• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“The police tend to shoot shapeshifters in animal form,” I said.

“I’ll stay,” Claudia said, teeth gritted just a little. “The more wounded we have on our side, the better the police will like it.”

She had a point. I looked at Micah. The sirens were very near now, almost in front of the house.

“You better go, Micah.”

“Why?”

“The police are about to burst in here, see a lot of bodies, a lot of blood. Anything in animal form stands a good chance of getting shot.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said. The fur began to recede, like water pulling back from the shore. As human skin was revealed, his bones slid out of sight into it, like hard things thrown in wax, covered, melted. I’d never seen anyone change so casually, so easily. It was almost as if he were merely changing clothes, except for the clear fluid that ran down his body like a liquid sheet, the sound of bones popping, reforming, even the sound of flesh boiling over him. Only his eyes remained the same, unchanging, like two jewels fixed in the center of the universe. Then he was suddenly human again, body covered in that thick, watery fluid. I’d never seen so much of the liquid before from only one change. I was standing in a pool of it and hadn’t noticed.

He slumped suddenly, trying to catch himself on the cabinet, but I was in the way and had to grab him around the waist to keep him from falling to the floor. “Rapid change comes with a price.”

“I’ve never seen anyone change back that quickly,” Cherry said.

“And he won’t fall into a coma-sleep either,” Merle said. “Give him a few minutes and he’ll be fine, messy, but fine.” There was admiration in the big man’s voice, and something else—almost jealousy.

The sirens wailed to a stop outside the house, then silence. “Everybody put the guns down. Don’t want to get shot by accident,” I said.

Nathaniel did as I asked, instantly. I had to press Micah closer into my body, one-handed, so I could put my own gun back on the cabinet. Micah’s body shuddered against me. I looked at him, about to ask if he was alright, but the look in his eyes stopped me. It wasn’t pain I saw in his eyes. I slid my other hand around his waist so that I held him more securely against me. His skin was slick under my hands. He managed to put a hand on the cabinet behind us. I stared into his eyes from inches away, and there were worlds to drown in, in those eyes, needs and hopes, everything.

A man’s voice yelled, “Police!”

I yelled back, “Don’t shoot, the bad guys are gone. We’ve got wounded.” I moved Micah so he could prop himself against the cabinet, then put my hands on my head and moved carefully into the doorway. I had to step over the bodies in the kitchen door to come into the line of sight of the two officers crouched in the doorway. If I’d been a large imposing man, they might still have fired, not on purpose exactly, but you don’t see three bodies in a doorway in Jefferson County, Missouri, every day. But I was small, female, and looked fairly benign, unarmed. But I kept talking as I moved anyway. Things like, “They attacked us. We’ve got wounded. We need an ambulance. Thank God you guys came when you did. The sirens scared them away.” I kept babbling until I was sure that they weren’t going to shoot me, then the really hard part started. How do you explain five bodies in your kitchen, some of which even in death didn’t look very human? Beats the hell out of me.

41

TWO HOURS LATER I was sitting on my couch, talking to Zerbrowski. He looked, as he usually did, like he’d dressed in a hurry, in the dark, so that nothing quite matched, and he’d grabbed the tie with the stain on it, instead of the one that he probably meant to wear. His wife, Katie, was a neat, orderly sort of person, and I’d never figured out why she allowed Zerbrowski to leave the house dressed like a walking disaster. Of course, maybe it wasn’t a matter of allowing him to do anything; maybe it was just one of those battles you just gave up on after