Reaching across the table, Dante took my hand in his. “Kyann, I’m not going to say you’re strong enough to handle anything, but look at how far you’ve come. If you did want to ask your mother about it, I’m pretty sure she couldn’t tell you anything so bad it would shake you more than you already have been. But either way, I think it’s good you know. You needed to find out what made you wall off your powers. A demonic heritage doesn’t necessarily mean automatic chaos. And now you have control over that side of yourself, instead of being at its mercy.” He squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back, then took another bread stick. “Yeah, I’m grateful for what Devon’s done for me, although it’s been hard. He’s helped me hone my physical strength, and he’s helped me accept the side of me that I’ve always been terrified of.” I paused, then added, “To be honest, right now the person I’m most frightened of is Ezerian. He’s a demon lord. I don’t think being his daughter’s going to garner me any special dispensation in case he should find out that I’m spying on him.”
At that moment, the waiter brought over our pizza and set it in the center of the table, along with a shaker of parmesan. He handed me a spatula, although the pie had been sliced, and then excused himself after a warning that the food was extremely hot.
I served myself a slice, and then offered Dante the spatula. He took a slice from the olive-side, and we sat in a comfortable silence as we ate. I was hungrier than I thought and wolfed down the first slice, but then—after taking another—I slowed down and savored the tastes.
“So, how is Tilly?” I asked.
Aunt Tilly—actually his great-aunt—was a wonderful old matriarch of Dante’s family, and the only one who kept contact with him. He’d been excommunicated from the Pack many years before, but his aunt was powerful enough in her standing that she could fraternize with him and nobody—not even Dante’s father—could say a word.
“She’s doing okay. We found her a new doctor, and by that I mean I found her a new doctor, who’s been able to counter some of her arthritis, and he’s got her back in shape enough that she can shift forms again without much pain. It’s devastating when the body interferes with something so tied to your nature.”
That was a shocker. “I didn’t even know she was having problems,” I said.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything until we knew what was going on. Tilly was having trouble shifting form, and it really screwed with her sense of self. Her doctor kept saying that it was just nerves, or anxiety. We finally found one who ran a battery of tests and discovered that she’s got the beginnings of Wulfine Arthritis, an arthritis specific to canine shifters. There are medications to counter it, and so she’s doing better now.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. “You’d think her primary doctor would have figured that out. Isn’t he a specialist in shifter health?”
“You’d think, but apparently, not so much. He was the good ole boy type, you know—buck up, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, if you’re not feeling well it’s probably anxiety so do something to take your mind off of it. Needless to say, he’s no longer treating her. In fact, she told me that once the Elders found out, they dismissed him from treating anybody inside the Pack. He wasn’t excommunicated, but he was stripped of his title, and he’s never allowed to treat anyone again, to hold any office, or to attend Pack meetings.”
I grimaced. “Isn’t that going to mean a lonely life for him?”
“Yeah,” Dante said. “If he’s smart, he’ll move out of the Pack on his own. This kind of punishment’s known as societal shunning. His neighbors will say hello, he’ll be waited on in stores, he’ll be allowed to go to restaurants, shows, all the normal activities, but nobody will ever really talk to him or his family again. His wife won’t be invited to her friends for coffee, they won’t be extended private dinner invitations. Without his medical license, he won’t be able to work. I think he’s old enough to retire, so he’s going to have to step aside. It’s hard enough when you’re younger, but he and his wife are older, and this will turn their lives upside down. I think they have a daughter somewhere, so they might want to move away to be near her.”
I understood why Dante’s old Pack might do that, but it seemed harsh. And yet, if he wasn’t doing his job right, and if he refused to listen to anybody, I could see why it was enacted. But the Pack seemed harsh on members who stepped outside the lines, and I found myself grateful that I wasn’t a shifter. At least, not a wolf shifter.
“Well, I’m glad Tilly found the treatment she needed. I know not being able to shift is a huge problem for shifters.” I paused, then asked, “Tell me, if you’re allowed, what happens when a shifter truly is too old to shift? Do they just live out the rest of their lives as human?”
He shook his head. “Not always—and since I’m pariah, I can say anything I want. Usually, when you reach that period in your life, you’re given the choice: receive assistance in shifting, and live the rest of your life in your alt form, or live the rest of your life in human form.”
“What choice to your people usually make?”
He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, but most that I know—if they have a spouse, they decide together. I think it’s about half and half. Life in our animal forms can be harsh when you’re old. Most Packs have a private sanctuary that they keep hidden. Older shifters can go there and live out the end years in wolf form, being taken care of by younger Pack members. They get fed, they’re brushed, they have comfortable beds to sleep in, and they’re watched over until the end. Then, if they’re in more pain than they can handle, they’re gently guided over the threshold.”
“Euthanized?” I was surprised to hear that, though I wasn’t sure why.
“Yeah, you could say that. It’s done in a ritual, with family and friends around. It’s not nearly as terrible as it sounds. I think a lot of people would hope for such an end—family and friends there to say goodbye as you leave this earth.” Dante chose another slice of pizza. “When I was a young pup, I went to a Threshold Ceremony, as it’s called. It was beautiful and sad, and I remember hoping that I’d be in the company of loved ones at the end.”
He sighed, then added, “But now, there’s no chance that will happen. Not once you’re excommunicated.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I imagine though, you’ll have friends around you, at the least. I’ll be there, if I can—if I’m still alive.”
He gave one of those half-shrugs, half laughs. “Thanks, Kyann. I imagine you’ll outlive me. Demons are a lot longer-lived than shifters.”
We sat there, quietly, as outside the rain poured and the lightning crashed. I tried to keep my mind off of subjects like dying, but some days, all efforts were in vain, and confrontations with mortality refused to be ignored.
CHAPTER SIX
We finally moved on to brighter subjects, and then headed back to the office to gather our cars. The game hadn’t started, but traffic at least somewhat lighter. I gave Dante a hug before heading home. As I approached my house, I tried to shake off the oddness of the day.
Penn was waiting, dinner on the table.
“Crap, I forgot to tell you, Dante and I decided to catch up over dinner because traffic was a nightmare, given the game.” I grimaced, staring at the spread on the table.
“The food’s cold,” Penn said. She sounded irritated and I didn’t blame her. We always checked in when we thought we were going to be eating together. It was rude not to. And it was my responsibility since I was the one who decided to eat out.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Did you eat yet?”
