1
WILLOW
Gettinghome is the best feeling in the world. Besides finding a book that absolutely shatters you, getting home from work is the next best way to rejuvenate my soul. Unlocking my door, I step inside and take my heels off at the door. Nola, my orange cat, comes scampering across the matted carpet floor, straight past me to the kitchen, where I assume her empty food bowl is. Nola and I are big girls—it’s probably why she tolerates me. She is my first and probably last cat.
I understand Nola eats all her food by the time I get home. Instead of leaving her bowl empty for the rest of the day as I probably should, I refill it. Nola is a stray turned house pet, and food is a luxury I will let her indulge in whenever my little cutie wants. I hear her scratch against her ceramic bowl as I drop my purse on the counter and reach for the teapot sitting empty on the stovetop. I need my evening cup of tea before I do anything else, and this old-fashioned pot will take at least twenty minutes to boil.
Nothing calms me down like a pot of hot water and a bag of tea leaves. Letting my cardigan slide off my shoulders, I set it over one of my dining chairs and grab Nola a cup of food.Nola rubs against my legs as I walk towards her bowl. I know deep down that the food in my hands is the only reason she’s giving me any sort of attention. Yet I can’t help eating it up and mumbling in a baby voice about how much of a good girl she is. Nola pounces on her food as if she hasn’t eaten all day.
Seeing her content, I go to my room; my fingers pull at my work clothes. The itch for soft cotton t-shirts starts at the cuff of my blouse and spreads to the entirety of my back.
My room, similar to the rest of my apartment, has boring white walls and dirty matted carpets. When I first breezed through town, I wasn’t sure I was staying, but here I am five years later and loving this little town in Michigan. Rainfall Avenue was the town name—a popstar’s fan was naming the new town, and I honestly can’t blame her for picking a street name for a town. Rainfall Avenue is made up of two sides, split almost directly in half. There is a human side and a paranormal side. Humans typically stay in their half of town, though not all do. I think it’s because of natural instinct. The same way I sense prey on their side of town, I assume they sense predators on ours, which makes the sensible humans stay away.
Now that paranormals are growing, both in species and size, we’re taking over other towns, cities, and probably countries at this point. Shifters mainly stay in Rainfall Avenue; it’s referenced as the shifter side purely due to our population. While there are witches, vampires, and fairies that may stay in Rainfall Avenue, the four seasons that Michigan goes through make it hard on other species.
Vampires are sensitive to light, and the bright sun of the summer months irritates them. They often have winter homes where they go May through September. Fairies do fairly well since they control the elements, but they prefer the high heat of summer. They are largely located down south, and witches stick with fairies since they are alike in abilities.
Shifter’s bodies can acclimate to environmental changes similar to regular animals, and evolution is much faster in us than in humans. Our bodies will change—such as the thickness of our skin—based on the consistent experiences that our bodies’ face.
I wonder if it’s time to move into something more permanent. The idea of settling down was only a dream of mine, not something I thought would ever happen, especially since I lost my soul mate. I dreamed of a place to share with him, with room for more bookshelves and the kids we’d have one day. We were going to have the picture-perfect family. But as the Moon Goddess must have decided, just because I want something doesn’t mean I’m destined for it.
Nola jumps on the dresser as I open my drawer with pajamas. Nothing beats changing into coordinated pajamas before bed. I never thought I’d ever come to appreciate a nice pair of pajamas, as I do now. I pick up a silk orange set, and an itch crawls its way up my arms and around my shoulders. Scrunching my face, I turn back to the drawer, pulling it all the way out. Something isn’t right. I stare blanketly at the drawer. What is wrong? Something is off.
My pajamas aren’t folded correctly. In fact, the drawer is a mess. My eyes trail over the mused drawer. There’s no shame in a messy drawer, but I had organizers and rows of color coordinated clothes and this is not it. These are messily rummaged through, and the ones that are folded aren’t folded the way I fold them.
Letting the pair in my hands fall to the ground, I open another drawer, noticing my leggings are folded incorrectly, too. I fold my leggings in half and then roll them; these are folded twice and then rolled. Would I do that subconsciously? I mean, I watch TV while doing laundry. Maybe I was distracted? No,because even when I am distracted, I’d still follow my usual patterns, and I don’t leave my drawers messy either.
Oh my goodness. Someone else must have been through my stuff. I pull open another drawer, pulling out socks and underwear. The socks were fine; I guess they weren’t as interesting as my underwear? My underwear was obviously messed with. The tight rows of perfectly folded underwear are loose and strewn about.
My breathing becomes labored as I pace, noticing all the things that were misplaced or messed with. My clothes, a lamp on the opposite nightstand, wrinkled bed sheets, certain books are out of place. Everything is an easy fix, sure, but no one had been here since my best friend Flora spent the night over a month ago. My room was perfect before I left for work this morning. This had to have happened today, between the hours of eight and six. Someone was in my apartment uninvited.
I can hear the teapot on the stove screaming to let me know the water is done, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in the middle of my room, the rough carpet scratching my feet. I blink slowly, my hands holding my head up and tangling in my curls.
Someone was here.
Someone was here, uninvited. Someone broke into my dingy apartment. To do what? To steal what? Searching around again, I only notice a few bras missing. I only know that because I own exactly three regular bras, and now I only own one. The rest of the bras I own are sports bras. I prefer to be comfortable. “Who was here?” I ask out loud to Nola.
Nola is still sitting on the dresser, licking her butt as I try to talk to her. “I buy you food, change your litter box, and give you love, yet you can’t tell me who broke into my apartment?” I yell in fear, which takes her by surprise and hurts my heart as she skitters away. Attempting to swallow my building panic is nearly impossible, but I have no idea what else to do.
I finally rush to turn off the stove, but my hands are too shaky to make myself a cup of tea. What if I am being delusional? What if this was me? The panic is starting to win my internal war; I snatch my phone from my pocket nearly tearing my dress pants to text... to text who? Who could I possibly ask for help? I’ve made two friends since moving here. They’re the only two people I would be comfortable enough to ask for help, but I can’t call them. What if this is more than a bra snatcher? What if the person who did this is targeting me? I couldn’t endanger them. I have to deal with this alone.
What if the person comes back? What if they are still here? No, I would have heard them. It would be hard to get past my enhanced shifter hearing. I can’t smell anything out of the ordinary either, not that smell is reliable anymore with today’s technology. They could be using scent blockers. It’s too easy to get them, and in pill form, it’s even harder to trace. Should I shift and let my bear check the place out? No, I’d never get my deposit back. She’s too big—she’ll destroy the place.
It’s fine. Whoever it was isn’t here. I would know, right? I’m not completely stupid.
Oh my goodness, I have to leave. I can’t stay here. I grab Nola, holding her tightly in my arms as I make my way towards the door, but I stop again. My hand pauses on the door handle, and I let out a forced breath as I stare straight at the dirty white door.
Where would I go?
I don’t have family here. Shoot, I don’t have a family anywhere since I left them back in Kaler City. I have Flora; she’d take me in, right? Were we close enough friends to help each other out with these kinds of things? I would help her in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t put that burden on her. No. She has her own stalker to deal with. What if they are after me now? Oh,what if it was... what if—oh my goodness, I can’t bring this to Flora. I have to stay. I have to tough it out alone.
I triple-check the lock on the door before going to each window in my apartment and checking the locks on them. Nothing is broken. But the back window in the living room is unlocked. Dread crawls around my neck as I stare at the lock on the window. Did I leave this unlocked? Was it left unlocked after the intruder left?
Slamming the window shut, I lock it, then unlock it, and lock it again. This apartment is secure, and I am home. The intruder won’t be dumb enough to break into a shifter’s home while they are home. I hope they aren’t dumb enough. I have no idea who I could be dealing with. Who would do this to me? Why?
I turn on all the lights. Every single one of them. It screams I am home, and I’m not quite sure if that is stupid or smart, but I will be able to see. I mean, I would be able to see regardless, since I share my body with a bear who has exceptional night vision.
I’m not sure what to do; all I can process is the silence eating at my skin, making my movements tight and stiff. Going back to the front door, I pull one of my dining chairs over and prop it under the knob, providing an extra lock on the door.
