“Have you seen the news?” Clare asked, barely above a whisper just as Nif had settled at her desk the next day. She’d peeked through the glass walls of Oliver’s workspace as she’d walked past and had seen him shifting restlessly in front of a white board, but he was looking thoughtful rather than stressed so she was planning to leave him be for a bit while she wrote up Friday’s pitch.

The strain in Clare’s voice captured her attention entirely, all thoughts of Oliver flying out of her head. Clare’s fingers were knotted tightly together and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“No, what’s happened?” Nif was already dreading what she’d see when she opened up a news site on her laptop. It was not hard to miss what Clare was talking about.

“Two more deaths?” Nif’s heart skipped and settled into a rolling rhythm, leaving her face hot and sweat to prickle at her neck line. Her phone buzzed as she got a handful of messages, probably from the support group, and she ignored them. The report was brief. It didn’t include any names, but two women in their thirties were discovered just over two hours ago in the remote corner of an underground shopping car park. One had her eyes removed while the other, in a large dog form, was stabbed in the throat. The report was attempting to make it sound like a robbery gone wrong, but Nif knew it was the same monster who’d killed Morris.

“I suspect the murderer was interrupted,” Clare said, leaning close over Nif’s shoulder. “Maybe the dog shifter was a sister or a friend.”

“Have they said whether she was…” Nif dropped her voice, glancing around the room even though everyone she worked with knew already. “Like me?”

“No word yet, but Nif… I’m worried. That’s six people killed now, and there’s no signs this person is going to get caught. How many non-shifters can there actually be in the city?”

“Around 1500,” Nif replied. “I checked once.”

“Well, that’s actually more than I was expecting,” Clare admitted, some of the tension seeping from her shoulders. “But still, it’s like this person has a shopping list they’re slowly working their way through. How do they even know? It’s not like you advertise.”

“Clare, it’s okay.” Nif swept the woman into a hug, guilty for not realising how much this had been upsetting her. “Look, why don’t you come with me tonight to my support group meeting. It’ll be at Clinton’s house this time and his wife’s a cop. We’ll get a run down of the situation -- even more so since the latest murders -- and you can see for yourself what we’re doing to keep safe.”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” Clare pulled away, her fingers tugging on her bottom lip. “Do you think your friends would like muffins?”

“If you’re planning to get them from where I think you are, then they’d be welcomed with open arms. Oliver is taking me so you can come with us. I want you to meet Moira, too.”

Nif’s phone rang, buzzing its way across her workspace because for once it was actually clear of unread documents. Jemima the intern had taken the initiative and was currently building a fortress of unsolicited manuscripts from which she vanished behind for most of the day. Nif was checking in on her regularly partially because she was grateful someone else was reading all those hopeful stories, but mostly because she didn’t want to be responsible if the younger woman got trapped under the pile and crushed to death.

The call was from her parents. Clare laughed as Nif pulled a face. “I suppose they’ve heard the news, too, then.”

“They’ll want me to come home,” Nif sighed and answered the phone cheerfully. “Hi Mum and Dad.”

“Have you heard the news?” her mother demanded.

Nif slumped into her chair. Clare patted her on the shoulder, smiling softly and returned to her desk.

“Yeah. Look, you don’t need to worry.”

“We’re your parents, darling. It’s our job to worry. What’s the address for your work again?”

Blindsided, Nif gave it to her before she could rethink it.

“Good. We’re in the right building then.”

“Wait, what?” Nif snapped upright, horrified. Were her parents really waiting down stairs for her?

“Tell Nifty-Nif we’re here.”

“I’m on speaker phone, dear. You can tell her yourself.”

Nif glanced from Clare who was focusing intently on her keyboard to Oliver who was still in his office, now pacing and talking aloud if the low grumbling was anything to go by. Charlotte was in her consultation room and Leon was elsewhere, possibly office hopping as he convinced various managers to support the new project. The last thing she wanted was to bring her parents up where they’d freak out over the murders and remind everyone exactly what she was.

“I’ll be right down,” she mumbled into the phone and hung up. “My parents are here,” she said to Clare.

“Wait, what? Here? As in the city?”

“In the lobby.”

“Right, okay. They clearly need reassurance.” Just like Clare herself had needed only minutes earlier. “Take them to Bean or Not to Bean and have Yong-Shen woo them with her coffee and muffins. They’ll realise how many people are looking out for you and go home relieved in the knowledge that we will make sure you’re safe.”

Nif’s heart clenched at her words and pressure built behind her eyes, threatening tears. God, she’d been so emotional since Morris’s death. Almost anything could set her off.

“Thanks, Clare. That means a lot.”

“I’ll cover for you so go before they storm the castle!”

Nif slipped down the stairs, needing to pause halfway down to let a loping deer pass her on the steps, and flung herself into the building’s foyer, expecting the worst. Her father, lean and long, dressed casually in a pullover and jeans, was chatting with Jared, today’s security guard, at the front desk while her mother, wispy thin in trousers and a heavy coat, was perusing the directory. While her dad looked as if he’d just stepped out of the classroom, her mum looked like she could march off into the wilderness in search of lost children.

“Mum! Dad!” Nif waved to get their attention while moving to intercept them before they got much further into the building.

“Nifty-Nif!” Dad hollered back as if shouting across a school yard. Everyone lingering in the foyer and outside footpath paused to look.

“Okay. This is like being back in high school. Come on.” She snagged an elbow of each and tugged them towards the exit. “I’ve got permission” — kind of — “to take you out for coffee.”

“But we really wanted to meet that boss of yours,” her mother complained.

“And I bought a copy of Cliff Salem’s book. I was hoping I could get him to sign it!”

“Not now, Mum, and I promise I’ll get him to sign it, Dad, okay?”

“I guess it’s been a long trip so a drink would be nice. We actually caught the bus because we know how much you don’t like seeing us natural.” Her mother meant seeing them naked. Nif’s own hang ups meant she just felt awkward. Where were you even meant to look when talking to someone completely starkers? Thank goodness for cold weather and high-fashion, otherwise no one would wear clothes.

“It’s nice you’re trying new things,” Nif said. “Why are you here? Not that I don’t mind the visit. It’s just a surprise.” It was hard walking three abreast in the city, but somehow they were managing it. Her mum always gave off a somewhat menacing aura despite her petite size and her dad had a knack of just not being where other people were about to be.

Her dad nudged his long nose against her hair, much like he did with his beak when he was in crane form.

“We’re worried about you, Nifty-Nif. We’re so far away and these murders have us worried. They’re obviously targeting…” he lowered his voice, something he’d never done when talking about her state of being because he always claimed there was nothing to be ashamed about. “You know, and your mother and I think it’s best if you come home for a while.”

“This is home. Just because some monster is treating us like prey doesn’t mean I’m going to let them chase me out of my home.” Nif hurried them across at a green light and gestured. “We’re here.”

To Bean or Not to Bean had a quiet buzz going for this time of day, but Nif managed to squeeze the three of them onto a table.

“I’ll go put in our order,” she said, partially regretting not bringing her keepcup so she could grab one to go afterwards. She had a feeling she’d need the sugar this morning.

“This is unlike you!” Yong-Shen greeted, leaning her elbows on the counter to check out her parents. “Mama bear and papa stalk?”

“He’s a crane actually,” Nif corrected, not surprised at all at Yong-Shen’s observations.

“Huan just baked fresh scones. You’ll need sweetness for the conversation ahead.” She nodded decisively and bustled into the kitchen.

“One chai latte coming up. What would your folks like?” Jo asked, thumping away on the drinks machine while texting on his phone.

“Long black for my mum and a caramel latte with extra cream for my dad because he has no sense of taste.”

“That’s parents for you. I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”

After a deep breath, Nif returned to the table and took comfort from the fact that, while it was mildly inconvenient, her parents had made the effort to visit.

“So sweetie, we really think you should consider taking some leave from work. School holidays are about to start so your father will be off work, and I’ve a few days in liu I can take from the office. We could go on a camping trip.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Mum, you know I hate camping. I’m allergic to like everything!”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be camping. We could rent a cottage somewhere up north.”

“We could make cheeses,” her dad said, as if it was the greatest idea ever. Her father picked up hobbies like people picked up colds on public transport. At any one time he might be making beer or keeping bees or building more bookshelves for his ever expanding signed book collection. He’d knitted Nif’s favourite scarf and he was the one who’d mended the rips in her pants when she was child.

“While I love cheese, I suspect that takes some time to do,” Nif said.

“Depends on the cheese,” he said. Nif soldiered on before he could elaborate.

“But I can’t be away from work right now. Leon has me working closely with Oli...I mean Cliff Salem and the project has an important deadline this Friday.”

“That’s all well and good, sweetie, but there’s a madman…”

“Or woman,” her father corrected.

“Yes, thank you, dear. A mad person in the city who’s killing people who cannot shift, which means you’re a target. It’s not like you hide this fact.”

“I don’t exactly advertise either,” Nif grumbled. Jo slouched over to their table, impossibly carrying all three drinks in one hand while still playing with his phone in the other. Nif suspected she’d never actually seen the colour of Jo’s eyes. They were always glued to that tiny screen.

“Thank you,” Nif’s father hummed, grasping his cup in two hands and inhaling the cream. He somehow managed to not get any on his nose.

“Thanks, Jo,” Nif said, passing her mother’s coffee to her and taking her own chai latte.

“Mum said the scones will be out in a tick,” Jo said and he meandered back over to the coffee machine, fingers flying over the phone screen.

“This is a charming little cafe,” her mother said, nodding in satisfaction after her first sip. “Especially for the city.”

“The city isn’t as bad as you think,” Nif said. “Look, I’m as safe as anyone can be. I’ve more chances of being hit by a bus than being murdered, even with some crazy person targeting non-shifters. I’m fine and I’m taking precautions.”

Her parents exchanged loaded looks. One day Nif hoped she’d have someone like that. A person who could know what she was thinking at a glance.

“You’re an adult and we respect your choices,” her dad said.

“Just, if things become a bit too much.” Her mother took up the conversational baton. “Know we’re only a few hours away. You’re always welcome.”

“I know. Thanks for coming down to check on me.”

“We were already on our way when we heard the news about the additional murders.”

“Isn’t it awful!” Yong-shen appeared at their sides, three mismatched plates bearing scones the size of two of Nif’s fists together and a healthy dollop of fresh cream. A deep dish of jam was plonked on the table beside it all. “The city is meant to be a place of hopes and dreams,” Yong-shen said. “But all it takes is for one sick person to screw it up for the rest of us.”

“Yong-shen! Language please!” Huan called out from the kitchen. Yong-shen rolled her eyes.

“You don’t need to be frightened for your child,” Yong-shen continued. “She is well-loved here. We will look after her and she’s got a protector.”

“A protector?” Nif’s mother asked, leaning closer. Yong-shen snagged a spare chair from another table and joined them without asking. Nif didn’t mind and clearly neither did her mother who was keen for any information she could get on her daughter, but Nif’s dad looked mildly bemused. He’d always been a small town boy and the big city often left him struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, what protector?” Nif asked.

“I told you, Nif. You’d have another bear come into your life. You should’ve met him by now.”

“I generally don’t put a lot of stock in a person’s shift,” Nif stated and took a huge bite of her scone. She’d topped it with jam and cream and, oh god, it was still warm and Nif just wanted to curl up inside it. Around her mouthful, she continued, “I’ve met plenty of people who don’t match up to the stereotype their shift evokes so it’s best just to ignore it.”

“While a shift may not be important to you, it is still a part of a person’s identity. They can tell us a lot about a person,” Yong-shen said softly.

“So what’s it say about me then?”

“No one form could sum you up, my dear.” Yong-shen stood up, wiping her hands on her apron. “Enjoy the scones. My husband may not be much to look at, but his baking keeps me in love.”

“I heard that!” Huan yelled out to them. Jo just rolled his eyes and prepped a takeaway chai latte for Nif.

“You’ve met another bear?” Her mother asked, eagerly. They weren’t the most common of shift forms, though Nif remembered that failed date not that long ago. The bear couple. Nif couldn’t help but admire their no nonsense shift when the other customers had made a fuss.

“I don’t know of anyone personally.” Though Oliver had yet to divulge his shift. It had just never come up, and it was now too awkward to ask him outright. Some people rarely spent any time at all in their shift, either because it was inconvenient -- a goldfish for example couldn’t have been the easiest unless you were in a bathtub -- or uncomfortable -- big forms like bears or camels took up a lot of space.

“I’m glad we came, though. It’s reassuring to hear that even the local baristas are keeping an eye on you.”

“Mum, I can look after myself!”

“Yes, but you don’t have to. How’s Sapha going?”

They finished their scones -- her father got two to go -- and mostly talked about their shared acquaintances. Her dad told her some of the funny things his students got up to and her mum described her current architectural plans for a new recreational centre being built two towns over. It was actually a really nice catch up, until they’d walked Nif back to the office and the request to meet her boss came up again.

“Oh, well Leon is very busy,” Nif tried, but there was no putting her parents off. “Just please don’t embarrass me,” she finally compromised and ushered them towards the elevator.

“We’d never embarrass you on purpose, Nifty-Nif,” her dad said, but already she could tell he was dusting off some truly stellar dad jokes.

The lift opened onto an eyeful of naked old man.

“Good afternoon, Mr Williams,” Nif sighed, and loaded her parents onto the elevator. “Which floor did you end up on this time?” Clearly not their level as Clare usually bundled him up in one of the spare robes before sending him off to the right one. Jemina had to make a weekly trip to his office to collect the borrowed garments.

“Oh hello Jennifer. Level two I’m afraid, but I just got on the first available elevator and it was heading down. Will this go to the fourth floor?”

Nif stabbed the 4th floor button as well as the third. “Yes it will.”

Nif all but dragged her parents out of the lift, tossing Mr Williams a wave and sighing in relief when the doors closed on him.

“Was that Mr Williams I saw? He must’ve been out for a late morning flight,” Clare said on her way back to her desk with a fresh pot of tea.

“Yes. Yes, it was.” Nif rubbed her eyes to remove the image of a naked man burnt into the back of her eyelids. “Clare, these are my parents. Hannah Beechcroft and Jonathan Saito. Mum and Dad, this is Clare who without this entire company would cease to run.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Clare said, all but dropping the teapot on Nif’s desk because it was closer, and rushing forward to shake their hands, her enthusiasm belying her softly spoken words. “Nif talks about you all the time. I heard you’re a collector of books, Jonathan.”

Oliver chose that time to wander out, pencil wedged between his teeth and one hand buried in his hair. It looked like he’d been tugging on it for some time and Nif had to fight not to tidy it for him.

“Jennifer? I can’t find that character spreadsheet you designed and I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve killed off…” Oliver glanced up and froze when he realised he had the full attention of the office. “Umm, sorry for interrupting. That may have come across as a little bit weird.” He was already backtracking back to his office when Nif’s father lunged forward, already pulling out his copy of Bridge Gate.

“Right, introductions,” Nif said, hurrying to avoid Oliver from freaking out entirely and disappearing for the rest of the day. “Oliver, these are my parents. Hannah and Jonathan.”

“Please, call me Jon!” her father said eagerly, bopping the book against his chest in barely restrained excitement.

“This is Oliver, also known as Cliff Salem. Oliver, my dad is a bit of a fan so would you mind...”

“Oh. Your parents? Of course!” he laughed nervously and stuck his pencil in his front pocket. “You don’t happen to have a gel ink pen on you, do you? It tends to write better on the paper.”

Clare manifested a pen from somewhere and her father gleefully proffered his book. He clearly hadn’t read it yet, the spine unbroken and it popped a little as Oliver opened it to the title page. There was a good chance he’d never actually read it. The signature was what he truly craved. Some people collected fine wines. Her dad collected signed books.

“Can you write your favourite music lyrics as well?” Her dad asked as Oliver wrote ‘To Jonathan’ across the page in the handwriting Nif recognised he used specifically for fans.

“Sure.” Oliver pondered for a moment, clearly wanting to chew on the pen end before remembering it wasn’t actually his pen, and then scrawled something too difficult for Nif to read upside down.

“You’re not a bear shift by any chance?” her mother asked as Oliver handed the book back, and he almost dropped it.

“What?”

“Mum!” Nif hissed and Leon chose that moment to sweep into the office, take in the small gathering and, never dropping a beat, held out his hand to first Hannah and then Jonathan to shake.

“Mrs and Mr Saito I presume?”

“It’s actually Hannah Beechcroft, but please, call me Hannah and my partner is Jon.”

“My apologies. I’m Leon Knight. It has truly been a pleasure working with your daughter over the last few years.” He gave Nif a wink, clearly remembering his previous awkward mistake when he’d assumed she’d only been working for Never Archives for a year. It was disconcerting how much had changed over the last few weeks.

“We’ve heard quite a bit about you lately,” her dad said, and it wasn’t just Nif’s imagination when her dad puffed up his shoulders like a bird fluffing its feathers to appear bigger than he really was. Nif’s mother elbowed him.

“Yes,” Hannah said. “We want to thank you for making sure she gets to and from work safely with the current madman…” -- “mad person” muttered her dad-- “currently giving the authorities the slip. Now we really should go. We’ve interrupted quite enough of everyone’s time.” She smiled disarmingly when in fact she could take down everyone in this room without breaking a sweat even in her human form. If Nif had to pick anyone to be in her corner, it would be her mother.

“I’ll walk you down,” Nif said.

They said farewell to everyone, Oliver retreating to his office as quickly as possible and Leon walking them to the elevator before snagging Clare about some office order.

Back inside the elevator, Nif rocked her head on her neck and felt her spine pop.

“So you’re satisfied now?” Nif asked after pressing the button to the foyer.

“Somewhat, Nifty-Nif. You can’t stop us worrying,” her dad said.

“It’s what we do,” her mum added.

“Just call us every evening when you get home.”

“And don’t go out alone.”

“Even during the day.”

“Safety in numbers.”

They bounced off each other, listing more and more safety rules until the doors chimed open and they entered the lobby.

“I know, okay. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise. Now you will want to head off to the bus station now if you want to beat the afternoon rush.”

“Do you mind if I fly home, dear?” her dad asked, batting wide eyes at Nif’s mum.

“Not at all. It’s been a while since you’ve had a chance to fly such a distance. I’m not taking your book though.”

“I’ll take it,” Nif said. “There’s a change room if you want.” Her dad was already stripping down, oblivious to being in a glass walled lobby full of people who were in turn ignoring him completely. He handed each item of clothing to her mother to stuff inside her somewhat empty backpack, and Nif wouldn’t be surprised if her mother had predicted her father asking for the chance to wing it home. When her father got to just his jeans and socks, he swept Nif into a tight hug.

“Be safe, Nifty-Nif. Post back that book for me, or better yet, bring it up on your next visit. Just make sure it’s soon.”

“I will.”

Her dad shifted while still wearing his pants so Nif wouldn’t have to see him completely naked and then shook the socks he’d forgotten to take off with an indignant squawk.

“Oh, give it here,” her mum muttered, and deftly ducked his flapping wings to scoop the socks off and fold up his jeans. “We’ll call you when we arrive home, sweetheart.”

“Okay, I love you both.”

“We love you, too.” Her mum buffed a kiss on her forehead and Nif ducked low enough for her dad, who wasn’t that much shorter than her in his crane form, to comb his beak through her hair.

Her mum was chatting with her dad as they left, her mum opening the door for him and then waving him off as he took flight, narrowly missing a messenger pigeon.

“They’re lovely. Your parents, I mean,” Jared the security guard said.

“I know. I’m fully aware I take them for granted.”