“Is that all you’re taking with you?” Bernie asked, nodding to Inga’s backpack.
“There’s a cooler in the boat already with some food and sandwiches. That’s all I need.”
“I tend to forget that you shifters can just live off the land if you want to.” Bernie frowned at her. “Is this just a fun trip, or is there some other reason?”
“It’s just a fun trip,” Inga said. “And, well—I need to do some thinking about the future. Sometimes that can be easier to do away from home.”
She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and looked up at the dazzling array of colorful houses rising above them up the side of the hill. The air smelled fresh and crisp.
Home. This had been home for her whole life. She and Bernie walked to the base of the pier, where steps led down to the small skiff she and her brothers called the Dingboat, tied up on the beach.
“Oh, someone’s decorated the gargoyle all up for spring,” Bernie said suddenly.
Inga looked around. One of the town’s many gargoyle statues stood near the Westerly Inn, and Bernie was right. The flowers around its base had been recently replanted and were just starting to bloom, adding a touch of vibrant color to the already colorful town. And to the gargoyle itself, this person had added a festive lei—a garland of plastic flowers—around its neck.
Having lived in Westerly Cove all her life, Inga barely thought about the statues anymore. They were simply there, all over the town. There were more on the roof of the Westerly Inn, peering over the edge. From where she stood, she could see at least a dozen of them.
“When I first moved here,” Bernie said, “I remember people telling me there’s a local legend that the gargoyles will come to life to defend the town if it’s ever in danger.”
“I grew up hearing that,” Inga said. She smiled. “But I’ve certainly never seen it. I don’t even know what sort of dangerwouldthreaten the town, because the other thing I’ve heard is that no one who means harm to the people here can cross the town borders.”
“Do you believe in it?”
“I’m not sure,” Inga admitted. “I do know that I can’t think of a safer place to raise your baby.” She grinned. “Or your moose.”
Bernie moaned and placed a hand on her baby-swollen stomach. “Please, no. I was joking. It’s not possible for it to turn out to be anything other than a bear like Tor, is it?”
“I don’t know. A lot of it depends on your heritage, and Tor’s. The Westerly family are all seals, and us Nilssons are all bears as far as I know. But many shifter families intermarry, so you can have quite a mixed shifter heritage if you go back a few generations. And new types of shifters might show up in a family now and then, too.”
“What makes that happen?” Now Bernie looked very nervous. “It’s not something like, the more I think about moose, the more likely I am to have a baby moose?”
Inga tried to stifle a laugh. “It’s not going to be a moose at first, no matter what. It’ll be a regular baby. You’ll find out what he or she shifts into later on.”
With a whirring of wings, something fast and furry sped past them, slammed into a mooring post and clung to it, looking down at them.
“As long as it’s not one of those, I guess,” Bernie said.
The creature had long white seagull wings with black tips, attached to the furry body of an opossum. It peered down at them around its beak, with its hairless tail dangling down the lamppost and its small handlike feet clinging to the pole, and hissed.
A moment later, another one landed above the first. This one had the body of a raccoon and the wings of a slightly darker gull. The opossum griffin spread its wings and hissed. The other made a low cooing sound, darting its head back and forth as if to charm the first one.
The possum seemed unimpressed.
“I am going to also venture a guess,” Bernie said, looking up at them, “that spring is the time when trash griffins, uh, do the thing that all animals do in the spring.”
“Yeah, there’s a nest underneath the pier. I think they’re also nesting in the cliffs.”
“Are they from around here? I’ve never seen them anywhere else.”
“I don’t have any idea where they’re from,” Inga said. “They just showed up one day, following Eren and his mate, and now there’s a whole breeding population around.”
Bernie laughed. “This place is truly unique.”
“Tell me about it.”
Inga looked around at the town, its gargoyles, and its weird wildlife one last time. She couldn’t say why, but some part of her seemed to sense that things were about to change. When she came back, she would be coming back different. If she decided to come back at all ...
Then she shook off the sense of melancholy. It was too beautiful a day for it. In spite of Tor’s warnings, the weather was lovely, with a blue sky and clouds scudding rapidly past. Maybe that fresh wind was bringing in a storm, but right now she felt wide awake with all the promise of spring. It was the kind of day when anything felt possible.
