Page 27 of Up in Smoke

“How far is it to Avery?”

“Three to four hours depending on how fast we can walk. Four hours at your current pace.” I worried about his current pace, but in the worst case scenario, I’d pull him along as a human—or as a mastiff-sized fox, depending on the circumstances. If I shapeshifted to my largest size, which matched my human weight, the harness would fit, I’d have Sandro hook me up in it if he was able, and I’d pull the damned wagon around like I was some excessively fluffy draft horse with a tendency to chitter when cranky.

Sandro returned my prized can of beef stew to the wagon and snagged the large dog harness, raising a brow. “Does my little vixen have something she’d like to tell me?” He narrowed his eyes, looked me over, and then checked the label on the harness, which declared it could handle large dogs up to a hundred and fifty pounds. “Let me rephrase that. Does my not-so-little vixen have something she’d like to tell me?”

My fox stirred and demanded I drag him into the nearest appropriate shelter and strip him out of his clothes. I ignored her, a far easier task after having done some significant damage to one of the boxes of condoms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You wicked, sneaky vixen. I can’t tell if I need to reward or punish you.”

Sandro’s threat, which offered a mighty fine time and more itch scratching, resulted in more tail wagging and my ears pricking forward. “I might need to harness a rather large four-legged animal to pull this wagon if my hot ass bounty hunter faints on me.”

“A harness this size would be able to handle a rather large fox, too. You got away because you’d shapeshifted, and I was looking for a hybrid, not a fox. You’re a hybrid shapeshifter—which explains why you bounce through the boundaries without a care in the world. You control your shapeshifting, which puts you in the top percentile for shapeshifters, who often have zero control over when and how they shift.”

Oh. That explained why he thought shapeshifters tended to have a hard time. I refused to look him in the eyes, and I flattened my ears, although my tail refused to be still. “If you pass out, you’ll find out.”

Sandro chuckled, and he leaned over for a better view of my tail. “According to your tail, I think you find the idea of me helpless and at your mercy to be attractive. I will try to avoid passing out on you, because I’m guessing you pay some hefty prices to shapeshift. We’ll have to monitor your spleen in case it decides to grow back, too. I don’t want there to be any problems with my vixen. But if you want to drive my mother absolutely wild, shapeshift and run around the house and leave your fur on everything before playing stupid. It will drive her crazy, especially as she knows you’re absolutely meticulous about your fur and cleaning up after yourself.”

“It’s your turn to be the distressed damsel,” I announced, and I bounced on my toes. “There may be a good reason I brought a harness and a pair of leashes, though.”

“You’d tie the leashes to the front lower corners and then hook them to your harness to make it easier to pull. It’s a good idea. And if you have to pull a wagon, even if you’re a monster fox, you probably couldn’t handle two wagons, and you wouldn’t want to have to abandon one. With some work, I can fit in this wagon with your scavenged goods. You made an excellent plan, and I’m going to have to tell my mother I am disgusted over how correct she is regarding your resourcefulness.”

While Ryleigh would praise me whenever I worked my magic properly, she’d rarely commented on my resourcefulness. She liked to call me clever at times, but only in the context of my magic.

Sandro’s praise pleased my fox enough she settled and left me alone about taking him to bed within the next five minutes.

In a way, I wanted to wince over how something as simple as genuine praise pleased her. Rather than waste time regretting I’d never gotten much in the way of praise, I said, “You’re not angry?”

“Why would I be angry? You’re a hybrid, you know people are hunting hybrids, and hybrid shapeshifters are prized. You would have been tossed to auction with every wealthy family in the country bidding on you had anyone discovered what you are. Really, I’m honored you trust me with it, even though I am aware you’re making plans in case we don’t get out of the boundary soon.”

“You’re having trouble walking.”

Sandro nodded. “I think I can manage three to four more hours to get to Avery, but then I’ll be down and out for the night, and it’ll only get worse from here. At this rate, I’ll lose two to three hours of consciousness a day until I run my timer out.”

“I’ll do my best to get us through the boundary before then,” I swore. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I added, “And not because I don’t want you to see me as a fox, but because the boundary can be dangerous.”

“Do you think four hours will be enough to dodge the storm tonight?” Sandro regarded the sky with a frown. “It seems to be getting worse.”

“We’ll find out.”

Wednesday, June 10, 2043.

Blossom, Texas.

The Boundary.

True to Sandro’s warning,the number of hours he could function rapidly dwindled, but I spotted the shimmering line of the boundary’s edge when we arrived in Blossom, not that he’d be able to reach it.

I heaved a sigh, debating what to do. I could shift and harness up and drag the wagon the rest of the way, or I could try to pull it while a human.

Whichever way I picked, I’d be stuck with the decision, as Sandro would be in no condition to undo the harness or harness me up given another five or ten minutes. My fox worried, and when my fox worried, I ran a high risk of being railroaded into doing whatever she thought would solve the problem.

Foxes often lacked the common sense of humans, and she lacked the understanding Sandro would recover once we passed through the boundary into the Alley proper.

“Despite warning you this is what happens, I’m still damned pissed at myself this happens,” Sandro confessed in a weary voice, as though he struggled to even whisper.

“You’re not going to make it to the boundary, so it’s time to organize the wagon and climb in. Don’t you damage my stew, you.”

Sandro chuckled, and as we’d discussed the reality he wouldn’t be making it into the Alley without help thanks to Mother Nature’s shitty attitude, he began making space for himself so he could get in without damaging any of my scavenged goods. Once he was inside and as comfortable as he could get, considering the tight confines and our other goods, I grabbed hold of the handle, rolled my shoulders, and aimed for the road, straining to get the wagon to move.