Authors: Nina Berry
Otherkin (3 page)
CHAPTER 4
“The many worlds lie alongside each other like spoons in a drawer,” said Caleb. His voice took on a singsong intonation, as if he’d been told this story himself many times. “Although some would say they lie heaped in a messy pile, like kittens in a basket. One world lies closest to our own, and through the years it has been known by many names—the Dreamtime, Valhalla, the Underworld, or as we call it, Othersphere. From the earliest days it cast its shadow into our world. Not a shadow of darkness, but a power shadow, a vibration.
“The first people to recognize this were called by different names too—shaman, wizard, medicine man, seer, druid, witch. They found and called forth the shadow in certain people, and the animal forms of the first shifters came forth. They sought the shadows of plants, of animals, of stone and earth. Today we are referred to as callers of shadow. And for a long time, we were the only source of what might be called magic, but which we call shadow.”
“It all comes from this Othersphere?” I said.
“Yes. No one has ever traveled between worlds, except perhaps in dreams, but the worlds affect each other. We can’t know what our world does to Othersphere, but a caller can sense Othersphere’s potential effect on this world.”
“Then why did you say thanks to the moon?” I glanced over at him. The lights from the dash caught the dark glint of his irises and outlined the bruise around his eye.
“Certain circumstances make it easier to call the shadow forth.” He frowned, thinking. “When the moon is full, the conditions are optimal for a caller to bring forth shadow, and for a shifter to change to their animal form. There are other things that make it easier too—certain locations are more closely connected to Othersphere. The ancients called them faery mounds or built henges and temples to mark a place of power. My mother also said that places where huge bursts of energy took place, like Hiroshima and Mount St. Helens, lie very close to Othersphere. She thought events like that tear at the veil between this world and the other.”
“Is your mother a caller too?”
He hesitated. Pain flickered across his face. “She was,” he said. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It was a while ago.” He turned his head to look out his window, so I could only see the strong line of his jaw. “I learned everything worth knowing from her.”
“And your father?” I asked.
“Don’t know him.” He kept staring out at the sky.
The road rumbled beneath us as we sat in silence. The moon had risen, shrinking to a dime-sized pool of pulsating light, shining down through the BMW’s moonroof. It cast Caleb’s eyes into shadow.
“What about the Tribunal?” I asked after a few minutes.
“What about it?” His velvet voice sounded distracted.
“Well, you said that in the beginning were the callers, and they called forth the shifters. Where do the members of the Tribunal come from? Lazar did something with his voice.... It made me feel awful. That’s kind of like what you do, right?” He didn’t reply, so I pushed on. “I mean, you did the opposite. You helped me, but you did it with your voice too. Same with that ridge of rock you conjured out there.”
“Vibration.” He relaxed into his seat. “Callers use the vibration in their voices to bring out the shadow form of an object. The Tribunal refers to its callers as objurers now, but they were callers once.”
“So they think using shadow to get rid of shadow is okay, but not for anything else.”
“Exactly. Hey!” He pointed to a green sign that read G
AS
, F
OOD
, L
ODGING
by the side of the road. “You still hungry?”
AS
, F
OOD
, L
ODGING
by the side of the road. “You still hungry?”
“Ravenous.” The lift in his voice picked up my spirits.
“Two more miles and then it’s lukewarm hot dogs and Pop-Tarts for everyone. After that I know a safe place we can go, north of here.”
“Now?” I said. “I’m going home.”
“The Tribunal knows where you live,” he said.
I’d forgotten that. Remembering how Lazar stomped through the vegetable garden outside my bedroom made me queasy. “I could tell my mom what happened,” I said. “She’s pretty cool and believes some stuff that’s kind of out there. She’s a Wiccan, in touch with nature, believes in astrology, stuff like that. She could call the cops, tell them I was kidnapped by these weirdos. Get them on the case.”
“No cop’s going to believe you,” he said, his tone dismissive. “I’ve had my run-ins with them, so trust me. If anything, they’ll send you off to a therapist, and no head shrinker’s going to protect you from the Tribunal.”
“Well, I
am
going home,” I said. He shook his head at me, but I ignored him and pressed on, still wanting more information. “So tell me, Lazar and his dad. They do what you do?”
am
going home,” I said. He shook his head at me, but I ignored him and pressed on, still wanting more information. “So tell me, Lazar and his dad. They do what you do?”
“With a few differences.” He ran a hand through his hair and seemed to relax. “Over the years, the Tribunal has trained its members to focus on certain areas of expertise. Mostly they excel at forcing shadow back to Othersphere.”
I frowned, trying to work this out. “So instead of calling things out, they push them back in.”
He let out a half laugh. “That’s basically it, yeah. They’re also good with technology and chemistry, guns with silver bullets, silver-based tranquilizers, stuff like that. They experiment with their drugs and machines to see if they can permanently erase the shadow from otherkin and from the places connected to Othersphere.”
Experiment. I didn’t like the sound of that. “Is that what they were going to do with me?”
Sympathy glinted in his eyes. “Probably.”
“And if their experiments didn’t work?” I almost didn’t want to hear the answer.
He shrugged and remained silent. That was answer enough. I took a deep breath. “And you?”
“Same thing,” he said.
“So they could push back that ridge of stone you called out of the desert,” I said.
His dark brows drew together. “Lazar might manage it,” he said. “His father’s an expert. If Lazar can’t figure it out, Ximon could objure what I called forth without breaking a sweat.”
“Let’s say Ximon never came and Lazar couldn’t do it. Would that ridge of stone just stay there forever?”
He shook his head. “No. Objects called forth like that shrink back to their normal form within a few hours, depending on the conditions. With the moon full, it may last until moonset, assuming they don’t get rid of it first.”
“What about, you know, shifters?” The word still felt strange in my mouth.
“You mean people like you?” His eyes raked over me. “Five types have survived—cats, wolves, bears, birds of prey, and rats.”
“Rats?” I said, staring at him. “Bears?”
“There used to be thousands of different kinds of shifters,” he said. “Back before the Tribunal, the sea lion–shifters and dolphin-shifters were mistaken for mermaids, the swans and bulls helped create the legends of the god Zeus, and the spider-shifters. . . well, I’ve heard they were as big as dogs. The five remaining tribes don’t get along, but each has a seat on the council for their area.”
“Wow.” The world was getting stranger by the minute. “The Tribunal killed all the rest of them off?”
He nodded sadly. “Those that survived were mostly the top predators—wolves, large cats, bears, and birds of prey.”
“And the rats?” I said.
“Guess they can survive anything. If there had been cockroach-shifters, they probably would’ve made it too.”
“That is amazing!” I tried to picture a full-grown person shifting into a rat. “Do they all have trouble shifting when they’re young, like me?”
He nodded. “You learn control as you get older. Shifters first start changing form when they hit puberty. Their families help them learn to control it, or there are callers who help train the ones who have difficulty with it. Here’s the off-ramp.”
He pointed to the exit, and I curved right. Ahead, a brightly lit sign announced the price of gas and pointed the way to a small Eat and Go mart. Its umbrella of light enveloped it like a shield against the endless dark of the surrounding desert.
I pulled into a parking space next to the only other car in the lot and realized what was missing. “Do you have any money?”
“Shit!” He patted his pockets. “Nothing. Bastards took everything, which wasn’t much.” He leaned over to stare at the gas gauge. His nearness made my stomach jump. “How much gas do we have left?”
“Less than a quarter tank,” I said. “We’ll never get out of the desert.”
“Okay, new mission. Search the car.” He reached down under my seat, head nearly in my lap. “There’s got to be some money in it somewhere, even if it’s just some change.”
“Good idea.” I tried to control my breath. “I’ll check the trunk.”
I got out of the car fast and popped the trunk. The dry, cool air of the desert night felt welcome on my hot skin. His proximity rattled me.
I lifted up the trunk lid. The harsh fluorescent lights of the convenience store shone down on a couple of manila folders, a flat shiny box, a Christian rock CD, two tennis racquets, and three loose, bright green balls. “Lazar plays tennis,” I said loud enough for Caleb to hear.
“Why does that make perfect sense?” said Caleb. “Bet you five bucks I find something in the glove compartment.”
“And how will you pay me if you don’t find it?” I asked, reaching for the shiny box. I pulled it toward me, then snapped my hand away as it burned like a hot stove. I shook my fingers. “And there’s a very pretty silver box back here that I can’t open.”
“Be right there.” Fumbling noises came from the front of the car. “Score!” He jumped out of the car, brandishing a couple of bills. “Forty bucks! Right where I said it would be. Wanna bet me now?”
“That’ll get us enough gas to get me home, plus some snacks.”
He nodded. “Okay. If we’re lucky, they’ll have one of those hot dog merry-go-rounds.” He stuffed the money in his pocket and came to stand next to me facing the trunk. “Interesting box.”
“You can touch silver, right?” I said.
“Most of the time. It only affects me when I’m actively calling something out of shadow.” He leaned over and tugged the box toward him. “It’s locked.”
“Here.” I handed him the ring of Lazar’s keys. “Bound to be on here somewhere.”
“Thanks.” He shuffled through the keys and found a small shiny one. “This looks right.”
The key slid into the lock on the box. As he turned it, the lid clicked open. I inhaled sharply. Caleb became very still.
A large pistol nestled in black velvet gleamed inside the box. Two burnished magazines of bullets sat in their own form-fitting slots.
“The gun isn’t silver too, is it?” I didn’t want to touch it and find out. I’d never touched a gun, let alone fired one. My stomach fluttered just looking at it.
“They make them out of an alloy that includes silver. Typical Tribunal weapon.” He touched the gun, then tugged one of the magazines out of its niche. “But the bullets are silver. Through and through.”
“Close it up.” I scanned the front of the Eat and Go and found a security camera under the eaves.
He slid the magazine back into place and snapped the box closed. “Good thinking. If we end up needing more money, we can pawn it.”
I made a face at him. “Before we end up in jail, why don’t you go pay for the gas. I’ll check around the trunk for change.”
He grinned. “I’ll get food too.” He waved the money at me. “Hot dog or ancient burrito?”
“Dog, please. And chips. And soda. And candy, chocolate.” I waved him toward the store.
“Yes, ma’am.” He touched his forehead in a mock salute. I couldn’t help watching him saunter away, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. The door chimed as he entered the store.
I felt for the edge of the rug covering the bottom of the trunk and lifted it slightly to reveal the spare tire underneath. The manila folders slid back. I saw them and froze. The tab on one folder was marked in thick black ink, “Grey, Desdemona.”
CHAPTER 5
My hands trembled as I reached for the folder with my name on it. The glare from the lights of the gas station easily illuminated the pages as I turned back the cover. Several pages of jagged handwriting stared up at me. I read the first words: “Notes taken from the central file on Desdemona Grey, suspected Shifter. Subtype: Feline. Species: Tiger, Siberian aka Amur.” In the same hand, written at an angle across this was jotted: “Shifter confirmed Nov. 11, 16:05 hours.”
Through the store window I could see Caleb paying for the gas and pointing at the rotating rack of hot dogs behind the clerk. Hastily, I scanned the other pages, turning my back to the store so he wouldn’t see what I was doing.
It became clear that the writer, probably Lazar, had tracked me closely in those final hours before the shift. He noted everything, from my estimated height (“Approx. 6’0”, normal for larger feline shifters”) to my interaction with Jake Peters (“Flirtatious male teenager put hands around subject, came into contact with back brace. Subject fled.”).
They must have been following me for a long time if they knew I had the brace. God, possibly years. Only the last half a day before my capture was recorded here, but this was a temporary file, used while Lazar was on the move. He’d probably planned on later copying the information into a central file.
The clerk handed Caleb his change, so I stuffed the pages back into the folder. I didn’t want him to see the file. It was too private, too weird to have my own fanatical stalkers. I needed time to digest it all. I could read it closely later.
Caleb was coming through the door of the Eat and Go, his arms piled high with food. I slammed the folder shut, got in the car, and threw it in the backseat.
He tapped on the glass with his elbow, hands too full to open the door. I leaned across and pulled the handle. He slid into his seat, bringing a warm smell of cooked meat with him.
“I left yours plain in case you have a phobia of ten-year-old condiments, but here’s some mustard and ketchup packets.” He brandished the food.
“Mustard’s great,” I said a bit too shortly, and relieved him of a hot dog, condiments, soda, bag of chips, and two chocolate bars, glad to busy myself with something normal.
“We’re poor again.” He ripped open his own bag of potato chips. “I put twenty down for gas, and all this added up fast. Did you find anything else in the trunk?”
I took a huge bite of hot dog to give myself a moment. “No,” I said, chewing. Warm, salty meat taste coated my tongue, offset by gooey, bland bun. “God, this horrible food tastes amazing.”
“Ambrosia.” He crunched into his chips. “So I was thinking about what you said earlier, about going home.” He glanced at me, sounding too casual.
“What about it?” I gulped down a fizzy mouthful of soda. It followed the hot dog down to my stomach to form a hard, buzzing lump.
“I still don’t think you should go,” he said. He held up a hand as my eyes widened in alarm. “No, hear me out. I know it’s an impossible choice for you, but I know a safe place not far away. You could meet other shifters there and learn a lot about how it all works.”
I stared at him. “Not everyone leads a lawless, under-the-radar kind of life, you know. I can’t just abandon my family without a word. They’d think I was kidnapped by some perv and start dragging the river. If your mom were still around, would you do that to her?”
He looked down, thoughtful. “Touché. So you’re going to tell your mother and the cops that you changed into a tiger and someone stuck you in a cage?”
I realized he was right, about this at least. If I told them the truth, my parents would think I was crazy. “I could, you know, shift for them. Show them that I’m sane.”
“And how would you do that?” He raised his eyebrows and sucked on his soda straw.
“I’d just, you know . . .” I made a swiping motion with my hand, as if it were a claw.
“And if you could shift at will into a tiger, how would you go about shifting back?” He crumpled up the foil from his hot dog, aimed out the car window, and threw it right into the garbage can outside.
I looked at him, exasperated. “I changed back just fine before.”
“You were unconscious the first time,” he said. “And the second time you had no idea how you got those claws or why they went away.”
“You think I’d get stuck?” I said.
He shrugged, rattling his bag of chips to get the last bits at the bottom. “It happens all the time to shifters when they’re young. That’s why their families keep close tabs on them or send them to experts. I’ve never heard of a shifter like you, growing up without knowing their heritage, having no one to teach them the basics.”
“I’m an orphan,” I said, thinking of the passage in Lazar’s notes. “My biological parents are dead,” I said. “My mom adopted me when I was eighteen months old from an orphanage in Russia.”
“That starts to explain it,” he said. “I was wondering what you were doing living in Burbank.”
“Yeah, you said that thing about me speaking good English. . .”
“Because tiger-shifters live only two places on earth—northern India and eastern Siberia. I’ve never met one until you. My mom traveled all over the world and met every other kind of shifter, but even she never met a tiger. They went to ground decades ago. Some people think they’re myths. But Mom said that’s probably what they want us to think.”
I took the keys, started the car, and drove us a few feet to the gas pump. As he stood at the gas tank, I tried to lean out the window. The brace pinched my thigh. I had to open the car door to get comfortable. Caleb didn’t notice, but stood staring at the ground, frowning.
“So this place you’re going—you’ll be safe there, right?” I asked.
He nodded, but didn’t look completely certain. “My mom told me to go there in case of emergency. No money, on the run from armed Tribunal members . . . I guess this qualifies.”
“Won’t the Tribunal tell the police someone stole this car?” I asked.
He shook his head. “The Tribunal is obsessed with secrecy. They never rely on what they call ‘heretic’ agencies to do their work for them. If they called the car in as stolen, they’d have to make a report, give a name, an address, make up a story. And then there would be a record of their existence somewhere. Questions might be asked. No. They’ll deal with us in their own way.”
“Once we get to my place, I can sneak you some money to pay for more gas,” I said. “Make sure you get where you need to go.”
He raised his dark brows at me. “I can always find money. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Worry about yourself.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t tell if it was the look on his face or the implication of his words that made me shiver. I forced myself to harrumph derisively. “Find money? You mean steal it. Better if you take my cash,” I said.
He shrugged. “Let’s see how it goes. You might change your mind about staying home.”
“Stubborn,” I said.
He replaced the pump and closed up the gas tank. “Move over,” he said. “I’ll drive the rest of the way. You can take a cat nap.”
I groaned as he shot me a mischievous smile. “Thanks. I think.” I started to get out of the car, but with him standing over me I couldn’t. He didn’t realize how hard it would be for me to haul my unbending torso over to the passenger seat. “Um, I need to get out and go around. Sorry.”
“Oh, sure.” He stepped back. I sidled past him. Comprehension dawned on his face. “It’s that brace, right? Must be hard to move in that thing. I should’ve realized.”
“It’s okay.” Talking straight out about it like this made me nervous. I glanced up at his face, dreading the inevitable look of disdain and pity.
Instead, he looked mildly interested. “How long have you had it?”
“Two years.” I swallowed hard, trying to act like this was normal. Today had hit a new high in abnormal. “My spine is curving wrong, and this is supposed to stop it before it gets too bad.”
“Can’t you just take it off?”
I wish.
“I have to wear it twenty-three hours a day until they’re certain I’ve stopped growing,” I said. “If I don’t, it could really mess me up.”
“I have to wear it twenty-three hours a day until they’re certain I’ve stopped growing,” I said. “If I don’t, it could really mess me up.”
“If I hadn’t seen it, I never would’ve guessed you wore one,” he said, walking around the car to open the door for me. “You carry it off like it’s nothing.”
“Really?” My nervousness drained away in surprise. “I feel so stiff.”
“You move like a cat,” he said. “All grace and power. I guess nothing can change that.”
“Thanks.” I ducked into the car so he wouldn’t see the deep flush that traveled from my heart to heat my neck and face.
I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep after all that had happened, but I must’ve nodded off after we hit the road. I woke to see that we were on the 5 freeway, just a few miles from Burbank.
“Hey, sleepy,” Caleb said. “Did you know you snore?”
I straightened and stretched. “Are you sure I wasn’t purring?” I brought the seatback up to its fully locked and upright position. Caleb must’ve reclined it during the drive so I could sleep more comfortably. The clock read 5:46 a.m.
He threw a manila folder onto my lap. The label read: “Grey, Desdemona.”
My stomach plunged. Of course worldly thief-boy had found it.
“You found it in the trunk?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, very quietly.
“You could’ve shown it to me, you know.”
“But it’s a file on me!” I sputtered. “I thought my life was mine, private. But they’ve been following me, making notes, planning to take me down like I’m some rare animal for their zoo. It’s just such a . . . a . . .”
“Violation,” he said. “I get it.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” The buzzy lump in my stomach settled a bit at his words.
“I’m sorry.” He kept his eyes on the road, but he reached over and took my hand. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“No shit,” I said. I wasn’t big on swearing, but right now it felt necessary. And he was flustering me. Should I interlace my fingers with his or move my hand away? “That’s my exit coming up—Olive Avenue.” I moved my hand to point at the big green sign. “Get off there and turn left.”
“Got it.” He cast a sideways glance at me. “Who’s this guy in the file they talk about, the one who walked you through the park? Your boyfriend?”
“It’s not safe to read while driving.”
“Just answer the question.”
I laughed. “Jake Peters my boyfriend? No way.”
“I don’t know. He sounds interested in you, even in Lazar’s bad handwriting.” He moved us into the right lane. “It says you ran away from him. Did you guys have an argument or something?”
“Not exactly.” I didn’t want to revisit those moments with Jake.
“But he put his arms around you, right? Something like that?” He looked at me again, then focused on the road as we took the off-ramp.
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “He just, yeah. He grabbed my waist. Not a good idea with me, you know, because of . . .”
“The brace.” His voice hardened, almost angry, protective. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing. I just left.” My insides felt dry as dust. Empty.
“Oh.” He relaxed, easing his hands on the wheel. “You assumed he’d reject you, so you pulled away first.”
“What else would he do? I mean, look!” I made a fist and knocked on my stomach the way you rap on a door. “Boys don’t want to literally knock first before you let them in.”
“How do you know?” he said.
I hadn’t thought of it that way. He cleared his throat. “I mean, this guy’s obviously not that smart or he would’ve come after you. But don’t just run away out of reflex. Someone might surprise you someday.”
Silence fell. As we headed into the Burbank Hills, a peach-gray hint of dawn smudged the sky. I was just a few minutes from home, but for a moment I didn’t want to go. I wanted to keep on driving and see what happened.
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