The scream that rips out of me is inhuman, surprising even me. I scramble away from the looming figures around me before I realize who they are. The mayor, Laz, Amy from my shop, and Conall. I keep inching away from Conall. He looks human now.
Amy hovers near the edge of the desk, eyes wide and purple.
Laz stands holding a small pile of books, looking both smug and guilty. My attention swings back to Conall. My stalker. My monstrous creature.
My hand misses the edge of the desk and finds air. I tip, and before I can fall, Conall’s hand snaps out and wraps around my upper arm, pulling me back.
“Easy, Freckles,” he breathes.
His scent surrounds me. It’s forest and rain and the sharp, clean smell of ozone after a thunderstorm. I can’t stop myself from leaning in just a little.
Then I remember the sounds of snapping and grinding as he transformed, and I pull myself back. He lets me go, but a muscle in his jaw ticks, like he’s stopping himself from stepping closer.
“Miss Smith. How are you feeling?” Laz asks.
“He—I—” I start, pointing at Conall. Amy drops into a chair, and my finger swings to her. “Her eyes!” I nearly screech. Blue bleeds intothe purple of her gaze, like food dye into water, mixing until the purple is completely gone.
I rip my gaze away. The room is softly lit by a few reading lamps and a purple fire burning under a cauldron.
I feel around my scalp. Did I hit my head? Nothing feels tender except the cut on my arm.
Someone is talking to me, but I can’t follow. I can’t be here. That thing could come back.
My breathing comes in quick bursts, my lungs burning. I can only stare at the floor. My body won’t obey me.
A pair of green eyes drops into my line of sight, soft and concerned. Conall. Despite the pointed ears and the tail, I don’t flinch away.
“Follow me, Freckles.” He takes a slow, deep breath in.
I try to mirror him, but my breath is shorter and harder to find. He breathes out. Mine is smaller still. But I follow his lead. My mind feels numb, and resisting feels monumentally impossible right now. After a few minutes, the air comes easier, longer. The burning ebbs, and my thoughts begin to clear.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
I tilt my hand back and forth in a so-so gesture, and he gruffs out an unwilling laugh. I bite my lip. I will not smile in this insane situation.
“Good. I think it’s time we had a discussion,” Laz says.
Amy groans from her chair. “Do we really have to do the big expositional story?”
“How else do you wanna do it, Amy?” Conall sighs.
“Listen, you’ve clearly realized things are weird around here,” she says, focusing on me.
“Completely fucked up? Sure,” I agree.
“It’s because this island is a haven for monsters.”
The word lands like a duck in a crowd of peacocks.
“Monsters? You’re all—?” I let it hang.
“Yeah. I’m a shapeshifter,” she goes on. “Conall’s a faehound. Laz is a wizard.”
I eye Conall, remembering how his body popped and shrank from its large, dog-like form.
“Your aunt was a witch,” Amy finishes.
A witch. My great aunt was a— “Wait, I’m not a witch. If she were, shouldn’t I have powers too?” Conall rolls his eyes, and I have the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him.
