cleaning staff to leave four Cornish hens in the refrigerator.”
“Nice, but she’d rather find her own food. Maybe we can cook the chickens and have them for dinner?”
I stood beside my bike and stomped my feet a few times to get them used to the ground after riding, and then turned and walked towards the cabin. Ten steps up, and there was a view of the valley below us. I turned to look at it, but I didn’t take the time to enjoy it yet. The gate code had been the last three digits of my cellphone, and the door code was the last five digits. I keyed them in, opened the door, and motioned her inside.
“I like it out here.”
Which apparently meant she didn’t intend to go inside.
“Me too, but I figure I’ll take my clothes off inside and then go out the back door before I change. You’re more than welcome to wait here, if you want. I won’t fly above the level of the trees.”
She sat on the top step and looked out at the beautiful view, so I closed the front door behind me and did exactly as I’d said I would.
Owls are known as silent killers because few animals hear us when we glide. Perhaps my owl wanted to show off, because he flew as high as he dared, and then glided around the house, his wings out and still, tilted more than one would need to lean on a bike, and he came around the house at top speed, at the level of her face, barely five feet in front of her. We heard her sharp intake of breath — we’d surprised her.
The owl was pleased.
He straightened his body, pulled his wings in, landed on a thick branch, and turned his head to look at her. And yes, his head turns completely around, so it looks like it’s been assembled all wrong.
She gave a quiet giggle, and the owl hopped around so he could look at her straight on, his eyes focused on her during the entire turn.
“You’re beautiful, and I bet there are a ton of bunnies who never knew what hit them. Is that what you mostly eat? The internet said you eat lemmings on the tundra, but we don’t have those here.”
She’d read about us? Interesting.
The owl flew towards the ground, shifted ten feet in the air, and the human landed gracefully on his feet. My feet. Pronouns are hard for shifters, sometimes.
“Impressive.”
I smiled up at her. “Your turn.”
“I was hoping for a little hunting time, but you’re going to need to eat before you change back.
“No. I can shift several times without food. I’d like to see your cat while I’m a man, and then if you’d like to hunt and eat together, we can do that.”
“Are you sure it’s safe? Neither of us are indigenous.”
I explained all the reasons it’s safe from humans wandering in on us, and added, “Plus, with the wind conditions, we’d smell a human coming long before they saw us.”
“The cabin doesn’t have security cameras?”
“No. It’s off the grid. Solar on the roof, batteries in the basement, and no internet access at all. Not even on our phones. I have cell service, but no data here. I’m betting yours is the same.”
She pulled her phone out and frowned. “You’re right, one bar and no data, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t cameras with a couple of days saved on a hard drive locally, in case someone trashes the place.”
“Can you hear them? Some of the wolves can hear either the camera or the transmission, I’m not clear which, but they can walk through a house and point to them, every time, so long as they are active.”
“I’ve never tried.”
“Walk around and listen. Look for them, while you’re at it.”
I gave her the code to get in, and she came back outside several minutes later, naked. She changed on the porch, leapt off it so gracefully I nearly got goose bumps, and ran into the woods. I followed, and she circled back to me.
She was big — much larger than I’d expected. Not tiger big, but larger than the cougars and leopards I’ve been around.
And her amber eyes caught me by surprise. I’d expected them to be green, but they were a rich, warm tawny — not orange or yellow. I was betting the artist would know what to call it. I searched my mind for the colors I’d seen on swatches. Ochre, maybe, or raw