Lauren was able to see the neighborhood from a ways off, her sharp eyes able to pierce the darkness with the aid of moon and star light. She flew low, looking at the house numbers. Professor Hill's old house was set back a bit from the others, and did not look to be in the best condition. There was a "For Sale" sign out front, and Lauren wondered if it had been like that since Hill lived here. The front yard consisted of several acres of wooded area that was going for the overgrown natural look. She did a pass over the back, seeing that the property butted directly up to the woods and mountains.
She perched on the chimney and began to look around. The place was incredibly quiet. That was when Lauren realized that she did not hear any birds. No insects. Nothing. There were no animal sounds anywhere on the property.
'That's not right,' she thought. She was getting ready to launch again when a large raven landed on the chimney next to her.
Birds were not normally known for their facial expressions, but the blackbird was shooting the eagle a look that could kill. If birds could blush, Lauren would have. She shifted back to her human form, which was sitting buck-assed naked on a chimney. The raven shifted as well, and Edgar stared over the brick structure at her.
"And you would be doing what?" he asked slowly and acidly. "Exactly?"
"Looking at potential investment real estate? At eleven o'clock at night?"
"Lauren, go back to the house. After you explain why the hell you're here. No, on second thought, go back home, then you can explain --"
Lauren shifted but rather than flying home, she floated to the ground and then shifted back. Ed joined her, after a moment of quick shifting on his own part, and he looked vexed.
"Lauren --"
"Listen, this guy is obsessed with his dead professor. This is where his idol lived, and this is where he died. That gives this place some serious meaning for our boy. I just thought that he might come here."
"So you're master plan was to come here, by yourself, naked, and challenge an insane sorcerer with delusions of being a voodoo priest to . . . what? A game of scrabble, winner take all?"
"It'd be nice. I would totally kick his ass. Ed, do you sense any other animal life around here? Besides us?"
Ed looked like he was going to say something snarky, but then he looked confused, followed shortly thereafter by alarmed. "No. I don't."
Lauren hurried over and looked in the window of the house. She saw no signs of life in there, and would have been willing to bet that no one had been there in years.
Edgar noticed an exterior cellar door, and when over to check on it. It was locked from the outside, meaning that no one who might be inside probably was not using it. "There is something weird about this place, but whatever it is --"
"-- isn't happening inside," Lauren said. "But Professor Hill didn't kill himself inside. He killed himself --"
"-- out back," Ed finished. Both members of the Jauregui clan looked towards the dark woods that stretched out behind them. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Why are you headed towards the bad feeling?" he asked as his sister found a small, mostly overgrown trail and headed down it. "Laur?"
"I just want to check it out."
"Lauren, let's go back and call in the troops."
She glanced back at him. "You think that they aren't on their way already? I took off, you took off to follow me --"
"-- and Aaron knew exactly where we were heading. Still, we should . . . oh why do I bother?" he grumbled as Lauren crept into the woods. Her eyes were still glowing, granting her the superior eyesight of her eagle form, as well as pumping up her strength and speed.
Lauren kept low, keeping her eyes and ears open as she moved slowly forward. She wondered what it was like for the disgraced professor to make this walk, dead to the world in every way but one, and looking to correct that one. It had been a night in the middle of January which, around here, would have been damn cold. She remembered reading that there had been snow on the ground. For a moment that could have been measured in the blink of an eye, she felt sorry for him.
But then she got over it. He had made his bed. He had lain in it. And then he had left this mess behind for others to clean up. Lauren was not one to condemn suicide as a method to end real pain. She felt contempt for those who used it to avoid guilt, particularly when said avoidance prevented them from doing what was right.
After ten minutes of creeping around, she was beginning to get frustrated. She had been so sure that -
"Lauren, careful," Ed said beside her.
"Why?" Then she followed her gaze down to where a tripwire was laid across Ed's leg. Then she followed the wire to a shotgun that was rigged to a tree. "Oh fuck." Then, everything came crashing home. "I almost got you killed."
"No, I almost got me killed," Ed said.
"Ed, go back and find the others. Lead them back --"
"You have got to be shitting me?!" he hissed. "We are BOTH going back!"
"If he's here, I can't let him escape, but I'm not letting you get hurt."
He stared at her for a moment. "One," he started slowly, "of us is supposed to be here doing this. That 'one' is not you. You are supposed to be sitting at home, thinking of your girlfriend and volleyball and classes, and maybe only in a cursory fashion wonder what you're courageous older brother is doing in his search for a serial killer."
"But --" Lauren started to say as she helped Ed ease his leg back from the tripwire.
"I am not leaving my baby sister alone in the woods with someone who wants to kill her."
"I love you too, bro, but I'm a better fighter than you, and --"
"And in the end," a new voice came creeping out of the black, "none of it will matter. You are not welcome here," Daryl Mosely whispered. "And now, you will die here. Just like He did. Just like the false king will."
For a moment, Lauren considered trying to reason with him. Whoever this guy really was, he was deeply disturbed and unhinged. But then she remembered Camila, lying in a hospital bed with burns on her arms, suffering from hypothermia, terrified. She remembered Ally explaining what it was like to be hung in a cage after being tortured. She remembered the young woman who did not survive.
"You know it's over now," Lauren said. "All your games and scheming and cruelty . . . it's all over."
"You're right. It must end tonight. The King will die in the grips of the unbearable ice, and you . . . you will be blessed in a way denied Him. I will grant you the privilege of not being alone when you die."
"Good to hear, especially since unlike your mentor, we're not complete failures as human beings," Lauren said. Then, she kind of wished she hadn't. Because the look she got when she insulted the late Professor Hill was terrifying. It was not hateful or angry or . . . anything. In Daryl Mosley's eyes, she saw a nothingness so profound that it seemed to absorb what little light was falling amongst the trees, bathing the killer's face with a clinging blackness. Then that emotionless voice whispered something, and the air around them grew colder. He gestured -
"Duck!" Ed shouted, shoving his sister aside as a shower of icicles shot out from their enemy's fingertips, impaling themselves in the tree behind her.
"Dammit!" Lauren shouted. She had been in the process of dodging anyway when her brother's action threw her off balance, and she went tumbling into the bushes. She struggled to regain a fighting stance, but Daryl had stepped back into the shadows. Around them, a cold mist was forming, obscuring even Lauren sight. "Ed, get the hell out of here!" This time, she was able to keep her feet when she dodged, hearing the chanting and sensing the frozen spikes headed her way.
"I told you no!" he shouted, then grunted some obscenities as he was forced to dodge.
Lauren realized how stupid she had been. She had been so obsessed with chasing this particular car that she had never developed a plan on what to do when she caught it, and now her brother was in danger. And once again, Daryl knew the terrain better than she.
"He was better than you," came Daryl's voice, drifting through air that was becoming increasingly colder. "He was warmth and light."
'So fucking cold,' Lauren thought. 'He's using some serious juice right now.'
Then, she heard a blast from off on her left, and her brother screamed. The booby traps.
'Oh Goddess,' thought Lauren, as her very core turned far colder than anything Daryl might cast. "Ed!"
"Lauren," came something more like a gasp than a real voice. "Go."
Lauren began to shift. Daryl might control the ground and the mist, but Lauren would control the skies. She went all the way into her eagle form and flew upward, trying to spot her brother, but the dank fog had become too thick to see the ground. She should go for help. But if she did, Ed would probably not live until she got back. She saw an area that seemed devoid of the infernal mist, so she flew there quickly and shifted into her half-form. She wished she hadn't. She wished she had not had to see what lay at the center of Daryl Mosley's forest retreat. He had surrounded a small clearing with camouflage netting and inside, it looked like a slaughterhouse
There was a small, crude wooden altar decorated by candles and a human skull. The skull still had hair and skin on it. Around the table, a crude circle littered the ground. Littered was a more appropriate word than "drawn," because the circle was made up of the remains of the dead. All manner of animals, from cats and dogs to snakes and birds, had been ripped apart and left in bloody heaps in the form of a circle. And mixed in amongst the animal parts were things that were . . . once . . . human. Fingers, eyeballs -
'Where did he . . . he -' Lauren thought, then was forced to fight the urge to vomit. 'He's fucking insane. How could anyone -'
Lauren heard the slightest of noises behind her, and she jumped straight up, but not in time to completely avoid the blow that had been aimed at her head. Instead, some heavy object slammed into Lauren's leg, which sent her tumbling directly into the circle of carnage.
"You insolent bitch!" Daryl screamed, raising a monkey wrench over his head. "Elitist, unworthy --"
If you had asked Lauren to list all of the things that she would probably never do in life, "bludgeoning an insane spell caster with a human skull" would probably have been on it. Before that night. But she found another skull under her hands when she fell, and she used it as an instrument of destruction on her enemy's face.
"Shut up!" she squawked, her eagle mouth not normally suited for human words, but managing to spit those out. The sound of skulls cracking was cringe-worthy, but to his credit, Daryl did not go down. He went backwards, colliding with a tree. His human form was no match for Lauren's half-form in a straight up fight.
Daryl, bleeding heavily from the nose, spat blood and words in Lauren's direction, and a chill wind blasted the eagle-shifter in the chest with the force of a hurricane. Her body bounced across the ground like a tumbleweed at a rave, coming to an uncomfortable rest in a thorny bush.
"You would be like Him, wouldn't you?!" Daryl screamed. "A pathetic monster with a crown and a throne?! I will not stop until you have all heard my Message, and until you have all been judged!"
Lauren had to end this quickly. Edgar was out there in the mist, possibly dead or dying. His blood was on her hands as it was. She could not handle being responsible for his death.
She fixed her eagle eyes on Daryl's face, and things started to move in slow motion. She waited until she saw anything . . . a face twitch, a sneer . . . anything that would signal his intent. She saw the corner of his eye crinkle, as if he were preparing to stare really intensely. She clambered quickly towards him, finding her talons underneath her and she spread her wings, making herself as big a target as possible. She had to make it irresistible to her opponent.
Whatever Daryl had been thinking, he changed his mind and began pulling in magic, pooling it, and began to create the vessel through which that power would flow. That was when the charging eagle-shifter screamed.
Lauren had never used her battle-cry against a living creature before, and there was a reason for that. An eagle only gave the cry when he or she was going to kill someone, and Lauren had never been in a position where it was appropriate before. But she had no doubt that she or Daryl were about to die.
Her cry did what it was supposed to do, namely it froze up her enemy. It did not last long, but it lasted long enough. As Daryl removed his hands from his bleeding ears, his eyes widened, and he tried to regain control of the magic he had summoned. Loose, wild magic was a dangerous thing. As he tried to bring it to bear, Lauren closed the gap.
As long as she lived, Lauren would not forget that moment. She flapped her wings and launched herself into the air. With the tree cover, she would not be able to gain much height, but she really did not need to. One taloned foot rose up and tore Daryl Mosely's throat out. The second foot swung sideways and ripped the man's jaw off. Both blows sent sprays of blood cascading across the clearing like demented waterfalls.
The mist began to clear as soon as Daryl's body crashed into the ground with a grotesque, liquid thump. For a moment that seemed like a lifetime. She could see the blood seeping into the soil, mixing with the veritable graveyard that Daryl had built. Death begat death. She shifted back to her human form and finally threw up.
Lauren heard shouting off in the distance. Her friends. They had come looking for her and -
"Edgar!" she shouted, feeling a shame that felt as endless and deep as an ocean. She had forgotten about her brother.
"Here!" came a shout from off to her right.
Tears were streaming down her face as she moved through the brush, careful to avoid the traps, but still too careless to be smart. She had to get to him. She found him sitting against a tree, his leg peppered by buckshot. Lauren sobbed, partially from guilt and partially from relief. A leg wound . . . Ed would be fine. A few shifts after getting the buckshot out, and he'd be all right. She hugged her brother like there was no tomorrow.
"Lauren, while I'm happy to see you, I'm bleeding. And this is feeling a tad incestuous, so --"
"Oh shut up," she sniffled. "Edgar, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have . . . I mean, this is all my fault."
Ed just looked baffled. "Uhm, this is all Daryl's fault. Remember him? Psychopath? Speaking of which," he added, looking over her shoulder, "I'm assuming that since you're here, he's --"
"Dead. I killed him. You almost died because of me, and then I killed him and now I don't know what to do."
Edgar could almost feel his sister falling apart, and he could certainly see it. "What's wrong? You got the bad guy, we both made it out alive. This is good, right?"
"How can you be so blasé about this? You almost died because I couldn't follow protocol!"
"If you followed protocol, we never would have found him. Lauren, I was just as stupid as you were. I came here without backup, and I should have made you wait. I fell into the same stupid trap I pointed out earlier, and all I could do was think that I let you down. You had to fight a madman, and I should've been there."
"If we had waited like you wanted, none of this would have happened."
"He might have gotten away, or someone else would have gotten hurt." He looked through the woods to where their companions were streaming from, a mixture of animal forms that would normally never be found together much less work together. "It's about time," he shouted. "Lazy assholes."
Their friends surrounded them, with Edgar warning them about the traps, while Lauren . . . she just sat there. Aaron waved a hand in front of her face, but she did not blink. She heard their voices, saw the lights of their flashlights, but they were all indistinct . . . vague. She was not sure when she passed out, or if she ever actually did. She was not aware of anything.
-------- -----------------
Some time later . . .
-------- -----------------
Lauren came to with a start. She was in her own bed, the windows still open, the air still cool. 'A dream?' she thought. But when she heard a slight cough, she turned and saw her mother sitting in a chair next to the bed.
"No," Clara Jauregui whispered, "It wasn't a dream."
Lauren's mouth opened, but she paused, making no sound. Then, she hung her head.
"You're going to have to talk to me," Lauren's mother said. Her voice was firm and even, hiding well the contempt that Lauren knew had to be there.
"How's Edgar?"
"Your brother is fine. He's downstairs being 'consoled' by Dinah. He made his report to the Council, so I guess he feels he's entitled to be pampered now."
"When did you get here? Why --"
"Why did I come? My son was shot, my daughter slipped into a state of shock . . . did you really think I wouldn't come? Your girlfriend and her father will be landing in Albuquerque in Mr. Mahone's private plane, so we need to get this conversation out of the way so that you can let Camila dote on you."
"Dote? Mom, this is serious."
"I know," Clara said softly. "I know."
Lauren could not stand the suspense. "Aren't you going to say it?"
"Say what?"
"How much I screwed up?" Lauren replied, almost angrily. "How I let you down? How I almost got Edgar killed because I couldn't just mind my own business?"
Clara leaned forward. "Would that help? Fine, you screwed up. You went into a situation without any tactical appraisal. Edgar could have died. He could do that on any investigation he participates in. And there is always the chance that people who follow leaders may come to a bad end. It would have broken my heart if Edgar had died tonight, just like it would have killed me if any of my children got hurt. But I will not say that you let me down. I will not say that I'm ashamed of you."
"Why not?"
The mother took the daughter's hand. "Because that's not what this is about. This was your first trial by fire. Ed told me how freaked out you were about people thinking you might be Queen someday. This," she said, looking out the windows into the night sky, "was what being a Queen someday might mean. It means taking chances to protect the community. It means maybe losing those you care about because they followed you. And sometimes, it means killing."
Lauren tried not to weep. Not in front of her mother, who had seen more than her fair share of conflict. "I didn't think it would be like that."
Clara Jauregui moved to her daughter's side. "No matter what you thought it was supposed to be like, it never is. It wasn't for me, it wasn't for Queen Brown, it wasn't for any of those I've served with in the line of duty. Taking a life is sometimes necessary, but it is never easy. You thought it would be easy because the guy was evil? Because of what he did to Camila and the others? Lauren, what makes the good guys different from the bad guys is that for us, it shouldn't be easy. We put ourselves in the line of fire because that's who we are, not because we asked for it. No one asked Daryl Mosely to do what he did. This is all his fault."
Clara pulled her daughter to her, wrapped her arms around the younger woman, then continued. "I'm sorry that you had to do what you did. Did you ever notice that in all my stories, I talk about the battles, but never the killings? Never the parts where I looked someone in their eyes and then took the light from those eyes? That's because it was never easy. Because I never wanted to think about it. Now, I wish I had. I wish I had prepared you better for this part."
"This part?"
"Dealing. I taught you the mechanics of the fight, and the art of war. The physical part of killing is no different from any other part of the conflict. Killing . . . it's a decision. It's the final punctuation mark on the story of someone's life." She stroked her daughter's hair. "It's one of the things that concerns me about you becoming a writer."
Lauren scrunched up her eyebrows. "Why?"
"Because you don't like it when the story ends. Even the scary ones. A good writer needs to know when to place that last period and then move on. Now, I know that you can. You may not like it. It may disturb the hell out of you, but you understand that sometimes, a story simply needs to end."
In Clara's embrace, Lauren finally just let her body relax, and let herself cry a little bit. Her mother let Lauren detoxify her spirit. Lauren Jauregui had grown up a little that night, and her mother understood the true meaning of "growing pains."
But after a little while, Clara spoke again, this time with some amusement. "I believe Camila is here."
Lauren, who had been lost in her own little world, sniffed and asked, "How can you tell?"
On the stairs came the frantic pounding of feet. The door flew open and Camila came charging in. Her mouth was slightly parted as her echolocation sought out Lauren's form. Then the lithe young bat-shifter ran across the room and dived onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. She had moved with such speed and determination that Clara had been forced to actively dodge the ballistic young woman.
Lauren almost smiled as Camila gave her a complete once over, scanning every part of Lauren's body with her sonar. Finally, the slim bat-shifter punched her girlfriend lightly in the shoulder.
"What was that for?" Lauren asked, actually chuckling a bit.
"You're not even wounded," Camila said, her voice quivering with relief. The she threw her arms around Lauren's neck and kissed her. Hard.
"Sweetheart --"
"No talking. More kissing."
"My mother is in the room."
Camila stopped and turned bright red. She had forgotten about the presence of the other Jauregui female. "Hi Mrs. Jauregui."
Clara was smirking. "Hello Camila. I must say, I've never seen 'therapy' quite like yours before. I just tried talking to her."
Camila buried her head in the pillows next to Lauren. She muttered something, but it came out as a muffled mess of sound.
"What was that dear?" Clara asked.
Lauren grinned. "I'll translate. That was embarrassed-Camila-speak for, 'Please kill me now.' I've learned to speak her language over the last few months."
Camila mumbled again, this time blindly punching Lauren in the stomach.
"That was her telling me to shut up."
"I'll let you two talk for a bit," Clara said, standing and moving towards the door. "And I do mean 'talk'."
"What is it about parents? Do they really think that sex is the only thing on our minds?" Lauren muttered.
Camila brought her head up. "Well, I was thinking about it. Mood's kinda ruined now." She ran her hands over Lauren's face. "They told me that you faced him down and that you were messed up. I was terrified."
"I think I've got some things to think about," Lauren replied softly, bringing Camila in closer and kissing her forehead. "Hey, would it be okay if we didn't talk for a little while?"
Camila looked a little confused, but she was so grateful for Lauren to be alive and well that she did not question the request. So for an hour, they just enjoyed one another's company, basking in the warmth of contact. Then, slowly, Lauren began to talk to Camila about the things that she had told her mother. Camila just listened, letting her lover get all her insecurities out.
"So that's it. You flew all the way out here to help counsel me through my mental breakdown," Lauren finished.
"Your Mom was right you know. But I won't repeat what she already told you. The spirits know that I'm not the type to think things through either."
Lauren sighed. "I'm scared. I've been angry before, or nervous. Now, I'm just scared. What happens next time? What if Ed or someone else gets shot somewhere other than the leg? What if --"
Camila's mouth moved in and stopped Lauren's voice for a moment. She liked kissing Lauren. A lot. "You know," Camila began, "I used to think about tomorrow a lot. At first, it was because I was sure that my real family would come and take me away, but it never happened. Well, not for twenty years anyway. After 'tomorrow' stopped being the time the good things would happen, it became the time that bad things would. I'd get harassed again tomorrow. I'd be beat up again tomorrow. I'd be alone again tomorrow."
"I'm sorry," Lauren said. "I keep forgetting --"
"No, I'm not fishing for sympathy. Because those tomorrows turned out to be wrong too. I found a friend in Aaron, then in Mani. Days came and went where nothing bad happened. Then, you showed up, and I wasn't alone. When it comes to figuring out tomorrow, you're just as blind as I am. So stop worrying about it. Right now, today, you're here. You're alive. Your brother is downstairs, your friends and family are all waiting on you to come down and get the party started. For crying out loud, King Reichert owes you his life."
"Crap! I forgot all about him!"
"Then let's go downstairs and find out what happened."
It turned out, according to Edgar, that Daryl had obtained liquid nitrogen and had been planning on dipping the voodoo doll in it at midnight. Luckily for the investigators, Mosely had kept a journal of his ramblings. The investigators had decided that Daryl needed to be "found" because his crimes had affected the world of normals, they would need closure as well. So Daryl Mosely would be found in the woods, his face blown off by one of his own booby traps. Ed was sure the story would stick. Camila gripped Lauren's hand as Ed talked about the damage to Daryl Mosely, the man Lauren had killed.
Reichert had come out of his pseudo-coma almost immediately. His doctors were observing him, but he seemed to be back to his old self. He had been told what happened, and wanted to thank Lauren for saving his ass.
Then, the conversation had turned to Lauren and Edgar, and what had happened in the woods. Ed took over the storytelling, playing up his own bravery to such an outrageous degree that he had almost everyone laughing. Lauren just concentrated on her breathing, her mother watching her closely, and her girlfriend holding her hand.
------- -------------------
Months later . . .
------- -------------------
Lauren was biting her bottom lip and gripping the bed sheets, her whole body glistening with a thin layer of sweat. She groaned, climaxing so hard that she was seeing stars by the end of it.
"So," Camila asked, nibbling on the inside of Lauren's thigh, "I haven't completely lost my touch?"
"I think," Lauren started, "that your reputation is intact." Lauren pulled Camila up for a long, post-coital kiss. This was Camila's first day back in the house since her internship and the events of the fall semester, and the two young women had been making up . . . and making out . . . for lost time. Actually, they had dropped off Camila's stuff in her room, said goodbye to her father, then had begun a marathon sexual session that had lasted for four hours.
"Good, 'cause I was all out of ideas," Camila murmured, tracing a fingernail around Lauren's nipple. "You're a hard woman to satisfy, Lauren Jauregui."
"That's why I admire your 'old college try' mentality."
Camila chuckled. "We should probably get cleaned up and get to the meet-and-greet. Reichert asked for you specifically."
Lauren sighed. "I hate public stuff. Why couldn't he do this when everyone had left?"
"Then it wouldn't be a 'public ceremony,' now would it?" Camila reluctantly rolled out of bed. "I had pants when I came in here."
"But you look so good without them," Lauren replied earnestly, watching her girlfriend's long legs and cute little ass moved across the room. Not that she minded Camila's new wardrobe, courtesy of her sister Morgan. Gone were the body stockings and plain dresses. Camila was currently rolling on some tight hip-hugger jeans and a "Meatloaf - Bat Out of Hell" original concert shirt, which had been scored on Ebay with some help from Mr. Mahone's credit card.
"You really should be getting dressed," Camila said. "Are you? Lauren?" She turned around and did a quick scan, only to find that Lauren was still very naked and only standing a few feet away. "You're going to kiss me, aren't you?"
Lauren grinned. "And grope you. And make you think twice about making be go to this stupid thing."
"It's not stupid, and you -," Camila was cut off with a kiss, "-- did promise and it's not like we (kiss) won't have plenty of time later for more (kiss) (kiss) (ass grab) damn you're hot!" Camila shook her head. "You promised your mother."
Lauren sighed and reluctantly put Camila down. "Just had to throw cold water on me, didn't you?"
"Hey, this is me, remember? Think that I want to go listen to Reichert again?"
"You're looking forward to the after-party, aren't you?" Lauren laughed when Camila blushed. Just four months earlier, she would not have been able to get invited to a party to save her life. She had been the quintessential social pariah. Now, she was DJ'ing the biggest of the shifter shindigs, and all the tickets were already sold.
Camila looked like a cat who had gotten into the cream. She had never really dreamt that she would be a member of the in-crowd. Now, thanks to Lauren and her family ties, Camila was practically the president of the cool kids. A lot of it was brainless sucking up, but it was better than the alternative.
"Okay, maybe a little. Aaron says that the setup they've got is totally bitching!"
Lauren grinned and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a tee-shirt that read "Straight Outta 100 Acre Wood," with a picture of Winnie the Pooh in his gangster outfit on the front. She had even gotten the shirt so that the lettering and image were embroidered so that Camila could appreciate the Pooh. "You're scanning my ass, aren't you?" she asked after bending over to grab her Birkenstocks.
"Hmm?" Camila mumbled, not paying any attention to Lauren's question while studying her ass in great detail.
"Never mind."
"Hmm!"
Lauren sucked up her courage and turned around. "Hey, before we get going --"
"Oh no, no more delaying tactics. The sooner this speech is over --"
"I just wanted to tell you --"
"-- because I wanna dance and pump up the music and --"
"-- that I love you."
"-- so let's get going!" Camila finished, then took two steps out the door, then stopped with such dedication that she almost toppled down the stairs.
Lauren waited in complete silence for a moment. Then she heard the stairs creak a bit as Camila's weight redistributed.
"Uhm, Lo?"
"Yes?"
"Sorry, I know things got a little hectic there, but I thought that . . . well, it sounded like --"
"I said that I loved you? Yeah, I heard that too. Mostly because I said it."
"But . . . no, I don't think you get it. I thought I heard you say --"
Lauren grabbed Camila by the arms and lifted her about six inches off of the ground.
"Camila Cabello, I love you."
Camila squeaked, but it was a happy sound. "You didn't say 'Camila Cabello' last time --"
Lauren smiled. "You just like hearing me say it, don't you?"
If a rainbow could truly be captured by a mortal being, then Camila's smile accomplished just that. She was so happy that she positively glowed. Then her mouth started to move, but she could not make a sound to save her life. She grabbed Lauren by the hand and dragged her down stairs, past all of their highly confused friends, and then down into the basement. Camila frantically scanned her keyboard, then typed something in. Soon, a familiar tune slid into the air like a pleasant aroma.
Well, I know it's kind of late
I hope I didn't wake you
But what I got to say can't wait
I know you'd understand
cause every time I tried to tell you
The words just came out wrong
So I'll have to say I love you in a song.
Lauren's heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself not to smile. "It'd sound nice with the voice."
Camila smiled shyly. "Love you," she said, mustering a bit of spice.
Lauren picked Camila up and pressed their lips together. "Better."
"Best."
An hour later, the pre-semester shifter and magic-user dinner was well underway. The members of Animal House, as Lauren's social group was now called, were sitting all together, laughing and feasting and having a good time. But then Reichert stepped up to the podium, and the room went quiet.
"Thank you all for coming. No, you aren't getting course credit for this, but you can't leave because I had the doors locked." He smiled, waiting for the chuckles to die down. "But seriously, I'm glad to see so many people chose to return this semester after the tragedies and horrors experienced this past Fall. I wondered if I should suggest that we all just act as if it never happened, but that would be unrealistic. It would also fail to be productive."
He stopped, looked around, and his eyes came to rest on Lauren. "As many of you know, Lauren Jauregui and her companions showed great resolve and determination in their pursuit of an evil man. Of course, they, and specifically she, were doing so in direct defiance of just about every rule that had been laid out. I can only imagine how her mother must have felt trying to raise such a foolhardy, stubborn, and too-smart-for-her-own-good daughter. I imagine that between all the headaches and gnashing of teeth, she was a source of great pride for her family, as she has become for her entire community.
"Yet I would be remiss in my thanks if I did not focus some attention on a very unlikely hero. Miss Camila Cabello," he said, waiting until the spotlight floated over to a very surprised young woman, "I owe you more than my life, and that is a hard thing for a King . . . especially this King . . . to say. It is hard because of a certain degree of shame."
Camila looked confused, and she gripped Lauren's hand under the table.
"Camila, I once thought, as others did and sometimes still do, that those who could not have survived in our wild world in centuries past were weak. I did not realize until recently how foolish that notion was. My totem animal was as physically powerful and dominant as any creature on earth. All that strength did not save it. It was not versatile enough to survive."
Reichert looked out over the crowd. "We take great pride in our animal heritage, as well we should, but we are half human as well. And our human brethren have survived when some of the greatest, most powerful beings to walk our earth, fly our skies, and swim in our oceans have drifted into history. Why? Because of their minds. Because they used their brains to adapt to an environment that no other physical manifestation could endure. They could not fly on their own, so they built machines. They reached the moon, where not even the greatest of the bird-shifters could plant their feet."
He sighed, this admission obviously taking a great toll on him. "Camila Cabello survived for twenty years with a sharp, finely tuned mind that more than made up for her lack of sight. When surrounded by the right people, she proved time and time again to have both the brain and the fortitude to do the right thing. It was she who uncovered the truth about the evil that she survived, and that truth led to my own rescue and, hopefully, redemption. Camila, you cannot see because of a genetic quirk at birth. I have no such excuse. I believe that I may need you, the blind, to lead the rest of us whenever we seem to have lost our way."
Lauren looked over and saw tears creeping out from those white eyes. Camila had stopped wearing the sunglasses when around shifters, because she no longer felt she needed or wanted to hide. Lauren was happy for her girlfriend because, as Reichert had put it, this was redemption.
"Ready to go dancing?" Lauren whispered.
Camila just smiled and said, "Ready for anything."
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The End . . .