Skinwalker

It takes the rest of the evening and into the next morning to no longer feel like I’m seeing dead people out of the corner of my eyes. Despite not being Margaret, she’s still inside of me which means so is her ability, at least, in theory it is. Would it be terribly far-fetched to assume I have access to it even when I’m not her? I have no idea. I’ve never tried because I know what the dead can do to a person and I don’t want them following me around, slowly driving me insane.

After a multi-year hiatus, I feel like I jumped the gun. I have to slow down and rediscover my ability which means I need to start at the beginning. Drinking my morning cup of tea on the patio, I work on changing some aspect of how I look. Starting easy, I change the color of my hair, my skin tone, the shape of my fingernails. After several successes, my tea is gone an so is the better part of two hours.

Kendal isn’t awake yet, so I head into the bathroom to take a shower and start getting ready for the day. In here, I move onto harder things like adjusting my height and the shape of my body. It’s uncomfortable but I manage the painful side effects by barring my teeth or clutching my fists and focusing on my breathing.

While I’m drying off, I hear the front door shut and know my best friend is on the move. She won’t be back until she gets off work tonight. As I comb my hair, I begin considering hosts I had taken on over the years who wouldn’t bring along too much baggage when I pulled them from the depths of my mind. The list of simple hosts in this category isn’t long. Almost everyone I encountered for the purpose of practicing the use of my ability were people being tried by the subhuman government for something.

The very first host I ever had was Aliana, my little sister. It was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to either of us. It was the moment my life changed forever. In the version of Aliana I maintain, there are only nine years of life. How hard could her life have been up to that point? Her memories would probably be easy to re-hash compared to an adult’s because so many of life’s major traumas and complications hadn’t yet happened to her. She was too young to remember the loss of our eldest brother, Alexander. Had no lost loves. No injuries or traumas. Just a happy and normal childhood until that moment.

I’ve never tried to revisit my sister as a host for several reasons, first and foremost because of our relationship. After that, because of our youth. I wasn’t even a teenager yet, and she was still a child, and there’s something morally wrong with hosting a child despite the potential for ease. Piled on top of all of that, I have no relationship with my sister, and it seems wrong to revisit a tie to my family after fourteen years of separation.

The next host I was granted was on my sixteenth birthday when I was living in the capitol under the care of Leona Pyke, a vampire who was, and is, one of Queen Scarlet’s ladies in waiting. She was responsible for my education, both human and subhuman, while the queen took a unique interest in my ability and spend her spare time training me on its use.

When I was told my birthday give would be a host, I was itching with excitement, literally. For years I’d only been able to use a small percent of my ability, I was never permitted to host anyone, and what I could do was never quite enough. At the end of every session, I was left wanting more. When the time finally came, I was ready.

My gift was a nineteen-year-old named Hannah. She was picked specifically because of our similarities; our outward appearances had so many likenesses, a stranger would think we were siblings. The focus of my doppelganger was an easy outward transformation to focus on the internal battle to follow.

Hannah turned out to be a gift that kept on coming until I was completely successful at hosting her. It took seven attempts over the course of four days. Except for the day I hosted my sister, I had never been so sick in my life. When I finally mastered hosting Hannah, I found her to be a woman with easy memories of a simple life that didn’t have many traumas.

After that, I was given a new host every three months with the responsibility of replicating whoever it was weekly. As time went on, my hosts became more complex and despite their growing intricacy, I was having less illnesses and more successes. It was my seventh host, just before my eighteenth birthday, that I finally considered myself successful with my ability.

Alone, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, I decide to try again. For the sake of simplicity, I choose Hannah. I know she’s a host that won’t throw any curve balls at me. This time, I change my approach.

Instead of standing in the bathroom and waiting by the mirror like I did last time, I lay on the floor in the middle of the living room with my arms comfortably resting at my sides. With my eyes closed, I consider myself. My name is Piper Amber Monáe, I am twenty-three years old, and my favorite color is magenta. I was born in Tennessee where I lived until I turned into a skinwalker; I was eleven years old. My family abandoned me then. For ten years I lived in Hellsgate Louisiana, contained in the walls of the government. I escaped and came to Chandler Arizona, where I live and work now.

Once I’ve considered these ten facts, and repeat them in my head ten times, I shift my focus on the host I want to reinhabit. In this meditative state, the alteration to my physical body happens as smoothly as ocean water lapping the sand. Her memories come to me like a dream I’ve had but can’t quite remember. It’s been a long time since the two of us met. Eventually, I dive into them and swim around in the familiarity.

Like all the hosts at that time in my life, she was a human. While subhumans weren’t public at the time, humans still ran into us from time to time and inserted themselves into our lives. Hannah was a professional ballet dancer at the time, and she’d had an arrangement with a witch who kept her at her peak for physical performance. It took several months of investigation before the two were brought in and put on trial, which is what granted me access to her.

For several minutes, I remain on the floor enjoying the way it feels to have successfully revived Hannah. Compared to Piper, this body feels loose and flexible, like I can easily touch my toes to my forehead. I twist and turn on the floor, stretching the already limber muscles as I relive the successes she’s had in her life as a performer. It makes me ponder what she’s been doing with her life since then. She had been released from her charges with the warning of what a second offence would result. The witch who she’d made the arrangement with, wasn’t as fortunate.

Getting up from the ground is somehow simpler than it normally is. Moving around in her skin seems like a performance all its own. Letting her guide me, I move on with my day, knowing full well that means going out into public as someone I’m not. To be successful, I can’t halt my life and going out into the world also means I can’t let my host slip under any circumstance. If anyone saw me change the consequences could be severe.

Humans don’t know about hybrids, and we’d like to keep it that way.

Yesterday, I made mention to Kendal I planned to go to Sprouts Farmers Market today there’s a note on the refrigerator with things she requests I collect. After I’ve let Hannah dress me, and with both shopping lists, I grab my tote, and head out the door. The store is only a few blocks away, well within walking distance, and the weather is comfortable. On top of all that, I don’t own a car despite having a driver’s license. There’s nowhere I need to go regularly enough that I need that routine expense. With so many rideshares available, it’s even less necessary.

I walk the aisles with the basket, grabbing the things Kendal and I need and eventually catch myself craving things Hannah would have loved to purchase. Incredibly unlike me, I grab a bag of sourdough pretzels from the shelf and set it in the basket. As I continue shopping, I snack on the item. This behavior is a pet peeve of Pipers that happens to also be a guilty pleasure of Hannah’s. It’s impossible for her personality not to interact with mine and for me to notice the things she does that I wouldn’t necessarily do. What’s important is I only take note of the differences and not act upon them. It’s simply to remind myself who I am outside of this host, never forget who Piper is.

At the checkout I run Kendal’s order first, chatting with the cashier about his day. It’s clear he would much rather talk about himself than listen to anything I have to say, so I listen to him ramble when he rings up the second part of the order that’s a combination of things I need and things that Hannah inspired me to grab during out tour of the store.

The case of craft beer will find its way to Levi’s counter later this evening while the pork rinds and pretzels will end up in the Bermuda Triangle that is the table in the kitchenette at work. Werewolves are bottomless pits and though they have relatively meat-based diets, the part of them that is human can make a light snack out of a family sized bag of chips.

When I get to Levi’s apartment, I’m Piper again. I spent three hours as Hannah before I needed to get on with my life. I fetch the spare key that’s hidden under a bush, in the rocks two doors down. A strange tactic he uses because it seemed less obvious that the key belonged to his door if a stranger came upon it over there. The sun has already set when I climb the three flights of stairs to his door. Once I’m inside I set the case of Four Peaks Red Bird Lager on his counter turn on the lights.

He worked the afternoon shift and, as long as it wasn’t too crazy, he’ll be home in a little while. I drop my things next to the Hannah splurge and from inside of my purse falls an envelope I’d forgotten I shoved in there. It’s the one Noah had handed me the day he asked me to consider joining the pack.

I pick it up, open it, and unfold a data sheet. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach and guilt washes over me. I’ve ignored important information for days now.

Cassandra Reid, the hybrid witch who brought the original Manilla Envelope Project into my life, is staring back at me. She had been abducted within the few hours between seeing her at the club and Noah coming to my apartment. Standing in the middle of Levi’s apartment, I read the information in front of me because there seems to be nothing else that’s more important in this moment.

Cassandra was the only child; her mother was a witch, and her father was a wizard. When we met, I asked her what they called her hybrid species, and her answer hadn’t truly been far off: Illegal. An abomination. A sin. A genetic violation. She was the product of a relationship that should have never existed, and her parents were murdered for it.

The data sheet explains that for a period, the family was ignored by the Coven. It wasn’t until Cassandra began demonstrating her abilities at entirely too young of an age, that the Coven changed their acceptance. Laws were broken, a little girl had been born possessing magic no female should have, and it was too dangerous to let them go without proper punishment for their crimes.

Cassandra was 5 years old when her father died; her mother escaped execution until the hybrid was sixteen. When the Coven finally caught up with Cassandra, she was place under the care of a demi-demon telepath named Logan Soto and couldn’t get close enough to finish her off. By the time she was eighteen, she knew how to defend herself with male and female magics, effectively repelling the people who wanted to see her dead.

This brief snapshot of her life makes me more curious about the person Cassandra Reid is. She’s spent the first part of her life hiding from people who would want to kill her, lost both of her parents, and spent over half of her life in the care of a demi-demon. It makes me wonder if she likes the victim lifestyle. The limited knowledge I have of demi-demons has always painted them to be manipulative subhumans with short tempers and overly aggressive behaviors.

Deeper in my purse is the original envelope, the one containing Catherine and Tala, and the unknown gentlemen. I pull it out, open it, and flip to the final person I should know. A few days ago, he would have meant absolutely nothing to me. Hell, that was true as of fifteen minutes ago to be truthful. Now he’s gone from a data sheet in a folder to Cassandra’s guardian, Logan Soto.

The family tree identifies him as the older brother to Christopher Soto; the two share one unknown demon father and a human mother who died in a car accident years ago. The data sheet informs me that the demi-demon is a lawyer and goes on to explain the guardianship of his little brother Christopher after their mother died and validates the custody of Cassandra.

Keys hit the other side of the door and I know Levi is home. I don’t try to hide the information in my hands though. The night I become Margaret I concluded that I needed to tell someone about all of this; I need another person’s opinion. It came down to Levi or Kendal. Maybe even both. Tonight, it seems appropriate to start with Levi.

“Hey, babe,” Levi says as he gets through the door.

The backpack on his shoulder is dropped on the floor and he kicks the front door shut with his foot. Distracting me from the thoughts I was having a moment ago, he kisses me intimately. We haven’t seen each other since the night Tate was at the club. It isn’t uncommon when we both work five nights a week with varying days off.

“I’ve missed you.” His tone is gentle as he speaks in between kisses.

With the way his mouth moves over mine and his hands touch my body, it’s obvious just how much he has. “I can tell.”

He grabs my waist, lifts me up, and slides me onto the island countertop. “You have no idea what you did to me at the club the other night.”

“Tell me.”

“I didn’t think I could want you more than the first time we were together but telling Alec off,” he chuckles. “That put a fire in me. Making me wait for you for two nights…” he groans. “That’s been rough.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the outfit?”

“It was too sexy for that wolf.” He examines the clothes I’m wearing now. “This is not sexy enough for me.”

In one slick movement he pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it into the living room behind him. Kissing my neck, he begins working on the button of my jeans. When they’re undone and the zipper is down, he picks me up again. With my legs wrapped around his waist, he carries me off to his bedroom and slams the door shut behind us.

“Let me shower and we’ll go to dinner,” Levi says after we’ve been lying under the sheets naked for a while.

“Why don’t we just order in?”

“You’d rather have crap than a nice dinner out?”

“Sure.”

He caresses my cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just not feeling people-y tonight.” If we go out, I can’t talk about what I want to because I’d have to be conscious of strangers. Here, in the security of Levi’s apartment, I can talk about anything I want.

He tries to gauge what I’m thinking but decides to drop it. “Get something ordered and I’ll find a movie.”

“Okay.”

He kisses me one more time before getting out of bed and collecting clothes from the floor. When he’s through the door and into the bathroom, I get up and make the same moves except my clothes are spread throughout the apartment.

Instead of ordering food like I said I would, I stand at the counter next to Hannah’s beer and pretzels and debate how I want to approach telling Levi the truth about myself. I’ve been practicing different versions of the same speech for two days now. All of them felt good at the time but right now, nothing feels right. My skin itches, my stomach is tied in knots, and I’d almost rather remain a liar than be truthful.

When the shower shuts off, I open a beer to give to him, take a deep breath, and remind myself that this is what I want to do. This is the right thing to do. Whatever consequences follow, I have to accept gracefully.

Levi is already dressed in pajama pants when he catches a glimpse of me in the mirror. I extend a beer in his direction.

He takes it with a bit of hesitation. “Alright, what’s going on?”

I don’t normally bring a bottle of beer to the bathroom for him, no matter how stressful the day has been. It’s outside of my character and he knows it.

“I want to tell you something.”

“That sounds more promising than I’m breaking up with you.”

Just because that’s not what I’m doing, doesn’t mean by the end of the conversation he won’t do just exactly that. I’ve been misleading for a very long time.

“Because I care about you, I have to be honest about a few things.”

The beer gets set on the counter and, instinctively, he crosses his arms in defense. “Alright,” he cautiously prompts me forward.

“I’m not exactly what I said I am.” I wait for him to prompt me again, but he doesn’t. “I’m not a shapeshifter, perse, but a skinwalker.”

It takes him a moment to respond and when he does, it wasn’t what I was expecting. “Skinwalker’s have been extinct for like 300 years. How is this possible?”

Relieved that he didn’t immediately start laughing at me or take offence to my deception, I start at the beginning. Without interruption, he allows me to summarize everything as neatly and quickly as possible. By the end of my monologue, I’ve package eleven years of my life into as small a box as possible and manage to tie it shut with a ribbon.

“So, you’re a… hybrid? A skinwalker.” he clarifies.

I nod my head. “My mother is a thirteenth generation quell.”

While she and the generations before her, had no abilities of their own, they still held the genetic code for a skinwalker in their DNA. It was passed down one generation at a time, sitting dormant, waiting for an ideal host before it chose me.

“And you didn’t say anything out of fear?”

Again, I nod.

“Fear of me?”

This time I shake my head and grab his hands instinctively. “I’ve been covering up what I am for so long that it felt messy; I was afraid of being rejected and misunderstood.”

He twists his hand out of my grasp and pulls me into a hug and then kisses my hair. “Pipe, the people who care about you don’t give a shit if you’re a shapeshifter, or a skinwalker, or a human. We might not be friends with you if you were a human, to be honest, but you’re not, and we love you for it.”

I move to catch his eyes. “You love me?”

He opens his mouth to speak but stops when something makes a sound in the living room. We both look though the open bathroom door and into the hallway, unable to see where the noise came from. Momentarily, we’re frozen as we wait for something to happen. My body pricks with nerves and I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand. Something isn’t right.

Levi puts his hand on my waist and guides me behind him, tucking me away. “Stay he…” his whispered words are silenced when he looks at me and abruptly, he steps away. “What the...?” he mouths.

“What?” Then catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

How on earth?

Touching my face, I begin to recognize the pricking sensation that’s rolling over my body. How on earth have I turned into Kendal? I’ve never used her before. Using my friends is a boundary I refused to cross.

My focus is pulled from the reflection when the apartment goes dark. From the bathroom, I see nothing. I reach out for Levi and my fingertips only brush over his warm flesh as he steps away from me, leaving the bathroom to investigate what’s happened. Hardly a moment later a wash of light highlights him, and paralyzing fear puts lead in my feet.

In an instant, all hell ensues.

Without missing a beat, Levi launches an attack at one of the invaders. There are no questions asked and no dialoged of any kind, there’s just instantaneous defense. The stranger is taken by surprise by Levi’s power, tripping backward over his own feet. Someone comes to the man’s defense, managing to get Levi into a head lock.

Levi grabs ahold of the thick arm with both of his hands causing the stranger to let go with a shout of pain. The flood of a flashlight beam exposes two perfectly formed, fire red handprints. Levi burnt him.

This brings me back to life.

Somehow Levi and a different man are struggling on the floor next to the bed with the broken nightstand underneath of them. The lead holding my feet to the bathroom tile disappears and I jump on the man’s back, throw my arm around his neck, and struggle to pull them apart.

A different stranger grabs me around the waist and throws me onto the bed and I roll over the opposite side as easily as one would toss a pillow. I collide with the nightstand on my side of the bed before hitting the ground and bringing everything on it raining down around me.

Fighting was never something I learned how to do; I never saw a reason to waste my time with self-defense, I always had protection whether it was found in another person or within my ability to hide.

“Stay down there, girl,” a man hidden behind the beam of light says, point it in my face.

I kick straight out, and my heel connects with his shin, giving me a moment to get on my feet. Avoiding my attacker, I jump onto the bed and run across it. He dives for me, catching my ankle, and pulling my center of gravity down. Then he’s on top of me, pinning me down, and my struggle is nothing compared to his weight.

Wind begins wiping my hair; it tangles around the man’s arms as he tries to strangle me. I sharpen my nails, digging them into my attackers face and his grip loosens enough that I can gasp for air. The strange wind in the room doesn’t make sense. The windows aren’t open, and the air conditioner can’t produce that much force. It feels like a tornado, inside Levi’s bedroom. Suddenly I understand. It’s Levi.

Again, I slash sharp nails at the stranger, and, like an animal, I bite his arm with sharpened teeth making him scream. My throat is freed, and I hit him hard in the chest with both of my hands. A moment later, the wind hits him, thrusting him through the sliding glass door and onto the balcony.

Levi grabs my wrist while the assailants are down, pulls me from the bed, and navigates me through the room. I stumble as I follow him. Then his hand turns hot, like fire, forcing me to pull away from him. In the dark, right in front of me, there’s a sudden commotion. I reach out for Levi, but he isn’t where I expect him to be.

A light shines from down the hallway; the beam highlights the struggle Levi is having with one of the men who broke into the house. Something is jabbed into his skin, and he shouts out in shock. My stomach twists.

Bolting across the room, I wish I had different abilities. I wish there was something I could do to intimidate these people; I want to scare them so badly that they drop Levi and flee. I make very little progress before someone grabs me and my efforts are once again proven worthless.

Frantically I kick and scratch, flailing as hard as I can to be as difficult to control as possible. We crash into the kitchen counter, knocking glass cups and other dishes to the floor where they shatter against the tile. Without a second thought, I reach across the countertop and search for a weapon of any kind. The kitchen is full of useful tools.

Finding a chef’s knife, I thrust it toward my attacker, but something hard connects with the side of my face first. Unable to understand how, I’m on the floor, in a pile of broken glass and pain earthquakes through my skull a moment before the entire world is lost.