I felt blind. For the first time in a long time, I couldn't see the steps in front of me. When I looked at the children, all I saw was... children. Not decisions I could make and possible results. Just faces. Angry faces. 

I'd hated my gift for so long, I hadn't realized how much I'd come to depend on it. Living alone in the woods, it had been necessary for my survival. I knew when to expect a flash flood, or a sink hole, or a storm. Among the pack, I knew when to expect danger, most of the time, and where to go looking for it. But one—or several—of the kids must be blocking me with their power, leaving me...

Weak. That's what it was. I'd come to depend on my gift like a leg, or an arm. I never even thought about it anymore, it was simply right there. Until the pack, I'd learned to hide it from others, but that didn't mean I used it any less. 

I needed somewhere to sit and think. I had thought that when I found the children, I would know what to do, even though the shield had prevented me from seeing the children from far off. Well, it was just as effective close up, leaving me clueless. At least one thing was certain: the Black Dragon wasn't after these kids, no matter what he had lead us to believe. Maybe I had some time to win them over. 

I pulled out my cell phone and laboriously typed a message to Jesse, letting him know I found the kids, and they didn't seem to be in danger. That done, I stuffed the phone back in my jacket pocket and looked around. I could retreat to the woods—there were plenty of caves I could make comfortable around here. But that wouldn't move me forward at all. I needed to find out what I could about this town, and perhaps the young man the children had seemed so intent on protecting. 

Just across the town square, a bright open sign blinked in the window of a small restaurant. I felt a tug in my gut telling me I should go there. I didn't want to. Restaurants meant people, and people meant talking. But talking meant information, and that was exactly what I needed right now.

"Take any seat and I'll be right with ya, hon!" the waitress greeted me from behind the counter as I walked in. I had my pick of tables. It seemed that three in the afternoon on a Tuesday wasn't exactly a busy time. I avoided the tables—they were far too out in the open for me—and someone was already sitting at one of the booths near the front, so I made my way to the back booth, sliding in so I faced the rest of the restaurant. I was feeling unsettled with my inability to see down any future path with the children, and my bear needed a defensible spot to feel comfortable. 

I closed my eyes and let the future come to me. As I relaxed, it came easily, and I visualized it as a tree with many branches. I could see people come in and out of the diner as the evening went on, the crowd flowing and ebbing. But any time I tried to imagine the children, or what would happen if I walked back across the square into the library, it was as if that branch had been pruned, chopped off from the flow of time. It was a relief that I wasn't completely cut off from the future, but I wasn't used to running into walls. 

Perhaps that was because I was stretching myself. I had inserted myself into the flow of time. Perhaps that was the way of things. As long as I stayed remote and uninvolved, I could see everything, but the moment I reached out to change things, I lost part of my sight. 

If that was actually how things worked, it seemed like a pretty painful paradox. Either be all knowing, but unable to do anything about it, or act and lose access to knowledge. 

Hell if I knew how this all worked. I'd been living with my "gift" for nearly forty years, and I was still learning new things about it.

I felt the waitress approach before I saw her. I opened my eyes as she slid into the booth across from me. She was short, plump, and bright. She was also a rabbit, like the librarian had been. Made sense—where there was one rabbit, there'd be a hundred of them. She leaned her head on her chin and smiled.

"You look like you need a slice of pie."

Her words were a vague echo of one of the paths I had seen. I pushed away any memories of possible futures. That was the easiest way to hide my gift.

"I do?"

She nodded. "Let me think... not apple... definitely not pumpkin. I got it. You want pecan pie."

I tilted my head. "I've never had pecan pie."

"Well, sugar, you're in for a treat! Let me get you that pie and a cup of coffee. Cream or sugar?"

"Just black."

I was impressed by her confidence. Most people—human or shifter—seemed to steer clear of me. Whether it was my size, or the scar, or just something else in my demeanor, I didn't know. I let my mind stretch out a little to learn some more about this woman. Her name was Patrice, but everyone called her Patty. She was the owner—and the cook. I saw a quick flash of a hand carefully lettering the sign that now hung outside, a sign I hadn't paid any attention to as I came in: Patty's. She was a mother, a grandmother, a wife, a sister—her numerous relatives started flashing through my mind and I shunted that line of thought to the side. I didn't need to know her family history. Especially if her family was anything like normal rabbits; their families were endless.

Instead of one slice of pie, Patty brought two, along with two cups of coffee.

"Okay, Mr. I-have-never-had-pecan-pie. Tell me what you think."

I felt the weight of her expectation settle heavily on me as I slid the tines of my fork into the point of the pie. The weight of everyone's expectation. That I always knew what I was doing. That I could handle anything. The expectation that I held myself to, that I wouldn't mess up again.

My teeth grazed the metal of the fork as I scraped the pie into my mouth, tired of people expecting anything from me. Why shouldn't I just go hibernate in the forest again? Life had been simpler. I couldn't ruin anything if I didn't try to change it. I couldn't—

—experience the bliss that was pecan pie. The salty crust cracked and flaked away, letting the pure delight of the sweet filling coat my tongue, followed by the soft crunch and light nutty flavor of the pecans. How had I gone my entire life without tasting this?

My eyes flew open to see Patty's smile of satisfaction as she dug into her own slice, following it with a sip of coffee. "I've won four blue ribbons at the state fair with that recipe."

"I can see why."

There was something about the pie that tasted like... home. Which was ridiculous. I'd never had pecan pie at a pack dinner. But tears nearly rose to my eyes as I continued eating the pie, as if something were mending the seams in the tattered remnants of my soul. 

We didn't speak again until the pie was gone, and Patty remained at the table with me, turning to bid good bye and thank you as one of the tables left.

"My name's Patty," she said, and I didn't tell her I already knew. "What's yours, stranger?"

"Caspar." 

"You don't look like a ghost, but you sure look friendly." 

I rolled my shoulders, relaxing against the back of the booth. "That's not a word often used to describe me."

She nodded without contradicting me. "I suppose most people don't look past the surface with you."

Her words struck me to my core, especially after the incident with the kids and the librarian. All they could see of me was the surface, and whatever lies Wamp had filled their heads with. I'd thought I'd gotten used to that, but the truth was, I was used to seeing a path that showed me how to change that. 

"What brings you to town, Caspar?"

I took a moment to consider my answer. "A teaching job," I said finally. I didn't want to bring attention to the kids without knowing exactly what I was doing. And it was somewhat the truth.

"At the county school?" Patty looked skeptical.

"No... a private contract."

"Well, that's unusual out here. I'm not saying folks in these hills don't have money, but the rare ones that do are pretty standoffish. We've got a few millionaires you'd think were homeless to look at them." She waited for me to provide more information, but I kept my mouth shut. "I suppose you're going to be around for a while, then?"

"For a bit," I agreed.

"Well, Caspar, you just stop on by anytime you're in town. I've always got a fresh pot of coffee and the day you find me without a pie is the day you can stop by the florist and ask them to send a funeral arrangement to my family."

I reached into my pocket for the envelope of money Asher had given me. "How much do I owe you?"

She took my empty plate and winked. "It's on the house, hon. Now, don't be a stranger, you hear? I'll get you a refill on that coffee, and you stay as long as you like. I've got to go prep for dinner, though."

Would I be around for a while? The kids seemed pretty tight with the librarian—perhaps they had already made their own home here. Maybe all I had to do was make sure they were okay, and then my purpose would be fulfilled.

I knew that was wishful thinking. I had been drawn here for a reason, and it wasn't just to look at the kids and then leave. Besides, who here was prepared to teach these children how to wield their gifts? 

On top of that, that librarian, wasn't exactly what anyone would imagine as protector material. The Black Dragon wasn't after the kids now, but what if the pack failed? What if some other manipulative bastard found out about their gifts and decided to use the children?

It was too soon to ask Patty about the librarian and the kids, but at least I had a clear sight of the library from the diner. I could come early in the morning and get coffee and wait for the librarian to be alone at the library. If I could talk to him without the kids breathing down our necks, maybe I'd have a better idea of what my next step should be.