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“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in these woods the past few years. Things that aren’t quite…normal if you know what I mean.”
“I think I know exactly what you mean.” And then I proceed to tell her all about the shifter army assembling not fifteen miles from her property and the psychopath leading them and the sister who betrayed me. I finish the tale by expressing how vital it is for me to get back to Maxim’s pack before it’s too late to save both our worlds from being thrown into a state of existential chaos modern physics isn’t prepared to explain or correct.
When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time, but I’m not worried.
If Fern decides I’m insane, she’s the kind to gently deliver me to the nearest psych ward, not kick me out on the side of the road.
But surprisingly, she only says, “So, it would be a waste of time to take you to the police, then?”
“Yes. I need to get to New York as quickly as possible. I initially thought I could go by train, but if my friend can’t shift back into his human form, I may have to rent a car or something.” I wince. “Or steal a car. I don’t have any money.”
She nods over her shoulder. “So, he’s a…man? Sometimes?”
“Yes.” I study her still calm face. “You’re taking this really well.”
Her lips quirk. “About a year ago, I was out hiking with some friends and stepped off the trail to use the bathroom. I had a view out across the valley below, and I swear I saw two naked men turn into wolves and go chasing after a couple of rabbits they’d stirred up in the grass. I told my friends when I got back on the trail, but we’d been drinking moonshine while we walked. They thought I was kidding. Or drunk.” She shakes her head. “But I wasn’t, and I haven’t gone hiking without my sidearm since. Real wolves, I know how to handle. Whatever those two were…I wasn’t sure about.”
“Shifters are like people,” I say. “Some good. Some bad. Most too lazy to bother making an effort either way.” I cross my arms tighter over my chest. “I’ve never harmed a human—in case you’re wondering. I actually haven’t spent much time in the human world or outside the neighborhood where I was born. My pack was very controlling.”
“My father was very controlling,” she says. “Kicked me out of the house at fifteen, but it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. I met some amazing women at a halfway house in Gregston. They helped me learn to believe in myself. I got my GED, then a degree in sustainable agriculture, and worked as a consultant all over the northeast. Couple of years ago, I finally saved up enough to buy my own farm with my sweet hippy boyfriend my father would have hated for being so gentle and good to me.”
My brow furrows. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad you were able to build a life you love.”
“I did,” she says. “And you can, too, with a little help. That part is important. When we’re at our lowest, we need good people—or wolves,” she adds with a smile, “to lift us up.”
“Yeah, we do,” I say, returning her smile.
She nods. “Good. I’m glad you agree. Because I know where we can get you a car and some clothes, and I don’t want to hear a word about you bringing them back or paying off any debts. This isn’t a loan, it’s a hand up when you need it so you can go save the world.”
I pull in a deep breath, fighting another wave of tears. But this time, they’re grateful, happy tears. “Thank you. And I’ll do my best. I swear I will, though I can’t promise it will be enough.”
“Your best is all you can do,” she says, sobering. “The best any of us can do.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later,behind the halfway house in Gregston where Fern got her fresh start, I’m standing in a parking lot dressed in jeans and a soft pink sweater, with a small duffel of extra clothes and supplies by my feet.
Two older women in matching tie-dyed dresses give me a brief overview of my new car’s driving quirks, then hand over the keys to an ancient station wagon with a trunk big enough to fit a sleeping Maxim in either of his forms—as long as I fold down the rear seats first.
“And here’s some travelling money.” Felicia, the taller woman with honey brown skin and graying dreads, presses a wad of bills into my hand. “It should cover gas and food and maybe a hotel if you can find a cheap place off the highway. I know you’re eager to get back to the city, but you look like a strong wind would blow you right over. Even a few hours’ sleep would probably do you good.”
“And your man, too,” Colette, the shorter, wider of the pair says, wrapping an arm around Felicia’s waist and leaning her graying blond head on her friend’s shoulder. “Poor thing was so beat he could barely speak while I was kitting him out. Or maybe he was just so appalled by our pitiful selection of men’s clothing he didn’t know how to respond.”
“He’s just exhausted,” I assure her. “He’s been through a lot.”
“And now we’ve gone and put him in clothes three sizes too small,” Colette tuts. “Though in my defense we don’t see many men that tall and broad around here. They must grow ’em big in the city, huh?”
“Not really, Maxim’s kind of in a league of his own,” I say, glancing over her shoulder as Maxim emerges from the back of the halfway house and makes his way gingerly down the stairs.
Even in jeans so short they reveal three inches of his ankle and a faded gray Bass Fishing Competition sweatshirt that’s strained to accommodate his broad shoulders, the sight of him sends a rush of gratitude and relief rushing through me.
“Looking good,” I say, forcing a smile as he makes his way slowly across the graying asphalt. “I like you in sportswear.”
His lips twitch. “I’ll throw out all my designer suits as soon as we get home.” He stands beside me, looping an arm over my shoulder. But he doesn’t lean against me for support the way he did before, when we stopped just outside of town for him to shift and then climb into the cab of the truck with us.
He’s clearly still in pain, but he’s getting stronger with every passing minute.
Thank the stars.
