ã€ŠShifterã€‹


 Chapter 1

    ¡°I¡¯m a dog person,¡± her blind date said, which screamed loud and clear he was either a dog shifter or a cat who liked to be contrary. There was a certain way he cocked his head that suggested a dog and his thick, golden mane, neatly groomed, reminded her of a labrador. He most likely shifted for the first time very young. You could sometimes tell, the human and animal merging a little too seamlessly. Nif shook her head, trying to dispel those thoughts. What right did she have to judge?

    ¡°Shall we share a bottle of wine?¡± Nif asked instead of answering, flipping open the wine menu.

    ¡°Yes, of course. Your choice.¡± Her date, Trevor, waved down the waiter before Nif had even had a chance to choose a red or white.

    Trevor¡¯s Tender profile had said he was thirty-one, just over a year older than Nif, and yet his bouncy enthusiasm made Nif feel like his senior. But Trevor did seem like a nice guy, which was better than most men she¡¯d been on dates with. At least he had a pleasing voice though Nif was beginning to suspect he liked the sound of it, too.

    The waiter took their food order and Nif released the tension in her shoulders, breathing deeply. The restaurant was playing acoustic versions of 80s rock ballads and the lighting was soft and romantic. Trees in large, black and gold ceramic pots divided the restaurant floor and the rustle and flutter of birds wings cast shadows across their table. Perfect date-night material, but she was already looking forward to the point when she could politely decline coffee and retreat home to watch an episode of her favourite murder mystery.

    Was she becoming jaded as she grew older? It wasn¡¯t like Trevor had done anything wrong, but there wasn¡¯t that spark she was looking for. She was seriously considering giving up on finding a life partner forever and expanding on that library she always wanted with floor to ceiling shelves.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to this restaurant before. I¡¯m a burger and chips kind of guy,¡± Trevor admitted. ¡°But the food looks good.¡±

    Nif followed his gaze to the next table over. Another couple on a date, though clearly not the first. The young woman had her shoes off and the tablecloth wasn¡¯t long enough to hide what she was doing with her toes. Sneaking a peek back at Trevor to see where he was actually looking, she was relieved he was in fact eyeing off the man¡¯s steak, so raw it was almost blue. The sight made her queasy.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re not squeamish around meat,¡± he added. ¡°I once dated a sheep shifter who was adamantly against all animal products despite all the strict ethical farming regulations. She was an extreme animal rights activist, too. Think she ran off to join a shift-form only enclave out east in the end. Not that I judge.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Nif said with a tight smile.

    At the table on Nif¡¯s left was an older couple, age worn deeply around their eyes, eating without speaking, but existing in the same space with a quiet ease. Nif envied them.

    ¡°They have an amazing chocolate cake for dessert,¡± Nif said. ¡°I don¡¯t come here nearly often enough.¡±

    The restaurant had been Nif¡¯s choice, but it wasn¡¯t a favourite in case the date went sour and she was never able to return again. She¡¯d been on enough first dates to have her routine sorted, though she could never get used to the rollercoaster of emotions.

    So far she could tick the frantic getting ready item off her list. The self pep-talk while she did her makeup always had her housemate Sapha yowling in laughter from in front of the TV. Nif would invariably feel despondent and exhausted, wanting to blow the whole thing off and move to a deserted island. Sapha did Nif¡¯s hair as a silent apology for laughing, and for the first half hour of the date, her hair had fallen in wonderful long curls. Nif suspected it would return to its naturally iron-straight state before her salmon and steamed veggies arrived.

    Wine and food ordered. Tick. Now they were at the awkward getting-to-know-you stage of the evening.

    ¡°So Jennifer, your profile says you¡¯re in publishing.¡± Trevor started the first round of twenty questions, though he hadn¡¯t actually asked a question. He wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly, a shade darker than his hair, and she had to admit he had well proportioned features.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m a junior editor. For a speculative print.¡±

    ¡°I wrote a novel once,¡± Trevor said, leaning forward across the table as if he was telling Nif a secret. Not with a voice he had. Booming was putting it kindly, and it was oddly endearing though perhaps more so at a distance. ¡°Never went anywhere, of course, but I didn¡¯t write it to be published. Just wanted to see if I could do it, you know?¡±

    A long pause followed as Nif struggled to find something to say that wouldn¡¯t shift this date into a pitch session. Often she¡¯d been trapped listening politely to writers go on about how their novel was the next bestseller when she¡¯d made the mistake of mentioning where she worked. Enough dates had actually been an attempt at getting a foot through the publishing door that she was considering removing her job from her profile entirely. The writers were always so desperately earnest and Nif just didn¡¯t have the heart to say no. Her down time was usually spent reading half-baked manuscripts and then figuring out how to let the author down gently without bursting their bubble. Sapha was always on about how Nif was a sucker for a sob story.

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Nif offered an encouraging smile, and deftly attempted a topic change. ¡°And you¡¯re an accountant, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it pays the bills, but that¡¯s not what my passion in life is.¡±

    Their meals arrived -- Trevor got the steak -- and as Nif tidied her napkin in her lap, she noticed Trevor dipping a finger into her water glass to smooth down his eyebrows. She glanced up startled and tried to cover it up by reaching for her wine glass. Yes, he¡¯d definitely used her glass. Maybe he hadn¡¯t noticed? Why was there always something weird about the men she dated? She made a firm mental note to stick to the wine.

    ¡°So what is your passion then?¡± Nif asked, half-dreading his answer.

    ¡°Would you judge me if I said it was long walks along the beach?¡± He laughed at his own joke and Nif hastily stuffed a forkful of green beans into her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m a huge fan of hiking actually. Along beaches, over mountains, anywhere out amongst nature. Helps me feel closer to my true self, you know?¡±

    Nif hummed non-committedly. She slipped her phone into her lap and pulled up the pre-typed message requesting Sapha to call with an emergency. This date wasn¡¯t quite there yet -- though the eyebrow thing was weird, right? -- but she was fairly certain it wouldn¡¯t eventuate into a second one.

    ¡°I¡¯d totally bought into the nine to five schtick after uni, but I¡­¡± Trevor was cut off at the sound of breaking glass and the crack of a palm greeting someone¡¯s cheek.

    Horrified, Nif watched as the young couple beside them exploded into motion, the table tipping to the side with a thud and the half finished meals sliding into a mess of broken crockery, spilt wine, mushy vegetables and steak sauce.

    ¡°I¡¯m sick of your games!¡± the man bellowed, chest beginning to bulge. Nif glanced over at Trevor, but his focus was entirely on the fight. The waitstaff had gathered by the register and the man who¡¯d served them was on the phone. A guitar solo swelled towards a climax from the restaurant speakers.

    ¡°My games?¡± the woman yelled, gesturing wide armed at the overturned table. ¡°You¡¯re the child. You expect me to dress up like a tart so you can get your rocks off and yet when I ask you to come to one of my openings, it¡¯s suddenly all ¡®art is for snobs¡¯ and you¡¯ve ¡®no time for that rubbish¡¯. Well screw you, Jon. You don¡¯t get to pick what parts of me you date.¡± The young woman had also grown a foot, her dress stretching at the seams, and her dark skin was changing, spots of tawny brown and gold shimmering across smooth muscles.

    ¡°I told you I was busy, okay? Not all of us have the privilege of not working for a living. I¡¯ve a project deadline coming up and you know how hard my boss is riding my arse!¡± The guy ran his hands through his coarse, dark hair spreading down his neck under his collar, the tips of his hair shining silver. ¡°The world doesn¡¯t revolve around you and your hobby!¡±

    ¡°Hobby? You wouldn¡¯t know art if it bit you!¡± she shrieked and her shifting body accelerated. Her dress tore as she landed on all fours, her long, sleek tail snapping back and forth as her strong, leopard body crouched low. She couldn¡¯t speak anymore, but she hissed her rage through bared teeth. Her partner pounded his now bare chest, his trousers tight around his waist and split open at his thighs. He opened massive jaws bearing long, white fangs. Nif hadn¡¯t seen a gorilla shift this close before and fear froze her to her seat. She clutched her phone tightly to her chest and waited for someone else to do something.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    The staff were quietly trying to clear the area, but the argument was between Nif and Trevor¡¯s table and the nearest exit. Both gorilla and leopard trembled with barely leashed violence. Any second now and fur would go flying.

    ¡°Shall we?¡± said a soft voice behind Nif. She¡¯d forgotten the older couple. Carefully, so as not to gain the shifted couple¡¯s attention -- even though she knew they weren¡¯t wild animals, that they maintained their cognitive facilities in either form -- Nif looked their way, lips already forming words to tell them to leave.

    Except the older couple were no longer in their human forms. The woman¡¯s pearls were neatly pooled by her cutlery and her shawl carefully draped over her seat. The man¡¯s trousers and shirt were similarly folded and two pairs of shoes were side by side beneath the table. They¡¯d obviously had practice changing in short order, but most surprisingly, the older couple were a shift match. Both had hulking forms, fur a gleaming chestnut brown and silver around their muzzles, hunched over with their ears brushing the restaurant ceiling. Grizzly bears.

    The unease keeping Nif frozen to her chair dispelled immediately at the familiar sight and even though the older woman wasn¡¯t her mother, they shared the same colour fur. The older man -- now a bear -- opened his mouth and roared. The bottles of spirits behind the bar shook, and Nif and Trevor ducked beneath their table, making themselves scarce.

    ¡°You okay?¡± he whispered. He didn¡¯t try to hold her hand, which she was mostly relieved about. Her phone was slick in her sweaty palms.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The gorilla was temporarily stunned by the older bear¡¯s bellow, while the leopard just looked smug and then a moment later, she shifted back into her human form. Gloriously naked, she brushed her hair back from her face and glared up at her partner.

    ¡°You¡¯re a disgrace,¡± she hissed, her feline vocal chords still close to the surface. ¡°Consider our relationship over. If I see you around again, I¡¯ll really tear you a new one.¡± She gathered up her torn dress and discarded shoes and shoved them into her bag, before slinging the whole thing over her shoulder.

    The gorilla snapped back into his human form, his anger snuffed out and replaced by embarrassment. His waistband of his trousers chose that moment to snap and they pooled around the remnants of his broken, leather shoes.

    ¡°Clara, please,¡± he said, ignoring his blatant nudity. Nif wanted to look away on his behalf. ¡°We should talk about this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the commotion,¡± said the woman, bowing shortly to the restaurant staff and then to the rest of the patrons. ¡°Jon here will cover the drink bill for the entire restaurant as a sign of his repentance.¡± She smoothly shifted back into her leopard form, her bag snug around her chest, and padded out into the street.

    ¡°Sir,¡± said the head waiter, his face impressively neutral. ¡°If you¡¯d follow me. There¡¯s the bill to discuss.¡±

    Nif slowly emerged from beneath the table, settling into her chair and glancing down at the last of her cold vegetables. She knocked back her glass of wine.

    ¡°Well that was unexpected. A bit of entertainment with our meal,¡± Trevor laughed and kindly topped up her wine glass.

    The elderly bear couple beside them shifted back and went about re-dressing, unperturbed their wrinkly bits were on show to the whole restaurant. Trevor and the other patrons didn¡¯t even seem to notice, but Nif couldn¡¯t help but see all that bare skin. It was the same when the gorilla and leopard shifters had transformed back into their human forms, oblivious to their own naked bodies. It was another reason why Nif was so different. She couldn¡¯t help but notice the nudity. The older lady caught her eye and smiled gently, then turned so her partner could do up the zipper of her dress. Cheeks hot, Nif focused on the dark ruby colour of her wine.

    Someone righted the table beside them, and the mess was cleaned within minutes, and soon it was as if nothing happened at all except they received a complimentary bottle of red. Nif was more than happy to crack it open, and was already envisioning the phone call to her mum about the whole evening.

    ¡°Right, so what were we talking about?¡± Trevor asked, and the date was back on track.

    ¡°Your passion?¡± Nif suggested, and pushed her plate to the side. Maybe she could order dessert now?

    ¡°That¡¯s right. So I just woke up one day and thought, this can¡¯t be what life is really all about, right? So I joined a big brother program. I volunteer my time taking groups of kids out on hikes and camping trips. Sharing my love for the environment with others is my dream. It¡¯s incredible seeing these lost kids realise who they truly are outside of the big city.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s actually really sweet,¡± Nif admitted, and maybe she¡¯d been too quick to judge him after all. He might talk a mile a minute, but he was cute in a puppy dog way and she could imagine joining him on bush walks. He¡¯d be the sort who¡¯d be happy to stick to her slower pace.

    ¡°And I was Woke, you know?¡± Trevor admitted, nodding his head earnestly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what shift someone has.¡±

    Nif shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She took a sip of wine. Fiddled with her napkin. Desperately tried to think of a way to change the topic.

    ¡°So where¡¯s your favourite place to hike then?¡±

    ¡°The Termora Ranges are stunning,¡± Trevor said and the knot behind Nif¡¯s sternum unclenched a little. ¡°But the Mount Echo Forest is where my soul feels most at home. It¡¯s where I realised how much harm stereotyping people by their animal shape does.¡±

    God, he was like a dog with a bone.

    ¡°See,¡± Trevor said, putting down his wine glass so he could gesture with his hands. ¡°People assume dogs are faithful and cats are arrogant, which is just not true. Well, not always true. I¡¯ve met some truly sweet cats in my line of work. But it doesn¡¯t matter in the end. That couple from earlier?¡±

    How could she forget?

    ¡°The gorilla and the leopard?¡± he clarified. ¡°Some people would say they¡¯re dangerous because of the animal they can change into, but that¡¯s all just stereotyping. The woman was an artist so she¡¯s creative, which some wouldn¡¯t guess by her appearance. The man could be a banker for all we know. We¡¯ve got to judge people by their words and actions, not by what they are. Beast or man. You agree with me, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Nif blurted, twisting the napkin in knots. ¡°The world would be a lot better off if we didn¡¯t make assumptions about people by their appearance or things beyond their control.¡± Maybe Trevor genuinely believed what he said? Maybe he wouldn¡¯t care about Nif? But then the dreaded question. The one she¡¯d been waiting for. Sometimes it came early on a date, sometimes after dessert, but it was always asked at some point.

    ¡°Not that it matters,¡± Trevor added. ¡°I mean, I may as well just ask what your favourite colour is. Mine is blue. We¡¯re just getting to know each other, right, and I¡¯d like to get to know you more, if you know what I mean.¡±

    Nif¡¯s stomach plummeted. She knew what he meant. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, the sticky wine residue clinging to her teeth.

    ¡°I should go first, shouldn¡¯t I?¡± Trevor offered and pushed aside his half-eaten steak. ¡°I mean, I asked first, so it¡¯s only fair I come clean -- so to speak -- because it¡¯s not a big deal really. Like knowing your shoe size. You¡¯re an eight, right? Eight and a half? It¡¯s a party trick I do. Guess women¡¯s shoe sizes. So I¡¯m a labrador. Bet you hadn¡¯t guessed, right? No one picks it, and that¡¯s what I mean about how our shapes don¡¯t define us. So, go on, safe space here, I promise. Doesn¡¯t matter really, whether you¡¯re mammal, bird or reptile, all are equal in my book. So come on, tell me. What¡¯s yours?¡±

    Nif waited, just a breath, to see if Trevor picked up a second wind or not. She kind of wished he would, just so she wouldn¡¯t have to answer.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have one,¡± she murmured into her wine glass. The rim was almost big enough to slip inside it.

    ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t catch that. You¡¯re going to have to speak up. You¡¯d think they¡¯d turn the music down a fraction, for those with extra hearing.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t shift.¡± And of course, right at that moment the restaurant slipped into one of those synchronised pauses as everyone took a breath. Her words carried across the gentle tap of cutlery on crockery and lips meeting wine glass rims, and two dozen eyes spun her way. A gorilla/leopard showdown had almost shaken the roof down, but it was this that shocked people. Nif sunk into her chair, cheeks hot and glowing more than the wine and poor genes could contribute to.

    ¡°Oh.¡± For the first time that night, Trevor was speechless.

    Nif glanced at the phone in her lap and hit send. Before Trevor could gather himself, Sapha called and Nif almost dropped her phone in her desperation to answer it.

    ¡°You okay, missy?¡± Sapha crooned. Nif could hear the laugh track from one of Sapha¡¯s TV shows in the background.

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Initiating rescue. Your housemate is out of catnip. Urgent resupply is needed.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, will she be okay?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s on the verge of life and death, but she may make it through depending if you can also grab some more of those salt and balsamic vinegar chips. The no name brand though. The pricey ones are for shit.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right there.¡± Nif hung up and forced herself to meet Trevor¡¯s eyes.

    He wasn¡¯t stupid. He knew a date bail when he saw one, but what was worse was he appeared relieved. All that talk about not stereotyping and judging people by things they couldn¡¯t change, and it was her inability to shift that was his line in the sand.

    ¡°It was nice meeting you, Trevor,¡± Nif said, standing up and gathering her things. She overestimated her share of the meal and left the money by her plate.

    ¡°Yeah, get home safe,¡± he said. No mention of a call or even a hint of camaraderie after having hidden beneath a table together. Surely that didn¡¯t happen on every date? The older couple had moved onto dessert, and Nif wished she¡¯d put off answering that question until after she¡¯d had a plate of the restaurant''s sinful chocolate cake. The older lady gave her a sympathetic smile, and Nif suddenly wished she was back home with her parents, curled up against her mother¡¯s furry side while her dad combed her hair with his beak.

    In the end, as she abandoned the date to order a Ryde pick-up, she tried to convince herself the biggest regret she had was never being able to set foot in the restaurant again. The food, the snug atmosphere, even the patrons -- the gorilla man and the leopard woman, the elderly bear couple -- suddenly took on a fond flavour as her embarrassment of being seen as defective meant she could never go back. At the rate she was going with dates, she wouldn¡¯t be able to return to any of the bars and restaurants within a dozen blocks of her apartment.

    In the back of the Ryde, she slumped into the cracked leather, feeling like a collapsed hillside. How could a girl like her find love when she wasn¡¯t whole in the first place?

 Chapter 2

    Nif sighed and dropped her head onto her desk knocking bundles of unread manuscripts off to the side. The pages remained together thanks to thick rubber bands. She¡¯d learnt that lesson during the first week on the job.

    ¡°Get out of here! He did not!¡± Clare rarely ever spoke over a whisper (not that that prevented her from being heard when she wanted to be), and yet her hissing made Nif check they were still alone in the office. She didn¡¯t need everyone hearing about her failed date.

    Clare and Nif were always the first into the office. Nif mostly so she could get a head start on the hundreds of unsolicited manuscripts that ended up on her desk. Clare, however, seemed to live at the office. Always first in and last out. She was one of the founding staff members of Hopscotch Publishing, though no one really knew exactly what her job title was. But even the bosses acknowledged she was invaluable and during that two week sick leave she took back in 2016, the company had almost ground to a halt.

    On the wall, the clock ticked over to nine. They had another half hour before the rest of the team filtered into the Never Archives office to start another week, the dozen-strong staffed science fiction, fantasy and horror division of Hopscotch Publishing. Nif would have to head off on the coffee run soon if she wanted to have the drinks ready by the time everyone else arrived.

    ¡°And that wasn¡¯t even the worst part,¡± Nif mumbled into the desk. ¡°I would¡¯ve been okay if the night ended there with front row seats to a lovers¡¯ bloody showdown, but of course he had to ask what my shift form is.¡±

    ¡°Ooh,¡± Clare hummed sympathetically. She rested a light hand on Nif¡¯s shoulder and patted twice. ¡°Well look on the bright side! You don¡¯t even like hiking and a guy like that would be constantly dragging you out into the wilderness.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know. I could like it,¡± Nif said, lifting her head briefly to glare at her mentor. Nif still wasn¡¯t sure why Clare had taken her under her wing. It wasn¡¯t even like Nif was the youngest on the team. That honour belonged to the intern Jemima, who was twenty-two, fresh out of uni and covered in tattoos.

    ¡°You¡¯re allergic to pretty much everything.¡± Clare canted her hip and began counting on one stunningly manicured hand: a halloween motif of jack-o-lanterns and black cats to celebrate the festive occasion. ¡°Dirt. Plants. Insects. Fur. Honestly, you barely cope with a walk through the park.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s drugs for all that, you know. How else do you think I cope when literally everyone around me can shift into something I¡¯m allergic to?¡± Nif¡¯s head thumped back to the desk, harder than she intended. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯m not sure if I have the energy to scroll through all those Tender profiles again. Most have pics of their shift form looking all manly, and the ones who don¡¯t are doing stupid things in an attempt to look manly. How hard is it to find a nice guy who couldn¡¯t give a fig what my shift-self is, or lack thereof?¡±

    ¡°I could always introduce you to some of the guys at my D&D group. They¡¯re sweet,¡± Clare offered, but from the corner of Nif¡¯s eye she could see Clare wrinkle her nose at the thought. Those guys were like her brothers, and they treated Clare like a little sister even though she was in her early forties and had a brown belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu. Nif had met them once at a birthday dinner. Big, hulking guys with far too much facial hair, they¡¯d taken a perverse joy in quoting obscure films.

    ¡°Thanks, but after Sapha set me up with her old uni buddy who thought personal hygiene was an optional extra, I¡¯ve sworn off dating friends of friends.¡±

    ¡°Why Sapha was even friends with him in the first place is beyond me,¡± Clare commented, clucking her tongue. Clare and Sapha had never met, but they might as well have from how often Nif spoke to them about each other. ¡°Of all people, surely she has standards. Doesn¡¯t she shower three times a day?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, and why she¡¯d feel the need to do so is beyond me when she sleeps sixteen out of twenty-four hours. Well, she dropped the ball with that recommendation at any rate.¡±

    ¡°Sixteen? How does she get anything done?¡±

    ¡°Those eight hours are incredibly productive. Actually, come to think of it, she may have set me up on that date during her sleeping phase when she went six months being conscious for only two hours a day. She was a bit strange for a while.¡± Nif leaned upright and stretched, already keen for home time. ¡°What I would do to sleep for weeks on end.¡±

    ¡°Not getting enough sleep, are you?¡± Leon asked, sweeping into the room with a force that rocked Nif back in her chair. Leon Knight was Nif¡¯s supervisor, but he was far more than that. He was perfection and Nif¡¯s first ever celebrity crush. Thirty-four years old, he¡¯d turned his back on his family fortune and instead worked his way up from a mere intern to chief-editor for Never Archives in less than three years. The What¡¯s Hot publishing magazine did a double page spread on him when he was first promoted, which Nif still had blu-tacked to her bedroom wall.

    He¡¯d been holding that post close on four years by the time Nif managed to find herself a junior editing position at the Archives. Under his guidance, the tiny fantasy branch of Hopscotch Publishing had quadrupled in staff size, expanded to include Horror and Science Fiction, and continued to be highly profitable despite the rumours that speculative fiction was a dying genre.

    ¡°What?¡± Nif responded, all the blood from her brain rushing to her cheeks. ¡°Oh. No, I slept well. Super well. Just great¡­¡± she caught Clare¡¯s tiny wave, the older woman gesturing towards Nif¡¯s head. Glancing down at the reflective phone screen on her desk, she realised she had a large red spot between her eyes from when she smacked it against her desk. Just more proof she couldn¡¯t shift because the mortification she felt now was surely strong enough to trigger one. She tried to brush her fringe over the red mark as she straightened up her desk, restacking the to-be read pile in order of date received.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear that. We can¡¯t have you overworked,¡± Leon said. ¡°Now, you must be wondering why I¡¯m here so early.¡±

    Nif hadn¡¯t been. Most higher thought functions flew out the window when he was around. Leon had actually been on her interview panel and she honestly couldn¡¯t remember a word she said, but somehow she¡¯d managed to impress them despite the disadvantage of being a non-shifter.

    Leon swivelled on the heel of his fancy leather shoes -- Nif knew nothing about brands, but it had to be expensive from the kind of glossy shine it had -- and offered Clare a pale green patisserie box, the font french and curly across the top and sides. ¡°A treat for my saviour.¡±

    Clare rolled her eyes, but took the box, flipping open the lid to reveal four perfectly shaped macarons. Nif¡¯s mouth watered embarrassingly quickly.

    ¡°You¡¯re too kind,¡± she said dryly and dropped them carelessly onto Nif¡¯s desk. ¡°I don¡¯t eat sugar,¡± she said, which was a blatant lie. ¡°But Nif loves them.¡±

    Leon¡¯s smile was sweeter than the macaroons. It curled crookedly and revealed a dimple in his right cheek. Nif¡¯s only saving grace was that it wasn¡¯t directed at her, but even then, the second-hand glow was like witnessing the sun come out from behind dark clouds. That was until he shifted his gaze on her.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to remember that,¡± Leon said, and Nif suddenly envisioned Leon sitting across from her at the restaurant table the night before, instead of Trevor. Leon who would¡¯ve held her hand as they hid under the table. No, wait. Leon would¡¯ve been stepping up, protectively, to de-escalate the situation without even shifting. She couldn¡¯t imagine anything not going to plan with Leon, and he already knew her shiftless-status. That hurdle had well and truly been leapt, and it never seemed to bother him.

    ¡°It¡¯s not my birthday, so what do you want?¡± Clare asked, crossing her arms and looking fondly annoyed. Leon stepped closer, mostly to hear Clare better, but he inadvertently moved next to Nif and she could smell his aftershave. Cinnamon and vanilla and gingerbread. Like baking. Warm and homey and Nif had the sudden urge to curl up next to him. God, she really did need to either get laid or go out on a date that didn¡¯t end in disaster.

    ¡°I¡¯ve a new author I¡¯ve got my eye on,¡± Leon said, and Nif¡¯s aftershave-induced daze was overridden by the sudden excitement of the hunt. A new author? Had she read any of their work? Could it have been one of the potentials she¡¯d passed his way? ¡°He¡¯s agreed to have coffee with me at 2pm¡­¡±

    ¡°And you want me to represent the Archives at the Hopscotch manager meeting in your stead. You owe me more than sweets for this,¡± Clare grumbled, but it wasn¡¯t a no and Leon gave Nif a gleeful, conspiratorial wink.

    ¡°Excellent. You¡¯re a star, Clare.¡± Leon¡¯s eyes drifted to the unsolicited manuscripts fortifying Nif¡¯s desk and he gave one a tentative flick. He shuddered when he noticed the font was in comic sans. ¡°Found any more gems?¡± he asked.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Nif said, hesitantly. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m hoping to present her at the next acquisitions meeting. If that¡¯s alright?¡± She chewed furiously on the inside of her cheek as Leon studied her closely. What did he see when he looked at her? The business attire she couldn¡¯t quite manage to pull off? The dark, straight hair and fringe she¡¯d worn in the same style since primary school? The scuffed leather shoes bought for comfort and not fashion since she couldn¡¯t just fly with shifted wings or run on four legs?

    He nodded. Whatever he saw, he must¡¯ve found something he liked, and warmth settled in her chest.

    ¡°Okay. This will be your first, so make sure you put together a project plan, marketing brief and budget. Ask Clare if you need the current figures or stats.¡± Leon straightened his tie and tossed her a salute. ¡°Don¡¯t let me down, alright?¡± And he swept from the office just as forcefully as he¡¯d arrived.

    ¡°He said yes! Oh my goodness, Clare. I¡¯ll actually get to pitch my author this Friday!¡±

    ¡°You should¡¯ve been promoted by now,¡± Clare huffed, snagging a strawberry macaron from the box on Nif¡¯s desk and sinking into her chair. Clare could have her pick of workspaces by seniority alone, but instead her desk butted up against Nif¡¯s whose desk was in the middle of everything.

    Nif opened her top drawer and gently stroked the first page of A Lonely Star, an unsolicited manuscript she¡¯d received a fortnight ago and had stayed up all night reading. This was the kind of manuscript she¡¯d dreamt of when she became an editor.

    She had spent two years on the bottom rung in a publishing house, which meant she¡¯d been juggling the slush pile, keeping her colleagues caffeinated, and preparing documents, which she¡¯d get no recognition for. There were never enough hours in a day, and Nif was wondering if her love for books and reading would be able to handle the awful, the bad, and the just plain lazy writing she was forced to read for hours everyday.

    But then she received Sarah Thompson¡¯s email, her query quietly hopeful and wonderfully professional. Attached were the first three chapters of her amazing, heartbreaking story of friendship and adventure, set in an un-shifting world where instead people travelled out into space to find their other half, born on a different planet. That afternoon, after she¡¯d read the three chapters, Nif had requested the full manuscript and early that morning she¡¯d read the last line and cried.

    She knew the Never Archives team would take one look at the manuscript and see how much potential it had, but Nif was determined to keep Sarah for herself. If Nif played her cards right, Sarah would be the first author on Nif¡¯s very own list.

    A loud tap-tap rattled the window and Nif slammed the desk drawer shut, startled.

    ¡°That will be Mr Williams again,¡± Clare said from her chair, resting her head back, eyes shut. ¡°Let him in, will you? And tell him he¡¯s on the wrong floor. Again. That¡¯s the second time today!¡±

    Nif hurried over to the massive window, fiddling with the lock until she finally managed to shove it open. They were on the fourth floor, but for some that wasn¡¯t an issue.

    A massive barn owl flapped his wings as he hopped inside and a second later he was a short, plump man, snowy white hair fluffed up like goose down and freckles sweeping across his curved shoulders and chunky thighs.

    ¡°Good morning, Mr Williams,¡± Nif said, keeping her eyes averted as she chose a dark brown cloak from a collection hanging on hooks beside the window. ¡°You¡¯re on the Never Archives floor. You want the level above.¡± She swept the fabric around his body and finally felt like she could hold a proper conversation with him.

    ¡°Oh. Hello Jennifer. Ms Clare,¡± Mr Williams nodded to them each while glancing around in mild surprise. ¡°I do believe you¡¯re right. My eyesight isn¡¯t what it used to be.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should just take the elevator?¡± Nif suggested. Mr Williams¡¯ bare feet flexed in the carpet, his toenails like talons.

    ¡°Yes, yes. Good idea. I¡¯ll see you both at the staff Winter Solstice party, yes?¡± And he toddled off towards the romance department.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be seeing him far sooner than that,¡± Clare said, sighing deeply. ¡°Wednesday by the latest. I¡¯m half tempted to nail that window shut!¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t the higher ups just upgrade the shifting rooms? Provided showers and lockers and everything.¡± Nif had snuck inside to have a sneak peek when it first opened and she was envious of those shower heads. It was like standing beneath a waterfall. She was tempted to use them herself, except there were no privacy screens.

    ¡°Yes, but the flyers prefer the higher access.¡±

    Nif¡¯s phone buzzed an alarm.

    ¡°I better go get the coffees sorted,¡± Nif grumbled, stuffing a lavender macaron in her mouth and grabbing her bag. By the door was a wicker basket stacked with a dozen brightly coloured keep cups. Nif used to keep post-it notes of the owner¡¯s order stuck to each one, but having done the coffee run since she first started, she could recall each order in her sleep. Before she headed out, she checked the envelope inside the basket had the right amount of cash. She¡¯d been burnt before.

    ¡°They don¡¯t deserve you,¡± Clare murmured, absently dusting the pink crumbs from her chest.

    ¡°I know,¡± Nif agreed. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon. Want anything?¡±

    Clare picked up the macaron box and tucked it into the box wedged under Nif¡¯s arm.

    ¡°Those beasts will sniff them out as soon as they arrive so make sure you eat them.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Clare.¡± Nif took the stairs and almost collided with Stan from the advertising department as she burst from the stairwell and into the lobby. The palomino was chatting with another horse-shifter, the two taking up most of the front foyer in their equine forms.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Nif said, edging around them. Stan said something to her even though he knew she couldn¡¯t understand, not being a horse, but she waved anyway and slipped out into the street.

    Outside, the morning rush was in full swing. Double decker, open-roofed buses groaned to a halt to unload hundreds of city workers, the skies above were thick with bird shifters and the extra wide sidewalk was bustling, mostly with people glaring down at their phones, but a few were in their shifted form. Nif kept an eye out to avoid stepping on any paws or tails or being stepped on herself.

    To Bean or Not to Bean was two blocks over, wedged between the blood donation centre and a sandwich shop. It was one of a dozen cafes on the street alone, but Nif liked the owners, a friendly couple and their son who knew the names of all their customers. They were always happy to have a chat. It was the one reason why Nif didn¡¯t complain more about the menial job. That and they always gave her a free drink since her usual order was so big.

    ¡°Morning Yong-shen,¡± Nif called over the counter. She always managed to time her visit during a lull in business, and could deposit her basket directly onto the counter.

    ¡°Nif! Look at you. You¡¯re like the sun. You warm me,¡± the older woman admired, already reaching for the keep cups. ¡°Joe! Our favourite customer is here!¡±

    Joe was her son, a slender youth who offered a distracted smile, his attention already on filling out the orders, waiting only for Nif to list off the first three before getting started. Nif wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he knew them all off by heart as well.

    ¡°Your date go well?¡± Yong-shen asked, leaning on the counter, arms folded, her ears threatening to slide up the side of her head in her efforts to hear better over the street noise.

    ¡°How did you know I¡¯d been on a date?¡±

    ¡°I can tell. It¡¯s my magic power.¡±

    ¡°Can you magically give me the ability to not suck?¡± Nif gave a hopeless shrug and pulled out the patisserie box, opening it to reveal the last two treats. ¡°Would you like one? My boss gave them to me. Well, to my friend, but she gave them to me, so I don¡¯t feel right if I eat them all.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t say no!¡± Yong-shen gleefully chose the pale green pistachio one, leaving Nif the chocolate. The woman took a bite and groaned deeply.

    ¡°Yong-shen, you bat! You¡¯re making weird noises again!¡± Huan, her husband, came through from the backroom, his arms filled with clean coffee cups. Yong-shen stuffed the rest of the macaroon into her mouth, just as he spotted her. ¡°Oi! No fair! Nif, where¡¯s mine?¡±

    ¡°Next time, I promise,¡± Nif laughed, having already devoured her own, and the last of her disappointment from her date drifted away.

    As she paid and carefully collected her coffee basket, her on-the-house chai latte in her free hand, Yong-shen reached out and patted her arm.

    ¡°You¡¯ll meet the right kind of guy soon. Trust me.¡±

    ¡°I hope so. I¡¯ll be thirty soon.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be old fashioned,¡± Huan said. ¡°Old maids are a thing of the past. You can be older than the moon and single, and you won¡¯t be any less worthy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sweet,¡± Nif said, checking her shoe laces were tied to hide her blush. ¡°I just hope I don¡¯t have to wait that long. I want what you guys have.¡±

    ¡°Bah, she drives me batty!¡± Huan teased, flicking his wife in the ear.

    ¡°And you¡¯re a dog, but for some reason I still find myself fond of you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re embarrassing, the both of you,¡± Joe said, his attention on his phone now that the coffee order was complete, but Nif spotted the smile hidden in the turn of his mouth.

    Nif basked in Yong-shen and Huan¡¯s love secondhand for two long breaths before she shook herself and resettled the coffee basket on her hip.

    ¡°Well, you two love birds, I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget what I said, Nif!¡± Yong-shen shouted over the counter. ¡°You won¡¯t have to wait much longer. A bear will end up in your path and you¡¯ll learn the true frustrations of love.¡±

    ¡°You frustrate me, love,¡± Huan grumbled. ¡°Now leave the poor girl alone. She has work, and you¡¯re scaring off our customers!¡±

    Yong-shen¡¯s words bounced about in Nif¡¯s mind all the way back to the office. A bear? She¡¯d met quite a few bears in her lifetime. Her mother, for one, and then there was the elderly bear couple the other night. Was that a sign? Nif wasn¡¯t superstitious, but she was becoming desperate enough that she wouldn¡¯t say no to divine or magical intervention.

    Stan was still in the building foyer, taking up most of the space, and she wondered how anyone in this company got any work done when all they seemed to do was chat. When he backed into her suddenly as she was trying to ease past to the stairwell, her chai latte went flying though she managed to save the rest of the coffees. The keep cup her mother had bought for her birthday ended up crushed under Stan¡¯s rear hoof. All thoughts of a bear man in her future flew out of her head and instead she steeled herself for what she knew would be a very long day.

 Chapter 3

    It was almost time to go home when Leon appeared in front of Nif¡¯s desk. Only Jemina, the intern, remained at her tiny corner workspace, randomly quality checking a new novel that was set to be released next week. Nif wasn¡¯t sure where Clare had disappeared to, but she suspected the dormouse shifter was curled up in her bottom desk drawer taking a nap.

    Everyone else had either left for the day or were in the consultation rooms, the quiet multi-use spaces designed for staff to take phone calls, talk with authors or hold meetings. Charlotte treated one of the rooms like it was her own private office, while Prishna and Pavel had been encouraged to share one as they both had the tendency to be very loud while working. The rooms weren¡¯t sound-proofed though, and usually their laughter formed the soundtrack to Nif¡¯s day.

    And Nif had been right. Today had been long.

    She¡¯d landed the task of emailing back all the unsuccessful authors Harley and Jude had read over the last month since they¡¯d suddenly -- and they claimed unexpectedly -- needed to go north for a cover shoot. It wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d dropped that particular job in her lap, but she did it because she hated thinking of the authors waiting one more unnecessary day to hear they¡¯d not been successful. Harley and Jude never left any notes on the manuscripts about what they did or didn¡¯t like. Just that they weren¡¯t interested in publishing it, so Nif felt compelled to read the first page or two and add a small comment. Something positive, while offering a suggestion on how to improve it.

    It ate into her day like nothing else.

    So when Leon appeared, it took a moment for Nif to realise he was actually there and not a product of her work-addled mind.

    ¡°Oh, sir. Can I help you with something?¡±

    ¡°Please, Jennifer. Call me Leon. Sir makes me sound like my father.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Leon.¡± Nif waited awkwardly, shuffling the pages in her lap and hoping he didn¡¯t notice the brown stain on her white shirt from this morning¡¯s keep cup incident. At least the chai latte had dried out.

    ¡°I would like your assistance on a new project. You may recall this morning how I mentioned I¡¯m keen to bring on board a new author to Never Archives?¡±

    Nif nodded, her mind racing as she tried to predict where this was going. Was he offering her the chance to oversee a high profile author? That would be unprecedented but then she could do it. She¡¯d been itching to start her own list ever since she started here.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been with us for over a year now.¡±

    ¡°Two, actually. It¡¯ll be three in March.¡±

    Leon looked startled and then a little ashamed, and Nif¡¯s softly simmering crush for him strengthened by how genuinely embarrassed he was for the mistake.

    ¡°Has it really been that long? We should organise something special to commemorate that. A macaroon cake, perhaps?¡± He winked and at that exact moment, the clouds parted and sunlight reflected off his white smile. Even the weather conspired with people like Leon.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to go to such extremes on my account,¡± Nif mumbled, flushing deeply.

    ¡°Well, this only confirms how perfect you¡¯ll be. You see, I¡¯ve been sweet-talking an author from our rival publishing house Nova and I believe I¡¯ve convinced him our team will be a better fit. He has a handful of novels under his belt already, but he¡¯s currently working on a new series that I predict will have screen potential.¡±

    ¡°Like film? Or TV?¡±

    Leon rested his hands on her desk and Nif fought the urge to start cleaning. She leant back, needing some space and briefly wondered if he could see down her top.

    Leon glanced around the office and dropped his voice to a whisper.

    ¡°Only a few know of this yet, so I trust you to keep this under your hat for now. Never Archives will be expanding to include its own script development department. We¡¯ll be working directly with authors to develop their work for the screen.¡±

    Excitement fluttered up in Nif¡¯s stomach. Was this what she thought it was? Years of being a glorified personal assistant and to suddenly be involved in a project this huge was something Nif was prepared to chop her own leg off for.

    ¡°What would you like from me?¡±

    ¡°My author is a tad sensitive and needs some hand holding. I¡¯m prepared to lead the project, but I need someone who¡¯ll make sure the writer has everything he needs to develop the script. It¡¯s the carrot that¡¯s convinced him to leap from Nova¡¯s ship and join ours. Think you can do that?¡±

    So she was to be an author¡¯s glorified personal assistant. Great. A sharp stab of anger had her gripping her pencil tight, but it passed quickly. This wasn¡¯t new. She¡¯d become used to being overlooked.

    ¡°Of course, Leon.¡±

    ¡°I need this to be your priority,¡± he said, pulling back and straightening his suit. Nif had never seen someone wear one with such ease.

    ¡°But¡­¡± Nif hesitated, biting her inner cheek and tasting copper.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    Nif gently set down her pencil and interlocked her fingers together, gathering all her courage.

    ¡°Will I still be able to present at the acquisition meeting on Friday?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right. About that.¡± Leon glanced around the room, just in time for Charlotte to stride in, her intent clearly on Jemina who often played the older woman¡¯s gofer. Nif had once been it, but her abnormal state left the woman uneasy so when the new intern came along, Charlotte had gleefully turned her attention to Jemina.

    ¡°Charlotte. Come over here for a second,¡± Leon called. Charlotte neatly turned on her heavy heels and approached, her lips painted a soft pink to match the flowers on her skirt. Her stockings were a vibrant aqua.

    ¡°Yes, Boss?¡±

    ¡°I need Jennifer¡¯s help on a project so I¡¯d like you to present a manuscript to acquisitions on Friday on her behalf.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll add it to the others I plan to submit. I¡¯ll need it now, though, if I¡¯ve any hope of getting a handle on it in time.¡± She held out her hand to Nif, waiting.

    Nif studied Charlotte¡¯s coral painted nails in horror. She should¡¯ve kept her mouth shut. Just assumed it would still be fine and done it anyway. Her project. The story she had such belief in was being forcefully wrestled from her, and she knew Charlotte wouldn¡¯t do the pitch justice.

    ¡°Well?¡± Charlotte cooed, smile forced.

    Slowly, Nif reached for her desk drawer and opened it to reveal Sarah¡¯s manuscript. She¡¯d already started compiling a working document for it, including her estimation on budget and figures, as well as a pitch and blurb. There were even rough sketches for a potential cover. What she envisioned when she read the first three chapters and had to read more.

    Sick and exhausted in a soul wrenching way, Nif gathered up her proposal and the manuscript and handed it over to Charlotte. The woman had to jerk it from her grasp.

    ¡°Excellent. Thanks, Lottie,¡± Leon said and shooed her off. He turned back to Nif, pleased as punch. ¡°Now that¡¯s sorted, I¡¯ll need you to clear out the third consultation room in preparation for the script development, but remember, mum¡¯s the word. We won¡¯t be making the announcement until next Monday and then it¡¯ll be full steam ahead. Any questions?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± Nif managed through the tightness in her throat.

    ¡°Wonderful. I¡¯ll be off then. I¡¯ve a meeting with the other chief editors at the Dalton and punctuality is key. Have a nice evening.¡±

    ¡°You too, sir.¡±

    After he¡¯d left, Nif sat staring at the now empty drawer, fighting the pressure behind her eyes and wondering when her life was meant to start. Was it thirty? Was that the magic number? Then why did it feel like she was treading water?

    Through the film of tears, Nif spotted movement in the drawer and a dormouse scurried out and up the edge to sit on the pile of rejected manuscripts.

    ¡°That¡¯s where you were hiding, Clare,¡± Nif whispered. Clare was a tiny thing. Her fur was ginger around her face and ears and a warm cream across her belly. When she raced up Nif¡¯s arm, her tail was thick and fuzzy. She settled in the crook of Nif¡¯s neck and the feeling of a warm, tiny heartbeat against her neck eased the chaotic burning emotions churning in her chest.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve known better,¡± Nif whispered to the mouse. ¡°As soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. But he never even gave me a choice.¡± She sighed, imagining all her frustration and disappointment leaving her body to dissipate in the afternoon sunlight.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll go home now.¡±

    Clare scurried down her arm and Nif shrugged on her jacket, buttoning it up over the stain on her blouse. The fragmented pieces of her coffee cup were carefully gathered into a zip lock bag and placed inside her purse. When she got home she¡¯d order herself a new one in the exact same colours, but she didn¡¯t have the heart to tell her mother what had happened to it.

    ¡°It¡¯s not because of who you are,¡± Clare said from the coat rack. She wore a pale green cloak that reached mid-calf, her ginger hair a frizzy mess around her head from her quick shift back to human.

    ¡°It may seem that way sometimes,¡± she continued. ¡°But it¡¯s not your fault you never shifted and anyway, having a shift doesn¡¯t make you more or less human. You know that, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, of course.¡± Nif had heard similar things throughout her teen and young adult life. Her parents had been desperate to reassure her she was just as valued as the next kid. But sometimes she wondered if the people who loved her were trying to convince themselves more than her.

    ¡°Well,¡± Clare continued. ¡°This project Leon is working on has plenty of potential and it¡¯ll be a great opportunity for you to work directly with an author and the chief-editor. Take advantage of it and prove to them you¡¯ve got what it takes.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Nif whispered, accepting the older woman¡¯s hug. It was just as warm as the hug she¡¯d given her in her dormouse form. But she was already thinking of how she¡¯d get Sarah¡¯s A Lonely Star back off Charlotte. Charlotte wouldn¡¯t care if she had one less manuscript to present and if Nif couldn¡¯t attend Friday¡¯s meeting, then she could damn well attend next month¡¯s one. She¡¯d emailed Sarah a few times since the initial full manuscript request, and maybe the author wouldn¡¯t mind waiting until the next acquisition meeting if she knew she¡¯d have a higher chance of being accepted if presented by Nif?

    Nif just knew Charlotte would not do the book justice. Not like she would.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow,¡± Clare said gently, squeezing Nif close one more time.

    ¡°Yeah. See you.¡±

    Thankfully Stan wasn¡¯t in the foyer when Nif left the stairwell, and she hurried to catch her bus only to arrive just in time to see it disappear around the corner.

    ¡°This is my life now,¡± she mumbled and found a spot within the bus shelter to huddle as a cold, brisk breeze whistled around buildings. At least it wasn¡¯t raining. The app on her phone said the next bus wouldn¡¯t arrive for another ten minutes, so she settled to watch the afternoon commuter rush ebb and flow.

    There weren¡¯t as many people travelling home in their shifted form as there were in the morning, many having forms that were too small to carry work home with them. A messenger bird caught the attention of a tall man wearing a hat, dropping an A4 package into his waiting hands. Across the street, a tourist couple were trying to get a perfect shot of the ancient clock tower in their shifted form. Nif looked away as they giggled, naked in the street as they tried to scramble back into their clothes before the tourist double decker bus left without them.

    That was when she spotted the poster on the bus shelter. It had been almost completely plastered over, but with some careful picking at the edges, she was able to make out the time and an address. Non/Problematic Shifters Support Group, 6pm Tuesdays at the Juniper High School hall.

    Her bus eased up to the curb -- a massive ad of a model in both her human and lioness form selling perfume was plastered along the entire side -- and Nif spontaneously took a photo of the support group poster. What was the harm? And she didn¡¯t need to go if she didn¡¯t feel like it. She was just curious. Were there many people out there who were like her?

 Chapter 4

    The bus was packed with commuters and by the time Nif arrived at the stop closest to home, her feet ached and she was in no mood to cook.

    Sapha was on the sofa, her beautiful, lean body stretched out like she was posing for a photo shoot. Scattered around the floor in front of her were discarded salty chip packets and half-drunk soda bottles.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Sapha drawled, half lidded, watching a muted black and white film.

    Nif wasn¡¯t in the mood to chat with her housemate. Normally the two of them got on well even though they were as different as any two people could be. Thanks to her grandmother¡¯s inheritance, Sapha reviewed films for a hobby, sleeping through most of the day on the couch and then glaming up to attend opening nights of films and other events, mixing with actors and producers, and often being mistaken for one of the stars. Generally she¡¯d attend two or three a week, but mostly Nif saw her in her silk pajamas in front of the TV.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had a bad day. I¡¯m ordering Thai and then locking myself in my room. Did you want me to order you anything?¡±

    Sapha hauled herself out of her body-shaped indentation and slunk towards Nif, yawning wide to reveal teeth that were sharper than they should¡¯ve been. She wrapped her arms around Nif¡¯s shoulders and nuzzled her cheek with her nose.

    ¡°Curry puffs. A dozen. And don¡¯t forget the prawn crackers.¡± Then she vanished into the shared bathroom and Nif could hear the shower turn on. Was that her second or third shower for the day?

    After putting in the order, Nif locked herself in her room and stripped, tossing the stained blouse in her dirty hamper and digging out her fluffy, purple robe. It smelt like the home she¡¯d grown up in. Of pine and cinnamon and wood fires. She plugged in her phone and then dialed the people she¡¯d been wanting to talk to all day, putting them on speaker.

    ¡°Hello, sweetie. Rough day?¡±

    ¡°Hi Mum. Awful day. Just awful.¡±

    ¡°Is that Nif? Tell her I say hi and I just finished reading the book she got me for my birthday. Ask her if there¡¯s any more in the series.¡±

    ¡°Tell her yourself, Jon. It¡¯s on speaker.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Hi Nifty-Nif! Did you hear I read that book you gave me?¡±

    Nif plopped onto her bed and smiled into her pillow, letting her parents¡¯ voices wash over her in a soothing wave.

    ¡°There¡¯s two more in the series so far. I¡¯ll bring them next time I¡¯m down.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful. Wonderful.¡± Her dad was a cheerful, burbling stream on a summer day. ¡°Now what¡¯s this about you having a crappy day?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know where to start!¡± Nif laughed, her voice catching.

    ¡°Tell us about your date, dear. We haven¡¯t heard from you since then, and I suspect if it had gone well, you would¡¯ve called sooner.¡± Her mum was so matter of fact, her words edged by the comforting growl Nif had always associated with furry winter cuddle piles and honey sweet cakes on sick days.

    ¡°Trevor. His name was Trevor and we hadn¡¯t even gotten to dessert before he asked what my shift form was.¡±

    ¡°Oh honey,¡± her dad said, clucking his tongue sympathetically.

    ¡°What¡¯s worse was he started off by saying someone¡¯s form didn¡¯t matter. That we shouldn¡¯t judge people by their appearance.¡± Nif sniffed, rubbing her palms hard into her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m so upset. It wasn¡¯t like he was particularly wonderful. He was cute and kind -- he volunteers with kids for crying out loud -- but it wouldn¡¯t have worked out. I would¡¯ve spent my time tidying up after him while he was off on adventures trying to discover himself.¡±

    ¡°Jerk-face,¡± her dad hissed.

    ¡°Dad!¡± Nif spluttered.

    ¡°Well he is. Shallow too. How anyone doesn¡¯t see how wonderful you are is beyond me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to say that. You¡¯re my parents.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll also be the first to call you on your bullshit, sweetie,¡± her mum said. ¡°So you can trust us when we say he isn¡¯t worth an extra thought.¡±

    ¡°You never once wondered if there was something wrong with me?¡±

    ¡°Nif!¡± ¡°No, sweetheart!¡± they spoke at once.

    ¡°I mean, everyone else shifted around puberty,¡± Nif continued. ¡°If not sooner. Like Hazel from next door.¡±

    ¡°Poor Hazel. I wouldn¡¯t wish her trigger moment on anyone,¡± her dad hummed. ¡°She was barely three. Anyone would be scarred for life watching your mum die like that.¡±

    ¡°We see the fact that you haven¡¯t shifted as a good thing. People shift because of physical or emotional trauma. Accidents. Abuse. The stress of puberty. Not shifting means you had a happy childhood. That we¡¯ve done our jobs properly and protected and prepared you for life to the best of our abilities.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°No buts,¡± they chimed at the same time.

    ¡°You¡¯re both dorks,¡± Nif snorted and even though the frustrations of the day still weighed heavily on her -- the new author being stolen from her, her coffee cup getting crushed, missing her bus home --, she felt lighter for talking to her parents.

    ¡°Now what¡¯s really bothering you,¡± her dad asked. He was always the more observant one, possibly because he dealt with young adults on a daily basis at the local high school.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right. You¡¯ve had enough bad dates and you¡¯ve never let any of them bother you before. What else is on your mind?¡±

    So she told them about Leon. How he¡¯d not so much as asked but ordered her to be some author¡¯s PA and then given a manuscript she¡¯d invested so much time and effort into to Charlotte, who wouldn¡¯t care and then this amazing author wouldn¡¯t get published and¡­

    By the time she had it all off her chest, she¡¯d managed to work herself up into a righteous fury and then travelled down the other side to end up empty and tired.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°What are you going to do about it?¡± her mum asked after a long moment. And that was just like her mum. Practical, down to earth and ready to move planets if it meant things would change for the better.

    ¡°I need to get that manuscript back from Charlotte. First thing tomorrow, I¡¯ll ask her¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t just ask, sweet pea. You¡¯ve put in that effort and your boss had no right handing it over to someone else without your approval.¡±

    Her mum made it sound easy. Nif couldn¡¯t imagine herself demanding anything, but she could make it sound like it was in Charlotte¡¯s best interest to return it. The woman was not known for her work ethic. No, that wasn¡¯t right. She was highly successful and efficient, but that was only because she knew when to say no and when some things just weren¡¯t worth her time.

    ¡°And I¡¯ll prove to Leon I¡¯m more than a PA during this project. Maybe the author will like me so much that they¡¯ll insist I take the lead!¡±

    ¡°Who is the author again?¡± her dad asked. ¡°You never said. Have I read anything they¡¯ve written?¡±

    ¡°Leon never actually told me. They¡¯ve been published through Nova so they probably write science fiction. I¡¯ll ask him tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°You can get me a signed copy of their work! Think you can get them to include their favourite song lyrics when they sign it? I got Jessica Beetle to write hers and it was not what I expected from someone who writes exclusively horror.¡± Her dad had the strangest collection of signed books. It didn¡¯t matter if he liked the author or not, but it did make it easy buying him gifts.

    ¡°Feel better now, sweetheart?¡± her mum interrupted before her dad derailed the conversation entirely.

    ¡°Thanks, Mum and Dad. You guys are pretty awesome.¡±

    ¡°That we are, Nifty-Nif. And you¡¯re pretty swell yourself.¡±

    ¡°Seriously? Swell?¡± her mum mocked and there was a scuffle on the other end of the line and a strangled squark of outrage.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget I¡¯m still here,¡± Nif called, preparing to hang up if things got heated.

    ¡°We¡¯d never forget you, sweetheart,¡± Mum said. ¡°Oi, you¡¯re getting your feathers in my mouth!¡± In the background, Nif could hear the warbling call of her father¡¯s laughter when he was in his bird form. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I put up with him,¡± her mum sighed. ¡°Now, any plans for this week?¡±

    ¡°Doctor¡¯s appointment tomorrow. I need my prescription to be refilled and Sapha will be out the next few nights so I plan to take advantage of the available TV and catch up on my shows. That¡¯s if I¡¯m not too busy with this new project.¡±

    ¡°The project does sound promising even if they¡¯re treating you less than they should,¡± her dad said, shifting human enough to speak. ¡°You let us know how it goes, okay.¡±

    ¡°And tell them if they don¡¯t promote you by Winter Solstice, I¡¯ll be coming down and having a few words with that boss of yours.¡±

    ¡°Mum!¡±

    ¡°See if I don¡¯t!

    The buzzer for the living room window went off at the same time Sapha finished her shower.

    ¡°Foods here, Nif!¡± she bellowed.

    ¡°Got to go, but I¡¯ll talk with you soon,¡± Nif said and after a round of goodbyes, she dashed for the living room window, hauling it open to collect the bag of food left on the ledge by a winged-shifter.

    Things weren¡¯t resolved yet. She still had to figure out how to get A Lonely Star back, but what her parents had said about her not experiencing trauma being a good thing resonated with her. Did she really want to be able to shift when the trigger was meant to be so stressful?

    When she was in highschool, it hadn¡¯t looked so bad for the most part. When kids began shifting at puberty (as normal people did), Nif had patiently waited her turn. Her period had arrived earlier than most, and she¡¯d been quietly smug thinking any day she¡¯d shift. She dreamt of the animal she¡¯d be. Maybe a bird like her father. They could go flying together, even avoid the school traffic by flying above it all. She could wing her way into school and change back into human, warm brown skin bare and flushed from exertion. Everyone would be so jealous. Or maybe a bear like her mother? They could curl up together in a ball of fur on cold winter mornings and doze the day away.

    Except Nif kept waiting.

    Her friends changed, one by one. Trish was a terrier, which surprised no one. Jon shifted into a sparrow after being slammed into the ground during a particularly violent football game, which wasn¡¯t expected at all. Tina¡¯s shift was especially delightful when she ended up being a panda. One by one, her friends shifted and Nif watched as the friendships they¡¯d maintained since early primary school strained and fractured. There were no rules about being friends with those of a similar kind, but the saying ¡®birds of a feather flock together¡¯ proved particularly apt. As the only kid at school that had yet to shift by sixteen, Nif found herself naturally on the outskirts. She told herself she didn¡¯t mind.

    Her mum was a late shifter. Her parents met when her mother rescued her father from being robbed when they were both on different dates. Her mother¡¯s shift didn¡¯t actually occur until two weeks later, a month after her twenty-second birthday, during peak hour traffic on a 44 degree day. Not all shifts were triggered by moments of extreme stress or emotion it seemed. Nif wouldn¡¯t have minded one of those.

    Her father was a little more typical. He shifted to a heron when he was fifteen, matching his long limbed human form and never ending patience. It made for an odd pairing, her mother and father. Her mother was a grizzly bear shifter and took being a mother bear to a whole new level. Her human form was petite though, a quarter of the size of her shifted form, but she had an easy going nature that was quick to turn heated if someone she loved was threatened.

    Nif wished for the content, warm affection her parents had for each other despite their differences. Surely being unable to shift would be no less difficult than overcoming a cat shifter falling in love with a dog shifter? There were enough rom-coms about odd couple relationships that it wouldn¡¯t be completely beyond the scope of comprehension.

    ¡°Don¡¯t eat my curry puffs!¡± Sapha growled, dashing from the bathroom, skin still glistening and flush from the shower.

    ¡°You know the rules! Clothes on in the share spaces!¡±

    Sapha rolled her eyes and grabbed her silk robe from the back of the couch. Nif refused to hand over the bag of curry puffs until she¡¯d tied the robe shut.

    They settled on the couch, using the chopsticks that came with the order and eating straight from the boxes. Sapha pressed play on the film she was watching and Nif decided maybe she didn¡¯t mind the company.

    ¡°Your birthday is coming up soon, right?¡± Sapha asked after most of the food was gone. She was licking her finger tips, delicate little swipes, leaving clean skin behind, and Nif just hoped she¡¯d remember not to keep licking. Sapha had shifted when she was six years old when the ferry she was riding with her parents capsized. They almost didn¡¯t see the tiny kitten amongst the tossing waves. She hated baths or pools, but she¡¯d live under the stream of a shower for days if their hot water bill could survive it.

    ¡°Next month. A Wednesday I think.¡±

    ¡°Big three-oh.¡± Sapha had never revealed her age, though Nif was fairly certain she was between twenty-eight and thirty-two.

    ¡°Yeah. No need to remind me. I¡¯m going to be an overworked junior editor with no boyfriend and a social life that consists of a cat who rarely leaves the couch, a dormouse who plays D&D on her weekends and my parents, who I still call three times a week.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t knock your parents. They¡¯re amazing.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know they are. I love them to bits. But I¡¯m an almost thirty-year-old woman who may as well be still living in her parents¡¯ metaphorical basement.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Shut up and pass me the prawn chips.¡±

    ¡°You know, turning thirty doesn¡¯t mean you need to have your shit together. It¡¯s not some magical line you have to cross and you need to have ticked off a certain number of things -- career, partner, house, kids -- to be accepted as an adult in society. Hell, I¡¯ve only one of the four if we¡¯re judging.¡±

    ¡°And how you made watching films into a career is beyond me.¡± Nif shook the last of the crumbs into her mouth and almost choked when Sapha reached over and poked her in the stomach.

    ¡°You read books for a living. You can¡¯t point fingers.¡±

    Nif couldn¡¯t figure out how to answer that without descending into a pity party so instead she chewed on her chopsticks and tried to figure out who the main lead was in the film they were not quite watching.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be okay, you know,¡± Sapha said, just as Nif was entering that strange dreamy stage between a food coma and sleep. ¡°Your life won¡¯t end at thirty. It¡¯ll be just another day. You¡¯re the only one running in your race, so just do better than your yesterday self.¡±

    Warmth pooled over her lap and she felt soft fur against her arms as Sapha shifted and cuddled close. Nif knew she should go to bed, but she just couldn¡¯t bring herself to move.

 Chapter 5

    It was Charlotte who approached Nif the next morning, even before Nif had gone for the usual coffee run. Her arms clasped a folder against her chest and her normally perfectly coiffed hair was thrown up into a no-nonsense bun. Had she slept overnight in the office?

    ¡°I hope I¡¯m not disturbing you,¡± she said and her smile, while strained, appeared genuine. That should¡¯ve been Nif¡¯s first warning.

    ¡°Not at all.¡± Nif was fairly certain that folder was the one she¡¯d given the older woman yesterday. ¡°You''re early this morning.¡±

    ¡°The thing is, that manuscript you gave me?¡± Charlotte bounced on her heels and Nif quickly checked the woman hadn¡¯t partially shifted into her wood pigeon shift. No feathers or talons, but she was shoeless and there was a run in her aqua tights.

    This would be the perfect opportunity to ask...no¡­demand the manuscript back. Come on, Nif. Be the change you seek and all that jazz.

    ¡°Yeah, about that. You see, Charlotte¡­¡±

    ¡°I loved it,¡± and the woman spun on the spot in her excitement. ¡°I was up all night reading it and I ended up crashing in the consultation room. This may very well be the best new author we¡¯ve had all year and honestly, you would¡¯ve been doing Sarah a disjustice if you didn¡¯t pass her on to a more senior editor.¡±

    Well, that was a sucker punch to the gut.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already tripled the budget for the first run and the acquisition meeting is mostly for show. I¡¯m going to get Pavel to read it today and I¡¯ll have Jude throw together a mock cover so we can aim for an early June release.¡± Charlotte finally noticed Nif¡¯s crumpling face ¡ª Nif could feel her bottom lip quivering and the skin around her eyes felt hot as she fought tears.

    ¡°Hey. This is a good thing. You want what¡¯s best for the author, right? And those drawings you included, they¡¯re pretty good. I was going to ask Jude to base the designs off them.¡±

    Had Nif been doing a disservice to Sarah? She hadn¡¯t even thought the others would love her story as much as she did. She¡¯d thought she¡¯d have to fight for A Lonely Star to be published, but it seemed she was just being selfish. Wanting to keep it all to herself and thinking the only way it would see the light of day was if Nif was leading the project. How could she have been so arrogant?

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Nif said, laughing wetly. ¡°You¡¯re far more experienced and I¡¯m just happy Sarah will get the recognition she deserves.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of her, Jenny. I promise. And you¡¯ll represent your first author soon, I¡¯m sure. It just won¡¯t be Sarah.¡±

    Nif was still nodding as Charlotte walked away, her gaze glued to the paper weight cactus on her desk in a desperate attempt to avoid becoming a blubbering mess.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Clare asked, materialising beside her. Nif almost assumed she¡¯d shifted from her dormouse form, she¡¯d appeared so quickly, but she was wearing jeans, a tunic the colour of growing things and a leather jacket.

    ¡°Not really.¡± Nif chewed on the inside of her cheek. ¡°Do you think I was being selfish? I was so desperate to start my own list that I didn¡¯t even stop to think I wouldn¡¯t be doing what was best for Sarah.¡±

    ¡°You would¡¯ve done an amazing job, but you need to remember we¡¯re a team here. You¡¯d never have done it all on your own. Even Charlotte is having Pavel and Jude help, and in the end, everyone will pitch in.¡±

    ¡°Is it bad of me, though, to feel cheated? Charlotte has just been handed an easy sell. Another great author to be put under her belt after doing none of the work.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being a little harsh,¡± Clare said, squeezing Nif¡¯s arm. ¡°Sifting through all the unsolicited manuscripts has its own challenges, but Charlotte¡¯s job isn¡¯t going to be easy.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Nif rested her head on her crossed arms, trying to absorb the smooth coolness of the desk through her skin. ¡°I¡¯m just angry. At this rate I¡¯ll never be more than an office assistant.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got your review coming up soon. Have a chat with Leon about where you want to be and how he can help you get there.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t even know how long I¡¯ve been working here.¡± Even Nif disliked the whining edge her voice had taken.

    ¡°And I¡¯m not excusing that,¡± Clare said softly. ¡°Leon is many things, but observant isn¡¯t one of them. You need to make some noise if you want to be noticed.¡±

    ¡°Noise? What kind of noise?¡±

    ¡°The right kind. You¡¯ll know what it is when it happens,¡± Clare yawned wide and settled behind her desk, flipping open her laptop and wincing when the music from some MORP game blasted the room. ¡°Now isn¡¯t it time for the coffee run?¡±

    ¡°Suppose it is. This is me,¡± Nif said, gathering the coffee cup basket. ¡°Clearly making the wrong noise.¡±

    ¡°Keep your eyes peeled, Nif. Prepare yourself for the right opportunity so when it comes up, you can grasp it with both hands.¡±

    ¡°You should write motivational books,¡± Nif grumbled, her thoughts already on seeing Yong-shen and Huan until she remembered her crushed coffee cup. She¡¯d have to get a disposable cup and she hated using those. The day was still young though. She just had to soldier on.

    ***

    ¡°Ah, Jennifer. Just the person I was looking for.¡± Leon was wearing a purple smoking jacket today that no one else would¡¯ve been able to pull off, but somehow Leon made it look a million dollars.

    ¡°Good afternoon, sir.¡± She clambered up from where she¡¯d been sitting on the thinning carpet, surrounded by boxes of rejected manuscripts and bags full of shredded paper. The consultation room she was clearing out had become a dumping ground for all the unsuccessful stories sent to them by post. Nif was very much supporting digital submissions only, but Hopscotch Publishing was keen to continue an open accessibility policy for people less computer savvy. Nif thought it was outdated and wasn¡¯t supporting a greener work approach. The bags of shredded documents would be dropped off at the local shifter shelter, so at least they weren¡¯t completely going to waste.

    ¡°It¡¯s Leon, Jennifer. Please, we¡¯ll be working together closely and I¡¯d like us to be on a first name basis at least.¡± She liked how he rolled her name on his tongue. She hated Jenny -- and only Charlotte insisted on calling her that -- and used only Nif with the people who she was particularly close with. But no one could quite say her full name like Leon did.

    ¡°Of course. You said you were looking for me?¡±

    ¡°Ah yes, Clare mentioned I was perhaps a little too quick to hand off your acquisition pitch, so I wanted to apologise.¡± He rubbed the back of his neck and he looked young, reminding Nif he was not much older than her. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my intention to dismiss your work so I was wondering if you¡¯d consider joining me for a coffee? My shout. As an apology, but it will also give us a chance to discuss the new project beyond prying ears.¡±

    Nif glanced around the still very cluttered room. She¡¯d hoped to have it sorted before she went home for the day, but she also really wanted to spend more time with Leon. Not because of her crush. She¡¯d mostly outgrown that the first year she worked for Never Archives. But she was curious to find out what he was like outside of the office.

    At work he was enthusiastic and yet somehow distant. Clare said he wasn¡¯t observant, but Nif didn¡¯t think that was quite true. He was juggling a dozen things at once: schmoozing with potential investors and established authors, wooing new writers and artists, and he was the unofficial team lead on every project. Leon had the final say on cover designs, font choice, book launches and printing. He wasn¡¯t so much as unobservant, as efficient in the knowledge he retained. Knowing how long an employee had been working for the print was not useful in the overall running of the company.

    What did he read when he was at home? Did he like music? Had he travelled a lot? He rarely took any personal leave, but he was constantly out of the office recruiting or networking.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    ¡°I¡¯ll see if one of the others has a free moment to assist you with this. It¡¯s not fair to heap this all on your shoulders,¡± Leon said, glancing around the room. Normally Nif was the one reeled in to do extra work.

    ¡°A hot drink does sound lovely,¡± Nif said and dusted off her knees. ¡°And honestly, I spend enough time bringing them coffee. The least they can do is let me have some time this afternoon to have a drink with you.¡±

    Leon grinned. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Pavel was roped into sorting the room for Nif, and she only felt a little bad. As a boar shifter though, he kind of enjoyed destroying things, and using the paper shredder was a good afternoon in his book. Nif made a note to ask him to do all the shredding.

    ¡°Shall we go to June¡¯s on East Street?¡± Leon asked, slipping his hands into his pockets as they reached the footpath. Nif wrinkled her nose, and immediately regretted it when he noticed. ¡°Not to your taste then?

    ¡°No, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine, but I prefer To Bean or Not to Bean.¡± Feeling daring, she took the lead. She wanted to impress Leon, make some of that noise Clare was talking about, and Yong-shen¡¯s coffee was an easy way to do that. ¡°It¡¯s this way.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I haven¡¯t been there before.¡± Leon trailed behind her.

    ¡°You¡¯ve had their coffee. It¡¯s where I do the morning coffee run,¡± she said over her shoulder. She adjusted her bag strap and neatly side stepped a horse laden with packages.

    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s you that does that?¡±

    Nif shrugged awkwardly. ¡°Who else is going to do it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not part of your job description,¡± Leon said, a cute frown line marking the smooth skin of his forehead.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind. Really. The owners are amazing and I usually get a free drink for my efforts.¡±

    ¡°Still, that¡¯s why we have interns. They get the coffee, sort the mail, manage the more trivial aspects of running the office.¡±

    ¡°Can you imagine Jemina juggling nine cups of coffee three blocks every morning?¡± Before he could open his mouth to comment about how she managed to do it, she added, ¡°Really, it¡¯s okay. It¡¯s actually one of the best parts of my day. Not the juggling coffee bit and Stan from advertising crushed my keepcup yesterday, which sucks, but just getting out of the office and talking to the loveliest people is a real highlight. But I¡¯ve never had a chance to actually sit and enjoy one of their divine muffins, so if you don¡¯t mind, that¡¯s where I¡¯m taking us.¡±

    They turned down Wymys Lane and Leon jogged up beside her as the crowds thinned out. Nif could feel his eyes on her and when she glanced over, he was studying her with a bemused expression.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so quiet in the office. I didn¡¯t expect you to be so¡­¡±

    ¡°Noisy? Someone told me recently that making some noise isn¡¯t a bad thing.¡±

    ¡°I guess I¡¯m realising there¡¯s quite a bit I don¡¯t know about my colleagues, up in my ivory tower as often as I am.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should take us out for coffee more often?¡±

    ¡°Maybe I shall.¡±

    Nif had to squeeze close to Leon when someone passed, looking down at their phone and unaware they were taking up the entire footpath. Leon radiated warmth and she was distracted so at first she¡¯d thought her bag had just slipped off her shoulder. Except she was then jolted backwards as it was jerked away.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Nif shouted, turning to see who¡¯d stolen her bag and already resigning herself to never seeing it again. The thief was a monkey, some kind of jungle breed, the size of a toddler with a long, curling tail who must¡¯ve been piggybacking on the guy who¡¯d almost walked her off the footpath. There had been articles about this type of crime in the papers. Already the monkey was across the street, leaping over taxi bonnets and using lamp posts to gain speed, while the human accomplice vanished into the crowds.

    Nif started after the monkey shifter to only realise Leon had already taken off. She almost tripped on the leather shoes he¡¯d left behind. His lion form was sleek and dark, like his human body, his paws eating up the asphalt as he tore after the thief.

    Mostly gobsmacked as her boss actually gained on the monkey, Nif collected the clothes left discarded on the footpath and tried to follow as best she could. She caught up with Leon two blocks over by a newsagency, standing in his human skin with her bag in his hands.

    ¡°He tossed your purse when he realised how close I was,¡± he said apologetically.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay. Getting this back was really all that mattered. Thank you so much.¡± Nif handed over his underwear ¡ª briefs ¡ª and tried her hardest not to blush.

    ¡°I¡¯m still going to report it,¡± he said, dressing casually on the sidewalk. ¡°It could happen to someone else and they may not be able to chase them down.¡±

    ¡°I really am grateful.¡± Nif handed over his shirt, still warm from being so close to his skin. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to do that.¡±

    ¡°Your wallet was in there, right? And your phone? It would¡¯ve been a pain to replace and I need you focused on this new project.¡± He realised he¡¯d done his buttons wrong and had to start again with an embarrassed cough.

    ¡°Still. Thank you.¡± She handed over the last of his clothes and finally checked the condition of her bag. There were claw marks across the leather, but it wasn¡¯t a new bag nor expensive.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make a police report. I got a pretty good scent off the thief, so hopefully that¡¯ll help catch them. Why don¡¯t you head back to the office and we¡¯ll do a rain check on that coffee?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Nif wasn¡¯t feeling up for anything anyway. After the initial surge of adrenaline, she was now washed out and wanted nothing more than to sit down.

    ¡°Were you really planning to chase him down yourself?¡± Leon asked, doing up his shoe laces as Nif stood awkwardly beside him, unsure whether to wait or head to work.

    ¡°I was going to try.¡±

    ¡°Even without a shift form? I¡¯m impressed!¡±

    Nif told herself not to take offense, but she couldn¡¯t help but bristle. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well, even if you had a soft shift like a mouse or a rabbit, I think you would¡¯ve still given it a go.¡± He stood and rocked from heel to toe, as if his feet were not quite the right size anymore. Nif knew the theory of shifting. All teenagers had to attend the classes at school, whether they were shifting already or not, but she¡¯d never had that out of body sensation people spoke of when they¡¯d switched between forms too quickly. Leon rolled his shoulders and then sighed, offering Nif a shy smile. ¡°I admire that. You don¡¯t let anything limit you.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure if that was a compliment or not, even though it was clear Leon intended it to be one.

    ¡°I should head back,¡± she said instead, looping her bag strap over her neck and shoulder. ¡°Call me if you need me to come down to the police station.¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t be necessary, I¡¯m certain. Let Clare know I¡¯ll be out for a bit. Oh, and before you go, pass me your phone.¡±

    Nif fished her phone out of her bag and handed it to him, screen already unlocked.

    Leon swiftly entered in his personal contact information and then called his own phone.

    ¡°I¡¯ve your number now, too, and you can call me if you need anything.Take care, Jennifer.¡± He strode off without looking back and Nif was having a tough time trying to decide if she was glad to see him go or not.

    Nif was already at the next corner when she realised she hadn¡¯t gotten around to asking who she would be working and what he¡¯d written. She pulled out her phone, texted Leon a message, and waited to see the read icon change. First date nerves fluttered to life in her stomach. Don¡¯t be silly, Nif. Having his number doesn¡¯t change things.

    The author¡¯s pen name is Cliff Salem. Leon replied. He wrote the Fragmented Chronicles.

    Nif¡¯s heart skipped a beat, her lips stretching into an uncontrolled smile. She was going to be working with Cliff Salem! The author had come out of nowhere, the fourth and last book of his Fragmented Chronicles only released a month ago and each book had superseded the one before. Extremely private, Cliff had refused interviews and book launches, but he was highly active on social media. Nif had only managed to read his first novel, the one written before the Fragmented Chronicles. It was a sweet novella called The Atrium, about a girl trapped inside a glass dome. His use of imagery always walked that fine line between poetic and pretentious, and yet somehow he pulled it off. All four of the Fragmented Chronicles were sitting on her bedside table, waiting for a quiet moment for her to get lost between the pages.

    No one even knew what he looked like, but Nif was not only going to meet him, she was going to work with him!

    Remember, this information is need to know at the moment. We¡¯ll be making the announcement at Never Archives next week. Leon added.

    I won¡¯t say a word.

    Nif was so distracted by the knowledge of who she¡¯d be working with (and making plans to binge read the series), she¡¯d almost forgotten the purse snatching entirely until Clare wrinkled her nose and asked why her bag smelt like monkey.

    After Nif told Clare what had happened, the older woman made her a cup of tea and shooed Prishna away, who had a nose for gossip, so Nif could fill her afternoon with busy work until it was time to pack up. She was the first to leave for once.

    Her doctor¡¯s appointment was two bus stops away, but she left early enough to walk. At first she enjoyed the fresh air and the brief afternoon warmth before the evening chill moved in. A tall man, built like a vending machine passed too close and she darted to the side, keeping her eyes on him until he was clear. Nif cradled her bag close to her chest. An ache pulsed behind her eyes and she was regretting her decision to walk, but by the time she reached the clinic, her anxiety had faded, grey and lavender echoes lingering on the edges of her mind.

    No wonder she¡¯d never shifted. She could never hold onto a strong emotion for long enough. She was starting to think her parents were right. Avoiding any significant emotional trauma had to be a good thing, but a small thought nagged at her. Maybe there really was something wrong with her?

    No, she was fine. She wasn¡¯t broken. There were plenty of others who were like her, and they all went on to live perfectly normal lives.

    She could always ask Heather, though. The doctor always had a few reassuring words for Nif, and she really needed that right now. The bell chimed as Nif entered the clinic waiting room, and the sweet smell of vanilla warmed her through. A chat with Heather was the perfect way to end her day.

 Chapter 6

    ¡°Doctor Heather Simons had a family emergency so won¡¯t be able to keep her appointments this afternoon,¡± said the nurse at the front desk. It was Harry this evening, decked out in his shiny piercings and tattoos peeking from the cuffs of his scrubs. He usually had the afternoon and evening shifts while June took the morning.

    ¡°Is she okay?¡± Nif asked, gripping the edge of the counter tightly.

    ¡°She will be,¡± he said, smiling reassuringly, his eyebrow piercing flashing. ¡°Doctor Mason Sullivan will be covering her appointments until then. Will that be okay?¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡± She¡¯d only seen Doctor Sullivan whenever he¡¯d come out to the waiting room to call in a patient. While she preferred a woman doctor, he¡¯d seemed kind enough. He looked like a stereotypical grandfather. Knitted vests and leather loafers. His short, grey hair was neatly combed over and the wrinkles around his eyes were deep and friendly.

    ¡°Take a seat and he¡¯ll be with you shortly.¡±

    ¡°Okay, thanks.¡±

    Nif waited just long enough to regret not bringing a manuscript from work to read when Doctor Sullivan called her name. She trailed him into his office and took the chair beside his desk.

    Across the far wall was a narrow examination bed and children¡¯s pictures were blu-tacked in neat rows above it, bright colours depicting people of all shapes, sizes and forms. The layout was the mirror opposite of Heather¡¯s room, but there was a neatness to Doctor Sullivan¡¯s that was lacking in Heather¡¯s. Pencils were lined up in a row on the desk, prescriptions ready to be printed were filed beside the printer and while Heather had a few bookshelves crammed with all kinds of paraphernalia, Doctor Sullivan¡¯s had tiny drawers labelled with the contents in a tidy hand.

    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Doctor Sullivan.¡± He settled into his chair and folded his hands, giving Nif his full attention. ¡°What would you prefer I call you?¡±

    ¡°Jennifer is fine.¡±

    ¡°Well Jennifer, how can I help you today?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to renew my prescription for the pill.¡± She mostly took it to make her periods more regular and to improve her skin, though she liked the idea that she was prepared if one of her dates ever did eventuate into something.

    ¡°Fairly straight forward then. Let¡¯s just check your file.¡± The doctor tilted his monitor screen so she could see what he was looking at and he tapped his finger on the medication. ¡°You¡¯ve had no side effects from the contraception? No extreme moodiness, headaches, acne?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, all fine. I¡¯ve been taking this pill since I was sixteen and never had any problems.¡±

    ¡°Good, good. I see you¡¯ve still got a few more scripts left on your allergy medication. Good, good. Your last pap smear came back fine and you¡¯re not due for another until next February. I¡¯m glad to see you taking such good care of your health. Many young people think they¡¯re invincible and don¡¯t realise how important preventative health care is.¡± He hummed and hawed over her information until he paused, frowning.

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    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Nif edged forward in her seat, trying to see what had caught his attention.

    ¡°It says here you have yet to shift. Your 30th birthday is not far off.¡±

    Nif¡¯s stomach dropped.

    ¡°I know,¡± she whispered, sinking low into her chair and tracing one of the deeper scratch marks in her leather bag.

    ¡°Is there a precedent of this occurring in your family?¡±

    ¡°My mum didn¡¯t shift until she was twenty-two.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s late, but not unheard of. Your father is normal?¡± Doctor Sullivan took out a pen and paper, taking notes.

    ¡°He was fifteen when he shifted,¡± Nif reluctantly answered. Her usual doctor knew all of this. In her early twenties, Nif had seen lots of doctors and psychologists about the potential reasons for her not shifting. Tests had been done and various medications tried, until finally Nif had had enough. Heather understood, but for other doctors she¡¯d met, she was a novelty. A curiosity. A riddle to be solved.

    ¡°The percentage of people who make it to thirty without shifting is tiny. Barely 0.05% of the population.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Nif had done the numbers once. In her city of almost 3 million people, only an estimated one thousand five hundred people couldn¡¯t change into an animal.

    ¡°Have you really tried to shift?¡±

    At nineteen, soon after she¡¯d started university, Nif had driven herself to the lookout overlooking her hometown and had climbed over the safety railing, holding herself above a thirty foot drop and desperately hoping she¡¯d shift into some kind of bird like her father. The fall had broken her arm and collar bone, but she¡¯d managed to climb back up to the car, drive herself home and tell her parents she¡¯d slipped in the toilets at the shopping centre. Her parents never said anything, but she didn¡¯t think they believed her. About a week later she started seeing a campus counsellor.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve come to terms with this,¡± Nif said around the thick lump in her throat. ¡°I really only came here to get my prescription refilled.¡±

    ¡°You should really consider some alternative therapies that have been known to induce shifting.¡± Doctor Sullivan gave her a pamphlet. ¡°You¡¯ll never be whole until you can successfully shift.¡±

    Across the front in glossy letters was Be the Change You Seek and beneath it were a list of methods to force a shift. Inside were smiling young people next to personal anecdotes of shifting success.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she muttered, unable to look at him and when he finally handed over her new prescription, she couldn¡¯t leave fast enough.

    ¡°You okay, Jennifer?¡± Harry asked as he swiped her credit card. ¡°You¡¯re looking a little peeky.¡±

    ¡°Doctor Sullivan gave me this,¡± Nif said, waving the pamphlet at the nurse.

    Harry sighed. ¡°Want me to bin it for you? He means well, but he did his doctorate on those who are unable to shift so he tends to forget himself.¡±

    ¡°Can you leave a note in my file that I¡¯ll only see women doctor¡¯s from now on? If Heather is away again.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Don¡¯t let it get to you.¡± He took the pamphlet from her, unresisting, and made a show of throwing it away. ¡°My little sister has a dysfunctional shifting form. Can only shift when she¡¯s at heightened levels of emotion. I understand how challenging it can be when everyone else around you takes shifting for granted. Now no pressure or anything, but my sister finds it helps when you have others to talk to. Maybe you should consider a support group?¡±

    Nif tapped absentmindedly on her phone, remembering the poster she saw at the bus stop. It couldn¡¯t hurt to give it a try.

    ¡°Yeah. I think I will.¡±

    Thinking about what Doctor Sullivan said only reminded Nif of all the other times someone had made her feel worthless, and she was sick of it. She opened up her phone¡¯s photo gallery. The support group for non and problematic shifters at Juniper High was on tonight. She wasn¡¯t ready to go home yet, and she was curious. It wasn¡¯t like her day could get any worse.

 Chapter 7

    An hour later, Nif was licking the last of her take-away dumplings from her fingers as she got off the bus at the quiet, dimly-lit school. Only the hall was well-lit, a high-roofed sandstone building with shallow steps leading to a massive double door. A ramp snaked up the side and a poster board at the top of the steps read YOU¡¯RE WELCOME HERE. Beneath in smaller print was Non-shifters, Irregular and Unique people and their loved ones.

    ¡°Come on, Nif. You can do this.¡± She quickly texted Sapha where she was and what she was doing -- send the cavalry if you haven¡¯t heard from me in two hours -- then took a steadying breath.

    ¡°Once more into the breach,¡± she whispered and marched up the stairs, her bag grasped tightly in her arms.

    Inside the front doors was a small entrance foyer: a closed cloak room off to the left and toilets to the right. Another set of regular sized doors opened up onto a massive hall. The wooden floor was scuffed and marked from hundreds of volleyball games while on the far side was a dark maroon-curtained stage, set a metre above the floor. The walls were covered in school plaques, banners displaying house teams and student art.

    Only the stage lights were lit, creating a cozy, intimate space, transforming it from a teenage world of school activities into a more grown-up realm for serious conversations. Nif could see the support group before anyone could see her. There were a dozen seats in a circle and almost half were already occupied.

    What was she expecting? They looked like regular, everyday people. The oldest looked to be in his sixties while the youngest was a couple of years younger than Nif. They were quietly chatting amongst themselves, the soft murmuring of their voices drifting to fill the dark, shadowy edges of the hall.

    There was a low table set up next to the circle with mismatched mugs, a hot water canister, little bottles of different milks, store bought biscuits, Sapha¡¯s favourite flavour of chips and a somewhat limp collection of fruit. Music played from somewhere. It reminded Nif of Sapha¡¯s lazy morning acoustic playlist.

    Someone cleared their throat behind Nif and she swallowed her squeak, jerking to the side and blinking to adjust her eyes as she stared at the figure hidden by the gloom.

    ¡°First time?¡± the man asked. The foyer light reflected off his chest and chin, and she could just make out that he was a head taller than her, around her age, scruffy looking with week-old stubble, but wearing a pressed button-up shirt over jeans and green converses. Hanging loosely from his fingers was a blue esky.

    ¡°Yeah. You?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a regular. No need to be shy. Everyone here is super lovely. I¡¯m mostly here for my friend Moira, but I can¡¯t help showing up every week now I¡¯ve gotten to know them all. Come on, I¡¯ll introduce you to them.¡± He strode off towards the stage and Nif darted after him.

    ¡°Wait, I didn¡¯t catch your name!¡± Nif huffed.

    ¡°Oh, right. Sorry. I¡¯m Oliver Stone.¡± He juggled the esky into his left hand and offered his right to her. She tentatively took it and wondered at the calluses. Was he a climber?

    ¡°I¡¯m Jennifer Saito.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you Jennifer. Hey Clint, we¡¯ve a newbie!¡± Oliver bellowed across the hall and it echoed. Five faces spun towards them, and Nif fought hard not to disappear back into the shadows. Instead, she followed Oliver up the short set of stairs and into the light pooling on the stage.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go frightening her off, Oli,¡± the oldest man grumbled, taking the esky and depositing it by the refreshment table. ¡°Ignore him,¡± he said to Nif. His smile was crooked, but kind. ¡°I¡¯m Clinton Bell-Stewart. You can say I¡¯m the group organiser. My day job is counselling university students and I¡¯m a non-shifter. I¡¯ve been running this group nigh on four years now. Make yourself a drink and take a seat wherever you like. Now don¡¯t feel like you¡¯ve got to talk much this first time. You don¡¯t need to tell us anything. This is a safe, welcoming space and you can go at your own pace.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Nif said. ¡°I¡¯m Jennifer. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡± The pressure of all those strangers¡¯ gazes shifted off her as they returned to their quiet conversations, giving her time to collect herself.

    ¡°Want a tea or coffee?¡± Oliver asked. ¡°Or there¡¯s soft drink in the esky.¡±

    ¡°Tea would be nice.¡± Nif dropped her bag beneath an empty seat and went to get a cup, but Oliver had already beaten her to it. ¡°I¡¯m kind of the group mascot,¡± he said, grinning boyishly. ¡°They keep me around mostly because I supply the food and make a great tea. What kind would you like? I¡¯ve a couple of herbals -- ooh, I¡¯ve got a coconut tea that says it can help you escape and unwind -- and one sad looking no name black tea. I¡¯d skip that one if I was you.¡±

    Nif watched as he made her peppermint tea in a handleless cup with a flourish far exceeding the usual dunk in hot water method, noting his eyes were actually the colour of sea-buffed glass, grey and then green depending on how the light reflected through his black rimmed glasses. His hair was a dark, shaggy mess, and while his face was pleasant to look at, it would be easily forgotten in a crowd, and Nif suspected he liked it that way.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, handing her the hot cup and their fingers brushed. There were no sparks, but he definitely lingered, and when Nif pulled away, the warmth in her fingers was not only from the tea.

    ¡°Cheers,¡± she said, and retreated to her seat. Nif was strangely disappointed when Oliver sat two seats over from her, but she could still feel his gaze. When she glanced up over her tea, he blushed and looked up at the far wall, as if the artwork of a minotaur with a mermaid tail was absolutely fascinating.

    ¡°Okay, everyone. Take a seat,¡± Clinton said, clapping his hands together, the echo reverberating throughout the dim hall. He sat opposite Nif, cradling his own drink in one hand. ¡°We have someone new joining us today. This is Jennifer, but before we give her  chance to say anything, let¡¯s start by introducing ourselves.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll start,¡± said the young, asian woman between Nif and Oliver. She was wearing the uniform of a university student the world over: jeans, t-shirt and a massive jacket that promised to swallow her whole. She spun in her seat, her feet barely touching the ground and her knees were almost close enough to brush Nif¡¯s thigh. Nif¡¯s first thought was that her shift had to be something cute -- like a hedgehog or a hamster. She had round cinnamon apples for cheeks and short fluffy hair that curled around her ears, but then Nif remembered shifting wasn¡¯t the norm here. ¡°I¡¯m Moira Yang. I¡¯m doing my postgraduate degree on the effects of screen time on developing minds. It¡¯s more interesting than it sounds, I promise.¡± Her voice reminded Nif of the rush of champagne bubbles and the first bite of a sweet strawberry. ¡°I¡¯m gay, prefer chai lattes over any form of coffee, and I¡¯m an abnormal shifter. I can only shift when I¡¯m really angry.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ve got more chance of snow in summer then you have of Moira losing her temper,¡± Oliver said, draping an arm around his friend¡¯s shoulder and tugging her in close. She wiggled in mild affront, before sighing and stealing Oliver¡¯s tea.

    ¡°I¡¯ve shifted twice in my life, both during less than stellar circumstances,¡± she admitted easily enough. ¡°I think the whole importance placed on shifting is overrated. Now it¡¯s your turn, Oliver.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already introduced myself. I¡¯m the one who comes bearing sustenance.¡±

    ¡°He insists on bringing actual mugs rather than styrofoam cups,¡± Moira said to Nif, rolling her eyes.

    ¡°They¡¯re better for the environment!¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Oliver and Moira,¡± Clinton interrupted, rolling his eyes fondly. ¡°Let¡¯s move on before you end up wrestling on the floor again.¡±

    ¡°That was one time, Clint, and she started it.¡±

    ¡°How old are you again?¡± said a man in a cheap business suit, his voice gruff. He¡¯d loosened his tie and his shirt strained against his solid gut. Nif could tell he liked rich food because he had saucy stains speckling his white shirt. He¡¯d obviously made some effort to clean up -- his thinning hair was neatly combed and the stains had had some attempt at being moped up -- but he radiated a desperate sense of loneliness that Nif suspected came across as rude or cold to outsiders. She¡¯d often been accused of the same at university, when really she¡¯d been struggling to navigate the social cues of a group of people -- the rest of the world it often seemed -- that she didn¡¯t fully belong to.

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    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go next then Morris?¡± Clinton gestured warmly for the man to continue.

    ¡°Right. I¡¯m Morris Hulm. I¡¯m in tech support at the Great Northern Bank. I¡¯m a partial shifter. Feet and hands mostly.¡± He demonstrated by holding up his hands and his fingers became the stubby nubs of a tortoise.

    ¡°Did you want to add what you¡¯re most passionate about?¡± Clinton prompted gently.

    ¡°I paint,¡± Morris offered after a tiny moment of hesitation and his face changed, becoming bright like the moon appearing from behind clouds. Maybe the specks on his shirt were actually paint, not sauce. ¡°All sorts really. I particularly love landscapes, though at the moment I¡¯m creating a portrait collection of the planets in our solar system. I¡¯m working on Mars at the moment.¡± As he continued, he became more and more animated. His voice grew to fill the room and his hands were expressive, painting the air with his gestures, his brown eyes lit from within like smoldering coals.

    ¡°Each has its own personality, inspired by mythology, but also twisting expectations. Mars, for instance, is named after the Roman god of war, but instead of using warm reds and oranges to invoke violence or rage, I¡¯m using cooler colours. Hues of pinks and purples to suggest passion and excitement.¡± Morris caught himself, half out of his seat and it was almost painful to watch him fold in on himself, packing away his passion until he was just another blunt office worker, pouring the most precious hours of his life away to serve some big cooperation.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see them,¡± Nif said into the spelled silence after Morris¡¯ outburst. ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind?¡±

    Morris looked down at his soda can and shrugged, but his cheeks were flushed in pleasure.

    ¡°We¡¯d all like to see them, Morris. Safe place here, remember?¡± Clinton reassured him.

    ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s me,¡± Morris finished gruffly. ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡±

    The last two in the circle were similar in the way only siblings could be. About the same age as Nif¡¯s mum, they had identical hairstyles, which were almost a decade out of date and belonged on a much older woman. Their outfits complimented each other, as if they were each other¡¯s dates to a dance. One wore a dress the colour of a dark red wine with a vine pattern along the hem while the other wore a dress the colour of green olives with a wide maroon sash.

    ¡°I¡¯m Philippa and this is my baby sister Josephine,¡± the eldest introduced, flopping her hand between herself and the woman beside her. Josephine shyly waved. ¡°Neither of us can shift and because of that, our parents disowned us and we sell our nights for a living.¡± Philippa glared Nif down, expecting a response that Nif was too surprised to give.

    ¡°You make it sound so much worse than it is, Pippa,¡± said Josephine softly. ¡°We¡¯re night nurses. We watch over little ones who must be cared for twenty-four seven. Children who are ill or at high risk of breathing difficulties while they sleep. Our sole purpose is to stay awake and ensure children continue to dream.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re qualified nurses, but it¡¯s the only work that¡¯ll have us. Patients don¡¯t like being cared for by someone who can¡¯t shift. They think it¡¯s contagious or will bring bad luck.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise the prejudices were so bad,¡± Nif admitted, feeling guilty though she wasn¡¯t sure why.

    ¡°They claim there aren¡¯t any biases in the hiring process, but not once did either Jo or myself get a call for an interview,¡± Philippa said. ¡°At least being a night nanny pays the bills, though it wreaks havoc on our social lives.¡± The two sisters shared a glance and for a moment their shoulders slumped through sheer exhaustion, before they rallied and turned to Nif.

    ¡°So, tell us your story,¡± Philippa said.

    ¡°Only as much as you¡¯d like,¡± Clinton reminded, helping himself to another cup of tea.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m Jennifer. I¡¯m a junior editor at a publishing house that specialises in speculative fiction.¡±

    Moira jostled Oliver and he elbowed her back, giving up on his tea cup and getting another.

    ¡°Ignore the children,¡± Philippa said, giving Moira and Oliver a hard glance. They instantly straightened and Nif suspected Philippa had no nonsense from sleepy children either.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t shifted yet,¡± Nif said in a rush and it felt...good to admit it to this crowd. She wasn¡¯t met with pity or even sympathy. She was met with understanding and a small knot deep inside her chest unwound until, for the first time in who knew how long, she could take a deep breath.

    At work, it was easier to not mention her inability to shift. When people brought up shifting, she stayed quiet or left the conversation. Speaking out in the open about it was not taboo, but people just didn¡¯t do it.

    ¡°And it¡¯s okay, you know. If you never do,¡± Clinton said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t define you.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to my job prospects and love interests,¡± Nif said, mostly as a joke, but Philippa and Josephine nodded fiercely in agreement and Moira nudged her arm in comfort.

    ¡°I find dating hard, too,¡± Moira said. ¡°For most people, shift forms are usually such a quick way to see if you¡¯re wasting your time or not. Whether you¡¯re compatible you know, even though studies have proven that having a matching shift doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re more or less likely to live happily ever after. Domestic violence occurs just as equally in mate matches as it does in diverse ones.¡± Moira scratched at the back of her head and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve not got time for dating anyway with my PhD and all, but I¡¯ll find the right companion one day and you will too.¡±

    ¡°Those dating apps worry me,¡± Josephine said. Compared to her sister who was all fiery fury, Josephine was meek and anxious. The woman was sitting on her hands, but Nif could see where Josephine had worried the edge of her sleeve into a frayed mess.

    ¡°Safer than just going to a bar or club and hoping for the best,¡± Moira pointed out.

    ¡°I must admit, I¡¯ve not really had much success with these apps,¡± Nif said. ¡°But I¡¯ve never felt unsafe. Usually you can dismiss the ones that are clearly weirdos, and for the rest, I make sure we meet in a busy place that I¡¯m familiar with.¡±

    ¡°I miss the days when you met someone naturally,¡± Clinton said and sighed. He wore a wedding ring, so really, he had to have done something right at some point. ¡°I don¡¯t understand how you can just add your likes and dislikes into a profile and you¡¯re just matched up.¡±

    ¡°The apps use some pretty clever algorithms,¡± Moira said. There was a note in her voice that hinted she was about to begin a lecture. Oliver knew his friend well and cut her off.

    ¡°Yes, but in the end, you¡¯re the one who chooses to go on a date with someone by making a personal judgement call. Maybe you like the person¡¯s smile? Or there¡¯s something in the way they structure their sentences? These things can¡¯t be picked up by algorithms.¡±

    ¡°Not yet, maybe,¡± Moira said, digging a knuckle into Oliver¡¯s ribs. He laughed and squirmed away.

    ¡°People aren¡¯t designed to be alone,¡± Morris added, voice rough like he¡¯d been gargling razor blades all his life. Nif noticed it grew rougher whenever his thoughts turned dark, smoother when he talked about art. ¡°But how can you tell when someone is genuine or not? You hear all these stories. Partners betraying and hurting each other, you¡¯ve got to wonder if it¡¯s maybe better to stay alone?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just not people you know, either. The world isn¡¯t safe any more,¡± Josephine whispered in the following silence.

    ¡°When has it ever been safe?¡± Philippa scowled, grinding the heel of her shoe into the wooden stage as if all the bad things in the world were just an ant to be crushed.

    ¡°Our mother never used to lock the front door,¡± Josephine pointed out.

    ¡°And then they kicked us out and we had to fend for ourselves on the street.¡±

    ¡°But we found safe places easily,¡± Josephine continued. ¡°Teenagers now, where do they go? They¡¯re preyed on, whether they have parents to keep an eye out for them or not. It doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re a child or in your eighties, man or woman, you can never be a hundred percent safe.¡±

    ¡°A forty-six year old woman disappeared a fortnight ago while putting out her rubbish,¡± Morris spoke up. ¡°They found her last week. They cut out her eyes and made her swallow them. Who even does that?¡± He crossed his arms, looking even more disgruntled and yet he was nervously chewing on his lip.

    ¡°They¡¯ll catch the perpetrators,¡± Clinton assured. ¡°Thea said her bosses had made finding them a priority. My partner is in the police force,¡± he said as an aside to Nif. ¡°She mostly works in Petty Theft, but her office is the base for the homicide squad, and the break room is a hub of gossip, just like any other workplace.¡±

    ¡°Still, isn¡¯t that proof enough that something is rotting in our society?¡± Philippa demanded.

    Nif caught Oliver¡¯s eyes and he rolled them, suggesting this wasn¡¯t a new rant of the sisters.

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, we need to be careful. We can¡¯t run or fight like most people can. We¡¯re vulnerable.¡±

    ¡°I suspect it¡¯s all the screen time kids get these days. Studies have shown¡­¡± Moira firmly wrestled the conversation back into more positive realms and Oliver let her lecture. Nif was relieved. She¡¯d heard about the increase in violent crimes in the city and worried about Sapha when she went out late reviewing films.

    Nif and Sapha had instigated a few preventative measures ¡ª texting if they had a change of plans, keeping each other updated when they were out late at night ¡ª and Nif was trying to convince Sapha to get a dog for when she was at home alone all day. That was a battle Nif was fairly certain she¡¯d lose since Sapha was a cat-shifter and all.

    The rest of the evening was one of comfort. Morris talked more about his current art project. Philippa read out loud her new favourite poem, full of sharp edges and broken things. Josephine talked about her garden. While Moira explained the current challenges her PhD was giving her, Nif watched Oliver as he fondly smiled at his friend before his eyes caught Nif¡¯s. She wanted to look away, but courage flickered briefly inside her and she glanced down and then up through her eyelashes. His return grin -- boyish and shy -- made Nif want to laugh, joy dancing up her spine until she felt like her whole body was full of bubbles and she¡¯d float away.

 Chapter 8

    When Clinton called an end to the session, there was a lightness shared amongst them all and Nif realised she¡¯d come again. For the two hours they¡¯d talked, not about shifting but about the things that were truly important to each of them, it felt as if they¡¯d hit a reset button. All the anxiety and frustration and anger was swept aside.

    They moved together as a group to the front of the hall, everyone carrying something from their evening snacks -- Nif had the esky -- and Clinton turned off the lights and made sure the doors were locked.

    In the car park, they lingered. Philippa was laughing at a poorly executed joke Morris had said. Clinton, Josephine and Moira were sharing recipes for a pasta sauce. Oliver¡¯s shoulder bumped up against Nif¡¯s, his arms cradling a box full of mugs against his chest.

    ¡°Will you be back next week?¡± Oliver asked, as Moira hollered for Oliver to wait while she brought the car round. ¡°We haven¡¯t scared you off, I hope.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ll see me again. I wasn¡¯t too sure earlier and, in the end, it was more spur of the moment that I even came, but I¡¯m glad I did.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you decided to come along. We don¡¯t often have new members.¡±

    They waved as Josephine and Philippa hurried off to catch their bus and Morris grumbled his own farewells and disappeared into the car park.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to return the key to security,¡± Clinton said, dangling the keyring from his finger. ¡°It was a pleasure having you, Jennifer. I hope to see you again next week.¡±

    ¡°Unless an unforeseen event strikes, I¡¯ll definitely be here. I¡¯ll bring muffins.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful. Here¡¯s my number,¡± he said, handing her his card. ¡°So let me know if you have any questions or think you can¡¯t make it. Get home safely, you hear?¡±

    ¡°Thanks Clinton.¡±

    The older man tossed them a cheery wave and headed off towards the school office, leaving Oliver and Nif together.

    ¡°He¡¯s a good bloke, Clint,¡± Oliver said, smiling after the man. ¡°Before Moira and I found his support group, Moira was really struggling. She was hitting wall after wall at the university, supervisors pulling out at the last minute and at one point she considered throwing in the towel entirely and going back home to work in her mum¡¯s cafe. She would¡¯ve hated it. But after meeting Clint and the others, her confidence soared. Her supervisors didn¡¯t know what hit them.¡± Oliver laughed and shook his head. ¡°Sometimes having someone who can really understand you is all you need to tackle the rest of the world.¡±

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    It was getting colder, the temperature dropping as the last of the day¡¯s warmth leached from the asphalt. The sky was clear, the stars bright, like shards of ice, and Nif wondered if they were heading towards early snow.

    ¡°So are you like me? A non-shifter or like Moira or Morris?¡± Nif asked,

    ¡°Actually¡­¡± Oliver began, fingers drumming on the outside of the mug box.

    ¡°Oi, this carriage is leaving with or without you,¡± Moira bellowed from the window of a cute blue bubble of a car. A dozen different coloured tree fragrances hung from her mirror in a fat bushel.

    ¡°Go on. Maybe next time,¡± Nif said, handing over the esky. She told herself the only reason she didn¡¯t ask for his number was because she didn¡¯t want to ruin the chance of coming to this support group again. Philippa and Josephine were oddly intense in their own unique ways, and Morris was obviously eager for the company and genuine attention. Moira was so sweet and even now, as she half hung out the window to wave to Nif as they drove off, made Nif want to take her home to her parents. Oliver though...she smiled a secret smile. There was potential there. She¡¯d admit that. There was something about him that made her chest glow with excitement and nervousness, the sweet combination of a new crush.

    ¡°Wait Moira, hold your horses,¡± Oliver¡¯s voice drifted back across the car park. Moira had stopped at the car park entrance and Oliver had scrambled out of the passenger seat to jog back towards Nif. He was madly scribbling down something, which he thrust towards Nif when he was close enough.

    ¡°I forgot to give you this. My number. Just in case, you know?¡± He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

    Nif didn¡¯t have time to say anything, skin hot, when Oliver spun on his heel and loped back towards the car. The numbers were scrawled across an old takeaway receipt, the sevens almost looking like ones, but Nif didn¡¯t wait to type it into her phone, standing beneath the lone street lamp.

    My friends call me Nif, she typed, hovering over the send button before taking the plunge, hitting send.

    Almost immediately her phone buzzed from an incoming call, but it wasn¡¯t Oliver.

    ¡°Sapha!¡± Nif answered, starting towards her bus stop and calculating how many changes she¡¯d have to make at this time of night.

    ¡°Just checking if I need to release the hounds yet.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d use hounds?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re my minions as you should know. Everything went okay then? They weren¡¯t a bunch of weirdos?¡±

    ¡°They were all lovely. Actually, I think I might have met someone,¡± Nif admitted and she skipped a few steps.

    ¡°Good for you, hon. Could you grab more chips? We¡¯re out.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the worst friend ever,¡± Nif grumbled.

    ¡°But the one you¡¯d call to a knife fight. Text me when you get on a bus, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Nif hung up and received a message. A photo. Moira and Oliver at a red light, pulling faces. No matter what ended up happening, she¡¯d made some new friends. She put her phone away, ignoring the buzz of more messages, and hurried to her stop, keeping an eye out for any creepers or bag snatchers. But Oliver¡¯s smile chased away her lingering fears from earlier today, and nothing could burst her bubble.

 Chapter 9

    ¡°Earth to Nif, where¡¯s your head this morning?¡± Clare knocked on Nif¡¯s forehead and she jerked from her daze. ¡°Did you go on a date?¡± The older woman was dressed in a bright green and yellow dress, far too light for the sudden cold snap, so she had a dark blue cloak slung over her shoulders for warmth. Soon when Clare shifted for her afternoon naps, it would be more and more difficult for her to wake up and Nif would have to start setting an alarm beside her.

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Nif said. She inhaled the spicy aroma of her chai latte. To Bean or Not To Bean, of course, fresh from her second trip to the cafe because she was too distracted to actually do anything productive. Her lips twitched into a smile, her mind again wandering to the dozen or so text messages she¡¯d shared with Oliver.

    He had been sharing random images he¡¯d come across as he went about his business, whatever that business actually was. They hadn¡¯t gotten that far in their back and forth to talk about anything personal. Mostly they stuck to unimportant things. Like how he liked his coffee -- black like his soul -- and his favourite form of amusement was seeing poor examples of grammar. One of the photos he sent was a street sign saying:

    Wildlife

    Drive Slowly

    Which he thought was hilarious, until Nif pointed out that the wildlife could very well drive if they had a large, dexterous shift form. The meme he replied with was a dog wearing sunglasses driving a car.

    Nif was dying to tell somebody and Sapha had no interest whatsoever in sex or dating, for herself or for others. It was probably what made her so good at her job. Rarely did she let her emotions get in the way of telling it how it was, and apparently people liked that for film reviews. Nif never really could understand how she could divorce her emotions from a story. If a story didn¡¯t tug your heartstrings, then how could it be worth your time?

    ¡°Spill the beans, missy,¡± Clare said, perching on the edge of Nif¡¯s desk and leaning in close.

    ¡°Well, I went to a support group last night -- you know, for people like me -- and I met this guy there. About my age, cute in a geeky kind of way, and really sweet. He and his friend Moira -- you¡¯d like her -- are so lovely and I left feeling¡­¡±

    ¡°Happy?¡± Clare said, her face soft. ¡°You¡¯re radiating...contentment is not quite the right word. I¡¯ve never seen you so hopeful, my dear. Will I get to meet this boy of yours?¡±

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s not my boy. Not by a long shot,¡± and Nif tucked her hair behind her ears, a lying tell her mother would recognise.

    ¡°But you hope he¡¯ll be. I can tell these things.¡±

    ¡°Funny. That¡¯s what Yong-shen said at the coffee shop.¡±

    ¡°Great minds, and all that,¡± Clare laughed.

    ¡°Except she kept going on about bears. I¡¯ve no idea what she means by that, though she¡¯s adamant I¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡±

    Leon poked his head around the door into the office, his hair, for once, unkempt.

    ¡°Jennifer! There you are! Quick! You-know-who¡¯s about to arrive. Can you make sure the consultation room is clear and put on a pot of tea? Biscuits? Do we even have biscuits?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll sort out some morning tea,¡± Clare said, hopping up from Nif¡¯s desk in a swirl of heavy material.

    ¡°Great. Good. Thanks.¡± Leon caught his reflection in the window glass and he madly straightened his suit.

    ¡°Are you a fan,¡± Nif asked, baffled and amused at his behaviour and a delightful flush darkened his cheeks.

    ¡°What gave it away? I¡¯ve only spoken with him on the phone before. Is it really obvious?¡±

    ¡°Stand still,¡± Nif said, stepping forward with a confidence that surprised even her. The support group last night had infused a kind of powerful magic in her. She suspected by the end of the week it¡¯ll all be used up and she¡¯d be just as worn out and exhausted with the world, but right now she barely hesitated to reach up and straighten his tie.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Leon murmured, his gaze lingering briefly on her face before they snapped back towards the door. ¡°I¡¯ll meet him in the foyer and escort him up. Can you prepare the consultation room?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Nif watched him go, her stomach all a flutter like she¡¯d swallowed a handful of fireflies.

    The consultation room was tidy after Pavel¡¯s enthusiastic shredding yesterday. A table that could seat six was empty except for a carafe of water, six glasses and a stack of Cliff Salem¡¯s published novels. She¡¯d never gotten around to reading her own copies of the Fragmented Chronicles, but last night she¡¯d dug out The Atrium, the first novella he wrote, from her bookshelf and had a flick through before bed. The writing was still as delightful as she remembered ¡ª a relief since she¡¯d be working with the author now and she had never been good at lying.

    A low level hum of excitement, like electricity sparking in her veins, had her restacking the books on the table to their best effect. Silly since they were his books, but she wanted to make a good first impression.

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    ¡°This way, Mr Salem. We¡¯ve set up a work space for our initial discussions, but later we will provide a private office.¡± Leon¡¯s voice was muffled through the door, but Nif could tell he was at his finest. Confident yet friendly, a lord of his domain, his excitement disguised beneath smooth professionalism.

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to see behind the scenes, Leon. And please, you can call me Cliff.¡±

    Hang on. Why was that voice so familiar? Nif craned her head to see through the glass front wall, but the frosted panels meant she could only see the lower half of their legs. Leon¡¯s were encased in checkered blue suit trousers while Mr Salem was in dark dress jeans and converses. The same green converses Oliver was wearing last night at the support group.

    ¡°Here we are,¡± Leon announced and opened the door into the consultation room, Nif frozen in dismay, one of Salem¡¯s ¡ª Oliver¡¯s ¡ª books still in her hands.

    Oliver stepped into the room first, his lips already creased into a crooked smile, and their eyes met. He blinked. Baffled. His smile instinctively grew but Nif could tell the moment he realised the conflict of Nif being here, in this space, and who he was meant to be.

    Nif stood, setting the book in her hands down with a thump, and reached over the table to shake his hand.

    ¡°Mr Salem. I¡¯m Jennifer Saito. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you,¡± she said and smiled through gritted teeth. He winced.

    ¡°Ah, yes. Me too. To meet you, I mean. A pleasure.¡±

    A small part of Nif was glad he was rattled. He should be. He¡¯d had plenty of moments last night to tell her he was a writer. Was that why Moira nudged him when Nif said she worked in publishing? Who else knew he was actually Cliff Salem, up and coming author who was not only a stellar writer, but prolific? Every publisher¡¯s wet dream.

    Leon glanced from Nif and Oliver. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll see if Clare needs any help sorting some morning tea. Cliff, Jennifer will be at your disposal while you¡¯re working here with us. If you have any questions, she¡¯ll be able to answer them all and more. I¡¯ll give you a little time to get to know each other.¡±

    As soon as Leon closed the door behind him, Nif sat down and crossed her arms, scowling fiercely at Oliver or Cliff or whoever he actually was.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this a coincidence,¡± Oliver said, settling into the chair opposite. He rested his hands on the table, lightly drumming the surface with his fingers.

    ¡°You never said anything last night about being an author.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t really intend to keep it from you. It¡¯s just, ever since I got The Atrium published, people began to expect things from me so it¡¯s easier to keep my author self and my real self separate.¡± He slumped into his chair, but Nif refused to give him any sympathy. All the texting they¡¯d been doing last night and this morning had to be more than just being friends. Nif didn¡¯t have the greatest experience with flirting, but she could recognise it at least.

    ¡°Sometimes they want me to tell them spoilers or create a character based on them,¡± Oliver continued. ¡°Other times they want free books or want to use me to get to my agent. It¡¯s exhausting and it just became easier to be two people. Cliff the author and Oliver the nobody.¡±

    ¡°So who should I refer to you as then?¡±

    Oliver shifted uncomfortably, eyes down.

    ¡°Best to keep to Cliff while we¡¯re at work, but outside¡­¡±

    ¡°Wait, Cliff Salem is a shifter. It says so in his¡­ your bio. Is that a lie, too? To improve your author image?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Oliver said hesitantly and then everything clicked.

    ¡°You never said you couldn¡¯t shift. I just assumed. And why wouldn¡¯t I? You¡¯re attending a partial and non-shifting support group, but you said yourself you go for Moira. Hell, you said you were the group¡¯s mascot. What, you¡¯re the token shifter?¡±

    ¡°Wait, Nif, it¡¯s not what you think. Well, it is kind of¡­¡±

    ¡°Clare managed to wrangle up some muffins, Jennifer.¡± Leon backed into the room, his arms full of paper bags and a tray of coffees. ¡°From your favourite coffee shop!¡±

    Nif jumped up to help him, refusing to meet Oliver¡¯s eyes.

    As she took the coffees from him, Leon leant close and asked, ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. Of course.¡±

    He studied her intently and nodded, but Nif suspected Leon saw far more than he let on.

    ¡°Well, Cliff. Today¡¯s meeting will mostly be reviewing expectations as previously discussed and then if both parties are happy, we will have the contracts signed. Your agent will be joining us shortly.¡±

    The muffins were dust in Nif¡¯s mouth. She focused on taking minutes and keeping the water carafe full and fetching additional paperwork. Oliver¡­Cliff had been keen to join Never Archives after the publisher had bought a small, but promising, film production company that specialised in science fiction and fantasy for television. Leon had been thrilled to have someone of Cliff¡¯s background and fame on board, but one of Cliff¡¯s requirements was to write all the scripts himself. There was a tight deadline for the first script (with some pressure that if Cliff couldn¡¯t meet it, then other writers will be brought in to assist) and so Leon¡¯s promise of a workspace within a busy office and a personal assistant to cater to Cliff¡¯s needs had been the key selling point for jumping across to Never Archives.

    When Leon called an end to their meeting, only two hours had passed, but it felt like it had been days.

    Oliver left with his agent, all smiles but there was a stiffness to him that hinted at his unhappiness.

    ¡°Have you two met before,¡± Leon said after he¡¯d walked Oliver out.

    ¡°Once. In passing. It just surprised me. I didn¡¯t know he was a writer.¡±

    ¡°Will it be a problem if you continue working with him?¡±

    Nif¡¯s ears burnt hot as Leon bore his full attention down on her, and she casually finger combed her hair to cover them. ¡°No, sir. I can be professional.¡±

    ¡°Of that I have no doubts, and please Jennifer, call me Leon.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Leon. I¡¯ll break the habit, I promise.¡±

    ¡°How about we try over lunch?¡± Leon looked up through his lashes, his smile charming. ¡°I could die for some fresh sushi. Or if it¡¯s not to your taste, we could always try the Vietnamese place down on Kent Street.¡±

    ¡°I love sushi,¡± Nif blurted.

    ¡°It¡¯s settled then. Grab your coat and I¡¯ll let Clare know to hold my calls.¡± Leon bounded off to find Clare and Nif followed, chewing her lip in thought. Her phone vibrated and she knew without looking it would be Oliver. Would it be an apology or more excuses?

    She left her phone in her pocket.

 Chapter 10

    For the rest of the week, Nif was the epitome of professional. She always managed to have someone else between Oliver and her the entire time. Clare knew some of the details and had happily taken on the role of physical buffer, and Leon had been dropping by more than she¡¯d expected, joining them for lunch and managing to carry most of the conversation.

    After the first day, Oliver ¡ª who Nif insisted she call Mr Salem no matter how many times he insisted she didn¡¯t ¡ª had quietly retreated, and instead he watched her when he thought she wasn¡¯t looking.

    At some point he must have given Moira her number because his friend had taken to texting Nif frequently. Whether he thought Moira would be on his side and somehow convince Nif to forgive him was proven to be completely misguided.

    He deserves to be roasted, Moira had texted the first time. It¡¯s funny watching him sulk. Just saying, though, I haven¡¯t seen him this worked up over someone in a long time.

    You could¡¯ve told me, too, Nif had pointed out and the younger woman had responded with a gif of Moira putting a box on her head, the words sorry written in bold beneath. Nif couldn¡¯t stay mad at her and they¡¯d been texting back and forth ever since.

    When Charlotte came out of the pitch session on the Friday morning, Nif wasn¡¯t even hiding her interest as she hovered by the older woman¡¯s desk.

    ¡°Well?¡± Nif asked.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got good taste,¡± Charlotte replied. ¡°The pitch was accepted all round. We¡¯ve a tentative late next year release date for A Lonely Star. If Ms Thompson can get a few awards under her belt before the Winter Solstice period, we¡¯ll be laughing.¡±

    Nif pushed away the lingering disappointment that it wouldn¡¯t be her to give Sarah the happy news.

    That weekend she escaped the city to her parents¡¯ place. Her mother had her help rake the fallen leaves in the yard while her father stuffed her full of homemade treats: scones with fresh cream and mulberry jam, the last of the season¡¯s apple pie, and hot chocolates that were so thick she could eat them with a spoon.

    Nif bitched and moaned the entire time until even she was sick of her own voice and her parents were wise enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, though she¡¯d spotted them fondly rolling their eyes at her.

    When Nif returned to work on Monday, she was somewhat rejuvenated (and weighing an extra two kilos) and the sharp edge of her anger had faded to a blunt buzz of annoyance and hurt. When Oliver -- Mr Salem -- offered her a tentative smile, she was proud of herself for smiling cooly back (though she was less proud that she found the first excuse to step out of the office to get coffee).

    On Tuesday morning, Nif received a message from Moira.

    So will you be joining us this evening?

    Despite the weekend away to clear her head, she was still just as tied up in knots as she¡¯d been before. Should she go?

    Who was Oliver...Cliff¡­, whatever name he preferred, to scare her off something that had honestly made her feel better about who and what she was for the first time in a long time? No man, no matter how much he still made her heart skip a beat and her stomach drop, was going to ruin this for her. Maybe Nif could find another group? Surely there were others? But Nif liked Moira, and Clint reminded her of her father. Morris clearly had a heart of gold under that prickly exterior, and even Josephine and Philippa had a sweet earnestness to them, Josephine''s quiet gentleness balancing out Philippa¡¯s indignant fierceness.

    Come on, Nif. It¡¯ll be fun! Moira sent as if she knew Nif was agonising over it all. Oliver looked up from where he was working at the ping and Nif covered the screen as she typed out her reply, feeling childish for doing so.

    Decision to go made, she was just about to hit send when Lyon materialised at the office doorway, giving her a sheepish wave. Tossing Oliver a brief look, she set her phone down and joined her boss.

    ¡°I¡¯ve a favour to ask,¡± Lyon said, hands tucked into his trouser pockets nonchalantly, but his collar was slightly askew.

    ¡°Of course. What is it?¡±

    ¡°I need a date for tonight.¡±

    A date? Why was he asking her? She didn¡¯t know anyone he could go with. Maybe Sapha? Her housemate scrubbed up very nicely, but Sapha wasn¡¯t one to pull her punches. Lyon looked the sort who could take it though. Nif tilted her head slightly, imagining her housemate on Lyon¡¯s arm in a slinky, gravity defying dress. She wasn¡¯t sure what Sapha thought of lions, but as a cat she probably didn¡¯t mind her feline counterpart.

    ¡°I can give you my friend¡¯s number¡­¡± Nif began and was surprised -- and delighted -- when Lyon ducked his head shyly.

    ¡°Actually, I was asking you. If you wanted to go. On a date. With me.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Nif squeaked. Out of the corner of her eye, Nif spotted Oliver¡¯s head snapping up, clearly abandoning any attempts at looking busy. ¡°But why?¡±

    ¡°Because I need a plus one at a publishing event tonight. Because you¡¯ve worked hard this week and you should have a break,¡± he said, rocking back on his heels. ¡°But most of all, because I¡¯d like to take you out if that¡¯s alright.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Nif answered, thoughts of going to the support group tonight flying out the window. ¡°Wait, event? You don¡¯t mean the Thornton Awards?¡±

    ***

    The Thornton Awards was the most prestigious science fiction and fantasy award event for emerging writers in the country. Getting an invite to the awards was like finding a golden ticket in a chocolate bar, and here Nif was, dressed in one of Sapha¡¯s borrowed frocks, doing her best not to freeze to death while she waited for Leon. A gust of winter whistled through the trees, causing Nif to desperately grab at her skirts, layers of blue and silver silk that made Sapha look like an ocean nymph and Nif like a ghost from a Japanese horror film. Goosebumps swept across her bare legs. At least she¡¯d refused Sapha¡¯s flimsy wraps and instead wore her padded, black jacket over the top of it all.

    Shifting closer to the entrance to catch the spill of heat every time the glass doors slid open, Nif peered into the lamp-lit street, hoping to catch sight of Leon¡¯s tall, dark figure. He¡¯d offered to send a car for her, but she¡¯d refused, instead catching a bus into the sparkling, downtown glam of the city¡¯s theatre district.

    The Awards were held in the Delaware Orpheum Theatre, all art-deco glam, crystal and glass amongst dark green tiles and heavy, satin curtains. Through the doors, Nif could see guests flitting about holding bubbling champagne flutes, like dancing dragonflies across the smooth glass surface of a pond, most in their human forms, but there was a pure white husky panting happily by the bar and one of the bar staff was an orangutan in a red and gold suit, juggling bottles of spirits to an admiring crowd.

    ¡°Jennifer!¡± Leon was trying to tug his ankle length coat out of the back door of a car. An expensive car if the reflective sheen was anything to go by. He waved the driver off and took the stone steps leading up to the theatre two at a time. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t been waiting long. You must be freezing!¡± He looked about ready to shrug off his own coat, before realising they should just go inside.

    ¡°Not long,¡± Nif assured. ¡°Nothing a hot drink won¡¯t fix.¡±

    ¡°Last year they had the most divine hot chocolates.¡± Leon held out his elbow for Nif to take; in his free hand was an envelope edged in gold. He radiated heat like a summer day, and Nif couldn¡¯t help edge closer as he swept them up the steps.

    ¡°Leon Knight and his guest, Jennifer Saito,¡± he greeted, handing over the invites in a move that was casually smooth.

    ¡°Welcome, Mr Knight, Ms Saito,¡± said the suited door-woman wearing thick leather gloves, her ears a frosted pink. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to see you again this year, sir. Please, enjoy your evening.¡±

    The door was pulled open from the inside by yet another uniformed staff member and Nif gleefully stepped into the warm embrace of the theatre. Coats discarded at the cloakroom, Nif was busily trying to put names to faces, mostly recognising agents and publishers from other events, but a few of the emerging authors here she¡¯d met at cosy book launches.

    ¡°Is that...I mean,¡± Leon coughed and Nif glanced up at him, surprised by the dark flush across his cheeks as his eyes focused somewhere high on her face. He made a gesture to Nif¡¯s dress. ¡°That doesn¡¯t look warm enough,¡± he finished.

    ¡°Heavens no. It¡¯s my housemate¡¯s. Do I look silly?¡± She couldn¡¯t help feel like a dreary wannabe amongst all the glamour, but she took heart when she noticed a few others lingering around the edges, underdressed and clearly knowing it. She even spotted someone dressed as a horned Loki, knocking back champagne like it was a competition and he was going for gold. He¡¯d obviously misinterpreted the fancy dress requirement.

    ¡°Not at all,¡± Leon said. ¡°You look stunning.¡± The accompanying smile and clear appreciation in his eyes left Nif feeling an odd mix of delight and awkwardness. Her office crush briefly sparked in her chest, but she hastily swatted it out. He was just being nice, and anyway, as much as she found Leon appealing on multiple levels, she couldn¡¯t risk things getting weird at work. She already had Oliver to contend with.

    ¡°That¡¯s nice of you to say. You look quite dashing yourself. Now you mentioned something about hot chocolates? Feel my fingers. They¡¯re blocks of ice!¡± Nif brushed the back of Leon¡¯s hand with her fingertips and he actually flinched.

    ¡°Right, one hot chocolate coming up.¡±

    After Leon had handed her the elegant glass, a swirl of chocolate rimming the inside and topped with fresh cream and marshmallows, Nif had taken a moment to absorb the heat into her fingers before taking a sip. Pure magic. The whole evening could be distilled to this moment and she would go home a happy woman.

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    ¡°You¡¯ve got¡­¡± Leon pulled out an actual pressed handkerchief and offered it to Nif, gesturing to her nose.

    Glancing over to the mirror behind the bar, Nif realised she had a dab of cream on the tip of her nose. Geez, that was embarrassing. At least he hadn¡¯t offered to wipe it for her. Or lick it off.

    ¡°Thanks. This is good,¡± she lifted her hot chocolate in a toast. ¡°So when are the awards announced? Are any of our authors short-listed for an award?¡± No one seemed to be in a rush to enter the main theatre, and canapes were circulating gracefully. Puff pastries topped with delicate garnishes, grilled prawns on dainty skewers, tiny tarts topped in cheese and caramelised onion. They were all delicious (Nif helped herself to everything), though they clashed awfully with the hot chocolate.

    ¡°Not this year, unfortunately.¡± Leon was trying to brush off the pastry crumbs off his silk tie decorated with swirling galaxies, but all he was doing was crumpling it. ¡°The competition was pretty strong, but I¡¯m hoping with the acquisition of Cliff Salem¡¯s new series, more new authors will be keen to sign on with Never Archives this coming year.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to ruin it,¡± Nif huffed and offered him a napkin for his tie.

    ¡°Thank you. And Charlotte is very excited about Sarah Thompson, the young author you discovered, and if what I hear is true, she¡¯ll be a strong contender for next year¡¯s awards.¡±

    Nif was still a bit bruised by having Sarah snatched from her, but she pushed her annoyance aside.

    ¡°Has Mr Salem won any awards?¡±

    ¡°He won the science fiction newcomer¡¯s award three years ago. His agent collected the prize on his behalf because he¡¯s always been notorious for avoiding functions and events. I¡¯m hoping that by the time his work is filmed, he¡¯ll be happy to make an appearance at his own series launch. That¡¯s where you come in.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± Nif offered, trying not to squirm on the spot. At the rate she was going, she¡¯d be lucky if she was even speaking with him. She really needed to get her head on straight.

    ¡°Leon, darling! There you are!¡± The voice belonged to a peacock, and for a moment Nif was truly baffled at being able to understand the high pitched sounds. The bird sweeping towards them was in fact a middle-aged woman wearing a sweeping floor length gown, the train decorated with beads and crystals in the patterns of a peacock. It was in shocking bad taste, and yet the crowd parted before her as if she was royalty.

    ¡°Oh dear,¡± Leon murmured and then straightened, his fake work smile slipping into place. Nif actually ached for him. He¡¯d been so relaxed before, eating far too many of the tarts and licking cream off his nose, that, in comparison, he was a whole different person.

    ¡°Mother, you said you had a prior engagement,¡± Leon said as he bent to air kiss the woman on both cheeks. Nif swallowed back a cough as a toxic wave of perfume enveloped her.

    ¡°Yes, yes, I can¡¯t stay long, but it¡¯s important for your father¡¯s law firm to be seen at such events.¡± She paused to smile wide into the lens of a camera before shoo-ing the photographer off.

    ¡°Of course, and father?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s around here somewhere. Anthony?¡± she shrieked and out of the crowds strode Leon¡¯s double. They could¡¯ve been brothers. Same build, same posture, same walk. He looked as if he¡¯d been poured into his suit, black with a crisp white shirt and a bow tie that was just a little too loose to not be on purpose. But that¡¯s where the similarities ended. Leon¡¯s father¡¯s smile was lazily smug, one she¡¯d never seen grace Leon¡¯s face, and there was just something about the way he moved that hinted at something predatory.

    ¡°You bellowed, my dear?¡± Leon¡¯s father gathered his wife in for a showy kiss, holding it long enough for the flash of cameras to sparkle off Leon¡¯s mother¡¯s dress, before pulling back and reaching without looking for a passing flute of champagne.

    ¡°Say hello to your son.¡± The older woman gestured as if anyone could overlook Leon, standing stiffly as the last of his cream collapsed into his hot chocolate.

    ¡°Leon, my boy. I swear you grow another inch each time I see you. Prague, wasn¡¯t it?¡± The man offered out a hand to shake.

    ¡°Paris, actually. July last year.¡± Leon used it as an opportunity to shift slightly in front of Nif as his father switched his gaze onto her.

    ¡°Time flies, doesn¡¯t it? And who is this little sparrow?¡±

    Nif shrunk further behind Leon, suddenly feeling as if she was being eaten alive as both Leon¡¯s parents turned their intense gaze on her.

    ¡°This is Ms Jennifer Saito. A colleague and friend of mine. Jennifer, these are my parents, Florence and Anthony Knight.¡±

    ¡°A friend from work,¡± Florence said, hands fluttering as she talked. ¡°How charming. You do so care about your little underlings.¡± Her teeth appeared to sharpen in the light, smile a parody of sympathy. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think this is more than it is, Ms Saito. You see, our family only partners with a full match. None of this mixing malarky. Now, I¡¯m usually so good at picking out a person¡¯s shift form, and while my husband guessed sparrow, I can¡¯t help but think that¡¯s not right.¡±

    For a moment Nif didn¡¯t know if she wanted to fight or run away, the glamour and magic of the evening being doused by the waves of threat pouring off Leon¡¯s parents. Poor Leon. A spark of protective rage swirled up deep inside her and she gently nudged Leon aside.

    ¡°To be honest, whatever shift I have is none of your business. Leon and I were having an enjoyable evening before you both showed up and I would be much obliged if you¡¯d scurry off back to whatever hole you slunk out of.¡± Her words rushed out of her, leaving her breathless. She grabbed Leon¡¯s elbow and gave him a little pull. ¡°I think I need a refill. My hot chocolate has gone cold.¡±

    Leon took her cue and marched them into the crowd, his shoulders trembling. At first Nif thought he was angry at her, but as soon as they reached the barista station, his laughter roared out of him until he was almost crying.

    ¡°Their faces!¡± he managed between cackles. ¡°My mother...her face was...oh my god. I¡¯ve never seen her so speechless.¡±

    ¡°That was awful. I¡¯m sorry. They¡¯re your parents and I shouldn¡¯t have¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh no. They deserve it. Trust me. For that you deserve macaroons everyday for the rest of the year!¡± Leon set down his half drunk hot chocolate and did the same for Nif¡¯s, before taking both her hands in his. ¡°Thank you. I should¡¯ve called them out for what they said to you, but you got to it first. You were brilliant.¡±

    For a brief moment, he looked like he was going to kiss her. Leaning back, Nif gave a shrug.

    ¡°Well if I knew macaroons were on the line, I wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to say half of what I wanted.¡± She pulled her hands free and tucked her hair behind her ears.

    ¡°Look, my parents have a very set way of seeing the world. Something I realised very early on was elitist and discriminatory, and I honestly wished you hadn¡¯t had to meet them. They¡¯re my parents only in name, and if it¡¯s another year before I have to see them, then it¡¯s far too soon.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault who your parents are.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, I hope they haven¡¯t hurt my chances of asking you out on a date.¡±

    ¡°A date?¡±

    ¡°A proper one. Dinner and a show? I promise no parents.¡± His smile was confident, yet genuine, nothing like the smile he had for his parents. Chewing her lip, Nif really wanted to say yes. He was kind and sweet and he knew she was shiftless so there would be no nasty surprises there. But...Oliver¡¯s goofy grin as he offered the receipt with his phone number scrawled across the back, all earnestness, made Nif wish it was him she was at this gala with. What was wrong with her? A handsome, rich and, above all, kind man wants a date with her and yet she was thinking about someone else who lied to her. All she could taste in her mouth was guilt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that would be a good idea,¡± Nif finally said. ¡°We work together,¡± she added quickly. ¡°And I feel like things are looking up for me there, and I wouldn¡¯t want people to think¡­¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Leon said, withdrawing even though his smile was still warm. ¡°If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Now, let¡¯s get another hot chocolate, perhaps with a little extra bite? We both deserve it after seeing my parents.¡±

    That was less awkward than Nif had expected, and she knew she¡¯d sleep poorly wondering if she¡¯d made a mistake saying no.

    ¡°Yes, that sounds perfect.¡±

    ***

    At work the next day, the evening before felt as if it had all been a dream until Leon dropped a box of macaroons on her desk with a wink.

    ¡°A promise is a promise.¡±

    Nif had worried it would be awkward, but Leon was his usual charming self and she wondered if maybe she¡¯d imagined him asking her out on a date. The whole thing kept her distracted all morning.

    Nif, dear. Where did you say has the best muffins in the city? Moira texted around lunch time.

    To Bean or Not to Bean. They had rhubarb and custard muffins earlier.

    OMG. I¡¯m there.

    Before Nif could reply, asking why Moira was in the city when she had been stressing about a thesis chapter that just wouldn¡¯t cooperate, Leon swept into the converted office in all his golden glory.

    ¡°How¡¯re you coming along, Cliff?¡± Leon asked.

    ¡°Oh, um, slow progress, but steady,¡± which was a lie because Nif knew he¡¯d scrapped an entire scene this morning, declaring he¡¯d be starting over.

    ¡°Maybe it would be a good idea if you got out of the office? How does lunch sound? Jennifer, you shall come too.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a suggestion so a few minutes later Nif and Oliver were standing awkwardly in the lift as Leon made a quick phone call.

    ¡°Are you ever going to speak to me again?¡± Oliver whispered to her as the lift descended. Nif had been so caught up with the Leon thing, that she¡¯d barely spared a glance at Oliver, and when she had, she¡¯d been left even more confused.

    ¡°I am speaking to you, Mr Salem,¡± Nif said and winced at her tone. This wasn¡¯t like her. She wasn¡¯t known to hold grudges, but she¡¯d really liked him. More than she should have for such a short period and the bonus of not having to explain herself, that maybe he was like her, had thrown accelerant on her emotions.

    ¡°The others missed you last night, you know.¡±

    Part of her still blamed the others, because they were implicit in Oliver¡¯s duplicity, even subconsciously. ¡°If you want, I can not go. Moira likes you, and it¡¯s so rare for her to make new friends.¡±

    Nif sighed and rubbed her eyes, then remembered she¡¯d worn make up today and checked her reflection in the mirrored elevator panels. Still fine. She wasn¡¯t sure who she was trying to impress.

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± she said. ¡°Not come, I mean. I had something else last night, but I¡¯ll attend next week''s meeting, okay. Just, don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be like it was.¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s fine. Brilliant. I¡¯ll have to tell Moira.¡± He paused. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you know. About everything. The misunderstanding. The lie. I wish I¡¯d told you straight away.¡±

    Leon ended his call just as they arrived in the foyer.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to go somewhere new. Apparently the little fusion restaurant I was planning to take you has been temporarily shut down due to a suspicious death. One of the kitchen hands was found yesterday morning, his eyes missing.¡±

    ¡°Oh god, that¡¯s terrible!¡± Oliver exclaimed. Nif had a sick feeling that they¡¯d find the eyes in the poor person¡¯s stomach.

    They settled for a deconstructed toasted sandwich place where the total bill amounted to an entire day¡¯s worth of work. Nif had her suspicions that Leon was paying out of his own pocket rather than the company¡¯s. She hoped he wasn¡¯t doing all this to impress her.

    The meal was strange yet delicious, the conversation awkward and stilted.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not talk shop,¡± Leon had insisted as they were seated so what followed was an odd round of twenty questions. Oliver was particularly enthusiastic; perhaps to prove he could be truthful.

    But eventually the conversation drifted to the bizarre death of the kitchen hand.

    ¡°The police haven¡¯t said anything, but I¡¯m worried this death is somehow linked to the young woman found in her garden two weeks ago,¡± Leon said. ¡°Similar wounds and I heard she was a non-shifter. I know the last victim¡¯s boss and he¡¯s been pretty active in hiring non and partial shutters. I¡¯m fairly certain the poor boy killed was a non-shifter.¡±

    Both men looked at Nif and she swallowed her sudden surge of alarm and shrugged.

    ¡°It could be a coincidence,¡± Nif said, mostly to convince herself.

    ¡°Well, until we know for sure, I¡¯ll feel better if I drive you home at night,¡± Leon said. Before Nif could argue, he lightly touched the back of her hand, his eyes worried. ¡°Please, for my peace of mind at least.¡±

    Nif glanced over to Oliver and he was chewing his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, before snapping it shut, giving a hopeless little shrug.

    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± Nif said, and purposefully changed the subject to online cooking shows.

 Chapter 11

    The following Monday, Nif had just finished brushing her teeth after breakfast when her phone rang. Only two people ever called her.

    ¡°Sweetheart, you¡¯re being safe, right?¡± Nif¡¯s mother asked as soon as she answered. No hello or how you¡¯re doing. Nif had never heard her this rattled before.

    ¡°Is this about the murders, Mum? I¡¯m fine. I live in a big city. The chances I¡¯d come across this guy is slim.¡±

    ¡°Ask her if she heard about them targeting non-shifters?¡± Dad said, voice growing louder as he walked closer to the phone.

    ¡°I¡¯m on speakerphone, dear,¡± Mum said, exasperation cutting through her fear. ¡°I¡¯m always on speakerphone when I call her. That¡¯s why you can hear her too.¡±

    ¡°Well, let her answer then!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard,¡± Nif interrupted. ¡°There¡¯s only been two deaths so far. It could just be coincidence that they¡¯re both non-shifters.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s three now, sweetie,¡± her mother interrupted. ¡°We just heard it on the radio. A young woman was found this morning in a train station toilet. Same awful wounds. Nothing confirmed, but she was registered as a partial-shifter. We know the statistics for non-shifters. It¡¯s a tiny percentage of the population.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not as small when you include partial or abnormal shifters, too,¡± Nif pointed out.

    ¡°It¡¯s still too strange to be claiming it¡¯s only coincidental, Nifty-Nif,¡± Dad murmured. ¡°We¡¯re just worried for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m being careful, I promise. My boss has even offered to drop me off at work in the evenings and I may take him up on it, until they catch the murderer.¡±

    ¡°Good. I texted Sapha earlier and she said she¡¯ll let us know if you don¡¯t show up unexpectedly so make sure you let her know where you are, otherwise we¡¯ll be racing to your place to raise hell.¡±

    ¡°Geez, Mum. Overreacting much.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s better to be overcautious than have the worst happen. We worry, dear, so just help us put our minds at ease, okay?¡±

    ¡°Of course. I love you guys.¡±

    ¡°We love you too, Nifty-Nif.¡± Her dad sounded happier with that promise from her.

    ¡°Oh, and maybe put dating on hold for a bit.¡±

    ¡°Mum!¡±

    ¡°What? You never really know who these guys are. One could be the murderer for all you know.¡±

    ¡°I doubt the murderer would be busy dating when he¡¯s killing people in his spare time,¡± Nif pointed out.

    ¡°Who knows why people do the things they do. Better safe than sorry.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I won¡¯t. I¡¯m too busy to date now anyway.¡±

    ¡°Good. Anyway, your father is going to be late for university if he doesn¡¯t hoof it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a linguistically appropriate comment,¡± her dad muttered.

    ¡°I¡¯ll call you guys later this week, okay,¡± Nif promised and hung up. So a third person had been killed. She was tempted to text Clinton from the support group and see if he¡¯d heard anything when she got a message from him.

    Thea said it may be wise to avoid staying out late. Make sure we let someone know where we are at all times, especially if we live alone, but we shouldn¡¯t overreact. Give me a call if any of you need someone to talk to. Tomorrow evening is still going ahead unless I text otherwise.

    Nif sent a quick confirmation message and finished getting ready for the day, putting the whole thing firmly in the back of her mind.

    The problem with such things was it never stayed there for long.

    Monday passed slowly, Nif jumping at the slightest thing. On Tuesday she actually screamed when she turned a corner and ran into Stan in his human form. He offered her a new keepcup in the same colours as her old one and apologised again. The whole experience threw her off balance. She hadn¡¯t even thought the horse shifter had noticed when he¡¯d broken her cup.

    Oliver was mostly professional, but someone kept leaving her sweet treats. A cupcake was tucked into her top drawer. A tiny box of specialty chocolates were hidden in a stack of paperwork. On top of the macaroons Leon was still leaving her, Nif was at risk of doubling her weight by Winter Solstice. Clare was giving her the raised eyebrow, which Nif was doing her best to ignore.

    ¡°Someone is courting you. Any idea who?¡± Clare finally asked.

    ¡°Maybe?¡± Nif slumped at her desk, somewhat dismayed by the growing pile of unread unsolicited manuscripts that were still being dumped on her desk.

    ¡°Could there be more than one?¡± Clare asked, sounding both scandalised and impressed.

    Nif glanced over to Oliver. He was in the consultation room slash office, only his shoes visible through the frosted glass. She could see vague movement and imagined he was tugging at his hair again. It wasn¡¯t that he lacked ideas. He had half a dozen books under his belt to prove it. It was that he was a perfectionist and he was trying to show off. To Leon ¡ª who hadn¡¯t been able to hide his glee when Oliver had read out loud a favourite passage from one of his books ¡ª and to her.

    The cold front between Nif and Oliver may have warmed somewhat, but she was still reluctant to open herself up to him again. Once a liar, always a liar, her mother often said.

    Then there was Leon. Even Charlotte had noticed the boss spending more time with Nif for no obvious reason. Oh, there were excuses, but he¡¯d taken to making his work phone calls at her desk and they had lunch together ¡ª usually with Oliver but sometimes just the two of them. It seemed he was determined to remind her he was an option.

    As a result, Charlotte had turned oddly calculating and had lingered more in the open plan office than retreat into her claimed consultation room. She even kept Nif updated on A Lonely Star. Charlotte had just received the signed contract from the author Sarah and they were beginning the copy edit stage of the manuscript. Nif wished she was the one providing that feedback. Was this what authors felt about their own work? She felt like only she could provide the right kind of suggestions to make the novel truly shine.

    Instead she was meant to be Oliver¡¯s cheer squad and she wasn¡¯t really doing all that great a job.

    Nif glanced at her new keepcup and wondered when people had actually started to notice her. Her last date had not even been a full month ago. Trevor or Tucker, or whatever his name was, had quietly and not so subtly disconnected on Tender. Nif hadn¡¯t minded. She wasn¡¯t sure if she was handling all this new attention particularly well, and was defaulting to a defensive nastiness she didn¡¯t like.

    ¡°Nif, it¡¯s okay to be uncertain about the attention,¡± Clare said softly. ¡°You may have been looking for love, but just because someone else may profess their love for you doesn¡¯t mean you have to automatically accept it. It must go both ways. Give yourself time to figure out what you want.¡±

    ¡°But what if they change their mind if I take too long?¡±

    ¡°Then they obviously weren¡¯t worth the effort in the first place. Sometimes being uncertain is enough of an answer. If you¡¯re unsure for too long, then it¡¯s probably not the right thing for you anyway.¡± Clare flung her cloak around herself and buried her nose into the soft fabric. ¡°And besides, you¡¯re allowed to change your mind as well. Someone might not be right for you now, but maybe they will be in the future.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a fountain of wisdom,¡± Nif said. ¡°Seriously, you¡¯re wasted at Never Archives.¡±

    ¡°Without me, you¡¯d all be lost,¡± Clare said. ¡°Now it¡¯s time for my nap and I think your pet author needs you.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not my pet author,¡± Nif grumbled, cheeks flushing hot. Oliver was at the consultation door, peering over the opaque glass panel to see if Nif was occupied. When their eyes met, he ducked down, his feet shuffling back and forth as if he was contemplating hiding back behind his desk, before he approached the door, pulled it open and hesitantly peered out.

    ¡°Ms Saito? Do you have a moment?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mr Salem. I¡¯ll be with you shortly.¡±

    He hovered for a moment at the door, before he ducked back inside, retreating back to his seat.

    ¡°I must say, that boy would move mountains if he thought it would get a kind word out of you,¡± Clare said, already undressing to prepare for her nap in her shift form.

    ¡°Am I really being that awful?¡±

    ¡°Nif, you have your reasons. Even if you¡¯re still working your way through them, you¡¯re allowed to keep your distance. But have you asked yourself why you¡¯re still punishing him?¡±

    ¡°I am punishing him, aren¡¯t I? I guess I still feel betrayed. I thought he was like me.¡±

    ¡°So he¡¯s not. How does that change things?¡± Clare carefully hung up her coat and folded her clothes, neatly placing them on her desk chair. Nif noticed a mole shaped like a heart between her breasts and immediately looked to the ceiling.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t really. I never thought I¡¯d date a guy who was a non-shifter. The odds are far too low. I¡¯m not even sure if I was really angry in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Did he apologise?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he did.¡±

    ¡°Then throw the poor man a bone. You don¡¯t have to date him, but that first morning after you met him, you were so excited about making a new friend. A whole bunch of them by the sounds of it, but because of Mr Salem¡¯s personal misgivings, you lost a good support group that I think you really need.¡±

    ¡°I promised I¡¯d go back tonight and see the others.¡±

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Good. You seemed more settled in your own skin after you hung out with them. Now go find out what Mr Salem wants and maybe see how things pan out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, go curl up before you freeze,¡± Nif grumbled.

    Clare shifted smoothly, her body not so much shrinking but folding in on itself until a tiny dormouse took the place of a forty-year-old woman. The mouse climbed Nif¡¯s leg, tiny claws carefully avoiding skin, and then launched herself off Nif¡¯s hip into the open drawer. Nif closed it almost all the way, leaving enough room for Clare to leave, but also shutting out most of the office light.

    Nif wasted a few moments tidying her desk -- mostly moving manuscripts from one side of the space to the other -- until she finally admitted she was stalling. Steeling her resolve, Nif tucked her hair behind her ears and strode towards Oliver¡¯s office, desperately thinking of what to say.

    She needn¡¯t have worried. As soon as she opened the door, Oliver leapt to his feet, his hands dropping from where they had been pulling at his hair. It looked like something had been nesting on his head.

    ¡°Oh thank god. Look, I know you don¡¯t like me, but I think Leon¡¯s made a mistake in having so much faith in me. I can¡¯t do this. Every time I think I¡¯m finally getting somewhere, something else unravels and I end up starting all over again. Is it too late to give back the advance?¡±

    ¡°Woah, hey, it¡¯s okay,¡± Nif said, hands up and open as if calming a wild creature. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me what you¡¯re struggling with right now and we can go from there.¡±

    ¡°Really? You¡¯d help?¡± he asked, honestly surprised and Nif regretted her behaviour a hundred times. Here she thought she was being professional, but she¡¯d been doing the absolute minimum to ensure she avoided Oliver¡¯s presence entirely.

    ¡°Firstly, I need to apologise, too. For the way I¡¯ve been behaving.¡± Nif sat opposite Oliver, gesturing for him to sit. The table was covered in notebooks and A3 pieces of papers covered in timelines and plots. Oliver sat as if his strings had been cut. It looked like he hadn¡¯t been sleeping. ¡°I was upset that you lied, but I was mostly angry at myself for how much I invested in you, and that wasn¡¯t fair to either of us.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too,¡± Oliver said. ¡°When we met, there was something about you that drew me. I got so excited. All the things we talked about that night and sending those texts about stupid things. It felt like I¡¯d already known you for years and I ignored how you didn¡¯t know anything about me because I hadn¡¯t told you yet. I really am sorry I didn¡¯t tell you straight away.¡± He held out a hand, fingers flexing a little as if he was trying to hide how they were shaking. ¡°Can we start over?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that. I¡¯m Jennifer Saito.¡±

    ¡°Hi, Jennifer. I¡¯m Oliver Stone but I also go by Cliff Salem, the author of a few novels you may have heard of. I shift, but don¡¯t hold that against me.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you, Oliver. When was the last time you had a meal?¡±

    ¡°The wonderful Clare brought me a breakfast roll. I¡¯ll eat as soon as I¡¯ve sorted this current mess.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me what you¡¯re having trouble with?¡±

    Oliver drummed his fingers on the desk, chewing the corner of his mouth, clearly pondering where to start.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been given this amazing opportunity. But it always feels like all these eyes are on me. Judging and dismissive. Mocking every word. It needs to be perfect or else this chance will be taken away from me. Leon will move on to someone more qualified to write this script and my story and my characters will be twisted to dance to someone else¡¯s tune. They¡¯re precious to me. They¡¯ve brought me so much and it¡¯s the least I can do is show them to the world in the best light.¡±

    Nif hummed, fighting to reach out and stop his drumming.

    ¡°But it¡¯s just a first draft,¡± she reminded him. ¡°Afterwards you¡¯ll be provided feedback and suggestions and you can continue to polish it.¡± Nif tried hard not to read Oliver¡¯s sprawling handwriting. See if it really was as awful as he thought.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a published author,¡± he argued. ¡°You don¡¯t lose anything of yourself when you read someone else¡¯s work, but when that author is read, they¡¯re making themselves vulnerable. To rejection. To misunderstanding. To judgement.¡± He flung his hands about in emphasis. ¡°It doesn¡¯t get any easier the more you do it and the more popular you become, the more expectations are heaped onto your shoulders. Your skin just grows a little thicker but there are always comments and suggestions and criticisms that are sharply barbed and can pierce any armour.¡± Oliver chuckled. ¡°It sounds like I¡¯m complaining. So many people would kill to be where I am. Writing my own script for my novel. How awesome is that? I¡¯m just afraid of letting my fans down.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s tackle one thing at a time. Big picture stuff. You¡¯ve got a 24 episode Chillnet series tentatively planned but four books of material.¡± Nif found a blank sheet and found a pen that worked. ¡°Let¡¯s get down to the basics. What¡¯s the overarching plot.¡±

    Hours passed. Clare woke from her nap, fed them lunch and afternoon tea, and shooed away any curious colleagues.

    This was what Nif had dreamed of. Working so close with an author, asking the right questions and helping them shape something truly epic.

    Leon popped in, bringing gifts of macaroons, and enthusiastically began sketching out additional character designs for new supporting characters until a phone call dragged him away. At closing time, they¡¯d plastered the glass walls with 24 episode outlines and multiple story arcs that wove the episodes together.

    A knock at the door startled both Oliver and Nif, making them glance up from their mountains of paperwork.

    ¡°It¡¯s almost six, Nif. Didn¡¯t you say you had that meeting tonight?¡± Clare smiled fondly at the two of them as if they were cute puppies napping in a corner.

    ¡°Oh. Really? Six?¡± Nif made some attempt to tidy the desk but gave up. Things had their order and she was reluctant to move anything and risk losing their place tomorrow.

    ¡°I¡¯m heading off, but I¡¯ll see you both tomorrow. Lock the door behind you when you leave, Nif.¡± Clare left and an awkward silence descended

    ¡°Shall I drive you?¡± Oliver asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but his fingers were drumming a rapid heartbeat against the table.

    ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind. The buses are a bit hit and miss at this time.¡± Was this too soon? They¡¯d only officially made up as friends, but it seemed silly to go separately when the start and end locations were the same.

    ¡°It¡¯s already dark anyway. Driving would be easier.¡±

    Nif locked the office and waved farewell to the Great Dane shifter security guard who knitted premie hats during the quiet nights on duty. Oliver had parked in the underground garage and the silence as Nif buckled herself in was strangely awkward after such a high energy creative day they¡¯d just experienced.

    ¡°Are you warm enough?¡± Oliver asked, fiddling with the AC.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay. I¡¯m used to layers,¡± Nif said, surprised. Shifters often forgot that they ran at slightly hotter body temperature so most spaces were heated to their comfort. Children, pre-shifted teens and non-shifters had to manage the best they could.

    ¡°You hungry? I normally bring the snacks, but I lost track of time. Do you mind if we swing by the shops.¡±

    Walking through a grocery store with Oliver was odd. On the evening she¡¯d met him, she¡¯d imagined such inane moments with him as a happy, cute couple. Instead they fought over who held the basket, so they ended up with one each, and got separated between two aisles and spent far too long looking for each other. Nif couldn¡¯t help but wonder if this would be a metaphor for their developing relationship, whatever it was evolving into.

    They arrived late to the support group, and Clinton was standing in front of the others, hands behind his back as he studied them all sombrely.

    ¡°Hey everyone,¡± Oliver called from the back of the hall. ¡°Why so glum? Look who I¡¯ve brought with me!¡± Oliver bounded up to the stage and deposited the drinks and snacks they¡¯d just purchased.

    ¡°Nif!¡± Moira bellowed, almost knocking them both off the stage in her enthusiasm. The young woman was a slight weight against her, but warm and welcome. When was the last time someone hugged her? Her mother? Sapha?

    The heavy atmosphere eased as the rest of the group happily greeted Nif as a long lost friend. Her eyes stung a little, surprised and warmed at their genuine joy at seeing her. Why had she even thought of not coming? Because of a boy?

    Said boy was standing off to the side of the seats, smiling smugly. When their eyes met, his shone happily, and the awkwardness in the car was swept away. If Nif wasn¡¯t careful, she¡¯d be neck deep in her tumultuous emotions again when even now she was only just managing to keep on top.

    ¡°Jennifer, it¡¯s wonderful you¡¯ve been able to come again,¡± Clinton said, eyes like crescent moons, and shook her hand between two of his. The palms were dry and cool, and Nif imagined he could be a woodcarver with hands like those. Shaping puzzle boxes and children¡¯s toys. ¡°We¡¯ll all take a moment to grab some refreshments, and then we¡¯ll continue.¡±

    Oliver tried to be subtle, but in the end he was seated beside Nif while on her other side was Moira. It was as if they were trying to assure themselves that she wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Escape out the back door and out of their lives forever, when in all honesty, she was finding it hard to imagine her life without them anymore.

    Once the group had all settled, Clinton retook his position in front of the group. It wasn¡¯t his normal spot. Although Nif had only attended the one support group, Clinton had appeared relaxed in a chair like all the others. Only taking the lead to introduce her and then letting the group manage themselves. This time, he had something he wanted to tell them and it didn¡¯t look good.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad Jennifer and Oliver have been able to join us. This is relevant to all of us, even Oliver.¡±

    Josephine and Philippa were holding hands, the usually sour looking Philippa looking mean enough to chew iron nails.

    ¡°You may have heard by now about the recent murders. Belinda Woltonstcroft, Jeremy Chang and Sarah Lawson. Remember those names because I fear they won¡¯t be the last non or partial shifter to be targeted. Thea has asked me to talk to you all tonight because we¡¯re one of the largest non and partial shifter groups in the city.¡± Clinton looked at each of them in turn.

    ¡°Remember, this is a safe place, so if there¡¯s anything you know, you can pass it on to me and I¡¯ll report it to Thea. That way none of you will be put at risk. Maybe you¡¯ve noticed something odd when you walk home or someone has suddenly appeared in your life and seems strangely interested. Anything at all could be helpful.¡±

    There was a heavy silence that followed. Moira squirmed in her seat, trapping her hands beneath her thighs and chewing her lip. Morris was like a solid wall. Unhappy and unimpressed. The sisters appeared to sink even more into each other, shifting into a singular creature.

    Nif wondered if they suspected her. She was the new person in their midst. How easy would it be to say you couldn¡¯t shift? The only thing that made her believable was the question, why would anyone pretend they couldn¡¯t? She could show them her license. The circle that usually had a stylised silhouetted image of the person¡¯s shift form was empty except for the letters NS. Would they close ranks nonetheless and kick her out of the group?

    ¡°We¡¯ll look after each other,¡± Philippa spoke. ¡°Make sure we all have each other¡¯s phone numbers. If we see anything, we let each other know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve not really noticed anything,¡± Moira said. ¡°I¡¯ve been so focused on my research.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pick you up after you finish for the day. No matter when, just call,¡± Oliver insisted. ¡°You too, Jennifer.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m nowhere near your place and I¡¯ve already sorted my own lift,¡± Nif said.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Leon¡¯s offered. He¡¯s my boss,¡± she added for the benefit of the rest of the group.

    Oliver fought not to make a face, but Nif still caught the scowl on his lips.

    ¡°Another thing to consider is the wisdom of these meetings,¡± Clinton said. The group burst into protest, their voices echoing across the hall.

    ¡°They¡¯re important!¡± Josephine cried, tugging the neckline of her dress.

    ¡°They can¡¯t take this from us through fear and intimidation!¡± Philippa yelled, towering upright even though she was one of the shortest in the room.

    Oliver was the only one silent. Nif could tell what he was thinking. That it would be safer for them. Be smarter. But he didn¡¯t understand. He was a shifter. He¡¯d never comprehend what it was like to have something taken from him because of a perceived weakness.

    ¡°Okay, okay, I hear you. I didn¡¯t want to either, but I had to offer,¡± Clinton boomed over everyone. ¡°Thea didn¡¯t think we would disband and it could still be a coincidence. There¡¯s no need to change what we do. Investigations are underway, and until we know non and partial shifters are being targeted for certain, we should be more aware of our surroundings.¡±

    ¡°No murdering monster will scare us.¡± That was surprisingly from shy Josephine.

    ¡°Indeed. Just be careful. Now, let¡¯s talk about what we¡¯ve been up to,¡± Clinton said, changing the subject, and a collective exhalation took the tension down a notch.

    Morris shyly raised a hand.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got an art showing of my planet collection this Thursday night,¡± Morris said. He tucked his fingers together, as if to keep his excitement and nerves in check. ¡°I¡¯m friends with the owner of Delarian Gallery and he had a few empty walls after a last minute cancellation. I was wondering if you¡¯d like to come?¡±

    ¡°Of course!¡± Nif blurted and Morris ducked his head, clearly pleased.

    ¡°We¡¯d love to, Morris,¡± Moira added. ¡°We can dress up!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m free. When does it start?¡± Clinton asked.

    ¡°At 8pm. I¡¯ll send you an invite,¡± Morris said.

    Oliver grabbed a can of drink and held it high. ¡°Shall we make a toast then?¡±

    Nif proffered her tea and Philippa and Josephine giggled childishly when they almost knocked over their plastic wine glasses full of pink moscato.

    ¡°To art!¡± Moira lifted her soda can.

    ¡°To being fearless!¡± Philippa followed.

    ¡°To new friends,¡± Nif said softly.

    ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that,¡± Clinton said and they all drank deeply.

 Chapter 12

    The night of Morris¡¯s art show, Nif declined Oliver¡¯s offer of a ride from work and instead took up Leon¡¯s.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Oliver asked, deflating like a balloon and then pretending he was just stretching.

    ¡°Yeah, I need to go home and change. I¡¯ll meet you there.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind driving you home first,¡± he persisted, but Nif shook her head firmly.

    ¡°You need to pick up Moira from uni and the campus is on the opposite side of the city. You can¡¯t be in two places at once. I¡¯ll ask Leon if he can drive me home.¡±

    ¡°Of course I will,¡± Leon said, sweeping into the room and conversation as if he¡¯d been there all along. ¡°At least until this murderer is caught. The entire company has instigated a car share system for people who normally commute or stay late. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if we keep it after all the fuss dies down. It¡¯s doing wonders for team morale and work efficiency. People are less likely to call in sick when they know they¡¯re responsible for getting someone else to work.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s incredibly devious,¡± Nif said, mostly impressed.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come up with it, but I¡¯m all for building teamship. Shall we leave at 5?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Nif said and Leon clapped his hands together decisively before leaving to take a call.

    Oliver scowled over the sheets of paper covering the consultation room table, but soon Nif had distracted him with a particularly complicated plot problem that swallowed his whole attention.

    Leon¡¯s car wasn¡¯t as flashy as she expected until she realised he normally didn¡¯t drive but shifted to and from work.

    ¡°Did you buy a car so you could drive me home?¡± Nif exclaimed, horrified, frozen half way between putting her seat belt on.

    ¡°Not only to drive you home. I may have other authors or staff that may require driving around and if we continue to explore the city for lunchtime options, we may need to start moving further afield.¡±

    Nif studied his profile as he carefully reversed with the precision of someone trying hard to remember lessons they¡¯d taken a long time ago and had since not had much time to practice. They jerked as he only just missed a concrete barrier.

    ¡°Would you like me to drive?¡± Nif asked tentatively.

    ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind,¡± he said, his smile embarrassed. ¡°I¡¯m fine once I¡¯m on the road but these car parks are impossible to navigate.¡±

    They changed drivers and Nif did her best not to be too self-conscious as she eased them out of the underground garage and onto a busy peak-hour street.

    ¡°When did you learn to drive?¡± Leon asked, paying particular attention to how she changed gears. Why Leon had bought a manual, Nif had no idea other than some strange belief it made him more masculine.

    ¡°My mother taught me when I was in high school. I had a car up until I moved to the city because my hometown was so spread out it would take all day to walk from one end to the other.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine living outside of the city. I grew up being flown from one city to another under an army of tutors and nannies.¡±

    ¡°Your parents weren¡¯t around when you were growing up?¡± Nif asked.

    Leon dropped his head back against the headrest and sighed. ¡°Not really, but I didn¡¯t mind. I had a lot of freedom and the people around me were kind and encouraging. It¡¯s why I went into publishing actually. My parents wanted me to follow them into law. Mother¡¯s a judge and my father is a lawyer. But Laurent, one of my favourite tutors, evoked a strong passion for books in me. I would¡¯ve been a writer, but all my stories are so bland they¡¯d send you to sleep.¡±

    ¡°So publishing was your next choice?¡±

    ¡°It was really my first. I like working with people, helping a project come into fruition. Being a writer would mean shutting the door on the world for long periods of time, and I¡¯ve never been someone who coped with the quiet spaces in my head. What about you? Are you a closet author?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. I¡¯ve always loved reading. When all my school friends began to shift, I retreated between pages where I could too. At uni I was particularly fascinated with the evolution of stories from the first draft to the polished copy, and so it was only natural to become an editor.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s your dream?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m working towards, but¡­¡± Nif hesitated.

    ¡°But what?¡±

    This was her boss. As much as she¡¯d gotten to know him the last few weeks ¡ª how he always dipped his nose into his coffee at his first sip and lingered over the taste before wiping the foam off, how he tugged at the hair behind his ear when he was deep in thought, how his smile was always in a constant state of readiness so he could switch it to full beam in less than a heartbeat ¡ª he was still her superior. Leon had proven to be kind and thoughtful, and she wanted to open up to him. Get him to really understand what it was like without a shift form. How every step throughout her life, she¡¯d been disadvantaged.

    ¡°Sometimes I feel I¡¯ll always be judged to a standard I¡¯ll never meet,¡± Nif finally admitted.

    ¡°Because you cannot shift,¡± Leon summed up. Her boss wasn¡¯t stupid.

    ¡°Did you know it¡¯s been only thirty years since the non- and partial shift discrimination laws were accepted into parliament?¡± Nif said in a rush. ¡°Before then, employers could dismiss you on the spot for not being able to shift. Twenty years before that, non-shifters had to file a special request to even get married, let alone have children. People who can¡¯t shift are seen as flawed. An anomaly. A genetic quirk best removed from the gene pool.

    Most people, though, wouldn¡¯t even know that there was once a law restricting non and partial shifters from travel and who they could interact with. They couldn¡¯t have certain careers. Teaching. Medicine. Most work that involved interacting with people, really, as if what they were was contagious. Even now we have to be registered and my ID card informs everyone who sees it so I can¡¯t even pretend I can shift.¡± Nif took a breath, held it and then gently exhaled. ¡°Sorry. You can imagine how frustrating it is when you have someone possibly murdering non-shifters and as a result, threatening the small amount of freedom that¡¯s been carved out for us by the non-shifters who¡¯ve gone before us.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t begin to know what it¡¯s like,¡± Leon said gently. He reached out to brush the back of Nif¡¯s hand on the gear stick and then just as quickly retreated. ¡°Do you know there are three non-shifters that work for Hopscotch Publishing? It¡¯s part of the HR policy to hire someone from minority groups and you filled one of them. To a lot of people, you got your position unfairly and I¡¯m ashamed to admit, I didn¡¯t give you the same chances another new hire would¡¯ve gotten because of it.¡±

    That hurt more than Nif thought it would. She focused her eyes on the road, but she was so distracted she almost missed the correct turn off.

    ¡°But I¡¯m trying to change my behaviour,¡± Leon continued. ¡°Making assumptions is what my parents do and I refuse to allow such unconscious biases to shape my actions.¡±

    ¡°Is that why you asked me to work on this new project with you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be a good chance to see what you¡¯re made of. There are no procedures designed yet for what we¡¯re doing, so I needed someone who¡¯s flexible, adaptable and practical.¡±

    ¡°How am I going so far?¡±

    ¡°Looking good,¡± Leon said. Nif took her eyes off the road to briefly look at him, and he flashed her a cheeky smile. Her stomach twisted. She didn¡¯t know what to think anymore. She¡¯d had the biggest crush on Leon and here he was, flirting with her, and she wasn¡¯t sure it was what she wanted after all. After the art show, she¡¯d give her mum a call. Her mother had taken rationality to an art form and had always been able to help straighten out Nif¡¯s feelings.

    Nif cleared her throat.

    ¡°I could give you a few lessons if you¡¯d like,¡± Nif offered, fighting to keep her voice steady. ¡°If you¡¯re going to do more driving that is.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Maybe on a weekend sometime?¡± Leon¡¯s hand crept into the back of his hair and he shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°Maybe we could make it a date?¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Oh. Um, yeah. Yeah, okay.¡± Thankfully Nif was pulling up to her apartment block so she could escape her lack of verbosity. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. At work. Bye!¡±

    She closed the door, forgetting she¡¯d been driving and then awkwardly opened it for Leon as he came around to the driver¡¯s side.

    ¡°Have a good evening, Jennifer.¡± Leon purred her name, shivers dancing along her spine, and she gave an odd bow and scurried for her building¡¯s entrance.

    Nif took the stairs, two at a time, enjoying the burn and trying to calm her whirling thoughts with each pounding step.

    Leon. He was exactly her type. Tall, lean and his dark hair just begged to be touched. Intelligent and hardworking, passionate about his work and he bought a car so he could drive her home. That meant something, right?

    Her phone buzzed and she checked to see if it was any of the support group checking in.

    It was an alert from Tender. Another message from Hound-of-Baskerville. A friend request. He¡¯d changed his profile picture from a body shot by a lake, the sun striking the camera to flare across his face, to a distant shot of him looking pensive in a forest. His features weren¡¯t particularly clear. Dark hair, tanned skin, a thick wristband on his right arm, but she wouldn¡¯t be able to pick him from a crowd. Her inner Sapha said the guy was bad news, and she had enough guy worries to think about adding someone new to the mix.

    Nif ignored it and unlocked her front door, already calling out to Sapha.

    ¡°I¡¯m in here!¡± Sapha poked her head around the bathroom door, shoulders bare and face half done, an eyelash curler in one hand.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a viewing tonight?¡± Nif kicked off her shoes and hurried to her room, her outfit already planned out in her head.

    ¡°Yup. I can drop you on the way if you¡¯d like. Unless you have someone else picking you up?¡± Even though Nif couldn¡¯t see her, she could hear Sapha wiggling her eyebrows suggestively from the bathroom.

    ¡°No, but my boss did drop me off.¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± Sapha appeared in the doorway, naked and glorious. ¡°You don¡¯t mean Leon Knight? Sexiest smile three years running and in the top ten young businessmen to watch this year? Your crush since forever?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you even noticed the opposite sex.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t. But he¡¯s someone to watch. So he drove you home, huh?¡±

    ¡°Technically I drove,¡± Nif muttered under her breath.

    ¡°Sounds promising,¡± Sapha said before vanishing back into the bathroom.

    Nif squeezed into an old maroon and gold pinstripe pencil skirt of Sapha¡¯s, a black silk blouse and a pair of brown leather ankle boots. Over top went a black three quarter coat and the purple and red scarf her father knitted her last Winter Solstice.

    ¡°Will you be warm enough?¡± Sapha asked.

    ¡°Will you?¡±

    The film critic had dressed in a silky wisp of a dress and could¡¯ve been the leading lady in a fantasy movie.

    ¡°I¡¯ll shift when I get there. This is just human trappings for the canap¨¦s. Here, let me do something with your hair.¡±

    It was the first time in a while that Nif had gotten all dressed up and not gone on a date.

    A limo picked Sapha and Nif up, the driver not batting an eyelid when asked to detour to the old warehouse district that had been converted a few years back into art spaces and exclusive apartments. There was a rundown nostalgic vibe that had been particularly cultivated, which translated to quaint in the sunshine and downright spooky at night.

    The lanes dividing the warehouses were narrow and lit by dim, orange street lamps, twisted creations of metal that didn¡¯t do much to illuminate the cobblestones. The warehouses were a mix of two and three storey buildings, heavy wooden beams supporting massive tin roofs. A pain to keep cool in summer and warm in winter. The apartments had a soft glow about them, light sneaking through cracks in the wood and shuttered windows.

    The limo pulled up in front of the art gallery, the front bedecked with fairy lights and wrought iron lanterns that could¡¯ve once belonged to a stagecoach racing across the moors of some misty, ancient land.

    ¡°You call me when you get home,¡± Sapha insisted, draped in her silk across the backseat of the limo. She looked like she was planning to have a nap.

    ¡°I¡¯ll text you,¡± Nif compromised.

    ¡°Better yet, I can send Charles to pick you up.¡± She flicked a hand towards the driver. ¡°He can drive you home.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Sapha. I¡¯ll get a lift from one of the others. Have a good evening! Try not to roast the actors too harshly.¡±

    ¡°If only they didn¡¯t make it so easy.¡±

    Nif watched the headlights vanish into the atmospheric gloom of the restored warehouses and nursed the fondness she had for her friend as she looked up at the gallery. She¡¯d been ignoring her singing nerves. Nerves for Morris ¡ª what if his art wasn¡¯t that good? ¡ª nerves for being in a new place, nerves for seeing Oliver again when her emotions were all twisted up over Leon. She was surprised she hadn¡¯t rattled herself apart.

    ¡°Nif!¡± Moira¡¯s voice rang across the street, her body leaning out of the driver¡¯s side window of her car. ¡°Wait for us!¡±

    Oliver and Moira tumbled out of Moira¡¯s tiny car and she locked it with a cheery beep, paying no mind to the fact she wasn¡¯t quite parked legally.

    ¡°You look glorious! Doesn¡¯t she, Oli? How¡¯d you get your hair to look all bouncy?¡±

    ¡°My housemate is a whizz with hair, but give it half an hour and it¡¯ll be straight as a board.¡±

    ¡°My hair is always messy,¡± Moira made a small mou of discontent, tugging at an errant curl. ¡°Sometimes I think I should cut it all off.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t do that! I love your hair,¡± Nif exclaimed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to live with it. Trust me, it¡¯s really not worth the hassle. I¡¯d love to have such straight hair like yours.¡±

    ¡°I spent two hours getting my hair to look like this and I get no comments from either of you?¡± Oliver huffed, lightly touching what was a pretty impressive coif.

    ¡°You¡¯re beautiful, too, Oli,¡± Moira said, rolling her eyes. ¡°Now let¡¯s go inside. I hope they¡¯ve got those little itty-bitty finger foods!¡±

    ¡°Canap¨¦s?¡± Oliver asked, slinging an arm around Moira¡¯s shoulders and tossing Nif a fond smile. ¡°You always eat too many and end up sick.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re an awful friend who doesn¡¯t know when to tell me to stop. I¡¯ve got Nif now. She¡¯ll look after me, won¡¯t you Nif?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Nif laughed, linking her elbow through Moira¡¯s, and together the three of them ducked beneath the fairy lights and stepped into a massive, airy space.

    The gallery had used the massive warehouse space to full effect. The ceilings were high and soaring, dimly lit with back lights that threw shadows across the concrete floor and suspended artworks. They appeared to float through the air, gently swaying, the bare, rough backs on one side and the most magical images on the other.

    At first there didn¡¯t appear to be many artworks at all, but as Nif¡¯s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could make out invisible passageways created by the artworks themselves, leading viewers from one side of the huge space to the other, passing by dozens of artworks of different sizes and structures. There were already quite a few people meandering around, faces shaped into thoughtful contemplation, the low murmurs blending with the soft tread and clack of soles on concrete. High above, security in birds of prey shifts winged silently from exposed beam to window ledge.

    ¡°It¡¯s like an art labyrinth!¡± Moira said, voice hushed and yet still it echoed, catching the attention of Morris. Here was a Morris Nif had never seen before. He was wearing a neat, light blue, three piece suit, old fashioned -- it reminded her of the suit her father wore to his wedding -- and snug around the shoulders and belly. In the buttonhole was a massive sunflower, bright and full, and his shoes were so highly polished, Nif could see the ceiling lights reflected like constellations. On his head was perched a somewhat deflated fedora with a dark blue band.

    ¡°You made it!¡± Morris cried, his eyes bulging and lips quivering, almost as if he hadn¡¯t expected them to make the effort.

    ¡°Of course we did, Morris,¡± Oliver said, stepping forward to clap the older man on his shoulder. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t miss this for all the tea in China!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not saying much,¡± Moira said. ¡°You don¡¯t even like tea!¡± She jabbed Oliver in the side and gave Morris a light peck on his cheek. ¡°We¡¯re so excited to see your work, Morris.¡± The man flushed pink so Nif kissed the opposite cheek to balance him out.

    ¡°You can¡¯t imagine the trouble we had getting tonight off.¡± Nif turned in time to see Philippa make a beeline towards them, tugging a somewhat tottering Josephine in higher than wise shoes behind her. Their outfits complimented each other, and Nif wondered if they sewed their own clothes. Philippa¡¯s dress reminded Nif of her parents¡¯ brown and orange flower print couch with massive shoulder pads that could¡¯ve doubled as lounge cushions. Josephine¡¯s flowing skirt and long jacket were the same earthy shades except instead of looking like a sofa, Josephine was like sharp calligraphy slashed across cream paper.

    Clinton followed the sisters with his hands in his pockets and a somewhat content look on his face, as if this was a family outing a long time coming.

    ¡°Good evening everyone,¡± he greeted. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to see you all somewhere other than the school hall.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s disgusting, is what it is,¡± Philippa continued her rant.

    ¡°They treat us as if we¡¯re disposable, but when we ask for time off, they act as if the world would end without us. It¡¯s a backwards compliment if you think about it,¡± Josephine hurriedly said in her sister¡¯s wake. ¡°Hello everyone.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you could all come!¡± Morris said. ¡°Welcome! Welcome!¡± He radiated a happiness that was contagious, and he quickly swept them through the winding, hanging hallways made of art to a cul de sac created with his own work.

    ¡°These are incredible!¡± Nif whispered. She spun in a slow circle, taking in the vibrant splashes of colour that almost churned with movement. There were nine canvases, suspended around a massive glowing orb, representing the sun. As people moved, the canvases swayed, giving the impression that the planets depicted were actually spinning.

    Nif was drawn to the one she instinctively knew was Neptune. It was the personification of loneliness, isolation, the feelings one got late at night when the city slept and you could be the only person left alive. The moment of disorientation when you woke in a strange bed. The ache of well-worn sorrow, a childhood memory all grey and bleak, of cold rain and being forgotten at a bus stop. It was everything Nif was once, and sometimes was still.

    ¡°That¡¯s my favourite,¡± Morris admitted quietly beside her. ¡°It resonates somehow. It was the one I started with and yet it took the longest to finish.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful, Morris. All your work,¡± Nif glanced around at the surrounding planets, larger than life, ¡°is just beautiful. You should be proud of yourself.¡±

    ¡°This is who I chose to be,¡± Morris said, and his smile, soft and trembling, transformed him into a different man. ¡°One day I¡¯ll quit my day job. Go somewhere far away and just paint. Inks and oils are in my blood. Unless I have a paint brush in my hand, I¡¯m just existing until the moment I do.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for sharing this with us,¡± Nif said and the man shrugged bashfully and moved back into the shadows, watching them look at his works with a fierce sense of joy shining in his eyes.

 Chapter 13

    ¡°Looks like I¡¯ll be driving us home,¡± Oliver said, and nodded towards the dark puddle of shadows near the gallery entrance. Moira was curled up, sound asleep, the outlines of her form shimmering as she didn¡¯t quite shift. Oliver never took his eyes off her even though a security guard had flown from her roost in the rafters to guard over the sleeping woman.

    ¡°She¡¯s putting everything into her research, isn¡¯t she.¡± Nif hadn¡¯t noticed how tired the young woman was. She was so full of life and energy that the dark smudges under her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks were disguised by bright laughter and smiles.

    ¡°What¡¯s worse is they¡¯ve requested a review three months earlier than expected. I¡¯m worried they¡¯re going to find a reason to cancel her scholarship.¡±

    ¡°That would devastate her!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s staying positive. It may be nothing at all. A change in procedure perhaps. But none of the other PhD candidates have been requested to show cause.¡± He sighed and tugged a handful of hair. ¡°Come on. It¡¯s getting late and I need to get her home. Let¡¯s say our goodbyes and head off.¡±

    Philippa and Josephine had already caught a taxi home, Clinton walking them to the waiting car and taking a photo of the number plate, just in case. He now waited near the exit, the early facade of contentedness having melted away to reveal his anxiousess of it being so late in a strange place.

    ¡°I trust you will make sure you all get home safely?¡± Clinton asked.

    ¡°Yeah, Oliver is driving me home,¡± Nif replied.

    ¡°And then I¡¯ll stay over at Moira¡¯s,¡± Oliver said. ¡°Make sure she gets to uni alright tomorrow. Did you drive here, Clint?¡±

    ¡°I parked out front. I¡¯ll walk you guys out.¡±

    Morris was lingering near his art, as if he was still surprised the ideas in his head had manifested into something corporeal. Nif¡¯s boots clacked across the concrete as she approached.

    ¡°It was a wonderful show,¡± Nif said softly. Morris laughed and appeared startled by the sound that escaped him.

    ¡°For a long time my art was a secret. Mostly because I didn¡¯t think I was any good at it, but I enjoyed it. I felt at peace when I painted, and I decided it didn¡¯t matter what anybody thought anyway. It was all just for me. After I met Clinton and the others, I realised the way we live, in the shadows, our heads down and ashamed for something we¡¯ve no control over, wasn¡¯t anyway to exist. If it weren¡¯t for them, this,¡± and he gestured to the art suspended around them, ¡°wouldn¡¯t have happened.¡±

    Morris slipped off his hat to worry between his fingers and leant in close as if to tell Nif a secret, his breath smelling of cinnamon and the sweet wine that had been circulating earlier.

    ¡°I got an offer, you know. On the whole collection. I couldn¡¯t bear it if they were split up -- they work together as a whole, like a family -- but if they were appreciated together then maybe...and well, the money is obscene. I didn¡¯t realise people would spend so much money on art!¡±

    ¡°Oh Morris, that¡¯s excellent news! You could spend more time painting!¡±

    ¡°That is the dream,¡± Morris said and Nif watched as he packed away his excitement, as if only people who were complete had the right to make such goals. ¡°Maybe I could move to an island somewhere. Drink coconuts and paint for days.¡± His words he folded like linen into a cupboard inside his head. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be something?¡±

    ¡°Keep at it, Morris. Your art is beautiful and it deserves to be recognised by the world.¡±

    ¡°Definitely,¡± Oliver said, appearing on Morris¡¯s other side. Peeking over his shoulder was a sleepy Moira, her fingers curled under Oliver¡¯s chin and her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

    ¡°I want to keep them all and hang them in my uni office,¡± Moira mumbled, her smile dreamy. ¡°I¡¯d stare at them all day and remember there¡¯s beauty in the world.¡±

    ¡°Somehow I don¡¯t think they¡¯d fit,¡± Oliver teased gently, hefting her weight higher.

    ¡°That¡¯s because they gave me a shoe box to work in. It doesn¡¯t even have a window.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got something at home you can have,¡± Morris said. ¡°One of my test pieces for the planet collection. It¡¯s small and a little rough, but you could have it if you¡¯d like?¡±

    ¡°Oh you don¡¯t have to...I mean, could I? Really? That would be amazing!¡± Moira scrambled up Oliver¡¯s back, ignoring the man¡¯s grunts as she kneed him in the kidney to drop a kiss down on Morris¡¯ head. ¡°You¡¯re a gem, Morris. I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re our friend.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s getting late. I¡¯m going to turn in,¡± Clinton announced and Moira yawned in response, tucking herself onto Oliver¡¯s back again. Oliver glanced over at Nif and rolled his eyes, but she could tell he wouldn¡¯t risk dropping his friend for anything.

    ¡°How¡¯re you getting home Morris?¡± Nif asked as the five of them moved towards the entrance.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be staying a while longer to speak with a potential client.¡± Morris puffed up at that. ¡°Then I¡¯ll catch a taxi home.¡±

    ¡°Text me when you arrive home safely, okay,¡± Clinton insisted. ¡°That goes for all of you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, dad,¡± Moira grumbled, and stuck her tongue out at him.

    ¡°She gets punchy when she¡¯s tired. We should go,¡± Oliver said. They left Morris with the art curator, a tall, willowy man with the most impressive moustache Nif had ever seen, and Clinton made a show of walking them to Moira¡¯s car, even though it was a stone¡¯s throw from the gallery.

    ¡°I really enjoyed tonight,¡± Nif said to Clinton as she watched Oliver manhandle Moira into the back seat. Moira curled up almost immediately so Oliver wrestled her into her seatbelt and then covered her with his coat.

    ¡°It¡¯s lovely to see how we¡¯re all continuing to grow. When Morris first joined us, almost eighteen months ago, he was a rough, angry soul who was frustrated with his inability to reach out to the world. He¡¯d go days without speaking to another person face to face. We¡¯ve all got similar stories. This support group allows us to be ourselves fully.¡±

    ¡°You do a great job organising it all. You don¡¯t know how much I needed a group like this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Jennifer. Now remember to text when Oliver drops you off and I¡¯ll see you next week.¡± Clinton left them to it, already on his phone and most likely texting his own wife he was on his way.

    ¡°She¡¯s out like a hibernating squirrel. Moira can sleep through anything.¡± Oliver softly closed the back door.

    ¡°I know Clinton¡¯s the official leader, but it¡¯s you who sorts out the small details,¡± Nif said quietly. ¡°The refreshments at every meeting and Moira told me you¡¯re the one who sorts the venue,¡± Nif said. Oliver opened the front passenger door for her, and she slipped inside, giving Clinton a small wave as he got into his own car and carefully reversed around an artistically curved garbage bin before driving off.

    ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s what I¡¯m good at. Organising things. I swear I¡¯m only as good a writer as I am because of all the spreadsheets I create.¡±

    Oliver started the car just as Nif realised she was missing her scarf.

    ¡°Wait! I¡¯ve forgotten something. I¡¯ll just be a sec.¡± Nif was out of the car before Oliver could stop her, dashing across the street and inside, almost colliding with the tall art curator.

    ¡°Oh, sorry, my dear,¡± he said, hair impressively silver and thick. She vaguely remembered he had some kind of French name. Pierre? He wasn¡¯t wearing his badge anymore and he was putting on his coat, ready to leave. The gallery was dimly lit, most of the spotlights already switched off and only the dim, overhead bulbs set in the high warehouse ceiling cast any glow at all.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± Nof said. ¡°I left my scarf somewhere. You haven¡¯t seen it have you? It¡¯s a red and purple infinity scarf.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t, but feel free to have a quick look around. I need to go lock up the offices next door so I¡¯ll leave this door for last. I trust you not to steal the paintings!¡± He chuckled and gestured for her to proceed with a graceful bow. Nif glanced up and wondered when the hired security birds had flown off for the night.

    ¡°Jennifer! You can¡¯t just run off like that!¡± Oliver huffed, holding the door open for the curator before jogging in after her. She was already retracing her steps. There was a brief time they¡¯d sat down by the small refreshment table so maybe her scarf had been left on a chair? It was eerie walking about in the dark quiet. She didn¡¯t spot Morris anywhere. Hadn¡¯t he been talking with the curator? Maybe he¡¯d already left, though she hadn¡¯t seen him leave. When the curator came back, she¡¯d check with him.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t leave Moira in the car alone, did you?¡± Nif asked.

    ¡°I locked her in and you can barely see her under my coat. She¡¯s not going anywhere and you¡¯re the one who just left.¡± Oliver brushed his shoulder up against hers and scanned the gallery.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to be long. Ah, there it is!¡± Her scarf had slipped off the back of a chair to pool beneath it, hidden in the shadows. Nif shook it out, thankfully dust free, and slipped it back around her neck.

    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s get back. I don¡¯t like leaving Moira alone in the car.¡±

    ¡°Did you see Morris leave? I thought he was talking to the curator. What¡¯s his name? Pierre? The tall one you passed at the door.¡±

    ¡°He may have parked out the back,¡± Oliver said.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    There was a loud crash from the rear exit, like wooden crates being knocked over or maybe a car reversing over one of those decorative bins.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think that was Morris, do you?¡± Nif exchanged a concerned look with Oliver and as one they headed for the exit.

    ¡°Morris? You out here?¡± Oliver called. The exit was unlocked, the door a tall heavy thing that screeched as Oliver pushed it open.

    The back of the gallery opened onto a wide alleyway, large enough to fit a medium size truck to deliver artworks and a big skip in the far corner that was surprisingly clean for such an old place. There were no cars, but the skip was crooked, as if it had been bumped out of place.

    ¡°Can you see anything?¡± Nif asked, pulling out her phone and switching on the torch. The alley looked cold and sharp in the light. Nif stepped forward and something crunched underfoot. It was a sunflower, the petals crumpled and bruised. Fear churned in her gut, her hand trembling as she panned the light back and forth, towards the skip. They both froze at the sight of scuffed leather shoes sticking out from beside it.

    ¡°Morris?¡± Oliver whispered.

    Nif¡¯s heart was pounding, blood roaring in her ears like the crashing of waves, the sinking feeling in her stomach making her want to throw up. She reached out for Oliver¡¯s elbow, murmured a low ¡°wait¡± and tugged him back, taking the lead.

    Morris was slumped against the white-washed brick wall. Even the back alleys of this converted warehouse district had been prettied up. His head was propped, his face hidden in shadow but it looked like he¡¯d been crying. Slowly, she trailed her phone light up his body, over his neatly pressed suit, his discarded hat at his side, to the blood that splattered against the white wall.

    His eyes were missing.

    His lips were blood red.

    ¡°Oliver, we need to get back to the car right now,¡± Nif ordered, spinning on her heel and dragging him behind her.

    ¡°But Morris needs our help,¡± Oliver protested, but his struggles were nothing to Nif¡¯s determination.

    ¡°We can¡¯t help Morris anymore, but Moira is still in the car. Alone. Whoever did this to Morris could still be out here.¡±

    ¡°But Morris¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Oliver.¡±

    He followed meekly after that.

    Nif dialled emergency services even as they charged back through the gallery.

    ¡°I need to report a murder,¡± she said, voice flat, to the responder. Oliver had to give her the address since all she could think of was Morris lying back there alone. She almost forgot her own name, stammering it out after a few attempts.

    ¡°Are you in danger, Jennifer?¡± The responder asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. We¡¯ve got a car.¡±

    ¡°Good. Lock yourselves inside and stay put. I¡¯ve got help coming, but I¡¯m going to stay on the line, alright?¡±

    ¡°Okay. Okay.¡±

    Oliver took her hand and she realised she was shaking. The image of Morris, lying there, almost peaceful except for the terrible gouged out eye sockets swam through her mind. What had the murderer used? A knife? Keys? Had Morris still been alive as he was mutilated? Why hadn¡¯t he screamed? If he had, they could¡¯ve come running and maybe he¡¯d be okay now.

    They were almost at the front of the gallery when Nif spun and threw up all the canap¨¦s she¡¯d eaten beneath a hanging artwork of a naked man. She really hoped she hadn¡¯t splashed it.

    ¡°Oh dear. Are you alright?¡± The art curator had returned, keys dangling from his fingers. Nif heaved again through tears until her stomach was empty. She felt like she wouldn¡¯t ever be able to eat again. ¡°I see you found your scarf but something hasn¡¯t agreed with you. Let me get you some water.¡±

    Nif glanced up to see the curator turn to bustle off, but Oliver stopped him. She checked his neat suit, the cuffs of his pants, the sleeves of his jacket, and found no blood.

    ¡°There¡¯s been an accident,¡± Oliver said. He sounded like he was shouting from the bottom of the well, his words like a watery echo.

    ¡°No, Oliver,¡± Nif said softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°It¡¯s not an accident. Morris has been murdered.¡± She unwrapped her scarf, feeling suddenly hot and twisted it anxiously in her hands.

    ¡°A murder?¡± The curator exclaimed. He dropped his keys onto the polished concrete, the sound ringing out across the gallery. ¡°Are we in danger?¡±

    ¡°The police are on their way. Is there somewhere you can lock yourself in until they arrive? Our friend is in the car so we¡¯ll wait there,¡± Nif said. A wash of calmness surrounded her grief and fear, and she grasped it with all she was worth. She needed to be in control for just a little while longer. ¡°Come on, Oliver.¡±

    She reached for his hand this time and after they watched the art curator lock himself into one of the offices next door, they retreated to Moira¡¯s car, locking themselves inside. Moira was sleeping on the back seat, but Nif still checked, gently lifting Oliver¡¯s jacket to check she was still unbloody, her eyelashes kissing her cheeks.

    ¡°What did you see,¡± Oliver whispered in the enclosed quiet.

    ¡°His eyes were missing.¡± Nif swallowed, fighting another urge to throw up. She couldn¡¯t bear to unlock the door, to breach their bubble of safety, but she definitely didn¡¯t want to sit in the dark in a puddle of vomit.

    ¡°No.¡± Oliver shook his head, his fists closed tight over the steering wheel. ¡°No, we were just talking to him.¡±

    ¡°I wish I was wrong, Oliver. I really do. But somehow the murderer found him.¡±

    ¡°And we just left him there. He could still be alive!¡±

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t.¡± A wall of grief slammed into Nif and suddenly she couldn¡¯t breathe, goosebumps racing over her exposed skin like she¡¯d been dropped into an icy lake. Oliver had wet streaks shining silver down his cheeks in the lamp light, and he was still shaking his head, but he opened his arms and Nif crashed into his chest. The tightness in her ribcage released, and his warmth swallowed her. Sobs threatened to tear up her throat, but she swallowed them down and instead focused on the gearstick poking her uncomfortably in her hip.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Moira grumbled from the back seat, and Nif and Oliver reluctantly pulled apart. Moira sat up, Oliver¡¯s jacket slipping off her shoulders, and she rubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand. ¡°Oli? Are you crying?¡±

    Oliver looked at Nif, silently pleading for Nif to say it was all a joke, that he didn¡¯t have to tell his best friend that Morris had died. Had died while they¡¯d been nearby, none the wiser. God, she wanted to pretend it hadn¡¯t happened, but she shook her head and he collapsed, shoulders rolling inwards and his face crumpling. Sirens were growing louder and soon the place would be swarming with flashing lights and people asking pointed questions.

    ¡°Morris was attacked,¡± Oliver said, voice cracking. ¡°We¡¯re waiting for the police now.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you wake me? Is he okay? Why aren¡¯t we helping him?¡± Moira tried her door and was surprised to find it locked.

    ¡°Moira,¡± Oliver said, twisting and half climbing into the back seat so he could grasp her shoulders. ¡°He didn¡¯t make it.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t funny, Oliver,¡± Moira snapped, pulling away, and she hit the lock and tumbled out of the car. Nif followed her out, terrified she¡¯d run away, but instead Moira just watched as the first police car pulled up, sirens loud and lights flashing blue and red. Another police car and an ambulance soon followed.

    ¡°Oliver?¡± Moira turned wide eyes to her friend and he hurried to wrap his discarded jacket around her shoulders.

    ¡°Someone should call Clinton,¡± Nif said as she pulled out her phone and stared, despondently at the screen. It was almost eleven. Would he be home by now?

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Oliver said over Moira¡¯s head.

    An older police officer with his german shepard shifted partner approached them, his hand resting on his belt, within easy reach of his holster.

    ¡°Jennifer Saito?¡±

    Nif stepped forward and waved, though immediately regretted it when the shifted officer growled.

    ¡°I¡¯m Officer Nolan and this is Officer Trent,¡± he said, gesturing to the dog. ¡°You reported a murder?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Our friend. Morris Hulm. We were here for his art show.¡±

    Moira began sobbing, soft hiccuping cries that caused Officer Trent¡¯s ears to flatten against his skull.

    ¡°I know this is hard for you, Ms Saito, but you¡¯ll need to show us where he is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± Oliver volunteered, but Nif shook her head.

    ¡°No. Stay with Moira. I can do this.¡±

    Nif¡¯s heart pounded in her ears as she led the officers back into the gallery, the art curator peering out through the office window next door, face pale.

    ¡°Can you tell us the steps leading to you discovering the body?¡± Officer Nolan asked. Even though he looked like he could take on a half dozen Officer Trents -- his shoulders solid muscle and his face broad and heavily lined-- he spoke gently and radiated a security that Nif desperately needed.

    ¡°We came tonight to celebrate our friend¡¯s first art show. We were one of the last to leave. Morris said he had to talk to a potential buyer so we said our goodbyes inside and then talked with Clinton -- another friend -- before he drove off and we went to leave.¡± Nif found her feet dragging as they approached the back exit. ¡°I forgot my scarf so I came back in with Oliver. We spoke with the art curator -- Pierre I think his name is? -- and then I wondered where Morris had gone and Oliver thought Morris had left through the back. We found my scarf by the refreshment table.¡± She pointed to the seats lining the wall. ¡°And then we heard a noise. It sounded like a car hitting something metal.¡±

    ¡°So you went to investigate?¡± Officer Nolan asked. Officer Trent scouted ahead of them, his nose to the ground.

    ¡°Yeah. We found him by the rubbish skip.¡±

    Officer Nolan gestured for her to wait while he opened the door and Officer Trent darted out into the darkness. The officer pulled out a fat torch and switched it on.

    ¡°You can wait here,¡± Officer Nolan offered, but Nif followed, mostly because she was unwilling to be left alone. She lingered by the door and watched as Officer Trent made a beeline for Morris. He made a gruff bark and she realised he was talking through the radio strapped to his vest. It crackled and a responding bark had Officer Trent swiftly securing the area.

    Officer Nolan approached the skip and sighed heavily as he directed his torch light towards Morris¡¯s body. By the door, Nif could only make out her friend¡¯s feet.

    ¡°Is he really¡­¡± Nif asked, half hoping she¡¯d been mistaken and feeling sick that maybe she¡¯d left him alive, alone, bleeding out in an alley.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the murderer targeting partial and non-shifters, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Are you saying the victim is a non-shifter?¡± Officer Nolan took out a notebook and jotted down his observations. Was he writing down everything she was saying?

    ¡°Partial. We¡¯re all part of a support group.¡±

    ¡°I see. I¡¯ll need to get the names of everyone who attends this group. Were they all here tonight for the showing?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but I watched them all leave.¡±

    Officer Trent barked something high pitch, obviously code for officers in their human form to understand.

    ¡°I¡¯ll escort you back to the front as soon as the rest of the squad arrives to help secure the area. They¡¯ll be here soon.¡±

    Dark shadows flowed in from the alley and Nif bit back a shriek until she realised that the dogs, wolves and other predator shift forms all wore the same flack vests. Their human partners escorted the paramedics in and began taping off the area.

    ¡°Come on. I¡¯ll take you now.¡± Officer Nolan led her through the gallery, the lights on and the art curator speaking with another officer, his hands clutching his tie. He waved weakly at her as she passed.

    ¡°What happens now?¡± Nif asked as the officer held open the door for her and she stepped out into a brightly lit street. Oliver still had Moira wrapped in his arms, but they were speaking with an officer while assuring another paramedic that they weren¡¯t hurt at all, just upset.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be escorted to the station to make a statement and then someone will drive you home.¡±

    Home. That sounded so wonderful right then.

    ¡°Nif!¡± Moira shouted from Oliver¡¯s protective embrace, waving her arm.

    ¡°Can I go back to my friends now?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. We¡¯ll come get you in a bit. Go on.¡±

    Moira dragged Nif into a hug and Oliver wrapped them both up until they were a tight bundle of limbs and frosted breath. All Nif wanted to do was sleep, but she doubted she¡¯d find any peace behind closed eyelids.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s really gone,¡± Moira whispered.

    Nif recalled the crushed sunflower underfoot and wanted to howl, but if she started she didn¡¯t think she could stop.

 Chapter 14

    Nif¡¯s phone rang at 3:42am, just as she waved goodbye to her police escort home and opened the apartment door. Sapha¡¯s silky dress lay in a puddle by the entrance and the cat shifter¡¯s heels were kicked off in the hallway. It was strange to get home after Sapha. Usually Nif¡¯s housemate would wake her when she came home, caterwauling to be let in as she refused to shift into human form to unlock the door. Sapha was never her best after a late night and too much sugar, but Nif couldn¡¯t help but mourn all the beautiful dresses abandoned by the cat shifter in past escapades.

    Nif glanced at her phone, her mind hazy, the device still buzzing in her hand, and for a moment she couldn¡¯t actually remember how to answer it. Clinton was calling and a tiny pulse of anxiety wiped away her exhaustion. Had someone else been hurt?

    ¡°Clinton?¡± she answered, hushed in the darkness of the hallway.

    ¡°Jennifer. Thank god.¡± The older man¡¯s voice was rough, catching around something in his throat. ¡°Are you home?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The police just dropped me off. Where are you? Have you heard from the others?¡±

    A dark shadow slinked out of the living room and curled around her ankles, purring loudly. Nif sank down onto her haunches and sighed into Sapha¡¯s fur, the phone pressed hard enough to hurt her ear.

    ¡°Josephine and Philippa don¡¯t know yet. They texted they arrived home safe hours ago, but Thea said she¡¯d have one of her officers fly by to check there¡¯s been no disturbances.¡± He paused, and swallowed, the sound loud enough for the mouthpiece to pick up. ¡°I should¡¯ve checked. I should¡¯ve made sure.¡± Clinton trailed off, the silence so heavy Nif could feel it pressing in on her, deeper and thicker than the shadows lurking in the corners of the hallway.

    ¡°Thea said no one should be alone at night,¡± Clinton said in a rush. ¡°I¡¯m cancelling our meetings until further notice. Someone may have found out about us through those posters. I tried to find them all, but it may¡¯ve been too late.¡±

    ¡°Clinton, it isn¡¯t your fault.¡± Nif bundled up her own sorrow, horror and fear and shoved them down deep. She hadn¡¯t known Morris nearly as long as the others, but she couldn¡¯t imagine the group without him. ¡°Is your wife with you? You shouldn¡¯t be alone.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s running home now.¡±

    ¡°Good. Go make yourself some tea and wait for her. We took all the right precautions.¡± Nif took a steadying breath. ¡°If I¡¯d remembered my scarf sooner, maybe I would¡¯ve heard Morris cry out, but we can¡¯t think that way. You did everything you could. It¡¯s that monster¡¯s fault.¡±

    Why had they cut out his eyes? Forced them down his throat leaving his lips a painted red? When Morris was attacked had he still been smiling? Buzzing from his perfect evening as he waited for the buyer? His art displayed for the first time. Someone wanting to buy everything. A dream of quitting his job and painting full time within his grasp. Her imagination painted a picture and grief tightened around her throat until she couldn¡¯t swallow.

    Morris with a bounce to his step, spinning his worn hat around his index finger as he headed outside to wait for the buyer. He wasn¡¯t a small man. He would¡¯ve fought, but he was gentle at heart and the surprise would¡¯ve left him confused and momentarily stunned.

    ¡°Are you okay, Jennifer? They said you were the one who found him. Is that true?¡± Clinton sounded a hundred years old, his voice the rasping sound of wind through a soot-blocked chimney.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be sleeping for a while,¡± Nif admitted.

    ¡°Geez, Jennifer. Here I am spilling my guilt like sour milk and you were there. Did he...what did they do to him?¡±

    Nif exhaled sharply, digging her fingers into Sapha¡¯s fur, but before she could even begin to put it into words¡ª bloody lips, a dropped hat, shoes that¡¯ll never be worn again¡ª Clinton hurriedly cut her off.

    ¡°No. Don¡¯t. I can¡¯t¡­and you shouldn¡¯t have to relive it again.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever stop thinking about it,¡± Nif whispered.

    Sapha mewled her sympathy and nudged her soft head against Nif¡¯s chin. Nif lost her balance and rolled backwards, ending with her spine pressed against the hallway wall and her trembling legs splayed out in front of her. Sapha curled in her lap and purred hard.

    ¡°Promise you¡¯ll stay with someone at all times,¡± Clinton begged. ¡°I¡¯ll start a group text. It¡¯s important we stay in touch. We need to support each other even more now.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I promise. Just¡­what about Morris? Is someone taking care¡­¡± Nif didn¡¯t even know if he had a family. She didn¡¯t think he had a partner or any children. What about his parents?

    ¡°Morris didn¡¯t have any family, but he¡¯ll be looked after properly. God, there¡¯s a funeral to organise and I¡¯ve no idea who¡¯s his next of kin.¡±

    ¡°Tea, Clinton. Go have some and I¡¯m sure Thea will talk you through what will happen next.¡± Nif should get some tea, too. Something to warm herself with, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to move.

    ¡°She¡¯ll know,¡± he murmured. Nif worried he was going into shock. She was pretty sure she was already there. Her hands were cold and clammy, and she had to keep reminding herself to breathe deeply, not the shallow sharp breaths she found herself making whenever she thought of Morris¡¯s face.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve not met your wife yet. What¡¯s she like?¡± Nif stayed on the phone with Clinton for over half an hour, listening to stories about an incredibly strong woman in a voice clogged with tears, until she heard a door open on the other end of the line and soft words to Clinton. It helped centre Nif too.

    There was a jostle as the phone exchanged hands.

    ¡°Jennifer?¡±

    Nif felt like she knew this woman already.

    ¡°Thea. I¡¯m worried about Clinton. Will he be okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it from here, dear. Are you okay? Clint mentioned you¡¯d only joined the support group recently, but connections between people can occur in a heartbeat, and what you¡¯ve seen tonight would traumatise anybody. Have you got someone to talk to?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. My housemate is with me. Maybe I¡¯ll try and sleep.¡± The mere thought of sleep made her heart race. ¡°Can you let me know what they decide about Morris?¡±

    ¡°Of course, dear. Sleep well.¡±

    Nif stared at the phone in her hand for so long the shape of the familiar object began to feel strange until Sapha pricked her claws through the fabric of Nif¡¯s skirt. She barely felt the prickling pain, but took the cue and followed Sapha¡¯s lean form into the living room. She wasn¡¯t surprised to see the TV on, sound off. A black and white film.

    Nif had never experienced death before. Or at least, not closely and never like this. With Sapha curled up, a puddle of fur on her lap, Nif was reminded that she was still alive, she was still breathing and she shouldn¡¯t feel guilty for either of those things.

    There was no pressure to talk, but Nif found herself doing it anyway. The early morning light was smudging the far wall when Nif realised her throat was hoarse and she¡¯d not slept at all. Maybe she should call in sick.

    Sapha slipped out into the kitchen, clad in stripes, and returned, dressed in her robe and carrying a hot cup of peppermint tea.

    ¡°Drink up. We¡¯re having a home day. I¡¯ll call your work for you. That boss of yours likes you, he¡¯ll understand and when you¡¯re ready, we can talk about what happens next.¡±

    ¡°What does happen next?¡±

    ¡°Drink first. I¡¯ve ordered some bagels.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not even six yet,¡± Nif pointed out.

    ¡°And for some people who are nocturnal, it¡¯s the end of their day. I know a possum chef who makes the most divine baked goods for the night lurkers.¡±

    Sapha opened the living room window in time for the night owl delivery guy to wing inside, his little cap tied on with elastic and sitting jauntily on his head. He dropped a paper bag onto the coffee table, and Sapha rolled up a note and inserted it in the tip pouch attached to one leg. She waved him off and opened the bag.

    The bagels were hot. Slathered in cream cheese and just what Nif needed to feel human again. She took a bite and sighed heavily.

    ¡°Thanks for this,¡± she said.

    ¡°After last night I¡¯m expecting a call from your parents and I want to be able to tell them you¡¯ve at least eaten.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised they haven¡¯t called already. Morris¡¯s death should surely be on the news by now.¡± Her throat tightened as Morris¡¯s shy, pleased face when she kissed his cheek popped into her head. Who could do something so horrible to another human being? To Morris whose imagination was boundless?

    ¡°Give me your phone. I¡¯ll text your boss.¡±

    Nif had to dig around in the couch cushions to find it, but eventually handed it over. ¡°You¡¯ve missed a few calls already.¡±

    Her mum twice, one call from Oliver and a handful of texts from Moira. The group chat was active, too.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± Nif said, giving her phone back to Sapha, helpless at what to do next.

    ¡°Let¡¯s call your parents first before they knock on our door. I¡¯ll message the others now to say you¡¯re okay and text your boss after seven.¡±

    What would she do without rational, practical Sapha?

    The rest of the day was a strange hazy blur.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a child,¡± Nif grumbled as Sapha smothered her in blankets.

    ¡°Good, because there¡¯s no way I could be a mother. Trust me, watching films on the couch all day is just what you need to reset.¡± Sapha was taking a strange delight in making Nif do what she did every day. How Sapha wasn¡¯t bored out of her mind, Nif had no idea.

    The night owl delivery guy was replaced with a golden furred monkey wearing the pink and purple vest of the day delivery service. She rapped her tiny knuckles on the window, her fingers clinging to the brick work and managing to balance a backpack full of food with an ease that spoke of years on the job.

    They gorged themselves on dumplings, spring rolls and curry puffs, drank gallons of tea, and by mid afternoon, Nif felt less wobbly and more settled in her own skin.

    Her phone pinged regularly and she finally flicked through the messages.

    Clinton was keeping a running update regarding the investigation as best he could. Josephine was organising Morris¡¯s funeral. It would be on the following Wednesday because it would take a while longer for his body to be released. Nif made a note to ask for that day off.

    When Sapha put her to bed that night, Morris¡¯s death was less of a gaping wound and more of a dull ache. One she tried her best to distract herself from. Her guilt hummed along in the background as she showered and dressed for bed. For feeling grief in the first place when the others must have been hurting more. For the relief that it wasn¡¯t her or even Moira, as if their lives were ranked differently in her head. For being alive when Morris¡¯s life had been violently cut short. It could¡¯ve been her lying in the back alley just as easily. Or Oliver.

    The following week was oddly uneventful. Leon surprised her by picking her up for work on Monday -- a reoccuring event that eventuated into breakfast together -- and Oliver drove her home each evening, which also ended up more often than not sharing dinner. Being with others during the waking hours helped. Leon was a blessing to both Nif and Oliver. If it was left up to them, they¡¯d just cry the workday away.

    Morris¡¯s funeral was a blur of heartache and misery despite the sky being a sharp blue only possible in late Autumn. There were a handful of colleagues there and a few friends from Morris¡¯s uni days, but Nif didn¡¯t talk to any of them. Instead, the support group huddled to one side, overly conscious of the police presence in the form of hovering hawks and lurking hounds. Morris¡¯s coffin had been plain, Josephine saying he¡¯d not have wanted a fuss, but amongst the flowers draped across the wood were oil paints and brushes. It was a sweet touch, one that seemed to confuse the rest of the guests, which made Nif cry even harder. Who else had caught a glimpse of the real Morris? Surely it hadn¡¯t just been them?

    Nif didn¡¯t say no to Sapha when the cat-shifter handed her sleeping pills, but she still had nightmares. The dreams were shapeless horrors that left her heart pounding and her sheets cold from sweat, and if she spent the early hours of most mornings watching black and white films with Sapha, then so be it. She couldn¡¯t be alone.

 Chapter 15

    Hi there. You work in publishing so you must love reading. What¡¯ve you been reading recently?

    Another Tender message from the Hound of Baskerville. Nif really needed to delete her profile. She was still getting responses every couple of days -- most from this particular user -- and while a small part of her was telling her to not put all her eggs in one basket, the only person she really wanted to spend time with was Oliver.

    Nif replied to a message from Clinton confirming she¡¯d be at the support group tomorrow night. This one would be the first since Morris¡¯s death and Clinton had offered his home instead of the usual school hall for the meeting.

    She shoved her phone back into her pocket and did up the buttons of her coat, just in time to hear Leon beep his horn.

    ¡°See you, Sapha!¡± Nif shouted as she headed towards the door, her housemate lounging on the couch as usual, empty bagel wrappers from her late night binge strewn around her. One day she¡¯d weasel out Sapha¡¯s secret for staying so healthy despite the lack of exercise and poor eating habits.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got that pepper spray?¡± Sapha called back.

    ¡°Yes mother,¡± Nif huffed.

    ¡°If only I was as cool as your mum!¡±

    ¡°True. I¡¯ll message you when I¡¯m leaving work,¡± Nif promised, locking the front door behind her.

    Morris¡¯s funeral had been over two weeks ago and things had gone back to a strange new normal. Her grief had softened and her nights weren¡¯t plagued as often with bloody eye sockets or dark alleys. It helped being busy and so what if she was taking sleeping pills? No one could blame her.

    ¡°Good morning, Jennifer,¡± Leon greeted, handing over a small paper bag smelling like heaven and a keepcup that had manifested sometime last week. It lived in Leon¡¯s car and matched her work one. Nif inhaled the cinnamon scent of her chai latte.

    ¡°This is from To Bean or Not to Bean! Don¡¯t tell me you drove all the way there and back again!¡±

    ¡°Then I won¡¯t,¡± he said, looking over his shoulder as he indicated and turned the car onto the street. ¡°I had to go in early so figured I may as well grab you some breakfast on the way.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to pick me up. I could have caught the bus.¡±

    ¡°Really, Jennifer,¡± he said, rolling the ¡®r¡¯ of her name. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. Any excuse to get out of the office.¡±

    Nif peeked into the paper bag and wriggled in her seat at the sight of a freshly baked walnut and chocolate muffin, the top crispy with caramelised sugar.

    ¡°You¡¯re the best!¡± The flavours exploded on her tongue and for one blissful moment, all her worries were swept aside.

    Her phone vibrated again. Another message from the Hound-of-Baskerville, but she ignored it.

    ¡°The team coordinator meeting is on Friday. They¡¯ve requested a report on the new script writing division. Think our writer in residence is ready to give a preliminary report?¡±

    Nif disguised her grimace by taking a sip of her chai latte. ¡°That soon?¡±

    ¡°The ongoing budget needs approval. If Mr Salem isn¡¯t ready to show something, anything, then they could decide not to further invest in this project.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Geez, no pressure then.¡±

    Once in the office, Nif was mildly annoyed but mostly amused when Leon insisted on escorting her to her desk as if tiny ninjas were preparing to leap out of cupboards and steal her out the window.

    ¡°This really isn¡¯t necessary,¡± Nif grumbled. ¡°I don¡¯t need a babysitter.¡±

    Leon just shrugged, ¡°I¡¯ll pop by before lunch. See if Cliff has any questions about the Friday meeting and soothe any ruffled feathers.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not work appropriate language, Leon,¡± Clare tsked from her own desk. ¡°Don¡¯t make me request another sensitivity training session.¡±

    Leon made a face, murmured a quick apology and dashed off for another ¡°very important manager¡¯s meeting¡± that Nif knew he¡¯d been reluctant to attend.

    ¡°Mr Salem arrived before I did this morning,¡± Clare continued, her eyes bright as they followed Leon¡¯s retreating back. ¡°He hasn¡¯t come out yet so you may need to check he hasn¡¯t been crushed beneath all those white boards.¡±

    ¡°Argh, he¡¯s going to be a mess once he hears about the meeting. Here¡¯s me, off to play nursemaid.¡±

    The office assigned to Oliver had transformed into a maze of whiteboards covered in timelines, character lists and concept maps that would put a criminal mastermind to shame. The central meeting table had been divided in two. One half was pushed up against the far wall and covered in reference books, two laptops, a printer and a random assortment of artifacts from a fan-made wizard staff with a honking great big ball of blue and gold resin to clay character models strewn across a large, detailed map of the Fragmented world. The second was barren in comparison with just an additional two laptops (one for Oliver and one for Nif) and a neat stack of notebooks.

    It took a moment to spot Oliver, not stuck beneath any of the piles of accumulated items, but cross-legged on the ground with a pair of scissors in one hand and a print out of the most recent scene he was working on spread out before him.

    ¡°Morning!¡± Nif greeted brightly. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Oliver jumped, scowling as he barely avoided cutting skin.

    ¡°Trying to sort out this dialogue. The order isn¡¯t right.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Nif watched him snip up another piece of dialogue and rearrange the slips of paper he¡¯d already cut up. After a few quiet moments watching him work, Nif reluctantly broke the silence. ¡°By the way, how do you feel about giving an update to the higher ups on Friday?¡±

    ¡°An update?¡± Oliver couldn¡¯t have looked more horrified than if Nif had told him Moira was dropping her PhD and moving to a deserted island without him.

    ¡°Just an incy-wincy little one,¡± Nif promised. ¡°I¡¯ll prepare most of it and you¡¯ll just have to show up, smile and fill in any gaps.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be ready.¡± Oliver almost stabbed himself in the face when he went to run his hand through his hair. He dropped the scissors and gestured around the room. ¡°The script is a holey, plotty mess and I can¡¯t decide if I want to work on the big picture things or focus on the details because it feels like the details are shaping the big picture things, but then am I just getting tunnel vision? I¡¯m not just writing one episode script, I¡¯m writing a dozen and I don¡¯t want to be one of those author¡¯s everyone hates because the television adaption doesn¡¯t do the novels justice. What if they want a second season? What if I don¡¯t include a character in the first season because I can¡¯t include everyone and then I need them for a future season?¡±

    Nif crouched down in front of him, careful of all the paper slips and grabbed his shoulders firmly.

    ¡°Oliver, stop it. You¡¯re overthinking this.¡±

    ¡°This?¡±

    ¡°All of it. The scripts, this dialogue, the meeting on Friday.¡± Nif gave him a little shake. ¡°How do you eat an elephant?¡±

    ¡°Wait, what? An elephant? A shifter or the actual animal? Because I don¡¯t know about the ethics¡­¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. You eat an elephant one bite at a time. Now, let¡¯s sort out this dialogue and then we can review your current project plan. Once you¡¯ve re-centred, I¡¯ll prep Friday¡¯s meeting notes and we can then go over them together, okay?¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Jennifer.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what they pay me for,¡± Nif replied.

    ¡°Not enough by far.¡± He hesitated and Nif prepared herself for another pep talk when he blushed, tugging the hair behind his ear. ¡°Look, you can say no and I would completely understand, but I was wondering¡­¡± but he didn¡¯t have a chance to finish. The fire alarm went off and by the time they all trekked outside, Clare leading the way in her bright yellow hard hat with the words ¡°Fire Warden¡± written across the front, the moment had passed. Just a drill, but Nif couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it was bad timing or the universe trying to tell her something.

 Chapter 16

    ¡°Have you seen the news?¡± Clare asked, barely above a whisper just as Nif had settled at her desk the next day. She¡¯d peeked through the glass walls of Oliver¡¯s workspace as she¡¯d walked past and had seen him shifting restlessly in front of a white board, but he was looking thoughtful rather than stressed so she was planning to leave him be for a bit while she wrote up Friday¡¯s pitch.

    The strain in Clare¡¯s voice captured her attention entirely, all thoughts of Oliver flying out of her head. Clare¡¯s fingers were knotted tightly together and her lips pressed into a thin line.

    ¡°No, what¡¯s happened?¡± Nif was already dreading what she¡¯d see when she opened up a news site on her laptop. It was not hard to miss what Clare was talking about.

    ¡°Two more deaths?¡± Nif¡¯s heart skipped and settled into a rolling rhythm, leaving her face hot and sweat to prickle at her neck line. Her phone buzzed as she got a handful of messages, probably from the support group, and she ignored them. The report was brief. It didn¡¯t include any names, but two women in their thirties were discovered just over two hours ago in the remote corner of an underground shopping car park. One had her eyes removed while the other, in a large dog form, was stabbed in the throat. The report was attempting to make it sound like a robbery gone wrong, but Nif knew it was the same monster who¡¯d killed Morris.

    ¡°I suspect the murderer was interrupted,¡± Clare said, leaning close over Nif¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Maybe the dog shifter was a sister or a friend.¡±

    ¡°Have they said whether she was¡­¡± Nif dropped her voice, glancing around the room even though everyone she worked with knew already. ¡°Like me?¡±

    ¡°No word yet, but Nif¡­ I¡¯m worried. That¡¯s six people killed now, and there¡¯s no signs this person is going to get caught. How many non-shifters can there actually be in the city?¡±

    ¡°Around 1500,¡± Nif replied. ¡°I checked once.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s actually more than I was expecting,¡± Clare admitted, some of the tension seeping from her shoulders. ¡°But still, it¡¯s like this person has a shopping list they¡¯re slowly working their way through. How do they even know? It¡¯s not like you advertise.¡±

    ¡°Clare, it¡¯s okay.¡± Nif swept the woman into a hug, guilty for not realising how much this had been upsetting her. ¡°Look, why don¡¯t you come with me tonight to my support group meeting. It¡¯ll be at Clinton¡¯s house this time and his wife¡¯s a cop. We¡¯ll get a run down of the situation -- even more so since the latest murders -- and you can see for yourself what we¡¯re doing to keep safe.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay. I¡¯d like that.¡± Clare pulled away, her fingers tugging on her bottom lip. ¡°Do you think your friends would like muffins?¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re planning to get them from where I think you are, then they¡¯d be welcomed with open arms. Oliver is taking me so you can come with us. I want you to meet Moira, too.¡±

    Nif¡¯s phone rang, buzzing its way across her workspace because for once it was actually clear of unread documents. Jemima the intern had taken the initiative and was currently building a fortress of unsolicited manuscripts from which she vanished behind for most of the day. Nif was checking in on her regularly partially because she was grateful someone else was reading all those hopeful stories, but mostly because she didn¡¯t want to be responsible if the younger woman got trapped under the pile and crushed to death.

    The call was from her parents. Clare laughed as Nif pulled a face. ¡°I suppose they¡¯ve heard the news, too, then.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll want me to come home,¡± Nif sighed and answered the phone cheerfully. ¡°Hi Mum and Dad.¡±

    ¡°Have you heard the news?¡± her mother demanded.

    Nif slumped into her chair. Clare patted her on the shoulder, smiling softly and returned to her desk.

    ¡°Yeah. Look, you don¡¯t need to worry.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re your parents, darling. It¡¯s our job to worry. What¡¯s the address for your work again?¡±

    Blindsided, Nif gave it to her before she could rethink it.

    ¡°Good. We¡¯re in the right building then.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Nif snapped upright, horrified. Were her parents really waiting down stairs for her?

    ¡°Tell Nifty-Nif we¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m on speaker phone, dear. You can tell her yourself.¡±

    Nif glanced from Clare who was focusing intently on her keyboard to Oliver who was still in his office, now pacing and talking aloud if the low grumbling was anything to go by. Charlotte was in her consultation room and Leon was elsewhere, possibly office hopping as he convinced various managers to support the new project. The last thing she wanted was to bring her parents up where they¡¯d freak out over the murders and remind everyone exactly what she was.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right down,¡± she mumbled into the phone and hung up. ¡°My parents are here,¡± she said to Clare.

    ¡°Wait, what? Here? As in the city?¡±

    ¡°In the lobby.¡±

    ¡°Right, okay. They clearly need reassurance.¡± Just like Clare herself had needed only minutes earlier. ¡°Take them to Bean or Not to Bean and have Yong-Shen woo them with her coffee and muffins. They¡¯ll realise how many people are looking out for you and go home relieved in the knowledge that we will make sure you¡¯re safe.¡±

    Nif¡¯s heart clenched at her words and pressure built behind her eyes, threatening tears. God, she¡¯d been so emotional since Morris¡¯s death. Almost anything could set her off.

    ¡°Thanks, Clare. That means a lot.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll cover for you so go before they storm the castle!¡±

    Nif slipped down the stairs, needing to pause halfway down to let a loping deer pass her on the steps, and flung herself into the building¡¯s foyer, expecting the worst. Her father, lean and long, dressed casually in a pullover and jeans, was chatting with Jared, today¡¯s security guard, at the front desk while her mother, wispy thin in trousers and a heavy coat, was perusing the directory. While her dad looked as if he¡¯d just stepped out of the classroom, her mum looked like she could march off into the wilderness in search of lost children.

    ¡°Mum! Dad!¡± Nif waved to get their attention while moving to intercept them before they got much further into the building.

    ¡°Nifty-Nif!¡± Dad hollered back as if shouting across a school yard. Everyone lingering in the foyer and outside footpath paused to look.

    ¡°Okay. This is like being back in high school. Come on.¡± She snagged an elbow of each and tugged them towards the exit. ¡°I¡¯ve got permission¡± ¡ª kind of ¡ª ¡°to take you out for coffee.¡±

    ¡°But we really wanted to meet that boss of yours,¡± her mother complained.

    ¡°And I bought a copy of Cliff Salem¡¯s book. I was hoping I could get him to sign it!¡±

    ¡°Not now, Mum, and I promise I¡¯ll get him to sign it, Dad, okay?¡±

    ¡°I guess it¡¯s been a long trip so a drink would be nice. We actually caught the bus because we know how much you don¡¯t like seeing us natural.¡± Her mother meant seeing them naked. Nif¡¯s own hang ups meant she just felt awkward. Where were you even meant to look when talking to someone completely starkers? Thank goodness for cold weather and high-fashion, otherwise no one would wear clothes.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice you¡¯re trying new things,¡± Nif said. ¡°Why are you here? Not that I don¡¯t mind the visit. It¡¯s just a surprise.¡± It was hard walking three abreast in the city, but somehow they were managing it. Her mum always gave off a somewhat menacing aura despite her petite size and her dad had a knack of just not being where other people were about to be.

    Her dad nudged his long nose against her hair, much like he did with his beak when he was in crane form.

    ¡°We¡¯re worried about you, Nifty-Nif. We¡¯re so far away and these murders have us worried. They¡¯re obviously targeting¡­¡± he lowered his voice, something he¡¯d never done when talking about her state of being because he always claimed there was nothing to be ashamed about. ¡°You know, and your mother and I think it¡¯s best if you come home for a while.¡±

    ¡°This is home. Just because some monster is treating us like prey doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to let them chase me out of my home.¡± Nif hurried them across at a green light and gestured. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±

    To Bean or Not to Bean had a quiet buzz going for this time of day, but Nif managed to squeeze the three of them onto a table.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go put in our order,¡± she said, partially regretting not bringing her keepcup so she could grab one to go afterwards. She had a feeling she¡¯d need the sugar this morning.

    ¡°This is unlike you!¡± Yong-Shen greeted, leaning her elbows on the counter to check out her parents. ¡°Mama bear and papa stalk?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a crane actually,¡± Nif corrected, not surprised at all at Yong-Shen¡¯s observations.

    ¡°Huan just baked fresh scones. You¡¯ll need sweetness for the conversation ahead.¡± She nodded decisively and bustled into the kitchen.

    ¡°One chai latte coming up. What would your folks like?¡± Jo asked, thumping away on the drinks machine while texting on his phone.

    ¡°Long black for my mum and a caramel latte with extra cream for my dad because he has no sense of taste.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s parents for you. I¡¯ll bring it out to you when it¡¯s ready.¡±

    After a deep breath, Nif returned to the table and took comfort from the fact that, while it was mildly inconvenient, her parents had made the effort to visit.

    ¡°So sweetie, we really think you should consider taking some leave from work. School holidays are about to start so your father will be off work, and I¡¯ve a few days in liu I can take from the office. We could go on a camping trip.¡±

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°Mum, you know I hate camping. I¡¯m allergic to like everything!¡±

    ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t have to be camping. We could rent a cottage somewhere up north.¡±

    ¡°We could make cheeses,¡± her dad said, as if it was the greatest idea ever. Her father picked up hobbies like people picked up colds on public transport. At any one time he might be making beer or keeping bees or building more bookshelves for his ever expanding signed book collection. He¡¯d knitted Nif¡¯s favourite scarf and he was the one who¡¯d mended the rips in her pants when she was child.

    ¡°While I love cheese, I suspect that takes some time to do,¡± Nif said.

    ¡°Depends on the cheese,¡± he said. Nif soldiered on before he could elaborate.

    ¡°But I can¡¯t be away from work right now. Leon has me working closely with Oli...I mean Cliff Salem and the project has an important deadline this Friday.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all well and good, sweetie, but there¡¯s a madman¡­¡±

    ¡°Or woman,¡± her father corrected.

    ¡°Yes, thank you, dear. A mad person in the city who¡¯s killing people who cannot shift, which means you¡¯re a target. It¡¯s not like you hide this fact.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t exactly advertise either,¡± Nif grumbled. Jo slouched over to their table, impossibly carrying all three drinks in one hand while still playing with his phone in the other. Nif suspected she¡¯d never actually seen the colour of Jo¡¯s eyes. They were always glued to that tiny screen.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nif¡¯s father hummed, grasping his cup in two hands and inhaling the cream. He somehow managed to not get any on his nose.

    ¡°Thanks, Jo,¡± Nif said, passing her mother¡¯s coffee to her and taking her own chai latte.

    ¡°Mum said the scones will be out in a tick,¡± Jo said and he meandered back over to the coffee machine, fingers flying over the phone screen.

    ¡°This is a charming little cafe,¡± her mother said, nodding in satisfaction after her first sip. ¡°Especially for the city.¡±

    ¡°The city isn¡¯t as bad as you think,¡± Nif said. ¡°Look, I¡¯m as safe as anyone can be. I¡¯ve more chances of being hit by a bus than being murdered, even with some crazy person targeting non-shifters. I¡¯m fine and I¡¯m taking precautions.¡±

    Her parents exchanged loaded looks. One day Nif hoped she¡¯d have someone like that. A person who could know what she was thinking at a glance.

    ¡°You¡¯re an adult and we respect your choices,¡± her dad said.

    ¡°Just, if things become a bit too much.¡± Her mother took up the conversational baton. ¡°Know we¡¯re only a few hours away. You¡¯re always welcome.¡±

    ¡°I know. Thanks for coming down to check on me.¡±

    ¡°We were already on our way when we heard the news about the additional murders.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it awful!¡± Yong-shen appeared at their sides, three mismatched plates bearing scones the size of two of Nif¡¯s fists together and a healthy dollop of fresh cream. A deep dish of jam was plonked on the table beside it all. ¡°The city is meant to be a place of hopes and dreams,¡± Yong-shen said. ¡°But all it takes is for one sick person to screw it up for the rest of us.¡±

    ¡°Yong-shen! Language please!¡± Huan called out from the kitchen. Yong-shen rolled her eyes.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be frightened for your child,¡± Yong-shen continued. ¡°She is well-loved here. We will look after her and she¡¯s got a protector.¡±

    ¡°A protector?¡± Nif¡¯s mother asked, leaning closer. Yong-shen snagged a spare chair from another table and joined them without asking. Nif didn¡¯t mind and clearly neither did her mother who was keen for any information she could get on her daughter, but Nif¡¯s dad looked mildly bemused. He¡¯d always been a small town boy and the big city often left him struggling to keep up.

    ¡°Yeah, what protector?¡± Nif asked.

    ¡°I told you, Nif. You¡¯d have another bear come into your life. You should¡¯ve met him by now.¡±

    ¡°I generally don¡¯t put a lot of stock in a person¡¯s shift,¡± Nif stated and took a huge bite of her scone. She¡¯d topped it with jam and cream and, oh god, it was still warm and Nif just wanted to curl up inside it. Around her mouthful, she continued, ¡°I¡¯ve met plenty of people who don¡¯t match up to the stereotype their shift evokes so it¡¯s best just to ignore it.¡±

    ¡°While a shift may not be important to you, it is still a part of a person¡¯s identity. They can tell us a lot about a person,¡± Yong-shen said softly.

    ¡°So what¡¯s it say about me then?¡±

    ¡°No one form could sum you up, my dear.¡± Yong-shen stood up, wiping her hands on her apron. ¡°Enjoy the scones. My husband may not be much to look at, but his baking keeps me in love.¡±

    ¡°I heard that!¡± Huan yelled out to them. Jo just rolled his eyes and prepped a takeaway chai latte for Nif.

    ¡°You¡¯ve met another bear?¡± Her mother asked, eagerly. They weren¡¯t the most common of shift forms, though Nif remembered that failed date not that long ago. The bear couple. Nif couldn¡¯t help but admire their no nonsense shift when the other customers had made a fuss.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know of anyone personally.¡± Though Oliver had yet to divulge his shift. It had just never come up, and it was now too awkward to ask him outright. Some people rarely spent any time at all in their shift, either because it was inconvenient -- a goldfish for example couldn¡¯t have been the easiest unless you were in a bathtub -- or uncomfortable -- big forms like bears or camels took up a lot of space.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad we came, though. It¡¯s reassuring to hear that even the local baristas are keeping an eye on you.¡±

    ¡°Mum, I can look after myself!¡±

    ¡°Yes, but you don¡¯t have to. How¡¯s Sapha going?¡±

    They finished their scones -- her father got two to go -- and mostly talked about their shared acquaintances. Her dad told her some of the funny things his students got up to and her mum described her current architectural plans for a new recreational centre being built two towns over. It was actually a really nice catch up, until they¡¯d walked Nif back to the office and the request to meet her boss came up again.

    ¡°Oh, well Leon is very busy,¡± Nif tried, but there was no putting her parents off. ¡°Just please don¡¯t embarrass me,¡± she finally compromised and ushered them towards the elevator.

    ¡°We¡¯d never embarrass you on purpose, Nifty-Nif,¡± her dad said, but already she could tell he was dusting off some truly stellar dad jokes.

    The lift opened onto an eyeful of naked old man.

    ¡°Good afternoon, Mr Williams,¡± Nif sighed, and loaded her parents onto the elevator. ¡°Which floor did you end up on this time?¡± Clearly not their level as Clare usually bundled him up in one of the spare robes before sending him off to the right one. Jemina had to make a weekly trip to his office to collect the borrowed garments.

    ¡°Oh hello Jennifer. Level two I¡¯m afraid, but I just got on the first available elevator and it was heading down. Will this go to the fourth floor?¡±

    Nif stabbed the 4th floor button as well as the third. ¡°Yes it will.¡±

    Nif all but dragged her parents out of the lift, tossing Mr Williams a wave and sighing in relief when the doors closed on him.

    ¡°Was that Mr Williams I saw? He must¡¯ve been out for a late morning flight,¡± Clare said on her way back to her desk with a fresh pot of tea.

    ¡°Yes. Yes, it was.¡± Nif rubbed her eyes to remove the image of a naked man burnt into the back of her eyelids. ¡°Clare, these are my parents. Hannah Beechcroft and Jonathan Saito. Mum and Dad, this is Clare who without this entire company would cease to run.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you,¡± Clare said, all but dropping the teapot on Nif¡¯s desk because it was closer, and rushing forward to shake their hands, her enthusiasm belying her softly spoken words. ¡°Nif talks about you all the time. I heard you¡¯re a collector of books, Jonathan.¡±

    Oliver chose that time to wander out, pencil wedged between his teeth and one hand buried in his hair. It looked like he¡¯d been tugging on it for some time and Nif had to fight not to tidy it for him.

    ¡°Jennifer? I can¡¯t find that character spreadsheet you designed and I¡¯ve lost count of how many people I¡¯ve killed off¡­¡± Oliver glanced up and froze when he realised he had the full attention of the office. ¡°Umm, sorry for interrupting. That may have come across as a little bit weird.¡± He was already backtracking back to his office when Nif¡¯s father lunged forward, already pulling out his copy of Bridge Gate.

    ¡°Right, introductions,¡± Nif said, hurrying to avoid Oliver from freaking out entirely and disappearing for the rest of the day. ¡°Oliver, these are my parents. Hannah and Jonathan.¡±

    ¡°Please, call me Jon!¡± her father said eagerly, bopping the book against his chest in barely restrained excitement.

    ¡°This is Oliver, also known as Cliff Salem. Oliver, my dad is a bit of a fan so would you mind...¡±

    ¡°Oh. Your parents? Of course!¡± he laughed nervously and stuck his pencil in his front pocket. ¡°You don¡¯t happen to have a gel ink pen on you, do you? It tends to write better on the paper.¡±

    Clare manifested a pen from somewhere and her father gleefully proffered his book. He clearly hadn¡¯t read it yet, the spine unbroken and it popped a little as Oliver opened it to the title page. There was a good chance he¡¯d never actually read it. The signature was what he truly craved. Some people collected fine wines. Her dad collected signed books.

    ¡°Can you write your favourite music lyrics as well?¡± Her dad asked as Oliver wrote ¡®To Jonathan¡¯ across the page in the handwriting Nif recognised he used specifically for fans.

    ¡°Sure.¡± Oliver pondered for a moment, clearly wanting to chew on the pen end before remembering it wasn¡¯t actually his pen, and then scrawled something too difficult for Nif to read upside down.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a bear shift by any chance?¡± her mother asked as Oliver handed the book back, and he almost dropped it.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Mum!¡± Nif hissed and Leon chose that moment to sweep into the office, take in the small gathering and, never dropping a beat, held out his hand to first Hannah and then Jonathan to shake.

    ¡°Mrs and Mr Saito I presume?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s actually Hannah Beechcroft, but please, call me Hannah and my partner is Jon.¡±

    ¡°My apologies. I¡¯m Leon Knight. It has truly been a pleasure working with your daughter over the last few years.¡± He gave Nif a wink, clearly remembering his previous awkward mistake when he¡¯d assumed she¡¯d only been working for Never Archives for a year. It was disconcerting how much had changed over the last few weeks.

    ¡°We¡¯ve heard quite a bit about you lately,¡± her dad said, and it wasn¡¯t just Nif¡¯s imagination when her dad puffed up his shoulders like a bird fluffing its feathers to appear bigger than he really was. Nif¡¯s mother elbowed him.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Hannah said. ¡°We want to thank you for making sure she gets to and from work safely with the current madman¡­¡± -- ¡°mad person¡± muttered her dad-- ¡°currently giving the authorities the slip. Now we really should go. We¡¯ve interrupted quite enough of everyone¡¯s time.¡± She smiled disarmingly when in fact she could take down everyone in this room without breaking a sweat even in her human form. If Nif had to pick anyone to be in her corner, it would be her mother.

    ¡°I¡¯ll walk you down,¡± Nif said.

    They said farewell to everyone, Oliver retreating to his office as quickly as possible and Leon walking them to the elevator before snagging Clare about some office order.

    Back inside the elevator, Nif rocked her head on her neck and felt her spine pop.

    ¡°So you¡¯re satisfied now?¡± Nif asked after pressing the button to the foyer.

    ¡°Somewhat, Nifty-Nif. You can¡¯t stop us worrying,¡± her dad said.

    ¡°It¡¯s what we do,¡± her mum added.

    ¡°Just call us every evening when you get home.¡±

    ¡°And don¡¯t go out alone.¡±

    ¡°Even during the day.¡±

    ¡°Safety in numbers.¡±

    They bounced off each other, listing more and more safety rules until the doors chimed open and they entered the lobby.

    ¡°I know, okay. I won¡¯t do anything stupid, I promise. Now you will want to head off to the bus station now if you want to beat the afternoon rush.¡±

    ¡°Do you mind if I fly home, dear?¡± her dad asked, batting wide eyes at Nif¡¯s mum.

    ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s been a while since you¡¯ve had a chance to fly such a distance. I¡¯m not taking your book though.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Nif said. ¡°There¡¯s a change room if you want.¡± Her dad was already stripping down, oblivious to being in a glass walled lobby full of people who were in turn ignoring him completely. He handed each item of clothing to her mother to stuff inside her somewhat empty backpack, and Nif wouldn¡¯t be surprised if her mother had predicted her father asking for the chance to wing it home. When her father got to just his jeans and socks, he swept Nif into a tight hug.

    ¡°Be safe, Nifty-Nif. Post back that book for me, or better yet, bring it up on your next visit. Just make sure it¡¯s soon.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    Her dad shifted while still wearing his pants so Nif wouldn¡¯t have to see him completely naked and then shook the socks he¡¯d forgotten to take off with an indignant squawk.

    ¡°Oh, give it here,¡± her mum muttered, and deftly ducked his flapping wings to scoop the socks off and fold up his jeans. ¡°We¡¯ll call you when we arrive home, sweetheart.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I love you both.¡±

    ¡°We love you, too.¡± Her mum buffed a kiss on her forehead and Nif ducked low enough for her dad, who wasn¡¯t that much shorter than her in his crane form, to comb his beak through her hair.

    Her mum was chatting with her dad as they left, her mum opening the door for him and then waving him off as he took flight, narrowly missing a messenger pigeon.

    ¡°They¡¯re lovely. Your parents, I mean,¡± Jared the security guard said.

    ¡°I know. I¡¯m fully aware I take them for granted.¡±

 Chapter 17

    Oliver was happy enough to take both Clare and Nif to Clinton¡¯s that evening after the office shared an early dinner of pizza, Leon¡¯s shout. Nif had texted the group to see if it was okay to bring Clare along and the group had been fine with it. Perhaps the more people there would somehow ease the pain of Morris¡¯s absence.

    ¡°You don¡¯t mind if we collect Moira on the way?¡± Oliver had actually packaged up a few slices of vegetarian pizza for her.

    ¡°Not at all. Thanks for driving us.¡±

    ¡°Is there space for the muffins to go in the back?¡± Clare asked, carrying a box that was so high, she could barely see over it.

    ¡°That¡¯s full of muffins?¡± Oliver exclaimed, quickly taking it from her and grunting in surprise at the weight.

    ¡°Well, I asked Yong-Shen from To Bean or Not to Bean to keep some aside for me and she said we could have all the day¡¯s leftovers, though I suspect Huan baked another batch because I swear they¡¯re still warm.¡± Clare tidied her hair under a scarf, and looped her arm fondly through Nif¡¯s.

    ¡°There was no need to bring anything,¡± Oliver said, struggling to open the boot without dropping the muffins.

    ¡°I wanted to. You should never meet family without a gift, and this support group has been wonderful for Nif. It¡¯s the least I can do to thank you all.¡±

    ¡°Aww, Clare. That¡¯s so sweet of you.¡± Nif hugged her arm.

    Today had been a good reminder that there were people who truly cared about her. It was times like these, with friends like the ones she had, that she decided she wouldn¡¯t mind all that much if she never found one single person to spend the rest of her life with. Why couldn¡¯t she spend her life with lots of people? She glanced over at Oliver and blushed. But maybe she had found someone after all.

    They squeezed the muffin box beside a crate of Oliver¡¯s last signed book and bags of drinks he¡¯d purchased for the evening, and Clare climbed into the backseat while Nif took the front passenger.

    ¡°Where does Clinton live?¡± Nif asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only been there once. It¡¯s not all that far from Moira¡¯s uni actually.¡±

    Moira attended the University of McGlade, one of the city¡¯s smaller universities, but also one of the oldest.

    It was the kind of place that had weddings every second weekend on the expansive lawns beneath the massive evergreen trees and the jacarandas that painted the campus purple during late spring and summer. During winter, it had an oddly cosy feel about it. The sandstone buildings were tucked together like jigsaw puzzles, providing plenty of nooks to study, and it was always well-lit, the lamps casting a warm golden glow that made it feel like you¡¯d stepped into a love story. It was one of the universities Nif had considered before she¡¯d settled to the one closer to her hometown.

    ¡°Moira has a basement office over in the Edwina Clancy Building,¡± Oliver explained as he parked in a mostly empty carpark over by the old chapel. ¡°If she starts early and finishes late, she sometimes doesn¡¯t see the sun at all.¡±

    ¡°Sounds awful,¡± Clare murmured from the backseat.

    ¡°She loves it. The research is her life and at least she doesn¡¯t have to share her office space like the creative PhDs have to. I¡¯ll text her I¡¯m here, but if she¡¯s not out in fifteen, I¡¯ll go in after her. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time she¡¯s forgotten to charge her phone and reception in her office is patchy at best.¡±

    But they weren¡¯t waiting long when Moira dashed across the courtyard, almost slipping as she rounded a park bench too quickly, juggling a massive backpack and an arm full of books. She flung open the back door and piled in, letting in a brisk rush of winter air.

    ¡°Greetings everyone. God it¡¯s as cold as the devil¡¯s tits out there. Oh, hello.¡± Moira had crammed her bag at her feet and had realised the person sitting beside her was a stranger.

    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Clare. A friend of Nif¡¯s.¡± Clare offered a hand and Moira reached out and held it.

    ¡°I¡¯m Moira.¡±

    Nif twisted uncomfortably in her chair, Moira¡¯s cold pizza in her lap, to watch them shyly smile at each other. She glanced at Oliver and he shrugged.

    ¡°Buckle up, kiddo. We¡¯ll be late if we don¡¯t get a move on. Got you some pizza so try not to get it on the seat.¡± Oliver reversed as Moira scrambled to get her seatbelt on before remembering she was still holding Clare¡¯s hand. Nif handed over the pizza once Moira was secured and turned back around, a gleeful smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. How had she not thought the two would make a cute couple before?

    ¡°So what¡¯s your research about,¡± Clare asked and after a small hesitation, Moira began explaining. When Clare proved an avid listener, Moira¡¯s explanations became more enthusiastic and complex until Nif was barely keeping up, the young woman¡¯s pizza being used as a pointer for emphasis. Clare didn¡¯t seem to mind at all though Oliver winced when the cheese topping brushed the car roof.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Clinton¡¯s house wasn¡¯t that far at all. A bare ten minute drive and there was plenty of parking on a wide residential street lined with massive wintery-bare trees. The property was more modern than she expected. Clean lines and large windows overlooked a quietly sleeping garden. In spring, the beds would be lush with flowers and growth.

    They bundled out of the car, the icy evening air biting at Nif¡¯s lungs, and Clare, Oliver and Nif carried in the muffins and the bags of drinks. Moira bounded ahead and rang the doorbell, a light chirping sound, and bounced impatiently on her toes.

    The door opened to reveal an older woman dressed smartly and wearing heavy duty boots. Her silver hair was tied back in a sensible, neat plait and her warm brown skin wrinkled around her dark eyes as she smiled.

    ¡°Hello everyone.¡±

    That voice struck Nif with an equal sense of comfort and grief, and for a moment she was back on her hallway floor, Morris¡¯s death a white hot burn in her chest.

    ¡°Thea. It¡¯s been ages.¡± Oliver gave her a gentle hug. The woman was much shorter than Nif had imagined.

    ¡°It¡¯s been far too long. Come in. Come in.¡± She stepped back and they all filed into the front hall. No one else took their shoes off, so Nif kept hers on. The wooden floorboards were well worn and the walls were covered in framed photographs, all of them black and white and of stunning landscapes: deserts at night, stormy seas, forests dense and wet.

    ¡°You must be Jennifer,¡± Thea said, allowing Oliver and Moira to go ahead. ¡°I¡¯m glad to finally meet you in person.¡± Her voice was rough, but it reminded Nif of campfire smoke, warm and reassuring. Nif imagined the older woman would be the anchor during a crisis at work, making sure the right things were being done by the right people.

    ¡°That¡¯s me. It¡¯s wonderful to finally meet you in person. This is my friend Clare,¡± Nif said, pulling Clare forward from where she¡¯d been shyly lurking behind her. ¡°Clare this is Thea. Clinton¡¯s partner.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve all had a rough few weeks. Clinton is making hot drinks for everyone in the kitchen.¡±

    ¡°I brought muffins,¡± Clare murmured, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. ¡°Oliver has them.¡±

    ¡°That sounds wonderful. Something sweet to finish off the day. Come on through.¡± They followed Thea down the hallway to an open-plan kitchen spilling out onto a large enclosed patio. A massive twelve seat table carved from one piece of wood took up most of the space and the rest of the support group were gathered around it.

    ¡°Should we heat them up?¡± Oliver called from the kitchen. He was opening the muffin box and carefully lifting out the cardboard dividers. There had to be at least a dozen or so muffins of various kinds inside.

    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll help,¡± Clare said, fluttering around him and Moira meandered over to watch, but her gaze continued to drift towards Clare. Nif managed to catch her eye and the younger woman blushed a delightful pink.

    Clinton was by the stove, stirring two massive pots releasing the scent of nutmeg, cinnamon and orange.

    ¡°Hi Clinton,¡± Nif said, peering over into one of the pots. ¡°What are you making? It smells divine.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Gluhwein. My grandmother¡¯s recipe. One batch has alcohol for those not driving.¡± He gave a pot another stir and then gently rested the long handled spoon on the counter, leaning back against it to look Nif over. ¡°How are you traveling?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± she said, shrugging. Nif looked over to Josephine and Philippa sitting at the end of the table, busily twisting what looked like twigs together with ribbon and twine. The women were hollow echoes of their usual selves, their outfits still matching but made of subdued greys and browns. When Nif automatically searched the room for Morris, her chest froze up as she remembered she¡¯d never see him again.

    ¡°Maybe not right now, but you will be,¡± Clinton said softly. ¡°Think you can help me carry one of these to the table? They¡¯re done.¡±

    Thea rested two cork mats at one end of the table to protect the wood and Moira brought eight mugs, all different shapes and sizes. Not the cheap touristy mugs you¡¯d find at airports but handmade ones discovered in the heart of cities or in small markets. Nif rested her gluhwein pot on its mat and inhaled deeply. She was pretty sure she had the one with alcohol.

    ¡°Here,¡± Thea said, offering her a ladle.

    ¡°Muffins are done,¡± Oliver announced, and he and Clare carried them out on a large chopping board.

    ¡°These look lovely,¡± Josephine said, selecting a strawberry and coconut one.

    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Nif said. ¡°Everyone, this is my friend Clare. Purveyor of muffins. Clare, you¡¯ve met Thea, Moira and obviously Oliver. Over there is Clinton, Thea¡¯s partner and the organiser of this group, and this is Josephine and that¡¯s Philippa.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you all,¡± Clare said in her soft, sweet voice. ¡°Please, enjoy the muffins.¡±

    Nif served the gluhwein, and only Oliver, Moira and Thea drank the non-alcoholic version. Everyone else was determined to blunt the edges of their grief and worries with generous mugs of alcohol.

    Once everyone had a muffin and a hot drink, they settled down at the table and a thick silence wrapped around them.

    ¡°We¡¯re all grieving the loss of Morris,¡± Clinton finally said. ¡°He was our friend. An artist who had so much more to share with the world.¡±

    Moira sniffed deeply and Clare offered her a lacy hanky from her purse.

    ¡°He told me once how much this group meant to him. How each of you had helped him build his confidence, to remind him of what was most important, to not let the challenges of being a partial shifter limit him.¡± Clinton paused. Took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m grateful we were able to share his last night. I¡¯d never seen him happier than when he was showing off his paintings to us for the first time. I only regret it was the last time, too.¡±

    Nif¡¯s throat tightened, pressure radiating down into her chest and she bit her cheek, trying to ground her pain in something physical.

    Josephine reached beneath the table and squeezed her hand, her skin warm from cradling the hot drink. Nif held on tightly, eyes fixed to a polished whirl in the table¡¯s wood.

    ¡°We¡¯ll all miss him terribly.¡± Clinton lifted his mug and everyone mimicked him. ¡°We¡¯ll never forget.¡±

    ¡°To Morris,¡± Oliver said and we echoed him. Nif took a deep swallow, washing down the tightness in her throat and imagining the alcohol and spices lighting sparks in the dark grieving spaces inside her.

    ¡°Here,¡± Philippa said from the other side of Josephine. She offered Nif half of her strawberry and coconut muffin.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Nif whispered, letting go of Josephine to take the proffered muffin. Her love for these people expanded to wrap her in a blanket of comfort and strength.

 Chapter 18

    ¡°What happened to Morris wasn¡¯t fair,¡± Thea spoke up and she immediately had all their attention. ¡°He wasn¡¯t asking for it. He was targeted because someone out there has a sick, twisted mind, but it wasn¡¯t his fault just like it isn¡¯t your fault.¡± The woman met each of their eyes and didn¡¯t look away until they nodded their understanding. The little worm of doubt in Nif¡¯s mind made her wonder, though, if she could¡¯ve done something differently.

    ¡°You will have all heard by now that there were two more deaths today. What I¡¯m telling you hasn¡¯t been made public yet, but it will be soon. I¡¯d rather you hear it from me. Beatrix O¡¯Conner and her older sister Judith were killed this morning around seven in an underground car park in the West Garden¡¯s shopping centre. Beatrix was a non-shifter.¡±

    That made five now.

    ¡°Surveillance footage revealed one perpetrator, disguised in a dark hoodie, who attacked Beatrix. She was waiting in the car while her sister ran in to pick up a chemist script. Judith interrupted the murderer when she returned and was stabbed trying to save her sister. A passing driver discovered the two after the perpetrator fled the scene but the sisters died before the ambulance could arrive.¡±

    ¡°So they can¡¯t make out who it was?¡± Moira asked, her voice firm but her hands clenched white around her mug.

    ¡°Estimated six foot two. Eighty kilos. Light skin and wore white runners. Now what we do know is three of the six victims were reported missing a week before they were eventually found dead in places they¡¯d not normally frequent. All were discovered in isolated places like back alleys and train stations, and yet they were not so isolated that they wouldn¡¯t be found quickly.¡±

    ¡°But what about Morris? We¡¯d just seen him.¡± Nif bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the sudden pressure of tears. ¡°We¡¯d just said goodbye.¡± How many minutes had there been between when Nif gave Morris a kiss on his cheek to when she saw his feet poking out from beside the rubbish skip?

    ¡°I suspect something may have interrupted the attack,¡± Thea admitted. She didn¡¯t say it had been Nif. Perhaps when she was calling out Morris¡¯s name. Gods, had he still been alive even then? Had it only been seconds? ¡°This is all just speculation, but the attacker may have initially planned to kidnap the victim and transport them to another location for purposes unknown, but when they were either interrupted or the kidnapping became complicated¡­¡±

    ¡°Like the arrival of Beatrix O¡¯Conner¡¯s sister,¡± Clinton interjected.

    ¡°Exactly. The attacker cut their losses and went straight to their end game.¡± Morris¡¯s empty sockets would haunt Nif¡¯s nightmares for the rest of her life. ¡°It¡¯s not much of a pattern, but it could be something. Now this is when I ask for your help. The team assigned to this case have yet to come up with anything that connects the victims.¡±

    ¡°And since we all potentially match the victim¡¯s profile, we might be able to help?¡± Philippa huffed, bristling in her seat. Josephine hunched down lower in her sister¡¯s shadow.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot to ask, but they killed Morris,¡± Clinton said, setting his half drunk mug down with a clack. ¡°This way we can help catch them.¡±

    ¡°Well, were they part of their own support groups maybe?¡± Josephine twiddled with the little wooden totems her sister and her had been making. They looked like people, wrapped in different coloured ribbons.

    ¡°Only Morris appeared to attend a group,¡± Thea explained. ¡°None of the victims seemed to have met in person. They¡¯re aged between twenty-four and forty-five and there¡¯s a mix of genders and work situations. No connection stands out.¡±

    They all quietly glanced around the table. Philippa gave a frustrated shrug and Clare just looked more worried. Maybe bringing her along hadn¡¯t been the best idea.

    ¡°Have any of you noticed anything out of the ordinary?¡± Thea pleaded. ¡°For example, you may have seen the same person on your bus a few mornings in a row. Maybe a wrong package delivered to your home. Any phone calls where the person has hung up when you answered or strange noises outside at night, like a crying baby or cat.¡±

    ¡°Are they seriously things we should be worried about?¡± Moira asked, horrified. Nif noticed she¡¯d grabbed Clare¡¯s hand, and the older woman appeared surprised but pleased.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be afraid.¡± While Thea hurried to reassure them all, Nif suddenly recalled the strange messages she¡¯d been receiving through Tender. It hadn¡¯t struck her as particularly weird because it was what you¡¯d expect for the app it was. But something about them didn¡¯t sit right with her and maybe this was the kind of weird Thea meant.

    ¡°This could be nothing,¡± Nif spoke up in a lull and instantly had the room¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Go on. Worst case we can put your mind at ease,¡± Thea encouraged.

    Nif pulled out her phone and thumbed open the Tender app. There were more messages than she¡¯d thought. All from the same user. Hound-of-Baskerville.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a few messages I¡¯ve gotten on Tender. It¡¯s a dating app.¡± She refused to glance Oliver¡¯s way but she could sense his gaze on her. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to close my profile, but things have been so hectic.¡± She passed over her phone to Thea and the police officer scanned through the messages. As she read, her face became more and more serious until she lurched to her feet, already pulling out her own phone.

    ¡°Do you mind if I get a copy of these?¡± she asked and Nif nodded for her to go ahead. Thea took photos of the screen, chewing her lip in concentration, then handed the phone back.

    ¡°It¡¯s something, isn¡¯t it?¡± Oliver rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table, a rapid, angry staccato.

    ¡°I need to call this in. It could be nothing but¡­¡± Thea glanced at her partner.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a feeling,¡± Clinton finished for her.

    ¡°Yeah. If you¡¯ll excuse me.¡± Thea hurried from the room, her phone pressed to her ear.

    ¡°Can I see?¡± Oliver asked Nif.

    Nif passed her phone and the others crowded round. Oliver read the messages out loud.

    ¡°You must be busy since you¡¯ve not replied yet. I like that you¡¯re ambitious even when it must be so much more challenging for you. If you ever need a shoulder to lean on, let me know.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°What does he mean by challenging?¡± Philippa asked, her hands clenching like claws over the back of Oliver¡¯s chair.

    ¡°The next one says ¡®do you have any pets? I was wondering because I saw someone who looked like your profile pic at a dog park near my place. Wouldn¡¯t it be something if we were neighbours?¡¯¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a pet, but there is a big dog park I used to walk through before I started getting lifts home,¡± Nif admitted. ¡°I honestly didn¡¯t think much of it.¡±

    ¡°Well you won¡¯t be walking home alone any time soon,¡± Oliver stated. ¡°If I can¡¯t take you then ask your boss.¡± It clearly took a lot for him to say that. ¡°But you¡¯re going to get picked up and dropped off at your door from now until this creep is caught.¡±

    Moira had snagged the phone while Oliver had been distracted and swore heartily as she skimmed over the last few messages.

    ¡°Tell us,¡± Josephine asked quietly. She was clutching her empty gluhwein mug tightly, her knuckles bleached white.

    ¡°Okay. Okay.¡± Moira took a deep breath. ¡°¡®I don¡¯t judge people by their shift form, gender or sexuality. I¡¯ve dated plenty of people from all walks of life. Chefs and artists and shop assistants, but it¡¯s always that first moment when I look into their eyes that I know whether the relationship will work or not. We should meet. Grab some coffee sometime and maybe we can see if we have something that sparks.¡¯ That was sent a week ago.¡±

    Why hadn¡¯t Nif reported this sooner? Hearing them aloud, they took on a more sinister vibe. The Hound of Baskerville was just the sort who¡¯d follow a woman home on a train or go through her rubbish for her used toothbrush.

    Thea bustled back into the room and with her, the atmosphere shifted to one of heightened excitement tinged with an underlying fear.

    ¡°I need you to access his profile page. Take screenshots of everything you find,¡± Thea said. ¡°I¡¯ve reported it and the officer in charge has requested I take your statement here if that¡¯s okay. You may need to visit the precinct to follow up, but this is the biggest lead they¡¯ve had.¡±

    ¡°How do you know it¡¯s anything?¡± Nif opened the Hound of Baskerville¡¯s profile and copied every photo. Not one had a clear shot of his face. That was assuming he was even male. You couldn¡¯t really tell from the photos. Only that they were tall, lean and had dark hair, usually tucked beneath a beanie, hoodie or cap.

    ¡°The chef, the artist, the sales assistant. Jeremy Chang was a chef in training. Beatrix O¡¯Conner worked at the retail store in Upper Eastrict.¡±

    ¡°And Morris was an artist,¡± Oliver concluded.

    ¡°The comment about the eyes is also suggestive. The homicide team will check to see if any of the other victims were on Tender. Has anyone else here used the app?¡± No one else had.

    ¡°I¡¯ve just got no time,¡± Moira admitted. ¡°Not that I¡¯m not looking.¡± The glance she gave Clare wasn¡¯t subtle at all.

    ¡°Should I close my account?¡± Nif really wanted to. The knowledge that someone had been keeping tabs on her, perhaps even knew roughly where she lived, made her sick to her stomach. Thea shook her head.

    ¡°It¡¯s best you keep it for now. If you change your behaviour, it may trigger a response.¡±

    ¡°Now hang on,¡± Oliver growled, standing up and almost knocking over his chair. ¡°If this creep really is the one murdering partial and non-shifters, then we need to get Jennifer somewhere safe!¡± He reached out and grasped Nif¡¯s shoulder. He was shaking. ¡°You should go visit your parents until it¡¯s all over.¡±

    ¡°No way! I¡¯m not a damsel in distress,¡± Nif snapped, pulling away. ¡°What happened to all of us saying we¡¯d not let this monster change how we live our lives? I¡¯m staying and I¡¯ll help as much as I can to catch Morris¡¯s killer. Even if that means being bait.¡±

    ¡°No way!¡±

    ¡°Out of the question.¡±

    ¡°Are you crazy?¡±

    Over everyone¡¯s cries of horror and distress, Nif crossed her arms and prepared to do battle to make it clear she wasn¡¯t running anywhere.

    ¡°Quiet!¡± Thea boomed, clearly using the same voice she¡¯d use to command a squad room full of police officers. In the following silence, Nif realised that Clinton and Thea must¡¯ve kept birds. She could hear a startled chorus start up outside, beyond the patio. ¡°It won¡¯t come to that,¡± Theas said. ¡°Thank you, Jennifer, for your offer, but no one will be bait. Continue to go to work. Oliver and your boss can pick you up and drop you off like they¡¯ve been doing. Don¡¯t be alone. You have a housemate, right? If she¡¯s not home, stay with another friend.¡±

    ¡°You can stay with me,¡± Clare and Moira chorused at the same time. Their eyes met and Clare blushed red and Moira found the wood grain patterns suddenly fascinating.

    ¡°Good. You¡¯ll check in to the group chat just like the rest of you will. Even though we may suspect the perpetrator is selecting their victims through this dating app, that hasn¡¯t been confirmed. Does anyone know if Morris was using it? No? We¡¯ll find out as soon as we can, but until then, this is all just conjecture.¡±

    ¡°We just have to be smart about this,¡± Clinton added. ¡°Now let¡¯s drink more Gluhwein and enjoy the muffins that Clare was so kind to bring. There¡¯s not much more we can do now than be vigilant.¡± Clinton made sure everyone¡¯s mugs were refilled and the last of Clare¡¯s muffins were devoured, but a heaviness hung over them all. Thick with a strange sort of anticipation.

    Oliver appeared at Nif¡¯s elbow, a frown on his face, as she focused on drinking enough Gluhwein to warm the block of ice that had settled in her chest.

    ¡°There¡¯s quite a big age gap,¡± Oliver murmured, watching Clare and Moira circling each other. He was clearly trying to decide if he was happy for his best friend or worried.

    ¡°Age doesn¡¯t matter. They¡¯re both adults and they¡¯re adorable together,¡± Nif said over her drink.

    Moira was glowing, her smile so wide it reached her ears and Nif was fairly certain she¡¯d shifted a little, her ears pointier and furred at the tips. It made her appear even more elfish, dressed in her skinny jeans, long sleeve rainbow top and dark green leather jacket. Her hair was a tumble of dark curls. Beside her, Clare was frilly in creams and golds and on her palm was balanced a mini-muffin studded with blueberries and choc chips. They couldn¡¯t hear what Clare was saying, but it was obvious she was smitten with the younger woman and if Oliver hadn¡¯t told her Moira never drank, Nif would¡¯ve assumed Moira was tipsy as her cheeks flushed prettily.

    ¡°Clare is a good person,¡± Nif assured Oliver, dragging her eyes off the two. ¡°I think they¡¯d be a good match. Moira will push Clare outside her comfort zone and Clare will remind Moira to slow down and be in the present.¡± If anything, Nif was a little jealous. The moment Nif had introduced them, they¡¯d just clicked. The question was, when would they realise the other was equally into them?

    Moira said something that surprised Clare -- probably something dorky ¨C and she burst out laughing, the sound ringing out across the room. Nif had never heard Clare laugh like that before. She was always so softly spoken.

    ¡°Are you okay, Jennifer?¡± Oliver had moved in closer so as not to be overheard. Thea had slipped out of the room again, her phone glued to her ear. Nif could only hope the lead would pan out. Clinton was doing his rounds, topping up Philippa and Josephine¡¯s mugs while listening intently as they described whatever those wooden dolls were.

    ¡°I wonder if Morris would still be here if I¡¯d reported the messages sooner,¡± Nif admitted. It was a nasty guilt that was buried deep inside her, building a palace out of the icy fear that had grown. Oliver looked speechless for a moment so Nif hurried to cut off his protests. ¡°I know it¡¯s not my fault. The messages before Morris¡¯s death were pretty benign. There was no way of knowing the Hound of Baskerville had anything to do with the murders, but I still can¡¯t help but think I could¡¯ve done something.¡±

    ¡°Morris wouldn¡¯t want you to blame yourself, though,¡± Oliver finally said. ¡°Let¡¯s just catch this bastard and go on with our lives. That¡¯s what Morris would want most.¡±

    ¡°God, he¡¯d be all grumpy saying it, too,¡± Nif admitted, smiling sadly, remembering how he¡¯d been so gruff and yet possibly one of the sweetest people she¡¯d ever met.

    ¡°Jennifer¡­¡± Oliver hesitated, glancing back over to Moira who was taking a small bite from the muffin Clare was offering. She looked like a star, glowing with happiness.

    ¡°You can call me Nif, Oliver. We¡¯re friends. All that stuff from earlier¡­it seems so silly now after everything that¡¯s happened. We promised to start anew, so maybe...¡± Nif took a deep breath and then slipped a hand into his. He automatically tightened his hold and the ice in Nif¡¯s chest cracked, beginning to melt.

    ¡°Nif. Maybe, when this is all over, we could go out for dinner? Just the two of us?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

 Chapter 19

    Friday was upon them far too quickly and Oliver was going to go bald if he continued tugging at his hair as often as he was.

    ¡°I don¡¯t do well with deadlines,¡± he admitted as Nif calmly gathered her laptop for the coordinators meeting.

    ¡°How you published so many novels is beyond me,¡± Nif teased. She handed him a paper cup full of tea and he scrunched up his nose at the smell. ¡°Drink, it¡¯s a herbal tea. The last thing you need is more caffeine. We¡¯re ready for the presentation. Leon and I will take the lead and all you¡¯ll do is answer any questions that we can¡¯t answer. Just pretend to be a snobby author. Trust me, the coordinators are used to handling the fragile egos of creatives.¡±

    ¡°Fragile egos!¡± Oliver huffed, but he was smiling and his shoulders relaxed enough they were no longer tucked up by his ears.

    ¡°Ready?¡± Leon asked, head popping into the office. He didn¡¯t wait for an answer, ushering them both towards the elevator and humming cheerfully along to the music as they headed to floor 8: the Management Level.

    Nif hadn¡¯t had many opportunities to visit the 8th floor. The last time was for the previous year¡¯s Winter Solstice celebration in the company¡¯s main function room, wall to ceiling windows providing crisp views of the city and harbour. Most of the higher ups had offices up here and there were a half dozen large meeting rooms that could be booked by the different units, but Leon preferred to have their own staff meetings in their office space.

    ¡°We¡¯re in meeting room 14A. We should be the first ones there so we can set up.¡± Leon said as he confidently led them through the thickly carpeted hallways. ¡°Are you prepared to face the dragons, Jennifer?¡±

    This was her first presentation to management and she¡¯d been doing well pushing down her own anxiety to do battle with Oliver¡¯s. Now her stomach gave a little lurch.

    ¡°I¡¯d hardly call us dragons, Leon,¡± a middle-aged woman spoke up from behind them. Nif would recognise her anywhere. Laura Dalton was a walking contradiction. Her hair was a riot of colours ¨C teals and pinks and purples and blues ¨C against the monochrome background of her neatly pressed black suit and grey jewellery. She was lean and her smile was sharp and Nif would¡¯ve believed it if someone had told her the woman¡¯s shift was a dragon and not a snake.

    Well the woman was a liar. Every single one of them was a dragon. It couldn¡¯t have been a coincidence that they all had a reptile shift, their countenance ranging from icy stern to cool unimpressed. They all sat in a semicircle, basking in the sunshine that streamed through the windows and facing the presentation displayed on a massive wall screen. Leon and Nif stood on either side of the display like bookends while Oliver had gratefully sunk into a chair provided for him by the exit. Nif kept checking he was still there and hadn¡¯t taken the opportunity to escape.

    Nif was left flustered as she outlined their progress, skipping through slides and relying heavily on her notes despite having every word memorised. She made the mistake of making eye contact with Drey Heart, head of marketing, who blinked at her slowly with his translucent third eyelids, and after that she either focussed on the back of the room or the notes in her hands.

    Leon smoothly stepped in to elaborate or guide her back on track in a way that somehow felt more like they were a team facing off against monsters than a parent ensuring their toddler didn¡¯t catapult themselves off a cliff. Even with Leon¡¯s charm and wit, the presentation was met with misgivings.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°This project is taking a big risk¡­¡± Greg Turtledove hawed nasally, bald as the shell of his shift.

    ¡°Our company¡¯s expertise is in books,¡± Oceania Link argued, her words emphasised by a sharp crack of her glossy red fingernails on the desk. ¡°By all means, we should ensure we manage our client¡¯s portfolios but do we really want to be moving into script writing when there are professionals far more capable?¡±

    ¡°No disrespect to Mr Salem, but surely it¡¯s in everyone¡¯s best interests that he instead focuses on what he¡¯s good at? Writing novels?¡± Isabella Siu offered Oliver a pinched smile before turning her attention back to Leon. Nif felt invisible but since she was hoping the ground would swallow her up as they talked, she didn¡¯t mind. ¡°The Thornton Awards will be looking for nominations for next year soon and¡­¡±

    Laura Dalton cleared her throat and the other¡¯s fell silent. ¡°While the success of this project would bring new direction and revenue to our company and I believe this is a risk worth taking, what I doubt is your team¡¯s ability to manage it. Leon, while I have full faith in your ability to polish the most unlikely of hunches into gold, I must insist that we expand your team to include script writers and editors that have more experience in preparing novels for the screen.¡±

    Nif glanced over to Oliver and winced. He looked like the higher-ups had pissed on his shoe. Leon had moved next to her to deflect their full attention and she could feel frustration radiating from him despite the confident smile he wore.

    ¡°No need to be so hasty,¡± Leon replied. ¡°This is Salem¡¯s first draft and I assure you he has a natural gift for screenwriting that we¡¯d be remiss to ignore. I¡¯ve prepared copies of our documents for you to have a closer inspection over the coming week and we can then reconvene to further discuss what steps still need to be taken, if any.¡± His grin had even Greg Turtledove returning his smile. ¡°I¡¯ve not been wrong about one of my ¡®hunches¡¯ yet.¡±

    When Nif, Leon and Oliver left, leaving thick folders for each manager to review, Nif felt like an overcooked noodle.

    ¡°Well, that went swimmingly,¡± Leon said dryly.

    Nif snorted and then started to giggle, the stress leading up to the meeting melting away. Oliver huffed and then cracked his own smile.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s over. For now anyway. Can only hope I impress them with the script.¡±

    ¡°Oh you¡¯ll blow their socks off,¡± Leon assured. ¡°Anyway, I need to catch up with someone while I¡¯m here. You two go ahead. I plan to take you both out for lunch so don¡¯t disappear.¡±

    ¡°We won¡¯t,¡± Nif promised, waving him off.

    Nif¡¯s phone rang as they reached the elevator. It was Clint, but when Nif answered, Thea was the one who responded. Thea had been seconded to the murder investigation team to help liaise with the non-shifter community, mostly in charge of keeping everyone informed.

    ¡°Is everything okay?¡± Nif demanded, dragging Oliver in close and putting the phone on speaker. Her heart pounded as if she¡¯d just legged it to catch the last bus home. ¡°Is Clinton alright?¡±

    ¡°Clint¡¯s fine,¡± Thea reassured. ¡°I¡¯ve some information I wanted to share before it hits the news in the next half hour. Moira said Oliver¡¯s with you¡­?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s here.¡±

    ¡°Good. We¡¯ve found the link between the victims. You were right, Nif. They were targeted through various dating apps.¡±

    ¡°Morris too?¡± Nif asked in a tiny voice.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so. Looks like this Hound of Baskerville that¡¯s been contacting you through Tender also has similar profiles on LoveLink, Match Mate, and Heartbeat Hub. The other victims all have similar messages to the ones sent to you.¡±

    ¡°Should I delete my profile now?¡± Nif was tempted to trash her entire phone if it meant she wouldn¡¯t have to see that name on her screen ever again.

    ¡°I¡¯m asking you a lot, but it would be best if you still kept it. Don¡¯t reply, but I need you to forward me any new messages. Think you can do that?¡±

    ¡°Anything to catch Morris¡¯s killer.¡±

    Oliver squeezed Nif¡¯s hand and the tightness in her chest eased. She wasn¡¯t alone.

 Chapter 20

    ¡°It¡¯s crazy to think I¡¯ve only known you for two months. It feels like two years.¡± Moira linked elbows with Nif and dragged her into the beating heart of the University of McGlade. Exams were only a week away and the uni was packed with stressed and highly caffeinated students cramming an impossible amount of information into their heads, all at the last minute. A pang of nostalgic anxiety from her own years at uni, so many years ago now, surged through Nif¡¯s stomach and for a very brief moment she thought she¡¯d be sick.

    The car parks were overflowing even this late in the afternoon so Moira had come out to meet Nif while Oliver did laps to find a decent parking spot. Nif suspected Moira would be done for the day before that even happened. The support group was meeting at Clinton¡¯s house again and it would be well and truly dark before they¡¯d even leave the university. The Winter Solstice was just around the corner and the days were getting shorter and shorter.

    ¡°It does feel like we¡¯ve known each other longer,¡± Nif said. ¡°A lot¡¯s happened.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± They shared a silent moment, arms tightening around the other¡¯s, Morris a sad haunting that would linger perhaps for the rest of their lives, and then a student with far too many books and a precariously balanced laptop came charging around the corner and almost barreled into them.

    ¡°Sorry! Sorry!¡±

    Laughing, they helped right the poor boy, sending him on his way, and slipped into the ancient elevator, all brass and copper cage. A small metal plate warned:

    HERITAGE LIFT

    NO MOBILE RECEPTION

    ¡°Thanks for waiting with me,¡± Moira said as the elevator shuddered and groaned to the basement level. ¡°I just need another hour or so to finish up my supervisor¡¯s suggestions and then I¡¯ll be free as a bird. You sure you won¡¯t be bored hanging about?¡±

    ¡°Nah. I¡¯ve always wanted to see where you do your research. This place must be a second home for you.¡±

    ¡°More of a first home to be honest and I suspect in a few months when the submission deadline gets closer, I¡¯ll move in permanently. I¡¯ll become one of those urban myths of a PhD student starving to death in the depths of the university in her attempts to complete her thesis. I¡¯ll haunt classrooms, maybe even teach a few and see if the undergrads notice.¡±

    ¡°I doubt Oliver or I will let you starve. We¡¯ll deliver supplies once a week at least.¡± Nif nudged Moira¡¯s elbow, teasingly. ¡°I doubt you¡¯ll last long down here without chocolate.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what my brain runs on. Without it, the ticking stops,¡± the younger woman laughed, rapping her knuckles against her forehead.

    The elevator shuddered to a stop and they stepped out into a surprisingly bland hallway. The carpet was a mustard yellow, two threadbare tracks running down either side from years of foot traffic. Cork boards lined the walls covered in faded brown newspaper clippings and book announcements, none any later than the 90s and featuring black and white photos of supervisors with dubious hair cuts. People¡¯s names were thumbtacked on the doors, some no more permanent than a post it note and scrawled letters in pencil.

    ¡°Not what you were expecting, huh?¡± Moira said. She tapped a finger against one of the articles of a man with a full head of hair, a mane any lion shifter would be proud of. ¡°This is my supervisor, Professor Dennis McGowen back before his hair fell out and his eyesight went. Wouldn¡¯t recognise him now wearing his toupe and bottle thick glasses. This whole floor was last renovated in the late 80s when brown and orange were all the rage and windowless boxes were considered the best spaces to work. No distractions apparently.¡± Moira led them down the corridor and stopped at a corner office, the hall shooting off down to their right, lit dimly by flickering fluorescent lights.

    ¡°Does it work?¡±

    ¡°Hell no. What I would do for a window.¡± She unlocked her office, switched on the light and stepped back with a sweep of her arm. ¡°Welcome to my cell!¡±

    All things considered, Moira had done exceptionally well with the space she¡¯d been provided. Bookshelves lined one wall and the other was covered in massive posters of blue skies and snowy mountains that made the place feel twice as big than it actually was, which was no mean feat.

    A small canvas, the size of an A4 page, had pride of place, directly in front of Moira¡¯s work desk where she only had to look up to be able to see it. The art piece was of a moon, somehow evoking a sense of calm and peace, like a dozing cat in the sunlight. Nif would recognise Morris¡¯s artwork anywhere.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s beautiful,¡± Nif said, taking a closer look. It was rougher than his final pieces, more raw, but all the more stunning for it, and a pang of grief spiked sharp in her throat.

    ¡°Yeah. Apparently he¡¯d actually planned to give it to me all along. They found my name scribbled across the back and Officer Nolan -- you remember the one, he had the angry face and kind smile -- forward it on to me since it wasn¡¯t needed for the investigation.¡±

    ¡°Do you know what happened to the rest of his work?¡± Nif hated to think they¡¯d be stored away, forgotten and unseen.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be awhile until they sort it all, but he had a Will and so they¡¯ll eventually get where they need to be. Most, I think, he donated. To retirement homes and hospitals.¡±

    Of course he would¡¯ve. Nif was beginning to realise Morris had an emotional depth as deep as the ocean hidden beneath rough awkwardness, like leaf litter floating across the surface of a deep pond. She wished she¡¯d known him longer.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad. His paintings should be seen.¡± Nif dragged her eyes from the softly curved lines of the painted moon and instead took in Moira¡¯s desk. She expected it to be chaotic. Pens and papers everywhere. Books piled as high as the ceiling. An uncontrolled mess to match her boisterous personality.

    The desk was actually as neat as a pin, her laptop squared with the desk edge, a printed copy of her current thesis to the right of it and books piled neatly to the left, spines easy to read and coloured post-its marking important sections. Nif was tempted to run her finger along the neat little tabs, like petting the spine of a cat.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just be a little while. There¡¯s a kettle in the corner if you want to make some tea.¡± Moira waved over to the tea making supplies ¨C an impressive amount of flavours organised by colour ¨C and settled down at her laptop.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t mind me at all,¡± Nif said. She fixed herself a cup of peppermint tea and checked her phone. Was Oliver still trying to find a parking spot? He didn¡¯t respond to her message so he must¡¯ve still been circling the university like a shark. Her attention was drawn back to Morris¡¯ painting. It didn¡¯t quite feel real that he was gone and all that was left of him were these artworks.

    Her phone buzzed and she glanced at her screen. Her skin erupted into goosebumps as she recognised the user from Tender. She must¡¯ve made a noise, a small cry of distress, because Moira stopped typing and called her name.

    ¡°It¡¯s Baskerville.¡± Nif swallowed hard. ¡°They sent another message.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡±

    The room suddenly was too small, and Nif just wanted to run, get outside under the sky heavy with clouds and just breathe deeply until all the tension drained away. Nif shuddered and read the message out loud, each word like a stone weighing her down.

    ¡°I know you¡¯ve read my messages. Why haven¡¯t you replied? You¡¯re on a dating site so the least you can do is accept a date. Let me make this easy for you. How about I come to you? It¡¯s about time we meet.¡±

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Shit, Nif. Shit!¡± Moira slammed her laptop shut and lurched to her feet, jamming it and her printed thesis into her satchel. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get out of here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll call Oliver. Surely he should be here by now.¡± Nif glanced out into the hallway. Was it just her, or did it look darker. More ominous? She dialed Oliver¡¯s number and pressed her phone to her ear as Moira packed the last of her stuff. ¡°He¡¯s not picking up.¡±

    ¡°Call Thea then. I¡¯ll send a message to the group.¡± Once Moira had her satchel slung over her shoulder, the two left the office, Moira locking the door behind her, and they headed for the elevator.

    ¡°Jennifer?¡± Thea¡¯s voice was a lifeline, steady and strong. ¡°Is everything okay?¡±

    Nif was breathing heavily, like she¡¯d been running, and she took a deep breath, drawing comfort from Moira¡¯s hand in hers.

    ¡°I got another message from the Hound of Baskerville. They say they know where I am and are coming. I¡¯m with Moira at the University of McGlade. Oliver¡¯s nearby, parking, so we¡¯re heading to him. What should we do?¡±

    ¡°Stay together,¡± Thea said, and Nif could hear the sound of something thumping and then a crackle of a radio. ¡°I¡¯ll send officers your way now. Get to Oliver and head to my place. Clinton will be waiting for you.¡± In the background Thea shouted out orders to her team and Nif felt a wave of relief wash through her.

    Nif¡¯s phone beeped as another call tried to get through.

    ¡°I think Oliver is trying to call me.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Jennifer. Keep to crowded areas and once you get to the car, lock the doors and don¡¯t stop for anyone. We already know this person is prepared to hurt people who get in their way, so you need to make sure you and Moira stay safe.¡±

    ¡°Thanks Thea.¡±

    Nif hung up, but she¡¯d just missed Oliver¡¯s call. Instead Moira¡¯s phone rang just as they reached the elevator.

    ¡°Oliver! Where are you?¡± Moira pounded the up button while Nif kept an eye on the corridor. It was quiet down here. Had all the other students and lecturers gone home? It was not quite six yet so surely there were still people about?

    ¡°Nif got another creepy message so we need to get out of here. We¡¯re leaving my office now.¡± The elevator opened and they piled in, closing the cage door behind them. ¡°Here, I¡¯ll hand you over to Nif.¡± Moira¡¯s phone was an older smartphone model, small enough to fit into the palm of Nif¡¯s hand and she almost fumbled it while she shoved her own phone in her back pocket.

    ¡°Oliver! Where the hell are you!¡± Nif hissed.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m on my way. Parking was a pain.¡±

    ¡°I called Thea and she said back up was on the way. We¡¯re going up in the elevator now so we might...yup, lose reception.¡± Nif looked at the phone in frustration.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be okay, Nif,¡± Moira promised, but fear was settling into the hollows beneath her eyes.

    ¡°How does the Hound of Baskerville even know I¡¯m here? Do you think they¡¯ve been watching us?¡± Nif wobbled on her feet as the elevator shook and groaned, but slowly heaved its way to the ground floor.

    ¡°They could just be trying to frighten you,¡± Moira said, slipping her hand into Nif¡¯s and squeezing tightly.

    ¡°But the messages they found on the other victims¡¯ phone were similar,¡± Nif pointed out. ¡°Thea said that there were even texts on Morris¡¯s phone.¡± The elevator shuddered to a stop and Nif yanked open the cage to only come face-to-face with the same student who¡¯d been carrying all those books earlier. Except now he was bookless and the smile he wore was sharp like broken glass.

    ¡°Hey there, Jenny. I was hoping I¡¯d be able to catch up with you.¡±

    Nif stepped back, pulling Moira behind her, but the only place they could go was back into the elevator.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t know you,¡± Nif attempted. ¡°You must have confused me with someone else.¡± She tightened her grasp on Moira and then shoved her back inside, reaching for the cage door, hoping to barricade them both safely inside.

    Moira screamed as the man lunged forward, the cage crushing against his weight as he fought to keep it open. Nif had no breath to cry out. The tendons in her fingers pinged painfully as she clung to the metal grating and pushed with all her might. Moira was already slamming the buttons, hoping the elevator would start up even without the door shut.

    ¡°Hey now, don¡¯t be like that.¡± The man¡¯s eyes were a watery blue, lashes dark, and if it weren¡¯t for the scowl carving up his face, Nif would¡¯ve considered him handsome.

    ¡°Let go,¡± Nif hissed. ¡°Moira, smack his hands!¡±

    But as Moira swung her bag at his fingers, the guy roared, feral, and slammed his shoulder into the wire cage and the whole thing buckled. Nif tumbled backwards, knocking Moira behind her into the elevator corner. She dug through her bag for the pepper spray Sapha had given her.

    She¡¯d just gotten the lid off when Oliver came out of nowhere, slamming into their attacker and both disappeared beyond the elevator opening. Nif peered around the warped metal edge, Moira clinging to her arm.

    ¡°Go!¡± Oliver grunted, his voice guttural. The back of his shirt had begun to split, fur bristling as he started to shift. Nif didn¡¯t need to be told twice. She grabbed Moira¡¯s arm and hauled her out of the elevator and towards the exit.

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave him!¡± Moira dug in her heels, her gaze on her best friend who was mid-shift and still fighting to keep his arms wrapped tightly around the other man. The Hound of Baskerville was turning into a wriggling, twisting mass of grey fur in Oliver¡¯s bulging arms, almost too big to hold and moving so quickly Nif couldn¡¯t figure out his shift form. Something with teeth.

    ¡°We¡¯re not much help being what we are. Come on, the police are coming. We can get help!¡± Nif dragged the frightened younger woman along as they headed towards the building entrance, students lingering on the steps watching curiously as the two women crashed through the double doors and spilled out onto the lawns. Behind them, two eerie howls filled the building. Both men had shifted, though Nif had no idea what shift Oliver had and if it would be strong enough to hold off whatever the Hound of Baskerville was.

    In the distance, Nif could make out sirens.

    ¡°Come on, Moira. Head for the main exit!¡±

    The two dashed across the chilled grass, the warm glow of the path lamps casting their shadows to windmill across the lawns.

    They could hear screaming behind them now and more growls. Students were fleeing or shifting, a few took wing and began circling the campus. A long eared, brown hare leapt past, and Nif wished she could shift into something useful. To be able to fight or at least flee so no one had to fight her battles for her.

    ¡°What form does Oliver have?¡± Nif panted, glancing behind her to see if they were being followed.

    ¡°He¡¯s a¡­¡±

    CRASH! The building doors flung open, glass panels shattering, as a grey and black wolf launched itself across the footpath. It had blood on its muzzle and made a beeline straight for Moira and Nif with barely a pause to sniff the air.

    ¡°Go! Go! Go!¡± Nif shouted, but Moira was flagging and if Nif didn¡¯t do something, her friend wouldn¡¯t make it to the exit. ¡°I¡¯m right behind you. Don¡¯t stop!¡± Nif fell back, giving Moira time to pull ahead, and changed directions, heading for the law buildings running perpendicular to Moira¡¯s faculty offices. Relief washed through her when the wolf followed, giving her an extra boost of adrenaline and leaving Moira to run freely towards the flashing blue and red lights of the arriving responders.

    There was no outrunning a wolf.

    He ate up the ground, graceful and lean. But Nif still pushed on, praying she¡¯d reach the law building¡¯s front doors in time, her lungs burning as she inhaled sharp icy breaths. Where was Oliver? Was he injured? What could take on a wolf and survive?

    Then another wolf appeared looping around from Nif¡¯s left and she automatically swerved, heading now towards the student carpark. It was already starting to empty out for the day. She couldn¡¯t shout for help ¨C she could barely keep her legs pushing her forward as it was ¨C but people were watching. Some were laughing and pointing, thinking it was all a big joke, while others had their phones out, concerned expressions as they called for the police. That wouldn¡¯t help her. The police were already here, but they wouldn¡¯t get to her in time.

    When a third wolf appeared, Nif realised they were actually herding her, the first wolf not so much gaining on her but making sure she kept going the direction he wanted. Who was the actual Baskerville stalker? The man she¡¯d bumped into or one of these others? How many were there?

    She almost slid over when her boots left grass and instead kicked up sharp, grey gravel. A roar, not a wolf¡¯s howl but something bigger, caused her heart to race even faster as it echoed across the campus. Nif risked a look back. A massive grizzly bear was moving at quite a clip towards them (she knew from growing up with one that a grizzly could manage over 60 kilometres per hour if properly motivated). Oliver¡¯s blue and grey check shirt trailed behind like flags from where they were wrapped around the bear¡¯s massive, bulging shoulders.

    One of the wolves darted in close, nipping at Nif¡¯s calf and she squealed, lurching away and slamming up against a van. The door slid open and she tumbled inside and for a brief moment she thought she was being saved, except the three wolves jumped in and the door slammed shut.

    ¡°Hurry it. She had an apex friend with her and he¡¯s pissed!¡± yelled a person in human form to the driver.

    ¡°Let me go!¡± Nif shouted, kicking one of the wolves in the muzzle, causing them to yelp, and making a break for it. She reached the handle to the door before hands and paws pulled her back.

    The van revved its engine and shot forward, before the whole thing rocked to one side, almost rolling, but then the van was picking up speed, smashing through the carpark barricade and out into the city.

    Another monstrous roar followed them, but no matter how fast a bear was, it could not outrun a speeding van.

 Chapter 21

    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Nif hissed, scrunching herself up against the back wall of the van. They¡¯d made no move to tie her up, but all but the driver had yet to take their eyes off her.

    ¡°You were right, brother.¡± The man who¡¯d spoken appeared older than the others, maybe a few years older than Nif. He was naked, having transformed from the silver coated wolf into a fit, muscular man, and was shrugging on a pair of running shorts and a dark green hoodie, a faded logo in white across his chest. ¡°She¡¯ll give us a good chase.¡±

    The student, and the one she considered Baskerville in her head even though she¡¯d yet to have confirmation, just tossed his head back and laughed. He was now dressed in a pair of tracksuit pants, his chest and shoulders gleaming with sweat, and didn¡¯t seem bothered at all by the cold. ¡°She¡¯s already led us on a nice hunt.¡±

    ¡°Indeed she has.¡± The oldest peered through the small window dividing the front seats from the back. ¡°Oscar! Are the pigs on our tail?¡± It didn¡¯t feel like they were speeding and the radio was playing easy rock.

    ¡°High and dry, Daz. Will only take us another half hour and we¡¯ll be on the freeway out of the city.¡±

    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Nif flinched back when one of the still shifted wolves opened her mouth, panting a long pink tongue and flashing sharp, yellow teeth.

    ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± Daz said and then bumped Baskerville¡¯s fist as if kidnapping someone was just an unlocked achievement in some computer game.

    Nif observed the four people in the back with her, keeping her breathing even and muscles tense in case an opportunity, anything really, arose.

    Baskerville was her age, fit like a gymnast, and moved as if he was constantly prepared to prove to the world he was as good as he thought he was. The older Daz had the same dark hair and pale blue eyes, the same large jaw and thick nose. Brothers for sure.

    One of the others shifted back into his human form, much younger than the others. He was maybe seventeen or eighteen? Definitely a school student. The shape of his face promised to echo his older brothers one day, but right now he was all soft baby curves and an eager smile. He bounced a little, excited, until Daz threw a pair of pants at his face, calling him Dougie and ordering him to settle down or he¡¯d be dropped off at home.

    The fourth person, still in wolf form, was called Stella. She appeared to prefer being a wolf as the others didn¡¯t comment. She curled up opposite Nif and watched her with yellow, unblinking eyes.

    Oscar, the driver, looked like he could¡¯ve been another brother or maybe a cousin. This was clearly a family affair, whatever this was.

    Nif¡¯s phone vibrated, so soft she briefly hoped no one heard and she forced herself not to stiffen, but Stella¡¯s hearing was sharp and she made a soft woof.

    ¡°She¡¯s your choice, Bas. You should check her over,¡± Daz said, smirking and Nif drew in her legs more closely.

    Baskerville or Bas -- his real name maybe? Or a nickname? -- shuffled forward on his knees, swaying as Oscar took a corner more swiftly than he probably needed to.

    ¡°Stay away,¡± Nif whispered.

    ¡°Come on, Jenny. This doesn¡¯t have to be hard or scary. I need any devices you have. Watch, phone, tablet. If you give them to me now, I promise not to touch you.¡±

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Oscar snorted from the front, and while all Nif wanted to do was spit in their faces, she also wasn¡¯t stupid. There was no way she could take on a pack of wolf shifters even if she told them where to shove it.

    She handed over her phone and watch, even though it wasn¡¯t a smart one, and then turned her jacket pockets inside out to show they were empty. Moira¡¯s phone was still in her back pocket where Nif had automatically slipped it after she¡¯d lost connection with Oliver¡¯s call. She prayed no one would call Moira¡¯s phone.

    ¡°That¡¯s everything I have. I promise,¡± she said and thankfully Baskerville backed off with his spoils.

    ¡°See, not so hard after all. Hey Oscar, deal with these, will you?¡± He handed the driver her things and the driver unwound the window and tossed them out of the moving van without even blinking. Nif¡¯s heart twinged. She¡¯d really liked that watch. God, what was wrong with her? Kidnapped and she was upset about losing her phone and watch.

    The desire to ask them again where they were taking her had her mouth open but the words froze in her throat. Nif didn¡¯t think they¡¯d answer. She listened to the thump of the road beneath the tyres, trying to pick out where they were. For a very brief few seconds they rattled as if they¡¯d crossed a wooden bridge, but Nif didn¡¯t know the city well enough by car to recognise it. She tried to peek out the front window, but she was tucked too far behind the driver¡¯s seat and could only see the warm glow of street lights as they passed overhead.

    Gods, what would her mum do in this situation? She¡¯d never have been caught in the first place, and would¡¯ve torn her attackers to pieces. Her father would¡¯ve just flown away.

    She hoped Oliver was okay and Moira would be safe with the police by now. Thea would know what to do, and surely one of the watching students would¡¯ve gotten the van¡¯s number plate.

    Except they then stopped and the door was thrown open, artificial light spilling inside. Nif saw the covered shape of a car jacked up on cinder blocks and a portaloo on its side. An abandoned lot of some kind, a street lamp revealing the warped chain link fence surrounding them.

    For a moment Nif was in the alley in the renovated warehouse district again, Morris¡¯s body tucked just out of sight but waiting for her to stumble upon. Before she could even shake off her thoughts of Morris and run, she was forced back into her corner by a growling Stella, her black lips pulled back to reveal glistening teeth and pink gums.

    The brothers in the back tumbled from the van in a confusion of limbs and laughing voices, Daz hauling out an oil stained duffle bag. It had been less than half an hour so they had to still be in the city. Oscar sat in the driver¡¯s seat, drumming his hands against the wheel to the still playing radio while craning his head, scanning the skies for flight shifters or drones.

    ¡°Get the plates, Bas,¡± Daz ordered, shaking the bag towards Baskerville, metal clanging together within the fabric.

    ¡°On it.¡±

    Over Stella¡¯s warning growls, Nif could hear the buzz of an electric screwdriver and the metallic jangle of something hitting the ground. They were changing the number plates. Any witness reports would be false now. Nif¡¯s stomach sank.

    ¡°Dougie, stop lollygagging,¡± Daz snapped and there was a sudden ripping sound. The van shuddered. ¡°Get that edge, would you? And make sure you don¡¯t miss any.¡±

    What were they doing? It sounded like they were ripping off skin, an awful tearing sound.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I heard you,¡± Dougie grumbled from the other side of the van. In less than five minutes, the three were jumping back into the van, Dougie¡¯s arms full of white laminate, the kind students would cover their notebooks in.

    Baskerville noticed Nif¡¯s confused frown.

    ¡°The pigs will be chasing a white van with an out of state number plate. Pity we don¡¯t fit the bill anymore.¡±

    Nif didn¡¯t say anything, but she imagined punching him in the face, messing up his pretty features so he could no longer use them to lure victims in. A broken nose at least, though she was pretty sure she¡¯d break her hand. If only she could get a hold of that screwdriver.

    Half an hour passed. Then an hour.

    Stella curled up against Dougie and they exchanged a strangely whispered conversation, one in words and the other half in gruff barks and huffs. There was an underlying affection that made Nif briefly wish she hadn¡¯t been an only child.

    Daz sat in the front passenger seat and was chatting to Oscar about the latest hero flick. They sounded so normal and for the most part they ignored her as if she was nothing more to them than that evening¡¯s takeaway.

    Baskerville, though, never took his eyes off her.

 Chapter 22

    Nif dozed. When she woke, her neck ached and for a moment she couldn¡¯t remember where she was. And then it came crashing down all at once. Baskerville. Oliver shifting. The kidnapping.

    The van had stopped. She was alone and in her head she vaguely could hear the echoes of a car door slamming. It was possibly what woke her up. Slowly, as if Stella would leap in her wolf form from the front seats at any moment, Nif carefully shifted to her feet, crouching to avoid being seen through the front windscreen. Her legs screamed as her blood burned through her veins after sitting still for too long. Outside the van was quiet. She could tell from the light it was morning. The soft, buttermilk yellow glow of first light filtered through the window to splash across her shaking hands. Straining her ears, all Nif could hear was the song of natural birds trilling to each other.

    Where had Baskerville and his siblings disappeared to? Were they still in the city? She carefully crept to the front section of the van and saw what appeared to be a carpark, a dusting of undisturbed ice crystals coating the ground thickly. Beyond the carpark were dark, bare trees. A forest. The tree trunks were so thick even her mother in her shifted form wouldn¡¯t be able to entirely wrap her arms around them. There was no movement besides the flitting flight of fluffy finches gathering the last of Autumn¡¯s harvest.

    Moira¡¯s phone had no reception so Nif turned it off for now and hid it in her bra. As soon as she got out of the forest, she¡¯d try again.

    She didn¡¯t trust the van sliding door to not make too much of a noise so she slipped into the passenger front seat instead and eased open the door. She hesitated, ears straining, to hear anything untoward. Nothing. Her heart pounded hard in her ears. There were footprints left in the frost beneath the door. Large boots. They headed towards the back of the van and for a horrible moment Nif wondered if the wolf family were waiting just out of sight in shifted form, long tongues hanging from their sharp-toothed mouths, open in silent laughter at her helplessness.

    Staying here wasn¡¯t an option though. Already she could feel the cold of the day seeping inside her jacket and wool jumper. It was so much warmer in the bustle of the city surrounded by people and cars, buildings pumping hot air into the streets and artificially warming the air. The sky here was a washed out grey, thin like broth, and the rising sun made no promises of a warmer day.

    If there was a carpark, then there had to be a road out of here. All Nif had to do was follow it, maybe flag down a car and ask for help. Except it didn¡¯t make sense for Baskerville and his siblings to just drive her out here and then seemingly abandon her and their van. If they were the ones who¡¯d killed all those people, killed Morris, removing their eyes and leaving them discarded like unwanted rubbish, then they had obviously more planned for her. Belinda Woltonstcroft, Jeremy Chang and Sarah Lawson, the first three victims, had all been found a week after they¡¯d gone missing. What had happened to them during the time they were gone?

    Stealing her nerves, Nif slipped from the passenger seat, her shoes crunching through the icy crust coating the carpark¡¯s stone gravel. Still no movement nor any hint she was about to be attacked. Without moving from the protective cover of the open door, Nif studied the path of the icy foot prints. They continued past the back of the van and towards the road leading out of this place.

    Nif shivered. She couldn¡¯t stay here. She followed the footprints around the edge of the van as they met up with the prints of other boots and the smaller scuffs of what could only have been wolf Stella. It led to a pile of clothes. The hoodie Daz had worn was discarded on top of Baskerville¡¯s tracksuit pants and bare human footprints shifted into large pawprints, disappearing into the trees either side of the narrow, one lane track leading out of the forest.

    This was a hunt. Baskerville and his family were a pack who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. And their prey were people who had shift issues or had no shift at all. To Baskerville¡¯s pack, they were chasing the unworthy.

    Nif imagined what Thea would say, her steady, husky voice filling her mind.

    ¡°First the attacker would isolate the victim.¡± Breaking it down gave Nif the space to calm down and look at the situation rationally. ¡°Then they would take them into the wilderness so they can hunt them.¡± The image of Thea paced in Nif¡¯s mind, back and forth. ¡°And finally the hunt would come to an end.¡± Baskerville would lead the hunt. He may not be the oldest and he was clearly not the alpha ¨C Daz obviously held both positions ¨C, but this hunt was his. Did they each choose their own victim? Hunting them first through social dating apps and luring them with hopes of love and friendship, this twisted family would then hunt their chosen one through the primedial forests where their ancestors once did the same thing.

    ¡°And afterwards,¡± Thea¡¯s voice continued in Nif¡¯s head. ¡°They would carve out their victim¡¯s eyes. Perhaps in remorse or guilt. Symbolically the victim can no longer see them to cast accusation or blame. Though the brutality of the attacks and the sadistic pleasure in the hunt itself lends to the idea that the removal of the eyes represents disgust or hatred, perhaps to mark the victim as being less than them or weak.¡±

    Well just because Nif couldn¡¯t shift didn¡¯t mean she was weak. She was going to save herself and stop these monsters from ever hurting someone else again. But first she needed a weapon. They were probably watching her right now, waiting for her to start running so they could chase. But that meant she had a moment¡¯s reprieve to prepare.

    The van door did shriek as she slid it open, but she didn¡¯t care anymore. There would be no fun for them if they attacked her now. The car keys weren¡¯t conveniently left in the keyhole, though she did check the glove box and under the sun visor. Nothing. She locked the front passenger door and checked the driver¡¯s side was unlocked before returning to the back of the van.

    The duffle bag containing the electric screwdriver and the pile of white laminate were pushed into a corner and when she emptied the bag, she also found a plastic fishing box full of drill bits and a pair of surgical scissors, slim and rusted shut.

    ¡°Now this could be useful.¡±

    Leaving the electric screwdriver -- the best she could do was throw it -- she emptied the drill bits into her palm, pleased to find the tips were pointed and sharp. While she didn¡¯t have claws, she could make her own. She pocketed the scissors.

    There were no forgotten weapons in the van and she doubted there would be anything useful in the pile of clothes outside, but she would check them all anyway, locking the van sliding door from the inside and exiting via the driver¡¯s door. There was a tension weaving through the quiet trees. The birds had fallen silent, not even the soft rustle of their tiny beaks digging through leaf litter could be heard, as they hid, frozen, sensing the threat lurking in the forest.

    Keeping an eye on the bone white trees that seemed as if they were edging closer and closer, edging her in, Nif scuttled towards the abandoned clothes. As she riffled through the hoodie pocket, Nif felt more than heard the growl. Her time was up and if she didn¡¯t act now, her chances of survival would drop. She didn¡¯t want to end up like the other victims. Her body dumped somewhere. It would destroy her parents.

    Before she stood, she tightened her shoe laces as if she was preparing to run, but running from wolves would never work in her favour.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Nif bolted. But instead of running down the road towards supposed freedom, she dashed for the van, slipping into the driver¡¯s seat and slamming the door behind her. Locking it, she jabbed the scissors into the ignition and turned. Nothing happened.

    ¡°Come on,¡± she hissed. She¡¯d read about jump starting a car like this from a detective book. The name of the novel eluded her, but on seeing the scissors, the passage had flashed up in her mind as if she was reading it again. The success of the act depended on how old the van was and the type of scissors, but it was the only hope she had. Being behind the protective shield of metal with the ability to drive over a 100 kph would give her the advantage. One she couldn¡¯t afford not to have.

    From the corner of her eye, Nif spotted movement. Slow and wary, as if Baskerville¡¯s pack had yet to fully realise what she was attempting. Maybe they thought she was hiding. Had any of the others attempted to hide in the van? Locked inside? Or had they always attempted to run?

    Nif turned the scissors again.

    ¡°Yes!¡± The engine roared to life. She pounded down on the acceleration before she¡¯d even fully removed the brake and jolted forward, turning hard on the wheel to avoid ploughing into the wooden barricade surrounding the carpark and just missing the white muzzle of the wolf she recognised as Stella, snapping at the front wheels as Nif attempted to turn the van around.

    Daz had shifted back into his human form, clearly understanding opposable thumbs would be more useful than paws, and was hefting a large rock, striding forward in all his naked glory. He launched his weapon and it thumped into the windscreen, becoming embedded in the glass, cobweb cracks radiating out and decreasing Nif¡¯s visibility. Another blow and the whole thing would collapse inwards and Nif¡¯s armour would be weakened.

    Nif was prepared to mow down anyone who got in her way, but she still instinctively swerved, squinting through the cracks, to avoid Daz as he dashed in front of the van. The side of the vehicle crunched against wood. The van almost flipped, but Nif righted it and found herself facing the exit.

    The wolf she knew to be Baskerville, his pelt streaked in grey and black, stood in her path and she grinned at him, all teeth, feeling a little bit like a wolf herself.

    ¡°Screw you,¡± Nif bellowed and accelerated. Baskerville leapt out of the way when he was close enough for Nif to see the rage flashing bright in his blue eyes.

    Trees flashed past in a blur of white and grey. The howling of wolves followed her. The narrow road wound lazily through the forest and the shattered front windscreen made it impossible for her to go above fifty without crashing. At this rate, Baskerville and the others would overtake her. Sweat beaded down her cheek, her heart thumping in her chest, fingers slick on the wheel despite the icy air pumping through the cracked window.

    The road curved, the wheels of the van sliding in the gravel and Nif¡¯s attention was briefly divided as she wiped sweat from her eyes that she didn¡¯t see the fallen tree until it was too late.

    She wasn¡¯t wearing a seat belt.

    The windscreen shattered into chunky square pieces of glass as her body flew through it, and when she hit the ground, she found she couldn¡¯t breathe from the impact and shock.

    Darkness edged her vision as she forced air into her lungs. Long, toothy grins crowded round her, a mix of lupine and human.

    ¡°You were right, brother,¡± Daz laughed. ¡°She¡¯s given us an excellent chase. She¡¯s strong and smart, but it¡¯s a real shame she doesn¡¯t look like she¡¯s going to shift at all.¡±

    ¡°Please, let me go,¡± Nif whimpered.

    ¡°But where would the fun be in that?¡± Baskerville crowed. The sound of a car attempting to start, or maybe a motorbike, filled the forest silence and the siblings tensed. Stella¡¯s fur bristled as she snarled over Nif¡¯s head and Daz¡¯s nostrils flared, as if he could smell something even in human form. Nif struggled to see, her neck feeling like knotted rope, but she couldn¡¯t figure out where the noise was coming from. It was familiar though. The sort of sound her mother would make if she discovered the last of the shortbread had been eaten, but less annoyed bear and more outraged. Had her mother somehow found her?

    ¡°Shit, Daz. Who the fuck is that?¡± Oscar¡¯s skin flickered briefly, as if he¡¯d considered shifting but had changed his mind. Instead he inched towards the van, the driver¡¯s door crumpled open, and felt beneath the driver¡¯s seat. Why hadn¡¯t Nif thought to check under them? He pulled out a gun. An honest to god, shiny black gun. For some reason Nif hadn¡¯t even considered the family would be actually armed.

    ¡°Easy, brother,¡± Daz murmured. He was smiling, as if he had no fear at all for what may come charging out of the forest. He barked something ¨C strange from a human throat ¨C and Dougie and Stella faded into the trees to leave the two older brothers waiting over Nif¡¯s supine body, Oscar by the van with the gun.

    When Oliver charged out of the forest, it was more of a tired, angry lope. He had to have been chasing them since the University, which could¡¯ve been for hours for all Nif knew. It showed from the dark streaks of sweat through his fur and the foamy spittle around his open, panting jaws. His eyes were the startling sea foam green of his human form.

    ¡°Oliver?¡± Nif wondered if she was dreaming.

    ¡°You¡¯re the freak who attacked us at the university!¡± Oscar exclaimed, pointing the gun at the bear shifter. ¡°You were a real pain in the arse, you know?¡±

    Baskerville waved his brother down and stood tall, hands on his hips, head tilted to the side as he studied Oliver. ¡°You know what she is and yet you come for her. What is your relationship with her? She¡¯s not dating, otherwise she would¡¯ve long deleted her Tender account. But would just a friend go to all this effort of tracking her down in person? You¡¯ve come quite some way. Anyone else would¡¯ve just waited for the police.¡±

    Oliver snarled, ignoring the gun still trained on him and only stopping when he reached Nif. His nostrils flared as he tried to smell if she was okay without taking his eyes off the brother.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± Nif whispered, reaching up a hand to touch the soft fur beneath his chin.

    ¡°Neither of you are,¡± Baskerville interrupted. ¡°I¡¯m afraid your so-called friend has made this particularly difficult and I¡¯m left with a dilemma. What should we do with you? It was Oliver, wasn¡¯t it? See, we¡¯re not quite finished with Jenny here so I¡¯m afraid my brother will just have to shoot you.¡±

    Nif screamed as the gunshot tore through the tense silence of the forest. Oliver grunted and swayed over her and she forced herself up, ignoring the pain flaring in her body. He was so big she couldn¡¯t tell where he was actually shot at first. Oscar shot twice more, the dull, thumping sounds of projectiles hitting flesh made her sick. When Oliver collapsed into a heap, almost on top of her, Nif cried out again, tears making it hard to see.

    ¡°Now, now, Jenny. We haven¡¯t killed him,¡± Baskerville said soothingly. ¡°He may be useful in making sure you do as you¡¯re meant to. He¡¯s just heavily tranquilised. Enough to knock out a bear, so it would seem.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be a bitch to carry,¡± Oscar grumbled.

    ¡°Patience, my dear brother,¡± Daz spoke up. ¡°Give it a moment and...ah, there he goes.¡±

    Oliver trembled and then shifted, fur absorbing into skin, muscle and bone transforming into something smaller and delicate until finally, lying in a heap, was a human man. In one shoulder and two in his right thigh were the small, feathered tips of darts. The relief rushing through Nif left her dizzy. She groaned softly and fell back in the dry leaf litter covering the road.

    Nif fought to remain conscious, but her thoughts were slipping away from her, like goldfish in a pond. Baskerville¡¯s face grew closer, his thick eyebrows furrowed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not done with you just yet,¡± he said. His hands cupped Nif¡¯s face, almost gentle, tilting her head from side to side as if inspecting her for injuries.

    ¡°Daz, I¡¯m not sure if this one is going to work out and now with two of them? It¡¯s putting the pack at risk,¡± Oscar said.

    ¡°You know that sometimes the shift occurs a little while after the initial trauma,¡± Daz soothed. ¡°Rules state she has a week. It¡¯s tradition. And this is Bas¡¯s hunt.¡±

    A week? Nif blinked hard, her mouth opening but no words could be formed, her mind full of fog. Was this some kind of trial by fire? Either she would shift or die? And what about Oliver? What would they do to him when she failed their little test?

    ¡°Get her up then,¡± Daz ordered. ¡°She¡¯s totalled the van. Oscar, get the spare. It¡¯s gonna be a long wait until you can pick us up. Bas, she¡¯s your pick so your responsibility.¡±

    ¡°I know that, Daz.¡± Baskerville leant down close, his breath warm against Nif¡¯s cheek and she could smell something spicy on his breath. When he picked her up, something in her arm flared hot and white and she finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Her last thought was of Oliver and whether he¡¯d managed to get help before charging to her rescue.

 Chapter 23

    The first thing Nif thought when she woke again was she was kind of getting sick of waking up in unknown places. Her head pounded and her right arm ached in dull pulsing waves. Keeping her eyes closed, she strained her ears to hear if anyone had noticed her waking up. Over her own breathing, she could hear the low humming of a television through the wooden floor her cheek was pressed against.

    What was the last thing she remembered? The forest. Crashing the van. Oliver. Where was he? Was he okay? Her throat clenched imagining him left out there, nobody knowing where he was, unconscious and freezing during the night.

    A toilet flushed and a door opened and closed. Nif risked opening her eyes a crack, squinting from the light shed from the naked bulb set in the ceiling. Someone had dumped her on the floor of a small bedroom, blackout curtains over the only window so she couldn¡¯t tell if it was day or night. For a moment she felt completely adrift, a step removed from the natural movement of time, but then her stomach grumbled and it pinned her more firmly to reality. Whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner, it had to be close to a meal time. A metal bed frame ran across the far wall, the springs sagging in the centre, and a wooden chair was by the open door. She couldn¡¯t see Oliver in the room. Her heart sank.

    Footsteps approached from the hallway and Nif closed her eyes and did her best to calm her breathing even though her arm was starting to throb. The person paused and Nif imagined someone watching her, maybe checking to see if she was conscious yet, before the front doorbell rang and a voice drifted up from downstairs for someone to answer it.

    The footsteps hurried away and someone called out that the pizza was here. Nif¡¯s stomach rumbled, but she ignored it to instead flex her arm. Someone had bound it, but she was pretty certain her wrist was broken. The pain was incredible, waves of heat racing up into her shoulder and spiking into her chest, but it cleared the last of the fog from her head.

    Downstairs the television was turned up ¡ª some kind of sports game ¡ª and there was the familiar clang and bustle of plates and cutlery. Hopefully the pizza would distract them for a little longer. Nif carefully propped herself up against the wall and then had to pause to get her breath back, her head spinning. How long had it been since she¡¯d been captured? The last thing she¡¯d eaten was a strawberry and pecan muffin from To Bean or Not to Bean on the drive over to Moira¡¯s university. Was that yesterday? The day before? She felt like a hollowed out shell.

    Carefully, she eased herself along the wall until she reached the door. She snuck a look into the hallway. It was dimly lit by the light filtering up from the stairs. There were three doors that opened onto the hall not including her own. Was Oliver being kept in one of those? The room she was in was near the end, opposite what was perhaps a bathroom if the soft hissing of the plumbing was anything to go by. No one else appeared to be up here and she eased back into the room, tugging the door shut behind her.

    Moira¡¯s phone was thankfully still  tucked into her bra. At least Baskerville or his brother¡¯s hadn¡¯t snuck in a grope while she was unconscious. It took a few seconds for the phone to switch on and all the while Nif strained to hear anyone¡¯s footsteps on the stairs. But her heart sank when the password screen appeared.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Nif murmured, her head dropping back to softly thump against the wall. Why hadn¡¯t she handed over Moira¡¯s phone when Baskerville had asked? Then again, Nif¡¯s phone was huge, the screen big enough to read books on, which was why she¡¯d gotten it in the first place, and she¡¯d have had a hard time trying to hide it.

    She cupped Moira¡¯s phone in her palm. Her lifeline and yet a few digits were all that kept her from calling for help. Until the phone rang in her hands. She swallowed her shriek, pressing the vibrating phone to her chest as if the soft hum would be audible from downstairs and then answered it without even checking to see who it was.

    ¡°Shit, Nif? Is that you?¡± Moira¡¯s voice was like a hit of pain relief. The throbbing in her arm faded and the headache eased and for one perfect moment, Nif thought everything was going to be okay.

    ¡°Moira.¡± The name was spoken on an exhale, so quiet Nif didn¡¯t think she¡¯d heard her.

    ¡°Thea! She answered!¡± Moira yelled, the phone briefly being held at arm''s length. ¡°I knew you still had my phone. I¡¯ve been trying it non-stop for hours. Where are you? Are you okay? Is Oliver with you? He went after you, but no one¡¯s heard from him and I¡¯m worried something awful has happened.¡±

    ¡°Oliver was with me, but they tranquilised him and I passed out for a bit. I don¡¯t know where I am or where he is. Baskerville took me out to a forest. He wanted to hunt me. He¡¯s not alone. His whole family is in on it.¡± The same icy fear that had almost been her undoing beneath the tall, wintery trees threatened to swallow her up again. The edge of the phone dug hard into her palm, grounding her. ¡°I almost got away, but they caught me. Oliver tried to rescue me, but they shot him! What time is it? They may¡¯ve left him out there, cold and alone. Someone needs to go check, but I don¡¯t know where he is!¡± Nif¡¯s voice rose in volume as she panicked.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Jennifer. I need you to stay calm,¡± Thea said. Moira must¡¯ve put her call on speaker. She couldn¡¯t hear much on the other end as if they were all holding their breaths. Was Clare or Sapha there? Had her parents been called? ¡°Do you know where you are now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in a house. Oliver isn¡¯t here, but maybe they¡¯ve put him in another room. The place is more than one storey. They¡¯ve just ordered pizza!¡± Nif almost laughed.

    ¡°Can you tell me who took you?¡± Thea asked.

    ¡°Baskerville and his family. There are five of them. Wolf shifters. All of them, I think. They¡¯re a pack. A man named Daz appears to be their alpha, but I get the feeling Baskerville is still calling all the shots. Oscar drove the van. Dougie should still be in highschool. He¡¯s young. Maybe sixteen or seventeen? And a sister called Stella, but I never saw her shift into her human form.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing really good, Jennifer,¡± Thea assured. ¡°Are you in a safe place right now?¡±

    ¡°They can come in at any minute. They¡¯re all downstairs eating. They still think I¡¯m asleep.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Jennifer. This is what I need you to do. First, go into Moira¡¯s settings and turn off any sound or vibration notifications. We¡¯re going to track you, but we don¡¯t want them to find the phone.¡±

    ¡°I need the passcode.¡±

    Moira spoke up, voice shaking and muffled as if her fingers were pressing against her lips, and rattled off the four digit code.

    ¡°Got it?¡± Thea asked.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± It was hard using the phone with only one hand, Nif¡¯s broken wrist still cradled in her lap, but she managed and shakily pressed the phone back to her ear. ¡°I did it.¡±

    ¡°Good. Now I need you to walk me through what happened. If you hear someone coming, leave the call connected but hide the phone.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡± Nif tried to explain the events after her kidnapping, but she struggled to keep things straight in her own head. She was exhausted and in pain, and she had to keep stopping to check if the thumping was footsteps on the stairs or from somewhere else in the house.

    ¡°Take a deep breath for me,¡± Thea was saying and Nif realised she was starting to hyperventilate.

    ¡°Have you found her location yet?¡± Moira asked someone and there was what sounded like a negative. Something about interference. A net of some kind, which made no sense to Nif¡¯s foggy mind.

    ¡°Jennifer,¡± Thea said. ¡°Is there a window at all? Can you tell us what you can see?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Nif said. She moaned deeply as she pushed herself up against the wall, her wrist tucked against her chest and the phone pressed against her ear.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Are you hurt?¡± Moira sounded panicked and Thea ordered someone to take her out of the room.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Nif panted, eyes closed but standing on both feet. Her knee felt wrenched, something she¡¯d not noticed over the pain of her wrist, and she suspected her entire body was black and blue from when she flew through the van windscreen. ¡°I think I broke my wrist when I crashed the van.¡±

    ¡°A van?¡± Moira shrieked from further back.

    ¡°You should see the other guy,¡± Nif joked, and winced as soon as she said it. ¡°Pretend you didn¡¯t hear that. Give me a second. The window has curtains.¡± She edged herself towards the window, using the wall for support and tried to move as quietly as possible. Someone would be up to check on her soon. Surely all the pizza was gone by now. How long had she been on the phone?

    The black out curtains were heavy and she had to wedge the phone against her shoulder to avoid using her sore wrist. Beyond the window she could see the moon.

    ¡°Is it a full moon tonight?¡± she murmured, and peered out into an overgrown garden painted in silver moonlight. ¡°I don¡¯t see any other houses. Just a big garden surrounded by huge trees. There¡¯s an old shed and a ute with no wheels growing weeds out of its windows.¡±

    ¡°And yet you said something about pizza. Was it delivered?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I can see lights through the trees. They¡¯re moving. Red and white.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Maybe near a road.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re moving fast and they¡¯re pretty frequent. One, two, three, four...heaps are going past.¡±

    ¡°A freeway or major thoroughfare then. That narrows it down. You¡¯re doing so good,¡± Thea praised.

    A shout rose up from downstairs and Nif could hear arguing.

    ¡°I think they¡¯re coming up. What should I do? Pretend to be asleep?¡±

    ¡°If they¡¯re wolf shifters, then they probably can tell if you¡¯re faking. Hide the phone on you but don¡¯t hang up. Try and get out of the house if you can.¡±

    ¡°But what about Oliver?¡±

    ¡°See if you can find out if he¡¯s in the house with you, but don¡¯t take any risks. We¡¯ll do our best to track your location and be there as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Moira called out, but Nif couldn¡¯t reply. Heavy boots were thumping up the stairs, two at a time, and all she had time was to stuff the phone back into her bra and steel herself beside the window, cradling her broken wrist. At least she was on her feet.

    ¡°Did you close the door?¡± It was Dougie, his voice a tired whine.

    ¡°You were the last one up here. What do you think?¡± a young woman growled. Nif instantly knew the woman was Stella. She must¡¯ve shifted really young. The ends of her sentences lifted up as if she was about to howl and some words were interjected with yips or huffs.

    The door slammed open, the hallway light now on, and Stella loped in, completely unconcerned about what she may find inside, while Dougie lingered back, wearing a ruffled blue and black school uniform. He was twisting a button anxiously, a habit since some of the buttons had obviously come off in the past and been replaced with others of a slightly different colour. In his spare hand was a box of pizza, the logo a familiar chain.

    ¡°I see our clever little bird is awake,¡± Stella grumbled, approaching Nif side on, never taking her eyes off her. The woman was only a few years older than Dougie, but there was something about her dark golden eyes that chilled Nif to the bone. The curve of her mouth was mocking, her lip curling up to reveal a canine tooth too sharp for a human. Her brows were like dark slashes and her hair was the colour of chestnut, strangely neat for someone who was the personification of wild and unruly.

    ¡°You should let me go,¡± Nif whispered, shrinking back against the curtains.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. You¡¯re not stupid.¡± She laughed, a deep, huffing sound. ¡°What you did in the van is proof enough of that. Let me guess, you¡¯re going to tell us how you won¡¯t tell anyone. That you¡¯ll pretend this never happened. That you won¡¯t go to the police. We¡¯re not stupid either.¡± Stella leaned in close and snapped her teeth, then laughed again.

    ¡°Where is Oliver? Did you hurt him?¡±

    ¡°Ha! That big oaf?¡± Stella snorted. ¡°He¡¯s just as defective if he has a non-shifter as a friend.¡±

    ¡°Please. I need to know,¡± Nif begged Dougie, hoping he¡¯d be swayed. He shuffled awkwardly.

    ¡°Bas said the bear shifter is useful. We locked him up in the shed,¡± Dougie admitted and Stella growled, cuffing the younger boy over the head. ¡°Hey! What was that for? Daz and Bas want her to know they have him. That way she¡¯ll do what they say!¡±

    Stella just huffed and paced, back and forth, as if she could barely stand to be enclosed in the room. So Oliver was alive, still. The relief was almost paralysing.

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Nif tried and was honestly surprised when Stella answered.

    ¡°Because your kind are aberrant outcasts that need to be scrubbed off the face of the Earth!¡± Stella spat, her words so heated Nif could almost feel them waft hot against her cheeks. ¡°There is no point to you. You¡¯ve nothing to offer and all your kind do is take, take, take!¡±

    ¡°But you don¡¯t even know me.¡±

    ¡°I know your type.¡± She tossed her hair back and crossed her arms, almost protectively. Dougie watched, wide eyed, from the doorway.

    ¡°Our father was just like you. A non-shifter. A freak. Took his power with his fists and then he didn¡¯t even have the balls to stick around. When Mum got pregnant with Dougie, he flipped his shit and skipped out of town. Good riddance I say, but then Mum died.¡±

    ¡°It was my fault,¡± Dougie whispered.

    ¡°No it wasn¡¯t,¡± Stella said, voice almost bored as if they¡¯d had this conversation many times and she was getting tired of repeating herself. ¡°Five kids in less than ten years would mess up anyone.¡±

    ¡°How old were you?¡± Nif asked softly. ¡°When your mother died?¡±

    ¡°I was two,¡± Dougie admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t really remember her.¡±

    ¡°I was barely five,¡± Stella said. ¡°Daz was fifteen going on forty. He¡¯s been the alpha even before our father left, but with Mum gone and our deadbeat dad in the wind, do you think the authorities would let us be?¡± Stella¡¯s teeth sharpened inside her mouth, twisting her words. ¡°You¡¯ve no idea what we went through. You¡¯ve lived on borrowed time until now, wasting resources and using people as if you have the right.¡±

    Nif could barely understand the young wolf shifter now, but there was no missing the hatred burbling up from the young woman and spewing sharp through her words.

    ¡°My brothers always give your kind a chance, just in case you¡¯re a late bloomer, but I know it¡¯s just rubbish. I¡¯ve always been right. No amount of prompting has ever amounted in any shifting from you lot.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Stella,¡± Dougie said. ¡°Bas will want to know she¡¯s awake.¡±

    ¡°Right. Well, Dougie thought you might be hungry.¡±

    The younger boy lifted the pizza box and smiled shyly. Nif couldn¡¯t recognise the uniform and he wasn¡¯t close enough for her to read the school shield embroidered on his pocket.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see the point of feeding you,¡± Stella added. ¡°You¡¯re not livestock. It¡¯s been generations since our family ate what they hunted. We¡¯re much more civilised now.¡± Again that laugh. It would haunt Nif¡¯s dreams. ¡°Go on, give it to her if you¡¯re going to. I¡¯m going to tell Bas his precious pet is awake.¡± She looked Nif up and down and smirked. ¡°She doesn¡¯t look like she¡¯s going to shift any time soon.¡±

    Stella passed Dougie in the doorway, but she lingered, keeping a sharp eye on the two of them as Dougie offered Nif the pizza box.

    ¡°I hope you like pepperoni. We¡¯re mostly meat eaters in our family, but you can always pick it off,¡± he said. Nif reached out and he shuffled closer, close enough for Nif to make out the words Anning High with the motto Endeavour to Excel written in cursive beneath.

    ¡°What year are you in at Anning High?¡± Nif asked quietly, offering the boy a smile.

    ¡°Year eleven,¡± he said even as his sister was striding across the room. Stella backhanded Nif across the face and she bounced off the wall, crashing into the metal bed frame. The pizza box ending up under it, slices with pepperoni dashed across the floor.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Dougie complained, but he didn¡¯t move to help Nif.

    Nif had instinctively reached out both hands to catch herself and the blinding shock of jarring her wrist left her breathless, a scream lodged in her throat. Bracing her arm against her body, she froze, pushing the pain down deep so she could breathe again without crying.

    ¡°She was fishing, Dougie. Don¡¯t tell her anything, okay. Now go on, get. I¡¯ll keep an eye on her.¡± The wooden chair was dragged across the floor and a body huffed as it settled, but Nif ignored the wolf sister until finally she felt she could relax the muscles in her head. The headache was back and there was no way she could stomach any pizza.

    ¡°Can I have some water?¡± Nif whispered, risking a glance up.

    ¡°No,¡± Stella bit back.

    Nif hoped the others had heard her comment about Dougie¡¯s school. They now had his first name, his year and the school. Surely that would be enough to track him down and get a home address?

    The sound of a blender switched on in the kitchen and suddenly the power went out.

    ¡°Again?¡± Daz shouted. ¡°How many times do I have to tell you, Dougie. You can¡¯t use the blender at the same time as the sandwich maker!¡±

    ¡°I need my protein shake,¡± Dougie shouted back. ¡°How else am I going to bulk up?¡±

    ¡°Have you heard of exercise?¡±

    ¡°Wait. What¡¯s that?¡± Stella growled. The chair was knocked over as she stood abruptly, her eyes glued to Nif¡¯s chest. It was glowing. In the dark, the lit screen of the connected call could be seen through Nif¡¯s shirt. ¡°Hand it over or if I take it I might end up plucking out your heart instead.¡±

    Nif pulled out the phone and reluctantly passed it to the woman. Her connection to her friends cut off as Stella dropped the phone and slammed her booted heel into the screen. It shattered, the phone going dead.

    Instead of shouting to her brothers, she howled, but their responses were just as immediate. They piled into the room, and Nif found it hard to breathe in the claustrophobic space.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Daz asked, arms crossed over his chest.

    ¡°She had a phone. Someone was listening in all this time.¡± Stella gestured to the dead device on the ground and began to pace again. She was clearly itching to transform.

    ¡°Shit. What did they overhear?¡± Daz asked.

    ¡°She asked what year I was in,¡± Dougie admitted. He looked at Nif as if she¡¯d betrayed him somehow. She wondered what he would¡¯ve been like if he¡¯d not be brought up by a bunch of sociopaths.

    ¡°And she said out loud the school he goes to. If they don¡¯t already have this address, then they will soon,¡± Stella said and she apparently gave up fighting to change and gave a full body shake, shifting into her wolf form and wiggling free of her clothes and boots.

    Baskerville stormed over and before Nif could move, he grabbed her chin and shook her head until she wanted to vomit.

    ¡°Looks like you want the hunt to end sooner rather than later,¡± he growled. ¡°This isn¡¯t how we normally do things. You see, we¡¯re really only doing this for you. To make you more fit to be in our society.¡±

    ¡°Let go of me,¡± Nif said through clenched teeth. His grip grew tighter.

    ¡°You should be thanking us. We¡¯re offering you a chance to shift. You and the other defects only need the right circumstances to introduce a shift and that¡¯s what we provide.¡±

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t shift?¡±

    ¡°Then you don¡¯t deserve to exist.¡± Baskerville let go of Nif¡¯s face to instead grip her jacket and yank her to her feet. She swayed but his grasp kept her from falling. ¡°Non-shifters and partials are abnormalities that must be eradicated from the human race. It¡¯s our duty to assist.

    ¡°So the others you killed...¡± Morris and the O¡¯Conner sisters, Jeremy the young chef and Belinda and Sarah.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally,¡± Daz said over his brother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s just natural selection.¡± The alpha brother turned to Oscar and gave a nod, and Oscar snagged a confused Dougie out of the room. Stella remained by the door, her hackles raised.

    ¡°Bas, we should leave her here,¡± Daz said and strangely enough it wasn¡¯t an order like Nif expected from the supposed pack leader. ¡°Burn her with the house. No evidence, no consequences.¡±

    ¡°I think this will be the most exciting hunt yet, brother,¡± Baskerville said, never taking his eyes off Nif. He sniffed deeply, as if he could smell Nif¡¯s fear. ¡°We¡¯ve grown lazy without the need to watch over our shoulders. This time the stakes are higher. We¡¯ve got our prey,¡± he shook Nif and laughed when she cried out in pain. ¡°And yet a second party will be at play. Will they get to her first or will we?¡±

    ¡°Very well, Bas, but we must be quick. The safety of the pack is our first priority.¡±

    ¡°Of course, brother,¡± Baskerville said and released Nif so suddenly she stumbled and crashed to her knees, the pain briefly drowning out the pain in her arm. ¡°You better run little girl. We¡¯ll give you a headstart, but don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to save you. The only way you¡¯ll get away from us is if you sprout wings and fly.¡±

    Nif ran.

 Chapter 24

    The shed was old, the door attached with rust, and it only took a swift kick and yank to pull open. In her head, Nif could hear each second tick by, drowning out any signs of pursuit and leaving her sick with dread. She couldn¡¯t leave Oliver. Especially since they were planning to burn down the house.

    ¡°Oliver? Are you here?¡± It was dark, but when she stepped inside, moonlight spilled in through the doorway and lit up Oliver¡¯s still naked form, bound at wrist and ankle in blue and white rope.

    ¡°Oh gods. Oliver! Oliver, can you hear me?¡± She dropped to her knees beside him, her hand shaking as she reached out to touch him. He was cold, far too cold, but she could just make out the tiny puff of heated air near his lips. He was alive.

    The knots didn¡¯t come easy in the dark and working with a broken wrist, her hands shaking, but finally she was able to untie first his hands and then his feet, taking off only a little bit of skin. She didn¡¯t think he¡¯d mind. The biggest issue was getting him into something warm, or else he¡¯d freeze. Best thing for him was to shift, but he didn¡¯t look like he was capable of walking, let alone changing his form.

    She shrugged off her jacket and forced him into it, his shoulders near bursting the seams and the sleeves barely reaching mid-arm. There was no way she could zip it up, but she used a length of the rope that they¡¯d used to tie him up to cinch the front closed. That would have to do for now. She just had to get him up and moving.

    She shook him, hard, and he groaned.

    ¡°What¡­?¡± His eyes flickered open and he frowned, trying to focus on Nif with hazy, drugged eyes. ¡°Nif¡­? Why¡¯s it so cold?¡±

    ¡°You need to get up, Oliver. They¡¯re going to be after us soon and they¡¯re going to kill us like they killed Morris.¡±

    ¡°Morris?¡± He sounded like he was trying to call out from a deep well, his voice faint and strained.

    ¡°Please, Oliver. You have to get up!¡± Nif tapped his cheeks, not quite slapping, and the haze cleared from his eyes.

    ¡°Nif, are you alright?¡±

    ¡°We need to run. They¡¯re coming for us and we have to go now!¡± She tugged him upright and he swayed, bumping up against the shelving lining the walls. Glass tinked. Stacked in neat rows were jars upon jars and Nif couldn¡¯t help lean forward to see what was suspended in the liquid. She reeled back, a scream snagged in her throat.

    ¡°Shit. Are those eyes?¡± Oliver asked. Whatever colour had filled his cheeks was drained in an instant. ¡°There¡¯s got to be at least two dozen!¡± Were Morris¡¯ eyes here? Kept as some twisted trophy?

    ¡°Hurry! They plan to burn the house down and I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯d want to keep these around.¡± Nif grabbed his hand and led him out of the shed, her eyes searching movement near the house but seeing nothing but darkness. They¡¯d turned off the lights as if no one was home. ¡°I spotted a road from inside. This way. Come on.¡±

    They stumbled into the tree line, the grass beneath their feet crunchy from a thin layer of ice. She wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it snowed later.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± Oliver grunted through his teeth, one hand pressed to his head as if he was trying to keep his brains from spilling out from his ears.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Can you shift? Your toes are going blue.¡± Nif kept her eyes front and centre, trying not to ogle when neither of them were in great shape.

    ¡°I¡¯m not even sure I can manage a full sentence.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve news for you then, wordsmith, but that was a full sentence.¡± She glanced behind them, trying to gauge how far they¡¯d come. They weren¡¯t moving fast enough. She could still see the dark outline of the house and it was difficult to make out if it was the trees moving in the wind or the form of wolves laughing at their feeble attempts to escape.

    ¡°You should¡­¡± Oliver trailed off, panting heavily.

    ¡°If you were about to say I should leave you behind, then fat chance. It¡¯s your fault you chased after them like some half-cocked super hero.¡±

    Before he could reply, they were bathed in heat followed quickly by the booming sound of an explosion. It was like a furnace door had suddenly been open and sweat beaded along Nif¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Keep going,¡± Oliver gapped. ¡°They won¡¯t be far behind.¡±

    The wolf pack¡¯s house was well on its way to being ash before any fire brigade arrived. Whatever Oscar had done to the place ¨C doused it in fuel, set a bomb, filled the rooms with gas and lit a match ¨C had been well and truly effective. It would make it all the more easier for Thea and her team to find the place, but it would also mean they would be busy looking in the wrong direction. Moira and the others would perhaps think Oliver and her had been left inside, yet instead they were running for their lives away from potential help.

    They just had to get to the road.

    ¡°Come on, Oliver.¡±

    Each step he was becoming steadier, which was a good thing since Nif felt that at any minute she¡¯d collapse into a puddle. Her knee crunched like it was made of glass everytime she stepped. They were slowly exchanging the ratio of weight until Nif was mostly being dragged along by Oliver as the last of the tranquilisers wore off.

    With the burning house a pulsing heat against her back, the wintery night air was like a slap to Nif¡¯s face, but she gritted her teeth, using the chill to push down the pain in her arm and head. She had to stay conscious otherwise she may never wake up again.

    The woods surrounding the house were dense, but animal trails wove between the trees and many of the low-lying shrubs had lost their leaves, the branches leaving fiery hot trails against Nif¡¯s cheeks and the backs of her hands as they pushed through the scrub.

    Beneath the roar and hungry pop of the flames, Nif could hear the chittering flight of frightened animals, her own panicked pants and Oliver¡¯s bare feet kicking up leaves. No sound of the pack on their trail. They weren¡¯t playing anymore. She wouldn¡¯t hear them until they were ripping out her throat and human Oliver was just as vulnerable as her.

    ¡°Think you can transform yet?¡± she asked him between breaths.

    ¡°Maybe.¡± He slowed a little, a deep crease lining his forehead and he was sweating despite the cold. The bones in his face shifted slightly before returning fully human. ¡°Not yet.¡± He groaned and swayed, staggering into the brush until Nif hauled him back.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay. We just need a new plan.¡± Nif looked around until she spotted the thickest, denses bush she could see, like a dark smudge on reality. It was some kind of thorn bush, winter bare but the branches closely woven together to make a thick mat. ¡°You need to hide,¡± Nif said. ¡°And I¡¯ll run for help.¡± Beneath the bush was a narrow space, just big enough for a human to wiggle under. Hopefully the branches would also protect him from the chilly wind.

    ¡°But your arm! And you¡¯re clearly limping!¡± Oliver didn¡¯t struggle though as she tugged him towards the hiding space.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need my arm to run and my knee is fine. The road isn¡¯t far ahead. I can hear traffic. Come on, squeeze under here and shuffle back as far as you can.¡±

    He fell to his knees, exhaustion, the cold and whatever drug still lingering sapping his energy.

    ¡°I¡¯ll flag someone down and then come back for you,¡± Nif assured him, and helped him roll under, wincing when he lost more skin and her borrowed jacket was snagged by the thorns. As she checked no one could see him from the outside, he snaked out a hand and grabbed her.

    ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t until you have reinforcements, alright?¡± Oliver sounded desperate. ¡°You have to promise you¡¯ll only come back if it¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Nif said. ¡°Now stay still and quiet.¡±

    Nif had every intention of reaching the road, but she was also determined to lead their pursuers away from Oliver. She backtracked a full thirty metres, her heart in her throat as she imagined running straight into the pack before she turned heel and made a dash for the road along a different route.

    A car horn blared and for a single moment, Nif honestly believed she¡¯d make it. Flag down a car. Get too much attention so the pack had no choice but to melt back into the forest. Except a heavy weight barrelled into her side, pounding the breath from her lungs and suddenly she was staring up into the sky, the moon fat and round, smoke from the burning house tinting it to a warning orange glow. Nif opened her mouth to scream when large paws pressed down on her chest. Stella¡¯s muzzle shoved close, teeth bared and saliva streaking her chestnut brown fur.

    The wolf¡¯s laugh was an odd chuffing sound, tongue lolling out between yellow teeth. Nif was terrified, but through the pain and fear, a deep, white hot rage filled her, starting deep in her gut and working her way up through her chest and throat. Suddenly she had air to scream, except her scream was one of anger. Nif scratched and clawed at Stella¡¯s golden eyes with both hands, her fingers sinking into eye jelly. Stella yelped, flailing back and leaving claw marks in Nif¡¯s shirt and chest, but Nif was too wound up to feel it.

    Scrambling to her feet, Nif used a tree to steady her balance and searched for a weapon, anything at all, because there was no way she could outrun this family of wolves. She needed to attack them first. If she didn¡¯t make it, Oliver would die, freezing under that thorn bush before he could be found.

    Stella was shaking her head and making soft, hurt sounds, shocked perhaps that her prey had lashed out even injured as it was. Beneath icy frost, Nif picked up a branch, as thick and long as her arm, but light enough she could hold it in one hand. Her broken wrist she kept tucked to her chest, the pain going beyond burning to a pulsing throb, as if her heart had temporarily moved in.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Before Stella could regain her senses, Nif pulled back the branch and swung with all her might at Stella¡¯s head.

    The blow was weak. No strength behind at all being only one handed, and the branch was brittle. It snapped. Nif lost her balance, tripped, and found herself wedged awkwardly amongst thin saplings. She was completely helpless to Stella¡¯s lunging attack, but the wolf shifter¡¯s howl of rage was cut short.

    Nif had closed her eyes. She felt the weight of Stella, the hot splash of saliva across her face, but then the heaviness of the wolf increased as if Stella was trying to smother her.

    Nif opened her eyes.

    Stella stared back into hers, wide, startled, still. The branch Nif had still clutched as she¡¯d fallen was lodged in the wolf shifter¡¯s heart. Blood dripped onto Nif¡¯s cheeks. For a brief moment she was warm beneath the furry weight of Stella. With a burst of adrenaline, Nif wiggled and pulled herself away from the corpse, using the saplings to haul herself from beneath the lifeless weight. Once far enough away ¨C could she ever be far enough? She just killed someone. A living, breathing person! ¨C Nif collapsed backwards, staring up into the smoky sky.

    A strangled laugh was caught in her throat. One down, she guessed, but the brothers wouldn¡¯t be far behind and running wouldn¡¯t save her.

    The road seemed close yet incredibly far away, so Nif took a deep, settling breath, but her mind was sluggish and the pain was edging darkly across her vision. Sleep is what she needed and a hell of a lot of painkillers. What if she just lay there for a little while? Shut her eyes for a few spells?

    Move it, Nif. Of all people, she hadn¡¯t imagined Sapho being the voice of reason inside her head. Sleeping is what you do when you¡¯ve got the time. Now think. What would I do? Sapho was a cat shifter though. If she was here right now, she¡¯d just climb a tree and take a nap.

    Nif looked up. Cats could climb. Humans too. But wolves...they couldn¡¯t climb. All she needed was to gain time for the cavalry to arrive, and hopefully the brothers would be overwhelmed by the death of their sister to think clearly. She¡¯d read studies that strong emotions could affect a shift, sometimes making it hard to change between forms. It was the case with Moira, except she could only change during extreme moments of emotions. Was she angry now? Or just scared?

    Nif wasted no time finding a suitable tree. One that was high enough she could theoretically hide amongst the branches despite the limbs being naked of leaves, but easy enough for a woman with only one working arm and a dodgy knee to climb yet challenging for any four limbed creature. Nif¡¯s chosen tree was an oak. The trunk was wide enough Nif could only just wrap her arms around it and the branches were close together, thinning out quickly so if the wolves could climb or they shifted back into men, they¡¯d find the branches sagging and breaking under their weight.

    The bark was the texture of choppy waves and it was no easy feat climbing with one arm out of commission. For a few hairy moments, Nif thought she¡¯d fall and end up breaking her neck, but finally, for what felt like long, long hours, but could only be a minute if that, Nif wedged herself into the branches of the young oak, and tried to embodied Sapha in all her feline glory.

    Hopefully no one could see her from the ground. Nif shivered, the sweat on her body turning icy without her jacket, but she couldn¡¯t imagine how much colder Oliver had to be feeling.

    For a few quiet moments, Nif listened to the wind creaking through the trees, the grumble of flames eating Baskerville¡¯s house, the hum of distant traffic. No sirens yet, but maybe they¡¯d turned them off to avoid alerting the pack? She watched blood pool around Stella¡¯s still wolf form like dark ink on a grey sheet of paper. The earth drank it in thirstily.

    What had happened to Stella to make her into what she¡¯d been? If Nif was right, it had to have happened when she was very young, perhaps before her brute of a father had left. Her human self was far too integrated with her shift form, something that only really happened when the person suffered trauma as a child. Was she abused by her father? Rescued by her brothers too late? Dougie had been a little younger than her when his mother had died and seemed to have mostly grown into a typically awkward, eager to please, teenage boy. In comparison, there had been something fundamentally broken in the young woman and Nif hated that she hadn¡¯t been able to help her. She¡¯d done the absolute opposite and there was no way she could ever forgive herself for it.

    ¡°Well, it looks like our little birdy thinks hiding in a tree will save her,¡± called out a voice. Baskerville stepped out into the clearing dressed in dark jeans and down jacket he¡¯d first worn at the university, moonlight turning his hair silver and washing out the colour of his skin. His eyes flashed gold as he stared up at her, grin a horrid slash across his face. Her heart sank as she realised her footprints in the iced leaf litter had led them straight to her.

    Three other forms materialised from the trees. Wolves. Dougie was easy to pick, almost prancing on the spot in barely contained excitement, his paws far too big for his lanky body. The top of Daz¡¯s head almost reached Baskerville¡¯s chin, shoulders thick with muscles and legs long and powerful. Oscar lingered a little behind, watchful, his fur the dappled colour of dead leaves across a sunny snowbank. It was Oscar who noticed Stella¡¯s body first.

    He made an odd, mewling sound and slunk towards her, body sinking into the ground in grief as if he already knew what he would find. The others didn¡¯t notice, even as Oscar gently nosed Stella¡¯s muzzle and her head remained frozen, the cold and her death stiffening her joints already. She could have been an ice sculpture, carved into the likeness of a wolf. When he threw back his head and howled, Nif¡¯s heart pulsed in sympathy, his call full of genuine grief and despair. The other brothers noticed then.

    ¡°Oscar?¡± Baskerville whispered, uncertainty and wariness like streaks of paint across his face. If Nif could understand Oscar¡¯s lamenting keen, then there was no doubt Baskerville and the others did too, without even seeing Stella¡¯s still body. Dougie snapped back to his human form in a flash, even as he barrelled across the clearing to Oscar, his fingers digging into the icy ground.

    ¡°Stella? No no no no¡­¡± his cries had the mellow edge of a wolf¡¯s cry, but he used his human arms to gather Stella¡¯s stiffening body into his arms. She was almost too big for him, but he gently lifted her off the broken branch she¡¯d been impaled on and tried to wake her in vain. Daz stayed where he was, by Baskerville¡¯s side, his fur bristling in building rage and when he looked up at Nif, her breath was stolen from her. He would kill her for the harm she¡¯d caused his family, she had no doubt.

    ¡°You witch!¡± Baskerville screamed, spit flying, and he searched the ground for something to throw at her before grabbing the trunk of the tree to shake it as if she was a ripe apple ready to be picked. The oak was too strong to wobble even the slightest. Nif searched the branches above her to see if she could somehow clamber up higher, but the branch she was on now was sagging beneath her weight, barely thicker than her own wrist. The only reason it hadn¡¯t snapped was because she¡¯d kept herself wedged close to the tree¡¯s trunk.

    ¡°We will peel off your skin! Bite off your fingers! Pluck out your eyes!¡± Baskerville reached for the nearest branch and hauled himself up. The branch held and Nif whimpered in horror as her death approached her.

    ¡°How could you!¡± Dougie was yelling now. Nif wasn¡¯t sure if it was directed at Stella or her. Nif reached up, grabbed a thin branch and yanked, hoping to pull it free to use as some kind of weapon but she almost rocked herself out of the tree.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming to get you, little bird, and I¡¯ll eat you up!¡± Baskerville was getting closer, his movement slow and steady, calculating each branch before shifting his weight. Every time he moved closer, he¡¯d stop and test the trunk, give it a shake, to see if he could cause her to fall into the maws of his waiting older brother.

    Nif uncurled her injured arm and forced it around the trunk, hugging the cold wood against her chest, and tried to snap free the smaller branch again. This time it cracked, peeling off from the rest of the tree, a flexible green thing with a switch of twigs at its tip.

    ¡°Stay back!¡± Nif shouted, her voice a shaking mess. In the distance there was shouting and the mournful call of a fire engine. The calvary had arrived. ¡°Over here! Help!¡± she shouted. ¡°Someone! Please! I¡¯m over here!¡± Instead her words were swallowed up by the cold.

    ¡°Shut up, you cow,¡± Baskerville snarled, close enough to reach up and grab her ankle.

    Nif whipped the branch across his face, the snap loud in the clearing, the tiny twigs lashing across his wide blue eyes, and he yelped. But as he lost his balance, his hand wrapped around Nif¡¯s leg and they fell together. They crashed through branches to thump in a heap at the base of the tree. It happened so quickly, Nif had no chance to protect her wrist and she suspected she blacked out for a moment.

    Slowly, as if climbing from a deep well, she made out the strong, lean form of Baskerville. He was looming over her, already on his feet and his hair only a little messy from his tumble, his body half twisted away from her as he argued with his older brother.

    ¡°I¡¯m staying,¡± Baskerville hissed at Daz. ¡°She¡¯s my prey. She killed Stella and it¡¯s my duty to pay her back twice over.¡±

    The shouting was drawing nearer. Nif tilted her head and saw Dougie trying to pick up his sister, but her wolf form was too big.

    Daz had shifted, his nude human body crouched low to the ground, not as if he was afraid, but rather he was a bare flick of an eye away from shifting back into his wolf body. Nif could see the edges of him flicker and wobble, as if he was a man made of mist and smoke.

    ¡°I¡¯m alpha, Bas. You¡¯ll do as I say and you¡¯ll do it now,¡± he growled. He never took his eyes off Baskerville, even as he directed his orders across the clearing to his other brothers. ¡°Oscar, Dougie, get out of here. Bas, you will keep them safe or so help me, I¡¯ll string you up and leave you for the birds.¡±

    Baskerville bristled, grinding his teeth, a hair''s breadth away from challenging his brother then and there.

    ¡°But brother, what about Stella?¡± Dougie¡¯s voice was wet, tear tracks trailing down his cheeks and gleaming in the moonlight like scars. Nif felt a stab of guilt briefly edging back the pain, fear and exhaustion. She hadn¡¯t meant to hurt anyone let alone kill them. Don¡¯t think about it. Nif pushed the thought down deep, locking away the feeling of Stella¡¯s sudden weight on her body, the rough splinters of the branch clutched tight in her hands, the hot splash of blood across her face. God, she was probably covered in Stella¡¯s blood! Think about it tomorrow, Nif. Not now. It can¡¯t be now.

    ¡°There¡¯s no more we can do for her, little brother,¡± Daz said softly. ¡°What¡¯s important now is getting you to safety. Now go on and shift. You¡¯ll be able to outrun them as a wolf and fight any who get in your way. Oscar, you take him. Run like the hounds from hell and don¡¯t stop until you reach the eastern den. You hear me?¡±

    Oscar bowed his shaggy lupine head and gently nudged at Dougie. Poor Dougie gave a mournful whine and shifted into his wolf form, licked Stella¡¯s cheek once and then followed his older brother into the woods.

    Both Daz and Baskerville watched them go and Nif took the opportunity to scramble to her feet using the oak as support. She couldn¡¯t run. How she was still able to stand was a miracle if she was being honest. But her lungs still worked.

    ¡°Help! Someone! Over here!¡±

    Baskerville growled and backhanded her across the face. Her cheek blazed with white heat and she didn¡¯t remember hitting the ground again, only curling up into a ball around her broken wrist, her good arm shielding her head.

    ¡°Shit, Bas. The pigs will have predator and winged shifters. They¡¯ll be here in a flash. We need to both go,¡± Daz hissed. For the first time, Nif saw fear in his eyes and it brought her a fierce joy. It would be only a fraction of the fear Morris had felt, but she knew it would be just the beginning for them.

    ¡°She knows who we are. Rip out her throat,¡± Daz ordered. ¡°And we¡¯ll be done with this mess.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting. They already know who you are,¡± Nif uttered, unable to hold back her gloating smirk. ¡°Remember? I called for help before I left the house. The police listened in when Stella told me about your dad skipping town and I saw Dougie¡¯s uniform. I even asked him what year he was in so they have enough information to track down who you are. They know. That¡¯s why they got here so quickly.¡±

    ¡°You fucking bitch!¡± Baskerville roared and was leaping for her before he¡¯d even finished shifting. He never hit her.

    A mass of brown fur and muscle flashed through the trees and blocked Baskerville¡¯s leap, using his bulk as a protective wall.

    ¡°Oliver?¡± Nif whispered. It was too dark to really see him clearly, but there was something in the way he moved that left her positive it was him. He was okay. The drugs must¡¯ve finally left his system and he¡¯d shifted into a creature full of protective fury.

    Baskerville yelped in surprise and scuttled back and Oliver glanced over his massive shoulder, canting his head in a way Nif recognised from her own mother.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Nif assured, then added. ¡°Well, mostly okay. I will be soon.¡±

    Oliver nodded and then faced off against the two wolf brothers. Overhead, a falcon cried out and an owl responded. The Calvary had finally arrived.

 Chapter 25

    It felt like eternity was packed into a minute as Nif watched, heart in her throat, as Oliver defended her with massive bats of his paws so powerful that one strike sent Baskerville flying into the oak she¡¯d climbed. The tree snapped under the force as if it was a tender young sapling. There was no sign at all of the shaky, drugged man she¡¯d found unconscious in the shed.

    Nif crawled to the edge of the clearing to avoid being accidentally trampled before her strength gave out and she collapsed against a tree trunk, its roots a painful mess beneath her bruised limbs.

    Oliver was a study in sheer power. While Daz was the quick force of a river, Oliver was an avalanche of rock and snow. Any blows he took, he shook off as if Daz was nothing but an annoying mosquito and returned his own with the strength of, well, a grizzly bear. The tide had turned and it was obvious to Nif that Oliver was pulling his blows, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. It was only a matter of time.

    Nif realised their mistake when she glanced over to Baskerville¡¯s crumpled form to see he was gone. Her head snapped around, hoping to spot him, and found herself facing a mouth of teeth, black lips peeled back, Baskerville silently laughing at her.

    If this was a story from one of the manuscripts Nif read, this would be the moment the heroine would transform into something fierce. Another wolf would be dramatic irony. Or a tiny bird with swift wings ¡ª a starling perhaps ¡ª to whip herself out of harm¡¯s way. Maybe even another bear to match the love interest. But this was Nif¡¯s story. There was no sudden ache in her joints nor the feeling of muscles and tendons twisting and stretching like taffy into a foreign and yet somehow familiar shape. She didn¡¯t turn into a crane like her father or a bear like her mother. Her body remained stubbornly and permanently in the same form she¡¯d been born with.

    She didn¡¯t unexpectedly shift, but that didn¡¯t mean Nif couldn¡¯t save herself.

    Gathering all her courage, Nif smacked Baskerville across the nose as hard as she could and screamed right in his ear, high-pitched and deafening. It was enough to startle the wolf shifter and give her time to scramble to her feet, adrenalin pumping hot through her veins.

    She had no weapons. Her wrist was well and truly broken. She had no powerful shift and a human fighting a wolf, even if she was at her peak, was never going to end well for her. Except she wasn¡¯t alone.

    The earth shook as Oliver slammed his front paws on the ground before standing at his full height, well over three metres, and roaring. Nif didn¡¯t need a weapon when she had Oliver.

    In response to Oliver¡¯s bellow, Daz growled, leaping back a few paces, the fur across his shoulders bristling. It appeared like he was teetering on the edge of fight or flight and flight may¡¯ve been about to win. Except there was a man in that wolf skin, and an older brother. He¡¯d distract them for as long as possible to allow Oscar and Dougie to get away.

    ¡°Oliver,¡± Nif shouted, his ears twisting in her direction. Good, he¡¯d at least heard her. Hopefully he wouldn¡¯t lash out at her.  Bear shifters had awful eyesight. She barreled towards him and Baskerville must¡¯ve realised if she made it to the bear shifter then there was no way he¡¯d ever get his hands ¡ª or paws ¡ª on her.

    Her outstretched fingers had just brushed against Oliver¡¯s dark fur when Baskerville sunk his teeth into her calf. She screamed and fell, only just catching herself from landing face first in icy mulch. The bite was like a hot poker jabbed deep into her leg and she instinctively tried to pull away. Nif had never been hit by lightning, but she imagined that was what it felt like, except it was all focused like a laser straight into her calf, drilling down to the bone. Her next scream was a gasping, breathless one. Everything began to go hazy and the next few things happened as if she was watching a film.

    Oliver reacted to her scream without mercy, twisting sharply and plunging all 400 kilos of muscle down on Baskerville¡¯s spine. The sound of bones breaking reminded Nif of the snapping of a tree branch, sudden and horrible, followed by a hundred kilos of popcorn in the microwave all popping at once. She rolled as best she could away from the violent tableau, Baskerville whining as he struggled to wiggle free from Oliver¡¯s bulk, but she mostly ended up curled limply, wondering if she¡¯d ever move again.

    The bear shifter made a deep, warning call in his throat that reverberated in her chest and she squinted, trying to figure out why the spark in Oliver¡¯s eyes made her queasy. He looked about ready to crush Baskerville¡¯s skull. Daz darted forward and then away again like a hummingbird, the once confident alpha male frightened and weary.

    ¡°Oliver, don¡¯t,¡± Nif whimpered and cried out when she put too much pressure on her injured arm. Whether it was her cry or words, Oliver left Baskerville and lumbered to Nif, standing over her protectively and growling low at the two wolves. And then, finally, the cavalry turned up.

    First it was the snarl and bark and screech of the first responders, their shift forms all claws and teeth. An owl with a massive wingspan swept in on silent wings, shining a high powered light from around its chest and the clearing lit up to reveal at least a half dozen massive dogs, a tiger, another big cat Nif couldn¡¯t quite name and a wolf wearing a police vest. They leapt and danced about in the light in coordinated movement, following whistles made from a hawk flying high above.

    In seconds Daz was pinned down, snapping and snarling, but he was restrained in such a way he¡¯d be unable to move as either man or wolf. Baskerville wasn¡¯t going anywhere, a shivering lump of fur really, and the wolf cop was speaking to him in sharp yips.

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    Then human hands were soothing over Nif¡¯s skin.

    ¡°Where are you hurt, NIf?¡± Oliver¡¯s voice was like a balm. Wait, when had he turned human? Where had he put her jacket? Was he naked out here again? Someone should get him some clothes before he froze to death. It felt as if it had dropped another five degrees. Nif couldn¡¯t even feel her fingers anymore. Or her nose. His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks as he tried to catch her gaze. His eyes were so intensely green. They¡¯d been green as a bear as well.

    ¡°Nif?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still here,¡± she murmured. In her periphery, she noticed human officers arriving. They shouted things, maybe to finish securing the area? She needed to tell them about the other brothers, but she saw another small force already preparing to track down Dougie and Oscar. A big white and brown beagle in a bulletproof vest had snout to ground, finding their trail.

    ¡°Good. You better stay here too,¡± Oliver whispered into her hair, breathing her scent in deeply. ¡°You saved me and it was about time I properly returned the favour.¡±

    ¡°Are you feeling okay? Are you hurt?¡± Nif asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Gods, I started to doze off in the brambles ¨C the cold must¡¯ve been getting to me ¨C but then you shouted and that cleared the last of the drugs from my system.¡± Oliver ran a hand shyly through his hair, cheeks blushing before suddenly blanching white in horror. ¡°Geez, Nif, your leg is a mess!¡± Oliver was stroking her cheek now, as if to sooth her pain, though Nif was pretty sure she was losing all sense of feeling now as the world began to drift away.

    ¡°And my arm,¡± Nif mumbled. ¡°I think it¡¯s broken.¡± She yelped, pulling away when he touched it, and suddenly everything was sharp and focussed like she¡¯d been jabbed with an electric prod. ¡°Hey! That hurts!¡±

    ¡°Sorry! Sorry!¡± He gave up trying to gather her into his arms ¨C and he was still naked! Don¡¯t look down, Nif! ¨C and instead shouted to a paramedic in a white and blue uniform. A familiar officer joined them, his resting angry face had twisted into one of immense relief.

    ¡°Ms Saito? Are you alright?¡± the officer asked. What was his name again? Nolan. That was it. He was carrying an ankle-length parker, which he tossed to Oliver, not even blinking at the other man¡¯s nudity. And why would he? They all existed in a world Nif could never be fully a part of.

    Suddenly Nif felt very tired.

    ¡°Would it be okay if I slept a little?¡± she mumbled, her eyes closing against the increasing throb in her head.

    ¡°In a little bit, okay?¡± Oliver conjoled. ¡°Soon as we¡¯re sure you¡¯re alright, we¡¯ll let you sleep for a week.¡±

    ¡°Sapha sleeps for whole weeks at a time. Does she know? Did someone tell her? Where¡¯s my phone?¡±

    ¡°Take it easy, Nif. She says she¡¯s broken her wrist and one of them savaged her leg pretty badly.¡± Was Oliver still talking to her? Did someone else have a broken wrist?

    Nif squinted up at him, studying the underside of his chin. He¡¯d not shaved in a while. She wasn¡¯t sure if she liked it or not. He was addressing his words to a paramedic who was studying something beyond her vision.

    ¡°She¡¯s losing a lot of blood,¡± Oliver added. Something shifted her leg and she screamed. A sharp, burning pain was pressed like a hot pin into her thigh and then a sweeping cold numbness. Was this what it was like to be enveloped by fairy floss?

    ¡°Ms Saito? Can you hear me?¡± A bright light shone into both eyes and Nif flinched. ¡°We need you to stay awake.¡±

    ¡°Can I ask her some questions?¡± Officer Nolan¡¯s voice was gruff, like gravel being crushed under a truck¡¯s tyres.

    ¡°Be quick,¡± the paramedic said. ¡°I¡¯ve given her some pain relief, but on top of the blood loss, she¡¯s exhausted. Soon she won¡¯t be making much sense at all I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    ¡°Nif? Open your eyes.¡± Oliver gently tapped her cheek. When had she closed her eyes again? ¡°Officer Nolan needs to ask you some things.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Ms Saito. We can go over things in more detail once you¡¯ve recovered, but we need to know how many of the Jones family were involved.¡±

    ¡°I killed her.¡± Nif tried to sit up, to see Stella¡¯s body, to make sure they were looking after the poor dead woman properly, but Oliver kept her pinned down and the paramedic clucked his tongue in mild annoyance even as he bound her arm tightly after another shot of pain killers. ¡°Stella. Her name is...was Stella. She wanted to eat me and I fell and she fell and I stabbed her. It was an accident.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Nif.¡± Oliver was so handsome in the moonlight, the bare skin peeking out from around his collar looked like blue marble. He could¡¯ve been a sculpture carved out of stone.

    ¡°Um, Baskerville. He bit me. He was the one who was sending the messages. Daz ¨C that¡¯s the alpha, he¡¯s over there ¨C said I was Baskerville¡¯s prey so I was his responsibility. I think they took turns picking their targets.¡±

    ¡°How many are there, Ms Saito?¡± Even though Officer Nolan looked angry, his voice was patient, gently fishing the answers from her.

    ¡°There¡¯s five of them all up. Four now because Stella¡¯s dead. I killed her. Will I go to prison?¡±

    ¡°No, Ms Saito. Now you mentioned Baskerville and Daz. We have them both in custody now so they¡¯ll never be able to hurt someone again. Who are the other two?¡±

    ¡°Oscar. He was the driver. He didn¡¯t really talk much. Daz told him to take Dougie away...he¡¯s the baby of the family.¡±

    ¡°We know about Dougie. He¡¯s the student from Anning High. Without your clue, we would¡¯ve never reached you in time. Where did the alpha tell Oscar to take Dougie?¡±

    ¡°The eastern den. I don¡¯t know where that is. Does that help?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ms Saito. You¡¯ve done well. You can rest now.¡±

    As if with permission, Nif felt her thoughts split apart like bubbles in a strong wind and the next few minutes (hours? days?) she remembered only fragments. The sharp surge of pain as they lifted her onto the stretcher. Oliver¡¯s cool hand in hers. Her father¡¯s tears and her mother¡¯s steady words of comfort. Sapha¡¯s warm, furry body against her neck, her purrs helping her sleep. Moira¡¯s never ending chatter that she rode like a surfer on a wave, never quite awake enough for the words to sink in.

    When she woke up properly for the first time, it was to snoring. A lot of snoring.

 Chapter 26

    ¡°This is what you¡¯ve got to look forward to,¡± Nif¡¯s father whispered.

    He was sitting by the hospital window, his white and silver hair a bird¡¯s nest and his signature grampa vest bundled under her mother¡¯s head, which rested heavily on his delicate shoulder. The snores were not just coming from her.

    Closer, by Nif¡¯s elbow, was the shaggy-haired head of Oliver, resting on the hospital bed and snoring as if he and her mother were competing.

    ¡°How long have I been asleep?¡¯ Nif asked her father, her fingers reaching out to stroke Oliver¡¯s messy hair.

    ¡°Almost three days,¡± her father admitted.

    ¡°Three days!¡± Her shriek woke her mother and Oliver, both jerking upright and to their feet, hands already shifting into paws before they realised where they were.

    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Oliver said. He shuffled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and Nif noticed he had a bandage wrapped around his throat and others peaked from beneath his loose knit jumper.

    ¡°Thank goodness! We thought you¡¯d sleep for the rest of the year!¡± Her mother smoothed Nif¡¯s hair from her face, oddly intimate for a woman who was only touchy feely in her shift form. ¡°You¡¯re at the St Charlotte¡¯s Private Hospital. Your boss insisted on only the best and as you should after all you¡¯ve been through.¡±

    Nif took stock of herself. Her wrist was in a cast, no surprise there, and the calf and knee of her right leg were both bangaged and strapped so she couldn¡¯t move it at all. She felt like a bruised peach. Her entire body felt sore and had the unpleasant sticky feeling of not having had a proper shower for a few days. Her teeth were fuzzy and her tongue felt huge in her mouth.

    She was in a private room, the walls a pale green, and along one wall were vases full of bright blooms: slightly droopy sun flowers, rainbow gerberas, pale pink roses. There was the slight floral scent peeking from beneath the heavy duty smell of hospital cleaners.

    ¡°Can I have some water?¡± Nif asked and all three leapt to their feet to do her bidding. Her father got to her first, clearly more awake than the other two.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be right as rain in a few days,¡± her dad said. ¡°Your wrist is broken in two different places and they had to perform surgery to realign everything properly, but it should heal fine. Your calf needed over a hundred stitches but thankfully no nerve damage and your knee is sprained so you won¡¯t be walking on it for at least six weeks. You¡¯re very lucky, actually. The wounds across your chest ¨C¡± He had to be referring to the claw marks Stella had left. ¡°They¡¯re fairly shallow and only required a few stitches. You¡¯ve got some deep bone bruising in your face and a few teeth are a little loose, but the doctor said to just be careful what you eat for the next few weeks and they should be fine.¡±

    Nif prodded gently at her cheek and wince, the whole area flaring white hot.

    ¡°Oww.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why you don¡¯t prod it! Seriously, Nif,¡± her mother reprimanded, but Nif recognised the relief in her mother¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Did they catch them all?¡± Stella¡¯s still body and Dougie¡¯s howl as he realised his big sister was dead would haunt Nif¡¯s dreams for some time to come.

    ¡°Yeah, they did, Nifty-Nif¡± her dad said. ¡°The two youngest ¨C¡±

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    ¡°Dougie and Oscar,¡± Nif interjected.

    ¡°Well, they handed themselves in after the two older brothers, Baskerville and Daz, were taken into custody.¡±

    ¡°Baskerville is pretty messed up,¡± Oliver said, somehow managing to look both smug and guilty. ¡°He may never walk again.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Nif spat. ¡°He deserves it after what he did to Morris and the others. He should live with the reminder of what he¡¯s done for the rest of his life.¡±

    No one in the room could disagree.

    ¡°But what about Dougie?¡± I asked. ¡°He¡¯s just a kid really. I¡¯m not sure if he really had a chance to be anything other than what his brothers wanted him to be. I can¡¯t help imagining him being a sweet kid if he¡¯d grown up somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°There will be a trial for them all, but I suspect he¡¯d be charged as a juvenile,¡± her mum explained and hesitated. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t feel too much sympathy, dear, as I doubt he¡¯d have any for you. You did kill his sister. I¡¯d feel much better if he was locked up with the rest of his brothers.¡±

    ¡°Mum! That¡¯s awful!¡±

    The bear-shifter sniffed and shrugged. ¡°After what they all did to you and those poor others, they should be locked up forever, no excuses.¡±

    ¡°The courts will decide on appropriate punishments,¡± her father said and began to usher her mother out the door. ¡°We¡¯ll leave you be for a bit. I¡¯m sure you want to have a chat with this young man without your parents hovering. Sapha says ¡®hi¡¯ and she¡¯ll probably sneak in after hours to see you. Your other friends will be by soon, too. They left all the flowers.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re tired of publishing, you could open a florist!¡± Oliver whispered.

    ¡°Thanks, Mum and Dad.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll just be trying to swallow down what they pass for food at the hospital canteen.¡± Her mother¡¯s face was twisted into strong distaste.

    ¡°You could try To Bean or Not to Bean? They¡¯re not far from the hospital and you could bring me back a muffin!¡±

    Her mother was reluctant, not wanting to go too far, but her dad nodded eagerly.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be good to get some fresh air. Come on, dear. Let¡¯s leave these two love birds to themselves for a bit.¡±

    After her parents left, Nif glanced out the window ¨C blue skies that promised a cold night ¨C, the floor ¨C speckled brown and white like a bird¡¯s egg ¨C, and her blanket ¨C the weave chunky yet soft between her fingers. She could feel Oliver¡¯s gaze on her, heavy like the world, and finally their eyes met. All the air was sucked out of her lungs. Oliver was smiling. It was soft, sweet and vulnerable. The kind of smile a child would give when they receive a gift from Saint Nicholaus when they¡¯ve been told he doesn¡¯t exist. Hopeful and relieved. He was also crying, just as softly to match the trembling of his curved lips. Tears gathering at the corners of his mouth to drop, suddenly, to pool on the bed spread.

    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s all this?¡± Nif asked gently. Her hand reached for his and he grabbed her like a lifeline.

    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea how relieved I am that you¡¯re okay, Jennifer.¡±

    ¡°Hey, we¡¯re friends, so call me Nif.¡± She pulled a face and he chuckled.

    ¡°I kind of hope we¡¯re more than friends.¡± He glanced up at her through his eyelashes, impossibly shy for someone who could shift into a bear and rip down a wall. His eyes were more blue than the sky outside.

    ¡°We¡¯ve the time to find out,¡± Nif replied, and for the first time in weeks ¨C months, years ¨C Nif wasn¡¯t worried about what the future may bring. She was excited, eager to get out of bed and face whatever was thrown at her. Confident in herself and capable of a love so big she felt it could swallow the universe.

    ¡°I can¡¯t shift,¡± Nif said, not really a warning but a statement. Voicing a heavy truth rather than the shameful uncertainty she¡¯d carried all her life. ¡°If the last few days didn¡¯t do it, I can¡¯t imagine any other trauma triggering the change.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Oliver brushed his lips over the back of her hand and tingles of warmth shot up through her arm. ¡°You¡¯re perfect just as you are. I love how you suck on pencils rather than chewing and the way you eat muffins from the bottom up. I love how you refuse to accept the status quo and will fight to the actual death to save those you care about.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a dork,¡± Nif interrupted and pulled him into a kiss. It was awkward. First kisses always were, but once they worked out the angle for their noses and Oliver had adjusted his weight so he wasn¡¯t pulling at any of the tubes in Nif¡¯s arm, the kiss was perfect. A warm ember sparked to full flame in Nif¡¯s chest and the heart monitor picked up its pace, announcing to all and sundry that Nif was well and truly in love.

 Epilogue

    Two years later

    ¡°There are no pens!¡± Jemina wailed. The ex-intern and now junior editor dug her fingers into her hair, messing with the braids she¡¯d so carefully woven only an hour before. When she was nervous she plaited hair, usually her own, but Nif had had the pleasure of her anxiety this time as well and was secretly quite pleased with how her own usually dead straight hair was woven into a complicated knot.

    ¡°What are you talking about? There are plenty of pens,¡± Nif answered, digging into her own pockets and pulling out three alone.

    ¡°But Mr Salem insists he¡¯ll only sign with a Pilot G2 Premium! I don¡¯t even know what that is! I¡¯m assuming it¡¯s a pen, but what if it isn¡¯t? Are the shops still open?¡± Before poor Jemina could dash out into the cold night ¨C and if her knee was anything to go by it would be snowing by the end of the night ¨C Nif grabbed her by the shoulders and took exaggerated deep breaths until Jemina copied her. The colour returned to her cheeks and Nif smiled.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go speak with his majesty regarding the pens. I need you to go check the display by the entrance and then tell the manager to allow people in.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll go do that right now.¡± Jemina dashed off.

    All this fuss over just a book, but Nif was thriving on the bustle and noise. They¡¯d chosen a small indie bookstore for the book launch because both Nif and Oliver had fallen in love with the place as soon as they¡¯d stepped inside. It had been on their first official date after the Baskerville Murders, a date that was incredibly magical because of how normal it was. Though Cup and Chaucer was by no means a normal bookshop.

    The place was a warren. The passageways between shelves were narrow and winding, the sections were seemingly chaotic but on that first date when Nif had attempted to find Oliver¡¯s books on a lark, they¡¯d discovered that instead of the shop¡¯s inventory being ordered alphabetically, the books were clumped together by similarities. What better way to find something new and exciting than to find a favourite and see what it had been paired next to? The shelves were also on wheels so the layout was never the same each time they visited.

    So when it came time to pick Oliver¡¯s book launch venue, they¡¯d both thought of this place. The owners were a young couple who were a matched shift pair, both ravens, and had been delighted to host. They¡¯d moved the bookshelves back to open up a space to squeeze in a hundred people.

    ¡°What¡¯s all this about pens?¡± Nif asked once she¡¯d found Oliver.

    Oliver glanced up at her voice from where he was crouched over his signing desk, rearranging the small stack of books over and over again and mostly just making a mess.

    ¡°I need a G2. They don¡¯t smudge and other pens make my hand cramp.¡±

    ¡°Do you really need one or are you just trying to put off the launch?¡± Nif tugged him away from the table and started straightening his hair.

    ¡°No, well, not really. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m so nervous. It¡¯s not like this is my first book or anything. I¡¯ve written how many now?¡±

    ¡°Enough not to be so stressed. It¡¯ll be okay. All your die hard fans will be there. I swear, they seem to get younger every time.¡± Nif made a face and Oliver snorted.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only eyes for you so you don¡¯t need to worry about me running off with a younger fan.¡± He exhaled sharply. ¡°I¡¯ve not had a chance to ask, but how¡¯re you doing?¡±

    Nif didn¡¯t need to ask what he meant. The trials of Baskerville and his siblings had been all anyone had been talking about for weeks. Nif and her team had done their best to ignore the chatter. They¡¯d worked hard finalising Oliver¡¯s newest book while attending the first of many script readings for the Fragmented Chronicles television series, scheduled for release in time for next winter Solstice.

    Today the wolf family¡¯s final verdicts had been announced.

    ¡°You¡¯d think I¡¯d be glad it¡¯s all over,¡± Nif admitted. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t bring Morris and the others back.¡±

    The two older brothers, Daz and Baskerville, had received life sentences, Oscar 25 years and Dougie was charged as a juvenile and his sentence remained undisclosed. Initially Nif had been angry. The punishments weren¡¯t nearly enough for all the harm the family had caused, but as the trials had progressed, the backgrounds of Dougie and Stella had come to light. Daz and Bas were just as monstrous as their father, creating almost a cult and isolating their younger siblings. While the older brothers would spend all or a good portion of their lives locked up, Nif was glad Dougie would have the chance to have a real life.

    ¡°Morris would¡¯ve been here tonight, you know,¡± Oliver said, looking out over the gathering crowd. ¡°He¡¯d have been front of the line to get his book signed, wearing one of his suits and a flower in his hat.¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°He¡¯d have been so proud,¡± Nif murmured.

    ¡°I wrote this book for him,¡± Oliver admitted. ¡°For Moira, Josephine and Phillipa, Clint. You. All of you mean the world to me. I only hope everyone likes it.¡±

    Nif could tell that by everyone he meant the support group.

    ¡°They will. Now come on, worry wart. Let¡¯s get you a drink and then we¡¯ll prove how wrong you are to be stressing over this. Don¡¯t forget, you had an awesome editor working with you.¡± Nif gestured to herself. ¡°And a pretty rad team.¡±

    Jemina took that moment to dart towards them ¨C the woman didn¡¯t ever do anything at a slow pace ¨C and she shoved a muffin into Oliver¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Eat that. Clare¡¯s bringing you your damn gel pens from the office. She¡¯ll be here soon with her girlfriend.¡±

    ¡°Moira said she had to work though,¡± Oliver said from around the mouthful of muffin followed by a swig of water.

    ¡°She said the essays can wait one more day to be marked,¡± Nif said. ¡°Though you better thank her because I¡¯m pretty sure she pulled a muscle saying that.¡±

    ¡°I was going to say that doesn¡¯t sound like Moira. She¡¯s working too hard.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll get into the swing of things once she realises they¡¯re not going to take it all back.¡±

    Moira had gotten one of the rare, elusive teaching positions at a rival university and kept asking to be pinched to see if she was dreaming. It had meant they¡¯d not seen her much over the last few months as she went above and beyond to prove to the university that they¡¯d not made a mistake hiring a partial-shifter. Nif imagined a time not too far off when being a shifter, non-shifter or partial shifter didn¡¯t affect how people saw you.

    She glanced over to the signing table. Behind it was a massive painting of the sun. Like always, Nif¡¯s heart skipped a painful beat. Morris¡¯s second death anniversary had only just passed and he rested on top of her thoughts more frequently than usual. Morris would¡¯ve been so pleased to see how far their little support group had come.

    The room slowly filled with Oliver¡¯s fans and he shuffled himself behind a bookshelf, hiding his big frame with a shyness Nif found adorable.

    ¡°We¡¯ve been through rougher things than this,¡± Nif cajoled. ¡°Just imagine the audience is naked.¡±

    ¡°How is that meant to help?¡± he asked, bemused, but he was smiling down at her, the crowd momentarily forgotten.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got this,¡± Nif insisted.

    Clare arrived to pass off Oliver¡¯s pen and he clutched it like a talisman. Moira waved enthusiastically from her spot near the snack table, her fierce joy causing her ears to shift into something fluffy and pointy. She almost took out Leon¡¯s eye as she swung her arm above her head, Nif¡¯s tall boss ducking away smoothly even as he radiated a certain smugness. He had no doubts about Oliver¡¯s writing and Nif gave him a fond little smile when his eyes met hers. He mimed giving her a round of applause.

    Fellow Never Archives author and last year¡¯s Thornton science fiction award winner Sarah Thompson took the stage and the crowd buzzed with excitement.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we all were expecting another Fragmented Chronicles book,¡± Sarah began in her loud, booming voice. ¡°But I can¡¯t begin to tell you how delighted I was to get a first reader¡¯s copy of Weaving Snow. You lot are in for a treat! I instantly fell in love with the sassy Morgana Snow. She¡¯s a character that¡¯s a meeting place for conflicting opposites. She¡¯s fiercely strong and yet oddly vulnerable. A character who grows and learns and never stops fighting. What I personally liked the most was how she navigates a magical world without magic. She hasn¡¯t a drop. Morgana takes on monsters and evil wizards and supernatural creatures and does it all with panache and not a speck of magic. It''s a thought-provoking meditation on what it means to be different and how we can find our own path in a world that doesn''t always accept us for who we are. You¡¯re going to love it. But we all know that you¡¯re here for the author himself. May I introduce Cliff Salem!"

    Oliver squeezed Nif¡¯s hand before he took a deep breath and stepped out to greet his fans.

    ¡°Thank you all for coming out tonight,¡± Oliver began and Nif felt she could burst with pride as everyone cheered. Oliver waited for the applause to die down but his neck flushed when the clapping didn¡¯t look like it would wrap up by itself.

    Sarah, the author Nif had found and then given up to Charlotte, was a force to be reckoned with and cheerfully told everyone to quiet down.

    ¡°Yes, well, thank you.¡± Oliver cleared his throat. ¡°Weaving Snow has been near and dear to my heart for what feels like forever.¡±

    Nif knew the very moment Oliver had begun writing Weaving Snow. After their ordeal in the woods, Oliver had refused to leave her side, at first by Nif¡¯s hospital bed and then (when she was released) on her couch beside a somewhat amused Sapha. He¡¯d read aloud as his fingers typed out each sentence, barely a pause between chapters, as if the story had been begging to be told.

    ¡°I¡¯m often asked where I get my ideas from, as if I can pluck them off a grocery shelf full formed, but Morgana Snow materialised, piecemeal, from the people I love.¡± He searched the crowd and shot Moira a big grin. ¡°Moira, you gave her your determination. Clint, your steadiness.¡± The two men exchanged a nod. ¡°Josephine, she has your kindness and Phillipa, your fierceness.¡± Josephine flushed pink and Phillipa gave a short gleeful huff.

    Oliver paused before continuing softly. ¡°Morris, she has your hope. Hope for something more.¡±

    Oliver¡¯s eyes met Nif¡¯s and the room fell away until it was just the two of them. ¡°And Jennifer,¡± he said, her full name rumbling up deep from his chest. ¡°Morgana has your heart. Just like you have mine.¡± Nif blinked away the heaviness in her eyes, her cheeks aching from her smile. ¡°Thank you for being ¡­ you.¡±

    And Nif realised, suddenly, that the ever constant pressure inside her body of not being good enough, not being whole, not being like everyone else, had disappeared. It had been absent for some time, slowly easing with her friendships with the support group, as she¡¯d proven herself at work, when she¡¯d fought for her and Oliver¡¯s life and won. Nif wouldn¡¯t change anything in her life for the ability to shift. She was just fine the way she was.