Streamfield Shifters: Red Rover

Chapter Four

"Aly ... ?"

I looked down to see my cousin Sarah's ten-year-old daughter Lydia standing next to the condiments table. Her curly black hair was tied up in pigtails and finished off with red, white and blue ribbons. She breathed deeply, face flushed from running.

"Yeah?" I prompted, setting down a large basket of napkins.

"There's a guy in the bushes." Lydia jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

"What bushes?"

Lydia frowned. "Down by the river. Isaac says he's playing with himself. Nieve told him not to say that. Henry wanted to throw rocks at him to scare him off, but I said I'd get a grown-up."

Our territory encompassed nearly twenty acres of former farmland; the area encircling the houses and workshop was grass with playscapes and pools, but it dipped down into a copse of trees marked by generations of claws. At the edge of the trees was the StreamfieldRiver, nature's boundary marker. It wasn't unusual for Michaels children to play at the water's edge during big family summer events.

I glanced back towards the main house. My father, uncle and male cousins were all gathered around the four large grills that were cheerily preparing stacks of hamburgers, hot dogs, kielbasa, and ribs for today's party. No, I wouldn't bother them. If the guy was some random pervert, I could take care of it myself.

"Let's go," I told Lydia.

She led me down the hill to a well-worn trail that connected directly to the river's edge. As we walked, a pair of wolves darted across the path, tripping over their overlarge paws. A small smile touched my lips as I watched them run. I remembered what it was like to be one of the newly-shifted; the closest thing to it would be learning how to drive—you wanted to always be in the car, going somewhere.

"Henry! Put that down or I'm telling your mother!"

"Shut up, Nieve!"

We broke through the trees and emerged onto the bank of the StreamfieldRiver. Clustered together in an angry huddle in the sand were six Michaels children, all with black hair of various lengths and textures.

"I'll take that," I said, swooping in and plucking a large river rock from the ten-year-old's hand.

"Hey!" Henry exclaimed, whirling on me. "Oh, hi, Aly ..." Youthful pique flared and died in his purple eyes.

"Where is he?" I asked, examining the kids.

"Over there." Fourteen-year-old Isaac pointed to a large cluster of brush by the water's edge, next to the gnarled roots of an old oak tree. "He's diddling himself."

Thirteen-year-old Nieve loosed an exasperated sigh. "He's not! Why do boys always talk about penises?" she asked, turning to me.

God only knows, I mused.

"Then why is he in the bushes?" Isaac demanded. "Dad said that's what perverts do."

I held up my hands. "Okay, guys. I want you all to wait here. I'm going to go ahead and see what this gentleman is up to. Henry, you can have your rock back."

"Can I throw it?" he asked eagerly.

"Only if I tell you to." He'd probably hit me with it instead. Henry was always picked last for baseball, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm for hurling objects.

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, I threw back my shoulders and marched across the wet sand. "Sir!" I called out, stopping twenty feet away. If he charged, the distance would give me enough time to shift. Hopefully, he would leave peacefully, because I was wearing my favorite pair of shorts. I'd already lost one good pair of pants to an abrupt shift in the SummerKingdom; I didn't want to lose any more.