Regis stepped to the side as Morgana took Eric by the hand and led him around the room performing introductions. He stood near the booth populated with Nessa and others of his blood. Two of the people, his younger cousin Samuel, and his wife, Nora, left to get some drinks from the bar and gave a brief greeting before they hurried off. He watched the ancient creature within a teenager’s body shake hands with people he loved and was sworn to protect; all the while, his anxiety simmered beneath the surface.

Again, he had felt the presence of the Dying Wolf on the Shore when accepting Eric into the pack link. He closed his eyes taking a deep, steadying breath. The sensation was still fresh in his mind.

As soon as Regis initiated the pack link, he hadn’t experienced the usual feeling that accompanied the induction of a new member. Instead of a young spirit tinged with animalistic instincts and impulses, he sensed something inhuman, downright alien. When Eric accepted his place within the pack, Regis didn’t feel like he had earned the respect or trust of another shifter. No, the Dying Wolf had appeared in his mind’s eye.

The progenitor of modern shifters stood up from its place by the shore and walked toward him. As it walked, its fur gained color and thickness going from a balding, gray pelt to a lustrous coat of white and moonlight gray. The creature held Regis in its gaze like any predator might freeze its prey, then as though calculating something beyond his mortal understanding, nodded its head once.

Regis understood. He hadn’t always been the pack leader. Many years ago, before Shadow’s Passing and the founding of Holsburg, he had been just another member in the Clarksville shifter pack under his father. He knew that when an older, wiser, and more powerful shifter communicated without words, there was much being said.

“You will lead… for now.”

The beast dormant with Regis growled in the depths of his soul, discontent with the state of things. However, that same beast, one forged in the fires of conflict and pushing the bounds of power achievable by shifters, dared not take a step forward, to do so would mean a challenge.

And, a challenge would mean defeat.

“Pawpaw,” Nessa said, breaking him out of his mood. He smiled at his granddaughter though the expression waned a bit when he saw her face. She watched Eric like a hawk, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “Is it true he’s a Grayback?”

Regis resisted the urge to sigh. He knew exactly where the inquiry would lead. Nessa had aspired to become a Grayback shifter before she could walk. Unlike anyone else, she trained her body and fumbled through meditation exercises in the hopes of reaching lofty heights.

“Most likely, yes,” Regis said. His enhanced senses heard the clenching muscles of Nessa’s jaw even in the crowded saloon.

“How?!” she growled through gritted teeth. “He’s younger than I am.”

If Nessa were younger or less mature, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her stomping her foot in frustration. He exchanged a look with his son, her father, Dante. The man could’ve passed for a younger version of himself, but his firstborn had a stoicism about him that Regis had only even managed to project as a façade. If anything happened to Regis and Morgana, Dante and Sharon, his third eldest and the deputy sheriff, were the prime candidates to replace them, even if the only thing supernatural about Sharon was her determination.

Regis couldn’t blame his granddaughter for her exasperation; had he not known Eric’s situation, he might’ve responded similarly, especially as a Grayback himself. The process necessary for a shifter to become a Grayback was hellish, physically and spiritually. Theoretically, any shifter could do it, but only a small percentage of those who attempted the evolution succeeded.

Aside from being physically stronger than other shifters, Regis also had more control over his ability to shift and commanded primal magic similar to that of druids. Contrary to popular belief, magic wasn’t exclusive to Graybacks. As shifters grew older, the power that allowed them to shift grew in strength, and eventually, an old enough shifter could channel that power to produce lesser magic. If the shifter wished, this potential could be nurtured to produce more potent magic instead of gaining further mastery over their inner beast.

The issue came from two undeniable facts that had been true since Shir’s time. One, no shifter could use magic and shift at the same time. In most cases, using magic meant a shifter couldn’t shift, sometimes for days at a time. Needless to say, a shifter who chose to cultivate their magical ability wouldn’t be doing much shifting. This limitation created the misconception among the ignorant that normal shifters couldn’t use magic since those that could use it were often mistaken for druids. Few elder shifters or Graybacks corrected the notion born of ignorance since the misinformation had been the saving grace of more than one conflict between shifters and other supernatural creatures. That shifter packs and druid circles often intermingled only added to the obfuscation of their true potential.

Then again, most shifters ignored the path of mysticism in favor of their inner beast. Why settle for the power of a third or second rate sorcerer when you could gain the strength throw cars like toys and shrug off damage like a tank? No, aside from those ambitious enough to become Graybacks, primal magic remained the road less traveled for a good reason.

Two, most shifters didn’t live past their mid-fifties to sixties. For some reason, no matter how healthy or powerful they were, whether they chose to pursue mastery of their inner beast or primal magic, a shifter’s body would begin to fail around the age of fifty, and from there, it was only a matter of time.

The exceptions, to both of these truths, were Graybacks. It was the path walked by Shir, the first shifter— the path of might and magic. A shifter could only become a Grayback by undergoing the Trial of Roots which required a ley line and a druid or Grayback capable of performing the necessary ritual and herbal brews. As for the hopeful, they needed to have prepared themselves physically, mentally, and spiritually by bringing their body close to peak condition, learning the foundations of primal magic, and becoming one with their inner beast. If the shifter survived the trial, they became a Grayback, the peak form of a shifter capable of wielding magic as powerful as a druid or sorcerer even during a shift.

Technically, he hadn’t confirmed that Eric was a Grayback, merely that he could shift and according to Morgana, was an animist. However, his instincts as a shifter, and as a Grayback, left little doubt about the ancient’s capability. And even if he was wrong, he might as well prepare his family for the inevitable.

“A Grayback and an Animist, huh? I bet Jon would’ve never let us hear the end of it,” Dante said. Regis spared a glance at his son noting the neutral expression and relaxed posture.

He gets that from his mother, Regis thought. He loved Morgana, but her ability to casually comment on a matter, despite their severity or how personal they were, unnerved him at times.

“It isn’t right,” Nessa said, her frustration bubbling into her words. Regis nodded. He knew the hurt inside that she struggled with intimately. The powerlessness involved in any meeting with Death left men and women shocked and grasping at the ether for explanations. To make matters worse, Nessa’s bond with Jonathan had eclipsed almost all of her other relationships. Jon had always known how to cheer her up, motivate her, or calm her down and every time he left after his visits, his niece would sulk for days at a time. Still, her next words forced a frown onto Regis’s face. “Uncle Jon should’ve never gotten wrapped up with those sorcerers. He should be here instead of that…”

“That’s enough, Nes,” said Rosa before Regis could do so. The fiery-eyed woman stared down her daughter reminding everyone at the table from whom Nessa had gotten her passion. “You’re hurting so we’ve let you be, but your hurt doesn’t give you the right to take it out on others.”

“But Ma, its—,” Nessa protested.

“Your mother said enough, Vanessa,” Dante added. His daughter fixed him with a look of betrayal.

“Nes, you are being pretty mean to Aunt Libby,” said Alejo. The boy’s remarks earned a raised eyebrow from his father and Regis.

“Aunt Libby?” Nessa said, her face twisted in disgust. “You just met her like two days ago, you little traitor. I should’ve known something was up when you got in the middle of my business.”

“I didn’t want you two to argue because you’re both sad about Uncle Jon,” the boy said with a shrug. “Besides, Aunt Sharon said that Aunt Libby had scars that needed healing.”

“She looks fine to me,” Nessa huffed, summoning all the force of her teenage rightness for the words.

Her younger brother met her gaze with curious eyes. He seemed to consider something before speaking again.

“That’s what I thought too, but then I wondered, how come her clothes were all ripped up when she got here?” The boy scratched at the faint tufts of hair on his chin. “I think she’s got scars that we can’t see. I don’t know. I do know that if we lost Da, We’d all be really sad though.”

The table was quiet for several seconds after Alejo finished. Regis and Dante exchanged looks before the latter ruffled his son’s curly head. Rosa smiled at the motion. The older man smiled at his grandson’s insightfulness— a one-of-a-kind child, that one.

“You remind me of your Uncle Jon when he was your age,” Dante said. His expression softened in a rare moment of sentimentality. He turned his gaze to Nessa. “She’s family, Nessa. Same as your Ma was when I married her and brought her here.”

Regis pulled Nessa into a one-armed embrace after seeing the futile struggle on her face. She buried her face in his side like she had done so many times as a child.

“Don’t let your hurt turn you into a person who hurts people,” he said patting her back. “As for Eric, he might be a Grayback, but Mother Gaia has put a lot of weight on his shoulders and he’s going to need people who can share the burden with him. Get to know him, learn from him, and teach him what it means to be a shifter. We stick together, Nessa. Always.”

“… yes, pawpaw,” she mumbled not attempting to pull away from his embrace.

Regis smiled. He and Morgana had integrated Eric into their lives despite his many mysteries and the potential danger. He still harbored misgivings, but he wasn’t a man of half-measures. He would ensure that his family treated Eric as one of their own as best he could and Morgana would do the same.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

They would weather whatever trouble the future brought in the same way that they had survived the Shadow’s Passing; together, always.

***

“I hope you’ll take care of me in the days to come,” I said extending a hand to the man that Morgana had introduced as Dante. Thankfully, this was the last round of introductions as I was beginning to tire of the constant greetings and questions. He kept my gaze for a moment, then took my hand shaking it with a firm grip.

“No need to be so formal, Eric. We’re family, so if you or your mama need anything let me know,” Dante said. I caught sight of a hint of approval in Morgana’s eyes. My eldest “uncle” jutted his chin to the woman sitting behind him. “This here’s my wife, Rosa. You need yourself a good meal, see hear. The string bean right there is Alejo and I don’t think I need to tell you who Nessa is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with manners, love,” Rosa said as she stood and leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to meet you, dear. You and your mother should come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Yeah, primo, Ma’s cooking is the best in town,” Alejo added with the kind of smile that only the pure-hearted could muster.

“Second best, little bro, and don’t you forget it,” came a voice from behind us. I turned to see two men and a woman walking toward us. The youngest of the trio, who was also the speaker, carried a tray of drinks.

“Valentine,” Nessa said to the man carrying the tray. “You must be one of the only men on the planet with the balls to claim he’s a better cook than his mama.”

Regis chuckled and Alejo’s smile sometimes brightened. Rosa’s eyes sparkled when she saw Valentine despite his comment.

“Damn straight, sis,” Valentine replied. He set the drinks down on the table and waved his hand at Nessa> “You got fangs and claws and I’ve got knives and spices. Either way, them boys are gonna be running, just a question of which direction.”

Nessa’s only reply was a very unladylike snort.

“Mijo, you want to back up your big talk?” she asked, her voice sweet as honey.

“Anytime, mama,” Valentine said with a wink. “But according to pops, I’m one win in the lead.”

Dante seemed busy with a drink when everyone’s looked his way. Morgana placed a hand on my arm and joined the conversation.

“That sounds like a great idea. Both of you can cook tomorrow and Eric here can decide which he likes better. We’ll even invite Ricky and Yotta,” she said. Dante shot me an apologetic look before his face resumed the impassive state that I had seen earlier.

“Oh lord, nanna,” Valentine said, scratching his hair underneath the headscarf that kept the locks bound. “We’re gonna have to make twice as much fuckin around with Ricky’s big ass.”

“I’ll have to check with mother, but I’d be honored to join you for dinner,” I said, bowing my head at Rosa. I gave them my best fake smile. However, contrary to my wishes, everyone stared at me for a few seconds until I let the smile fade. “Was it something I said?”

“No,” Regis sighed. Nessa was staring again, but this time, she had a look of sudden realization on her face tinged with sorrow. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I scanned the soul auras of everyone present. Regret, sadness, and hesitance colored their souls. I had seen similar, if milder reactions, during my circuit with Morgana. In all cases, they came from seemingly innocuous actions that I took, so I surmised it came from my resemblance to Jonathan Holston which had been the most frequent comment of the morning. Rather than wait for Morgana to step in and steer attention to a different topic, I took the initiative.

“In that case, if you don’t mind…,” I pretended to pause as though considering something then continued, “Could you tell me more about my father?”

Dante slowly nodded and shot a look at Nessa. “Sure, son, I’d be happy to.”

So, I sat with them for a while and listened to Dante, Nessa, and Samuel, the older man who arrived with Valentine, as they told stories about my father with occasional input from the others.

***

A couple of hours later, I found my way back upstairs after excusing myself because of fatigue. Thankfully, rumors had spread of my condition upon arrival in Holsburg, so most of the people took my excuse as an obvious matter of course. I opened the door to my room to find Yotta sitting on the edge of my bed and comforting Liberty who looked to have been crying.

“Eric!” As soon as I stepped into the room, Liberty rose to her feet and blinked her red eyes several times. She rushed over to me with open arms. “How did meeting the family go? Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, Uncle Dante told me some stories about father,” I said. The entire sentence felt strange on my tongue even as the words left my lips. The day had been taxing since playing lip service to the circumstances of my pseudo-mortality took more out of me than I cared to admit. I struggled to regulate my speech patterns and annoyance at some of the trivialities of human life. Banishing those concerns for later, I pulled away from my mother’s near-suffocating embrace.

“That’s… that’s good, sweetheart,” she said, stroking my cheek. “Your father would’ve liked that.”

“They’ve invited us to dinner actually,” I said. Her brow furrowed, and she started to utter the beginnings of an excuse, but I preempted her words. “I hope you’ll come. Yotta is invited too and I’d feel better if both of you were there.”

I gave a nod to Yotta as we made eye contact over Liberty’s shoulder. She responded with a nod of her own.

“I’d love to attend the dinner with you, Eric,” she said in her signature neutral tone.

“I suppose I must then,” she agreed. I smiled at her which instantly improved her mood and almost made me feel bad about my intention to manipulate her. “Will Morgana be there?”

“Mhm.” I put my hands on her shoulders before stepping past her. I donned a serious expression catching the eye of both women. “Speaking of Morgana, I have something to talk to you about mother. Yotta, you should hear this too.”

Liberty sat down next to Yotta on the bed while I paced in front of them. I made a show of considering something before I began my lie.

“Grandmother and grandfather didn’t want me to tell you this. They said the information was dangerous,” I prefaced. “Yotta, could you cast a soundproofing ward on us?”

We waited a minute while Yotta made a circuit around the small room drawing intricate symbols into the air. I resisted the urge to frown. I’ll need to correct her use of hand gestures soon. I’ll not have my covenant mates flaunting such an obvious weakness.

“I’ve set up a soundproofing, an anti-divination barrier, and an obfuscation ward,” Yotta said after the telltale flash of charged mana marked the finalization of her work. Without another word, she took her seat next to Liberty.

“What exactly did they not want you to tell me?” Liberty asked as soon as the protections were in place.

Well,” I said pausing for effect. “Gaia and grandmother are the reason that I survived my injuries, but did Yotta tell you how I got them?”

“No…,” Liberty said aiming a frustrated glance at her fellow sorceress. “She has been very tight-lipped about the entire affair since she woke me up. We killed the unconscious men so they wouldn’t follow us and got you to Holsburg as fast as we could. All she would say is that you would survive.”

I exchanged a glance with Yotta before taking an overly dramatic deep breath.

“She was obeying our patron,” I said. I let the words settle between us.

“Your patron?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I know it might not have seemed like it, but I’ve been able to see, hear, and feel everything since I was younger. I heard you reading to me when I was little. I felt Yotta paint the formations on my skin with her fingers. I remember the sound of father’s voice. I was just trapped in my body. I couldn’t talk or move or anything. It was hard.”

My eyes found the floor and I clenched my hands. Taking a deep breath, I raised my head to meet my mother’s eyes again. Her face had contorted into a mask of regret and heartbreak. To her credit, she managed to remain seated despite her obvious desire to comfort me.

“A little while ago, I felt something cold like someone replaced my blood with ice water and I couldn’t see for a while,” I said. “I heard you and father use the word Stigmata a little after, but I wasn’t scared. I had a feeling like someone was watching over me, and one night, a voice talked to me. It told me that I would be alright if I did what it said. So, I did. I learned how to project my soul into the Astral and there my Patron taught me how to form an Astral Domain, how to use some magic, and gave me instructions for when I was able to move around in the physical world.”

I knelt in front of her and tried to ignore the nagging pull on my emotions when I stared into her eyes filled with the beginnings of tears. My hands found hers as I tried to summon tears. Unfortunately, I failed, so I clenched my teeth and settled for anger instead.

“My mind was in the Astral with my Patron when we were attacked,” I said. When I spoke my next words, I let some of my newly-implemented bestial rage through. “I heard father’s and I knew that he was in trouble somehow. I tried to use magic, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t do anything.”

Many of my words came out more like the growls of a beast than the speech of a man. By the end, I needed to suppress the shifter structure integrated with my soul because it responded very eagerly to my anger. Liberty slipped off the bed and wrapped her arms around my neck.

“No, sweetheart, no,” she said. She projected a soothing tone, but I heard the crack of intense emotion in her voice. “We failed to protect you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m so sorry, Eric. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

Yotta observed us in silence with a blank expression. I matched Liberty’s embrace squeezing her tight. I buried my face in her shoulders and ignored the jumble of sentimental nonsense awakened by the floral scent of her hair.

“I’m just glad my Patron saved you and Yotta,” I whispered.

“Your patron saved us?” she said after pulling away. Black smudges of trailing make-up ran down her cheeks.

“It did,” I said. “When the man stabbed me, my Patron said that I would die if I didn’t let it take over my body, so I let it. Then, I watched it kill the sorcerer and put those men to sleep with my body. My patron is the reason I survived my injuries. It stayed in my body until grandmother’s magic healed me. Grandma Morgana found out about my patron because she came into contact with it when she used her magic on me.”

“Is that why they wouldn’t let me see you?” Liberty said, indignance finding its way into her tone. “Morgana thought your Patron might be dangerous? And why wouldn’t they want you to tell me about this? I’m a necromancer, for Nazu’s sake!”

“My patron is powerful… so powerful that it scared grandmother,” I said. She frowned at my words considering them for a few moments.

“Do you know how exactly how powerful it is?” she asked. She looked uncertain and the signs of emotional exhaustion radiated from her soul’s aura.

“My Patron is the entity who made the covenant with the Akashic Records,” I said, dropping a fake bombshell on her. False as it was, the revelation evoked the desired effect.

“The Patron… That’s why you said he would be fine all those years ago,” she mumbled as she looked at Yotta.

Her expression changed to alarm, then determination. She pulled away from me and while holding eye contact, she ran her thumbnail across her other hand’s palm. She smeared her bloody palm across her throat, then rapidly spoke a vow in Latin.

“Let this blood mark my vow. I shall never speak the truth imparted by my son this day. Bind me with this curse. I offer my soul as payment should I break my vow.”

“My darling,” she said grabbing my hand with her unbloodied one. “I’ve just vowed to never speak what you’ve told me. Does anyone aside from Morgana, Regis, myself, and Yotta know?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. She cringed. “Ricky, the big man downstairs, knows, but not because I told him. I think he’s had contact with my Patron as well.”

“I see,” she said with a sigh. “Tell no one else, son. Do you understand? Your grandmother and grandfather were right. You shouldn’t have told me, but you’re just like your father I suppose. People will hurt you and anyone you know or love. You can’t let this truth out.”

I allowed my face to show concern, confusion, then resolution before I responded. “I understand, mother.”

She pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for telling me, even if you shouldn’t have.”

The moment lingered for the space of a few long breaths before I moved on to the reason for my theatrics.

“Mother,” I said breaking her out of whatever thoughts had taken hold. “I need your help with something.”

“Anything, my darling,” she replied instantly.

“Before my patron left my body, it put a ritual in my mind and said that I needed to perform it as soon as possible when I woke up. But, it uses blood magic and I’m not strong enough to do it myself.”

“Of course,” she said turning, her jaw set. “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

“Yotta, will you help as well?”

“You need not have asked,” my unknowing covenant mate answered with a slight smile and a look of eagerness in her eyes. “I’ve taken care of you since Miss Liberty gave birth to you and besides, I can't wait to see what our Patron has in store.”

It was the most that I had heard her speak since we met, so I offered a smile for her efforts. Things were moving nicely. The oath made at the Grove hadn’t triggered meaning that either it had failed to bind my spirit in any meaningful way or my soul’s strength prevented the oath from parsing through to the truth of my story. Additionally, thanks to the pack link and the strange alterations caused by my encounter with Ricky, my soul had reached the level of stability necessary for my ascent to begin. Soon, I would take the first and easiest step of many.

I would ascend to the Second Order of Astral Power.