2. Quinn
QUINN
The poacher’s target, a white-tailed buck, sprinted off, vanishing into the underbrush as the man cursed.
“You’re under arrest for poaching,” Quinn said, “not to mention hunting in a protected area and out of season. Gonna cost you money, your license, your gun, maybe even jail time.”
“Screw that.” The poacher turned fast, trying to knock Quinn’s gun out of the way and ram him in the midsection.
Old military training kicked in, and Quinn took both of them to the ground, hoping he didn’t have to shoot the man. The poacher fought but gave up when Quinn leveled the Sig at him from point-blank range.
“Fuck,” the poacher muttered as Quinn handcuffed his wrists and shackled his ankles.
“I’m going to take you into town and turn you over to the sheriff,” Quinn told the man before reading him his rights. He ignored the cursing and opened his “other” senses, tuning into the vibration of the forest around them, jangly from the violence.
You’re safe now, he thought, sending a wave of calming energy out to the creatures who had witnessed the fight, and the buck that had been the target. Be at peace.
He turned his attention back to the man on the ground and picked up the discarded hunting rifle. “Get on your feet. We’ve got a walk back to my truck.”
Quinn locked the man into the back, securing the cuffs so he couldn’t try to escape or attack Quinn while he was driving. The poacher had an impressive vocabulary of swear words and didn’t repeat himself the whole way into Fox Hollow.
“Got a new one for you,” Quinn announced as he guided his prisoner into the sheriff’s office. “Another poacher.”
Sheriff Torben Armel poked his head out of his office. He was dark-haired and solidly built, much like the bear that was his shifter side. “Good work,” Armel told him before turning a glower on the prisoner that made the man stop swearing.
“Maybe when your buddies see what happens to poachers, they’ll decide to play by the rules,” Armel growled. He glanced at the desk sergeant. “Get him booked and find him a cell.”
“Thanks, Quinn,” Armel said. “I can’t believe anyone is dumb enough to think it’s okay to poach in a state park, but they keep exceeding my expectations.”
Quinn chuckled. “Lets me earn my keep. If you need me to make a statement, you know where to find me.”
Since he had already driven into town, Quinn stopped at Bear Necessities Coffee and Café for a much-needed java before he headed back to the forest.
“What brings you to town at this hour?” Sherri, the co-owner of the café, asked when Quinn placed his order.
“Brought a poacher in to the sheriff. Fun times,” Quinn replied. Sherri was Armel’s cousin and a bear shifter as well.
“Another one?” Sherri shook her head. “Seems like there’ve been more of them lately than we’ve had in a long time. Can’t even blame it on a full moon.”
Quinn shrugged. “I think they look at how big the park is and figure there’s no way they’ll get caught. I do my best to prove them wrong.”
Sherri slid his coffee over to him. “This one’s on the house. And I know it was a while ago, but I never remember to tell you all did a great job with the Midsummer Festival last year. I’m looking forward to seeing what’s planned for this year.”
“Thanks.” Quinn smiled. “I’ll pass that on to the rest of the committee.” He started to turn to leave when another voice called out from a nearby table.
“Hey Quinn! Got a minute?” Liam Reynard, Fox Hollow’s head librarian, waved him over.
“Glad you’re here, saves me trying to catch you later.
” Liam’s red hair and wiry build resembled his fox.
“Heard anything about dragons nearby?” Liam asked when Quinn came to the table.
The unexpected question nearly made Quinn choke on his coffee.
“Dragons? Seriously?”
Liam shrugged. “How seriously, I’m still trying to figure out. Had a couple of people come into the library to look up anything historical or factual on them since they’ve heard of sightings.”
“Where?” Quinn doubted the rumors were true, but he couldn’t help being intrigued.
“Not close to Fox Hollow, but still in the Adirondack Park,” Liam replied. “No photos, EMF, video, or other tangible proof, but it’s got people talking. I thought maybe you’d seen monster hunters on the prowl.”
“Not yet, but thanks for the heads up,” Quinn said. “I just caught a deer poacher. They’re bad enough. I’ll keep my eyes open—for dragons and adventure seekers.”
“The rumors go way back,” Liam told him, probably picking up on Quinn’s skepticism. “Not the fire-breathing kind from movies, but other creatures that aren’t completely regular.”
Quinn caught his drift. The existence of shifters and belief in ghosts, magic, and the supernatural was accepted by the permanent residents of Fox Hollow, though they retained a veneer of plausible deniability on account of tourists and passersby.
“I guess that’s not too far-fetched,” he admitted. “Let me know if you find anything. I might need to invest in some heavy-duty fire extinguishers.”
Liam’s comments stayed in Quinn’s mind as he drove back to the ranger station.
While Quinn had only been in Fox Hollow for a couple of years, it was long enough for him to think of the area as home and feel protective of the land and its residents.
He had done a stint in the Army after college, then completed his training as a park ranger and found the job to be a perfect fit.
Now if I could just find the right guy. Quinn knew that with his blond hair, dark eyes, and solid body, he could easily pick up a date, but he was tired of one-night stands.
He had already accepted that in a place like Fox Hollow, anyone he met was likely to be a shifter or have some sort of extra abilities, and that was okay with him.
I come with a few surprises of my own. Quinn wasn’t a shifter, but he did have the ability to communicate wordlessly with nature spirits and send a calming vibe to animals and birds.
“Daemon whisperer,” his mother had called the talent when she first explained it to him.
Nothing demonic, just an ancient and largely overlooked talent that made him supernaturally attuned to the energies around him.
Still, even in Fox Hollow, it wasn’t a talent Quinn often revealed out of ingrained habit.
Liam knew, and so did the sheriff, as well as a couple of his closer friends, but that was all.
Then again, Quinn didn’t spend a lot of time in town, given that his territory and cabin were several miles beyond the city limits.
By the time he returned to where he had nabbed the poacher, Quinn’s coffee was empty, and the sun was high in the sky. He wanted to make sure that the poacher hadn’t brought any friends with him, or left anything dangerous, like trail cameras, behind.
It didn’t take him long to rule out a second poacher or hidden recorders. But Quinn could still feel how the area’s vibe had been disrupted by the threat. Most people wouldn’t notice, but birds and animals were usually very attuned, as were trees.
Before, when he had arrested the poacher, Quinn had done a quick cleanse. Now that the danger was past and he had the time, he wanted to make sure the situation was as smoothed over as possible.
He parked and walked back to where he had caught the intruder. Although birds sang and the forest would seem normal to the average hiker, Quinn could feel that the natural energies were still tense.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out with the second sight like his mother had taught him, tuning into the vibe of the location. It wasn’t communicating in words; more like sending out a feeling on a wavelength nature could pick up on and respond to.
Quinn held the connection for a few breaths, feeling the tension ease. He sent a special wave of reassurance to the white-tailed deer, and he ended with a sense of gratitude for all the plants and animals surrounding him.
When he opened his eyes, the air around him felt lighter, as if the stain of recent danger had been wiped away.
Quinn went back to his interrupted patrol.
With his nature whisperer ability, his role as a park ranger was a little different from most, enabling him to soothe frightened animals and shifters.
He could ease panic and help de-escalate tense situations, but he wasn’t a healer, although he often helped rehabbers who took care of injured shifters or wildlife.
In fact, part of his job lay in finding ways to strengthen community ties between shifters and regular animals, as well as to look out for the smaller, less popular, and more vulnerable creatures.
Quinn yawned and blinked, trying to get a second wind.
Even the large coffee didn’t completely counter how tired using his abilities made him, especially on top of the adrenaline of the arrest. Quinn finished his rounds, relieved to find nothing else amiss, and headed back to his cabin, ready to take the night off.
Some evenings, Quinn drove into Fox Hollow to meet with friends for dinner or a movie, or he went to one of the many community events the local library offered. Tonight, he just wanted the comfort of his home, a hot dinner, and a chance to relax.
His cabin dated from the 1930s, a rustic style often called “Parkitecture” for its distinctive use of local materials, including stone and hand-hewn logs.
It was solid enough to withstand storms, with a steep roof to shed the snow and well-insulated walls.
The three-bedroom home was on the edge of the state park, not too far from the ranger station.
Despite the cabin being built almost a century ago, it had been upgraded and well-maintained, outfitted with good heat, hot water, and internet. That meant that while being a park ranger was still probably not a fit for raging extroverts, the peace and quiet suited someone like Quinn just fine.