Changeling Dream Page 8

  “Wait till you meet Ed Barnes’s donkey. He likes cigars.” Birkie finished filling the coffee machine and pressed the button before turning to the young vet. “Look, honey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is something wrong? You look like you’ve been dragged through a keyhole backward. There’re shadows under your eyes, and I swear a zombie would have more color in its cheeks.”

  Jillian blinked at the blunt description, then laughed. “That bad, huh? I’m just not sleeping well right now. It’s probably the time difference, or maybe sleeping in a different bed. Lots of changes, you know. I’m sure it’s just temporary.” To her surprise, her friend simply took her arm and nudged her into a chair. “What?”

  “We need more than mere gourmet coffee here, if we’re going to have serious gal talk.” Birkie nimbly climbed a chair to reach an antique tin of horse liniment from a high shelf. The yellowed, peeling label claimed the contents “excellent for all ailments.” The fragrance was anything but medicinal as Birkie tugged off the lid and offered it to Jillian. The young woman’s eyes widened. A dozen bars of dark chocolate gleamed in gold foil wrappers. “My emergency stash,” explained Birkie. “Go ahead, pick one.”

  Jillian didn’t hesitate. A moment later she was biting into an almond-filled delight. She rolled her eyes in ecstasy as it melted on her tongue. “Omigod, this is fantastic. You may have just saved my life.”

  “My Gram was a healer, almost what you might call a naturopath today. She taught me everything she knew about herbs and such. But I find that chocolate is pretty damn fine first aid at times and it’s got nothing to do with antioxidants.” Birkie broke off a square from her own bar and nibbled it delicately. “Now, tell me what else is going on besides not getting enough sleep. You’re not just tired, you’re worried. I hope it’s not about your job, hon, because Connor and I both think you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

  Jillian paused. She’d known Birkie only a short time, but she instinctively counted her as a friend. Maybe it would be good to tell someone about her dreams. If she collapsed in the middle of a pet spay or something, at least someone would know what was the matter with her. “No, nothing about the job. I love my job. It’s just that I’ve been having these dreams . . .”

  “Still? I know you said something about having an awful lot of dreams earlier this week. Bad dreams, strange dreams, nightmares?”

  “I wouldn’t call them nightmares. They’re actually pretty good dreams except that I wake up every time I have one and can’t get back to sleep. And I’ve had one every night since I got here, after not having them for years and years.”

  “You’ve had these particular dreams before then. My Gram was a great believer in dreams, and I have to say I pay attention to them as well. We can learn a lot from what goes on in our heads at night. How about you? Do you think the dreams mean anything?”

  Jillian had told very few people about her experiences. Enough time had passed, however, that it wasn’t so much difficult as awkward. “Well, I’m not sure I can explain it without giving you some ancient history. Are you sure you have time for this?”

  Birkie just crossed her legs and settled more firmly into the chair. “Honey, I have all the time in the world for you. You’ve reminded me of one of my own daughters since you got off that bus. And nothing you say is going to leave this room, so no worries about that. I talk about people all the time, but I never betray a confidence.”

  “It started with something that happened a long time ago. When I was seventeen, they opened a trail system along the river valley that ran through our city. There were miles of different trails winding through the thick cottonwood trees, and I was trying to walk them all one day. By myself, but when you’re seventeen, you think you’re invincible.”

  “Turns out I wasn’t invincible.” Jillian measured out the words. “Five guys attacked me, raped and beat me. They were going to kill me. But this wolf—I know how crazy it sounds, but a huge white wolf suddenly came out of nowhere and chased them all away. And then it stayed with me, like it was guarding me, like it cared about me. It stayed all night until someone found me.” She waited for the older woman’s reaction, waited for the look of shock and disbelief, the pulling back, the pulling away—but Birkie, bless her, didn’t even blink. Instead she reached forward across the table and grabbed Jillian’s hand, held it firmly.

  Warmed by the encouragement, Jillian continued. “The first year or so, I’d dream every single night about the wolf. You can’t imagine how much it helped me. I felt so much peace and comfort, my dreams were almost like a sanctuary for me. But then, with time and counseling, I learned to let myself feel the emotional pain and the anger over the attack, acknowledge it and let it go, in small increments. After a while, the dreams didn’t come so often. And now it’s been years.”

  “You’ve healed very well.” Birkie nodded approvingly. “That’s a mighty terrible thing to go through, and an awful thing to have to remember. Most people would have curled up in a ball, let it cripple them. But you’ve shown real courage in going on with your life. There you are with a veterinarian’s degree and the guts to take a job, sight unseen, clear across the country. Well done, girl.”

  “Sometimes I wanted to curl up in a ball. A lot, at first. But those men had taken so much from me, I didn’t want them to steal the rest of my life too, didn’t want them to steal who I was. It took a long time, though, just to make myself go outside, or go to the store. Go to school. Took even longer to go back into the woods, to hike the trails, be outdoors again. But I wanted the things that I loved back. I wanted myself back. And I think the wolf helped a lot. I didn’t see him again, but I thought about him every time things were tough. Something wonderful had stepped in and saved my life. So I had to try to save my life too.”

  Birkie kept her hand where it was. Her expression showed nothing but acceptance and support. “And you’ve done a damn fine job of it. Did you ever tell anyone about the wolf? I’ll bet some people tried to tell you he wasn’t real.”

  “Of course no one believed me,” Jillian snorted. “And I can’t blame them. A wolf in the middle of an eastern city? Sure, the occasional deer ran through the river valley park area where I was walking, but a wolf? The police said I’d probably seen a big dog, perhaps a coyote—if anything. My counselor thought the white wolf was something my mind made up to protect itself. I went along with that, but I was never quite convinced, or maybe I just liked the idea that somewhere out there was this wonderful creature watching out for me. You know, the way some people like to believe they have a guardian angel.

  “But then, last weekend, I—” She glanced at Birkie. She hadn’t planned to say a word about the encounter, but she hadn’t realized how much she needed to tell someone. She was tired of puzzling through this on her own. “Look, I’m taking a chance that you’re really going to think I’m crazy, but I met the wolf again. Here—well, actually I was hiking on the trail below Elk Point. It sounds nuts but I know it wasn’t a dream. There were white hairs all over my clothing when I woke up the next morning.”

  “Do you think it was the same animal, or could it be a different one?” Birkie asked, as easily if they were discussing cows.

  “No mistake. It was huge and it had the most amazing blue eyes. I recognized it right—” Jillian gaped at her. “You believe me. I’m telling you I not only had a close encounter but a fond reunion with a real live wolf—which sounds ludicrous even to me when I say it out loud—and you believe me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? As Shakespeare put it, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio . . .” Birkie waved a square of chocolate in the air. “My Gram saw a lot of things in her long life, things that can’t be explained. I’ve lived long enough to see a few things myself, to know for a fact that truth is often a lot stranger than fiction, honey. So you saw this white wolf, and it was the same wolf that helped you. Did the wolf recognize you too?”

  “Yes, yes it did.” Jillian had read somewhere that the greatest
luxury was to be understood, and as she grasped what that really felt like, she found herself blinking tears away. “Look, I just can’t tell you how much it means to be able to tell somebody. I haven’t known what to think about the whole thing, and it’s . . . it’s. . . .”

  “It’s kind of lonely trying to figure out extraordinary experiences on your own,” Birkie finished and smiled at her. “And it gets mighty heavy carrying things like that around. Maybe it will help you get some sleep tonight, now that you’ve gotten it off your chest.”

  “Maybe it will. Thank you so much for listening to me—and for believing. I know this whole thing sounds so bizarre, and especially meeting up with the wolf again, of all things.”

  “I should think that it would be wonderfully affirming to encounter the wolf a second time, to know that it’s real. You won’t be questioning your sanity at least.”

  “You’re right, I am glad it happened.” Jillian finished the chocolate, then laughed a little. “The wolf dreams are okay too. Like I said, they’re good dreams. It’s just that I can’t get back to sleep after I have one.” She almost told Birkie about the blond man who had visited her dreams too, but decided not to. There was something more personal about that, maybe because she often found herself fantasizing about him. Besides, she had only dreamed about the man once. It didn’t mean anything.

  The older woman finished her chocolate and tossed the crumpled foil neatly into the wastebasket without looking. “Tell you what, dear, I think you’d better come on over to my house for supper. It’ll be late, but you definitely need a break from this place, and besides, I have satellite TV with nineteen movie channels. Zoey’s going to come over for a while too, and you can get to know her a bit.”

  “Oh that sounds great, but I’m on call—”

  “The dispatch service can find you just as easily at my place as yours. Take the clinic truck, and you’ll be equipped to respond from wherever you are. You’ll find, though, that Friday night seems to be the one time that no one calls you. Connor and I figure it’s either because the farmers are out for a beer or the cows are.”

  Jillian chuckled at that. “Well, I’d love to come over then, thanks.”

  “Good. Seven-thirty’s when I usually eat. Hope you like pizza. The address is in the book.”

  Chapter Eight

  The days were steadily lengthening toward full summer. The sun took its time settling into the west, and for a while, day and night held hands in an orange glow. Finally darkness fell over the North Star Animal Hospital, but to James’s surprise, the woman wasn’t there. The white wolf paced around the building, casting for her scent. He placed his paws on the windowsill of her apartment and pressed his nose to the screen. Probably got called out; she’s a vet, she could be delivering a calf or something. Still, he was disappointed—and angry with himself for feeling that way. It shouldn’t matter. But it did. Especially when he hadn’t intended to come here, wasn’t going to go anywhere near Jillian Descharme ever again.

  The wolf had other ideas, however, resisting that plan every step of the way until James seriously feared for his sanity. He’d tried to submerge himself beneath the animal persona soon after leaving Jillian’s apartment, but it wouldn’t work. Days later it still wouldn’t work. James was stuck with his human thoughts and human feelings in a lupine body. And it was getting damned uncomfortable. There was no respite from the tumult in his head and the memories that sliced his heart and twisted his gut. Even sleep didn’t bring him any peace. With human awareness came human dreams. His dreams were filled with nightmare images of Evelyn calling to him for help, of Evelyn dying, of Evelyn dead. Then Evelyn’s face would be replaced with Jillian’s. Wounded and dying because of him. His fault, all his fault.

  In his waking hours, he was trying to figure out the peculiar tie he had to Jillian. The only thing he was sure of was that whatever connection she had with him was with the wolf, not the man. That was made plain the night he was in her room. Had some part of him wanted her to wake up, to see him, see his human self? There’d been no recognition in her eyes, however. It had disappointed him, when he didn’t want to care at all, and later it had kindled a hot anger within, as if he was jealous of his own wolf nature. Still, it looked like he wasn’t going to get an ounce of peace until he resolved this issue. Was there something he needed to know? Something he needed to do? Something she could do for him? He had no inkling, none at all. And so here he was, and here he would wait until the woman came back. What then, he didn’t know—but he sure didn’t have any other ideas.

  The bales were still stacked in the side yard. The white wolf had no trouble making his way up them and leaping into the loft. He would wait here. It was quiet, and he would spend the time thinking. Trying to remember something, anything. As if he hadn’t already spent most of the entire week doing exactly that.

  Hours passed. No memories came to him, no new information sprang to mind, but one single thought did occur—when he was in human form in Jillian’s apartment he had remembered her name. Would he remember more, then, if he were human? Would his wolfen side ration out a little more information to him? Maybe that was the key.

  James called the Change. Standing on two legs didn’t feel quite so awkward this time—at least he didn’t fall on his ass—but he sat quickly on a bale just in case. For a long while he simply watched the moon climb across the sky, reach the highest point of its arched path, then begin its downward slide. His eyelids drooped. Human form brought human needs. Changing used a great deal of energy, and James had had very little sleep in days. It wouldn’t hurt to catch a quick nap. He was confident that his lupine senses would wake him the moment Jillian drove up. Wading through the sweet-smelling straw, he found a particularly thick pile and stretched out on it. But he didn’t glide into the light sleep of the wolf. Instead, James fell headlong into slumber as only a human can, slept deep as a man sleeps, and dreamed as a man dreams.

  Century-old spruce trees rose black against a deep blue velvet sky. Stars circled in a slow dance overhead. The white wolf padded along a game trail, high along the ridge of dark hills to the west. An old elk had been through here just an hour ago, but the musky scent failed to hold the predator’s interest. Something was wrong. Something. Suddenly the wolf stopped and lifted his head, looked down over the sweep of land below, where a silvered river wound its way to a distant cluster of lights that looked like numberless stars piled on the ground. There. It was there. Something wrong, close to the river. Something.

  The wolf hesitated a moment. It went against every instinct. He never wandered near human settlements, certainly never close to a city. But there was a need, an urgency to head for the river valley in the very heart of all those lights. Now. It was important. Vital. Now, now, now. And so he ran. Built for speed, the wolf’s body ate up the miles, yet it wasn’t fast enough, he knew it wasn’t fast enough. He pushed himself to the limits then, to speeds that only Changelings could attain.

  The city rose glittering on either side of the river, the buildings towering over the tallest trees of this forested valley. The white wolf followed the riverbank into a maze of mulched walking trails that wound through dense brush. The sharpness of fear and the reek of violence were on the breeze. And the metallic tang of blood, human blood. Without a pause, the wolf wheeled onto one trail in particular and ran full out. And found a group of men standing over the fallen figure of a small blond woman. One was raising a metal pipe high over his head. . . .

  Jillian fully expected to enjoy having supper with Birkie and Zoey, and she wasn’t disappointed. Birkie’s bright and blunt personality would add spice to any meal, and Zoey’s tales of local news reporting gone awry had them in stitches frequently. But it was a flat-out surprise to all of them when they stayed up almost all night, talking and laughing like high school students, making popcorn and watching the silliest movies they could find.

  There were other surprises too. After Zoey had finally pleaded exhaustion and left, Birkie had led Jilli
an to the enclosed porch off the kitchen to show off her hobby. There, rows upon rows of pots under greenhouse lights held a myriad of plants and vines. The air was thick with their fragrance. Bunches of herbs hung upside-down, drying in the dining room. An entire wall boasted shelves of carefully labeled jars, while another wall held a vast collection of books on plants and herbs. Jillian was astounded.

  “Learned this stuff from my grandmother,” said Birkie. “Been studying everything and anything I could get my hands on ever since. Gotten pretty damn good at it too.” The woman deftly put together a selection of teas and capsules for the young vet. “All natural, I promise. About as harmful as the basil on your pizza. These are to help you relax, help you sleep, and help you stay asleep. These ones here are to build up the blood—you’re looking downright peaked, girl. I’ll jot it all down for you so you remember what to take when. But this thing here is to keep away bad dreams.”

  Jillian glanced over at the carefully crafted circle of rawhide and feathers on the seat of the truck next to her. Birkie seemed to put as much stock in the dream catcher as in the supplements, and instructed her to hang it over her bed. “I know you can find these things at just about every craft sale in the country these days. Even saw some Asian knockoffs at the Bargain Mart the other day. But this one is different—been working on it all week, ever since you first mentioned having dreams and since I noticed you looking so tired. Made it out of natural materials, added some particular crystals and stones so it’s full of positive energies. It’s designed especially for you, hon, that’s why it’s bound to work for you.” Jillian wasn’t sure about that, but it was pretty to look at. She didn’t have any decorations in her apartment yet, and she was touched that Birkie would go to so much trouble for her. She accepted the gift with a thankful hug.

  Jillian yawned as she pressed the automatic door opener in the truck and drove into the clinic’s back bay. She yawned again as she parked and gathered up her treasures. She was intent on heading to her apartment when a movement high above her, a small flicker of something pale, caught her eye. She stared up at the loft. Of course its door was open—the air was welcome in the clinic at this time of year—but Jillian couldn’t see a thing beyond the yawning doorframe. It was ‘black as the inside of a cow,’ an apt phrase she’d picked up from the local farmers. She strained to listen but could detect no sound.