“You’re telling me the Fitzpatricks are shapeshifters as well.”
He holds her eyes.
“Not all of them. Mainly the males. Brothers, cousins. They are not the only ones here. There are other families who prowl the dark forest and in all kinds of guises.”
He is right. The Pacific Northwest is full of killers.
“I think the Fitzpatricks know about Jared and me.”
He nods. “It would eventually come to that, yes. Shapeshifters like to map their territory and mark it out. They are not as territorial as true beasts, and they understand the need to co-exist to avoid investigations by the rangers. Still, accidents occur now and again – especially if a strange shapeshifter comes to town – and someone is killed.”
“Like old man Pullnam.”
“Like old man Pullnam,” he agrees. “What about you? Are you a shapeshifter as well?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Any powers then?”
She decides to tell him about the healing and Conchita Ruiz.
He comes closer to her and takes her hands. “So you’re a witch as well.”
“No. A healer.”
“Some would call you a green witch.” He moves his lips to hers and gently kisses her.
She responds, needing the assurance of his touch that everything still is as it was between them. Their kisses grow more fervent, and pretty soon, they are frantically feeling each other’s bodies all over.
A car whizzing by brings them down to ground. They part for air and laugh.
“Public sex can be enervating,” he teases.
“That’s one thing that will bring the police down on us quicker than your coven of witches.”
“I don’t belong to any coven.” He holds her fiercely. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Shannon.”
Her heart beats faster with a surge of love for him.
“I know.”
They embrace each other for a long time before returning to the car and driving back to Dolphin’s Bay.
THE WITCH
Back at work, Shannon and Kirk do not speak of the incident. It is as if nothing had happened. Kirk is as busy and cordial as ever, and so is Shannon.
Jared has managed to land himself a job as a supervisor in a logging company, and so he is near the forest during the day and kept happy. She hopes he doesn’t get the urge to shapeshift at work, or it would be most uncomfortable if he were found out.
Weeks pass. Everything seems to have settled into an equilibrium, where people are content to be in the exact same place as they are. Shannon and Lucien are still a couple without the ‘C’ word, and they are happy. Deliriously so.
Then of course everything has to go to shit.
*
Shannon is at a Laundromat with a pile of dirty laundry when a woman walks in to confront her.
“Shannon Bellamy?” the woman says.
The woman is dressed simply in a green shirt and blue jeans. Her hair is strawberry blonde and she has the sharpest blue eyes Shannon has ever seen. She is extremely tall, and she would have been pretty if her features weren’t so hard-looking.
“Yes?” Something about this woman looks terribly familiar, and suddenly it hits Shannon.
The woman confirms it.
“I’m Margarete Walker, Lucien’s sister.” She holds out her hand.
“Hi,” Shannon says cautiously.
She takes the woman’s hand and shakes it. Margarete’s flesh is cold. Shannon wonders if this is her natural skin temperature or if she has just come in from the chill. An instinct tells her that it is the former.
“I wonder if I may speak with you privately,” Margarete says.
In the brief months that Shannon has dated Lucien, he has barely spoken about his family. Nor has he offered to bring her home to meet with them. Shannon attributes this to Lucien’s resolve to keep her as far away as possible from the witches. She doubts he has even spoken to his family about her, and she is content to keep it that way.
But now, apparently, a spoke has been thrown into the wheel.
Shannon looks around the Laundromat. Only one other customer is there – a huge man in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans who resembles the typical logger stereotype. He looks up at the pair, takes in Shannon’s slim form appreciatively, and looks away again. Shannon notices the ring on his fourth finger.
“Sure,” she says. “If you could wait till I finish up. I’m at my final spin cycle, I think.”
“Maybe we could go outside,” insists the woman.
She looks like one of those impatient types, Shannon decides. The kind who thinks that people should be moved around like chessmen. Deciding that the logger would probably not be interested in her clean clothing, Shannon grabs her jacket and purse and exits the Laundromat with Margarete Walker.