Shifting

Shifting Page 50

“Oh. Who?” The house, Bridger’s house, had been silent for the two days I’d been holed up in the guest room.

“They left as soon as the bodies were disposed of. While you were still bunking in the basement.”

“I would have liked to meet them. To thank them.”

“You can’t meet them, Maggie.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t want you to know who they are. Only Shifters know other Shifters.”

“But I am a Shifter, Bridger. Why didn’t you tell your dad?”

He slowly raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I didn’t tell him?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “When I was lying down in the basement, I could hear your conversation,” I admitted, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

“Huh. You could hear our conversation through a soundproof door?”

I shrugged. “I guess I have good hearing.”

“Good hearing? You’re such a liar,” he said with a laugh.

“But seriously—why didn’t you tell your dad about me? Is it because I’m a mirror? Because my father was a Skinwalker? Would he think I was evil if he knew?”

Bridger’s arms tightened around me. “No! Who your parents are doesn’t make you good or evil. It’s how you choose to live your life that does.”

“But”—I pulled back and looked right into his eyes—“if my mom was a Shifter, why didn’t you guys know her? How did you lose track of her? And me?”

“Every once in a while, a Shifter goes rogue and severs all ties with us. Maybe that’s what happened. Or—” Doubt filled his eyes and he looked away from me.

“Or what? Tell me. I have a right to know,” I said, putting my hand on Bridger’s cheek and turning his face so he had to look at me again.

He took a deep breath and continued. “If a Shifter joins the Walkers through marriage, we sever all ties and erase the Shifter from our records—like they never existed. Maybe that’s what happened to your mom—she fell in love with a Walker, got married, and got erased. But she must have loved you a lot, Maggie, because somehow she got you away from them—probably died for it. And because of that, you survived. Love is a pretty powerful thing.”

I rested my head back on his chest and stared unseeing at the deserted mine. For the first time in my life I felt close to my mother, a woman I never knew.

“One day my father will know the truth about you,” Bridger said, tilting my chin up so he could look at me.

“And then he won’t care that you … like … me so much?” I asked.

The corners of Bridger’s mouth turned up. “I don’t like you Maggie. I am in love with you. Madly!”

A grin flickered across my face. “I do believe I am in the right ‘social class’ to be your girlfriend.”

Bridger kissed my forehead. “Nothing can keep us apart.”

Nothing? I hoped that was true. “The Walkers think I’m dead, right?” He nodded. “What happens when they find out I’m not?”

He glanced at the mine shaft. “Hopefully that will never happen. But now that you’re with us—the Shifters—they’ll think twice about coming after you. Before, when you were alone, you were a prime target.”

I stepped out of the safe embrace of his arms and looked down into the depths of the mine shaft again, staring at the impenetrable blackness. Without thinking, I willed my eyes to be those of a cat, made them change, expand, improve, and then, like a movie coming suddenly into focus, the bottom of the mine shaft blurred into view. Dark shapes against darker masses solidified into grotesquely twisted and broken animals.

A gasping intake of breath startled me, and my eyes jerked from the shaft to Bridger. He scrambled away backward, as if I were a demon, and lost his footing. Orange dust swirled as he fell heavily to the ground. I burst out laughing. I’d never seen him trip before—didn’t think it was possible.

Slowly, not taking his eyes from mine, he stood and brushed off his pants. A smile crept over his startled face.

“You are definitely a mirror! You have the eyes of a freaking cat,” he said, walking back to my side. “But you’re my cat.” He framed my face with his hands and peered down into my eyes. “Even if I’m a bird of prey.” Then he kissed me.

EPILOGUE

The house felt like a place from my distant past. I hadn’t been back since the night Bridger had shot me, four days ago, yet everything seemed different, as if in a matter of days I’d outgrown the place.

Bridger turned off the SUV and I pressed my nose to the window, studying the familiar orange-and-pink-framed skyline—mountains, not skyscrapers—before getting out. As my door slammed shut, Mrs. Carpenter’s front door opened.

“Is that you, Maggie Mae?” a deep voice called. I walked toward the front porch where Mr. Petersen stood with his arms folded across his chest. As I approached he smiled and opened his arms and something deep inside of me seemed to wake up. I ran to him and threw my arms around his chest, thinking this must be how it felt to be reunited with a family member after a long time away. He hugged me back, extra tight, and then held me at arm’s length. “I think you’ve grown since I saw you last,” he said, eyes twinkling. His hands tightened on my shoulders. “You made it, kiddo. Survived the hardest part of your life and lived to tell!”

My eyes grew round and I wondered how he could possibly know this. “Wait … what do you mean?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the near-panic in my voice.

“High school,” he said with a chuckle. I smiled and laughed a weak laugh. The gravel crunched behind me and Bridger walked slowly up the porch steps. “Bridger O’Connell,” Mr. Petersen said, holding his hand out to Bridger. Bridger shook his hand. “Nice to see you, son.”

“You, too,” Bridger said.

“There’s someone inside dying to see you,” Mr. Petersen said, looking at me again. “Not literally dying, mind you, but she heard the car on the gravel and insisted I get you inside as soon as possible.” Mr. Petersen looked down his nose at me, the same stern look he’d give when he found out I’d been caught out on the streets nude.

And all of a sudden I couldn’t take a step forward. I’d talked to Mrs. Carpenter every day that she’d been in the hospital—called her from the phone in the O’Connells’ guest room—but talking wasn’t the same as seeing her. I couldn’t help but worry that she’d blame me for everything that had happened—like I blamed myself. What if she hated me?

Bridger looped his arm around my shoulder and put his lips on my ear. “Stop worrying,” he said quietly. “She’s as eager to see you as you are to see her.”

I relaxed a bit and walked through the front door.

“Maggie Mae,” Mrs. Carpenter said with a warm smile on her thin face. “How are you, dear?” She lay on a reclined hospital bed in the living room, an IV tube leading to a purple vein in the back of her frail hand.

“I’m good,” I answered. She held a hand out to me and I crossed the room and grabbed it, gently squeezing. “How are you?”

“Better than a woman my age with a broken hip should be. They put a couple of pins in there and now I can practically walk,” she said with a smile.

“Not yet, Mother,” Mr. Petersen warned in his no-nonsense voice.

Looking around, I felt a sudden pang of homesickness. Things had been put back to normal, thanks to Mr. Petersen—the hole in the ceiling plastered and painted over, the chunks of ceiling swept up off the floor, as if none of it had ever happened.

“John, I need a word with Maggie Mae,” Mrs. Carpenter said. “Why don’t you go outside and talk to Bridger for a while?”

I looked out the window. Bridger sat on the porch swing, face pointed toward the setting sun, hair glinting black and gold. Mr. Petersen scowled at his mother but said, “Whatever you say.”

When the front door shut behind him, Mrs. Carpenter turned to me. “I can see your plans written all over your face,” she said with a sad smile.

Tears seeped into my eyes and I nodded. “It’s what’s best,” I explained, wiping my tears away.

“I know it is. Funny thing about doing what’s right—it’s always the harder road to follow. But you already know that.” She sighed. “Now tell me, are you and that O’Connell boy finally going steady?”

I blushed and nodded, grinning.

“It’s about time! I knew the moment I saw him look at you that there were sparks there—that first day of school.” She chuckled. “He’s a fine-looking boy, and noble, out there sitting on the swing so that you and I can have a moment alone.”

“Mrs. Carpenter?” I hung my head and swayed against a sudden surge of guilt that racked me from my scalp to my toes. “I need to tell you something.”

“Well, tell away. I’m not going anywhere.”

I looked up into her encouraging, forgiving face. “I broke the ring of protection. I didn’t mean to—I thought if I moved it closer to your house you’d be safe.” Miserable with guilt, I looked away again and stared down at my shoes. “It was my fault you broke your hip, my fault Duke died and Shash ran away. And I am so, so sorry.”

“Maggie?” I looked up at her, blinking against a sheen of tears. “You did nothing wrong. Those creatures—have you figured out what they are?”

I nodded and bit my lip.

“Whatever they are—and I don’t want to know the details—they acted of their own will. You had no hand in what happened. The most important thing—are you safe?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Something thumped on the front porch and nails scratched the front door. My eyes met Mrs. Carpenter’s fear-filled eyes and a silent question passed between us. Are they back already? I turned and faced the front door.