Chapter Two
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
As far as I can tell, it doesn’t give a shit that I hate it.
“This fucking place,” I grumble, swinging the flashlight around. I shouldn’t. I know that. I should be focusing on staying as invisible as possible. The light could shine out the front window and then people would know the house is inhabited, but then, I kind of already messed that up when I met Harold this afternoon: the old wolf-shifter who lives two houses down.
And then there’s the guy who lives next door.
Malcolm.
The sexy, cut, too-hot-for-his-own-good Malcolm.
He’s a shifter, too.
I shouldn’t be okay with that, with him, with them. I shouldn’t be okay with any of them. I should be frightened knowing that two people now know that I live here and what my name – my real name – is.
I’m not, though.
I’m scared of a lot of fucking things, but I’m not scared of them. I can’t really explain it, and it doesn’t really make sense. All I know is that when I’m around other shifters, I feel a certain peace. Somehow, I know that they’re going to look out for me just as I will look out for them.
Is this what it means to belong to a pack?
To a family?
Is this what it means to have someone?
Shaking the sappy thoughts from my head, I move throughout the house. It’s dusty and dirty. No one has lived here in years and as far as I know, I was this poor house’s last chance. If I hadn’t snatched it up, it would have been torn down.
And soon.
Couldn’t let that happen.
As soon as I laid eyes on the kitchen, I was sold. Then again, it helped that the house was dirt fucking cheap and in the middle of nowhere. I’m not going to be bothered here. I’m not going to be fucking hunted for sport here.
Nope.
Here in Perfection, I can just be me. I can work and sit on my porch and just enjoy being by myself.
That sounds lonely.
My inner swan whispers to me a lot. I try to ignore her, but I can’t always manage it.
We need to find someone.
I know she’s right. We need someone to connect with, someone to love. My mother always told me stories of true mates and people falling in love, but that was a long time ago. That was before the cancer. That was before I was sent into foster care. That was before I found out that being a shifter isn’t always a good thing.
My mother warned me before she died that I might need to hide my identity. She told me to guard it closely as a careful secret.
Not everyone understands what it’s like to be special, Cordelia. Not everyone views it as a gift.
How right she was.
Years went by and nothing bad happened. No one chased me. No one caught me. There was just nothing. Eventually, I stopped being careful. I stopped hiding as much. I stopped worrying.
And that was my mistake.
I should have been worrying.
I should have been watching.
I should have been waiting.
I should have known that sooner or later, someone would discover my secret, and they would want to hurt me.
Mother knew. She tried to protect us.
My mother has been dead for a long time, though, and there’s only so much she can do from the grave. Her memory fills me with hope most of the time, and sometimes, when I think of her, I feel so brave I could burst.
Right now, though?
Right now I’m scared because I don’t know if I’m going to make it out of this one alive. I don’t know if everything is actually going to be okay this time. I just don’t know. Trish and Frank…they’re a long way away. They’re far, and the chances of them finding me here of all places…well, the chances are slim.
And I like to take my chances.
I can’t live holed up forever, I tell myself. Eventually, I’m going to have to go outside again. I’m going to have to interact with people again. I’m going to have to get active and brave and wild again, but right now I need some time to nurse my wounds and feel sorry for myself.
And I need to get my fucking power to work.
I know the utilities are turned on because I did that earlier today. The woman at the city office assured me that everyone would be turned on by 5:00. Well, that time has come and gone and they still aren’t working, so maybe something really is wrong with the house.
My super-hot neighbor’s flashlight is much brighter than I thought it would be. I have a clear view of my entire living room and the dust that flutters in the air.
“Note to self,” I say out loud. “Clean every-fucking-thing tomorrow.”
I make my way through the house looking for the fuse box. It’s got to be around here somewhere. This is one of those things I probably should have noted when I first toured the house, but no, I was too caught up in adoring the kitchen cabinets and the woodwork on the built-in China cabinet to notice any of that.
The kitchen is a dead end, as is the pantry, the first-floor bathroom, and the office. I want to go upstairs and say fuck it and climb into bed, but that would be much too simple. Besides, I’ve never been one to give up on a challenge before and if this isn’t a challenge, well, I don’t know what is.
I carefully peruse the rest of the first floor, but I can’t find what I’m looking for. Sigh. Why don’t houses come with an owner’s manual? Soon the only place left to check is the dusty old basement, and there’s no way I’m okay with that.
Am I a bit of a sissy?
Maybe.
Do I care about that right now?
Not so much.
I’m not embarrassed because I’m too busy being afraid.
Afraid of the dark, like a little kid.
My inner-self whispers to me, begging me to be brave, reminding me of how far we’ve come.
We’ve overcome so much. Is this really what you want to take us down? A basement? After all we’ve done, this can’t be the end of us. A basement can’t be what destroys us.
“No,” I say aloud. “Not this. Not a stupid basement. Not a dusty basement.” I kick the basement door. “Not a fucking basement.”
Then I open the door and take a deep breath.
“This is it, Cordelia,” I say. “You can do this.”
The stairs creak as I make my way down them. They’re so terribly old I fear they might crack beneath my weight. I swing the flashlight back and forth as I move down the stairs. The light illuminates piles of boxes that have long been forgotten, a dusty old couch, and a round throw rug that’s definitely infested with mold: probably dust mites, too.
I reach the bottom of the stairs. There’s a chill in the air, but I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself and run back up to the perceived safety of the first floor. Nope. Today is all about being brave. Today is all about being bold. My life was almost taken from me, but now I’m taking it back.
I’m reclaiming my life and my future and my hope.
Today is for me.
I spot the fuse box in the corner. It’s dusty and covered in cobwebs, but it’s there. Good. Okay. I can do this.
We can do anything, my inner-swan whispers, and I breathe a sigh of relief. When I first started hearing her, talking to her, I felt like I was going crazy. I thought it was nuts. Now, though, her words wrap around me like a comfortable blanket of understanding.
Most shifters don’t really develop the ability to shift or to communicate with their inner-animal until they’re past puberty. For me, I was closer to 15 when I first started hearing her. Definitely a late bloomer in every sense of the way, I didn’t let it bother me. I was just happy to have someone who understood me, someone I could talk to.
I was just happy to know I really could shift, that I wasn’t defective.
I move toward the fuse box and take another deep breath. I shine the flashlight around the room once more. There’s no one here. Nobody is lurking in the basement. I don’t even see any spiders. Yeah, there are cobwebs, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could be old. Those spiders could have moved on.
The door to the fuse box sticks for a minute, but finally swings open and I stare at it for a second. Okay, so I’m not really sure how this thing works. I probably should have let hottie-the-shifter help me, but whatever. I reach out and flick every switch to the opposite side. Then I switch them back.
I look around, but nothing happens, so I close the box and head back upstairs. When I reach the top of the staircase, I flick the basement light switch on and the entire room is filled with light.
We did it, my swan whispers.
“That’s right,” I say, and a sense of pride and accomplishment fills me.
We did it.
If we did this, then we can do anything, and maybe everything really is going to be all right.