"I'm so glad you're here," the other woman said, releasing her and stepping back. "I look forward to getting to know you." Becca's stormy blue-gray eyes radiated sincerity.
"Th-thank you," Harper stammered, unused to such open displays of affection from near-strangers. Her inner fox, Reyna, who had been quiet for the entire journey across the country, now hummed with contentment at the genuine welcome. "I'll see you later, too."
Alone in her room at last, Harper sank onto the bed, her eyes closing a moment in sheer relief at the blessed quiet. Opening her eyes, she drew in a long, sobbing breath, and pulled her legs up under her to sit cross-legged on the fluffy comforter as she looked around her new temporary den. It was a lovely room, octagonal, with windows filling up several of the walls, letting in the bright early summer sunlight.
She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. She’d been in California since she finished college, had begun a life there, a career. And now, here she was, among strangers, as far from California as one could get and still be on the same continent. She’d always thought she would enjoy a cross-country drive, but the prospect of being constantly afraid of recognition… no matter how unlikely… hadn’t been something she could face. So she’d hired movers to bring her things. They’d be here in a couple of weeks, and would put all her furniture and household goods into storage, until she could find a house or apartment to rent.
At least she knew no one would be looking for her here, and she was surrounded by other shifters, and people who knew about shifters. She’d meet her new employers on Monday, when she started her job at their bank as a Personal Finance Advisor. She allowed herself another deep breath of relief. She’d been afraid, having to start over like she was, that she’d have to begin at the bottom of the rung again, as a teller. But her BA in Business Management had worked in her favor, as had her several years of experience working in banking. The bank in California had given her a glowing reference, as well. She winced a little, as she’d had to lie to her previous employer, making up an ill relative in New York to account for her sudden need to relocate across the country.
But, she was here, and honestly, she was in a pretty good situation, everything considered.
Shifting her weight, she stretched an arm down, searching blindly for her handbag beside the mattress. Her fingers brushed against the leather handles, and she tugged it up next to her, digging through its contents until she located her phone.
Sinking into the mattress, she pulled up the familiar footage she'd replayed countless times, longing for some alternate version of events. Her gaze followed the massive bear as itexploded from the forest's edge, horrifyingly close to the panic-stricken man it chased. She wished she could undo her actions, yet what was done couldn't be undone.
Once she'd realized the bear was a shifter, and a youngster at that, she’d told the idiot kid to make himself visible in and out of view along the edges of the meadow, to keep the attention of the humans, with their cameras and cell phones, on him. That allowed her to slink around and crawl into the meadow to retrieve her clothes and the pack she’d been wearing when she had Changed. Her shirt had been ripped in her frantic haste to free herself from its confines as a fox in her rush to confront the bear. After pulling a backup shirt from her backpack, she'd ducked behind a dense thicket to get dressed. She'd hurried down the trail to her vehicle, managing to slip behind the wheel and speed off while the crowd of onlookers remained glued to their devices on the bridge, hoping to capture another shot of either creature, fox or bear, on camera.
Harper broke into a sweat again, her heart racing, as she pictured again how easily she could have been identified had someone with a camera been any closer to her, or if she had come from a different direction so her face would have been directly to the watchers. Unfortunately, her hair color was distinctive, and the only thing that saved her was that she'd worn it pulled back tightly into a braid down her back for hiking. Still, red, of course, but less distinctive. Unremarkable, unlike the mane of red curls she usually wore, falling down her back in an unruly mass.
Her naturally reserved personality had unexpectedly become a gift. Beyond her relatives and fellow shapeshifters, she maintained only a handful of relationships. Despite her anxiety about being recognized, not a soul outside that circle could view the footage and exclaim with surety, "That's her!"
With a shudder, Harper pushed the memories aside. She'd made it to New York, putting an entire continent between herself and the West Coast. Out here in this sprawling rural community, nobody would be giving a second glance at women with foxy-red hair. At last, she could relax her guard.
A light tappingat her door woke Harper. She blinked at the light filtering in from the balcony, and experienced a moment of disorientation. The clock on the nightstand said it was seven o’clock, but was it seven in the evening, or in the morning? She thrust the covers back, noting she was wearing her favorite nightgown. Padding to the door, she opened it, to find an older middle-aged woman standing outside.
Harper blinked sleepily, taking in the Black woman before her. Tall and stately, with an air of quiet authority, the stranger's dark eyes sparkled with warmth. Her hair, a mix of black and silver, was pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a crisp white apron over a floral dress, giving her the look of a classic innkeeper.
Harper's inner fox, Reyna, perked up, sensing something different about the woman. There was an underlying current of power, barely detectable but unmistakably present.
"Good morning, dear. I'm Renee Johnston, co-owner of the West Side Inn. I hope I didn't wake you too early," the woman said, her voice rich and soothing. “I'm Angus's wife. I didn’t want you to miss breakfast. You missed dinner with your friends last night, so you must be starved.”
“Oh.” Harper scrubbed at her face, still groggy. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but there was a fleeting memory of waking at some point, changing into her nightgown, and tumbling back onto the bed. “I must have slept straight through. I'm sorry," she mumbled running a hand through her tousled red hair. "I must look a mess."
Renee waved off her concern with a gentle smile. "Nonsense. You look like someone who had a good night's sleep, which is exactly what I hope for all our guests. Wash your face, that’ll help you wake up. Then come on down and have breakfast. Most of our guests have breakfasted and gone off to start their day, but Katerina is in the dining room.”
The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted up from downstairs, making Harper's stomach growl. Renee's eyes twinkled with amusement.
"We have a full breakfast spread in the dining room, including some of my special recipes."
Harper's mouth watered at the thought. "That sounds wonderful. I'll be down in a few minutes, if that's alright?"
"Take your time, dear. Breakfast is served until nine." Renee turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Harper? Welcome to our little sanctuary. You're safe here."
Harper followed the innkeeper's suggestion, splashing cool water on her face at the sink in the adjoining bathroom. Her skin felt sticky and unclean from yesterday's journey, especially after sleeping in her travel grime. Her stomach was demanding food, but she knew getting cleaned up would improve her mood.
Harper froze halfway to the bathroom, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh no!" She'd completely forgotten to let her parents know she'd arrived safely. They must be worried sick. Diving for her phone on the nightstand, she fired off a quick text to their family group chat:
«Made it safe to NY, sorry for not texting sooner! Fell asleep right after check-in. Beautiful inn, lovely people. Will call tonight with details. Love you both! ??»
Her mother's response came instantly: «Thank goodness! Was about to call hospitals! ?? Send pictures! Love you baby. ??»
Harper winced at her mother's message. She should have known Mom would be fretting. Her father's reply popped up next: «Glad you're safe, kitten. Looking forward to hearing about everything. ??»
The nickname warmed her heart - her father had dubbed her 'kitten' when she was little, a clever play on the term for baby foxes. Even now in her late twenties, whenever she heard "kitten" in her father's gentle rumble, she imagined herself as a tiny fox kit, curled up safe and warm in his strong arms.
Her stomach growled again, reminding her of breakfast waiting downstairs. The smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee wafting up from below was torture. Grabbing her toiletries bag, she hurried into the bathroom.
The bathroom was surprisingly spacious for an old Victorian, with gleaming white subway tiles and a deep clawfoot tub with a shower attachment. Under different circumstances, she'd love a long soak in that tub. But right now, speed was essential. Plus, she could wash out that hideous brown rinse from her hair. Harper stepped into the shower, and cranked on the water, blessedly hot.
