Other: A Secret Shifter Story

One

I can't last much longer. It's been one week, three days, and I forget how many hours.

My belly cramps, and I curl on my bed, staring out at the stars. A delicious breeze glides through my window and cools my sweaty forehead. The air smells of summer—mowed grass, recent rain, lingering barbecue—and tempts me more than I want to admit. Shards of moonlight and shadow shift on the wall. I clench my teeth and toes and try to ride out the pain. My bedroom drifts counterclockwise, and I shut my eyes.

It can't be good for me, not shapeshifting.

All the don'ts I've heard circle through my mind like vultures preying on my doubts. Don't worry about what people think of Others, Gwen, they don't understand. Don't worry, Gwen, we love you just the way you are, but don't tell anyone outside the family. If they don't know you're Other, it won't hurt anyone. And don't ever let anyone see you shapeshift, especially not the neighbors. Don't.

I shouldn't. It's stupid, dangerous, unnecessary—no, it's very necessary. Just taboo.

I kick off my blankets, slide out of bed, and lock my door. My heartbeat quickens. My breathing sounds too loud. I glimpse a pair of golden lights reflected in the mirror above my bookcase: my eyes, betraying their true nature. Most of the time I pass them off as pale hazel. Maybe my body's telling me I should be human only 50 percent of the time, because that's what I am. Half-human. The rest: a guilty pleasure, a shameful secret.

Screw it. I'm going to. I have to—it's as urgent as breathing.

I don't look at my reflection as I peel off my T-shirt, pants, underwear. Embarrassing sometimes, but I have to be naked. A shudder both painful and pleasurable ripples down my spine. Tingles build in the pit of my stomach. I tighten my abs, trying to hold it back. Can I get outside before it happens? I don't think so.

My skin prickles as if I ran naked through a field of nettles. It becomes almost unbearable. I hug myself tight, then gasp as magic floods my veins. My mind blanks, and it happens between heartbeats.

When I open my eyes, I'm on all fours, carpet beneath my hooves. The floor groans, and I wince. Hopefully it won't come crashing down under my half-ton weight. I see myself in the mirror. A pure black horse. I arch my neck and toss my mane, then sidestep from my reflection. My hoof clunks on a bedpost. I didn't choose this big awkward animal, trust me—it's what comes most naturally to me. My nostrils flare at the sweet scent of grass, and I stick my head out the window to ogle the lawn.

Whoa there, Gwen, I tell myself.

My legs itch with unspent energy. I want to go outside, even as guilt wriggles in my gut. I hate having to sneak around like a pervert. Well, if the neighbors saw me, what would they do? Probably they'd freak and break out the pitchforks. In a backwoods town like Klikamuks, Washington, laws can be conveniently forgotten, and nice politically correct terms like "person with paranormal identity" disappear.

Whatever. I've earned this. I'll be careful. I've been a good little girl for long enough. It's easy to transform again, I'm so giddy with the lingering magic. Back to girl I go. I climb through the window and onto the roof. Naked, I curl my bare toes around shingles and grin nervously in the moonlight. I hope nobody's awake.

Wind tosses my curls. I clench my hands and stir the magic inside me. Power boils through my veins, dizzying me. Concentrate. The night snaps into sharper focus. I jump. My arms, my wings, strain upward. Feathers unfurl from my skin. My plummet curves into a swoop, and I tuck my talons beneath my body.

From girl to great horned owl in about a second. Pretty good, huh?

Flapping hard, I climb skyward in a tight spiral, then fan my wings and coast on the wind. My moldy old white farmhouse of a home looks almost quaint so far below. With my fantastic eyesight, I can count the morning glories clambering over the rusty swing set in our yard. Rodents scritch and nibble in the tall grass, and my stomach aches. No. Bad owl. Shapeshifting always makes me hungry.