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“Fine, you’re poorly adjusted, I get it. Try shifting now.”
He frowned. “I can’t just change.”
“Why not?”
“Just think about whatever form you’d like to assume, and change. Feel the energy flowing up from the ground, into your legs, and spreading up through your body. Picture that energy filling in all the places between your cells and changing your shape into whatever you wish.”
Jed rolled his eyes. “Hippie.” He squinched up his face, as if he was concentrating, but then his features relaxed. Nothing. He squinted again, seeming to try harder. But nothing.
I patted his hand. “Don’t worry, I hear this happens to a lot of guys.”
He whacked me over the head with a pillow. “Shut it, you!”
* * *
For the next three days, the hours in which I wasn’t retracing every step I’d taken since I’d arrived in the Hollow were filled by working with Jed on his shifting. And by that I mean I called out random animals and monsters to see if he could change on the fly. It took some concentration, overcoming decades of belief in how the shifting worked, but eventually, he was able to see it as a biological function and not something that happened to him.
Jane, of course, saw this as an opportunity to research. She looked into shape-shifting from every culture. She brought over books by the barrow load. Jed was overwhelmed. After watching the process a few times, we came to the conclusion that Jed’s ability worked like a hologram. He never actually changed shape. The cells realigned to project an image, a defense mechanism against predators, like a chameleon, only in Jed’s case on a much larger scale. He could change size and shape entirely, but beneath the image, he was the same adorable redneck.
Jed was faster and stronger than the average person, which was helpful. While his physical form didn’t change, there were limits to what Jed could do. As long as the size and shape were close to his own and humanoid, he could master them. But he couldn’t become an actual animal or another person. The image of the other person’s face flickered back and forth over his own until it made bystanders vaguely ill, like an unsteady picture on TV.
Jed spent a lot of time on the phone with his parents, asking questions, informing them of our discoveries. It took him a few days to grasp that there was no cure for his “condition,” because he wasn’t actually cursed. He was a genetic anomaly, like were-creatures or people who could curl their tongues. Understanding that potentially he could eventually control it, he seemed to be more accepting of it.
I was sure there was an object lesson in there somewhere, but I chose to ignore it.
* * *
At this point, it shouldn’t have surprised me when I found myself with Mr. Wainwright, floating down a canal in Venice in one of those old-fashioned gondolas. A man in a ridiculous straw hat and a red-and-white-striped shirt was guiding the boat along, singing a throaty song of lost love and heartbreak. The canal water smelled rusty and pungent, certainly not somewhere you’d want to swim. But it provided a beautiful backdrop for the tidy rows of aged, fading-pastel houses.
“Hi, Grandpa.” I sighed, easing against his side as the water lapped lazily at the hull of our boat. He patted my shoulder in a sort of half-hug made awkward by the fluffy red-and-yellow cushions of the gondola seat.
“We’re finally comfortable with calling me Grandpa?”
“Seems rude not to,” I said, shrugging.
“So it has nothing to do with any sort of fondness you may feel for me?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head while my lips twitched.
“So how goes the search?”
“Still no luck,” I told him. “I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t anything to be sorry for,” he admonished me, tapping a finger against the tip of my nose. “Unless you’ve given up. Have you given up?”
“No,” I muttered. “I am nothing if not obnoxiously persistent.”
“You get that from my side,” he said. “Along with a healthy dose of bravado. Now, tell me, how are you feeling, really?”
“Like I’m running out of time and ideas and places to look,” I told him. “Oh, and I’ve some inconvenient feelings for a man who can transform himself into various sorts of wildlife.”
“Feelings can’t be inconvenient,” he said. “They’re just feelings.”
“For someone I’m not entirely sure I should trust,” I added grumpily as the gondola bobbed in the currents of the canal.
“You don’t entirely trust him,” he said. “Give him a chance to prove you right or wrong. At least you’ll know you’re making an informed decision.”
“I can’t believe I’m taking dating advice from my dead grandfather.”
