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“One of yours?” Dad asked Mr. Keelan, who stood next to us on the wall.
“Never laid eyes on him. No rats in my crew.”
His crew was on the wall too, watching Dad with big eyes. Six shapeshifters, three smelled like wolves, two men and a woman; two were jackals, and they looked like brother and sister; and one was a bouda who reminded me a little of my sister. When we had been talking through the fire and she’d gotten upset about something that had happened to me, her face had been calm and light, but her eyes had been hard. The bouda was like that.
It was the seven shapeshifters and Dad to my left and four archers, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Paul, his wife, and her brother, to my right.
This must be what war would be like. We are under a siege. Like in the stories.
The scout shapeshifter started shaking all over.
“I think he smells you,” Mr. Keelan said to Dad.
The wererat turned back the way he’d come and sprinted away. Fast.
“Smart man,” Dad said.
“If he is, he’ll keep running like the Devil himself is chasing him until he’s well out of Wilmington,” Mr. Keelan said.
People poured out of the forest tunnel that hugged our road. Ten, fifteen, thirty…fifty…
They approached the walls and stopped about twenty yards away.
“Here they are,” Mr. Paul’s wife said, her voice sharp with anger.
A woman in the front line started waving her arms. A knot of magic began to form around her.
“Mage,” I said. “Front row, third person on the left.”
Dad looked at her.
She waved her arms some more.
“It’s taking her a while,” Mr. Keelan said. “We could just shoot her.”
“Let them make the first move,” Dad said. “So far, they’re just people standing around outside the walls.”
Finally, the mage thrust her arms out like she was pushing someone, and a fireball exploded against the wall, three feet to the right of the gates. She had missed. Still, I could feel the heat from where we waited. She wasn’t great, but she had some power.
The mob cheered. The man in front, a big, bearded guy painted with red swirls, screamed, “Fuck them up!”
“I believe that’s our cue,” Dad said. Then he turned and looked directly at me. “Conlan, remember what I said.”
“Yes, sir. I stay on the wall. I protect the archers. If I need help, I roar.”
Dad nodded and turned away.
“Good lad,” Mr. Keelan said. “Keep your wits about you and everything will be fine. Your father and I will handle the rest of this rabble.”
Another fireball smashed into the wall, this time less than a foot from the gates.
Dad leaped onto the parapet. Bright moonlight spilled over him, as he stood on the edge, perfectly balanced. Muscles bulged from his shoulders and chest.
“Watch this,” Keelan murmured to his shapeshifters. “This is a moment to remember.”
When we shifted, it was fast. An instant of pain when you couldn’t move, as if you were tied up, then suddenly freedom and a new shape. Dad slowed it down. He did it the way he lifted weights. It wasn’t a jerky snap. It was a slow, controlled wave. It began with his head. His skull expanded. Bone flowed like candle wax, the human features melting into a huge, scary lion head. His neck thickened, his shoulders bulged out. His spine stretched, his new body ripping his shirt. Thick muscles wrapped his new arms. Claws burst from his fingers.
The shapeshifters stared at him with glowing eyes, mesmerized.
His hips shifted. His legs grew. Gray fur striped with faint darker stripes slid over his form. His blond hair turned dark and flared into a big, shaggy mane. He opened his giant mouth, showing everyone his terrible fangs, and roared.
THUNDER.
The shapeshifters jerked.
The roar smashed into you. You could feel it in your bones.
THUNDER.
A couple of people down below turned around and started running to the woods.
Mr. Keelan shifted, and a huge black wolf in warrior form landed on the wall. He raised his head, his eyes filled with moonlight, and howled. High and haunting the way only wolves could, singing about the moon, the hunt, and the blood.
The hair on the scruff of my neck stood up.
Down below, the mob took a big step back.
The other shapeshifters changed shape, except for the bouda. The wolves and jackals joined in, turning the howl into a chorus. The bouda giggled in that weird way they did, her cackle jagged like glass breaking.
To the side, Mr. Paul’s brother-in-law raised his tall bow and loosed an arrow. It climbed high into the sky, curved, plunged down, and pierced the bearded guy through his head. He fell.
The bouda doubled over laughing.
Dad leaped off the wall. He started the jump in his warrior form, then shifted again in midair. A giant gray lion landed in the middle of the mob. The shock must have been too much because everyone froze. Dad swiped at the nearest fighter with his big paw, sending them flying.
