Bereft: Demise

52 | Of a Waltz

"Scared, my apprentice?"

My knees shook and my lungs couldn't seem to get enough air, but I wasn't sure scared was the way to describe my utter shock and disbelief. I felt as if I'd been walking upon solid ground and it had abruptly shifted. Not enough to throw me, but just enough to make certain my entire world was tilted.

It can break their mind or their body, creating amalgamations and monstrosities beyond compare, Peroth had said when speaking of those poor, failed shadeborns of the past. We've also had the odd case of possession.

"You're...shadeborn. A failed shadeborn." The word left me like a traumatized bird who'd fallen out of the nest one too many times. I spoke without thought, without conviction—so when Cage grinned and nodded, I gaped like the witless fool I was.

"Get away from him!"

An unfamiliar voice shouted and I jumped. From around the wall of lattice four people had appeared, three of them men, the fourth a woman, all carrying plates of food absconded from the dining room. Two of the men were thin and bookish, dressed in suits with black capes that had the same steel-blue lining as Cage's coat. They had patches over their breasts studded with turquoise gems that emitted a dull blue glow.

The small, bespectacled woman didn't wear their colors and looked unsure of her role in her current association.

The final man stood a head above the others and was the one who had shouted at me. He had hard eyes and a face covered in a clipped, full beard. He wore a suit, but it was finer than those worn by his compatriots, and his cape was bordered in real fur the color of snow. A wolf pelt with a silver chain attached was draped about his shoulders, covering the identifying patch, but it was clear he was a member of whatever group he commanded.

I began to lift my hands to show I meant no harm—but this was apparently the wrong thing to do, seeing as the shortest man immediately reached for a pouch at his belt, his companion snatched a piece of chalk out of his breast pocket, and their leader yanked upon the pelt's chain with a barked word.

The pelt flowed from the man's shoulders as if it were almost weightless. I thought it'd float and land upon the pavers—but, before my eyes, the pelt was rippling and expanding, engorging as muscles and flesh grew beneath the roiling fur. The transformation took only seconds, and when it was complete, a hulking timber wolf landed upon the ground with all four fully-formed paws.

Mages. These men are mages!

The glassy-eyed beast growled and lunged for my throat.

A feline yowl broke the wolf's snarl as Lionel came bounding out from under a nearby bench. What he had been doing there, I hadn't a clue. He leapt for the wolf as I reached for him, terrified his soft kitty body was going to be torn to bits. What was he thinking?!

My fingertips barely grazed the Druid's furry flank when a blast of cool energy shoved me off my feet like a hurricane wind. My mouth was filled with the taste of mint when, though watery eyes, I squinted toward the wolf and saw—

A tiger, but not as I understood tigers to be. This feline was black and silver with highlights of deep violet outlining his silver stripes. He was easily twice the size of the timber wolf, and with one massive paw it swatted the dog about the head and sent it flying right back at the man holding its chain.

The tiger filled its sizable lungs with air and let loose a savage, cringe-worthy roar. The party beyond the lattice wall quieted and the sound of music faltered as the musicians paused.

Easing from my skinned elbows, I stared wide-eyed at the huge predator before me and choked, "L-Lionel?"

The tiger turned and its stern orange eyes found me. A long, black tongue lolled from its powerful jaws as he licked his paws and purred in baritone.