Foster
Not. Possible.
I never ran out of coffee. Not once since leaving the herd had this happened. Not before that either. Without the dark, rich fluid of life, I’d never be able to get through my long days and nights. But I’d only gone to the store a couple of days earlier, and I couldn’t believe my lapse of good sense. I couldn’t afford to waste time. Not even the minutes it would take to get to the mom-and-pop store where I did most of my shopping.
Oliver Creek had sources of prepared coffee, of course. All the restaurants, the bakeries, anywhere that served beverages. But one cup wasn’t going to get me through the night. Or the week. The town’s reputation for serving great food drew in so many visitors, I’d been told that was what brought it back from the brink of death. Not many years before, the young people had all been fleeing for the city as soon as they could, leaving behind the older folks and a lot of buildings that needed help to keep them from falling down.
Actually, more than just hearing about it, I’d seen pictures.
But nothing about Oliver Creek reflected that past. I parked in one of the free lots off Main Street and started for the store, trying to remember if there was anything else I needed, so I could avoid another emergency trip. My needs were small, my desires as well. I had a freezer full of frozen meals and a pantry full of cereal and canned goods. I rarely bought anything fresh except coffee creamer because I didn’t take the time to do real cooking and would just end up throwing it all out after it died in my refrigerator.
Coming around the corner, I spotted a big banner over a storefront that had been empty until recently. I usually parked ina lot on the other end of the block, which was currently full, so I hadn’t been this way in a while, but things had definitely been changing.
Ebb and Flow. The new business, whatever it was, didn’t open for a couple of days, according to the banner, but there were plenty of people entering it. What kind of business would be called that?
I continued to the grocery store, but on the way back paused to peek in the windows where a group of people were lying on their backs on mats on the shiny wood floor. A man walked barefoot between them, bending to speak to a few, patting others on the shoulder or knee, exuding calm. Soft music.
I stood there for a while, until the music stopped and the people stood up and headed toward the door. They spoke in quiet tones, about how peaceful and relaxed they felt and what reasonable prices the proprietor was charging. Apparently, they weren’t officially open yet, just having this one class as a special event.
And everyone who came out was talking about what classes they were planning to attend when the studio opened for business in a couple of days. Yoga was the one I heard mentioned most, but also something called “breath work.”
Before I was surrounded by the people exiting, I moved on down the block toward my car. All those who attended that workshop, or whatever it was, seemed so peaceful. They probably had lives with little stress and enjoyed going to such classes. Hippies.
As I drove toward home, I recalled the recent healer’s appointment where I was warned about how my current lifestyle would eventually do enough damage, even my shifter nature would not be able to counteract. I had acid indigestion, difficulty sleeping, headaches, and muscle tension.
“Isn’t there a pill I can take for that?” I asked him. “A shot? A serum?”
“No. It’s not that easy to undo the damage you’ve spent the past several years doing to your body. You’re going to have to put in the work.”
I’d only gone to Quinn because I couldn’t even lie down without eating a handful of antacids, or I’d be burping up burning bile or acid or whatever it was. And nothing he was saying was what I wanted to hear. “But there has to be something. A tea?”
“You can drink some peppermint tea or chamomile. And, of course, shifting helps with healing of these things, so maybe do that a little more often. Your deer is a better healer than I’ll ever be. He knows you intimately from the inside out, after all.”
Well, shit.
It must have been all over my face. My guilt, because Quinn’s brows furrowed. “Want to tell me why you look like that?”
“Um, I, no, it’s okay.”
“Foster, most of my patients are pregnant omegas for a reason. Anyone carrying young needs to have access to health care, but nearly all others can handle their ills and woes by simply donning their fur. He growled. “When did you last let your deer free?”
“I-I am not sure. Maybe a month ago?”
“Maybe? Could it be two? Three?”
I winced. “Not three.”
“And you wonder why you feel like pound shit?” Oh, healers rarely cursed at patients, in my experience. He was upset. Rightfully so, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
“Honestly, I felt terrible about making my beast wait, but I didn’t know it could affect my health. Is it hurting him too? Imean…shoot, of course it is.” I’d managed to make a mess of my own life many times over, and now my deer’s as well.
“Not in the same way, and I cannot speak for him, but you should ask, probably apologize, and for both your sakes change that. You live in an area where there are multiple places for shifting without having to travel long distances.”
The urge to hang my head and draw circles on the floor with the toe of my shoe like a naughty child nearly overwhelmed me. But I settled for swallowing hard. “I will let him out more often.”
“He’s not a pet that just has to be walked. Our relationship with our beasts is much more complex than that, probably in ways we don’t even recognize. But we do know that if you hold out long enough, you can lose the connection.”
A chill ran over my skin. “And then what happens?
