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And now look, you made it worse.
Yet part of him also simmered with excitement. Becoming Iris’s roommate would allow him to get to know her without her suspecting that he’d known her for most of his life. Regrettably, the opposite wasn’t true, but she might like him if they spent time together. And then, once they became friends, he could mention the fact that they’d gone to elementary school together. Casually, though, like he’d just remembered. In time, he could work up to thanking her for what she did back then.
And then…
Well, he didn’t have all the answers. She might not even handle it well if she discovered his hawk shifter lineage. Alreadythere were whispers about groups being formed among humans, dedicated to ferreting out those who were different. His people hadn’t come out like the witches had, but they’d stopped worrying about being discovered. There was no central body since shifters were rare, and hawks were solitary by nature, so everyone was playing it by ear, doing what seemed best individually.
For Eli, that meant keeping his cards close to his chest, as he’d learned all too well just how cruel humans could be. And that was when they had no concrete reason for hurting him, apart from him being small. There was no telling what they’d do if they learned his actual secret. While the world might’ve changed some, he still feared that human nature remained essentially the same.
Rather than fret about issues he couldn’t change, he went out the attic window, reveling in his wings catching the wind. He glided in a slow circle and eventually located Iris’s place from two miles away. It wasn’t difficult; she lived in the only purple house in town, and he flew that way on instinct until he circled above the fanciful Queen Anne roof that had sparrows nesting in the broken bits. Though repairs were needed, the place had a certain ramshackle charm, and he could envision Iris here. He flew on until the colors of sunset bled out into the darkness of night.
Sometimes he imagined living as a hawk, just packing in the human side. The call grew a little stronger year after year. Some shifters were more comfortable with their wild side, and that was true for Eli as well. But he still had a few ties to the world. So far, they always drew him back.
Eli spent the weekend feverishly working on Gamma’s house, getting the yard in shape—as much as possible with general autumnmessiness. This was a tough time of year to sell a house, as the leaves dropped constantly, and he’d bulked up his raking muscles. At least the hedges were uniform, and he cleaned the gutters and then scrubbed the porch, ending with a power wash. Before the sun went down Sunday evening, he took a ton of photos for the listing agent. He emailed them to Gamma as well, who had been texting him about her welcome party. She’d chosen a fifty-five-plus community, where she’d bought a condo and was already getting involved in all the activities on offer.
Gamma: I’m having a great time. I signed up for salsa lessons.
Eli: That sounds fun.
Gamma: Should I learn how to write HTML or how to speak Spanish?
Eli: Can it be both?
Gamma: I only have so much time and energy!
Eli: Then Spanish. I might decide to find my relatives on Mom’s side at some point and you can come with me to Mexico.
Gamma: !! That would be amazing. I’ve been telling you to look for years. Gotta run, little man. I’ve been invited to a wine tasting.
He was glad she seemed to be doing well. There were no problems with her house; thanks to his efforts today, the outside looked fantastic too. He had faith that the place would sell like a dream, and it would be easier without him getting in the way. The real estate agentcould show the house at any time without worrying about Eli eating toast in his boxers. And since he was hoping for a quick sale, it might be better if he was living locally, available to sign the closing papers when a solid offer came in. Eli knew he was rationalizing, but those were all excellent—and valid—reasons to stick around.
On Monday morning, Eli packed his suitcase and polished away the last traces of his own presence. After taking one last look at the house where he’d spent his teen years, he drove over to the real estate agent’s office and left the keys with her, signing all the papers necessary for her to set up showings. Keshonda Jennings was a professional, driven Black woman who set records moving properties around town, and he had a good feeling about what she could do for Gamma’s place.
Keshonda shook his hand with a polite smile. “I had a chance to review the photos you sent. You’ve staged the place well, but we should get a professional in there to upgrade the listing. Are you on board?”
“For photos or staging?”
“Both. I can invoice you for the work.”
He didn’t even hesitate. This was an investment, one that would benefit Gamma. “Let’s do it. The house is nice, but if you can take it to the next level—”
“I can and will. I just need your approval,” Keshonda cut in.
“Where do I sign?” he joked.
As it turned out, there were documents for that as well, so he scrawled his signature until Keshonda said they were done. “That should do it. Thanks so much for trusting me with your grandmother’s home.”
“You come highly recommended.”
She walked him out, past the receptionist tapping away on her keyboard. “I’ll keep you posted throughout the process.”
Eli nodded and jogged to his car. Everything he’d brought from home was in the trunk, a suitcase and a backpack.Can’t believe I’m doing this.After texting Iris as requested, he input her address into his phone’s navigation app. He’d done the flyby, but the streets didn’t look quite the same in his truck. Better not to get lost and show up late. He drove carefully, minding the turns. Since it was past noon by now, it shouldn’t be too early, but he was still nervous as hell.
In the daylight, the flaws he’d glimpsed as a hawk were even more obvious. The house desperately needed to be sanded and painted, and half the gingerbread trim was rotten or had fallen off entirely. The porch didn’t look stable, and one of the upstairs windows had a massive crack.
This was the sort of house that kids on the block told stories about; they claimed the old woman who lived in it was a witch, and they’d cook up tales about the ghosts who haunted the place. But ghosts and witches didn’t frighten a hawk shifter. With a mental shrug, he navigated past Iris’s Sentra in the narrow drive, parking in front of her. If everyone who rented from her had a car, parking would become an issue. If they didn’t, that would be a separate problem because life in St. Claire could be challenging without transportation.
He opened the tailgate and hauled his stuff out. A woman came outside next door and stood on her front porch with folded arms, watching like a creeper. Ignoring the woman’s strange interest, Eli dragged his suitcase to the steps, avoiding the soft spots.
