A Shift in the Water (6 page)

The wolf couldn’t think any longer—not in words. Images floated through his mind. Images of men, women, children. He was a man. He knew he was a man. But he couldn’t escape his wolf. He hated himself. Hated his wolf. Death was all he had to look forward to.

The door to the house opened and the wolf raised his head. Maybe the bad woman would come to feed him. He hated her, but he needed to eat. It wasn’t the woman. The man—no the boy—came with the wolf’s rotten dinner this time. The wolf growled at him. The boy sneered back.

“She might want you alive, but I could give a fuck. Growl at me again and you won’t eat until she comes back.” The earth under the wolf’s paws trembled. The boy had earth power in him and he was getting stronger. The wolf lay down and tucked his head under his paws. He wouldn’t growl. The meat sailed over the fence and landed in the dirt. The boy walked away, back into the house.

The wolf was so hungry. He darted onto the dirt for the steak and stopped. He cocked his head. The ground was no longer scorching. It was merely hot. He could stand on it. It intensified the burning pain inside of him, but it was bearable. The rat. It wouldn’t have reached the concrete otherwise, with the earth as hot as it had been for months. He sniffed at the dirt. The scent of the bad woman’s charm was weak.

He tore into the meat, dragging it back to the concrete to devour it. It tasted horrible, but the protein helped him think. The woman was gone. She was the one who charmed the dirt. Perhaps now he could dig. He looked around. A pile of leaves had blown into one corner of the cage. With the charm active, they would have burnt to a crisp immediately. Not now. They would hide his progress. As soon as the sun went down, he padded over to the leafy corner, pawed the detritus aside, and began to dig.

The wolf dug for two nights, nosing the leaves back over the hole to cover his slow progress every morning. Deeper and deeper he went. The earth elemental had hardened the dirt nearly to stone. The wolf’s paws bled. Several toenails tore right out or wore down to the quick. He was so tired. But he was close. He could fit his nose under the fence now. Another few inches and he could wriggle his entire body through and then he’d be free. No one came. The boy didn’t feed him again, the evil woman hadn’t returned. If he could dig for one more night, he might have a chance. When the sky turned black and the stars emerged, he dragged his emaciated body towards the fence once more.

Mara dropped her bag on the hotel bed. She was back in her favorite room, on her favorite island, at her favorite beach. It was likely the last time she’d be strong enough to swim in the ocean. Her transfusions were barely lasting four days now before the exhaustion took her. She’d spent October traveling. Aunt Lillian had accompanied her and the two women crossed dozens of things off of Mara’s bucket list. She’d jumped out of a perfectly good plane, gone whitewater rafting, learned to paddleboard, saw a show in London, went to the Vatican, and spent two glorious weeks on the beach in Hawaii. But then she’d come home to prepare to die. Aunt Lillian moved to Seattle to be close to her and came over every few nights to cook her dinner. 

Mara knew her days were limited. She’d make Christmas, but beyond that, there were no guarantees. She’d filed for disability from work. She spent her waking hours reading, swimming, and hanging out with Lillian, Jen, Adam, Lisa, and their kids. She watched movies, ate whatever she wanted, and cried whenever she felt like it. She denied herself nothing. She’d inherited enough money from her father to keep her comfortable for the last few months of her life. Her body was eating itself from the inside out, so the excess of French fries and ice cream she consumed did nothing to harm her lithe figure. Oddly, she could still swim whenever she could muster enough strength to drive the few miles to the pool. As soon as she got into the water, her body felt almost normal again.

Aunt Lillian urged her to visit a healer friend of hers who specialized in the occult, but Mara didn’t buy into that crap.

“You’re a water soul, Mara,” Lillian had said. “Eleanor is sure of it. That’s why swimming helps you. I know there’s something Eleanor could do for you.”

Mara refused. Lillian even went so far as to bring her a book on water qi, urging her to read it and alter her diet to nourish the parts of her that were weak, but ten days of watermelon, spinach, kale, and coconut water did nothing for her strength or her red blood cell counts, and Mara gave up.

Now she was back on Orcas Island for one last swim. Well, perhaps two swims. She had enough time to swim before dinner, fall asleep with a book, and then swim for an hour or two tomorrow morning. After that, she’d bid goodbye to this place and close the penultimate chapter of her life. The weather had turned cold and dismal the past few weeks, matching Mara’s mood. Thank the Goddess for thick wetsuits and insulated swim caps. The beach was deserted as no one wanted to swim much after October in Puget Sound, but this was Mara’s favorite time of year.

Her tears mixed with the salt water as she stepped into the sea. She shivered when the water poured into the wetsuit, but within a few minutes, her temperature equalized. Murky waves surrounded her as she dove. The sea played a haunting melody that welcomed her home, comforted her. Stroke after stroke she sped away from the shore. When she was well beyond Indian Island, she turned. Treading water, she gazed back at the land. The hotel bobbed, and dark clouds gathered behind the cliffs. Rain would arrive soon, then wind. As long as it wasn’t one of those freak lightning storms, she didn’t care.

Maybe she should swim out into the depths of the Sound. Eventually she’d tire. She’d slip under the water and not come back up. She could do it. But images of her friends popped into her head. They’d never forgive her. Not that it mattered. She’d be dead. No. She couldn’t do that. She needed them with her at the end. She’d made them promise. No hospitals. Her home. Her own bed, her aunt and her friends around her. That’s how she’d die. So she swam back to shore. Out and back, out and back, until she was spent, but oddly energized. The water always did that to her. Through it all, the faint melody echoed in her ears.

She treated herself to a steak dinner from the hotel’s restaurant that night and a bottle of their most expensive wine that she brought back to her room. What did she care that the meal cost more than two weeks’ worth of groceries? Her black wool pants hung loosely, two sizes too large now after all the weight she’d lost. The wine fuzzed her head, turning her melancholy.

Out on the balcony, she wrapped herself in a blanket and watched the stars. The rain had come and gone hours ago and the forecast for tomorrow was cold, but clear. She’d have time for another long swim in the morning before heading back to Seattle. Thanksgiving was only a few days away. It was all happening too fast. Everything she did now she did for the last time. A few tears fell onto her lap. After her death, would there be anything left of her in this world? After her family scattered her ashes, would she fade from their memories? She thought of her sister. Katerina hadn’t crossed her mind in years. The woman was twelve years Mara’s senior and in the half an hour Mara had spent with her when she was nineteen, she’d decided that Katerina wasn’t anyone worth knowing. Perhaps she should reach out now. Tell her sister she was dying.

A gust of wind brought the scent of the recent rains to her nose. It comforted her. No. She wouldn’t reach out to her sister. They shared blood. Nothing more. Now was a time for family. Her true family. Aunt Lil, Jen, Adam, Lisa, and the kids. They’d remember her.

“Goddess,” she said. “I don’t know if you’re real. Mom believed. Aunt Lil believes.” Mara shook her head. “I want to have mattered. When I’m gone, please let someone, somewhere say that I mattered.”

Four

The sun rose and painted the desolate yard in a pale sickly light. The wolf looked back at the house. He’d heard a car hours ago and thought the boy might have left. He’d dug harder and faster all through the night, desperate to clear enough of the hard, packed earth to wriggle his battered body under the fence. He thought he might be able to do it now. He pressed his side to the earth. It was hot against his pelt, aggravating his tortured flesh, but he didn’t care. Freedom was within his reach. His back feet scrambled for purchase. He twisted and inched forward, little by little. A piece of metal dug into his shoulder and he whined in pain. The coppery scent of his blood made him retch, but he pressed on. The metal scraped against his ribs, thudding over each one. But his head was outside of the fence. Then his chest. His back legs escaped and he struggled to his feet. He could barely stand, but he had to do more than that. He had to run.

Ten feet separated the cage from the tall, stone fence. He raced around the property, searching for an exit. The stone was too high for him to jump over, even if he’d been at full strength, but there had to be a way out somewhere. His paws ached with every step. He kept close to the fence line, staying as low as possible. He found the front of the house, but the gate was made of thick metal bars that were too narrow for his body to squeeze through, even as thin as he was. A deep, frustrated growl rumbled through his chest. Maybe he could dig in the backyard. There were blackberry bushes in the southwest corner—some with old berries on them. He chomped down as much of the fruit as he could, grimacing when the thorns tore at his lips. 
So hungry
. He started to dig under the bushes. The dirt here was soft, uncharmed, and muddy from the rains that had soaked this forsaken place for days on end. He made quick work of it, looking over his shoulder constantly to check for the evil woman or the sneering boy. Deeper and deeper he went. More blood oozed from his paws. He even nosed the dirt with his muzzle to try to clear it. He panted: dizzy, and exhausted, but he wouldn’t stop. A car door slammed.
Hurry!

“Get back here you fucking mongrel!” Katerina shouted. A blast of flame pelted the wolf’s back and he yelped. He shoved his body underneath the stone as more flames licked his skin. His senses overloaded: sweet, burnt scents of fur, skin, dirt, and blood. Tears obscured his vision, but he was operating on pure instinct now. 
Faster. Away from fire.

Footsteps pounded towards him, but his body popped free from the stone and he ran. A blood-curdling scream followed him and the earth shook, but he was free.

The blackberry brambles sliced his pelt. He scrambled over rocks, cutting his paw pads deeper. But the pain was nothing compared to what the evil woman would do to him, even if he wasn’t caught. The blood that ran through his veins heated with every passing day. As his body weakened, her charms strengthened. He had hours. Days at most before his body gave out. Air wheezed in and out of his lungs. His head pounded. Nausea flooded his belly from the rancid berries and his fear.

He stumbled over endless little hills, finding a path here, a copse there. He jumped over a low fence and ran through a small field nestled among the hills filled with cows. The next field had goats. His mouth watered. At full strength, he could take down a goat easily, but he couldn’t stop running. He found an old logging road and ran along it for a few minutes, but too out in the open, he veered off back into the underbrush. An arc of flame landed a few feet in front of him setting a pile of wet leaves steaming. He pushed himself harder. The water was ahead, down a steep cliff. He had to get down there. If he got to the water, he could swim. The bad woman couldn’t follow him. Not easily anyway.

“Get back here, you son of a bitch!” the bad woman screamed. Another blast of fire seared him. His shoulder burned with pain and he yelped. His body slammed down onto the hard ground. He couldn’t get up. “You’re mine!”

The boy followed the bad woman. He raised his arms. The wolf crawled, scraping his belly along the muddy tree roots and slick leaves. The pain in his paws kept him focused. The earth rumbled. Katerina shouted for the boy to stop, but the earth charm was already at work. A gaping maw appeared under the wolf’s front paws. A three foot section of the cliffside broke away and fell into the sea, taking the wolf with it.