Sincerely, Nicholas Claw
Well, that takes care of some things on my to-do list. I heave my suitcase up a set of stairs leading from the living room to a loft bedroom and en suite bathroom. The modest sized bed takes up the majority of the room. Two floor-to-ceiling gable windows bracket the room on either side. I move to the one that looks out the back of the house. It’s terrifyingly beautiful. The bluff stretches about fifty feetbehind the house before a sheer drop-off to a sliver of beach below, and then it’s water as far as I can see.
Further out, a jut of rock-riddled, craggy land curves away from the shoreline, creating its own smaller island. A lighthouse sits atop this outcropping. It’s tall, and its white paint makes it glow faintly in the dying sunlight. As I watch, the sun sinks just a little lower. Not quite dark, but no longer sunny. The lighthouse beacon flips on and begins its slow turn. It sweeps across the water, the sliver of beach, and the steep bluff. It casts everything in an ominous pattern of interspersed light and dark, dark and light, until I have to look away.
Moving to the front window, I find I can’t see much at this point. Shadows have taken over the front yard and the road. Farther out, I can see the whole of Main Street.
Lights flicker off in the storefronts, but in the forest where most of the houses are, lights flicker on. Warmth glows from kitchen windows, bedrooms, and living spaces, casting out into the dark of the woods like stars into the darkness of space.
Down the bluff and up the road a little, I spot another house, cottage-style and clearly belonging to Dolly. How do I know? Because it’s pink. Pink siding, pink trim, pink door, even a pink chimney. From my vantage point, I can best see the back of her house. The woods come right up to the edge of her small property and then stop. I watch as the back door opens, spilling light out onto the back stoop, and Dolly steps out. In her hands is a shallow bowl of something I can’t make out from here. After a glance this way and that, the bowl is set down on the step before she hurries inside and closes the door.
Maybe she feeds stray cats milk or something?
Just as I’m about to turn away from the window to unpack, I glimpse something. I squint. It’s hard to make out in the dying light, but near the front gate leading to my cobblestone walk is… a man? Or a shadow? My nose presses against the window as my hands cup around my eyes.
I can’t tell if—
The outline moves. It’s definitely a man. A gasp slips out as I step back from the window, the backs of my knees bumping against the bedframe. I scramble for the light switch, and the room goes dark with a quick flick. When I look out the window again, this time with a clearer view, he’s gone. There’s no one near the front gate. No one anywhere. It takes a moment to get my breathing under control. I go around the house locking every window and the back door. Keeping your doors unlocked? Who does that? I don’t care how “secure and safe” the island is.
Once I’ve unpacked, changed, and slid into bed with clean new linens, I stare at the ceiling for a long time.
What am I doing?
Conall
I watch the woman in the cottage as she locks every window and door. At least she has some sense.
The sun sets, and the last bit of light outside the cottage disappears. Clouds cover the sky. Only the lighthouse beam sweeps across the darkness now and then. I don't need light to see, anyway.
My hound's eyes cut through the dark like wiping fog from glass. Suddenly, the cottage glows in shades of gray and green. I see every window latch she turned. Through the loft, I spot her outline as she stands at the front window, watching the street below, hoping to catch whatever she thought she saw by the gate.
She won't find anything. She's looking with human eyes.
Her movement through the unfamiliar space is careful and efficient until she stops again in front of the window.
The lighthouse beam sweeps over the cottage and lights up her face for a moment that stretches longer than physically possible. I see the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, her set jaw, and her eyes searching the dark.
I shake myself. I'm here to do one job. A job I didn't ask for, handed to me by a witch who didn't care what I wanted.
The loft light turns off.
A whistle drags my gaze from her window to the edge of the bluff. Too close.
As I pass the front of her cottage, my reflection catches in her dark windows. My second form is human enough to pass from a distance. But in the light of day, my hair is just this side of green to be truly black, my ears are a little too pointed to exist outside aLord of the Ringsfilm, and my tail has to stay tucked inside my pants.
Far less disguisable is my true form—my first form. Only a little of it slips free right now, not enough to snap the clothes off my body, only to maim the whistler sneaking up on the human’s cottage. Facial muscles snap and stretch. My nose and mouth meld together, elongating into something more canine than human. My ears lengthen. My chest expands. My hands crack as claws slice through my fingertips. My skin shifts to a mottled shade of green.
The whistle comes closer, and I lunge.
Once the sound dies and the danger passes, I turn back. Laz’s orders. Stay in our most human form. Hide everything we can. The old witch summoned this unknown kin. This human. We can’t know for what purpose, or what magic she used to do it. To protect us all, we have to wait and see.
A snarl slips free before I can stop it. This girl, this woman, this little menace has already cost me more than she could ever imagine. I resent her, yet something in her pulls at me anyway, sharp and unwanted. I still have to protect her. My freedom depends on it.
Ivy
My dreams last night were full of strange sounds. Cracking and snarls and whistles.
I get dressed and wander down to the kitchen to find—nothing. The cupboards, the fridge, everything has been emptied and deep cleaned besides a small box of chamomile at the back of one of the drawers. My stomach growls loudly. I need coffee.Needdoesn’t even feel like an adequate word for how much I crave it in the morning.
