“I’m going to kill you.” The musician’s voice was filled with terrible power. It was the depths of the ocean, a funeral pyre lit on fire and sunk beneath the waves. The wind gasped and rolled in the melodic timbre.
He swung, his fist crashing toward the trickster.
How many times could the trickster be struck between sundown and sunup?
Too many.
But then the trickster moved predator-fast. He caught the musician’s fist and held it an inch away from his face. The sharp, eerie rattle of a jackaltooth ripped from his throat. It tore through the tiny apartment and shook the wind with its violent force.
All the fury and wrath drained from the musician. His shoulders sagged, and his face went slack.
The citrus and pearl dust scented woman gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth as if she were trying to keep the sound inside.
The trickster blinked and released his brother’s hand. He stepped back and watched his siblings warily.
“Luvic,” the woman said, her voice quavering. “Roll up your sleeves.”
The trickster swallowed, his throat working painfully. “I’d rather not.”
“Roll them up!”
His brother grabbed him then and shoved up both his sleeves. The trickster didn’t fight. When the musician touched the scarred ridges and mottled gray of his left arm, he flinched and backed away.
“That monster,” the woman hissed. The wind slipped close and tapped the saltwater tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She blinked and held them back.
The musician pulled his hand down his face and shook his head. “We’re gone for two weeks, and you go and get yourself?—”
He cut himself off when the woman grabbed the trickster and yanked him into her arms. He stood stiffly for a moment. Then, when the woman said, “Luvic,” his shoulders sagged, and he dropped his head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She stroked her hand over his back, rubbing a soothing circle. This was what she had done when the trickster was young and still needed comfort.
“Have you turned yet?” the musician asked. His voice held the peculiar tautness of an instrument strung too tight.
The woman glared at the musician, but he only shrugged.
The trickster shuddered, and his sister patted his back. He pulled out of her arms and gave them a twinkling smile. It was illusion though—the wind could feel the prickling tingle of it.
“Actually,” the trickster said, “after dropping you two deadweights here and burying you both?—”
The woman scoffed.
“—Dad and I went home. The next morning, I woke up . . . except, it wasn’t the next morning. It was six days later, and . . .” He shrugged. “I woke up a . . .”
“Jackaltooth,” the musician said coldly.
The trickster nodded. “It took me a while to figure out how to become a man again.”
“But . . . why?” the woman asked.
The wind traced the trickster’s smile. “I suppose once dear Dad realized I’d kill my siblings if he asked me to, there was nothing to stop me from killing him too.”
The musician and the citrus and pearl dust scented woman exchanged a look, then the woman gestured to the table. “I need coffee. Do you still like coffee, Luvic, or do you only eat raw meat now?”
“Ha. Ha-ha. Funny, Lia.”
She gave the trickster a tight-lipped smile. “Sit down.”
