Chapter Eleven

FIVE minutes later I sat in the small waiting room in the campus medical center, curled into myself, wishing for something solid to bang my head against.

I’d overreacted. Seriously. I hadn’t been wrong, not really, but I couldn’t believe I’d said that to Owen. To Owen. My first friend. They guy who’d kissed me last night. Kissed me like he’d meant it and like I was special. I felt kind of the same way as when I’d fought with my parents about stopping the medical research and therapies so I could go to college. They hadn’t objected because I wanted an education. But I’d been doing classes online, so why couldn’t I continue that way? Why did I have to leave? I needed to stay where Dr. Mirza was, where there were people who could help when things worsened. And if I had to go to school, why did I have to go so far away? Every question was a pinprick of blame, of responsibility, expertly applied, until it felt like the guilt of it all was going to overwhelm me.

Owen wasn’t my parents. I didn’t owe him anything. But the shame felt the same.

I wasn’t like Owen. I didn’t have an avalanche of words at my beck and call. Sure, they were there in my head, but it was hard for me to give them voice, especially when they mattered. I needed to talk to Owen, to explain. Maybe to apologize.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket, pulled up Owen’s name on my contact list, then hesitated. I should call him. I didn’t know a lot about interpersonal relationships, but I knew that text apologies were lame.

“Mr. Franke?” The lady behind the medical center’s registration desk waved to me.

I hit the icon to send a text. I kept one eye on where I was going and the other on my phone as I typed. Sorry. Will talk soon, OK? I hit Send and tossed the phone in my shoulder bag instead of returning it to my pocket. If he texted back while I was talking with his father, I didn’t think I could keep myself from looking at the message. Better all around if I didn’t know when—if—he responded.

The nurse took me to a small office instead of an exam room. I relaxed a little. Dr. Weyer looked up from behind his desk when I entered with the receptionist. “Have a seat.”

The receptionist closed the door behind me. Normally it wouldn’t have even registered, but after everything with Owen over the last twenty-four hours, it felt a little ominous sitting in front of Owen’s dad.

Up close with Dr. Weyer, and now that my brain wasn’t reeling from discovering that not only did shifters exist but I was one, I realized he was older than I’d have expected. He had to be well into his sixties, which meant he’d have been in his forties when Owen was born. It wasn’t unusual, I guess, but since my own parents hadn’t yet hit fifty, it seemed like a huge age gap. Maybe it was the reason Owen said he and his parents weren’t as close as me and mine.

“I’m glad you were able to come in this morning,” Dr. Weyer said, folding his hands on his desk. His whole office was pretty generic, but I supposed it was shared between all the doctors on staff. There’d been no name plate on the door, only a sign stating “Physicians.” There were no name tags or personal photos. Just a computer monitor, a keyboard, and a little stand with an assortment of business cards.

I nodded. “No problem.”

“As I said this morning, I reviewed your medical records. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

It was clearly a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer it. I just shrugged.

“It’s unfortunate you didn’t have a shifter doctor,” he said. “It would have saved you a lot of uncomfortable procedures and tests. Of course, if you’d had a shifter doctor, you wouldn’t have needed to see a doctor in the first place.”

“Excuse me?”

“Joey, there was nothing medically wrong with you.”

I sat up straight. “Excuse me? Something was absolutely wrong with me.” There was no way the pain, the rashes, the fevers, the aches, the vomiting, any of it, didn’t happen. “I’m not a hypochondriac, I don’t have Munchausen. My parents don’t have hypochondria or Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy.” We’d heard it all, and it had always been ruled out in the end.

“I believe you. That’s not what I meant.”

Since he seemed genuine, I settled back in my chair.

“You’re a shifter,” he said.

“Right. Asiatic lion by the sound of it.”

“That’s what Owen tells me. But you were unaware of it until a few weeks ago.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve made some inquiries and found a handful of individuals who have reported the same symptoms you had growing up.”

Hope kindled in my chest. I’d been there before; I knew better than to trust that finally I had an answer. “Yeah?”

“It’s happened with individuals whose shifter gene is dormant.”

“How, dormant? Like, could I be only a quarter shifter or something?” Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the answer to why I was a shifter and neither of my parents were. Maybe it was a recessive gene. Maybe they hadn’t lied to me my entire life. Stupid maybes were as bad as hope, but just as hard for me to deny.

“It’s not a matter of percentages, not really. It’s not really even a dominant or recessive gene. The shifter gene doesn’t present itself at all unless at least one of the young’s parents is fully shifter. Even two individuals who are each half shifter will not have shifter children.”

I deflated. Should have known better than to hope. “So what you’re saying is at least one of my parents is one hundred percent shifter, but that for some reason, the gene in me stayed dormant my whole life.”

“Correct.”

“Why was it dormant? And why did I suddenly turn into an Asiatic lion?”

“In the other reported cases, it was a matter of proximity. Children who grew up away from shifter communities for one reason or another. While they were separated from other shifters—and we’re talking long-term separation here, not vacations or what have you—they were ill, but when they began spending time among other shifters, especially in large groups, they changed into their animal form for the first time. And the symptoms, their previous illnesses, went away.”

“Why symptoms in the first place, though?”

Dr. Weyer sighed. “Based on the handful of instances we have records for, the best we can tell is that not shifting was necessary to keep the individual safe. It’s like a biological protection. But it’s also unnatural. Basically, the individuals’ bodies were fighting themselves. Both needing to hide and needing to protect themselves.”

I snorted. “It sounds like I had some kind of autoimmune issue after all. Dr. Mirza would be happy to know he wasn’t far off.”

He cocked his head, and the resemblance to both Owen and an owl was stronger than ever.

“Well, it’s like an extreme autoimmune reaction, right? My body was literally fighting itself.”

Dr. Weyer smiled, and this time it was more genuine and less perfunctory. “That’s certainly one way to look at it.”

“And I turned into a lion because now I’m around other shifters?”

“Exactly. Then the full moon triggered your first shift.”

A new kernel of hope, along with a smidgeon of hurt, bloomed in me. “So that means neither of my parents is a shifter? I have to be adopted?”

He grimaced a little. “Not exactly. Some animals—and therefore the shifters who change into those animals—are closely tied to a pack structure. Wolves, for example, are notoriously pack-centric. They need to be around other shifters, and usually in larger groups. The more pack-oriented the shifter’s other form, the more direct contact with shifters they need.”

“Which means what in terms of me?”

“You are a felid—specifically a lion—shifter. Lions are as pack-centric as wolves. Which means you need more contact with shifters than some. If only one of your parents is a shifter, it’s likely there would not be enough shifter contact for your shifter side to express itself.”

“Which means we still don’t know for sure if my parents have lied about what they are or whether I’m adopted.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the empty surface of the desk. “That being said, I am confident now that your shifter side has finally emerged, you will no longer suffer any of the symptoms or illnesses you grew up with. For all intents and purposes, you are healthy and should be able to live a normal life.”

“Normal except for the part where I turn into a lion.”

“Well, that’s true. I would like to see you gain some weight and get some sleep. As a shifter, your metabolism is greatly enhanced, and you’ll need to double, if not triple, your previous caloric intake. You need to increase your protein for sure. You’re underweight, which is dangerous to others.”

“Dangerous?”

“Imagine a hungry lion prowling through campus. The hungrier the animal, the less control they have. Which means you might decide a drunken frat boy looks like the perfect midnight snack.”

I rested my hand over my suddenly queasy stomach. I was glad my sandwich from lunch was still in my bag rather than in my gut.

He noticed my reaction. “No need to panic. Eat more, gain some weight, you’ll be fine. That being said, you’ll want to do all of your shifting for a while in the presence of other shifters. For the safety of everyone, it’s best if you do the full moon hunts with other large predators—the bears or the wolves—until you’ve learned control.”

“What if I don’t shift at all? I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”

He shook his head. “Now that you’ve shifted, you won’t be able to stop yourself from doing it again. And the more you shift, the more control you’ll have. You’ll shift at the full moon in two weeks whether you want to or not. Eventually you’ll be able to decide you only want to shift once a month, but until then, you need a mentor. Someone to work with you until you can shift when and where you want to. Right now, you’re a risk. All it will take is getting angry or scared enough, and the shift will come. You need to know how to keep it from happening and to identify the triggers.”

Kind of like at Buddy’s Café yesterday, when I was tempted to fang out in jealousy over the oh-so-perfect David. I didn’t imagine an Asiatic lion rampaging through a café would be a good thing. “Um, yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

“Someone from the local council will get in touch. They’re probably going to set up a formal mentorship with the bears. Buddy and his family are strong enough to keep your lion in line, but laid-back enough they won’t look at you as a dominance challenge.”

“No. Definitely don’t want to challenge the bears to a dominance fight,” I said weakly.

Damn. Was this my life now? Dominance fights with bears and snacking on frat boys?

OWEN waited for me outside the medical center. He leaned against the pale brick wall, hands tucked into his cargo shorts pockets. The sun, still bright in the afternoon sky, glinted off his ash-blond hair. He looked good in sunlight, but he looked better at night, when the dark outside and the pale glow of the moon showcased his eyes in all their glory.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He hunched into his shoulders a bit, looking as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen him. I really didn’t like seeing him that way.

I had a thought. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to wait to talk to you.”

I pointed over my shoulder. “Your father is right in there. I’m not sure he’d approve of you skipping class.”

“He’ll deal. Unless I royally screw up and fail the class, which I won’t, he won’t care.”

I leaned against the wall next to him, tucking my hands in my pockets, mirroring his pose.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

We stood there a while, neither speaking. I stared out to the line of mountains in the distance. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” I said, nodding my chin toward the ridgeline. “I mean, the Chicago skyline is pretty iconic, but there’s something about the mountains. The rough-around-the-edges beauty. It’s not tame. It’s not flashy. It’s something to be respected. Someday I’m going to get closer. Do some hiking. Or maybe camping. I want to be able to say I was there.”

“We can make that happen. Either hiking or camping. Or both. I’ve got camping gear. But if you’ve never done it, it’s something you’ll want to work your way up to.”

“Someday,” I agreed. It was nice having a someday. For a long time, I didn’t want to plan too far ahead. I didn’t know when or if my illness would take a turn for the worse. When I was having a particularly good week, I was happy to be able to watch a movie from my couch, pain-free, with no need for special equipment. Now I was talking about hiking and camping in the mountains like it was a real possibility. Because, for the first time, it actually was.

I turned to Owen. “Do you really think going to Chicago will be useful?”

“Yeah. Right now we’ve got too many possibilities and not enough answers. With every answer we find, we can narrow the list of possibilities.”

“What do you think we can discover in Chicago that David can’t find through his hacking skills?”

“David is focusing on the adoption side, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, if you aren’t adopted, then one of your parents is a shifter. And since you don’t want to ask”—I was relieved he said it without any judgment or pressure—“the next best way to discover if one of them is a shifter is for a shifter to meet them. I knew you were a shifter the moment we met.”

“You did?”

“Sure. There are things that stand out, if you know what you’re looking for.”

I distantly remember the conversation he’d had with Cocky Boy and Anxious Girl. “Tapetum lucidum.”

“That’s one way. There’s an energy, too, kind of a like an aura. A vibe other shifters can pick up. Or a scent.”

Now that he mentioned it, I realized I’d been able to pick up on signs. I’d known David was a shifter, for example. And there were a couple of others I’d run across on campus. “Do you think I’d be able to figure it out when I’m home? So you don’t have to come all that way.”

His face fell. “Oh, well, maybe. If you don’t want me to go along, we could do some tests. Teach you some of the signs.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go along.” I couldn’t handle the disappointment in his voice and posture. He looked rejected. “But flights out of Wyoming aren’t cheap, and it’s a lot to ask of someone.”

“Is that the only reason? Because I want to be there for you, but not if it’s an inconvenience, or if it makes you uncomfortable. Definitely not if you don’t want me to be there.”

Did I want him to go along? I took a second to think about it. Yes, yes, I did. The idea of seeing my parents again with all these questions taking up more than their share of real estate in my brain made me nervous. Who knew what I would say or do if I had to face them one-on-one? I’d probably do my best to avoid the whole conversation altogether and pretend all was right in my world. Having someone there to act as backup, someone who’d both have my back and keep me on mission, would be nothing but a benefit. But it seemed like a lot to ask of a new friend.

“It’d be nice having you there,” I finally admitted. “But logistically—”

He waved that aside. “If logistics is the only obstacle, we’re good.”

I wavered. “At least let me get the airfare.” I hadn’t been kidding when I mentioned the cost of flights to and from Wyoming. A downside to not having a major airline hub located nearby, probably.

“You don’t need to worry about it. Really. My parents have so many frequent flyer miles stocked up, we could probably circle the globe and not have to pay a dime.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Mom travels a lot for work.” He grinned. “Tell you what, if you spring for some of this famous Chicago-style pizza I’ve heard so much about, we’ll call it even.”

Lou Malnati’s was a small price to pay for moral support and answers.