When I get to his office, I wait for him to speak first, offering a polite smile that he does not return. My boss is an average looking man, and he sits at an average looking desk, doing what I consider to be an average sort of job. All in all, not the best boss, but not too terrible either.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” he says, slicing through the silence. “You’re fired.”
“I’m…” My mouth is hanging open. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Raya. I don’t know what sort of… condition,” he stumbles over the wording before rushing through the rest, “you are dealing with, and it’s not my business, but it’s obviously getting worse and you clearly can’t control it. The shifting. Whatever is happening with you, I mean.” He pauses for a breath, and I snap my mouth closed. “Ultimately, it’s become a problem to the point that it’s making many of us humans in the office uncomfortable, and it’s risking our client relationships. Your performance today nearly cost us one of our biggest contracts, and we can’t afford that.”
“Right…” My voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper as I attempt to process how unfair this is.
“You understand. Of course you know you need to figure out whatever this is.” He vaguely waves his hand around the space in front of me, then waits like he expects me to agree with him. When I continue to blink in his direction, he clears his throat roughly before continuing. “Alright then, that’ll be all. Have your desk cleared out by the end of the day. We’ll mail your last check.”
I stand on shaky legs and walk in a fog back to my cubicle. Someone left an empty box on my desk. My face flames in embarrassment and I do my best to prevent myself from reacting any further as I pack up the few possessions I have in my work space.
The past twelve months since I graduated have been rough. I’m tired of bouncing from one consulting agency to the next, only staying for a few months at a time before leaving for one reason or another. I’m especially tired of not feeling financially secure, and my thoughts immediately go to what my parents will think of yet another failure, and my heartsinks. I don’t want them worrying about me any more than they already do.
Lugging the box into my arms, I straighten and take one last glance at my bare cubicle before I turn around to leave. It’s only then that I notice the uneasy quiet around me, the lack of talking or typing. Faces peeking over cubicle walls and around corners, eyes that quickly slide away from me when I notice them.
Their last chance to get a look at the shifter freak.
It brings all the embarrassment, fear, and unfairness rushing back in. Pinching my lips together, I avert my eyes, fixing them on the floor. Only one person acknowledges or speaks to me as I leave—my boss’s assistant—who whispers a soft, “I’m sorry, Raya” as I pass her desk.
This seems to be the final straw, as that tell-tale tingle is back, and before I know it, whiskers adorn my face again. I heave a sigh, heft the box a little higher in my arms, and trudge toward the elevator.
It’s not until the doors have slid closed that my brain starts spinning back to the meeting. When I was constantly being interrupted and belittled, talked to like I was an idiot. I can’t believe how rude those men were, and I hate that there was no one on my side, especially because I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s this that angers me the most, as embarrassment morphs into defiant frustration. I did not do anything wrong. With that thought, I exit the elevator and push my way through the doors outside. Anger swirls in my chest as I fumble with my phone, intending to call a ride share so I don’t have to walk the mile back to my apartment with this stupid box, when the tell-tale tingling prickles my skin again.
2
PESKY LITTLE TRUTH-TELLING SPRITE
RAYA
My frantic gazescours the street, hoping some miracle can stop it, but in the blink of an eye, my hands and forearms sprout coarse fur, turning into wolf paws: pads, claws and all. Of course, this means the box I was carrying is now on the ground, with my possessions scattered across the sidewalk.
I hate this day. I am not a hateful person, but this day, Ihate.
As my eyes flick between my hands—paws—and my belongings scattered around me, time slows. Everything seems to stop, the sounds of the cars driving by lengthen and stretch, the chatter of people quiets to a low buzz, and the sidewalk and buildings around me tunnel out of my vision. It’s almost as though I have ceased to be, until a light touch brushes my elbow, there and then gone, and reality snaps back in a rush.
“Hello? Are you okay?” A low, smooth voice pulls me back to my senses, grounding me.
I blink, my eyes sharpening on the man standing before me. A man with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes who towers over my five foot, three inches.
Hellooooo, hotness,my brain happily supplies, while the restof me remains immobile, blinking at the disorienting world around me.
“Do you need help?” That voice pulls at me. He’s bent at the waist so he can look directly into my eyes, and my brain takes far too long to stumble back into motion. I scrunch my eyes shut, count to five, then open them again, hoping against hope I imagined this whole scenario.
“I was stepping out for a coffee,” the stranger says, crouching down further to pick up my belongings and place them back in the box, “when I saw you drop everything.” He glances at my paws, then up to my eyes. My face heats, likely turning red around the fur and whiskers. “Lucky timing, I guess.”
My brows draw together. “Lucky timing?”
“Well, it doesn’t look like anyone else was going to help you.”
I can’t tell what that detached tone of voice means, but I suppose he’s right. He straightens, box tucked under one arm, and reaches into his back pocket. “Looks like you might need a ride?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, I was just going to call a ride share," I say, not wanting to get into a car with this bizarre, semi-kind stranger.
He flips his phone around without a word, showing me that he had the exact app already open that I was planning to use, and I shuffle my feet, chewing the inside of my lip as I debate the situation. He raises one eyebrow while his lips flatten into a scowl. I could wait it out, but there’s no telling how long it’ll be until my hands are usable again, and the last thing I want is any of my now former coworkers to see me sporting wolf paws in addition to the furry face.
