Markings by S. B. Roozenboom Page A

surrounded me like walls. Between them and the trees, it was impossible to see into the woods. Where was the path?
    The hair down my spine stood up. I whirled around and froze.
    A red cedar tree stood off to the side. Something shifted below its needles on the ground. I couldn’t really see what it was—the being blended in with the dark, making its shape un-definable—only that it was very large . . . and had bright, amber eyes.
    I stumbled backwards, terrified to leave the light, but desperate to get away. The creature stared at me from its hiding place, never blinking. It expelled a low, wolf-like rumble as the breeze came through.
    “Child of the Shifter and Shiftless.” A whispery voice filled my ears. “Heir to the fallen queen and son, to you a deathbed waits.”
    The creature blinked. With the help of evening’s last light, I saw the outline of a shadow darker than the others. Its body unfolded, connected to four legs, a long back, and a bushy tail. It slinked around the clearing, circling it, never coming fully into view.
    “In the shadows they wait, those of dominant rule to the western lands,” the voice continued. “Feared by many, lost are the lives of those who’ve crossed them. Destruction, until one capable of all forms sheds thy mortal skin.”
    I walked slowly around the clearing, trying to ignore the creepy voice and concentrate on the moving eyes. They grew to be more yellow than amber. My instincts told me to do exactly what I shouldn’t: run. Bolt. Scream. They were hard urges to resist, and as I finally caught sight of the trail, I’m not sure how I managed.
    This time when the voice spoke, I felt the breath in my ear, though no one stood behind me. “Be wary of the company you keep, dear one,” it warned. “Those with golden eyes seek revenge and blood, not friends.”
    Suddenly the prowling shadow and yellow eyes disappeared. I whipped around, trying to find it. Where did it go, where did it go? I needed to find it before it could pop out of the trees and claim, if the voice had been true, my blood.
    But the monster was gone. Another figure appeared. A tall boy stepped through the ferns, hands in his pockets as he stood at the clearing’s edge. He looked up, tossing his hair from his freckled face. Aaron watched me, a hungry look in his eyes. A smile curved his lips.
    I woke abruptly, head jerking off the pillow. My nightlight flickered at the end of the bed, the woods disappearing.
    I was in my room.
    Groaning, I sat up, brushing some hair from my mouth. Light flooded the curtains. My comforter drooped off the bed, damp sheets twisted around my legs. I flipped the blankets off to find myself covered in sweat. I shivered. My room felt strangely chilly, like the dream. Maybe the furnace had turned off again. Wrapping a dry blanket around myself, I checked the clock. Six-ten. Thursday morning. A little earlier than I usually got up, but an extra-long shower didn’t sound like a bad idea.
    My shoulders burned under the hot water. The itch came and went instantly. As I towel-dried off, patches of bumpy red skin caught my eye. I picked at the inflammation, grimacing at the bathroom mirror. If it didn’t clear up soon I would call the doctor. It looked like poison oak, but when would I have come in contact with that? It wasn’t a common plant around here, and even on the reserve I’d been careful to avoid it.
    I pulled out some clean jeans and a soft, short-sleeve turtleneck. I zipped up my jacket and picked my glasses off the nightstand. I gasped and leapt back. The glasses fell off the tip of my nose, tumbling across the carpet. I blinked a second then bent down to pick them up. Looking through the lenses, everything was blurry. Really blurry. I lowered them and focused across the room. Everything appeared . . . crystal clear?
    What the hay ? A large teddy bear slumped against the side of my desk. He’d been a get-well gift from Dad some years ago, when I’d been sick with the