Chapter 2
PESKY LITTLE TRUTH-TELLING SPRITE
RAYA
My frantic gaze scours the street, hoping some miracle can stop it, but in the blink of an eye, my hands and forearms sprout coarse fur, turning into wolf paws: pads, claws and all. Of course, this means the box I was carrying is now on the ground, with my possessions scattered across the sidewalk.
I hate this day. I am not a hateful person, but this day, I hate.
As my eyes flick between my hands—paws—and my belongings scattered around me, time slows.
Everything seems to stop, the sounds of the cars driving by lengthen and stretch, the chatter of people quiets to a low buzz, and the sidewalk and buildings around me tunnel out of my vision.
It’s almost as though I have ceased to be, until a light touch brushes my elbow, there and then gone, and reality snaps back in a rush.
“Hello? Are you okay?” A low, smooth voice pulls me back to my senses, grounding me.
I blink, my eyes sharpening on the man standing before me. A man with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes who towers over my five foot, three inches.
Hellooooo, hotness, my brain happily supplies, while the rest of me remains immobile, blinking at the disorienting world around me.
“Do you need help?” That voice pulls at me. He’s bent at the waist so he can look directly into my eyes, and my brain takes far too long to stumble back into motion. I scrunch my eyes shut, count to five, then open them again, hoping against hope I imagined this whole scenario.
“I was stepping out for a coffee,” the stranger says, crouching down further to pick up my belongings and place them back in the box, “when I saw you drop everything.” He glances at my paws, then up to my eyes. My face heats, likely turning red around the fur and whiskers. “Lucky timing, I guess.”
My brows draw together. “Lucky timing?”
“Well, it doesn’t look like anyone else was going to help you.”
I can’t tell what that detached tone of voice means, but I suppose he’s right. He straightens, box tucked under one arm, and reaches into his back pocket. “Looks like you might need a ride?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, I was just going to call a ride share," I say, not wanting to get into a car with this bizarre, semi-kind stranger.
He flips his phone around without a word, showing me that he had the exact app already open that I was planning to use, and I shuffle my feet, chewing the inside of my lip as I debate the situation.
He raises one eyebrow while his lips flatten into a scowl.
I could wait it out, but there’s no telling how long it’ll be until my hands are usable again, and the last thing I want is any of my now former coworkers to see me sporting wolf paws in addition to the furry face.
“I imagine it may be hard to call one on your own with…” he cocks his head, looking intently at the ends of my sleeves where my hands should be, “paws?”
“Yeah…” I sigh, shoulders slumping, and hold them up in front of me. The mustard yellow sleeves of my cropped sweater slip down my furry forearms, exposing the wolfy appendages to the crisp, Portland air. “Embarrassing, right?”
He shrugs and starts typing. “Address?”
Although confounded by his lack of response to my very unusual partial-shifts, I suppose I have no better options, so I give him an intersection near my apartment.
“Three minutes,” he says, and I offer a nod of thanks.
I can’t help glancing at him from the corner of my eye, my head bobbing in an awkward nod while darting my gaze along everything around us except him. The quiet becomes unbearable after only a few seconds.
“You don’t have to wait with me," I say.
He looks down, pinning me with vibrant blue eyes. “It’s fine. I’d rather not leave you standing out here alone after that spectacle.”
I pull back, weirdly thankful, but also affronted. I’m not expecting the rough tone or the backhanded nature of that statement, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and a black sedan pulls up not long after.
He opens the back door, sticking his head in to converse with the driver before stepping back and gesturing me inside.
I sit down and attempt to grab the seatbelt, forgetting for a moment that I don’t currently have thumbs.
My eyes turn up to the sky as my lips pinch, resigned to hoping I don’t die in a car wreck today, when the box is settled onto my knees and the stranger grabs the seatbelt, pulling it out and leaning across my body to buckle me in.
My eyes flare and I suck in a breath, pushing back into the seat as far as I can and trying to ignore how incredible he smells as he invades my space.
Something woodsy and warm, a stark contrast to his abrupt demeanor.
“All set," he says as he pulls away, though I’m unsure if he’s talking to me or the driver. He steps back from the car, nods once, and then closes the door. No warning or goodbye, not even a wish for good luck.
My attention snaps to the driver when he asks me to confirm the destination. By the time I look back out the window, we’re already moving and my confusingly gruff rescuer is nowhere in sight.
I trudge up the steps to my apartment, thankful my shift back to all human features happened after only a few minutes of awkwardness during the ride share. I let the box thud to the hallway floor outside my apartment so I can search for my keys, when Reverie shrieks from the other side of the door.
“Zuri, it’s Raya. She’s home early!” The little creature bellows at the top of her lungs, which comes out like a tinny, high pitched screech as she’s only about seven inches tall and weighs less than the light scarf around my neck.
She’s a cute little sprite, regardless of how piercing her excitement can be.
I give up on finding my keys, knowing Zuri will let me in, and sure enough, the door flies open only a few seconds later.
I nudge the box inside with my foot and push my way past my roommate, then flop onto the couch in the living room.
Reverie is flitting around in front of my face, sparkling pink wings flickering behind her and muttering under her breath about how my forehead wrinkles are on full display this afternoon, which is just fantastic considering sprites aren’t able to lie.
Moon above, I’m only twenty-two. I shouldn’t even have forehead wrinkles yet.
I rub my fingers across my forehead before waving my hand at Reverie to back off.
She flits to the back of the couch, choosing to pace back and forth across the top of the cushion, which is at least better than flying around my face.
My fingers move from my forehead to my temples, rubbing little circles for a moment before I cover my eyes with both hands, wishing I could hide from reality for a little while.
A finger taps on the back of one hand a moment later, and I remove them slowly, cracking one eye open to see Zuri hovering over me. Her box braids create a curtain around us as her eyes dart between mine, eyebrows pinched together.
“Careful, Reverie will come after your wrinkles next if you keep that up," I mutter.
“Why are you home? With all your work stuff? Did you quit?” Z fires questions at me, her warm brown eyes wide with concern and I groan, but there’s no avoiding it.
I sit up and address my two best friends, the ones who know everything about me.
I tell them about the meeting, how I was fired, and the confusing signals from the helpful stranger that allowed me to get home safely.
I’m thankful for their gasps of shock and outrage on my behalf, and soon I’m smiling at Reverie’s threats to “show them who they’re messing with” and Zuri’s assertions that it’s their loss and I will come out on top and find something better suited where I’m appreciated anyway.
I unfold my legs and lean back, finally feeling like I’m able to relax after getting it all out. This is a disaster, but it’s not irredeemable.
“So…” Zuri’s voice is tentative, and I cautiously fix my gaze on her, eyebrows raised. “Well, I mean, I know it’s not your favorite subject, but…”
“Just spit it out!” Reverie has little patience when it comes to speaking your mind. It’s both a blessing and a curse, often at the same time.
Zuri shoots a glare at our tiny sprite friend, but secretly I agree with the sentiment.
“I only wanted to check in on the whole shifting thing,” she says in a quick rush, and I figure I should have known that’s what the stammering was about.
“It’s fine," I reply.
“It’s not fine. You were fired today because of it, it’s been getting worse, so clearly it’s not fine.” We exchange equally heated glares, but I soon deflate, because Z is right.
“Okay, it’s not fine, but I’m working on it.”
“Are you? How?” Zuri’s shoulders relax, and I feel a little bad at the white lie, but not bad enough to tell the truth—that I’m employing the timeless strategy of avoidance by distraction.
“Don’t worry, I know it’s serious, okay?
But I’ve got it covered and bringing it up doesn’t help.
” I try to soften my voice so the words don’t come out as harsh as they sound, and Zuri nods.
I flick my eyes to Reverie, who is now standing with her arms crossed on the knitted pillow next to me, wings pressed tight together and sapphire blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.
She’s also tapping one foot. I quickly look away.
“I just want you to be okay. It used to only happen once a month and now it’s up to, what, pretty much every day? That’s serious, Raya. What if it keeps getting worse?” Zuri says.
“Yeah, I know…” I trail off, looking down at my hands and remembering the wolf paws they turned into earlier. I don’t like hearing one of my worst fears spoken aloud.
“Well, you’ll land on your feet, and until then, you’ve got us,” she says with a decisive nod, and I dredge up a smile.
I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m tired of being stuck in this same loop.
I haven’t been able to hold a steady job since graduating last year, and it’s starting to make me seriously question what’s wrong with me.
Shaking my head in an attempt to rid myself of the thought, I come back to reality to hear Zuri asking what I’m going to tell my parents.
“I’m not going to tell them anything," I say.
Reverie and Zuri both give me questioning, slightly disapproving looks. I frown back at them.
“They already worry about me enough, as you just pointed out with the unexplained shifting, and I don’t want to put any more stress on their shoulders.
They’ve seen me fail enough times already.
” Not to mention the fact that if I don’t find a new job soon, I won’t be able to afford my portion of rent and will have to move back home with them.
“I’ll start job hunting tomorrow and hopefully have a new one in no time. They don’t even need to know anything happened.” I infuse as much confidence into my voice as I can, hoping it will convince all three of us.