Peggy
“There, there,” I murmur, bouncing the baby. “Everything is going to be okay.” She cries for just a minute, but then I start to sing to her, and she stops. I sing to the child, and for a little while, it makes me believe that everything is going to be okay.
Daisy.
Her name is Daisy.
I never would have guessed, but her name is embroidered on the tags of her clothes.
“It’s going to be okay, Daisy,” I whisper, rocking her, but I don’t know if that’s actually true. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I brought her home with me, but going to the police seemed wrong.
I started to.
When I started the car, I began to drive toward the police station, but when I neared it, I got the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach, like it was wrong, like it wasn’t safe, and my wrist started to throb where Ellie bit me. Something told me that if I brought the baby to the police, she really never would see her family again, and although I don’t pretend to be a good Samaritan, I don’t think I could live with myself if that happened.
So I stopped by the gas station near my house, picked up a bunch of pre-mixed formula bottles, some diapers, and some wipes, and I brought her home to my little house.
It’s really not much, but it’s isolated: just on the edge of the forest that surrounds all of these little towns. It’s the biggest, uncharted, unexplored forest in this part of the country, and it’s strange to me that more people haven’t wandered through, making maps and trying to discover secrets about the world.
Still, I suppose that’s for the best. Living where I do affords me a certain amount of privacy, and it means that when I’m not working, I can practice painting and drawing. I can focus on my art, which is what I really want to be doing.
Although, now that I’ve acquired two kittens and a child, I don’t know how much time I’m going to have for art, anyway.
Soon baby Daisy drifts off to sleep and because I don’t really have anywhere else to put her, I place her in the center of my bed. My house is really just a little one-room cottage, so my bed doubles as a couch, and I grab my laptop and lay on my stomach next to Daisy.
The woman told me to take the baby to Fablestone.
I can’t explain why, but the name sounds familiar to me somehow. It’s at the edge of my consciousness, begging me to remember, and I do want to remember. There’s so much going through my head right now, but mostly, I need to get this baby home. I don’t know who the woman was or why she was running. I don’t know if she made it. I don’t know if she’s okay. All I know is that she gave me a task and somehow, I feel like I need to carry out this mission.
If not for her, then I’ll do it for the baby.
When I open my laptop, I do a quick Internet search for Fablestone. Most of what comes up is random gibberish. There are search results from video games and random fantasy novels. There’s a lot of fanfic. Apparently there was a series of stories written with the same name, but that can’t be what I’m looking for.
No, Ellie was clear. Fablestone is a place, and that’s where I need to bring her baby. I’ll find something there. Answers, maybe. I’ll find hope, I suppose. I don’t know. Not really.
I keep scrolling, trying to find anything that could give me a clue as to where Fablestone might be. An hour passes, and then another. I’m tired, and it’s nearly dawn. I need to get some sleep, but first I need answers. Anything.
And then I see the blog.
It’s just one page. One post. One brief clip of information buried about fifty pages back in the search results, but I can tell right away that it’s what she was talking about. It’s got the information I need to find this place, and suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense.
Fablestone is a place for shifters.
It’s a haven.
It’s a secret world where they can live in peace and harmony and not be bothered by humans from the outside world. That’s what Fablestone is, and it’s hidden away in this very forest. It’s hidden away and no one knows where it is except for the dragon shifters themselves.
And I have to find it.
Maybe I’m just overtired, and maybe I’m running on adrenaline, but the blog post makes perfect sense to me.
The world has changed, and with it, so have we. No longer are we free to roam the world without fear or worry. No longer are we free at all, yet Fablestone continues, and with it, the world of flying and magic. If the skies beckon to you just as they did to your parents before you, find your safety at Fablestone. By the fourth stone tower at the brightest point on the fullest night, you will find what you are seeking.
When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with learning about shifters. My very best friend in the entire world was a shifter. Oh, she couldn’t shift yet. That starts after puberty begins, but she dreamed about the day she would be able to turn into a bear like her family. She had big dreams and high hopes, and we used to spend all of our time drawing pictures of people shifting into different types of animals.
The Stone Towers were mythical stories shared about the unusual piles of stone sprinkled throughout Westbridge Forest. As kids, we had all sorts of cool, fun names for the forest, and we had plenty of stories about why they were the way that they were. I asked Margaret’s parents once, why they thought the stone towers existed in the forest, but they hadn’t answered me straight out. They hadn’t answered me at all, really. Instead, they’d given each other these sort of knowing looks, and then they’d told us to wash up for supper.
A month later, Margaret’s parents disappeared. One day, she came home from school and they were just gone. Vanished. Disappeared. I was adopted, and my parents tried to adopt Margaret, too, but there was a problem with the paperwork. A relative, we were told, who had first choice at getting custody of Margaret. When the aunt came to take her away, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
I just never saw her again.
I realize, suddenly, that I’m crying as I’m thinking about this. I need to stop before I wake up Daisy or Mocha or Frappe. The last thing I need is an entire house full of little ones crying or meowing. I already have enough on my plate.
Is that what this is, then?
I look over at Daisy. Is she a shifter baby? Is Ellie a shifter? The word was hovers in my mind, but I can’t accept that just yet. Not just yet. Not when I don’t have more information. No matter what happens now, I know I’m going to find answers at Fablestone, and yeah, this is a really old fucking blog post by an anonymous person, and it’s written in some weird, half-assed code, but if I’m right, and it means what I think it means, then I need to be at the fourth stone tower by midnight at the next full moon.
Another quick Internet search reveals that I have two more days. Well, a day and a half. Basically, I have a little under 48 hours before the full moon. I have less than two days to haul myself, the baby, and two whiny little kittens into the middle of Westbridge Forest on the off-chance that Ellie was telling the truth and that this baby really does need to get there.
If she was being honest, and I feel suddenly in my gut that she was, then this isn’t just some normal baby.
This is a shifter baby, and it could be in danger.
***
I don’t sleep well. In fact, I hardly sleep at all, so when there’s a knock on my door at seven in the morning, I’m already half-awake. I stumble out of bed and push my hair out of my face. Who the hell would be here at seven in the morning?
“Hello?”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Is anyone home?”
“Hang on a sec,” I yell out, looking around. I don’t know who’s at the door or if they’re here to cause trouble. Hell, it’s probably just someone looking for directions to the school. I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t want anyone to know I have a baby here. On the off-chance the visitor is someone I know, they’re going to ask questions, and I don’t have time for questions. Somehow, the baby is still asleep, but I carefully surround her with pillows and then carefully arrange a blanket over them. It creates a sort of tent, and you can’t tell just by looking at the bed that there’s a baby under there.
I hurry to the door and peek out. Two very tall people in black trench coats are standing there.
Yeah.
They aren’t here for directions.
I suddenly have a sinking feeling in my belly as I realize that Ellie was running from someone last night: someone who was trying to kill her. What if this is that someone? Two someone’s, even? What if they’re here for the baby? What if they kill me?
I’m not some dragon shapeshifter.
I’m not a super villain.
I’m not a hero.
I’m just an ordinary girl.
I’m a fucking janitor.
I don’t have what it takes to keep this baby safe, but I’m going to fucking try.
I open the door.
“Can I help you?” I ask, looking at the people on my front porch. The man is well over six feet tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. He’s not wearing shades, which is the only thing that makes this thing seem real and not like it’s out of a bad horror movie.
The woman beside him is slightly shorter, but nearly as tall as the man. She’s slender. No, that’s not the right word. Fit. She’s fit. Despite wearing a matching trench coat, I can tell that this is the type of person who secretly knows like eight forms of martial arts.
“Took you awhile to answer the door,” the woman says. “Is everything okay?”
“Aside from the fact that there are two strangers on my porch at seven in the fucking morning, I’d say yes. What can I do for you?” I repeat, gritting the words out. I’m trying really, really hard not to be a bitch. I’m also trying equally hard not to burst into tears and beg them not to kill the baby I’ve hidden on my bed. My emotions are all over the place, and right now, this thing could go either way.
The couple exchange looks, and then they hold up a picture.
It’s of a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair and a sad smile.
Even without looking closely, I can tell that this is Ellie.
“Have you seen this woman?” They ask.
I have to play this cool. One wrong move and it’s all over. I don’t have any doubts they’re both loaded up on weapons, but even if they weren’t, they could easily overpower me.
“Let me see,” I reach for the picture and take it, but then I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Is she a teacher? I don’t know all of the substitutes.”
“You work at the high school?” They ask. For a second, I’m worried I’ve shared too much information about myself, but these two aren’t dumb. They already knew I worked at the high school. Fuck, they probably know my name and whether or not I cheat on my taxes.
I don’t.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Is she the one who vandalized the locker rooms? Because the principal told me he was going to be pressing formal charges. He just didn’t tell me who the suspect was.”
Bullshit.
It’s all complete bullshit.
Hey, two years of college theater wasn’t all bad. Apparently, it’s given me the ability to think on my feet.
“No,” the man says slowly, taking the picture back. He slides it into his jacket. “I’m afraid this woman is wanted for questioning.”
So they haven’t gotten her yet.
Or maybe it’s a trick to find the baby.
I shrug. “I’m just the night janitor, man. I don’t know what I could tell you. Not a teacher, you say?”
“She’s not a teacher,” the woman says, looking me up and down. Every so often, she darts a glance behind me, and I hope and pray that Daisy doesn’t wake up. I’d step on the porch and close the door behind me, but these two are professionals. They’ve managed to crowd up to the door that there’s really nowhere for me to go but back inside the cabin.
“She’s wanted for questioning,” the man says. “She’s been reported to have been in this area and may have been involved in several crimes, including kidnapping a small child.”
I gasp and place my hand on my mouth.
“You’re fucking with me,” I say.
“No,” the woman shakes her head. “Listen, if you see anything, or hear anything, please contact us immediately.” She hands me a card. It has a phone number on it, but nothing else.
“What organization are you with?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Who do I ask for when I call?”
“Just call the number,” the woman says. Her eyes suddenly go steely. Yeah, these aren’t feds. No fucking way. Then, I see something flash in her eyes, she peeks behind me at the table and I realize I’ve left the formula bottles out. “Do you have a baby?” She asks. The man is instantly alert and presses forward. I don’t move.
“Yeah, I wish,” I shrug, holding up my empty ring finger. I point to it. “At this rate, I’ll be a crazy cat lady forever. Nope, no baby, just a couple of little kittens.” Mocha chooses that moment to appear at my feet and meows loudly. I reach down and pick him up. Then I hold him out to the woman. “Do you want to hold him?” I ask her. “He’s very friendly.”
“Uh, no thanks,” she says, backing up for the first time. “I’ll pass.”
“Remember,” the man says, pointing to me. “If you see anything at all, call us immediately, Peggy.”
Then he leaves, and I realize that I never told him my name, so how the fuck did he know who I am?