#.. rory paredes

She liked the Common. It was a neat spot to hang out, with plenty going on. There were other people all around, though not enough to feel overwhelming. She could hone in on conversations if she really wanted to, though most of the time, she didn’t bother. Most people’s conversations were far more boring than they tended to want to believe; those paranoid about people listening in really ought to have more interesting things going on if they wanted to really risk such a thing happening. For the most part, Rory just liked to sit in the grass at the Common and enjoy the sun on her skin. And… all right, maybe there was some attempt at meditation. She’d never actually tried it before, but it was all about connecting with your inner self or whatever, and she thought that might come in handy to connect to Penelope.

So, here she sat. Cross-legged in the grass, eyes closed, and feeling a little stupid. Maybe it’d be better – or at least less humiliating – to lie down, but she’d already kind of committed to this position, hadn’t she? She sighed, taking a deep breath and getting a whiff of a faintly familiar scent that she steadfastly ignored. Not here to meet other shifters. Just here to focus on my own shifting. 

Except… a shadow stretched across her, blocking out the light. And stayed there, without moving. Rory cracked an eye, peeking up at a woman who seemed to just be… staring at her. She allowed both eyes to open, tilting her head in mild confusion. “Uh, dude, you’re kind of blocking the sun. And being a little weird. What, you never see somebody… sit in the grass before?” No way in hell would she admit to meditating. 

—

Obviously, Talia’s main celestial love affair was with the moon. She wasn’t a full on lunar worshipper, like some werewolves she knew, but she got a kind of comfort from its presence and thought of it as an old friend, or wise companion. That didn’t mean she wasn’t on good terms with the sun, though. Ever since she was a kid, she enjoyed the simple pleasure of sprawling out in a lea and soaking up the sun’s rays. The practice grounded her, helped her stay present in her physical body which was imperative for keeping control over her wolf.

And so, Talia found herself in the Commons, tipped back in her own little patch of the lawn, enjoying the summer sun. She was focused on herself and her own body, mostly, until the wind shifted and she caught scent of an undeniable smell. Not just a shifter. A wolf. Before her eyes were open, there was already a smile on her face. Another wolf! You could never be positive based off the scent of an unshifted one, but Talia had a good nose, and living among among tens of wolves all her life had made her very familiar with the smell.

It didn’t take long for her to track out the origin of the scent, and Talia closed in on the person – a young girl who seemed to be meditating or something. Had Talia not been so excited she might have realized it was more than a little weird to just loiter over a stranger. But this wasn’t a stranger! Not really. It was another wolf. 

“Sorry!” she offered, giving a soft smile to hopefully smooth over the weirdness. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…interrupt. Or intrude.” Yes, she absolutely did. “Just. I’m Talia. I recently moved here and just–” Talia wasn’t worried about blowing her cover, she was sure this girl was a shifter, but she still hadn’t quite figured out the best way to broach that topic. It had never needed to be a discussion before. “Um. I think we have something in common?” Hopefully the girl would be able to catch Talia’s scent and understand what she meant.

—

The woman seemed apologetic, which was nice enough. Rory wasn’t really mad, even if there was some irritation at the interruption. Mostly, though, the irritation was due to the fact that whatever she’d been trying to do hadn’t actually been working. She felt no closer to her ocelot spirit now than she had an hour ago, and she’d felt no closer an hour ago than she had a week ago. Penelope only ever seemed to stir when the full moon came into the sky, as if the celestial body called to her in a way more tempting than what Rory herself could manage. It was… frustrating, to say the least. She knew Penelope was there. She could feel her, in a way, even if it never felt quite like what her siblings spoke of. She just… wasn’t willing to come to the surface when called. 

None of that was this woman’s fault, Rory reminded herself, swallowing the frustration. She took a deep breath to ground herself, catching wind of something as she did so. A scent, quietly animalistic, rising off the woman. Not balam, but something similar. The pieces slotted into place, and any remaining frustration she might have held towards the stranger evaporated with the knowledge that she was in the presence of another shifter. Even if she wasn’t a balam, she could still be helpful. Maybe even more so. If Rory’s attempts at shifting with balam teachings weren’t working, maybe she should try to utilize another shifter’s advice instead. Penelope might be a little fickle, but so were other things. A change in perspective could be good.

So, leaning back a little, Rory offered a smile instead of a snipe. She found it easier to be understanding to shifters than she did to give that same grace to people who didn’t smell like they belonged in a zoo. When the woman claimed that they had something in common, Rory nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, “I think you’re right, actually. Um, do you want to sit?”

—

Talia was relieved to find the girl receptive, like she understood exactly what Talia meant even. Maybe she had caught the scent too. It was hard to contain her excitement at finding another werewolf in her new home. It was important to be discreet, she knew, but maybe they could even run together for the full moon… While her specific pack elicited complicated emotions, Talia missed having any pack. Missed the heat of a body bounding alongside her through those few nights every month. But – she was getting ahead of herself. 

“Thanks!” She took the offer immediately, sitting with her knees tucked close to her chest and her arms wrapped around. Talia was careful to give the girl some space, not wanting to come off as a total creep. “I’m Talia, by the way,” she introduced. “I’ve only been here, at Wicked’s Rest, for a few months.” She couldn’t be sure, but Talia thought the other wolf was likely fairly new as well. She had explored a good amount of the town by now and would have sniffed out another wolf sooner, if there had been one. There was a slight possibility, even, that she had heard of Talia’s pack, if she was from anywhere near Montana. They were big enough, with enough of a reputation that it wasn’t out of the question. Her stomach lurched at the thought, not sure which outcome she preferred.

“Are you new too?” She was young, either way. Young enough for Talia to wonder whether she had family or pack around, or if she had struck out on her own. Or, worse of all, if she was a bitten wolf on her own. Something settled in Talia heavily, the sense of duty, to ensure she wasn’t completely on her own.

—

In all honesty, Rory hadn’t had much luck with other shifters in town. The ones at the Chimera seemed to find her irritating more often than not, and she’d yet to discover the best way to approach a stranger and raise the subject of their more animalistic side without immediately being perceived as odd or threatening. By comparison, this woman had approached her, and seemed excited at the prospect of conversation. It was a little exciting, if she was being honest. In some ways, it felt like a victory or an achievement. She had somehow successfully fooled someone into thinking she belonged, and her chest was warm with the sensation. 

She shifted, giving the woman space to sit down and quietly hoping she didn’t ruin the newfound connection before she had a chance to learn something from it. “Rory,” she replied, offering the other a small half-salute in way of greeting. “I’m pretty new, too. Still kind of getting used to this place. It’s a little more… open than what I’m used to, I guess.” Back home, the idea of approaching someone who might have been a fellow shifter felt impossible. If you were wrong, they’d think you were nuts. If you were right, they’d probably not tell you, anyway. Wicked’s Rest was different, at least from Rory’s experience so far. She couldn’t imagine anyone in New Mexico casually walking up to her and taking a seat to talk about shared qualities, after all.

“So, uh… Is it weird to ask what you are? Like, I can go first, if you want.” She gestured to herself. “Balam. That’s a wildcat shifter, if you didn’t… know that. I guess not everybody does. We’re not as common as other things are, you know? My cat’s an ocelot.” Excitement thrummed in her chest as she spoke, thrilled to be able to share her secret with someone new. 

—

Talia nodded as Rory touted just how open Wicked’s Rest was. She disagreed, but not everyone had lived on an isolated plot of land with only their pack of werewolves around them, like Talia had. Of course Wicked’s Rest would seem open to anyone who had lived in the normal, outside world. “It’s pretty cool that way. A bit of a double-edged sword, but I like knowing that…our own kind are never too far away.” That meant that hunters were never too far away either, but you had to take the bad with the good.

Talia was ready to tell the girl that she was like her, another werewolf, but then Rory started speaking. And she was wrong. 

“Um. No, yeah, I know what a balam is. Met a couple when I stayed with this one pack but–” How could she put this delicately? Because she didn’t think Rory was lying to her. At least, it didn’t seem like she knew she was lying. Maybe Talia’s nose was just wrong? That didn’t seem too likely, considering the fact that she had lived around werewolves her entirely life and she was fairly sure she knew one when she smelled it. But it had to be more likely than this girl just…not knowing what she was. There was just no way…

“An ocelot.” Talia hummed. Those were pretty small, from what she could remember. Definitely hard to confuse shifting into an ocelot with shifting into a werewolf. “So like. Your whole thing is that you share your body with the wildcat spirit, right?” All shifters were a little different from one another in the way their shift took place or manifested. While Talia had always felt a strange kinship with balam, feeling as though her wolf was its own being as well, it was very inherently different from being a werewolf. “What’s that like? If you don’t mind telling me.”

—

It was nice, knowing that there were other shifters nearby. Rory wasn’t sure she’d go as far as to refer to someone who was a different type of shifter than she was as ‘her own kind,’ but maybe this woman was just a little more open than others. Rory had heard rumors of shifter packs that contained a wide variety of shifter types, after all, ones where balam mingled with werewolves and other things that she knew of only in the vaguest of terms. “The bar is cool, too. Have you been there?” Rory hadn’t seen her there, but it wasn’t like she was there every night or anything. Since the night she’d been kicked out and met Owen outside, she’d been trying to go a little less often, just to prevent herself from earning any kind of permanent ban. 

This stranger knew what balam were, had even met a few, and Rory felt hope surge in her chest. She tried not to show it, though it was hard to disguise the interest that sparked behind her eyes. Had Talia shifted with balam before? Maybe she knew the ins and outs of the process in a way that could help, knew some secret that would allow Rory to shift properly without the full moon drawing Penelope’s interest. 

She nodded as Talia questioned the specifics of balam, undeterred by the fact that she hadn’t known it already. Plenty of balam were secretive when it came to their wildcat spirits, but Rory couldn’t afford to be. Not if she wanted to fix whatever was wrong with her. “Yeah!” She confirmed with a grin. “It’s like… I don’t know. Like you’re something bigger than yourself. I can feel her — my spirit — deep down.” Not in the same way her siblings had always described it, but that was just because Rory’s ocelot was a little shier. “I know what she likes, what she doesn’t like. Like, she digs the moon, you know? And she gets mad sometimes.”

—

By “the bar” Talia assumed she meant Chimera. “Oh! Yeah. Enough that they might consider me a regular.” She had nosed out a werewolf or two while at the bar, but it was either one of those awful fratboy pack members, or the lingering scent of someone no longer there. “It is cool.” She wasn’t sure Rory looked old enough to be at a bar, but she kept that observation to herself. “Nice to be somewhere that’s all shifters. Feels a little safer.” Something plucked at her then, some maternal, or at least sisterly, urge. “Not that you should ever let your guard down, just because they’re shifters.”

As Rory explained just how she experienced her ocelot spirit, how she behaved, Talia was practically vibrating on the inside. Yeah, she bet the wildcat felt connected to the moon and was prone to bursts of anger. Because that was actually a wolf coming out of her skin. Talia was sure of it now – this was a werewolf. How in the hell had this girl managed not to find out what she really was, though? Balam could only be born, not made, Talia was pretty sure. Did she not have a pack, then, or even a family? Maybe she had been abandoned? 

If this was just a conversation with a balam about shifting, Talia would have followed up on some of those points. But now this was a fact-finding mystery. “So, I come from a pack. A pretty big one, my family and a couple others, all living together and shifting together. Did you have anything like that?” 

—

She hadn’t seen Talia at the bar before, though she was wondering now if she might have caught the remnants of her scent a time or two. There was something a little familiar about it, like it was something she could have smelled in passing. It must have been in Wicked’s Rest, she figured, because where else could it come from? And so, the bar made sense as an explanation, and Rory accepted it. “Sure,” she agreed, “it feels a little less weird, I guess.” She rolled her eyes at the warning that followed the statement, shaking her head. “Yeah, I’m not going to go around hopping in unmarked vans with someone just because I met them in a shifter bar.” She resented the protective sense Talia seemed to be harboring, because she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’d bucked against it the same way when it was her older siblings holding it.

Nothing about the rest of the way the woman was acting reminded her much of her siblings, though. There seemed to be something buzzing beneath Talia’s skin, a quiet excitement that Rory couldn’t quite put her finger on. If Talia frequented the Chimera, she must have been well accustomed to meeting other shifters. She’d probably even met a balam or two already, because while they were rarer than some other shifter types, they did exist in Wicked’s Rest. (Obviously. That was the whole reason why Rory was here.) What was so exciting about Rory, then? Was it the simple excitement of running into her ‘in the wild,’ so to speak, outside of an area like the Chimera where one might expect to find another shifter? Or was this woman, like Rory herself, someone who sometimes found other shifters more unwelcoming than she might have liked?

In any case, Talia seemed to be chalk full of questions. Rory didn’t mind it, but she knew some other shifters disliked this sort of thing. (In fact, she’d found that out first hand when asking too many questions got her kicked out of the Chimera for a night or two.) “Not really? I mean, I had my family, and we’re a big family, but we didn’t join up with any of the local packs or anything. We had our own shit going on.” Their own shit, more often than not, being Rory’s struggles with her shifting. She wondered if her family might have joined up with a pack if not for her, but quickly pushed the thought away. Balam weren’t as prone to pack bonds as other shifters, anyway. Wildcats were more solitary creatures. “Is your pack here? If this is a recruitment pitch, I’m probably gonna pass. No offense.” 

—

Talia lifted her hands in a defensive pose, smiling down at the grass. “All right, all right, I get it. You are big and strong and can take care of yourself.” Those years she had spent training the younger pack members had really stuck with her, apparently. But Rory wasn’t one of her younger siblings, or cousins. She wasn’t even a werewolf, if you believed her (Talia did not). She didn’t need Talia looking out for her.

And it seemed Talia had already tripped Rory’s weird alarm (honestly, fair) as she attempted to nip the bud in any pack invitations. “Oh, no. No, not at all.” Talia couldn’t shake her head fast enough. “No, my pack is way out West. And I…left them for a reason.” She could say that much, at least. “You just seem young to be on your own. But maybe I’m just old.” She spared a sheepish laugh at her own expense.

Okay so she came from a big family, which meant lots of balam around… More pressing a question than how this girl grew up thinking she was a balam, was how the rest of her family had believed that? Had they never seen her shift? Never been around her at a full moon? Unless… No. There was no way Talia’s nose was wrong. Not about a werewolf. If it was any other species she thought Rory was, maybe. But Talia knew werewolves. She was certain. Wasn’t she?

“There are some other packs around here, though. Just a heads up.” Talia hadn’t had too many close encounters with those groups and she preferred to keep it that way. “None that really seem worth joining, in my opinion, but that’s just me. What brought you to Wicked’s Rest, if it’s not a pack?”

—

At least the woman backed off easily enough when Rory made it clear that she wasn’t interested in someone worrying over her. A lot of people didn’t, she was learning. People looked at her and saw a lost little girl, but Rory was anything but helpless. Just because she couldn’t shift on command didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of herself. She had enough brothers to know how to throw a punch, enough sisters to know how to cut someone deeply with words alone. She was glad this woman seemed to accept that easily rather than pushing for something else.

She was also glad that this wasn’t some attempt to recruit her to some pack. Rory might have been on the hunt for other balam, but she doubted a pack would do her much good. Balam might join them from time to time, but most wildcats were a touch more solitary. They preferred to stick to their own, in Rory’s (albeit limited) experience. This woman wasn’t a balam, so whatever pack she might have been a part of probably didn’t have a lot of them hanging around. Still, though… “I’m sorry they sucked. Kudos for cutting them off, though. Bet it wasn’t easy.” Packs, from what Rory knew of them, were kind of like families. Cutting away from one for your own good couldn’t be a simple task. “And I’m twenty-two. For the record. So it’s not like I’m a kid or anything. They let me into bars, you know.” Usually after scrutinizing her ID a little, but hey, the end result was what mattered.

The idea of local packs didn’t interest her much, so she only shrugged in response. She doubted any would really try to recruit her. Rory had never been the type of person anyone really wanted on their team. She was quick-tempered, easily infuriated, and couldn’t even shift on demand. What pack would find that appealing enough to go for the recruitment pitch? “I’m sure if they come sniffing around me, I’ll tell them to fuck off, too.” Probably a little less kindly than she’d told this woman, because at least this woman seemed okay. A little eager, maybe, but then so was Rory. 

She hummed at the question, debating how honest to be. This woman wasn’t a balam, but she was a shifter. That probably stood for something. And maybe there was a little more camaraderie, too, in knowing that this woman was from ‘out West.’ Rory wondered if she’d come from anywhere near New Mexico. “I’m looking for other balam,” she replied with a shrug. “I’ve got a… thing. A problem. So I figure someone like me can help me solve it. I heard this place has a… wide variety of people. Seemed like a good place to start, you know?”

—

Talia could only offer a tight smile in response to Rory’s approval. No, it hadn’t been easy at all. That was why it had taken her almost a decade from losing Tabitha to actually leaving. And it was still difficult, every day. But that discomfort fading into a sort of good-natured humor as Rory insisted on her age. Ah, the arrogance of being twenty-two. Of course they let her into bars, she had been legal for one whole year. “Oh, yeah, totally. My mistake.” She let the humor color her tone, but didn’t challenge Rory any further. She had been a headstrong, self-possessed twenty-something once upon a time herself.

At first Talia was pleased, and a little relieved, to hear that Rory wasn’t interested in joining any of the local packs. If only because most of them sucked – but also she wasn’t sure exactly how they might react to this werewolf who thought, who was convinced, she was a balam. But she was also a young girl, alone, away from family, and unaware entirely what she actually was and what she was capable of. “Not that all packs are bad, right? It’s nice to have that…community. That support.” Back when Talia still believed in all that her pack stood for, nothing had felt better than knowing they were around her.

A problem. Talia reigned in a smirk. Yeah, a big problem, considering she wasn’t a balam at all. But maybe that was better for Rory, if she heard it from another balam rather than just some strange werewolf. “Well, you definitely came to the right place. There’s…all kinds of people here. And plenty of shifters, as I’m sure you know from hanging around Chimera.” Though she did wonder how Rory classified her problem. Maybe a disconnect with the balam spirit? “I’m sure you’ll be able to find a balam who knows enough to help you out. And, hey, if you get really desperate, I do know a bit about most shifters.” If Rory ran out of luck, Talia might be in a better position to convince her of the truth – that there was no spirit inside Rory, just a wolf, howling to be let loose.

—

There was humor in Talia’s voice, making it clear that she was still teasing a little. Rory rolled her eyes at it, though there was no real bitterness behind the expression. This felt less like some of the crueler bullying she’d experienced in her time and more like the kind of teasing she’d gotten from her older siblings. It made her feel a little nostalgic, in spite of everything. “It’s not like I’m a kid or whatever,” she insisted. She hadn’t been a kid in years now, legally speaking. And shifters, at least in her family, tended to grow out of the title even sooner than humans did. Ocelots were considered mature at two years old, and while Rory’s family hadn’t been quite that engrained in their wildcat spirits, they had started treating their kids more like grown ups by the time they reached their teens. Rory a little less so but, then, she had been the baby of the litter. 

Maybe that was part of what made her hesitant to seek out a pack here. Every pack did things a little differently, after all. Her family hadn’t referred to themselves as a pack, but they had sort of been one all the same. The idea of joining up with another one that had different views felt… wrong. It felt a little like a betrayal, too. And, beyond all that, it was likely that any pack would look at her like Talia did — as a kid. Rory didn’t want that, didn’t want to go back to being the baby. When she found her family, she would have proven herself. The title would be shed, and she could grow from it. She didn’t want to settle for less than that. “I’ve got my family,” she said simply, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ll go back to them when I finish what I need to do here.” Once she found out what happened to them, once she saved them from it.

It was a little vindicating to hear Talia tell her she’d found the right place to solve her problem, though Rory had known that already. She’d found Guillermo, and he was helping her. That was proof enough, wasn’t it? “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ve already met some. And I think — I mean, I’m probably not the first shifter who’s had problems, right? Somebody probably knows something.” Between that and Guillermo helping with the balam-specific side of things, Rory figured she’d have this sorted in no time. It wouldn’t hurt to have more help, though. “I mean… maybe. Maybe you might know something that could help me? I’ve got…” She lowered her voice a little. “You know about balam, right? Our spirits? Mine is… stubborn, I guess. I can feel her in there, but she only ever wants to come out under… really specific scenarios. Have you ever heard of something like that?”

—

As Rory explained her situation, her problem with her spirit, any previous amusement Talia had felt died off. The fact was, someone had lied to this poor girl. And it had left her confused and hurt. Talia was intimately familiar with the insecurity and feeling of inadequacy that could come from something being off with your shifting. It could be unique and debilitating – and it was why Talia had worked as hard as she had to ensure her control was perfect. Someone had made Rory feel that way, but lying to her about what she was. Talia wanted to explain, to be able to make the other shifter see, but she was fairly certain that wasn’t up to her.

“I’m sorry,” she offered after a long pause. “I’ve only met a couple other balam, and none of them mentioned any problems like that. And with werewolves, it’s usually the opposite problem. You know, shifting when they don’t mean to.” Her mind pivoted to Hazel, to the problem she was having with her beast or rather its absence. That was a completely different situation, though, and a completely different kind of shifter. Still, Talia felt the same desperate urge to help – and the same helplessness. “Hopefully that balam you met can help.”

Talia bit her lip, wracking her brain for anything she could offer. “Have you tried an exorcist, maybe? It’s still a spirit, right? I know it’s…technically a cat, but there might still be something one of them could do to help.”

—

There was a pause, long and drawn out, and Rory couldn’t help but wonder if she was being judged. She didn’t have a laundry list of insecurities the way some people her age might, but her shifting was one area where she’d never quite been able to escape the feeling of inadequacy. Having six older siblings, none of whom ever faced the same struggles she couldn’t move past, had done a number on her there. The fact that her mother had always seemed to prefer her siblings to her didn’t help matters much, either. When it came to shifting, Rory had always felt like she was grasping at smoke, trying to do something that felt impossible but should have come naturally. 

She shook the thought spiral away as best she could. It didn’t matter if Talia judged her or not, because she didn’t know her. She told herself this over and over again, wrapped the reassurances around herself like a blanket. There was no judgment in Talia’s mind when she spoke, and Rory relaxed just a little. She felt a little uneasy at the fact that no balam Talia knew had mentioned problems like Rory’s, either, but she quickly shook the thought away. It was likely that, even if some balam did struggle with the issue, they wouldn’t mention it to someone who wasn’t a balam themself, even if they were a fellow shifter. Balam could be private, after all. “Balam can shift without meaning to, too. And, I mean, our spirits can be stubborn. Sometimes they don’t want to give control back. So I figure mine is just… the opposite, you know?” Penelope was shy. That was what Rory had always gone with. “I think I’m on the right track, though.” Guillermo was knowledgeable, experienced, and willing to help. That was a good combination. 

Rory winced at the mention of an exorcist, quickly shaking her head. “Uh, yeah, no. We kind of learn to stay away from exorcists. I’m sure they mean well or whatever, but some of them are a little quick on the draw with the whole ‘exorcising spirits’ thing. I am not looking for that kind of action.” She’d heard stories of balam who’d had their spirits torn out of them by exorcists. It was rare to even survive the ordeal, but those who did weren’t better off for it. The idea of approaching one willingly wasn’t a risk Rory was desperate enough to take just yet.

—

The balam Talia had encountered in the past were mostly in passing, and so she hadn’t gotten to hear much about their shifting. Otherwise, her knowledge came from what her parents and the rest of the pack had taught her. That seemed accurate, but lacking. As if, she imagined, a balam tried to describe what shifting was for a werewolf. In a vacuum, it was fascinating to hear Rory describe the basics of balam shifting: their spirits and the personalities therein. The wolf Talia was felt at once its own being and a part of her. It was why she often referred to it as “her wolf” instead of as just herself. A balam’s spirit, though, seemed to be decidedly its own being.

“I guess that makes sense,” Talia lied. Or not exactly lied – it did make sense that if a balam spirit could be stubborn and want to keep control that the opposite could also be true. That just wasn’t the case for Rory, Talia knew. Because Rory was a werewolf not a balam. But she would leave that fact alone, at least for the time being. “Sorry I can’t be more help on that. But if you ever wanna run with a wolf, let me know.”

Talia tilted her head at a doggish angle, considering what Rory explained about balam and exorcists. She hadn’t encountered any in person, but if they had the power to yank her wolf out of her, she would probably be wary around them too. “I guess that makes sense. Maybe just a medium then?” Less of the exorcising and more of the communicating might be better. A part of Talia wanted to suggest the Temple of the Moon to the younger shifter. That would certainly help her get in touch with her wolf – but it would be wildly irresponsible to send Rory there without all the information, all the context. Maybe once she accepted what she really was. If that ever happened.

—

It was rare that Rory got the actual chance to talk about what being a balam meant to her. Most of the other people in her life who knew what she was were her family, and all of them were balam themselves — and far better balam than Rory, who’d never been able to shift with the ease and control that they all had. It seemed almost embarrassing to talk about what you were to people who were better at being it than you, and so she rarely made any sort of attempt. Talking about it now with Talia, though… it felt nice. Freeing, in a way. Rory wondered if this was what Penelope needed to be more cooperative. Therapists everywhere would rejoice if she discovered the answer to her problems could be found through open communication, or whatever.

She offered Talia a small smile, shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, maybe. It sounds like it could be cool. But it wouldn’t really be me running with you, you know? And, like, you’d have to promise not to eat me, because my spirit is small. I’m an ocelot — we’re only, like, thirty pounds, max.” Which was also why Rory made little effort to contain her spirit on the occasions when she did shift. How much damage could a tiny wildcat really do? Penelope was already so fickle; the idea of caging her made Rory nervous. The last thing she wanted was for the spirit to stop coming out at all. 

Rory hummed, the idea of visiting a medium still a little uncomfortable, but not to the same level as the one of visiting an exorcist had been. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Probably more of a last resort, though. Better to keep this kind of thing on the DL, you know?” There were a lot of potential issues that could arise if too many people became aware of Rory’s problem. Her mother had always been firm about that, insisting that it would bring nothing but trouble to let word spread too far, and Rory trusted her judgment without question. “I’ve got some help now, so… hopefully that’ll solve it, right? Then I can move on.” 

—

“Don’t worry, my wolf is very gentle.” Well, she could be, at least. It hadn’t been looked upon favorably, but Talia had loved to cantor and play with the littler members of the pack during the full moons, especially after losing Tabitha. 

Something caught at the edge of Talia’s mind. Rory wouldn’t have seen herself shifted. If she thought the spirit in her was an ocelot it meant that someone told her so. Which meant… A familiar sense of betrayal, like heartburn, climbed up her throat. Was there nothing a parent wouldn’t lie to their child about? But that anger wouldn’t help the shifter in front of her. It wouldn’t convince her of the truth or explain to her how the lie had come to be. Shaking it off, Talia stretched her fingers subtly – she could almost feel the churn of the earth under her paws. She wanted to run. “No pressure, really, but I think it would be fun.”

Talia could definitely see the logic in playing the trouble Rory was having close to the vest. She was glad the girl wasn’t being reckless in that aspect. Any predator would tell you that you didn’t want to broadcast a weakness. It just put a target on your back. “That’s smart. And I’m glad you’ve got some back-up. If you ever need some more, you can just come find me, okay?”

—

“Well, that’s good to know.” In all honesty, Rory didn’t know much about werewolves. She knew they were real, of course, and that they could be born or bitten, but she didn’t know a lot about their shifts. She’d always assumed that other shifters, like balam, had little control of their animal counterparts and didn’t remember what happened after they’d shifted. Maybe that wasn’t the case, if Talia’s wolf was gentle. 

She figured learning about werewolves might help her in the long run, anyway, and Talia was nice enough that she didn’t hate the idea of spending time with her, so she nodded. “I won’t remember it after, you know. Not if I’m all the way shifted. So… no hard feelings if I don’t.” But Talia didn’t seem the type to get bothered by something like that, especially not if she was an experienced shifter. She’d probably gone through this kind of thing before.

A smile ghosted her face at the compliment Talia paid her because, even if she hid it well, Rory did like earning the approval of her elders. It was even more satisfactory when the elder in question was a shifter. “Yeah,” she agreed, “can do.” She felt a little more confident now, with Guillermo in her corner, but it didn’t hurt to have Talia in the other corner, too. She’d figure this out. She had to. She didn’t have any other choice.