Owl or Nothing Read online

  “You didn’t think to mention this when we joined forces?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who bowled up to our table, wanting to make an alliance. Then you wouldn’t even eat breakfast with us.”

  “I’m vegan,” he said with a hint of pride. It made me want to bash the virtue right out of him. “I could hardly chow down on bacon and eggs.”

  “If you have a problem with us, you know where the door is.” I waited, expecting him to leave, but he stayed seated.

  “Unlike the rest of your town, I don’t have a problem with shifters per se. Live and let live. It’s just the ones who attack people, I don’t like.” He slumped back into his chair. “Such as the one who set upon me yesterday.”

  “Hm.”

  I smiled at the disbelief in Silvana’s tone, but Caleb didn’t sound amused.

  “What? Are you suggesting I beat myself up?”

  “I doubt you’d have the guts to do that good a job, but that doesn’t mean a shapeshifter went to the trouble.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Which was?” I sat up, staring hard at him. “You wouldn’t go into any details and didn’t want the police involved. What exactly is it you know you saw?”

  Caleb scratched the back of his neck, suddenly finding the view out of the kitchen window fascinating.

  “We can’t afford to room with people who don’t trust us,” I said. “With the current mood of the community, you can understand.”

  “It was an old bloke, all right?” Caleb sighed and stared down at the carpet, poking at a worn patch with his toe. “He caught me by surprise, otherwise I’d never let him get the jump on me, shifter or not. But it was dark, and he was quick, despite being half-cut.”

  “He was drunk?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Did you see him at the bar?”

  “Not every shifter goes to the Barnyard,” Silvana said.

  “Especially not now,” Dee piped up. “We should make it a rule, none of us go in there until you’re reinstated.”

  “We can’t anyway unless everyone’s planning on making an early night of it.”

  Silvana pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I already miss drinking.”

  “You can still drink.” I pointed to the cupboard. “Help yourself.”

  “I can day drink at the bar like a loser or at home like a… Loser.”

  Dee piped up, her voice chipper. “You shouldn’t need to drink to have fun. Think of how happy our livers will be.”

  “You’re drunk,” I reminded her. “That pen lid was like me tossing back a full tumbler of neat whisky.”

  She poked out her tongue, then giggled and scampered up and down the sofa.

  “Well, I’m not sitting around here being maudlin all day. I’ve got chores to do.” I gulped, remembering how difficult I’d always found it to squeeze in the multitude of things that needed doing while working fourteen hours a day.

  Laundry had piled on top of the washing machine. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t worked for the last six months, that’s still where I put it. With a heave, I pulled it into my arms then attempted to shove it into a large canvas bag.

  With it tossed over my shoulder like Santa Claus, I headed into town.

  All along the journey, I saw clusters of shifters deep in conversation. Those passing by gave them sidelong glances before shoving hands deep into pockets and hurrying by. In the space of a few hours, we’d gone from neighbours to nemeses.

  When I pulled the clothes out onto the counter, earning a scowl from Minette, the laundress in charge, she immediately seized on Caleb’s bloodstained clothing. “What’s this?”

  “My brother got into a fight,” I said with a shrug. “Then he left his clothes in a heap on the floor for me to deal with.”

  The resentment in my voice for the second line convinced her and Minette bundled them all up, throwing them into a basket and handed me a tag. “They’ll be ready tonight on the rush service, or tomorrow afternoon, standard.”

  Not for the first time, my wallet wished we had a self-service option in town, but I nodded. “Standard’s good.”

  “I’ll get ‘em done well before eight,” she said and as I walked through the automatic doors, I couldn’t work out if that was a courtesy or a dig.

  A man decked out in fluorescent orange was setting up a table on the corner near the Barnyard. I stood, cupping my elbows, and stared at him while he got organised. A sign flipped down the front—“Shifter Registrations Here.”

  I could walk across the street and get it taken care of right now. Only a minute, and my name would be on the register, marking me as someone different, something other.

  My arms dropped to my side as my hands clenched into fists. It wouldn’t be too bad, not much different from registering to vote. I didn’t even know if there’d be questions, aside from the obvious ones of name and address.

  A car sped past, a man hanging halfway out the passenger window. “Get off the streets.”

  Cold liquid hit me, taking my breath away in a gasp. My eyes had closed automatically, and I stumbled backwards.

  Running footsteps came from behind me. A hand grabbed my arm. I tore it away, wiping a sleeve across my face before opening my eyes.

  “It’s just a milkshake,” the woman standing next to me said. She wrung her hands in front of her, then pointed down the street. “The car. A man threw a milkshake.”

  I looked down my front, at the moisture dripping and soaking into my T-shirt and jacket. If Dee had been in my pocket now, she’d be in a sorry state.

  The milky liquid was tinged pink. I sniffed at my sleeve—strawberry.

  “I have…” the woman fished a tissue out of her purse. Next to my soaked shirt, the limp offering didn’t stand much of a chance, but I took it and gave a smile of thanks.

  “Were you…?”

  A queen of not finishing her sentences, the woman jerked her chin across the road.

  “No.” I patted the tissue against my shoulder and watched it disintegrate. “Not me. I was just at the laundrette.” Wrinkling my nose, I forced a laugh. “Guess I’ll have another visit in my future.”

  The woman joined in my laugh, then walked away, her high heels striking a steely note against the concrete. When I turned to head home, I counted three people staring after me. I wanted to hunch my shoulders and keep my eyes glued to the path in front of me but forced my head high.

  Even with the ridiculous new measures passed today, I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I wouldn’t let anyone make me feel I was. When my feet tried to take the short-cut through a back alley, I forced them to stay on the main route, where I could be seen.

  “Where’s my clothes?” Caleb asked as soon as I was through the door. “This robe is lovely, but I can’t wear it with people coming over.”

  “Who’s coming?” I frowned at him then over at Silvana. “And unless you fancy wearing a tie dress, you’re stuck. Your clothes’ll be back, good as new, tomorrow.”

  “There’s a party!” Dee shouted. She’d grown tipsier over the period I’d been out. Perhaps she didn’t have the same objection against day drinking as Silvana had.

  “We can’t throw a party. What about curfew?”

  “If they get too drunk to leave, they can just bunk down on the floor.”

  I stared at the tiny lounge, smaller dinette, and boxy kitchen. “Sure. If they’re all Dee-sized, that’ll work fine.”

  “If you have nothing for me to wear, I’ll have to stay in my room.”

  “My room,” Dee objected. “And that’s fine by me. It’s a shifter party, after all.”

  “Yeah, you could wind up the victim of an animal attack, if you’re not careful.”

  “Silvana!” I wagged my finger in her face, feeling like I’d grown one hundred years old. “Take that back. He’s already been beaten.”

  “Just a scuffle.”

  I stared at her through narrowed lids, wondering if there was something more hiding behind her wor
ds. Just because Caleb thought he’d been hurt by an old man…

  “Keep thinking those thoughts and I’ll be the one finger wagging,” she said. “Everything you think is written clear on your face.”

  “Party time.” A man barrelled in through the door, waving a bottle of vodka. Make that a third of a bottle. I hoped he hadn’t consumed the rest of it that morning.

  “Russel.” Silvana made the man feel welcome until I had to avert my eyes. “When are the others getting here?”

  “On their way.” He turned to me, shoving the bottle into my hand. “You must be the lady of honour.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Silvana, but it was Dee who filled me in. “We didn’t organise the gathering so much as let it happen. So many people called up, wanting to know what you were doing next, we thought it best for them to come here.”

  “Huh?” I pushed my fringe back, frowning at my two friends as though they’d broken in a foreign dialect. “What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything. I’m fired, remember?”

  “Yeah. Do you want us out in front of the Barnyard tomorrow with signs, marching in protest? I can arrange all that.” He dropped his voice low. “I know some guys.”

  “Know some guys,” Silvana scoffed. “We’re talking about marker pens and placards, not smuggling arms.”

  Russel’s hurt expression soon turned back into a beaming smile. “Got some eggs, too. Rotten as all get out. Give me a target and I’ll get ‘er done.”

  Another half-dozen people tumbled through the door, each one as merry as the last. “Hey-up,” a young woman shouted, slinging her arm around Silvana’s neck. “I’m so glad someone’s doing something. When I heard the police statement, it made me feel about this big.” She squeezed her thumb and forefinger close together. “But now we’re organising a protest—”

  “We’re what?” I sat on the arm of the couch, watching as more shifters barged through my door. It felt like I’d been miscast in a movie of someone else’s life. “There must be some mistake.”

  “No mistake.” Silvana reached over to squeeze my knee. “You’ve always been a leader in Beechdale. Time to don the mantel again.”

  I’m not a leader. The words swelled in my head until it seemed certain I’d said them out loud, though my lips didn’t move.

  The idea was preposterous. I was a rule follower, a worker bee. The only time I’d led was by getting a job and that was because of my mounting bills, not fledgling leadership qualities.

  But I sat silent, unable to burst the optimism dancing in the atmosphere.

  When someone shoved a celebratory drink into my hand, I drank it. When music played, I danced. When Dee recited a plethora of new swearwords that Gabby the ghost had taught her, I laughed.

  If this was a revolution brewing, it would wear off with tomorrow’s hangover.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, I picked my way through the tangle of unconscious bodies littering my floor, not caring too much whether I disturbed any of the sleeping non-beauties. With my head drumming a different beat from my nerve-laden heart, all I wanted was a quiet space to sit and think.

  The shock of yesterday’s events was over. Now I needed to work out what to do. Without a job, the first thing to take care of was money. The resort tickets sitting in my top drawer were refundable.

  This close to the holiday, with so much more resentment building up around my kind, to go would eradicate my worries. For a week. Then I’d be back here without rent money, a job, or a hope of getting either. The government handout I’d turned down way back when might be an option—but only after grovelling to the same people who’d infected me in the first place.

  No thanks.

  While the sun warmed my face and chest, a nice counterpoint to the cold steps, I closed my eyes. A dance of riotous colour exploded in the darkness as I squeezed my lids tight.

  I imagined, as I had so many times over the past few months, walking into the holiday facility. The staff would be used to my kind, if they could even tell. They’d treat me cordially, show me to my room, speak in the hushed tones of deference that I used daily with those who paid my wages.

  Even without the bonus of learning more control over my animal form, perhaps eradicating it completely, the respite from thinking, questioning, doing would be fantastic. No important decisions to make for seven whole days. My mind strained for the prize, tempting me to leave the tickets in my top drawer.

  But you don’t survive by doing what you want. Chances were, if things around me continued to deteriorate, I wouldn’t survive even by toeing the line.

  With bleak thoughts already clouding my day, it was best to just rip the Band-Aid off quickly. I picked my way back to my bedroom and took the tickets from my top drawer.

  I stared at them. All my hopes for the past few months were printed on these flimsy pieces of paper. A reservation number was the magic code to get me into a different life.

  A slumbering guest—I couldn’t see enough of him to tell who—released a cloud of noxious gas, which propelled me into moving. The travel agency would be open soon. I could get it done, collect the laundry, pick up a few groceries to cover what the party had collectively eaten last night, then be back before half these approaching hangovers would be awake.

  Nina, the agent I’d originally booked the holiday through, was out front, propping up the sign with the week’s specials when I arrived. With a smile, I waved at her as I walked inside, taking a seat to wait for her to finish wrangling the board into submission.

  “You want to make some changes?” she asked, her own smile noticeably absent. “There’ll be a penalty.”

  I fought to keep my face straight as I passed the bundle of reservation confirmations over. “With the changes announced last night, I won’t be able to take the trip any longer.”

  Nina didn’t move to touch the tickets. “The curfew only applies in Beechdale. You won’t be affected while you’re away.”

  “One of those Beechdale effects included me losing my job.”

  She stared at me impassively for a moment, long enough I thought my chance of getting money back had disappeared. Then Nina sighed and picked the papers up with her left hand while tapping on the computer keys with her right. “There’s a fifteen percent penalty for cancelling within the month.”

  I nodded. It was better than I’d hoped for.

  “I’ll reverse the charges back onto your credit card,” Nina continued, stamping each paper with a large red stamp. “And my fee is nonrefundable. Just because you didn’t take the journey, doesn’t mean my advice is worth nothing.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, hoping to forestall another deluge of justification for the fifty-dollar charge. “I was looking forward to it.”

  She moved to the back of the shop, tapping her foot impatiently as the printer leisurely spat out a page crammed full of tiny writing. Her next stop was at a card machine, and she tore off the slip with a foul look back at me.

  “Thanks very much for doing this,” I said before Nina could start talking again. “I’ll have a better night’s sleep tonight, knowing I have some money in the bank.”

  Nina passed the chits across without a word, nodding as I stood to go. Three steps to the door and outside, and I left my dream stamped with red ink inside.

  “You can go next year,” I whispered, not believing it for a second. With the final refund figure in my hand, I calculated how much money was on the credit card already and totalled out exactly how much would be left.

  Not enough.

  Hot blood spread a crimson flush over my cheeks as I stared across the small corner shopping centre to the Barnyard. Even though it was hours until opening, I saw movement inside. My replacement?

  Knowing it was a bad idea, I stalked across the street and cupped my hands on the window, peering inside.

  Barry set up the tables, wiping the tops with a teatowel so dirty it would give the food safety authority a heart attack if they ever ventured into our small
town. Still, the amount of spilled alcohol would stop all, but the most determined bacteria in their tracks.

  His gaze wandered past the window, then jerked back, settling on my face. Barry’s mouth collapsed and his hands gripped the cloth hard, squeezing a stream of beige liquid onto the floor.

  I drew back, dropping my hands to my sides. They automatically clenched into fists that wouldn’t release, even when I stared at them. The door opened.

  “Hey,” Barry called out. “I’ve got the last of those wages ready for you.”

  Was that why he thought I was out here? I bit down on the retort that wanted to jump free and followed him silently indoors. The money would come in handy. I could hold my temper long enough to pocket the cash.

  “I sure hope this mess gets sorted out soon. Training someone new on such short notice is proving to be a nightmare.”

  Oh, you poor thing. I narrowed my eyes. “You got someone in already?”

  “Yeah. No shortage of applicants in the summer. If the police had left it a few months, it’d be a different story.”

  “Well, thank goodness.”

  Barry nodded, apparently tone deaf. Or avoiding the fight I desperately wanted to have.

  “I’ve added more, in lieu of notice,” he said, holding an envelope out to me. “As a way of saying thanks for your good work.”

  I tucked the money into my back pocket before any heated words could snatch it away. “The traditional way to thank someone isn’t to fire them.”

  He stared at me, his arms folding in a stern line of defence. “If you can’t work the hours I need, it’s not my fault. I gave you a chance when you came here. Better than many others would have done.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance. You gave me a job, earning minimum wage and working longer hours than you do.”

  “If I’d known you were a shifter—”

  “What? You wouldn’t have hired me? But you were so proud of that just a second ago.”

  My hands had crept to my hips, a stance guaranteed to accelerate any fight. With regret, I forced my arms to hang loose in a neutral pose. “After six months working here, I asked for a higher wage since I was no longer ‘in training.’” I air quoted the remark, unsure of how skilled pouring a pint or grabbing a bag of crisps from the shelf made me.