A Million Shadows

1. Endings and Beginnings-1

1

Endings and Beginnings

“You need to get out of here, Kyra,” Matt said. “And by out of here, I mean out of the state.”

I caught the snarl before it escaped my jaw. “You’re overstepping your boundaries. The last time we met, you said you couldn’t be my therapist, but I certainly needed one.”

“And you still do.” He looked around the diner to make sure no one eavesdropped. “But being here isn’t good for you, either as a person or a wolf. And I’m not saying you did or didn’t try to sabotage Lonna Marconi’s career, but you haven’t exactly managed to prove your innocence.”

“I didn’t do anything to Lonna Marconi. Why should I even care about her?” I took a deep breath. It had shocked me when Matt accused me of impersonating her to torpedo her cute little social worker career. “As for what’s good for me, going to Memphis and trying to re-start my pre-CLS life wasn’t.”

That had turned into a disaster. Most people thought Chronic Lycanthropy Syndrome was just the hot new behavioral disorder—and for the typical victim, it was “merely” psychological—but a few of us “lucky” ones actually transformed. I figured with enough planning, I could work around my unusual symptom expression. I’d just barricade myself in my apartment on the night of the change, take a Valium, and sleep through it.

I’d wakened that first morning after the full moon from dreams of being trapped, a wrecked apartment, and complaints from the neighbors about being kept awake by the noise of a howling, wild animal. I’m just lucky no one called the cops or broke the door down to rescue me. My landlords were not amused.

Thankfully I hadn’t signed a long-term lease and was able to get out of it, come back to the small Ozarks community of Crystal Pines with my literal and figurative tail between my legs—at least on the next night I changed—and try to re-integrate into my pack. But my pack didn’t want me, even after I’d apologized for being such a b***h to the new alpha female when I first met her.

Oh, and they’d also figured out my parents weren’t dead, like I’d implied when I’d told everyone they’d left me the cabin.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a great apology, but I’d tried. My pack-mates weren’t impressed, especially now that the alpha male and alpha female had started having puppies.

As for the truth about my parents… The pack didn’t seem to understand how embarrassed I’d been when I’d first become ill and escaped to Crystal Pines. But that was two strikes against me, hence the meeting I was having now with the beta.

He sat back and shook his head. “Have you thought about doing something different? Starting over in a different part of the country?”

“Running a modeling agency is all I know, and this is my home,” I told him. “I just need time to figure this out.”

“You’ve been figuring this out for two years now. You need to find a new pack, start a new life.”

I heard what he didn’t say—Where no one knows who you are or what a crazy b***h you’ve been.

He signaled for the check, which he thankfully picked up. Once he paid and I’d sat in sulky silence for a while, he patted my hand.

“I know you don’t believe this, but I want what’s best for you. You were one of the original Piney Mountain pack members, and you’ve saved my tail more than a few times. I haven’t forgotten that. Please—go and start over. You know the definition of insanity.”

I nodded. “Doing the same thing and expecting different results.”

“Right. How long are you going to bang your head against this wall? You’re letting your condition turn you into a bitter shell of the vivacious young woman you used to be.”

He left, and I took a shuddering breath to calm myself. His words chilled me in spite of the warm autumn day.

I was still pondering them when I got into my old Honda, which was yet another reminder of how far I’d fallen as a result of the stupid CLS. I’d had to trade down from the Mercedes I used to drive.

Where could I go? I still had my parents’ cabin, which in spite of the rustic name, at least had running water and electricity. But no internet or phone service, and the cell signal sucked up there.

I had four bars in town, though, and just after I pulled out of my parking spot, I was greeted by a ding and a text message from my younger sister-in-law. The blurry black and white ultrasound picture clued me into the contents before I read it.

Welcoming newest Ellison in the spring!

A flurry of dings heralded congratulations from other family members. I drove faster than advisable so I’d have the “no signal” excuse for not replying to my perfect brother’s perfect wife’s happy news.

The early autumn yellows glowed in the shadowed green forest and seemed to mock my dark, bitter mood. Everyone was moving forward with their lives but me, who was going backward or at least stagnating.

Just before I reached the area where having a telephone conversation would be impossible, my phone rang. A glance at the screen told me it was my mother. As most people with elderly parents do, I pulled over and answered even though I wasn’t in the mood to talk to her. My father had a weak heart.

My mother didn’t bother with a greeting, just launched into, “Kyra, did you see Lisa’s text?”

Instead of answering with an affirmative, I sighed.

“I thought you did. Of all the ways to tell everyone!” Now she exhaled with a huff, and the puff of air coming through the phone irritated me further because it reminded me how similar we were.

“I guess she was efficient.”

“She’ll figure out how well efficiency works when she has the baby. Nothing throws your life off like having kids.”

I stifled another sigh. My mother never missed a chance to let us know just how much she’d given up for us, and I had already anticipated her next question.

She cleared her throat. “Now that the family will have another reason to get together for quiet vacations, I need to know, are you still staying at the cabin?”

“Almost there.”

“Look, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this, but it’s supposed to be a family cabin. Meaning you kids are supposed to take turns, not squat there for years.”

I ground the words out one at a time. “I’ve been sick. I tried to leave, but it didn’t work out.”

“No more excuses. You have a week. If you need somewhere to land, the house on the Massachusetts coast is free in October. Your father isn’t doing well enough to go this year, as much as he loves the Salem festivals. Plus, you’ll find more opportunities up there near a big city than in the woods.”

That was how my mother did peace offerings—give, take, and offer unsolicited advice—and I knew it was all I was going to get. “Fine.”

“Good. I’ll send you the information. And, Kyra, we do love you, but you need some tough love. You’re driving yourself crazy in those mountains.”

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and tried to focus on it to stop the nauseating sensation of my world dropping out from beneath me. “That seems to be the consensus.”

The old Kyra could have handled the northeast with no problem. But now? How long would it be before I broke down completely?