference. Not to mention, a couple of years ago I couldn’t have taken two months off if my life depended on it. Now I can just say ‘The book isn’t done yet!’ and no one can stop me from doing this. Who else is going to give them what they want?”

The penguin trilled something else, which basically meant “You know the answer to that.“

The Author slumped back, deflated. “Fluff … “

No answer.

“Fine,” the Author said. “Let’s say I give up my rights to the book, so now anyone can write what they want based on it. And Latinofurry or someone else writes something amazing, and has fun with it, and makes a whole lot of money like he or she richly deserves. Everyone reads it, and everyone’s happy. But where does that leave me, Fluff? Because this isn’t about lakefront property, or having a car and an iPhone, it’s … “

A questioning trill. Go on.

He sighed. “It’s about living the life that I want.”

The room was quiet after that. Almost ten minutes passed.

“Fluff?”

“Squawk?”

“What do you think I should do?”

Fluff coughed. “A-hem-hem-hem. Fish,” he said.

The Author groaned, disgusted. “No, Fluff, it’s not time for fish.”

“Fish,” Fluff insisted.

“Fluff, it’s the middle of the night! Can’t you wait until-”

“FISH!” he shouted.

The cabin creaked in the cold air. And the Author suddenly got a clue.

He got out of bed and looked out the window, shivering like mad as he did so. There at the end of the dock was his muse, fishing away again by moonlight.

The Author scurried towards the door. “Where did I put my boots … “

* * *

The Author peered out the ground floor windows towards the dock, as he was pulling his coat and boots on. His muse was still there, a shadow sitting at the edge of the dock. But as he hurried outside into the cold, hugging himself and moving quickly and wishing that he’d worn long underwear, he saw that the dock was abandoned.

“Geo?” The Author stopped at the end of the dock and called out to him. “Geo!”

There was no reply.

He ran out to the end of the dock. The moon shone on the still waters, which stretched out as far as he could see. But there was no anthropomorphic raccoon, no bait box, no fishing rod and line or nuclear submarine. There wasn’t even a hat.

The Author stood there for a long moment, gloved hands in his pockets, feeling very alone and dejected. Finally he sat down at the edge of the dock, and sighed a white cloud of steam. The motion sensor lights clicked off behind him, and he didn’t even turn to look.

“Missed my only chance … ” He leaned up against one of the pylons, and imagined a life of boredom and mediocrity. It’d seemed so compelling a moment ago. Now it felt like a death sentence.

“Maybe he’ll come visit if I work on a side project,” he mutterred.

“Like what?”

The Author turned around with a start, looking every which way, but he didn’t see anything. Then he realized where the voice had come from.

He was about four feet tall now, covered in black-and-gray fur. His feet and hands were bare, and he was covered in fur from his muzzle to the tip of his ringed tail. He reached up and pulled a red cap off of his pointy ears, and as he ran his claws and pawpads over the rough cloth half of him was in awe. The other half could only grin and say “Finally!”

He turned around and jumped into the air, waving his hat and calling out towards the cabin. A moment later the lights came on inside; then the motion-detector lights over the driveway turned on, as Fluff, Zippy, Blender and dozens more characters from his stories came crowding outside.

He threw in his line and reeled in his catch, and just as they all reached the pier the submarine surfaced, its long profile a silhouette in the dark. Dozens of hatches opened on top, with whirring noises and outlines of light. Then fireworks shot out into the night sky, and the crowd cheered.

Fluff directed the orchestra, as they played Geo’s favorite soundtrack. Zippy and Blender made juice drinks and smoothies, and served them to people from tables all strung with lights. Men in fur hats got out on the deck of the submarine, and set up beach chairs and watched the fireworks with binoculars. And Geo jumped up and down madly, controlling the fireworks by waving a baton in the air. They looped in circles, spun around in sync, dashed across the lake surface sending ripples out in their wake and exploded right above everyone, showering sparkles onto the crowd.

It was frantic. It was exhausting. And it was the most fun that he’d had all year.

* * *

Two hours later, teeth chattering in the cold, the Author stopped pacing back and forth on the dock. He looked over the story he’d typed on his phone, finger-scrolling on the glass.

It wasn’t long, but it was beautiful. And it had nothing to do with Rewair.

The motion-detector light came on as he walked back to the cabin and opened the door, savoring (slightly) warm air on his face. He closed it, inside, and set his phone down next to his computer, before writing a note on the paper beside it.

There were things that he needed to do, tomorrow. And people he needed to contact.

* * *

“What? Yes, I’m sure. I spoke with him just yesterday evening.” Malcomb grabbed another bite of his chocolate croissant, then spoke into the phone with his mouth full.

“No, there’s no end in sight … ” He swallowed. “But George knows what he has to do, and I’m confident that we’ll see some progress being made soon!”

A woman in an understated suitcoat poked her head in the door, and gestured frantically at the TV in the corner. What? Malcomb mouthed at her. But she wasn’t listening. When he stayed put, she finally walked over and turned it on, then set it to the right channel.

“ … has chosen a Creative Commons ‘Attribution / Share-Alike’ license,” the female voiceover said, as it showed people in bookstores and then a closeup of a copy of The Rewair’s Orb. “This will allow anyone who wants to to write and even publish stories set in his world, so long as they credit him for the original and use the same license for their own stories.“

Malcomb’s jaw dropped.

“He has already spoken with a different publisher-” Malcomb threw the phone’s handset at the wall, and his secretary jumped. “-and they are now conducting a search for authors, to find the fan who can write the next ‘official’ Rewair book. Mr. Holms also announced a forthcoming collection of unrelated short stories, to be called-“

The Author’s former agent got up and turned off the TV, then stood at the window looking out with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t move or say anything else.

His secretary quietly picked up the handset, ignoring the pleas that came out of it, and hung it up on his desk. Then she walked out, closing the door behind her.

* * *

“¡Enriqué! Ven aquí! Estoy hablando con usted!“

“Sí, madre … ” A brown-skinned boy in a white t-shirt and jeans got up from the old family computer, and stepped around the piles of blankets and sheets on the floor to go out to the trailer’s front porch. He clasped his hands behind his back, listening patiently to her chastisement, then promised to take care of things for her before stepping back inside, as her attention turned to one of his younger siblings.

His cousin was still on the couch. She was watching an English-language morning news show. Enriqué tuned the words out, trying to concentrate on the scene that he’d just been writing. But then as he was sitting back down at the computer, he looked over his shoulder and saw on the TV a picture of a hardcover copy of The Rewair’s Orb … the same book he’d gotten two years ago for Navidad. The book that had changed his life.

He heard the words they were saying, but it took him a moment to understand them, and even longer for them to sink in. When they did, he found that he wanted to cry.

Instead, he pumped one clawed fist in the air, tears streaming down his slender draconic muzzle. Then he stretched his crimson wings, before hunching back down in front of the PC and writing the last of the scene he’d been working on. The end of a chapter … and the start of a new story.

Many thanks to my penguin-obsessed brother for the RP sessions that provided the inspiration for Fluff’s behavior.

The highway curves off into the distance, between mountains and badlands and mesas. Everything’s reddish-orange, dusty and dry, just like an old pickup truck.

There’s one right now, crawling along the slow lane. Minivans zoom right past it. Enormous tractor-trailers rush past, nearly blowing it off the road.

It doesn’t seem to care. The driver doesn’t, either. He tilts his weather-beaten hat to block out more of the sun, then turns up the AM radio as another tractor-trailer roars past. A high-pitched whine comes out of his speakers, intermingled with static.

He nods. “Right,” he says, even though no one is with him. “Uh-huh.

“Two of them? Wow. And one is a-

“Oh, heck.”

He looks up at the roadsign, promising food and lodging from six major brands. “Okay, I’m coming up on it now.”

The exit’s in a quarter of a mile. Driving one-handed, he reaches down and unzips the duffel bag next to him, before getting out a short-barreled shotgun. He touches a silver icon to it and breathes a short prayer, before returning his gaze to the road.

Two cars scream past him, driving the wrong way up to the Interstate, just before he gets to the exit. Honking and screeching sounds come from behind him, and he holds onto his hat, looking out the window for a split-second before coming down off the highway. More cars tear past at the intersection, and in the distance he hears screaming.

He turns left, heading towards the big travel plaza that’s emptying of all of its customers. Cars are pulling out fast and rear-ending each other, and people are throwing the building’s doors open and running for their lives.

He pulls into the parking lot just as it empties, and takes a spot around the corner from the entrance. Now he can hear snarling and animal breathing, and then a roar right before sounds of crashing and towers of things tumbling over.

He cuts the engine and leaves the keys in the ignition, then unbuckles his seatbelt and pushes the door open, grabbing his shotgun on the way out …

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO

*squaaawk*

“I’m sorry, what?”

Rachel sighed, and looked around the main prep area to where Tara was staffing the drive-thru window. Her friend was busy counting out change for someone waiting outside, while trying to talk to someone else on her headset.

“Uh, it comes with pinto beans, cheese, guacamole, rice …

“Rice.

“Rice, with an ‘r’.

“No, not ice. Rice!” She dropped the lid to the cup she was filling, and kicked it aside before getting a new one and cramming it on top. “Rice!”

“What are you doing just standing there?”

Rachel jumped, almost ruining the order she was working on, and turned around to see the store manager — all 4’10″ of her. She had Hispanic features, and her nametag read “Alice.”

“Sorry … ” Rachel grabbed up handfuls of lettuce and cheese, and tossed them on before wrapping up the tortilla.

“The evening rush is starting,” Alice reminded her, in accented English. “I know this is hard for you and your friend, but you need to stay on task. You can take a break afterward.”

“I know, it’s just … ” How to explain Tara’s disability?

Rachel finished her prep work, then brought the tray to the counter. “Thirty-four!” she shouted, and someone standing two feet away took it. Without acknowledging him, she walked back to the line, stealing a glance at the drive-thru window as she walked back. Tara had her eyes closed and both fists clenched, and was silently counting to ten.

Rachel glanced up at the screen and began work on the next order automatically. She had it bagged up and ready for the take-out customer when she spotted the manager again. “Um, Alice … “

Alice coughed, and indicated the bag. Rachel handed it to the man waiting at the counter before trying again. “Listen, my friend’s having a hard time over there … “

An entire cup of ice and soda fell off the machine where Tara was trying to fill it, and she threw the handful of sauce packets she’d grabbed at the floor in frustration.

Rachel went on hurriedly. “Can I take over from her for a few? She can go get … something … from the stock room … ” Her voice trailed off.

She saw the look on Alice’s face as she considered her friend, and knew what it meant. “If she can’t even handle this, how is she ever going to make it here?” But Alice finally looked up at her and said “You take over for her, then. I’ll get the mop.”

Rachel let out her breath in relief.

She walked over to where Tara was leaning her forehead against the soda machine, eyes closed. Rachel could hear the static of the radio in her headset. “Tara?”

No answer.

Rachel took a deep breath, knowing how much Tara hated this, and shook her gently by the shoulder. She recoiled as if shot, and her radio headset fell to the floor. “-ello? Hello?” it squawked.

“Tara, I’m going to take over for you now.”

“I can’t do this,” she said, in a quiet and just slightly quavering voice that showed that she meant it.

“I know.” Rachel kept her hands to herself, even though she wanted to comfort her. “But tomorrow’s the weekend, and-”

“I hate the weekend.” She stared daggers into the soda machine, not looking at Rachel as she spoke. “I hate our stupid apartment we can’t even pay for.”

“Tara … “

“Yes, I know how lucky we are to have jobs, but I just can’t do this!“

A car horn honked, outside the window, and Tara jumped and nearly fell to the floor. Rachel tried to help steady her, and she fought Rachel off as if by instinct.

“Go punch something in the stock room,” Rachel said, not realizing that she’d regret it. “I’ll cover for you.”

A long second passed, and even the radio headset was silent. Then, wordlessly, Tara walked back towards the stock room, a blank expression on her face. She jumped again when the horn honked a second time, but managed to catch herself.

Rachel consulted the screen on the drive-thru cash register, and finished the order for the person waiting outside. Then she put on Tara’s headset, rubbing hand sanitizer into her palms as she spoke. “I’m sorry for the delay, can I take your order please?”

Alice came up beside her with the mop and bucket as she started filling drinks, and began to clean Tara’s mess. They both looked to the side as they heard a muffled THWACK — THWACK — THWACK from the stock room.

“I told her to go punch something,” Rachel said, helplessly. “To let out some stress.”

Alice shrugged, and went back to her mopping. “If she damages anything, you’re paying for it.”

Rachel sighed. “I know.”

Another order filled, and everything was quiet … or as quiet as it got at a fast-food restaurant approaching rush hour, she told herself. Two people were working the line, one of them bringing her orders to pass through the window, and Alice was up at the front taking orders. The drive-thru window was starting to get hectic, but Rachel had worked it during lunch hour, and she hoped she’d be able to handle it.

Then they all heard the clatter of piles of things hitting the floor, and a second later Tara screamed in frustration. The line workers held back, but both of them were still frozen, looking towards the stock room as Tara began crying loudly.

Rachel scrambled to finish her order, counting out change and reaching through the window to hand it to the person outside. She jumped, at another clatter of things hitting the floor and another scream from the stock room, and dropped half the coins on the pavement.

Without thinking, she took off her headset and hurried around the line, past the workers staring as Tara’s screams became more bloodcurdling. The door to the stock room was just a crack open, and as Rachel rounded the corner and headed up to it all she could think was dead, dying, horrible pain, crushed beneath piles of boxes …

“Tara!” She threw the door open. “Are you alagplx-“

There was something in the stock room.

It was twice her size, and covered in fur, and tipped with gleaming claws. And as soon as it saw Rachel it growled at her from behind the sack of tortillas it’d torn into, a muffled sound that just about stopped her heart.

I’m going to die, Rachel thought. She had never felt such fear before, and did not understand what was happening to her in response.

Acting on instinct, she slammed the door shut, then fumbled the lock closed just as the creature barreled into it. The metal door dented.

“Mad dog!” she called out to the store. It seemed like the most sensible thing to say. “Mad dog!”

Another slam into the door. Why isn’t anyone running? Rachel was terrified. The whole world seemed like it was spinning around her, and she found herself braced up against the door half in a futile attempt to keep it shut and half to keep from falling over.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to take off around the corner, but slipped and fell on some rags that hadn’t been there before. Her co-workers gasped and jumped backwards, when they saw.

Slipping, kicking the rags away, Rachel stood up and screamed out towards the patrons who were staring at her in shock. “Mad dog! Run for your lives!”

Now her co-workers screamed and ran, and so did the people out in the dining area. Trays got flung aside, napkins went flying, people jumped over tables and slipped on their wrappers. Somebody hit his head on a chair, and got dragged outside by someone else.

She heard Alice saying something and coming out of her office, and ran in that direction. When Alice saw her, she froze in her tracks, her mouth hanging open.

Rachel stopped and looked down at her, trying to think what was wrong. How bad did I hit my head? Am I gruesomely injured? Covered in blood?

I didn’t think she was this short …

Alice turned and tried to run, but Rachel grabbed her by the shoulder. “Alice!”

She screamed and tried to break free.

Rachel took hold of her and spun her around. “Alice, stop … stop screaming and listen to me!”

She stopped screaming and started blubbering, dropping to her knees and pleading in Spanish. Rachel had to get down on her knees too, just to talk to her face to face. “Alice, listen! There’s a-”

She kept crying, hysterical.

Rachel took a deep breath. “There’s a mad dog or something in the storeroom-”

It roared, and slammed into the door again.

“I don’t have a cellphone! You’ve got to get outside and call 911, and-”

SLAM.

“And, like, the National Guard or something! I don’t know!” Rachel looked over her shoulder towards the line, then back down at Alice. She was still crying, and was now doubled over with her face to the floor and her arms over her head.

Rachel hurriedly pulled Alice to her feet and shoved her towards the front entrance. “Go! Get going already!” Alice stumbled and ran on short, shaking legs, not looking back as she did so.

Rachel followed, knowing the stock room door couldn’t hold the thing for much longer. Then she got to the glass pull-door leading out to the main floor of the travel plaza, and she tried to pull it open but it snapped off in her hand. She stood there, shocked, holding the entire door in one hand for a split-second, before she realized that This is too heavy for me! and dropped it. She leaped backwards onto a table, as it fell to the floor and cracked.

What just happened?

She crouched on the table, staring down at the door in shock, as the pounding behind her intensified.

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM-THUNK.

Rachel turned her head towards the counter, as the rumbling, deep bass GROWL filled the restaurant.

I am going to die.

* * *

As the man from the pickup truck ran around to the front of the building, shotgun in hand, his features changed. He held his hat in place as long, drooping hound dog ears came out on either side, and a tail poked through beneath the back of his leather jacket.

He ran up to the spaces for handicapped people just as a ball of fur exploded out of the front of the building, cracking the glass on one door and knocking the other off of its hinges. An enormous gray creature was fighting a smaller brown-furred one, grabbing and clawing with its forepaws and trying to hold it down. Their snarls were muted as they tussled, the large creature biting and clamping its jaws down and trying to rip out the smaller one’s throat.

The dog-eared man felt a shiver that made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, running all the way down to his tail. He suppressed it and took aim with his shotgun, waiting for the two creatures to break apart.

They rolled around on the pavement, first towards him (he backed up) then straight into an abandoned car, breaking the windows and denting the side. The brown one broke free just then and leaped over the car in one bound, running across the parking lot towards the dumpsters.

The gray one stood and roared at it, then picked up the car and lifted it high. Nine feet of monstrous dire wolf stood a truck’s length in front of the man, vaguely humanoid / female in shape but with a countenance that was pure animal.

He shot it.

The car dropped behind it towards the man, rolling and smashing across the pavement, and he dove out of the way and looked up to see where the creature had gone. It was clutching its side as red mist vaporized out of a hole in it, not mortally wounded but startled and turning every which way to see what had just happened.

It saw the man, and their eyes met for a second.

He fired again and missed, and it took off as soon as he shot at it, bounding on all fours away and around the corner. That was his cue. He ran back to his truck-

The car had skidded to a stop right beside it, upside-down, its left front bumper nearly holding the door shut. He took a deep breath, and then heaved the car sideways about a foot, before climbing in and slamming the door shut and turning the keys. The engine roared to life, and he backed out of the parking spot and turned around, headed around the building to where the orange one had fled.

* * *

The first shot panicked Rachel. She wanted to run away from them, but she looked behind herself and the dumpsters she was hiding behind and all she could see was flat orange ground. I’m trapped! she thought.

Then she heard the second blast and the scared yelp of the monster-thing, and its feet pounding the ground as it ran off. And she thought Wait, that was the police, or a hunter or …

She backed up against the dumpster and slowly found herself settling to the ground, shaking, as the adrenalin started to wear off. She heard the engine start in the background, but it didn’t even register because she was so scared. There wasn’t anything in her but fear and panic, with a thin layer of conscious thought on top, and she found that she couldn’t control her own breathing. She couldn’t even try, she was so scared. And she didn’t understand the strange feelings all over her body — couldn’t see the claws shrinking, limbs contracting and fur growing back in on itself. She could only look straight upwards and gasp for breath and think I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m horribly maimed, all my guts are leaking out, I’m-

Something fell on top of her, obscuring her vision, and she couldn’t even move but could only think Why’s there a blanket on top of me now?

Rachel shifted position, feeling gravel and pavement beneath her bare skin. And why am I-

“Get in!” someone shouted, over the roar of the nearby engine.

She sat there for a moment, not comprehending. Then, slowly, she stood up, holding the blanket and trying to straighten it out. Parts of it felt slick and wet, and she looked and saw that she was bleeding.

“I said-”

Rachel screamed and jumped, and hurriedly wrapped the blanket around herself as a man stepped around the side of the dumpster.

He didn’t seem bothered. “You ready?”

“I … uh … ” She was still short of breath.

“This way.” He turned around and headed back to the truck, that Rachel saw on the other side of the dumpsters as she went and followed him.

She saw something else, too. Is that a tail sticking out of his pants? As if in response, it wagged.

He climbed in, and she did too, carefully. The inside was as old and beat-up as the outside, with cracks on the dashboard and exposed upholstery coming out of a thick gash in the seat.

As soon as Rachel got in, one arm still holding the door open, she thought What am I doing? Why is this man here and what does he want with me? Is he some kind of-

Out of nowhere the creature jumped on the hood, tilting the truck forward and sending Rachel up against the dashboard, her face right next to its claws. She screamed and tried to back up as it roared and tore off the driver’s side-view mirror, trying to pry the truck open.

Something exploded right next to her. The windshield shattered, held in place around the cracks by the safety glass laminate. And the wolf creature was blown backwards and sent into the grass, writhing in pain.

“Hold this.” The dog-eared man handed her the shotgun he’d just fired, and she took it before realizing the door was still open. Setting the gun on the dashboard, she slammed the door shut while the man flipped a switch to turn on the windshield wipers. They creaked to life, and she shivered.

“You ready?” The man looked over at her. It occurred to her that he was probably younger than this truck.

“Uh … ” She looked up at the hole in the dashboard. The blood on it was starting to evaporate, and was misting off into the air like it’d never existed. And behind it, out on the grass, the creature was starting to crawl back to its feet, clutching its wounds and looking mad.

“Good.” He threw the truck into reverse and backed up quickly, the creature seeming to shrink into the background, until the back of the truck hit the curb and went up it and both their heads hit the roof. Then he pushed the stick to put it in gear and spun the wheel around, taking them out of the parking lot with tires screeching just as the wolf creature stood.

It loped towards them on all fours, closing distance fast as the truck sped towards the Interstate. All Rachel could do was watch it get larger, framed by the words “OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR,” and think Hey, I’ve seen this movie before!

As they pulled onto the highway it lunged at them and grabbed on to the back of the truck. But the man spun the wheel until it was finally thrown into the grass, the back door flying off after it. Rachel looked behind her out the window, trying to see where it went, and finally spotted it standing upright and receding into the distance.

Only once it was out of sight did it occur to her that she had been panicking nonstop, and that she was about to hyperventilate. She swallowed and choked her breathing back down, taking deep, shuddering breaths and waiting for her heartbeat to settle.

“You okay?” the man said, glancing at her.

She nodded, too quickly.

“Good,” he said, and went back to driving.

When she’d caught her breath enough to talk, she looked up at him. “What was that thing?”

“Werewolf,” he said, as though it were obvious. As he spoke, his dog ears and tail shrank back into him.

She stared. “What are you?“

“Cynocephalus.” He didn’t even look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the road.

The truck was rattling from being pushed so fast, and it was hard to hear what he said. She gave him a weird look. “You’re a snuffleupagus?”

“see-no-SEPH-uh-lus. Means weredog.”

A pause. The truck continued to rattle.

“Well, w-where did you come from?” She adjusted the blanket, trying to warm herself and stay covered at the same time. “Did you know? I mean-”

He turned on the radio, to a shower of static.

“Hey, I’m talking here!”

“And you should be listening.” He held up his hand. “Now shush.”

She did listen. “ZZZwhirhummm-her First Cha-KSSSH-cked the werecoyote, but was fought off by-rttTTrTTT-are now heading east on I-40.“

She stared at the radio, confused, trying to make sense of it. Then all of a sudden there was a deep, resonant female voice, and it drowned out all other noise in the truck. “Hello, Rachel. Thanks to you and Bryce, no one was killed during Tara’s First Change. Your friend will be detained in human form by the county sheriff in two hours, and will be held overnight before being turned over to a privately-held laboratory. There, she will be drugged and killed, and her remains will be dissected. Thank you for listening.“

The voice faded back into static, and Rachel found herself laying limp on the seat, plastered in sweat. That had taken more out of her than the entire fight had.

“What was that?” Her voice was a whisper.

“A Harbinger.” He glanced at her. “What did he say?”

“She said … ” Rachel was still in shock. She tried to make herself sit upright, then looked at him. “Bryce?”

“Yes?”

She swallowed. “Uh, my name’s Rachel, just so you know.”

“I know.” He nodded.

“She said … oh man.” Her free hand went to her forehead. “That was Tara, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She … ” Rachel tried to make herself calm down. “Tara’s going to be locked up, and put in a lab and dissected.”

“Did she say when?”

“Sometime tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“I, uh … ” She watched as he got out a water bottle from a sack on the floorboard between them, while he was driving, and sipped at it one-handed before offering it to her. She shook her head, then immediately nodded and drank from it before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“I don’t know when,” she went on, as he took the bottle from her and put it back where he’d gotten it.

“Did she say who’s taking her?”

“The county sheriff … “

“We know where to find her, then.” He nodded, eyes still on the road. “I can take you there tomorrow morning.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” She indicated herself. “I just … “

Rachel stopped, because she realized that she was about to say I just fought off a werewolf one-on-one. And as Bryce slowly looked over at her, she realized what else she had heard on that radio.

Werecoyote.

* * *

After that, a peculiar feeling of numbness overtook her on their way into town. And it wasn’t her injuries; she barely managed to check (they had healed over and vanished). It was more like shock, and fear, and embarrassment.

Once they got into town Bryce stopped at a drive-thru, then let her eat while he went into a department store to pick up some clothes for her. She was so numb it took her a minute to take the food from him even when they had already parked, and then she still had to make herself speak in order to tell him her size.

Even letting a guy know how overweight she was wasn’t as mortifying as the knowledge of what had just happened. She knew what werecreatures were, or at least she thought she did from movies and pop-culture references. And they were just so … intense. Their minds were more animal than human, and they gave in to their feral sides and underwent grotesque transformations.

She’d seen it in movies, and it’d made the hair on the back of her neck bristle. The thought that it’d happened to her, that she’d been (that she was) one of those things changing on camera for shock value, was so alien that she just wanted to crawl into a hole and not come out.

Rachel glanced up at the parking lot, and at her reflection in the mirror above the windshield, and saw that she had furry, pointed ears sticking out of the top of her head.

She panicked as though a swarm of bees had landed on her, messing up her hair and pounding the ears to make them go away. It hurt, but she didn’t care. She finally felt them retract, along with the tail that’d come out at the same time, but by then she was covered in sweat again and was losing control of her breathing.

They saw- somebody- I-

Holding still with terror, she flicked her gaze to either side, scanning the parking lot. No one seemed to be watching her. And she was far enough from the main entrance that there weren’t many people there anyway.

Rachel finally took in a long, shuddering breath, and then covered her face with her hands.

I can’t deal with this …

The thought that “Rachel = horror movie creature” was still too much for her to bear. So she found herself imagining a real coyote as a defense mechanism. She’d seen them before on her mother’s land, and she knew they killed sheep and rabbits and things but she ate meat too, after all. And they’d always seemed so skittish, or at most curious. They were so small, at least compared to a wolf.

She imagined a coyote with drooping ears, looking like a forlorn puppy dog, and she laughed nervously because she knew That’s me. That’s what I am right now. She let herself be that thing, not physically but inside; she let herself identify with it, and was scared with it and scared as it. All the movies she’d seen fell away … all the monsters and grotesque transformations. All that was left was her, and she was a coyote and herself at the same time. And she let herself be okay with that.

Rachel felt like a scared animal, and all she wanted to do was curl up and wait for this all to be over. But she started to smell the food Bryce had bought her, now that she was aware of her surroundings again. So she sat upright and unwrapped it, careful to keep herself wrapped up in the blanket, and ate slowly and deliberately. It wasn’t from the kind of restaurant she worked at, but at this point she thought that was just as well.

She remembered as though through a thick haze what it’d been like in her last seconds there, and how she’d tried to get everyone to safety. Had she changed by then? She imagined herself as this monster (she didn’t know what she looked like) coming out into the kitchen and roaring at everyone, thinking she was telling them to run for cover. They must have been terrified, she thought, and laughed and shook her head sadly as she thought of Alice. She must have been terrified.

Bryce unlocked the door and got in just then, saying something about having bought multiple sizes and stashing bags full of coat hangers behind the seat. She just nodded and kept eating, not wanting to think about anything else.

By the time that she’d finished, they’d pulled up to a motel not far from the department store, and for a second Rachel was fearful. But when Bryce came back from the office, he handed her her own cardkey and told her where her room was.

“Clean up and get dressed,” he told her. “And set your alarm for an early start. We’ve got to be there first thing in the morning to keep Tara from being dissected.”

“Okay,” she said, and nodded. It seemed so unreal to her now.

He got out and went to his room, taking his shotgun and a satchel from under the seat with him. After a moment, she opened the door and got out herself. Then she grabbed up a few bags of clothes, holding them in the same hand that was holding the blanket around herself, and locked and shut the door and went up to the door to her room.

The first order of business was to clean herself off. She picked out some clothes to wear, and took a long shower. But as she was looking in the fogged-up mirror, after she’d finished drying herself, she saw the shadows of ears on the top of her head. And she felt her tail wag nervously, inside the towel she’d wrapped herself with.

By this time she wasn’t scared so much as disgusted. Are those going to keep surprising me like that?

But something occurred to Rachel. And so she thought of her ears and her tail as parts of herself, and focused on making the rest of herself like them. It happened so fast that she tripped on her new reverse-jointed legs, and just barely caught herself on the counter.

She could see her muzzle, and feel the thick fur on her hide. Her breaths came in from a long way away from her face, and her chops were held open as her tongue hanged out, sweating in the hot air.

Rachel looked down at her hands, and saw thick pawpads and dull claws. Looking at them from the back, they were shaped like human ones, but were furry and fuzzy and had strange finger-joints. It was unreal, and she knew that she was examining herself … she didn’t feel uncomfortable this way at all. But it reminded her of the times that she’d spent playing with her mom’s dogs when she was little, and feeling their paws and examining them up close and ruffling their fur before running outside.

A thought came to her, and she wiped a spot on the mirror clear so she could look into it. What looked back looked exactly like a coyote’s face, its muzzle hanging wide open and its fur all messed up and wet.

Rachel laughed, and it came out as a bark. She held the next laugh in, clutching her wet furry sides and giggling to herself. That hadn’t looked like a scary creature at all … all she was was this doglike thing crossed with a human. Dogs were okay and people were okay, so she was okay with herself. And as she looked at herself in the mirror, after cleaning the whole thing off, she couldn’t help but think that she looked nice this way, even if her fur was wet. It was thick enough that she could probably go out just like this, if it wouldn’t startle people.

She didn’t think she seemed very powerful this way, though, and could tell she was still slightly overweight even through the fur. She thought she was maybe a couple of inches taller, but that was probably because of her digitigrade legs … and she remembered being taller, back at the restaurant. And taking a door off its hinges.

Rachel opened the door a crack, trying not to let all the steam out, and tested its hinges a tiny bit. Then she pulled on them with more force, but she barely even heard them creak. It seemed just as solid as it always had. How did I do that? she wondered. That were- er, when I fought Tara, she was HUGE. How did I even survive that?

She tried making herself change further, but realized she barely knew how. Maybe it was some kind of instinct … I remember being so scared at the time. Maybe adrenalin does it? She didn’t know.

After making sure the curtains were closed, Rachel took a deep breath and stepped out that way, as her werecoyote self, her bare paws touching the carpet. Then she turned the television on, and alternated between watching it and testing her new self out, walking and moving around just to see how it felt. For a minute she jumped on one of the beds, and even jumped in between them, but she stopped there because she didn’t want to give the cleaning lady too hard of a time.

Just before she fell asleep, she lay sprawled out on top of the blankets (her fur was thick enough), watching a movie on television. A man was turning into some kind of fuzzy, plastic makeup-y creature, that she thought was supposed to be a werewolf. And his girlfriend was screaming … at how bad the special effects are, Rachel thought.

Heh, she thought, and her tail thumped onto the bed next to her a few times. That’s so dumb. She didn’t feel threatened by it at all, because she knew it was nothing like her.

Finally, she turned off the TV, then rolled over onto her side and went to sleep.

* * *

Rachel woke up to a knock at the door. She cracked open one eyelid, and cocked her ears towards it. Huh … it’s not even light out yet, she thought.

The knock again, more insistent. “Get up!” Bryce’s voice.

“Okay, I’m coming … ” She drowsily uncurled from the nest that she’d made in the covers and hopped down, only to find that her legs were not working. Rachel let out a yip as she fell to the floor, and tried to stand up but collapsed again.

What’s happening? Rachel looked up and saw herself in the mirror next to the door, and her mind went blank. Instead of the coyote / human hybrid that she’d seen last night, there was a full coyote on all fours.

“You alright?”

“I … don’t know!” She said it and then wondered how she had. My lips- er, muzzle moved, and I heard sound come out, but …

How come I can talk this way, but Alice couldn’t understand me back at the restaurant?

“Well, do you need me to come in there?”

But Rachel had already changed back to her half-coyote self. “No, thanks, I should be fine … “

Her brain took a moment to process what’d happened. Then it took another long moment to remember what’d happened the day before. She looked herself over in the mirror, but instead of the familiarity from last night there was only a gnawing uneasiness, which threatened to escape in a whine.

She took a deep breath, holding it in for a second and letting it out. Then she shook her head. I should get dressed.

A few minutes later she’d changed back to her human self. She had just finished putting on one of the outfits that Bryce had gotten her, so that she could try it on, when he knocked on the door again. She ran out, bags of coat hangers in hand, the tags still attached to her loose shirt and jeans.

It was cold outside. Breath escaped from her nostrils in white puffs, in the light of the overhead streetlamp.

“I’ll turn the heat on in the truck,” Bryce said.

“What about the … ” But as she spoke, he pulled out a small, gleaming metal item from his pocket, and waved it over the holes in the windshield. The glass creaked and hissed as it fused back together.

” … what was that?”

“A Token of friendship.” He held it out to her. It was a tiny silver medallion. “From the Harbingers.”

“Oh … “

He closed his palm around it, and put it back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Soon the bags were stashed behind the seat, and the truck was rumbling back the way they’d come at just barely the minimum speed limit. It shook, and she shook with it and the cold, and rubbed her hands right next to the heater vent.

Bryce, in his thick leather jacket, was unaffected. “You can change to anthro, if you like. To keep warm.”

“What’s that?”

“Anthro means ‘human.’ It’s like a human with animal features, or an animal walking upright.”

“Ohh, right … I tried that last night. Won’t it … ” Then she noticed she already had ears and a tail.

“Nah, it doesn’t mess up your clothes. Only the war form does that.”

Rachel looked out the windshield at the road. The sky was dark and moonless, and there were no headlights approaching. So she let herself become half-coyote. She felt her fur bunch up underneath her clothing, and her shoes tightened so she kicked them off. “How does it … ” She felt around back. There was a hole for her tail, somehow.

He glanced over and nodded. “Works every time.”

Rachel was still shivering, but she could feel her fur coat’s warmth. She’d need to ask him to turn off the heater soon. “So what’s the one with ears and a tail? Or does it have a name?”

“Kemono.”

“Kimono?”

“Kay-mo-no.”

“Uh-huh.” Rachel said it under the rumble of the truck’s engine. She raised her voice to ask “What does it mean?”

“It’s basically Japanese for ‘person with animal ears and a tail.’”

“Oh.” Rachel tried to adjust her clothing, and found a tag in the way. “Uh, could you turn the heat off please?”

He did.

She looked out the windshield, to see if there were incoming cars. It felt daring to be out in public looking like this, but if somebody saw her she knew she’d be mortified.

Something Bryce had said caught up with her, though. “What’s war form?”

“A form for war.”

She sideyed him. It was easy to do, since her eyes were more on the sides of her head.

“You know,” he said. “War. As in killing people.”

Rachel squirmed.

It seemed he could tell she didn’t understand. He looked over at her before continuing. “You know there’s this chemical called adrenalin, that puts you into fight-or-flight mode.”

She folded her arms, embarrassed and miffed. “I know.”

“When a werecreature feels that way, bad things happen.”

“Bad things?”

“Like nine feet of death cutting through everything in its way.” He looked straight ahead as he spoke to her. “Sometimes you can reason with them. Sometimes you can’t. Best to try after you’ve gotten out of the way.”

Rachel looked straight ahead too, reliving the attack. Remembering the terror. When she’d seen the monster, she hadn’t stopped to think about anything … what it was, how it’d gotten there, what’d happened to Tara or if it had eaten her. Everything she’d done, including locking the door and trying to warn everyone, she’d done on autopilot. Or if not fully on autopilot, then close.

I wonder what Tara felt like? she wondered.

I wonder how she’s feeling now?

* * *

Tara felt like a lost, forlorn puppy. She lay curled up on her cot in the concrete prison cell, wearing an orange uniform and bundled up in a thin blanket. Her eyes were closed, but she hadn’t slept the whole night.

The drunken man two cells over was still calling to her. She covered her face and her ears, squeezing tears out of her eyes. Go away, go away, go away …

In her mind’s eye, she saw the puppy she imagined herself as sitting at the table, in the “special” school she’d been sent to after her diagnosis. “Pick up the spoon,” her teacher said.

The puppy stared up at her, confused.

A hand came down and took her paw, and set it down on the utensil. “Pick. Up. The spoon.”

The puppy barked. Then a shadow loomed over her, and she cowered. The hand picked her up and tossed her into a pen, and she tumbled to a stop, shook her head and looked up. Shadows over her gestured and fought.

“Your daughter’s progress is too slow.”

“She’s not my daughter! My daughter’s been taken from me!”

She paced in circles, head low and ears and eyes towards the things casting the shadows. As she paced, she grew to the size of a small dog.

“Talk to me! Why won’t she talk?”

“She’s just too slow. Look, she doesn’t even understand what we’re saying.”

The “dog” looked up, and sighed.

She grew into a young adult wolf, gray and fluffy and lean. And she looked up, as a hand was held out towards her face. At first she held back, hesitant, but then she leaned forward and sniffed it.

It grabbed her, and she fought and squirmed as it forced her into a harness. Then she looked up at the enormous sled dogs all around her, towering over her and forming neat lines.

A whip cracked and they took off, and she ran as fast as she could trying to keep up with them. Her lungs ached, and her heart pounded, and her legs felt like they would give out. But a voice kept saying Go! Go! Faster! Faster! You think you can rest now? There is no rest! Run! Keep running! Don’t ever stop!

The voice sounded like her father. “You think I’m going to pay to support you once you turn eighteen? Think again.”

The voice sounded like her mother. “Honestly, Tara, what’s so hard about this? These are the best years of your life!”

The voice sounded like the people at school, and she cried and fought to forget what they’d said.

She lay there curled into the fetal position, arms pressing the pillow against her ears and the back of her head. Her lips moved silently as the voice found physical form. If you can’t keep up, you’re worthless. If you can’t keep up, you’re worthless. If you can’t keep up, you’re worthless. If you can’t keep up, you’re worthless.

Why can’t you just control yourself? she whispered. What are you going to do if you have one of your breakdowns in public? You could go to jail for that!

Everything turned into a haze.

Tara sat up with her back to the wall, hugging her pillow between her chest and her knees. She rocked back and forth, eyes closed and lips continuing to move.

* * *

That’s how she was an hour later, when Rachel came in to rescue her.

The door down the hall opened. But all she heard was snoring, from the drunken man two cells down. She couldn’t hear any footsteps until they were right in front of her.

“Tara,” Rachel whispered.

She looked up. And then she stared. It looked like an animal given part-human form, stuffed into clothes with the tags still attached. Tara felt her insides turn to ice.

“Tara, it’s me! Remember?”

Slowly, Tara shook her head, and clutched the pillow to herself.

“Do you remember the fight at the restaurant?”

She nodded. Then she shook her head. Her wide eyes did not leave Rachel.

Rachel sighed, and leaned her head up against the bars. “Tara, you’re a werewolf. You shifted to what’s called ‘war form,’ and you almost killed everyone there at the store.”

Tara began to shake.

“I’m a werecoyote, and I helped a cyno … cyn … a weredog hold you off. Now we’re breaking you out of here. Come on!”

Tara shook her head quickly, eyes closed, still shaking.

“Why?”

Tara’s lips started moving long before even Rachel’s furry ears could make out what she was saying. ” … should be destroyed, should be destroyed, should be destroyed … “

“What? Tara, stop saying that!”

She shook her head, eyes still closed. ” … should be destroyed … “

Rachel sighed, and listened for another long, painful moment before speaking. “Tara … “

” … should be destroyed … “

“Tara, listen to me!”

She shook her head quickly.

“It’s not your fault, okay? You didn’t know. None of us did. And you shouldn’t have been there to begin with. It was loud, it was chaotic, they wouldn’t let you sit down … it’s no wonder you lost control. There weren’t any accommodations for your-”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tara whispered, sniffling.

“I know, that’s why we’re breaking you out!”

“I mean in this world.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “If I can’t put up with the same things that everyone else can, then I just ruin things for everyone. Or end up hurting other people. And now I’ve k- … I’ve … ohh … ” She started crying into the pillow, pressing it close to her face.

It tore Rachel apart to watch her. Can coyotes cry? she thought. She found out she could.

Rachel swallowed. “Tara, you didn’t kill anyone. Okay?”

“How do you know?“

“I know you wouldn’t have. You only fought because you were frustrated and you were being held back. And a … ” She stopped, unsure how to say it.

Tara looked up.

Rachel sighed. “I heard the voice of a higher power, and it told me that you didn’t kill anyone.”

“A higher power should kill me,” Tara whispered, looking away.

“A higher power created you, Tara!” Rachel’s muzzle hung open in between sentences, because she was perspiring like mad. “It made you autistic, and it made you a wolf. And wolves aren’t meant to be caged.”

“I could hurt people … ” She looked up at the wall, as if examining it.

“And they could hurt you too. But at least you know that your actions can hurt other people. At least you try not to hurt them. They don’t even realize when they hurt you. Or when they’ve forced you into a situation where you can no longer control yourself.”

She said nothing.

Rachel’s eyes flicked up to the door leading out. “Tara, they’re going to dissect you.”

She said nothing.

“Tara, please come!”

Rachel’s ears perked, as she heard footsteps and doors opening outside the hall. But Tara just rocked back and forth, seemingly dead to the world, until the door to the hall was flung open.

The drunken man snorted, and woke up.

“Well, what have we here?” a male voice said. It didn’t sound loud and gruff, like the trooper who’d picked her up last night, but silky and polished like a city man. Tara glanced up to see it, but the cell wall blocked her view.

Rachel backed up against the wall. “I, uh … “

“Shoot her.”

The cell block was filled with LOUD, and the wall was splashed with red. Tara instantly jumped to her feet.

* * *

He looked like a recent grad from business or law school. Clean-shaven, with a suitcoat so black it was glossy, and a large onyx gem set into a ring. It gleamed as he straightened his tie, enjoyed Rachel’s shocked look and smiled.

Beside him were two literal stuffed shirts. They wore uniforms and carried rifles, but they were not human. Inside the clothing and past the sunglasses were thick masses of water shaped like people, their features rippling with surface tension. The overhead light became swimming pool shadows around them, but they themselves didn’t look glossy enough to be CGI.

“Go in,” the man said, looking over at them. “Get them both.”

The two walked up to the bars to Tara’s cell, stopping in front of it calmly. One of them walked through the bars, its clothes folding and its rifle held in between them. The other stood outside and watched.

There was a gunshot, and the man winced. Then water came splashing out of the jail cell, drenching Rachel (who scooted back) and the other “guard,” who raised its gun. It shot twice as the bars were pulled open, then the rifle was yanked out of its hand and sent flying down the hall.

The man ducked, ignoring the startled look of the drunk in the cell just beside him, and looked up to see a female werewolf in war form biting down on the “guard”‘s neck and tearing. It splashed apart, clothes collapsing and water sloshing across the floor towards him. And the wolf looked down at the coyote for a second before looking up at him and growling, one hand pressed to the floor. It was a low sound, that shook the walls and seemed to come from the earth itself.

The man drew a gleaming silver revolver on her, sweat beading across his forehead, and took three tries to pull the catch back. Then he swung around as he heard footsteps, and saw a dog-faced man in a leather jacket.

“Boy,” the dog said, “do you think that’s going to stop her?”

The growling intensified, and there was a scrape as claws dug into concrete. The suitcoated man looked back.

“You’d better run now.”

* * *

The chase would’ve lasted about one second if Tara hadn’t had to slow down to go around Bryce. As it was, the suitcoated man barely made it out into the foyer before she grabbed him, held him up till his head hit the ceiling and roared right into his face. He screamed.

She held him there for a long moment. Breathing on him, glaring at him, remembering all the people in suits who had made her life miserable. The grip of her claws tightened.

Finally she flung him into the wall. He smacked into it and hit the floor, taking some of the plaster with him and landing next to the stunned sheriff, who was gagged and tied up behind a desk. The man did not move after that.

She stood there clenching and unclenching her fists, squeezing her pawpads with her claws. She did not move as Bryce helped Rachel out into the foyer, and then leaned down to check on the suitcoated man.

“Still alive,” Bryce said.

Rachel coughed, painfully.

“We’d better get going.” He looked up at Tara.

She followed them outside, watching as they climbed into the truck, knowing that it was too small for her now. Tara looked up, out at the mountains in the distance and the miles of flat country between them, and it was dark out but she could see as well as if it were daytime. Deep breaths of cold air cooled her tongue and chilled her insides, and she realized that she’d never felt more alive.

The wind rustled her fur and roared in her ears, and she couldn’t hear what Bryce was saying to her. She jumped into the truck’s flatbed, and it creaked angrily and she heard him yelling at her to get out. So she did, hopping down and crouching next to it.

It started up and pulled out of the parking lot, and she ran after it, out onto the highway. On two legs at first, then on instinct she switched to all fours. It wasn’t like crawling on hands and knees; it was like running, but twice as fast. Each set of limbs propelled her, and picked up where the other left off. She didn’t know how fast she was going, but the sense of speed was incredible, and she felt momentum carrying her so strongly that she knew she’d flip over if she tried to stop.

Wind pressed on her like an invisible curtain, and she squinted into it as it pressed her fur against her. Concrete wore and rubbed at her pawpads, and she veered off into the brush, the dry grass whipping her neck but the earth softer under her paws.

The truck began to speed up, and she pushed harder into the wind, grinning and enjoying the game. But then it went even faster, too fast for her to keep up, and the distance between them increased. She finally slowed down, slowed and came to a stop, just as two police cars sped by. And for a second she wanted to chase them, but she took one step and knew that she couldn’t. Tara was breathing hard, taking in deep breaths one after the other, her lungs burning and heart racing.

She forced herself to take slow, stiff steps one after the other, to keep knots from forming in her arms and legs. After what seemed like only a short time, her heart rate settled down, and she stood back upright and dusted off her hand-forepaws. Then she looked down at them, and herself.

Tara didn’t recognize herself. Her shape was still vaguely humanoid / feminine, but she was covered in thick fur. And it wasn’t just that; she was partway shaped animal-like. The joints of her arms and legs suggested a creature meant to run on all fours, even though she was standing upright.

She turned around and examined herself in the light of the crescent moon. The grass was much shorter next to her than it usually was, and she knew she was still in the war form, even though she had calmed down. Even after that run she felt like a coiled spring, powerful and ready to leap and run and climb without stopping. She had never felt anything like it … but there was this sense of familiarity, of having seen or felt or known this before. As though she was rediscovering it.

She clung to that feeling, and willed herself to believe that this was okay. That it was normal, or at least normal for her. Because if it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she would do.

Something startled her, and she whirled around, instinctively baring her claws and scanning the highway for movement. What had happened? What was it?

Tara heard it again, like a voice whose breath was the wind. She held herself still, slowly looking around with her eyes, scenting the cold air and cocking her ears in all directions.

Finally she heard it, as though the whole world was speaking to her and she stood atop its vocal chords. It was a male voice, high-pitched and gentle somewhere past the force it conveyed. It was so powerful that it shook her, and she fell on her hands and knees. “Hello, Tara.“

It was quiet for a second, and she shook her fur out of her face and tried to catch her breath. In less than a minute, she’d gone from feeling enormous to tiny and insignificant.

She coughed. “H-hello?”

It spoke again, and she braced herself against it, scared because of how strong it was. “The person you injured will recover. Your friend will recover as well. She and Bryce will escape from the people pursuing them, using the Tokens that have been prepared for them.

“You will be spoken to again tomorrow, and again as courtesy dictates. If you follow the instructions given to you, you will not hurt anyone more than is needful, and you will never be caged again.

“Your life has been a hard one. It is good that you are set free.“

“Th-thank you,” she whispered, her face now covered in tears.

“Thank you for listening.“

The voice went away.

* * *

Tara sat there in the grass for some time, huddled into a ball against the cold and the intense emotion. Crying into her own fur, and sniffling and rocking back and forth. For a moment she imagined seeing herself from the outside, and thought how hard it was to imagine a creature like this acting the way that she was. But she had to, because it was the only way she knew how to react. It was the only way she had strength to.

She finally stood up, sniffling, still taller and stronger than before. Much of the strength had left her, because of the experience that she’d just had, but she felt it returning slowly. It was only a matter of time.

As the sun rose, she started walking away from the highway, towards the mountains. The voice would speak to her again, she knew. Maybe she’d find out what to do … maybe she’d find out how to change back, or to catch up with Rachel.

Either way, maybe she would be okay.

It was quite a nice day for a festival, especially a moment as auspicious as Unification Day. The street vendors had already set up, music was blaring from every which way, and the Federation of Light soldiers had already made their first appearances, intermingling among the human police.

The police were just figureheads by this point, Francisco was sure of that much. It presented a darkly amusing contrast, seeing their primitive shotguns and kevlar next to the full-body, face-covering armor of the aliens.

He wished they would just go away. There seemed to be a feeling of mutual discomfort between him and the aliens. Most of the normal people would stare in awe at the Federation soldiers, even if just for a few seconds, as if it were an instinctual reaction. Something about them drew the gaze of every human around them.

Except for him, it seemed. He’d tried to fake that reaction, of course. But there was just something missing, a level of respect or fear he simply didn’t have. And they noticed, he was sure of it. He could feel their stares beneath their helmets as he passed by.

And that was all the more reason to go straight home. A break from his classes was much welcomed, and he didn’t want to waste a moment of it.

He passed through a street filled with performance artists. Wincing at the cacophony of noise, he picked up his pace, weaving through the crowd of dancers, singers, musicians, and observers.

He was nearly in the clear when something caught the corner of his eye. Maybe it was because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, maybe it was just a trick of the light. But he was sure he saw some sort of bird-human thing, sitting upon a blanket and playing a guitar.

He did a double-take. His eyes must have been fooling him, because there was just a normal person sitting there. The musician, noting the sudden attention, glanced up expectantly at him, his eyes briefly flicking down to a hat set out in front of him. It was empty, barring a few coins.

Francisco fished out a few bills and dropped them in his hat. And when he looked up again, he was staring at a pitch-black bird. “Thanks, man.” Somehow Francisco got the impression he was grinning at him, despite the fact he had a beak.

He blinked. And there was a human once again. “Y-yeah. No problem.”

The tips of claws plucked away at guitar strings, the strings somehow keeping intact. “Enjoying the festival?”

He smiled nervously. “Not really.” He heard the familiar soft clinking of Federation-issued armor. “I mean, not that I don’t like it, I was just heading home.”

The guitarist shrugged. “You don’t have to sound guilty. I’m just here to play. Gotta eat somehow.” A passerby tossed a coin into his hat without even a sidelong glance. “Doing pretty well so far. I’ve already got enough for dinner tonight.”

Francisco stared at his tail, which was fading in and out of view. “That’s good.”

“Anyway,” the musician waved his hand at him, “don’t let me keep you. I’ll be taking a break soon.”

“Yeah.” He felt a strange sense of familiarity looking at him, the same he got from meeting a distant relative he hadn’t seen in years.

The musician arched an eyebrow. “You alright?”

Francisco broke his gaze as a dull pain struck at the back of his head. “I’m fine. Just a headache. I, uh…” He tried to concoct a way of asking ‘do you ever look half-human, half-animal?’ without sounding as if he had lost his mind. He failed. “Um, bye.”

He rushed away before the crow-man could give any kind of farewell, wanting to take the incident out of his mind altogether.

***

He was nearly home when he heard the crackle of a voice synthesizer coming to life. He slowly turned around to face a trio of Federation soldiers, mere feet away from him.

“This area is off limits.” The one in the center said in a robotic voice.

The street ahead was oddly empty, come to think of it. Only a few soldiers walking around, but no humans. And they looked even more armed than usual.

The soldiers exchanged glances with each other. “Leave now. This area is off-limits.” It repeated.

“You could take them.” A tiny and probably insane voice in the back of his head said. But the dull whir of their energy weapons charging up quickly disabused him of that notion. “But my apartment is that way.”

He felt a strange presence in his mind, one which evoked the same kind of feeling he got whenever somebody was staring over his shoulder at his computer monitor while he was in the middle of an IM conversation. And then, without any warning, it was simply gone.

Even if their faces weren’t visible, he could tell the aliens were becoming agitated. One of them started tapping frantically at a device on its wrist.

He started feeling a very strong compulsion to run away, for he was certain nothing good could come of this. And before he could make himself consider what an incredibly bad idea running was, he did. He was not an especially athletic person, and a broken nose that had never quite healed properly made it difficult for him to breathe, but he was beyond caring about that for he was sure that it would be far worse on him to stay. And he didn’t dare look behind them, but he could hear their synthesized voices commanding him to stop. And perhaps it was the work of an overactive imagination, but he thought he heard them firing off a warning shot. That just made him run faster despite the burning in his lungs, and to take more turns through the streets in a desperate attempt to lose them, hoping all the way he wouldn’t end up trapping himself in some dead-end alleyway.

***

He ran blindly until he couldn’t see them anymore, or hear their demands for him to stop. When he finally did come to a halt, it was just outside a plaza, filled with market stalls and people milling about.

“Perfect.” He breathed a sigh of relief and tried to catch his breath. “Maybe hiding in plain sight will work.” His stomach growled. “And it’s not like I’ll be able to go home anytime soon…” Then the reality of his situation sunk in. “I can’t go home. I don’t know when I’ll be able to go home again. The Federation probably thinks I did some kind of horrible crime and if they catch me they’ll probably lock me away forever in a spaceship or something and I’ll never be able to escape and it’s not like I could prove them wrong even if I wanted to because I can’t afford a lawyer and my life is over.” He would have sunk to his knees if it wouldn’t have been so conspicuous.

“Calm down.” The insane side of him said. “Your life obviously isn’t over if you’re still standing here. But it will be if you don’t get something to eat.” And the smell of food was very tantalizing.

He went for the very first stall he saw without much of a line. “Wait. I can’t let anyone get a good look at my face.” He pulled the hood of his jacket further over his head, grabbed a candy bar, half-threw a few bills at the cashier, told him to keep the change, and found a tree to sit under.

***

The midday sun had been painfully bright, and so the shade was a welcome break. The candy bar was even more welcome, and probably had enough sugar to keep him going for another two hours. And with his blood sugar up, he was feeling better– though that wasn’t saying much.

He reclined back against the tree, looked up towards the sky, and daydreamed about flying away. He’d never liked mundane life as far back as he could remember, not that he’d let anyone know. But the nagging feeling that there was so much more to it than trudging through a school and going through the motions of social activity with people he had nearly nothing in common with was always there, and it had been getting worse lately. And it was accompanied by half-remembered dreams of somewhere far away, so painfully beautiful it made him want to cry, but these dreams eluded his grasp despite his best efforts to recall them in detail.

He knew what his family would say, that he needed to get his head out of the clouds and face reality. But it couldn’t hurt to dream just a little, could it? If he couldn’t get joy out of living in the real world, finding it in a dream world was better than nothing. And though he’d always dreamed of adventure and being a hero, this mess wasn’t quite the adventure he’d been hoping for.

His thoughts were interrupted, as that same peculiar feeling of being invaded he’d had earlier that day struck him again. He jerked his head up, and started walking if only because it seemed like the sensible thing to do. He couldn’t afford to stay still for too long, after all– the more he moved around, the less likely he was to be found.

“Citizen Francisco Gonzales.”

His blood froze in his veins, but he forced himself to keep going. He tilted his head just enough to see a squad of Federation soldiers, and found himself walking faster. It was a common enough name, after all. All he had to do was blend in, and everything would be alright. They’d never even know.

“Citizen, you are ordered to come with us.”

But now the crowd he was in wasn’t moving anymore. They were completely frozen in place, like human statues. And he had little choice but to freeze with them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them circling around their human flock. He felt the gaze of one of the soldiers on him. Unable to take the pressure, he ran, trying and failing not to shove the people in his way. The people he did push simply fell over like ragdolls.

He thought he was making good time until pain lanced through his shoulder. He crumpled to the ground, and try as he might to force himself to move, he couldn’t.

The aliens seemed incredibly tall up close, and even more intimidating. One of them effortlessly picked him up, and he got a very good view of the group of humans. Their blank stares were fixed on him.

His heart hammered in his chest. “Why won’t they do something? Why won’t anyone help me?“ He drew in a ragged breath, wanting nothing more than to make something move under his own power. “Why can’t I do anything?”

In that moment of desperation, he felt something growing inside of him, like a tiny spark becoming a flame.

Or maybe even a dragon spreading its wings.

Whatever it was, it caused him to surge back against his captor, kicking it away. And whatever part of him that was not reeling from shock realized that, somehow, he was flying now, and furthermore for the first time since he was a child, he was able to breathe clearly. That part of him then had to go from that to figuring out that it wasn’t in his best interests to question his fortune and that flying away would be a capital idea. Therefore, it took him a couple seconds and at least one energy blast before he finally tried.

The fourth realization was that flying was difficult, especially when you were being shot at. The energy blasts might not have been paralyzing anymore, but they still stung, even though he was covered in some kind of blue, chitinous plating. He flailed around in mid-air, panicked even more when he lost altitude, and dropped like a rock.

On the bright side, he at least landed on a soldier. Even if it wasn’t the most graceful of landings, it did break his fall and he had the comfort of taking one of his pursuers with him. But through the stars dancing in his eyes, he saw the others advancing on him. He stumbled to his feet, and backed up. His tail thudded straight into a wall, and if he hadn’t had more pressing concerns he’d have wondered when he’d gotten a tail. The soldiers were closing in on him, and the one he’d fallen on was now getting up. He got the impression from the way they moved they weren’t afraid of him in the slightest. Amused, perhaps, but certainly not afraid.

His eyes darted about, searching for an escape, but they had formed a half-circle around him. “Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” That left fighting back as his only option, and he had nothing to use against them.

The tallest soldier in the group leveled his gun at Francisco. He bared his fangs, for what little good it would do him. But he’d made up his mind to go down fighting. He lunged at the alien, his claws scraping uselessly against the armor. The squad immediately opened fire on him, but he dove to the ground, taking the soldier with him, and the energy bolts skimmed over him. He grappled with the soldier, knocking its gun out of its hands. He felt the tiniest surge of hope until something stabbed into him. The very tip of a blade was poking through his arm, dark blue smoke seeping out of the wound instead of blood.

He reflexively jerked back, though he wasn’t in that much pain. Somehow, he’d figured getting stabbed would hurt a lot more than that. He couldn’t help but stare at the hole clean through his arm with the same morbid fascination one might experience from looking at a car crash. And while he was distracted, the alien, now with a blade protruding from its wrist, kicked him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He staggered back, and clenched his fists.

It felt as if he was holding something. He stole a quick glance at his hand, and saw a sword, the same blue color as his armor-like skin. “Come on,” he urged himself, “use it!” He pointed the sword at the nearest alien’s throat. “B-back off!” Now the soldiers seemed more hesitant. Encouraged, he continued on. “Or I’ll…”

They opened fire on him. He dove to the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid the first volley, and it mostly worked. A few shots clipped through his shoulder, but he could still count himself among the living for now. There was a low whining sound as the guns recharged. With that tiny interval of opportunity, he scrambled to his feet, gashed through one of the aliens with the sword– peculiarly, it left no sign of injury, even though he was sure it’d gone right through the armor– and trampled over it as it fell to the street.

He jumped up, trying to fly again, only to find he couldn’t. And for the umpteenth time that day, he ran for his life, smoke trailing behind him. He could hear thunderous noises behind him. As his mind was clouded with terror, it took him a moment to work out what they were. Gunshots, the kind that used bullets and not energy bolts. And since when had anyone used those? Weren’t they illegal or something?

On top of that, he could hear shouting now. And howling, and roars. “That can’t be the aliens.” He could hear shuffling footsteps, though they were headed in the opposite direction of him. Something whooshed past him– he could have sworn it had spots. Or that could just be the dots swimming around in his field of vision. He’d been hit pretty hard, after all.

“Can’t stop now.” He was so close to the outskirts of the city, and didn’t hear any armor clinking behind him, maybe they’d finally decided to leave him alone. Meanwhile, there were other things rushing past him now– things that walked like humans, but had tails, fur and claws. And they were carrying guns.

The few humans left in the part of the city he was in were breaking out of the trance that the Federation aliens usually put them in. In fact, they were downright panicked, and an outright riot of animal-people, humans, and aliens was forming. One of the aliens took aim at the crowd mobbing him, but the instant it was about to fire, a tawny-furred feline creature bludgeoned it over the head with her gun. The soldier staggered back, and the cat-person tackled him, tearing at his armor with her claws in search for a weak point.

Most of the crowd scattered, revealing another scuffle going on– a much more one-sided one. Another soldier had a human by the throat in one hand, and a blade in the other.

Francisco didn’t dare hesitate– there wasn’t enough time for that. He charged at the soldier, shouting “Hey!” as loudly as he could. The alien had just enough time to see who was attacking it before his sword cut through its helmeted head. The soldier crumpled to the ground. Peculiarly, it still was breathing after what should have been a fatal blow, though he was still too giddy with his own successes to think too much on the properties of his new weapon.

“What did you just do?” The human he saved asked, a shrill edge to his voice.

It took a few moments for Francisco to recognize who he’d just saved– the guitarist. “I remember you!” He threw open his arms for a hug, but the guitarist jerked back.

Francisco blinked and tilted his head. It wasn’t quite the heroic welcome he’d been hoping for. But a cursory glance at his outstretched arms explained why.

“Sorry.” He sheepishly withdrew his sword-bearing hand. “I forgot I had this.” He unclenched his hand, but the sword remained levitating just above his palm. “Um.” He shook his hand around, but the sword refused to budge. “Aaaah, how do I make it go away?” He flailed around wildly while the guitarist gave him a look of utter disbelief. He ceased moving. “Don’t you remem– oh.” He tapped his rock-solid skin with his free hand. “Um, I know I don’t look like it, but you know me. Sort of. I mean, we met earlier today. I was just different then. I gave you some change…”

Francisco thought he saw a brief flash of familiarity in the man’s eyes, but then it was gone. “No.” The guitarist said under his breath. “No way.”

“Look, I know this seems crazy, but it’s true!”

“Crazy, that’s it. I’m going crazy.”

“No, that’s not it either, it’s just…” Francisco trailed off. On second thought, insanity did seem like a likely explanation for all this, especially since he didn’t have another one. But insanity didn’t explain his wounds. “Well, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” His volume rose with each syllable until he was shouting at the very end. “Doesn’t anyone have a clue about what’s going on here?”

“I know as much as you do!” Francisco grabbed his hand and dragged him along behind him. “But the Federation is after us! Now let’s go!”

Though he wanted to get both of them as far away as he could from the Federation soldiers, his injuries were finally starting to catch up with him, adrenaline was draining from his body, and he was getting incredibly tired. His steps grew gradually slower and slower, then he couldn’t move at all despite his best efforts to the contrary, and the world around him grew dark.

The next sensation Francisco was aware of was pain, and the next thought he had was “OWOWOWOW oh hey I’m alive?” He opened his eyes– he was well away from the city, in a small forest of some kind. And his sword was finally gone.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”  It was the guitarist’s voice. “Not that I’m sure I want to be right now.”

He turned his head to face his companion with what he hoped looked like a smile. The bird’s image seemed to be stable now, instead of flickering from human to crow. “You…”

“Yes, me.” He said. “And I have a name, you know. Though I guess we weren’t ever properly introduced. I’m Gabriel.”

“Francisco.” He paused. “Have you noticed that…well…”

“This?” Gabriel pointed to his beak. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to miss. You were out when it happened. But you’re not looking quite right yourself.”

Francisco stared at his claw-tipped feet. “How bad is it?”

“Just…” Gabriel pulled a compact mirror out of his pocket.. “See for yourself.”

For a moment, he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. But it had to be him, the thing in the mirror was making all the same movements he did. He looked reptilian now, with deep blue scales that covered his body in plates like the shell of a beetle, though it was pockmarked with holes where he’d been shot. And the longer he looked at his new self, the less unusual it seemed, like this had been what he was all along and he just hadn’t known up until now. He flexed his muscles and grinned. There was something oddly handsome about his new self too, in an otherworldly sort of way.

“You’re not taking this seriously!” The guitarist hissed. “I mean…what are you? What am I?”

“I’m not really sure.” He dropped his arms to his side. “And I don’t really think it matters. Whatever we are, we can help people now.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to say we can overthrow the Federation.” He sighed.

Francisco deflated a bit. “Well, maybe we can find other people to help us? I mean, it can’t be just us. I saw others back in the city, I’m sure of it!”

“I did too, but there weren’t that many of them.” He ran his hand through his feathers. “And the Federation outnumbers humankind, and if they outnumber humans they probably outnumber…whatever we are.”

“But we’re able to resist them.” He protested. “There are no coincidences. We must be like this for a reason, and we can’t let what we have go to waste.”

“That doesn’t mean we should go charging off blindly, though.”

“Exactly!” Francisco nodded. For a moment, Gabriel looked relieved. And then Francisco continued. “We need to find the people who were fighting them back in the city.”

“The crazy ones doing all the howling and screaming and waving guns around?”

“They were probably just trying to look scary. I don’t think they’re bad people.”

“How can you even tell?”

“I saw one of them saving a group of people from the Federation,” he said quietly. “She attacked a soldier when they were about to get shot.”

He fell quiet for a few moments. “You’re probably right. This is…” Gabriel sighed again. “I just can’t believe everything that’s happened. Weird doesn’t even cover it.”

“Maybe they know what’s going on. Look,” he pointed back to the city, which now had a few spaceships hovering over it, “it’s not like we can go back now. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

He was silent for a painfully long time. And then… “Fine. I just want answers, though.”

“Great!” Francisco sat straight up, and immediately regretted it. “Owww…”

“You’ve still got holes in you, you know.” He deadpanned in the way that only someone who’d seen considerably stranger things in a very short period of time could say. “We should be staying the night, at least.”

Francisco shook his head. “We shouldn’t. What if the Federation finds us?”

“Okay, point taken. But you’re still hurt.”

He examined his skin– there was no longer blue smoke coming out of him. “I’m not bleeding.” He ventured. “I think. And I can still move.”

“But we don’t even know how to find these other…people, or whatever they are!”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” Francisco said cheerfully. “They stand out.”

“Fine.” He threw up his hands. “If you’re crazy enough to do this, let’s go. But if you faint again, we’re stopping.”

“I’ll be fine!” He hopped off the tree root he’d been resting against. “Let’s go! There’s not a moment to lose!”

This had been more of the adventure Francisco had been hoping for– even if the odds were impossible, he had a purpose now, and at last he was no longer alone.

To be continued…

Knowing fully well it was futile, she looked inside the computer case and was met with a confusing mass of crystals and wires and goodness-knew-what else. Her eye twitched. “Come on…” Restart. Black. Blue. Curse. Kick desk. Fist-to-keyboard contact.

“What did you break this time?” Her brother, Alex, was poking his head in through the door she thought she’d locked, a smirk playing across his face.

“I didn’t break it.” Her voice was defensive in spite of herself. “It’s just…” She struggled to come up with a technical-sounding term, before deciding simply on “…blue-screening.”

“Right.” Alex hovered over her shoulder. She forced back the urge to punch him in the jaw. “Should be easy enough to fix.”

There was a long pause, punctuated by Stephanie drumming her fingers against the edge of the desk. “Well…?” She finally asked. “Are you going to do anything?”

“What’s in it for me?” He fired back. “Reagents are expensive, you know. I can’t be using them on just anything.”

Stephanie knew quite well this was a blatant lie, considering that he’d run off with her other brother and a group of their friends to test out spells that involved explosions, ones which she heard from half a mile away. She also knew quite well it was not going to do her much good to argue with him and it certainly wouldn’t do her computer any good to make him angry. “I’ll clean up the living room for this week.”

“Deal.” Given the size of her room, it took him about three steps to get out the door and out of sight.

A few moments later and he returned, dragging his backpack behind him and holding a stick of charcoal in his hand. “Move.”

She obliged, sitting on the bed and inadvertently waking up Bonnie, who opened her one good eye and yawned, before relocating to Stephanie’s lap. Stephanie smiled down fondly at the kitten and stroked her fur. Bonnie purred loudly enough to nearly drown out her brother’s incantations.

There was a sound much like someone slamming an eraser against a chalkboard, followed by shrill electronic beeping. The beeps decreased in volume and pitch, then simply stopped altogether.

“And that should be it.” He dusted the charcoal off his hands. “Have fun.” And he disappeared out the door again, leaving an unsightly ring of black dust on the carpet.

“Great. Thanks.” She muttered, half-sincerely. She carefully ushered Bonnie off her lap and with a spare shirt attempted to clean the charcoal off the ground without success. She sighed. Too late to get the vacuum now with her mother in bed, it’d have to wait until tomorrow.

The computer was indeed working now, at least. So she re-opened her browser, and went back to reading about mages and thinking about how wonderful it’d be if she were normal.

Sure, she knew what other anaetherian activists would say. She’d lurked on the message boards, even posted once or twice, and written about anaetherian rights in the privacy of her own blog which nobody ever read. “People without the Gift are just as capable as mages, because lacking the Gift does nothing to hurt our mental capacities. It’s society that restricts us. We don’t need a cure, mages need to stop gearing everything towards magic-users blah blah inclusiveness blah…”

It was true on some level, she was very aware it was right. Still, it seemed so much easier to just change one person than change all of society. So, just maybe…

She skimmed through the “Anaetherian rights controversy” page, listing false cure after false cure, fraud after fraud. Or maybe not. A false hope was better than none, but there didn’t seem to be much insight.

“Oh well.” She closed the tab. “No use dwelling on what can’t be.” So she spent the rest of the night skimming through pictures of baby animals, reading news feeds, and talking to people hundreds of miles away she’d probably never meet. Time slipped past her, and once she finally decided to check her clock, it was five in the morning.

She sighed. Though she wasn’t tired, Mom would be up any time now, and the last thing she wanted was to get caught up this late again. She issued a few quick goodbyes to the few people still up, and half-fell into her bed, with Bonnie curling up beside her.

* * *

The mechanical droning of an alarm clock woke her up, and the sunlight streaming in through her window conspired to ensure she stayed awake. Despite the fog enshrouding her mind, she had just enough in her to slam the snooze button and take a bleary glance at the clock. Two o’clock. She groaned and slammed her head on the pillow.

“At least Alex is in school now.” She reluctantly kicked the blankets off. “Nobody can yell at me for sleeping in so late anymore.” She made it into the kitchen before realizing something odd. She hadn’t kicked off a kitten along with her covers. She was put at ease for a moment when she considered that Bonnie obviously had gotten up before her.

But there was something else wrong. All the while telling herself she was being too paranoid for her own good, she took a look back at her room.

Bonnie’s food bowl was empty, except for a few crumbs she was sure were left over from last night. And Stephanie was sure Bonnie would have woken her up well before two. A hungry cat was a nigh-unstoppable force, as she’d found out.

“Bonnie?” No response, not even the clicking of claws across the hardwood floors of the hall. She poured a bit of cat food into the bowl, rattling it as loudly as possible. Still nothing.

With deepening dread, she stepped out onto the porch, “Bonnie?”

She heard a high-pitched and familiar mewing, and her paranoia dissipated. She knelt over, and her kitten ran straight into her arms. “Don’t do that again, alright?” She sighed. “You scared me.”

She then found another reason entirely to be afraid when she turned around– a very tall man dressed in the robes of a high mage. She jumped backwards, almost dropping Bonnie.

“Don’t be afraid.” Stephanie figured his tone was supposed to be soothing, but it wasn’t doing much to banish her contemplations on where her mother had left the guns. “I’m here to help you.”

She was certain she’d seen a scene just like this in a movie, right before the female lead was kidnapped and almost murdered. So she took a few careful steps backwards towards the house, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Who are you?”

“We’ve met before.”

She reached for the handle of the door.

“You’re a member of several Anaetherian Rights forums. So am I.”

Her mind spun, trying to remember what kind of information she’d disclosed that would help him find out where she lived.

His eyes flicked to her hand on the door. “I’m only here to help. I promise.”

“Why should I trust you? You…” She tried to come up with a creative way to tell him off, like her brothers always could. Nothing worth saying came to mind.

“You don’t trust me.” He paused, looking thoughtfully to the sky. “What if I told you that you wouldn’t be the first person I cure?”

A million questions buzzed in her mind. If he really had a miracle cure, why wasn’t he telling anyone? Why wasn’t it all over the news by this point in time? How could he have succeeded where scientists had failed? Who was he in the first place? Unfortunately, she couldn’t manage to come up with anything more articulate than “Prove it.”

“As you wish.” He bowed his head slightly and flickered out of view.

The closet, that’s where the guns were! She rushed inside, almost tripping over the rug. It was right about when she threw open the door she remembered the gun rack was locked. And not without reason, they’d been expensive, not to mention hard to find in the first place. After weeks of scouring mainstream stores, her mother had finally given up and had them special-ordered.

Her mother had also been exceptionally paranoid and reinforced the locks on the rack with magic, reasoning it was the only way to deter potential thieves. In retrospect, it was ironic– the one equalizer she had she couldn’t even use without other mages around.

There was a strangely polite rap at the door. She cautiously peered out from behind the door. It was the mage, a familiar woman beside him.

“Rose?” Her jaw dropped. How long had it been– several months? All the things she’d been warned about, how a mage could easily create an illusion of someone she knew or trusted, and she’d have no way of knowing, dropped out of her mind. She stepped outside to meet her.

Rose smiled shyly at her, the same smile she remembered from pictures and webcam conversations. “Sorry if I worried you.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, she’d been at the back of Stephanie’s mind ever since she disappeared from the boards. “What happened?”

“I was cured.” She held out her hand. It contained a tiny flame of raw aether. “It’s real, see? I can use magic now.”

Stephanie’s eyes widened. Her hand shaking slightly, she reached out to touch the flame. It wavered and flickered as she drew nearer.

Rose snuffed out the flame before Stephanie could. “I’m…” Her voice sounded shaky. “I’m really sorry I left without telling anyone. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, you know how most of them are. They wouldn’t believe me, or if they did they’d say I was a terrible person for wanting to be cured. They didn’t understand what it was like to be that bad.”

“I know.” She sniffled and forced back tears.

“Things have changed now, though.” She brushed at her eyes. “His cure really works. I can already use elementary-level magic. This could turn my life around. It’s already changed so much.” Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath. “And it could change everything for you too.”

“It’s alright if you can’t decide now.” The mage stepped in. “I will give you time to decide.”

“Okay.” Was all she managed to get out through the growing fog in her mind. This was all too much.

“I will be back tomorrow.”

“W-wait.” She protested, her hand subconsciously reaching out for the mage. “Could you–” Could she stay? That would require some extremely awkward explanations. After all, she’d kept her online life secret from her mother, and her mother had never taken kindly to the possibility she could be talking to forty-year-old men pretending to be teenage girls or weirdos who write poems about killing themselves, or everyone at their school or both, the only people she seemed to think existed on the Internet.

“What is it?” Rose asked.

Stephanie heard the sputter of the school bus’s engine drawing close. “It’s nothing.”

And then the two of them disappeared from sight.

She trudged back inside, collapsing on her bed just in time for her brothers to go barging in the hall, arguing about something-or-another. She’d long since learned to shut them out, and paying attention to their arguments wasn’t going to help her figure all this out. She just needed to calm down and clear her mind.

Easier said than done. The conversation she had kept going through her mind over and over again, and all she could think of was what she should have said, what she should have asked, what she should have done.

She grabbed her laptop and brought it out of sleep mode. Maybe a little distraction would help. And as soon as she logged in an IM window popped up, from someone named Maranatha. ‘Hey there. How’re things going?’ It took her a moment to recognize the username– it was one of the members of the Anaetherian Rights message board.

‘Hey. ^_^’ She rested her chin in her hand. Now there was something that was going to be difficult to give a straight answer to. ‘I could be better. Lots of things going on.’ There. Honest, yet not direct.

The reply was almost instantaneous. ‘Aww. :/ What’s going on?’

She tapped her hands on the trackpad, trying to figure out how to dodge the question. ‘It’s a long story.’ Cliché, but effective.

‘Ah, alright…’ The person typed back.

There was a long pause, and no indicator Maranatha was typing a message. She bit her lip. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at least bring up Rose. But she still had to close her eyes while typing the message. ‘Do you remember anyone named Damask from the forums?’

Maranatha took a few moments to respond. ‘I think so, yeah. She hasn’t posted in a while though.’ Another pause. ‘Did something happen to her?’

“Yeah, something happened to her, alright.” She muttered. ‘She’s doing fine. I just met her today. She just needed to take a break from the forums, I guess.’

‘Yeah. I can’t really blame her. After that whole flame war over the cure issue.’

Stephanie winced. She remembered one (or several) flame wars erupting on the site, but only had the vaguest understanding of them– she’d always made it a point to stay out of the controversial topics. They’d always gotten extremely heated, and it usually took no more than a few posts before someone got called an idiot (or some more colorful iteration thereof.) ‘I know she was pro-cure…’

‘Well, her and a bunch of overzealous parents. Versus a bunch of overzealous people with a lot of pent-up anger. Nobody came out looking good.’

‘And then she just stopped posting…’ No wonder she’d seemed so worked up about accepting a cure.

‘Yep. :/ That topic was the last I saw of her. Is she thinking about coming back…?’

‘No.’ And with good reason, she thought. ‘She’s had some other things come up.’

There was an awkward break in messages. ‘Are you anti-cure?’ The question came out before Stephanie even had time to think about how stupid it was to ask something so controversial. That was always the advantage of a forum. You had time to think about what you were saying, and you could always just take it back by deleting your post. Then again, if you did put it out there and couldn’t do anything in time, everyone saw it.

Maranatha didn’t reply for a while, which left Stephanie to pace around her room, trying to figure out how she could defuse what would most likely be an explosive argument. And then her computer pinged. ‘In a sense, yes. I think saying that we need to be cured is saying we’re inferior people. And we aren’t. I’ve always agreed that we’re only disadvantaged because of how almost everything in society is so dependent on magic. Yet things don’t have to be like that.’

Once Stephanie could have believed that. Now she wasn’t so sure. ‘But if there was a cure, no strings attached, and you could choose to have it…would that be better?’

‘I don’t believe in no strings attached.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘If there was. Just hypothetically.’

‘Then all anaetherians would be pressured into getting it. We’d lose the insight we get from having to go through life without magic. Think of all the anaetherian inventions and scientific discoveries and progress we’ve made, gone. And those who they can’t pressure into taking their cure would be even more marginalized.’

‘It’s easier than having to change the world.’

‘But is it really better?’ Maranatha replied without missing a beat.

Stephanie could feel a headache coming on and she wasn’t sure if it was from stress or the fact she’d barely eaten or had anything to drink the entire day. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Just think about it, alright? Just because something is easy doesn’t mean it’s worthwhile.’

‘Yeah.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘And I’ll BRB. Time for dinner.’ She left without checking to see if Maranatha bid her farewell.

Dinner, however, turned more into a thirty-minute hunt for decent food and ingredients, followed by another thirty minutes of trying to cook it, followed by another bout of picking at it, then trying to hide from her mom arguing with her brothers, then playing with Bonnie to calm down, followed by a massive video game binge into the early hours of the morning. She finally crashed at three in the morning into a deep sleep.

* * *

The doorbell dragged her into consciousness. Her clock indicated it was twelve, but she felt like she’d barely slept at all. She trudged to the door. Her heart skipped a beat when she opened the door to find what she thought was a complete stranger until she realized it was the mage. Rose was nowhere in sight.

“Have you decided?” He asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was shaking, and she couldn’t manage to spit out her answer.

He arched his eyebrow. “And it is?”

“I…” She prayed she wouldn’t regret what she was about to say. “I want to be cured.”

“As you wish.” He nodded. “Please follow me.”

She didn’t quite understand why they had to use the woods behind her house for this. The mage had rambled on about leylines and some other things she vaguely remembered from her brother’s textbooks. Then he traced out a circle around her and started sprinkling powders, scrawling runes in the earth and muttering incantations. All-in-all it was nearly an hour before he finally said things were ready (and considering it was starting to glow faintly, it was fairly obvious things were.)

He told her he had to leave now, but all she had to do was just sit in the circle until it was done. Easy enough. It was so quiet and peaceful out here, dead silent except for the wind and the faint sound of bird wings flapping overhead. She couldn’t resist closing her eyes, and couldn’t resist letting her mind drift away.

* * *

Something jabbed Stephanie in her knee. She lifted her head up, her eyes snapping open, and immediately regretted doing so. It was painfully bright, despite it being sundown. Everything was like there had been a dimmer on the sun that had been on low, and now someone had turned it all the way up. Furthermore, it seemed like everything she could make out without going half-blind had a green-blue ambient glow around it. The circle she was sitting in was especially bright.

She covered her watering-up eyes with her hand and felt something strange. Something soft and downy, something that definitely wasn’t human skin. With a sense of growing dread, she let her hand travel to the center of her face. She had what felt like a delicately curved beak. Her blood ran completely cold. “Where is the mage?”

She tried to stand up, but stumbled, nearly falling forward onto the ground. There was a weight on her back, something that felt like it was jutting out of the very bone of her shoulder blades. She reached her hand behind her back and tugged at it. It moved, and she could feel muscles and tendons stretching as if it were another limb, along with a covering of the same downy substance on her face. Feathers.

“I have wings.” She realized with a sense of awe and horror and shock all mixed together. “And I’m some kind of mutant bird-thing.”

The next few moments were a whirl of disjointed and panicked thoughts. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. “Okay. Okay, it’s going to be alright. Transmogrification is a normal magic discipline, it’s reversible. I’ll just have to get the mage somehow.” She tried to speak, but her words came out as harsh screeching.

She clamped her hands (talons?) over her beak, and took a few deep breaths. And then she tried again. The screeching was quieter this time, but still nothing remotely human.

She hobbled around, trying to pace to help herself calm down and think straight, but movement was far harder than it should have been. So she settled for her mounting frustration by kicking around some leaves. And then within the circle the mage had created, she unearthed what was most likely the source of her problem– a single owl feather. She’d heard of minor contaminants and mistakes causing catastrophic results. Just her luck.

With an irritated sigh, she collapsed on the ground. “What am I going to do now? And what am I going to tell everyone?” There was always the off chance it was just a temporary issue. Or maybe she was a shapeshifter, like they always talked about in fairy tales. Owl-creature by night, human by day.

“Or it’s just punishment for wanting something I never should have wanted.” She thought bitterly. That seemed to be the way things always went, after all. Or maybe Maranatha was right– there’s no such thing as no strings attached. And now she had to deal with them– it was just a matter of how.

She began pacing anew, her steps slowly becoming more and more natural, though she still had to hunch over. Still, it was proving hard to think through her headache, and therein one course of action revealed itself. Go back home and get some asprin.

“And try not to get attacked by my family. They’d probably think I’m some mad mage’s latest transmogrification experiment.” And the irony of it was that it was half-true. She collapsed underneath the biggest, shadiest tree she could find. Best to wait until nightfall. Maybe then they’d just think she was a very malnourished bear and not a monster.

She tried to start speaking again in an attempt to pass the time, but even something as simple as going through the alphabet was hard. Vowels proved to be much easier to enunciate than consonants. “At least speaking Japanese won’t be a problem.” Then she remembered how long it’d been since she picked up the books and DVDs she’d gotten to help her learn it in the first place, and cringed.

The sun was getting lower and lower now, and her surroundings got a deeper and deeper tint of red to them. It had to have been a beautiful sunset, and she couldn’t even look at it. The upside was that it was almost dark enough she didn’t need to shield her eyes anymore. The leylines were still bright, but at least they were nowhere near as bad. And the world was coming more and more into focus. If anything, now she could see even better than she used to.

“Guess I should get started now.” She hoisted herself off the ground and began the walk back, taking in the sights of the forest as she went. Everything was as clear as, well, day, and despite it having been months since she’d gone for a walk in the forest. Of course, the fact her house lights were still on helped.

She winced at the flourescent lighting, and tried to take a look inside. She couldn’t see anyone in the main rooms, which meant her brothers were probably playing video games, and her mom was in bed, a stroke of minor luck after several major misfortunes. And she was finally getting to the point where she could form actual words, something that made her happier than it should have considering her situation.

She couldn’t resist taking a quick look in the window glass to assess the damage done to her. A bipedal barn owl stared back at her with wide, pitch-dark eyes, its tawny feathers stirring slightly in the wind. She traced a talon around its…no, her heart-shaped face, trying to force her mind to register that the creature in the glass was her. And when that proved to be a depressing prospect, she tried to force herself to remember it didn’t have to be permanent.

She broke eye contact with her reflection. “The sooner I get this over with, the better.” Steeling her nerves, she carefully opened the window and attempted to slip inside. Though she might have been able to do this as a human, she failed to take into account she now had wings. The result was an audible thump much like the kind one would hear if a bird flew into a windowpane.

She didn’t even bother to check and see if anyone was coming. She ran the best she could, ducked behind a tree, and huddled there until she stopped feeling like she was about to die of cardiac arrest. When she recovered, she opted instead to go through the back door, and the sudden change in light made her flinch.

Inside, she could hear the faint sound of the TV in the basement. She breathed a sigh of relief– they probably had their game up too loud to hear much of anything. She poured herself a glass of water and after a struggle with the bottlecap, finally managed to fish out a pair of asprin. She then raised the glass to her mouth, and tapped the edge against her beak, splashing a bit of water on the ground.

“Aaaawh, come on…” She muttered. She glanced at the basement door. The game’s sound effects were still audible even with it closed, but that did nothing to quell her uneasiness. “Don’t have time for this.” She took the asprin dry, tried to ignore the horrible aftertaste, headed back for the door, and almost tripped over her kitten.

She stopped dead in her tracks, and almost fell over on her face. Bonnie was staring at her with wide eyes. The kitten fluffed out her fur and hissed, backing away from Stephanie. Stephanie felt her heart sink, and fresh tears came to her eyes. She stepped over Bonnie, and opened the door. Then she felt a cold nose poking at her heels, followed by purring. Bonnie rubbed up against her leg and mewed– her usual call for attention.

“Good girl.” She stroked Bonnie’s fur as gently as she could. A lump was rising in her throat, and she was reasonably sure it wasn’t because of the asprin. “I gotta go now, okay? I’ll see you again soon.” She sincerely hoped she wasn’t lying, and slipped out the door before Bonnie could react.

“At least someone recognizes me.” She thought dourly. She tried (and failed) to formulate any other upsides to her current situation when a glint of light caught her eyes. There was a ladder leaning against their shed, and thus an idea formed in her mind…

* * *

She carefully ascended the ladder onto the roof and looked below her. It looked a lot higher up than she thought it would have, and she felt her hands shake a bit at the thought of having to jump.

It was about this point in time she remembered that owls were hollow-boned, and that a fall would not bode well for her skeletal structure. She sighed and sat down, her feet dangling over the side of the roof.

She looked up again at the sky. She could see bats darting erratically about chasing after moths, and even another owl.

More than anything, she wanted to join them. To be free, and get away from the dismal situation she was in.

So she sat for a few more minutes, staring enviously at the owl and the smoothness of his (for she was almost certain it was a male, though she wasn’t able to place a reason why other than simple intuition) flight. So she closed her eyes, let her instincts take over, and jumped.

And after a few seconds in, after she was certain she hadn’t broken anything or otherwise hurt herself, she opened her eyes. She could see the world below with so much more clarity than she had as a human, right down to the crickets leaping from grass blade to grass blade and mice scurrying about. Part of her thought that the mice would make a nice midnight snack, but it was drowned out by sheer exhilaration.

Half-delirious with joy, she pumped her wings faster. The world below grew smaller, her house farther away, the crisscrossing leylines began to blend together, and the blasted, lonely, middle-of-nowhere town that’d felt like a prison for as long as she’d been there started to fade, and even if just for a moment, everything she’d been through was worth it. Even her bizarre new body.

* * *

She flew until she felt as if her wings were about to fall off, and made a somewhat rough attempt at a landing. After plucking some twigs from beneath her feathers, she trudged back to her house, daydreams of a nice warm shower dancing in her mind.

And she was preoccupied enough with those daydreams she didn’t notice a few irregularities inside. Firstly, the lights were still on even in the middle of the night, when her early bird mom and not-quite-as-night-owlish-no-pun-intended brothers would have been long since asleep. Secondly, there were some aether leylines planted in the ground that hadn’t been there before– not that she would have noticed, given she’d never looked at her house with the Sight before.

Not being entirely disconnected from reality, she realized the two unfamiliar shadows skulking about did not bode well. With her heart rising into her throat, she slowly, carefully, and as stealthily as she could crept up to the window.

The lights inside were far too bright for her tastes, but she could make out who was inside. The mage and Rose. Her feathers fluffed out in irritation. “So now he decides to show up.”

Instincts were telling her there was something very wrong with this situation, and reason was quickly filling in the blanks as to why. She knew for a fact that her mother wasn’t a light sleeper, that the doors were supposed to be magically locked at night, and the mage’s body language was far too casual for someone who’d just broken into another person’s house.

And most importantly of all… “What’s he done to them?” He couldn’t have just waltzed in there without anyone noticing. Horrible ideas of what he could have done to ensure nobody saw his entrance ran through her head.

“You can come in, you know.” She stifled a screech of shock– how could the mage have heard her? “I know you’re out there.”

“He’s bluffing. I hope.” Not to mention being in a room with just him was the last thing she wanted right now.

He sighed. “Please be reasonable. I just needed to see you.”

“Reasonable!” She said in a low hiss.

“Yes, reasonable.” She saw him nodding from her vantage point near the window. “And before you say anything, yes, I can hear you too. Please, come inside. I don’t feel like talking this loudly.”

“Tell me what you’ve done to my family first. Or…” She trailed off. What could she threaten him with?

“Oh, them. Don’t worry, they’re fast asleep. Very fast asleep as a matter of fact.”

The thought of punching him entered her mind before she remembered how much frailer her bone structure was now. “What’s that supposed to mean? What have you done with them?”

“It was just a simple sleeping draught, now will you calm down? You’re being very unreasonable.”

“You drugged them? Why? Why are you even here?”

“I just needed to get your attention, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me. And I’m sure you don’t want your family to see you in the state you’re in. Now will you please come inside? It’ll be a lot easier on both of us.”

“Stephanie, please.” She could just barely make out Rose’s voice. “We just want to solve this problem, and we can’t do it while you’re out there.”

“Fine.” She’d hoped what she was saying sounded defiant. The self-conscious side of her told her she just sounded petulant. And to ease a little bit of her frustration, she gave the door a jab with her clawed foot to make it look like she was kicking it open.

“Thank you.” Despite her new appearance, he was staring at her impassively.

Rose, on the other hand, was not. She let out a tiny gasp of shock and jumped back slightly. “What happened to you?”

“Something must have contaminated the spell circle.” The mage answered for Stephanie. “This could be difficult to fix.”

“Really.” Stephanie tried to make her displeasure as readily apparent as possible.

“Really.” He intoned back. “It wouldn’t be as much of an issue if you’d just turned yourself into this after you’d become a mage, but now being a whatever-you-are and a mage are…intertwined, so to speak.” He paused thoughtfully. “Incidentally, did the rest of the spell work?”

If Stephanie had lips, she would have been scowling at him. “You’re worried about that?”

“Well, did it?”

She threw up her hands. “Yes, it did! I can see leylines, I tried to tap into one, but that’s the least of my problems now!”

The mage was stroking his chin, oblivious to her distress. “Well, that much is good. Shame illusionism is such a complex matter, otherwise I could at least make you look human.”

“So you’re saying there’s no way I can be human again.” She wondered how long it would take her to get to the phone and call the police. Probably too long. But maybe if she could just get him to keep rambling on…

“Oh, there certainly is.” He nodded. “Actually, I’d rather prefer that solution, it will be easier on everyone.”

There was a pause, most likely engineered by the mage for dramatic tension. For the most part, it was just wearing down on Stephanie’s already frayed nerves. “And it is?”

“Reverse transmogrification. Basically, I could try to turn you back.”

She tapped her claws on the dining room table. “This sounds too good to be true.”

The mage clenched his jaw ever-so-slightly. “It can be a slow and painful process. For whatever reason, your transformation was unusually fast, but now I’ll have to work much more deliberately to make sure I don’t take away your new gifts, or anything else.”

“Have you ever done this before?” The tapping was quickly turning into a drumbeat from her favorite metal ballad.

“It’s an experimental procedure.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you won’t mess up again?” She tried to glare at him, but couldn’t quite manage to meet him in the eye.

“It wasn’t my fault!” And that was the loudest she’d ever heard the mage get. “It was just an unforseen error. Trust me, nothing like that will happen again.”

“Trust you!” She snapped. “This is the second– no, third– time you’ve randomly shown up at my house! And this time you’ve broken in! And you drugged my family! And you’re acting like this isn’t even an issue! What is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” He turned away from her. “I can see you’re not going to listen to me. Shame some people just don’t know what’s good for them.” He took a small cloth from somewhere within the folds of his robe.

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

He upturned a small vial, dabbing the cloth with a pungent, clear liquid. “Oh…and don’t bother trying to run.” He returned the vial to his robes and with his free hand snapped his fingers. Stephanie felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her. “I’ve just activated an anti-magic forcefield. As long as its up, you’ll be unable to use any kind of magic or leave here.” He continued. “Last chance. Will you undergo the procedure or will I have to force you to do so?”

“Stephanie, please.” Rose said softly. “I didn’t get my powers the first time around, just do what he says. He’ll be able to fix this.”

“No.” Her voice might have been shaking, but she was sure in her convictions. “This was a mistake. All this was a mistake. I never should have…” She stopped herself before her voice started to crack too much. “If anyone’s going to fix this, it’ll be me.”

“I see.” He advanced towards her, an impassive look on his face. “If you insist.”

She flattened herself out on the counter, her talons splaying across the cold surface, the very tips of her claws scraping against a frying pan. And without taking any time to even consider the potential consequences, she grabbed the frying pan and slammed it into the mage’s head as hard as she could.

The impact jarred even her, but needless to say the mage had it much worse. He crumpled bonelessly to the ground without a sound.

* * *

Stephanie bundled her covers around her, trying to lull herself into sleeping. Being questioned by the police had been exhausting, yet unnervingly enough she couldn’t get it out of her head long enough to rest. Then again, ever since she’d changed she’d been quite literally sleeping all day. It hadn’t taken much to get to that point given her previous sleep schedule, but that didn’t stop her mother from griping about it.

Still, if that was what she chose to gripe about, Stephanie was fine with that. It was already something she was quite used to hearing, and she’d take any semblance of normalcy she could. She was sure her family was horrified by her change, seeing as how they were avoiding her even more than usual, but at least they weren’t talking about it, and more importantly they weren’t asking her questions about what had happened. They just avoided her. So had Rose, for that matter– she’d only heard from her once in the past few days. She seemed to be coping, but barely. She’d overheard in the police station that there was some residue of magical tampering with her mind and memories, and it’d take a while to recover from it.

At least Bonnie was taking things well– she had a near-infinite supply of feathers to play with now. And things were easier that way, being left to her own devices with the one being in the world she knew could care less about her appearance. Still, she couldn’t say the past few days had been easy at all. The police station had been particularly bad. At least her mother had teleported them straight to the station, but Stephanie still had to insist on wearing a very heavy raincoat, the baggiest pair of sweatpants she could find, a hooded sweatshirt underneath that, and a wide-brimmed hat to hide as much of herself as she could. It was hot as blazes, but it worked.

Then once they were done interviewing her, they had to do a physical exam of her. The horrified look on the nurse’s face the moment she took off her coat and hat was burned into her mind and would be for a very long time, though the actual exam was a blur. And the second it was over, she hid in the bathroom and cried. Her mother took her straight home afterwards, but the damage had already been done. She was certain her mother at least felt bad for what happened, because once she woke up from a fitful sleep, she found a cheeseburger from her favorite restaurant with her name literally on the styrofoam box in the fridge.

If she didn’t find something to do, she’d just get more depressed. As of lately, escapism had been proving to do her a lot of good. There were even times, however brief, that she could forget about what had happened, usually when she let herself get lost in a story.

That was something she fully intended to do right now. It wasn’t hard to find her computer, all she had to do was follow the glowing leylines. As she was skimming past the numerous sites on transmogrification reversals on her bookmark list, someone IM’d her. “Who’d be on at this hour?” She squinted at the font on the screen– Maranatha was, apparently, greeting her with the usual ‘Hey there! ’

‘Hey.’ She might as well be civil, even if she didn’t especially feel like talking now. Besides, it’d give her a chance to practice typing with claws again.

‘How are things going?’

She sighed. Not this again. ‘Kind of rough. Not sure if I want to talk about it.’

‘Ahh, alright. Well, I remembered the talk we had about the cure, and I was just wondering if you’d seen this…’ A link to a topic on the Anaetherian Rights forum followed. Out of morbid curiosity, she clicked on it. Her blood ran cold in her veins when she recognized the title– it was a headline from their local newspaper. Someone had posted an article about the mage’s arrest.

‘They haven’t said much about the reason why,’ Maranatha continued, ‘they just cited reckless endangerment and unsanctioned magical experiments. But the rumor is he was trying to find a cure.’

She stared blankly at the screen. How could word have spread so quickly? And more importantly, how could they have found out?

‘Anyway, it was in your area…I was just wondering if you’d heard more about it.’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ She replied, and subsequentially realized she was probably just leading on Maranatha.

And surely enough, his response came back within mere seconds. ‘Try me.’

It might be nice to talk to someone who wasn’t a police officer about everything that had happened. If she’d had more sleep, she might’ve had the sense to decide against doing that. But she’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours and her mind was frazzled from stress. ‘Yeah, he was doing experiments. They had side effects, that’s probably why they’re not giving out details.’

‘That’s not so unbelievable. I mean, call me a conspiracy theorist, but I think those kind of experiments happen more often than we like to think. The side effects must have been pretty severe, though.’

‘Oh, they were.’ She sighed and looked at her hands. Now she was almost getting used to seeing them there.

‘Do you know if the people he experimented on are alright…? :/’

‘Yeah, we’re alright.’ Something registered about that sentence as being wrong, but it took her a few moments (after she pressed Enter, unfortunately) to work out what. “We’re.” Just the wrong pronoun to use, even if it was true. She felt her skin heat up beneath her feathers. Maybe she could just claim it was a typo?

‘Wait, we?’ And Maranatha noticed. Just her luck.

She took in a shaky breath, and after a great deal of struggling for the proper words, came up with ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’

There was a break in messages. She was almost to the best part of the chapter when the message alert started flashing. ‘Can I tell you something?’

She scratched the side of her head. “Okay…?” ‘Yeah, I guess.’

There was another long pause without so much as an alert that a message was being typed. And then, finally, ‘It might be easier to show you.’

She received a webcam invite. Her curiosity piqued, she accepted it.

Her breath caught in her throat. Looking at the webcam, a weak smile on his face, was a huge, humanoid bobcat. “H-hey.” His voice was barely audible, and on top of that it was scratchy and sounded barely-human. It almost reminded her of hearing a parrot talk.

Fortunately, the webcam conversation wasn’t two-way or he would have caught her gaping at him.

“Um, I know this must seem really weird to you. I can explain…I think.” He cleared his throat. It inexplicably brought to mind Bonnie when she was trying to cough up a hairball. “I guess you can tell I had some, uh, side effects too.”

Her hands quavered as she typed. ‘Did someone do that to you?’

“You could say that.” His tufted ears twitched. “So,” he laughed, or tried to do something that sounded like it, “how’s this for side effects?”

“It can’t be.” Then again, it probably could. Who knew how many other people the mage had gone after? She desperately wanted to ask how and who and why, but couldn’t quite work up the courage to do so.

“I’ve gotten used to it, though.” He went on, his voice growing more confident. “And there are other people like me out there. It’s a bigger community than people think. And there’s a lot of support for people who live with magic-related disorders other than anaetherianism.” He cast his gaze askance. “I guess I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

She brushed tears away from her eyes, self-consciously straightened out a few stray feathers, and sent a webcam invite of her own before she was able to process what she’d done enough to regret it.

She knew the moment he accepted, because his jaw dropped open. “I…did…” He took a deep breath. And then another, just for good measure. “Did you ask for someone to do that to you?”

She stared blankly at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.” There was a desperate look about him. He gestured furtively to his tail and ears. “Right?”

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I guess it really was an accident for you.”

Stephanie found herself gaining a new hatred for people with an aversion to straightforwardness. “What are you talking about?”

“Shapeshifters. Or anthros– I mean, anthropomorphic animals. Some people like…um, like me, we turn ourselves into them with transmogrification. Or try to.”

Stephanie had a vague recollection about seeing a news segment on them. For the most part, it had played up how insane they had to be to undergo the difficult rituals needed to become one, and other alleged deviant aspects of their lifestyles. The report had seemed thrown-together and sensationalistic, like most news reports. “You wanted to be that?”

“No! I mean, I wanted to be like this sometimes. I was just going for shapeshifter, but something went wrong and I couldn’t change back. So,” he pointed to his muzzle, flexing out the claw on his index finger, “I’m stuck as an anthro. And I didn’t want to be. I mean, I really didn’t want to be. You’d be amazed at how hard it is to get used to not being human. Everything’s made for human mages.”

“Tell me about it.” There was a smile in her eyes– faint and bitter, but there.

“Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. I don’t get to talk to other anthros much.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You probably think I’m a hypocrite. All that talk about resisting a cure and being yourself, and look at what I did to myself.”

She shrugged. “No. You’ve just got more personal experience than most anti-cure advocates do.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” He returned the smile. “Um, if you’re interested, there are some forums and places I could show to you.” His voice grew quieter and quieter as he went on, making the last few words difficult to make out. “Everyone’s really nice, and they won’t care you didn’t change on purpose. And they can help you deal with it. They really helped me out.”

The bitterness in her smile started to fade away. “I’d like that.”

His ears perked up. “Really? Um, hang on a second, let me send you the links.”

She sorted through them, the other part of her mind on the outside. Dawn was breaking outside, and she could feel exhaustion creeping in, the edge at last taken off her anxiety. After everything that had changed, the sky hadn’t fallen, and the world was still there. She could fly again any time she wanted.

For the first time she could remember, she finally felt free.