* * *
For the first time in a year, Leslie dreamed about her mother’s death.
It was a day in the middle of summer. The sun, supernaturally bright, shone far overhead, bathing everything in its radiating warmth. Leslie stood gazing out at the ocean, entranced by the endless pulse of the waves.
Savannah and their mother were on the path behind Leslie. Savannah’s happy chatter could be heard over the crashing waves. Mr. Matheson wasn’t there—they were on a mother-daughter outing, exploring the sea cliffs north of Half Moon Bay. Here, there were no sea dunes that gave way to gentle white sand beaches. There were only cliffs that went straight down to the rocky shore. Even from the top of the cliffs beds of kelp were visible. The giant brown seaweed swayed with the motion of the waves as though they were trees in a gale.
Leslie watched her mother and little sister. Savannah crept closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, heedless of the danger, trying to see the rocks far below.
How often Leslie tried to recall precisely what happened next. Had her mother tried to pull Savannah back from the cliff edge? Had a bird startled her and she stumbled? Did the edge of the cliff crumble beneath her? Had she tripped? No matter how many times Leslie scoured her memories, no matter how many times it haunted her dreams, Leslie could never tell what happened. Her mother jerked like she was trying to regain her balance, giving a short yelp, and then she fell over the edge. She didn’t scream on the way down, as though she was too surprised by what had happened.
Leslie watched her mother’s silent fall in horror. Even though she was too far away, though there was no way she could have made it in time, she should have done something. There must have been some way she could have saved her mother. She had to do something.
She couldn’t do anything.
There was nothing she could have done.
She couldn’t do anything.
* * *
Leslie jerked awake. Shame, sorrow, helplessness tore over her, and she buried her face in her hands and cried. It was just a dream, she tried to tell herself. It wasn’t your fault. But that didn’t make her feel any less responsible. Leslie forced herself to push her emotions away.
Once she was calm, it took Leslie a few moments to realize she wasn’t in her own bed. She squinted her eyes against the darkness, trying to see her surroundings. She made out a fireplace, a potted tree, and an old-fashioned television on an oak table. She was lying on a leather sofa. Gradually, it all came back to her—going to the shopping center with Gray, the boy stealing the scroll, Gray collapsing, the drive to Professor Brown’s house, the shifter and the doctor, and Professor Brown’s anger.
Leslie slowly sat up. Someone had placed a blanket on her as she slept. It slid off onto the ground. Her shoulder ached.
I have to see Gray. I need to know that he’s okay. It wasn’t just his illness—Leslie had an uneasy feeling about Professor Brown. Had he really yelled at her, or was her memory playing tricks on her because of her exhaustion and her loss of blood? Leslie stood and felt her way to the stairs. A light shone somewhere on the second floor. Quietly, Leslie walked up the stairs. Gray’s door was open. She peered in.
Gray was asleep under a pile of blankets. Leslie could just make out his tousled hair. His breaths were deep and even; with each breath he wheezed slightly. Ravenstorm slept in an armchair next to the bed. He wore his gloves even in sleep.
The light was coming from the next room down the hall. Leslie walked towards the doorway but stopped when she heard hushed voices. She listened just out of sight of the door.
“It’s amazing!” Doctor Monroe was saying. “Some cells completely change their structure in seconds, while other cells appear and disappear without any evidence of cell death or mitosis. And it’s not just the blood cells—all the samples are doing the same thing. Even the hair changes every once in a while—and hair’s made of protein. It’s not alive. I can only imagine what goes on at the molecular level.”
“But what about the disease?” asked Professor Brown, his voice rumbling.
“Well, I can’t find any evidence of a strain of virus or bacteria attacking.” He paused, and Leslie imagined him pushing his glasses up. “My guess is that the disease was triggered by a toxin—something in the water, food, or air. In some of the samples the cells multiply or appear or whatever they’re doing without other cells disappearing. And the cells mutate—some dying, some not. That’s why Gray’s organs are stiffening and the inside of his eyelids are black. It would also explain his sensitivity to sound and light if his central nervous system is being affected.”
“And the cure they’ve been working on?” Professor Brown demanded. “Is it effective?”
Leslie crept forward and peeked inside the room. Professor Brown and Doctor Monroe leaned over a table crowded with a microscope, slides, beakers, and other scientific equipment. Neither noticed Leslie huddled by the door.
Doctor Monroe ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “It does seem to reverse the effects of the disease—at least partially. It’s amazing what they’ve done with just plants and animals they’ve found in nature without proper lab equipment—”
“But with a bit of magic,” interrupted Professor Brown.
“Yes,” admitted Doctor Monroe. “And with a little bit of magic. I suspect their cure needs a catalyst—something to speed up the process so that the patient doesn’t die while they’re waiting for the medicine to take effect. I’ve got a couple of hypotheses about what the compound needs, but I need to find a natural substitute, not something synthetic, so that they can grow or culture it there. And I’ll probably need Ravenstorm to add his bit of magic, as you called it.”
“But will it work?”
Doctor Monroe tapped his pen on the desk top. “I can halt the process, reverse some of the damage perhaps. Gray will become more stable, and he should be able to shift like before. But I can’t guarantee anything. Gray’s body has probably been altered at the genetic level—or whatever passes for genes with shifters. He’ll be changed—everyone who gets this disease will be changed. I’m just not sure to what extent or in what ways.”
“But he’ll live,” said the professor. “And the people in the village will live.”
“Yes, they will.”
Relief flooded over Leslie, but it was tainted with anxiety. What did he mean, Gray would be changed? And Gray might be able to shift like before? Leslie cleared her throat and stepped forward. Alistair Brown and Doctor Monroe looked up. “Is—is Gray going to be alright?” she asked, avoiding Professor Brown’s gaze.
Doctor Monroe set down his pen and smiled. “We’re working on it. Hopefully we’ll have a cure by morning. How’s your shoulder?”
Leslie shrugged her good shoulder. “It hurts.”
“Let me take a look at it.”
Leslie let the doctor take her back down to the couch. As he changed the bandages on her shoulder, she asked, “How is Gray?”
Doctor Monroe silently sponged off dried blood before answering. “He’s hanging in there. How much did you hear upstairs?”
“Enough to know Gray might not be the same when he gets better,” said Leslie. She forced herself not to cry out as Doctor Monroe’s work stung her wound. “What does that mean anyway?”
“It means he’ll be changed—I’m not sure how,” said the doctor. “His genes may have been altered. He might have darker hair, lighter eyes. Maybe a little bit of his leopard form will hang around when he’s human. I can’t be sure. I’ve never worked on a shifter before, though I’ve heard about them.”
Guilt rushed over Leslie. “I should have tried harder to find Professor Brown,” she said. “And I should have scheduled our meeting earlier. It’s all my fault. If we’d come sooner, Gray wouldn’t be like this. He doesn’t want to be half-human, half-leopard. He doesn’t want to be a monster.”
Doctor Monroe put his fingers under Leslie’s chin and lifter her face until she was looking in his eyes. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s the nature of the disease. Nobody’s at fault.”
Leslie tried to listen to him, but she didn’t believe him. “There has to be something I can do—some way I can help.”
“There’s nothing you can do, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to. Leave the doing to me.”
All of Leslie’s bandages had been replaced. She ran her fingers lightly over the clean white gauze. “Thank you for doing this—for helping Gray most of all.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Doctor Monroe said. He leaned back against the couch with a smile. “Ever since Alistair told me about the shifters four years ago I’ve been dying to meet one. And now I’ve not only met one, I have the chance to help him and those he loves.”
Leslie looked up at him. “You met Professor Brown four years ago?”
“Five,” said Doctor Monroe. “But he only knew me well enough to tell me about the shifters after he’d known me a year. And who wouldn’t be afraid to tell a biologist about a creature that can change forms at will, defying all the known scientific laws? We scientists are not all that fond of magic.”
“You’re a biologist?” asked Leslie. “But I thought you’re a doctor.”
“I was,” said Doctor Monroe. “I started out as a physician but ended up going back to school to get a second doctorate in biochemistry.”
“And what’s Professor Brown?”
“An archaeologist. That’s how he found out about the shifters’ world—some artifacts from their world washed up on shore. I imagine a lot of our garbage must have ended up over there as well.”
“And has Professor Brown acted strange, fanatical or something, about the shifters’ world?” Leslie asked.
“Well, yes,” said Doctor Monroe. “Anybody who believes in other worlds connected to our own seem a little fanatical at times, especially when that world really exists. Why do you ask?”
Leslie rubbed her arm. “The seal on the scroll was broken somehow, and Professor Brown got angry when he found out.”
Doctor Monroe smiled. “Don’t worry. He was probably worried a page might have been lost. There’s more than one page in that scroll, you know.” He looked at his watch. “It’s been nice talking to you, but it’s time I get back to work. Try to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”
Leslie watched Doctor Monroe leave the room, then curled up on the couch and closed her eyes. She hoped he was right.
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