Shifting Worlds (Fur and Fangs #1)

Chapter 10

When I stepped into the hallway to my second-floor apartment, Ms. White waved me over, a conspiratorial smile stretching across her cheeks.

“Busy night?” she asked knowingly.

“Hey, Ms. White. You could say that,” I replied, brushing my disheveled hair away from my forehead as I approached her at her door.

Nora White, petite and lively, was in her early sixties. Silver streaks ran through her curly hair, framing a face etched with wisdom. Her brown eyes sparkled with a youthful vitality. A light pink robe adorned with floral patterns swished around her as I approached.

The robe, tied casually at the waist, seemed a garment only she could make look natural. Her smile lit up the dim hallway as she glanced my way. Nora had always been perceptive and warm, a grounding presence in my often chaotic days.

She was more than just a neighbor; she was a friend, a confidante. Her presence was something I cherished deeply. Nora’s unwavering support and playful twinkle made her a constant source of comfort for Mateo and me. I was fortunate to have found her.

There was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes that belied her age. “You’re glowing,” she said teasingly. “Did something happen with tall, dark, and mysterious?”

My cheeks warmed, but I rolled my eyes. “Nothing you wouldn’t bug me about later.”

“That means something did.” Her grin was as wide as the horizon back home. The tension between wanting to share every detail and guarding it fiercely gnawed at me.

“He walked me home,” I admitted, unable to suppress the smile that stretched across my face.

“That’s all?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I saw you two… talking.”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “You mean spying? And here I thought you were supposed to be watching Mateo.”

“Hey! That little munchkin is out like a light! I just popped over to check on him, and he’s snoring like a tiny freight train.” She chuckled, then her gaze softened, motherly affection shining through. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I nodded. “It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is. Everything worthy in life usually is.” She replied.

Meeting Ms. White’s knowing gaze, I smiled and shook my head, then simply added, “Thanks again, Ms. White.”

“Anytime, dear,” she replied, her tone warm and affectionate. She began to shepherd me towards my apartment with her gentle, grandmotherly shooing motions. “Now you go get some rest. You need it, dear.”

“Have a good night,” I called out as I walked down the hallway, her laughter trailing after me like the lingering scent of her cookies.

The apartment was silent as I slipped in, a thin line of streetlight cutting through the living room and splashing across the piles of laundry I was meant to fold last week.

A half-eaten sandwich lay on the coffee table, a glass of milk sweating onto the cheap coaster.

I tiptoed to Mateo’s door and peeked inside.

He wasn’t sprawled across the bed the way he used to when he was little. He lay on his back now, covers twisted at his waist, one knee bent, the other foot hooked under the sheet like he’d anchored himself there. His face was flushed, damp curls plastered to his forehead.

His breathing wasn’t panicked, but it wasn’t steady either.

I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a curl back gently. “Hey, buddy,” I whispered.

He didn’t wake, but his brow furrowed, jaw tightening like he was holding onto something just out of reach.

“No,” he murmured. Not loud. Certain. “That way’s closed.”

I stilled.

His fingers flexed against the sheet. Not thrashing, gripping.

“The river’s too bright,” he said, voice low and strained. “You can’t cross when it’s moving like that.”

My chest tightened.

I smoothed my hand down his arm, grounding pressure the way I’d learned over the years. “It’s okay, Teo,” I murmured. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

He shook his head once, barely there. “They can see it,” he whispered. “The light gives it away.”

A chill slid down my spine.

“It’s just a dream,” I said softly, even as my pulse picked up. “Nothing’s coming. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, he went still like he was listening.

Then his shoulders eased.

His breathing slowed, deepening inch by inch, the tension draining out of him in careful stages.

I pulled the covers higher and tucked them in at his sides.

His old stuffed wolf lay near the pillow, abandoned more than embraced.

I nudged it closer, and his hand drifted toward it on instinct, resting there without clutching.

For a few minutes, I just watched him. The apartment hummed with the sound of the fridge, the tick of the kitchen clock, the creak of old floorboards. It was a cheap, worn-out space, but right now it was the safest place I could imagine.

I thought about the things Mateo said in his sleep, and about the way Aiden looked at me tonight, and about the past I kept pretending didn’t matter. Maybe there was no such thing as outrunning anything, not fear, not history, not even love.

“River of light,” he murmured once more, but this time it sounded less afraid. More thoughtful. Like a fact he hadn’t finished understanding yet.

I pressed a kiss to his temple.

When I finally stood, he didn’t reach for me. Didn’t need to.

That almost scared me more.

I tiptoed to the living room and shut the door behind me. Mateo’s words haunted me in the dark. I couldn’t decide if I should research childhood night terrors or start burning sage every night.

I moved to the couch to lie down. When staring at the ceiling lost its appeal, I reached for my phone. There was a new message notification from Emily, timestamped only a few minutes ago.

The phone buzzed to life. My heart did a tiny somersault in my chest. I nearly dropped the phone before my eyes landed on Emily’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hey,” I said, trying to tamp down any lingering traces of emotion from my voice.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, Josephine Mae Anderson,” she replied immediately, her tone spilling equal parts irritation and amusement. “You’ve been quiet again. I know all your tricks.”

“I haven’t,” I protested. It had only been about six or seven weeks since we last spoke at length. The sporadic texts never failed, though.

“You have,” Emily insisted, her voice unwavering. “And you know what? That means either work is hell or something happened.” Her words came wrapped in an affection so deep it threaded through every syllable, the kind that only years of friendship could weave around moments of silence and distance.

“Not really,” I began, my voice cautious despite the familiar comfort it found in hers.

“Spill,” she said, her demand swift and cutting.

Emily had this talent, an unerring instinct for peeling away my defenses, for finding the truths hidden beneath my hesitations.

I held my breath, feeling the familiar swirl of wanting to tell her everything and fearing that doing so would somehow make it all too real. There was a comfort in her persistence, though, a reassurance that came from knowing she wouldn’t let me retreat into the safe cocoon of silence.

“Spill, Josie Mae,” she repeated, her voice a mix of playful impatience and genuine concern.

Her insistence left me swaying between surrender and holding back.

“Oh my God, did you actually go on a date?” Emily asked, her voice rising with excitement and disbelief. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging!”

I could picture her perched on the edge of her couch, phone in hand, eyes wide with anticipation. She was certain she could coax every detail from me, a confidence built on years of friendship.

“Emily, it’s not…” I began, but she was already barreling on.

“There’s no way you’re chickening out on telling me now,” she said, with a teasing inflection. “I know there’s something big, and I want to hear every bit of it.”

Her faith in our connection made me smile even as I squirmed under the directness of her probing. It was so like her to push me just far enough, to know exactly where the line was and how much I needed to be nudged across it.

“It’s not a big deal,” I tried again, knowing that my attempt at deflection was as thin as paper.

“Any deal is a big deal for you,” she said firmly. “What happened?”

“Just work. An annoying customer.” I lied, hoping the shift in narrative would steer her nosy focus toward something trivial.

“Uh-huh. Annoying enough to keep you up at night?” Emily’s skepticism poked through her words. She was a bloodhound for lies, and she had my scent.

I heard movement on her end, a creak, the thump of footsteps, then a male voice that sounded half-asleep. “Who are you hounding at this hour, Ems?” Ethan.

I could practically see Emily rolling her eyes as she flicked back a stubborn tangle of hair. “Shush, Ethan. I’m talking to Josie. She’s telling me about the guy she went on a date with.”

“Ems, I’m not…” I started, but too late. There was a shuffle, a rustle, and then Ethan’s deeper voice filled the line.

“Jos, what guy?” His tone landed between curiosity and interrogation, the same one he’d used since that bonfire party in the woods when we were seventeen. The night when he wished he had punched Kyle for getting too close.

“Oh my God,” I groaned. “You two are like vultures circling roadkill.”

“Date,” Ethan repeated, undeterred. “What’s his name? And why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because I knew this would happen,” I shot back.

“Which means he’s sketchy,” Emily chimed in.

“He’s not sketchy,” I said. “He’s…” I hesitated, realizing how stupid it sounded to say “a client at the club.” “He’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Emily asked. “Like, he’s got a wife and a boat, or complicated like you’re pretending not to like him because you actually do?”

“Neither,” I said too quickly.

Ethan grunted. “So, what, you’re seeing some guy with issues?”

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the couch. “You say that like I’m not made entirely of issues.”