Page 8 of Shifter’s Thunder

Avelunne smiled. “I learned to speak long ago. If you would be so kind, please instruct me. For example, what is a ‘movie’?”

The children giggled, delighted by the prospect of teaching a grown-up. For the next hour, as they made art and talked, Avelunne forgot the Council and the terrible demesne where her fellow captives still languished. She learned that “streaming” had to do with entertainment rather than water, that “cool” meant pleasing rather than cold, and that there was a mechanical box in the kitchen called a “dishwasher” that scrubbed begrimed cookpots all by itself. As she showed them little tricks she’d learned to manifest on paper the visions in their heads, she realized that while she had lost centuries, the world had filled the gap with wonders. If she could get past this temporary stay in Kotoyeesinay, maybe she’d someday get to see them.

The common room’s quiet chatter suddenly became animated when the double front doors slid aside to admit a stout woman with skin the color of heavy cream and hair like spun silver. She was dressed in a short gown of red and green velvet that lacked sleeves, yet she wore no coat against the chill. Denise Voski emerged from the administrator’s office instantly, a clipboard in hand, looking as though she expected the arrival.

“Hey, Tinsel.” Denise’s tired eyes crinkled with a smile. “Panternak left specific instructions that you aren’t to turn the lobby into a fire hazard with too many lights while he’s hiding out in Fort LeBlanc.”

Tinsel laughed. “Bah, Panternak is a curmudgeon who flees at the first sign of a candy cane.” She pointed a thumb behind her. “I come bearing g-i-f-t-s,” spelling out the last word.

Before she could take another step, the children swarmed her, a tide of small limbs and loud voices clamoring for “prezzies” and thrusting their drawings upward for inspection. Tinsel absorbed the chaos with ease, praising Shelo’s purple house and smoothing Khumo’s wild hair.

Over the heads of the children, her silvery eyes locked onto Avelunne. “And you must be our new guest. I’m Tinsel. Denise tells me you’re looking for work.”

Avelunne stood, smoothing the front of her flannel shirt. She was acutely aware that the entire cauldron’s worth of rich fish stew she had consumed the night before likely cost a small fortune. A dragon’s appetite was a debt she did not wish to leave unpaid. “I am,” Avelunne said, dipping her head in a respectful nod. “I have no coin, and wish to earn my keep. I have strong hands, and I am not afraid of hard work. I would be honored to assist you.”

“Tinsel has a bread and beak-fest!” Shelo shouted, tugging on Avelunne’s sleeve to ensure she understood the importance of the information.

“Bed and breakfast,” Naledi corrected gently, though the tall girl looked just as excited. “She’s a polar fairy, and her sleigh flies by itself and talks.”

“She knows everyone in town, even the little babies!” Khumo added, his eyes wide. “She is the boss of the holidays.”

Tinsel chuckled, a wide smile plumping her cheeks. “Just the committee coordinator. I need help with the town decorations and some prep work for some events. If you’re up for it, I can square your room and board with the Town Council.”

“I would be grateful to be of service.” Avelunne moved to the side table to retrieve her newly-acquired pink coat and the sturdy canvas cross-body bag Denise had provided earlier. With reverent care, she slid the drawing pad and the mechanical pencil into the bag.

As Tinsel began shooing the children back toward Chulu like she was herding geese, Denise caught Avelunne’s elbow, drawing her a few steps away from the chattering flock.

“I’m speaking as your healer for a moment,” she said quietly. “Tinsel has no ‘off’ switch and forgets that not everyone runs on fairy magic. You shifters take pride in how fast you heal from catastrophic injuries, but you’re still recovering. If your dragon tells you to, you rest. Don’t push yourself to prove a point.”

Avelunne was touched by the genuine concern in the healer’s pale blue eyes. “I will heed your wise counsel. Thank you.”

Energized by the prospect of purpose, she zipped her coat and turned to follow the red-and-green whirlwind out into the snow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That night, Avelunne welcomed the evening’s veil of darkness and the quiet of her room. Denise had apologized earlier for the modest size of it, explaining that the Transition Center had once been a cheap motel, which seemed to mean a roadside inn. But to Avelunne, the space felt like luxury. It even had a built-in clothes closet and a private lavatory. She had spent the last few minutes organizing her new toiletries just to admire them. The colorful brush and comb, alongside equally colorful small bottles of hair wash and the like, made a pretty arrangement.

She wished it were as easy to organize her thoughts about the afternoon’s events. Tinsel had been indefatigable, dragging Avelunne from the high school gymnasium — a vast, echoing training hall that smelled of floor wax and adolescent sweat — to the bustling hardware store to collect a donation of tiny lights on wires so thin they practically disappeared. Avelunne found it a grand, amusing jest that Kotoyeesinay marketed itself to the outside world as a fantasy destination. She had watched ordinary humans, bundled in puffy coats, buying plastic wands and “fairy dust” on Magister Way, completely oblivious to the actual fairies hovering three feet above their heads, adjusting a string of lights. The sophisticated layering of illusion spells required to maintain such a masquerade was a masterpiece of magic, hiding the miraculous in plain sight by giving the humans exactly the pretend magic they expected to see.

Not every encounter had been as pleasant as the decorating committee or the shopkeepers, unfortunately. Near the blacksmith’s shop, they had crossed paths with Sten Trolhorne. The ice dragon had sneered something vile about “cursed blood” and “traitors” when he saw her, his hostility as pointed as a keeper’s cattle prod. Avelunne had flinched, instinctively bracing for a blow, but Tinsel had stepped between them, her small stature and pleasant expression belying the sudden prickling of menacing fairy magic. Tinsel had, with oversweet tones, reminded Trolhorne that she still owed him a wish from the last solstice and asked how hot he liked his forge to burn. The big dragon had paled and retreated with surprising speed, proving that even brutes like him knew better than to irritate a fairy with a grudge. Not even dark elves could top a fairy for malignly inventive maliciousness.

Her encounter with Sheriff Tanner kept returning to her thoughts. Throughout the afternoon, she had spotted him hovering at the periphery of her vision. She’d seen him reflected in a shop window, walking the opposite way on a sidewalk, and watching her from across the street. He was clearly shadowing her, likely because he didn’t trust her. Not that she could entirely blame him, but it still rankled.

While Tinsel was discussing something called a parade float with a half-ogre named Shepherd, she’d caught Tanner standing on a corner, ostensibly checking his phone.

Exasperated, she had marched up to him. “I am not worth the trouble to follow all afternoon, Sheriff. I haven’t removed the peace bonds. I’m not a warrior or a spy, I’m an artist. And I am no killer, save perhaps of krakens, because they are delicious to my dragon half.” Then, flustered by her own boldness and the intense, golden-brown gaze that seemed to see too much, she had turned and jogged back to Tinsel, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.

Dinner at the Blue Fairy Diner had soothed some of her agitation, the welcome warmth of the food and Tinsel’s tales of past holiday hijinks grounding her in this new reality. Now, alone in the quiet of her room, Avelunne moved to the window. The night was crisp, the sky a beckoning vastness with tiny gems for stars. The dragon in her stirred with yearning to chase the moon until the horizon blurred. But the peace bonds on her wrists and ankles reminded her that she was not yet truly free. The magic in them was an unpleasant echo of the oppressive demesne.

Movement from the window caught her eye. A great horned owl on the hunt, its flight soundless and deadly. The sight made her wonder what Tanner’s thunderbird form looked like. She knew they were much bigger and heavier than the largest of natural birds, with powerful beaks and oversized talons. It soothed her that, despite his suspicion and authority position, she felt safe in his presence. It disturbed her that neither she nor her dragon could explain why.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she turned away from the window. So many people counted on the strength of her frail wings. She hoped that the bone-deep weariness in her limbs would grant her a night of dreamless slumber. Or, if dreams did come, she hoped they would be of soaring through the clouds, not falling from them.

Chapter 5

Tanner adjusted his collar against the chill, his path easy on the cleared sidewalk of Glade Street. The storm had blown itself out, leaving behind a sky of winter blue and a sharp wind. It was a good afternoon for the town’s clothing shops. Tourists were practically diving into the storefronts on Magister Way to shop for colorful knitted scarves and hats. The town vibrated with joyful energy, the air smelling of roasted nuts, pine, and the nose-tingling crispness of high-altitude air. It was the kind of day that usually made his thunderbird soul ache for the upper atmosphere, but today, he found an unexpected satisfaction in keeping his feet on the ground.

He walked because his transportation options were currently slim to none. The “sheriff-mobile,” the department’s oldest SUV, held together by baling wire, duct tape, and faltering magic, was back in Shepherd Knight’s garage. The gleaming, high-tech replacement the town had gifted him — the Sheriff 100 — was currently a flattened hunk of junkyard debris in Shepherd’s wrecking lot.