Sheep's Clothing by Elizabeth Einspanier Page B

I choked out.
    He tilted his head at me. “Does it matter?”
    “It might,” I returned. “I like to know everything I’m dealing with.”
    “Well, guess that’s fair,” he said. He looked thoughtfully at the fresh bandage on his hand, and then flexed the fingers.
    “My ma was a Lakota woman, that much is still true,” he said, “but she was also something else—something called a skinwalker. A shapeshifter, in other words, who could make herself look like any animal she wanted. Most skinwalkers aren’t all that nice to mortals, but she was fond of humans, for reasons she never really explained to me. I don’t think my pa ever knew what she was.”
    “And your father was… human, correct?”
    Wolf nodded. “Which makes me a half-breed of a different kind—half mortal, half skinwalker.”
    I was momentarily struck speechless by this, unable to comprehend what he could possibly mean by this revelation.
    “Now, most skinwalkers can take the shape of any animal they like,” Wolf continued. “Birds, wolves, coyotes, lizards, and snakes are the most common, but as for me, I can only do one animal—a wolf. I reckon that’s good enough for most things.”
    I tried to fit this in with what I knew of the world and failed. My head spun, and the color drained from my face. I could perceive that he saw my reaction, as he looked keenly at me.
    “Something wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet.
    For several seconds I could not make myself speak. My head spun and my legs felt weak, and I tried to sit down, only to miss the chair I was aiming for and wind up seated on the floor. He seized me by my uninjured arm and helped me into the chair, where I sat numbly for a few seconds with my head in my hands.
    “This is all quite a lot to take in,” I said finally. “Shapeshifting monsters on all sides… why had nobody heard of these things before?”
    “They have ,” Wolf said. “Ya’re just reading the wrong sorts of books. Not everything can do what I said, but enough can that ya need to stay on yar toes.”
    I let out a high, breathless little laugh. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but saying you can turn into a wolf seems to be a bit of a tall tale.”
    “A tall t—?” He closed his eyes. “All right. I get it. Ya’re educated .” He said educated as though it was synonymous with naive . He opened his eyes and looked at me. “That’s why ya don’t believe in ghost stories, right?”
    “I… suppose that’s right. I’ve learned to be a bit skeptical, is all.”
    He grimaced. “Right. Well, things are different out here.” He sat back down.
    I thought about this, trying to make all this fit with what I knew of the world, but still my brain rebelled. I finally gave up and shook my head.
    I was about to suggest that the dog I’d seen was just a feral animal looking for food, when I heard the front door open.
    I peered out and saw Pack and his wife Angela. The latter looked dreadfully pale, and she leaned heavily on her husband, though she made her best efforts to walk.
    “Doc,” he said breathlessly, “There’s something wrong with Angie.”
    “All right,” I said, “I’ll be out in a tick.” I hurried o ut just as Pack was easing Angela onto the examination bed.
    “I heard what happened to ya earlier this morning,” Pack said. “Are ya okay?”
    Clearly, Samuel Morse would blush at the speed at which news travels in a small town, as only two hours had passed since my encounter with DuPont.
    “Merely a flesh wound,” I assured him. “It could have been a lot worse.”
    He nodded. “I’d like to shake the h and of that Indian who saved ya.”
    A quick glance told me that Wolf had made himself scarce again.
    “I’m sure he’d appreciate your gratitude,” I said, and turned to the matter at hand. “What seems to be the problem?”
    “It’s my wife,” Pack said, “She woke up feeling poorly this morning.”
    I crossed to the examination bed and examined her. She looked