Chapter Two
Locus Trace
The rusty teeth dug into my rear leg, the trap so old I thought I should be able to break away, and if I’d been a bigger animal I probably could have but as a sleek, sunglow-orange fox, I had more style than power. At least I had, in the past. Now, my fur was ratty and stripped in patches, fleas ran rampant over my belly and back, and my belly was so empty, I couldn’t remember the last time it was full.
Until today, I thought I’d experienced all the misery I could. After all, the area where I made my home was posted private property. The owners weren’t letting anyone else come out and hunt on it, not anyone with two legs and a gun. Much less a trap that could catch a shifter. As it had. Luckily or unluckily, the chain that held the trap in place had rusted so badly I’d been able to yank it free and drag my broken bleeding paw behind me in search of...of something. Only instinct kept me moving. I didn’t care if I died.
Hadn’t cared since most of my family became the bed covering for one of the red dragon leader’s mistresses. At least that was my assumption. Hunting fox shifter while they were in fox form had a long history connected with black magic as well as fashion. A fertility blanket...the thought slowed my halting, limping steps even further as I passed the tree line behind a house occupied by a trio of shifters. I’d watched them, often, coming and going about their busy lives, laughing and smiling more than I’d done in my entire existence. The little bit of human remaining yearned for the connection I saw there. The love.
But I’d never have that. Not again. My family was gone, and I lived less than a half life. Could I even shift to human anymore? I had no idea. I hadn’t tried, much. Every time I considered it, I saw the scene where our skult was last together, the gathering celebrating our grandfather’s second century of life.
When else would so many of our kind be together? We were a group only loosely, usually couples and their kits the largest number to be found at any one time. But our kin had come from far and near for the party. We’d eaten and drunk and danced, sung the old songs holding the lore for the young. Then the sun set and the golden moon rose.
As one, we shifted and ran toward the forest for the grand chase, the nets fell from the trees. They caught them all, young and old, reynard and vixen, all but me. I’d been at the back of the pack, Late Locus as usual, always a little distracted, a little behind the rest, and skidded to a halt just short of the edge of the nets.
I leapt and spun and ran the other way.
Like a complete coward. Oh, sure, I turned around and came back, but by the time I did, they were tossing my family in their trucks and tearing off down the road. I followed, barking, yelping, and ran until my pads bled, but I couldn’t get to them. Overhead, a guard of reds flew, occasionally diving at me, sending me scrambling into the brush then soaring again.
But I still followed, wanting to save my family or at least see where they’d gone, maybe bring help. We didn’t associate much with other shifters, but in this case, I’d throw myself at the mercy of anyone who might help. I’d offer anything, my life, if they could save just one of my friends and relations, but I had no information to give anyone. Nothing helpful. Late. Couldn’t do anything to save them.
I was too late.
And they got away. Too far and too fast for me to even know where they went. It had been a long time. I didn’t know how long because in fox form, time felt different and I hadn’t been anything but a fox since that day.
I wouldn’t shift back until I found them. I’d been traveling through the woods ever since, following that highway, watching for any sign or scent, anything that might lead me to my family and finally, not long ago, I’d found an encampment of red dragons.
I found trucks that looked like the ones they’d used to carry off my people. Big, black shiny extended cab pickups with the distinctive diesel grind. I even thought I recognized a couple of the men going in and out of a big red barnlike structure, but no sign of any foxes. No yips or barks.
Had they been killed and skinned? The pain overwhelmed that of my leg, sharper and bracing like an icy wind over my soul. But, more, I worried they might be alive somewhere, although for what purpose I couldn’t imagine, which was why I always assumed they’d been killed. Even humans prized fox fur, although they wouldn’t know the value of one of us if they did accidentally hunt us. Unlike most shifters, we died as foxes, even if the cause of death began in our human form.
So there were fox shifter coats about in the wide world. May all curses fall upon the wearers.
But my family...I just didn’t know.
And so much time had passed. At least I thought it had. Who would be interested in some missing foxes who had never hung out with anyone else?
I’d lingered around the edges of the compound for days, coming as close as I dared, trying to listen in on conversations, to see if anyone would share something helpful. In this form, my understanding of language was slightly hampered, but I felt confident I’d get what I needed to. If not, I’d shift, if I still could.
The encampment lay on the far side of the wildlife preserve I currently made my way across. The rusty-jawed murderous device had been close enough to the reds, I wasn’t sure if it truly was old, or part of a ring of protection I’d somehow just avoided by accident until I hadn’t.
But either way, it was currently sending toxins through my blood, nauseating me and making me dizzy. If I didn’t get help soon, it wouldn’t matter, I’d be Late Locus for real.
When the trap closed about my leg, I’d reacted to the jolt of adrenaline by racing toward the home I’d begun to think of as almost my own whenever I needed a little time away from my patrol of the reds. Their evil was sickening, and a few hours watching Rob and Sasha and their unicorn, Samuel, cleaned my soul enough I could go back in, continue my patrol.
I could die, for all the joy my life held. What would I miss...why should I care? The back door of the house banged open, and the one they called Samuel emerged, calling something over his shoulder to someone in the house. I still lingered in the bushes, dizzy with pain, terrified of making contact with anyone after so long.
Then I heard the voice in my head. My grandfather’s laughter on the night of his birthday. His joy at being surrounded by all his descendants, a joy cut short by the most evil creatures on the face of the earth.
Go. Bring help.
Was it him? If so, why hadn’t he contacted me before? Did he reach to me from the other side?
Don’t you dare lie down and die, Locus. Not now.
I gathered the last of my strength and flung myself into the open space between the house and woods. The unicorn was still talking to whoever was inside, then he took a step back in. I’d bled all the way across the preserve, so much I had no idea what I might even have left. And the poisons were filling me, tamping down what was left of my life force.
I opened my mouth to yip or bark or call out, but I was too weak. Darkness closed around me...and the last thing I heard was, “Rob, hurry! Come look. An injured fox.”
But if I didn’t regain consciousness, they’d never know about my family. Sorry, Granddad. I guess I’m too late, again.