“I don’t know. I was able to help LaFleur some, early on. But shifting won’t be the same with skinwalkers. They aren’t moon-called. They aren’t forced into their beasts. With them it’s an effort of will. They can and do shift anytime, anywhere, into anything if they have sufficient DNA for the form they want. The only similarity FireWind has mentioned is the mass-to-mass ratio and he hinted at the possibility that it might be easier to shift during the full moon.”
Occam dialed Rick, but the call went to voice mail.
FireWind opened one doggy eye, looked at Occam, and whined softly.
“Don’t change shape,” Occam warned, “even when you start to feel better. We’re in the null room. I don’t know what skinwalker magics,death and decay, and a null working might result in. You could end up with three legs and a wing.”
FireWind closed his eyes and shivered with what looked like pain.
Occam shifted his eyes to me. They were glowing softly yellow, which I found odd since we were in a null room. “What’s wrong with your tree?” he asked.
I looked down at the potted plant, which I was still holding, and said, “It didn’t like thedeath and decayenergies.”
“Join the club.” Occam pulled his chair closer to mine and sat. He put the pot on the floor, took my hands, and absentmindedly massaged my cold fingers as we watched FireWind. “I really shoulda brought in that bag of sandwiches.”
“How can you stand the stench enough to want to eat?”
He shrugged. “Cat.”
***
Nearly an hour later FireWind’s breathing had evened out and slowed to what looked like normal for a big dog. Occam was satisfied with FireWind’s pupils and his heart rate, and he was awake and no longer whining in pain, so that seemed good. But he looked exhausted and his limbs were quivering as if he’d been hit with an electric current.
“You ready to change shape, boss man?” Occam asked him. FireWind looked at the door. Occam tapped and T. Laine opened it, one hand moving unconsciously in aseeingworking.
“Clear,” she said.
Occam carried the St. Bernard outside, into the shadows, where he laid the big dog on the grass. Curious, not knowing what to expect, I followed. FireWind closed his eyes, and... things happened. A cloud of glowing grayish mist seemed to lift from his furry coat and swirled slowly around him. The mist was shot through with darker bits of something, but it was hard to see, impossible to focus on. It had to be some kind of magical energies. I stuck my fingers into the Soulwood soil, but that didn’t help me any. Occam had no trouble seeing the magics, however, his eyes roving over FireWind and inspecting the air around him.
I heard a sharp snap that echoed off the nearby house. FireWind, draped in shadows and hidden by the silver mist, panted again. He began to re-form out of the St. Bernard. His bones cracked and snapped and he whined and grunted, breathing faster, though, despite the snapping bones, the sounds didn’t sound like agony, more like hard exertion. However, it looked excruciating. FireWind had been a skinwalker for around ahundred seventy years, and he had shifted shape all that time. I wanted to turn away because it was too horrible to watch. But it was a teaching and a learning and something I needed to see, even though it hurt.
Eventually, after a good ten minutes, FireWind was human, on the ground in the fetal position, naked, his black hair like a veil over him. He looked skinnier than he had before, the muscles clearly defined, his cheeks and jaw and prominent nose sharp in a spare face.Naked glory.
“Food,” he whispered.
Occam said, “Nell brought sandwiches. Roast beef okay?”
“Not as good as bison roasted over a fire at night, but I’ll take it,” FireWind said, beginning to uncurl. I left for the house, feeling as if I had just witnessed something spiritual and wonderful and terrifying and maybe even holy—though it was a very different form of holy from that preached by the church.
Back inside, I told T. Laine the boss was human, opened the foot-long roast beef sandwich, and spread the paper wrapping on the island countertop. I poured a glass of water, which I placed by the sandwich. It was busywork while I considered what I’d seen. When FireWind and Occam entered, FireWind was dressed, down to the polished leather dress shoes I had put in the expandable pouch. His hair was loose and fell down to his hips, a lustrous wash of black, darker than the night. I wondered what would happen if he cut his hair. Would he shift back with cut hair? If it was all DNA, how did his body know? Why didn’t he come back with fingernails two feet long or hair that was no more than a buzz of black roots? Still caught up in the thing I had witnessed, I didn’t ask.
Moments later, my boss had inhaled the sandwich much like his dog had inhaled the jerky. When he still looked hungry, I opened a turkey sandwich and placed it in front of him. He ate that too. When it was gone, he drained the water and went to the sink, washed his hands and dried them, turned, and leaned his backside against the counter, facing us. He began to braid his hair into a single plait. The movements were economical and smooth and much less shaky.
“You’re not moon-called. So you pay for all of your shape-shifting energy use with calories, don’t you,” I said.
As his fingers flew among the three strands, FireWind liftedhis eyes to me, sharing the minuscule smile that had to be a tribal thing. “Yes. Were-creatures take some energy from the moon when they shift. Skinwalkers must eat or we die.”
I hadn’t realized that, but it made sense now that I saw it in person. “That’s why you liked my bars. What do you need most? Fats? Protein? Jerky?”
“Commercial jerky has too little oils and fats”—his smile widened—“and it stinks when I have an animal nose. But it’s convenient and has a long shelf life. When I’m human, the commercial bars and jerky are too sweet or too dry or they taste like clay.” He bent his head, like a small bow. “I am hopeful you will create the perfect protein bar for the weres and that you will share some with me. If I hunt a bear this fall in my cat form, I’ll bring the bear fat to you to add to your homemade protein bars. And I can hunt deer for jerky.”
I didn’t know what I’d do with bear fat, which I thought had to be rendered to be used in food, but his statements felt formal, like a pact. Carefully, I said, “Whatever I make for the weres you are welcome to share. For now, I have some more energy bars in my vehicle. Homemade fish-flake and nut, a dried milk and peanut butter bar, and some commercial salmon jerky.”
“That would be kind,” FireWind said.
I wondered for a moment why I normally disliked him.
He stood straight and said to all of us—T. Laine, Occam, and me—“There is a body at the barn. It will need the null room, and it’s likely too late to obtain any clues beyond a scent I recognized from the pasture where Nell sent me.”
