The Scroll 12 -- Revised

Well, well, well. I am an idiot. Good thing The Scroll is being posted as a rough draft. That gives me an excuse for my stupidity.

Thanks to Zain, I realized that I was so caught up in explaining how my world worked that I didn't think about when certain facts should be revealed, or who should do the revealing. So, readers who have read The Scroll 12, consider yourself lucky: you've just had a sneak peek at what Leslie is supposed to learn in The Lantern. If you haven't read The Scroll 12, you can if you want, but know that in the now-revised world of The Scroll, Leslie hasn't learned all that stuff.

And to think, just one post previously I'd written about details and the balance between too much and too little information. It 's a little ironic.

So, without further ado, here's the revised version of The Scroll 12:

* * *

“Spill what?” asked Gray.

“Everything,” said Leslie. She stood and started pacing. “I think I deserve to know everything—about the scroll, about shifting, about where your’re from, about this task or mission or whatever you’re on. You said you’d be honest, so ‘fess up.”

“Oh. That’s quite a lot.” Gray gingerly touched his side and grimaced. “I wonder where to begin.”

Leslie folded her arms and waited, tapping her foot against the floor.

“So—” said Gray, plucking at a flake of dry skin on his hand, “you really can’t shift? You can’t even change your hair or eye color?”

“Only through contacts and dyes,” said Leslie.

Gray mouthed the word contacts, then dismissed whatever he was thinking with a shrug of his shoulder. He fiddled absentmindedly at the bandage on his neck. “And you’ve never seen someone change into an animal before?”

Leslie gave a harsh laugh. “I think I’d remember something like that happening.”

Gray nodded thoughtfully. “So that’s why they said to be careful,” he muttered to himself. “I thought it was just so people didn’t know what my shifted form was. They told me it was different here, but I never thought—I mean, everyone can shift. I wonder if they know that’s not true.”

“Excuse me,” said Leslie. “I’m still here. And who are ‘they?’”

“Sorry,” said Gray. “My side hurts—I can’t think. Thy’re my father and his colleagues. They sent me here.”

Leslie held up her hand. “Wait. Your father’s alive? But I thought you said he was on the Other Side.”

“He is,” said Gray. “I’m from the Other Side.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re some sort of angel or demon?” asked Leslie, sitting down on her bed. She clenched her hands together.

“No,” said Gray. “Why would you think—”

Suddenly, Leslie’s bedroom door burst open. Savannah stood in the doorway, clutching the doorknob. “Whoops,” she said, sauntering into the room. “Didn’t mean to do that. The door was unlocked. What were you saying about angels and demons?”

“I’m not one,” said Gray.

“Savannah, get out,” snapped Leslie.

Savannah stared at Leslie. “No.” She sat on the ground in front of Gray. “So I’m guessing the Other Side for you doesn’t mean the same thing as the Other Side for us. To us, if someone’s on the Other Side, it means they died. So the question is, when you say Other Side, the other side of what?”

“The path,” Gray said simply, as though that explained everything.

“To what?” asked Leslie. “The path to what?”

“Another world.”

Savannah’s face lit up. “I knew it was something like that!”

Leslie started laughing softly. She shook her head, smiling. Gray and Savannah looked at her, concerned. “Another world. You expect me to believe that? What, you think I’m five?”

“Don’t you—don’t you at least have stories about other worlds?” Gray tried to look into Leslie’s eyes, but she averted her gaze.

“Yeah, we have tons of stories,” said Savannah. “Some where people wander through a door into a magical world, though in more of them nowadays people travel to other dimensions through scientific gizmos where they meet their doubles. They’re not real stories, though it’d be cool if they were.”

“Well, my story’s real,” said Gray. He tried to meet Leslie’s gaze. “I’m real. My world’s real. When the sun, sand, and sea meet, people can cross over. I did, and now I’m here.”

Leslie forced herself to stop laughing. Slowly, she unclenched her fists. She thought about all she’d seen, all she’d heard, and she tried to make herself believe it was true. If Gray was lying to her…She closed her eyes, and two tears trickled down her face. She was such an idiot—she should be able to tell reality from fiction. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at Gray. “And why are you here?”

Gray looked at his hands. “My hometown, Westwood, is dying. There’s a sickness going around, and nothing we do helps stop it. There are ways for people from our two worlds to communicate, and my father knows a professor over here—Professor Brown.” Gray looked up. “I came here to give Professor Brown the scroll so that he could work on the cure. There are things we can’t do in our world that can be done over here. Your medicine—it’s more advanced than ours.”

“So Professor Brown is a doctor?” asked Leslie.

“I don’t know!” Gray forced himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on the desk next to the bed. “All I know is that he’s a professor, his name’s Brown, he’s living somewhere in this area, and if I don’t find him everyone I know and love will die!”

“So we find him,” Savannah said simply.

Leslie turned towards her. Suddenly, she remembered a day two years before when the sun was blazing bright and Savannah’s face was red from crying. She thought of Cougar Girl’s attack. She couldn’t let Savannah be near danger. Not again. “No. We’ll find Professor Brown, but you won’t Savannah.”

Savannah scowled. “Why?”

“Because we were attacked, and I don’t—I don’t want you to be hurt again. If something happens…I don’t want you anywhere near.”

Savannah crossed her arms. “I’m not leaving. And why were you attacked anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Leslie frowned. “Gray, if you’re just trying to help save people, why did that woman attack us?”

Gray shrugged, then winced. “I know that in my world there are people who want to cut off all ties to this world. Maybe she was someone who thinks like that who came over accidentally. She might be communicating with people from my world and learned about my mission. Maybe she’s afraid this scroll will open up more communication between worlds. I just don’t know how she found me.”

“Your face is all over the news,” said Savannah. “That Castillo lady’s trying to find your family. She mentioned you’re in the Half Moon Bay area. If Cougar Lady’s been here for a while she’d know all kids go to school and you’d be enrolled somewhere. She must’ve been sneaking around, looking through windows until she found you.”

Gray groaned. “So she might attack again.”

They sat in silence until finally Leslie asked, “Gray, what does the sickness do?”

“It changes you, from the inside out. Your muscles stiffen; your organs don’t work right. And sometimes, you shift without wanting to. Sometimes, I’ve seen people that were stuck between their true forms and their shifted forms, though that’s not supposed to be able to happen. And—and sometimes people go crazy. Then, they die.” Gray tugged at the bottom of his shirt. “Why?”

Leslie thought about the yellow eyes that stared at her in the dark. Her breath caught in her throat. She stammered. “I—after you chased the mountain lion away, and after I came home, I found you in the orange tree. You—you weren’t human, and you weren’t a panther either. You were somewhere in-between.”

Gray’s face paled. He lurched to the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Leslie and Savannah crowded behind him. Gray pulled down one of his eyelids. Parts of the flesh on the underside of his eyelid was discolored—blackish instead of pink. With a moan, Gray slid to the floor and put his head in his hands.

Savannah and Leslie knelt next to Gray. Leslie asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Gray peered at them over his hands. “I’ve contracted the sickness. I—I’m dying.”

* * *

Tell me what you think. What's better or worse than the original The Scroll 12, for those of you who've read it? This scene will probably take a lot more revisions to get exactly right, but this is closer to what I wanted in the first place. (Trust your gut. Always trust your gut. I knew something about The Scroll 12 wasn't right, but I couldn't put my finger on it)

The Scroll 12

Edit: Due to some shortsightedness, I made some major errors when writing this section of "The Scroll." Thank you Zain for pointing out the flaws. I will leave this post up, but I recommend you read The Scroll 12 --Revised instead of this post. It's different--in some ways drastically--than this post.

In this episode of "The Scroll," we see Savannah's reaction to Gray shape shifting, we have a little history lesson, and we finally learn why Gray's here anyway.

Enjoy.

* * *

“Spill what?” asked Gray.

Leslie clenched her fists. A torrent of emotions—fear, anger, betrayal, confusion—boiled in her. She looked at her hands and tried to relax them. They wouldn’t. “Don’t play dumb,” she said. “I was attacked today by a mountain lion that just seconds before was a young woman. And I was saved by a big black leopard that seconds before had been you. And it all has something to do with that scroll of yours. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

Leslie looked at Gray in disbelief.

Gray touched his side gingerly and winced. “I really don’t know,” he mumbled. “I was given a mission, one that only involved my town. I don’t even know how I was found or why they are after the scroll.”

“Okay,” said Leslie, holding up her hand. “Back up. Let’s start from when I found you. Where were you before that?”

Gray fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “That’s going to be a little difficult to explain. You see, you can’t reach where I’m from with any sort of automatic locomotive vehicle.”

Leslie blinked. “Be clearer.”

Taking a deep breath, Gray tried again. “We have a saying where I’m from. ‘When sand, sea, and sky meet, watch where you put your feet.’ On my side, every child knows about this place. So many of us have accidentally slipped over. But here…well, let’s just say we get the impression that most people don’t believe in what they can’t see.”

“And what can’t we see?”

“Another world, one ruled by magic.”

That’s it, thought Leslie. He’s crazy. But was he? Leslie had, after all, seen him change into an animal in front of her eyes. And she had coaxed a half-animal half-human out of the tree. “Another world. What do you mean?”

Gray’s eyes lit with joy. “It’s like here, similar but different. The landforms are basically the same. Vegetation growth is different—there are more forests there. And there aren’t the same cities or towns. You say Half-Moon Bay is a small city? Yet it’s one of the largest I’ve ever seen. And you should see the animals where I’m from—and the wonders.”

Suddenly, Leslie’s door burst open. Savannah stumbled in, her hand clutching the doorknob. “Hey,” she said, blushing. “Look at that. Something’s wrong with your doorknob, Leslie. I barely touched it.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Leslie demanded, standing.

Savannah shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m not the one hiding a shape shifter in their room. So you’re from an alternate reality?” she said, suddenly addressing Gray. She came and sat on the floor in front of him, crossing her legs underneath her.

“Uhn, what’s that?” he asked.

“It’s a place that’s almost exactly like this, but different. It’s made by people choosing different paths, and all of a sudden everything doubles. Over there I could find myself, and Leslie could find herself, and technology would either be a little better or a little worse and maybe we’d be ruled by Spaniards instead of speaking English—oh, except you speak English.”

Gray shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s another world, but it’s not a copy. Well, it’s a copy to an extent. It was created by magicians.”

Savannah’s jaw dropped. “An entire universe was created by magicians? Normal people, like you and me?”

Leslie flushed. “That’s not possible. You can’t just create something out of nothing.”

“Apparently it’s possible,” said Gray, a little grin on his face, “because I’m here, and I’m from there.

“The magicians created it in the late 1600’s after the witch trials in Salem. None of those that were killed were actually witches, but people with magic could feel the world closing in on them. So they created a world that would be ruled by magic instead of science. All the powerful magic-users—magicians, witches, shape shifters, and demon raisers—were brought over—though people quickly realized that the demon raisers needed to be exterminated. Many magical creatures crossed over as well, leaving this world devoid of most its magic.”

“So there are witches and demons and magicians where you’re from?” asked Savannah. She whispered to Leslie, “This is the best story ever.”

Gray laughed softly at Savannah. “Not quite. When all the magic-users crossed over, something happened. The magic changed. So what we have now is different from what was once available. For example,” he said, gesturing to himself, “everyone from my world has a shifted form.”

“Everyone can change into an animal? So if I went to your world, would I be able to change into an animal?” asked Savannah.

Gray shook his head. “No. If you had children there, they would have a shifted form, but you would never have a shifted form.”

Savannah deflated slightly. “Bummer.” She raised an eyebrow and looked at Gray from the corner of her eye. “Show me.”

“No, Savannah,” Leslie said. “I don’t want you involved in whatever this is.”

Savannah crossed her arms. “Your story is nice and all, but I won’t believe a word of it until I see you change.”

“I can’t do that without my soul binder—or I should say I could, but I shouldn’t.”

“And what’s a soul binder?” asked Savannah.

Gray held up his broken necklace. “When I become an animal, my human self wants to slip away and let the animal instincts rule. This helps me remember who I am and that I need to turn back into a human. I need to repair the necklace. I was going to use part of my shirt, but it’s busy repairing itself.”

“So put the rock in your mouth. Just don’t swallow,” said Savannah.

Gray looked at Leslie. She shook her head. He looked at Savannah. She nodded encouragingly. “Sounds like a good idea.” He popped the carved obsidian rock into his mouth.

Leslie forced herself to watch. She could feel herself slipping into a haze, trying to ignore the fact that what Gray was saying was true. She had to see one more time what her mind refused to believe. Fur erupted over Gray’s body, and his body shifted and melted until he fell on all fours on the floor. Flat yellow eyes gazed at Savannah.

Savannah was frozen silent for one second. Then she leaped up. “That’s so cool! You really did change!” She ran her hand over his head. “You’re so soft. Aww, and look at your ears. They’re so big. You’re not a grown-up, are you?”

Gray growled slightly. Savannah laughed. “Your face is soo cute.”

Gray’s ears flattened.

“Umm, I’m not sure cute is the right word,” said Leslie. She didn’t feel like she was going to faint like she felt at the school, but she didn’t want to stand and risk it.

“Sure it is,” said Savannah. “He’s still all scrawny and stuff.”

Suddenly, the panther was replaced by Gray. He scrambled to his feet, pulling on his shirt. “That’s it, no more shifting in front of you.” He spat out the carved panther into his hand.

“For your information,” he said, straightening his shirt, “yes, I am not a grown-up. I’m sorry if my shifted form still looks too kittenish for you. But I did manage to beat a full-grown mountain lion today.”

“Which was very cool of you,” said Savannah.

Gray started to leave. Leslie grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she said. “You still haven’t explained why someone would want your scroll or why you’re here in the first place. I think we deserve to know, especially if we’re going to be attacked again.”

Gray sighed. He sat back down on the bed. “I honestly don’t know why someone would want the scroll.” He rubbed his hair. “You see, I’m here on a mission of mercy. My town…it’s dying.

“Something—some curse or disease, I don’t know which—struck Eastwood. People were dying, and we couldn’t save them. My father’s the mayor of Eastwood, and he sent me here to find a Professor Brown. Some people communicate between the worlds, and Professor Brown is one of them. My father thought that maybe where magic failed that science could succeed. I’m supposed to deliver the scroll to Professor Brown. It details what is happening in my town and how to reach our side to help save us.”

Leslie tugged at a strand of her hair. “But why would someone try to steal it?”

Gray shrugged. “Back home, we’d heard that some people from our side want nothing to do with your world. They want all communication to be cut off and for people to find a way to permanently close the path between our two worlds. Maybe the woman was one of those. But that still doesn’t explain how she found me.”

“Umm...I think I know,” said Savannah. “Your face was on the news, and they explained how you were found and what you were wearing and things like that. That Castillo lady was trying to find your family. She thought you had amnesia.”

“Perfect,” muttered Gray. “And I thought my mission was hard enough.”

All three sat in silence for a long while, digesting what they’d learned. Finally, Leslie broke the silence. “Well, at least I won’t be freaked out the next time I see you as half-panther half-human.”

Gray stiffened. He glared at her. “What did you say?”

Leslie stammered. “I—after you chased the mountain lion away, and after I came home, I found you in the orange tree. You—you weren’t human, and you weren’t a panther either. You were somewhere in-between.”

Gray pushed violently off the bed and lurched to the bathroom. He flipped on the light switch and stared in the mirror. Leslie and Savannah crowded behind him. Gray pulled down one of his eyelids. Parts of the flesh on the underside of his eyelid was discolored—blackish instead of pink. With a moan, Gray slid to the floor and put his head in his hands.

Savannah and Leslie knelt next to Gray. Leslie asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Gray peered at them over his hands. “I’ve contracted the sickness. I’m going to die, if I don’t go crazy first.”

Titles and details

So, I haven't had a chance to write much lately. As it is, I should be going to bed. However, before I do, I want to say one thing:

I've thought up a title for "The Scroll's" series! No longer will I think of it as "Well, that one series," or "The series with The Scroll as the first book," or "Leslie and Gray's story, except now it's Savannah's story too."

The title for the series in which The Scroll is the first book shall be called (pause for clearing of throat):

The World Walker Chronicles

Or something similar. Remember, titles are always at least a little fluid until the book's actually published.

I also know the names for each of the books. There will be four books (or stories, if they're never published outside of blog format). Each book will have a title relating to an artifact that will be sought/found/used/protected in that story.

Book 1: The Scroll (If you haven't figured out the location of the scroll yet, you're a terrible reader)

Book 2: The Lamp (Or the Lantern. I haven't decided yet)

Book 3: The Flute (I think... I may have to change this artifact. I keep getting pictures of Link holding the Ocarina of Time in my head...)

Book 4: The Knife (Think what you will on this one)

And now we come to the second part of this blog, which I really shouldn't be writing because it is bedtime: Details.

How important are details, really? Do details make or break a story?

The answer: very. The second answer: yes.

Does that mean that all authors should take detail making to Tolkienian extremes, including every leg of every adventure (including having three adults taking baths (in different bathtubs) at the same time and singing nursery rhymes and acting a bit like toddlers? (part of Fellowship that always struck me a little odd))? Not necessarily. Nor do you necessarily need to describe every branch of every tree or the exact physical dimensions of every character. All authors have a voice and a cadence that lends to more or less details. Some authors can write a very successful story with very few details and let the readers fill in the gaps. Other authors describe events and characters in great details, and their stories are also considered classics.

But how much is too much? Well, let's go back to Tolkien. He loves (loved?) letting the reader fall into his world and immersed his story with back history that anybody who hasn't read the Silmarillion (and some who have) can never completely appreciate. He is also very good at describing locations, characters, and events in great detail. However, he tends to do so only once, allowing the reader to remember the characters and the places in their heads. Let's take one of my favorite characters, Strider, for instance. He is described as thus: "Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits."

Later, we learn that he is tall, at times noble-looking despite his haggard appearance, and has dark hair peppered with gray. But Tolkien does not dwell overmuch on Strider's appearance throughout The Lord of the Rings (except on rare occasions when Strider does something/shows something that reveals his true heritage). We get this paragraph (which admittedly has more detail than I would write--maybe I can learn something here), which sets up not only Strider's appearance, but his mysteriously withdrawn and watchful personality. Many characters in other books have been patterned after this king-in-hiding, but few succeed in matching Strider's greatness.

Another famous (right now, anyway) book is Twilight. I cannot quote directly from Twilight because I have relegated it to the scrap heap just today and donated it to Savers. I was annoyed throughout the Twilight saga by Stephenie Meyer's insistence on ramming the characters' descriptions down our throats (most specifically the "forever perfect" ice-cold Edward and the "warm and cuddly" Jacob). She said over and over how marble-ly, how perfect, how cold, how perfect, how yummy smelling, how perfect, how chivalric, how perfect, how lovely-haired, how perfect, how golden-eyed, how perfect Edward was. Now, if she's said it so many times, it must be true, right? Maybe so, but we don't need to be told this over and over and over and over and...well, now I'm doing it too. You get the idea. I have a feeling I would have enjoyed the Twilight Saga much more if Stephenie didn't feel she had to remind us every few pages what her characters looked/smelled/sounded/felt/made you feel emotionally like. Personally, I enjoyed her book The Host a lot more. (It has not been relegated to the scrap heap yet, and I may actually reread it someday)

In closing, I have created Titles! I am thinking about Details! And, after comparing Tolkien and Twilight (when, really, they shouldn't be compared anyway because they're completely different genres and Lord of the Rings will be around forever and now I'm getting off my soap box), I am going to do my best to find that perfect balance of details.

Signing off, see you next time.

Elisa

The Scroll 11

Okay, so I lied. We don't get to hear about Gray's mission yet, and Savannah only does half of her freak-out. So you'll have to wait until next time to get the rest of the bean-spilling and sister-freaking action. In the meanwhile, enjoy.

* * *

The moment Gray stepped on the ground, he slumped over. Leslie caught him and helped him stand. She pulled his arm over her shoulders, and they shuffled inside.

“Savannah,” Leslie called. She pushed the door closed with her foot. “Savannah, help.”

Savannah dashed into the hallway and froze. She took in Leslie bending under Gray’s weight. Gray’s face was white. Blood stained the right side of his clothes. Some more blood was smeared on his neck and face. “What happened?” she cried.

“Gray attacked a mountain lion. Hurry, get the first aid kit.” Leslie half-carried Gray to the kitchen table. He carefully eased himself into a chair.

Savannah ran and grabbed the first-aid kit from under the bathroom sink. She entered just as Leslie bent to examine Gray’s side. Her fingers hovered above the torn cloth of Gray’s shirt. Before Leslie and Savannah’s eyes, the fabric started knitting itself back together.

“Aiee!” shrieked Savannah. “It’s Venom!”

She dashed to the kitchen cabinets, fumbling around inside until she brought out two aluminum cooking pans. She raised them high above her head. “Don’t move, evil symbiote,” Savannah warned. “I know how you can be defeated.”

Leslie frowned. Gray looked at the pans in Savannah’s hands, a pained expression on his face. “What’s Venom?”

Leslie shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. She tried to sound unconcerned, but a slight tremor made its way into her voice.

“Don’t try to fool me,” said Savannah. She loomed close. “I know your symbiote’s evil.”

“Symbiote?” said Gray. “Do you mean my shirt? It’s a plant. I don’t have a symbiotic relationship with it.”

Savannah lowered the pans. “Huh?”

“Ah, of course it’s a plant,” said Leslie sarcastically. “Who would’ve thought? Can you pull it up, please? You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

Wincing, Gray pulled his shirt up. Large red stripes ran down Gray’s side. Some of them were deep gouges, and Leslie thought she could see something white in one of them. Acid came up in Leslie’s throat. “Savannah,” she forced out, “get out some clean towels and the rubbing alcohol.”

Savannah breathed in sharply. “That’s gonna hurt.” Still, she obediently put the pans down and grabbed some kitchen hand towels from a drawer. She handed them to Leslie, as well as a large brown bottle of isopropyl alcohol.

Leslie upended the bottle on one of the towels. “Take a deep breath,” she warned Gray. “This is going to sting. A lot.”

Gray took a deep breath right as Leslie pressed the towel to Gray’s side. Gray howled in pain. His free hand clutched the table.

“Sorry,” mumbled Leslie. She rubbed the towel as gently as she could over the wound and the surrounding skin. The towel became red. The wounds weren’t bleeding a lot, but it still looked bad.

“Just hurry,” Gray said through gritted teeth.

Savannah stood behind Leslie. She stared at Gray’s wounds. “He needs stitches. Why don’t you take him to the hospital? He really needs stitches.”

Leslie applied pressure to Gray’s side. Gray groaned through his pressed lips. “We can’t take Gray to the hospital. We just can’t. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

With her free hand, Leslie grabbed a bunch of gauze bandages from a box. She ripped a package open with her teeth and pressed it over the wound. It immediately began to turn red. She placed another bandage on top of it. She tore medical tape with her teeth and taped the gauze in place.

“That’ll do for now, though I might have to sew it together,” said Leslie. As she said it, acid filled her mouth again. “To the neck now.”

“What do you mean he can’t go to the hospital?” demanded Savannah.

Leslie gently pulled down the back collar of Gray’s shirt. Teeth marks ran across his shoulder and neck. Luckily, they were just surface marks. “This’ll be easier,” she said. To Savannah she said, “Like I said, Gray’s different. We can’t have him going to the hospital and the doctors finding that out.”

“Different how?” said Savannah.

“I’m different?” said Gray.

Leslie paused with an alcohol-drenched towel in her hand. She stepped around Gray’s chair until she stood in front of him. He still looked pale, but that didn’t stop the flood of emotions from pouring out of Leslie. Everything that had happened that day came crashing down on her. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. You turned into a panther, Gray! A real-life panther! Stuff like that doesn’t just happen. Even I’m not that stupid.”

“He did what?!” Savannah squealed.

“You don’t shift?” asked Gray. His eyes widened, and his mouth formed a small “oh.”

“What does that mean, shift?” demanded Leslie. She flung down the towel. It landed wetly on the floor.

Gray shrunk a little in his chair under Leslie’s wrath. He said in a small voice. “It’s changing forms. I thought your shifted forms were bugs or something, and that’s why you never shifted in front of me.”

“Bugs?” said Leslie, narrowing her eyes.

“It happens sometimes,” said Gray apologetically.

“Shift right now!” said Savannah.

“What?!” Leslie wheeled on Savannah. “Of course he’s not going to shift right now. He just survived a battle with Cougar Girl, he doesn’t need his bandages to come off because he suddenly grows fur.”

“Cougar Girl?” said Savannah. Her face was one gigantic grin. She started dancing around the room. “He fought another shape shifter? This is awesome!”

“No it’s not!” snapped Leslie. Savannah stopped. “Dad’s going to be home soon. We have to clean all this up before he does. And you,” she said, turning on Gray. “I need to patch up your neck, and then you need to change into some gym clothes because that’s what I said you were wearing to explain why your clothes were lying all over the classroom.”

“Yes, ma’am,” mumbled Gray, while Savannah muttered, “Fine.”

Leslie doused another towel in alcohol and cleaned Gray’s neck. She placed a gauze bandage on his neck and taped it on—not as gently as she could have. Then she helped Gray upstairs to change. While he was changing, Leslie rinsed as much blood out of the towels as she could. She dumped them in the washing machine and started it. She and Savannah were cleaning the counters and floor when Gray came down in a white t-shirt and blue shorts. She helped him back into the chair.

They were not a moment too soon. From the kitchen, they heard the garage door open and the car pull in. The three of them sat in tense silence as the car’s engine died and footsteps came up the stairs. The door opened, and Mr. Matheson entered carrying a tray of drinks and a paper sack. He looked down as he kicked off his shoes—he looked worn.

“Hey Dad,” Savannah said. “Look who made it back!”

Mr. Matheson looked up. His eyes fell on Gray, and his face lit up. “Gray! I was so worried about you.”

Gray stood shakily. Leslie hoped her dad wouldn’t notice. He tried to smile as Mr. Matheson quickly stepped forward, setting down the drinks and bag. Mr. Matheson pulled Gray into a hug. Leslie saw Gray wince in pain.

Mr. Matheson stepped back, his hands on Gray’s shoulders. “I heard you wrestled a mountain lion today. You don’t look so bad, considering.”

Gray laughed weakly. “I have a few scratches, but I’ll live. I was lucky.”

“Yeah, Leslie piped up. “Nothing a few band-aids couldn’t fix.”

“Well,” said Mr. Matheson. He dug a wrapped-up hamburger out of the bag and pressed it into Gray’s hands. “You deserve this. I’ll eat something else.”

“Thank you,” said Gray.

Mr. Matheson smiled. “Glad to have you back. I have to go out again. This day has been one never-ending ball of craziness. I’ll talk to the police and let them know you’re alive. Guess you’re off the hook, Leslie.”

Leslie laughed half-heartedly. Mr. Matheson hugged his girls and left, a new bounce in his step. As soon as the door closed, Leslie and Gray both slumped into their seats.

Savannah was already halfway through her hamburger. She slurped at her soda. “So, you can turn into a panther?”

“Yes,” said Gray. “Everyone can change into an animal where I’m from.”

“Which is…” pressed Savannah.

“Let him eat,” Leslie interrupted. She got out her hamburger and ate it half-heartedly.

Gray ate his hamburger silently. He looked so pale. A wave of pity rushed over Leslie. She pushed it down. Too many things had happened for her to feel pity for Gray right now. First, she needed answers. Leslie peered down at Gray’s side. A red spot was bleeding through his shirt.

“I think I do need to sew your wounds shut,” said Leslie. “They won’t stop bleeding. Hurry up and finish eating, then meet me upstairs.”

“I don’t envy you,” said Savannah.

Leslie got out her mother’s old sewing kit and placed it on her bed. She laid the supplies out: needles, scissors, thread, and a lighter. Gray entered her room and sat on the bed.

“What color do you want?” asked Leslie, trying to sound lighthearted.

Gray looked at the spools of thread. “It doesn’t matter. Black.”

Leslie carefully cut a long piece of thread and laid it on a clean paper towel. She ignited the lighter and passed a needle through the yellow flame, sterilizing it. Then she threaded the needle’s eye.

“Shirt off,” she commanded.

With a moan, Gray pulled off his shirt. The gauze bandages were a deep red. Leslie pulled them off and cleaned the area with another piece of gauze. “If you want, you can stuff that towel in your mouth,” said Leslie, pointing to a clean towel on her bed.”

Gray shook his head. “Just do this quick.”

Leslie’s vision swam, but she shook her head and it returned to normal. Her hands shaking, Leslie pushed the needle into Gray’s skin. Gray breathed sharply, but otherwise he remained still. As Leslie knitted Gray’s torn flesh together, Gray’s hands balled into fists, his foot tapped incessantly, but no sound escaped him. Finally, Leslie picked up the scissors and snipped the thread. She spread antibacterial ointment on the long wounds, just in case. She placed fresh gauze over everything and taped it down. Then she sat back and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “All done.”

Gray put his shirt back on. He started to get up, but Leslie grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

Leslie glared into Gray’s eyes. “Spill it.”