The Catalyst - By Zoe Winters

Chapter One

Just have to make it to the mailbox. Everything will be okay. Fiona Patrone stared out the window at the lonely box at the end of the driveway. Her house was surrounded by trees in a heavily wooded area of Golatha Falls - so far out it was amazing the mailman delivered. And yet it felt so open and unknown out there. It was safer inside.

There probably isn't any mail. Just check it tomorrow. Nothing important. Not worth going out. The thoughts tunneled through her mind like vicious moles. If she didn't venture out, she'd be even more a prisoner of her own mind and fears. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone past the mailbox. If she got to the point where she couldn't even get that far...

The birds outside screeched then, chattering warnings, screaming the same awful things they screamed at her every day. If you go out there, something bad will happen. She believed them. Birds had no reason to lie. They were excellent seers, so much so, that for centuries people had read bird entrails, not realizing you needed a live bird to get any knowledge of value.

Something bad.

They could at least give her a little detail, some clue as to what she should fear, but the threat remained the same - vague and foreboding as ever.

Fiona had been able to understand the language of animals before she could understand that of humans - a rare and special gift for a witch to inherit. She'd gotten it from her grandmother. Though she'd always seen it as a curse. If not for those damned birds, she'd be outside living her life. Maybe she would have found love, a job, something.

Well, she had a job on the Internet. Her money was direct-deposited. She ordered her clothes online and had her groceries delivered. Thanks to the web, agoraphobia had never been so easy. At least from a logistics standpoint.

She took a slow, measured breath, her hand poised over the doorknob. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. Fiona mentally repeated it like a subliminal message she prayed would take hold. The doorknob clicked in her hand. She moved through what felt like invisible molasses as she forced herself out the door and into the throng of screeching, angry birds.

The wind had a new crispness. Almost Halloween. As a witch, shouldn't she be in her element right about now? But the idea of ghosts and goblins and veils thinning served to make the whole ordeal seem more dangerous.

Fifty-five steps. She counted them every day because counting them was the only way she could make herself get there. It wasn't far. She could run back into her house if the birds were right.

The mailbox held nothing of interest: an electric bill that could have waited until tomorrow. On her way back, step twenty-four, she became aware of the eerie silence. The birds had stopped their squawking, and a stillness blanketed the yard. She would have run straight for the front door except for the plaintive cry coming from the yard.

Ignore it. It's not your concern, she told herself. Thirty-five. But the noise happened again. So sad, scared. She'd want someone to help her if she were in distress. She tucked the electric bill into the waistband of her jeans and struggled through the wild growth of the front yard. She hadn't worked on the garden in five years, and it showed.

When she reached the side of the house, she found a wolf pup with wide, brown eyes, crying. He was old enough that he should have started learning the language of his kind, but he hadn't. There were no words to pick up and decipher. She could still get emotions and basic information, especially if those emotions were strong. In some circles, this made Fiona dangerous; in others, it would make her a pawn of those who might want to capitalize on such information.

The pup was lost, hungry, scared.

She didn't sense a mother wolf nearby. Had he been abandoned? Her mind screamed at her to leave him there. But he was so hungry and pathetic. She couldn't stop herself from scooping him up and taking him in the house.

She sat him on the kitchen counter, and he stared curiously at her, turning his little wolf head to the side. He was reddish-brown and white, the cutest thing she'd seen in forever. At least he seemed old enough to be weaned.

She cut some meat from