many regards, and we are as much to blame as anyone else. We stick together, each mixing with our own kind, living close by, sometimes many in the same building, and we have our own rules and regulations. But we know of each other, know who is in charge of each group of those involved in magic.
Things may have become a little confused to put it mildly since the Rift, and there has certainly been a lot more trouble, but Strange know their own world, and Pumi was legendary. Yuki had confirmed what I'd heard about him, so it was worth coming, plus the beer was great, of course.
Pumi's a straight up, honest-to-goodness gladiator. Yes, like seriously. A proper, I fought to the death in the ancient Roman arenas and killed and killed and battled tigers and lions and men with nothing left to lose with spears and swords and knives and shields until I won my freedom, that type of gladiator.
And he is sexy as hell and utterly terrifying.
Pumi is also a monster. That should probably be a capital M, but hey, that's not how we talk about ourselves. I'm not a Witch, I'm a witch, and Pumi, he probably deserves to be called Monster, but that would give him too much credit.
He's a monster, meaning exactly that. Otherwise known as a shifter, shape-shifter, changeling, whatever you want to call it. A genuine monster is what I call it and so does everyone else because he is an aberration and feared like no other human being. His type is as rare as a dwarf giving away gold, and he is out of the loop, a loner, neither part of a faction, group, or clique. He is who he is. Unique, a man beyond Alpha who can shift into that which is the form he was born with, from a long line of others just like him. They are far superior to the rest of the shifter communities and so much more powerful it isn't even funny.
He can shift at will, physically or just his inner state, and I have never heard of anyone that has seen him turn into the monster and survive. He earned his freedom by channeling this monster in the gladiatorial ring and triumphing, but now there is no need for him to hide what he is and he is known by us all.
Weird thing is, I'd never known him to cause any trouble. Ever. He kept to himself, a real loner, but a job is a job and if what I'd been told was true then it was time to go get him and deal with him.
Um, yeah. Yikes.
In Search of a Monster
Not long after Strange allowed themselves to be known by the world at large, the shifter communities had an epiphany. They decided to get along. It took time, and it sure as hell kept me busy, but they finally put aside old squabbles, old grudges that meant they fought each other even though they no longer knew why, and they organized, built something real. They are all the better for it.
Even the Rift changed little for them, apart from increasing dramatically their trade in animal skins and the new clothes they began producing that the new Strange took a shine to.
Most shifters moved to a single area in the city, buying up cheap housing in neighborhoods that were always seen as dangerous and poverty-stricken, giving the homeowners a way out and them a way in. This wasn't them shunning outside society, it was how they gave themselves employment and a sense of community—it's no easy thing to hold down a regular job when you could turn into a lion and eat the other telemarketers, or a horse and all your workmates take the piss and jump on your back, yelling giddy-up.
So they got serious and sorted themselves out. Shifter home turf is beautiful, an incredible achievement right in the heart of the city, surrounded by the endless maze of Victorian, red brick terraced houses and their generous gardens. You can smell it a mile away, a curious mix of farmland odors and from spring to late summer the perfume of the gardens—it was like a welcome friend amid the dirt and the stink of fumes.
Now, without the sullied air, the fragrances are almost overpowering in their intensity. With the
Things may have become a little confused to put it mildly since the Rift, and there has certainly been a lot more trouble, but Strange know their own world, and Pumi was legendary. Yuki had confirmed what I'd heard about him, so it was worth coming, plus the beer was great, of course.
Pumi's a straight up, honest-to-goodness gladiator. Yes, like seriously. A proper, I fought to the death in the ancient Roman arenas and killed and killed and battled tigers and lions and men with nothing left to lose with spears and swords and knives and shields until I won my freedom, that type of gladiator.
And he is sexy as hell and utterly terrifying.
Pumi is also a monster. That should probably be a capital M, but hey, that's not how we talk about ourselves. I'm not a Witch, I'm a witch, and Pumi, he probably deserves to be called Monster, but that would give him too much credit.
He's a monster, meaning exactly that. Otherwise known as a shifter, shape-shifter, changeling, whatever you want to call it. A genuine monster is what I call it and so does everyone else because he is an aberration and feared like no other human being. His type is as rare as a dwarf giving away gold, and he is out of the loop, a loner, neither part of a faction, group, or clique. He is who he is. Unique, a man beyond Alpha who can shift into that which is the form he was born with, from a long line of others just like him. They are far superior to the rest of the shifter communities and so much more powerful it isn't even funny.
He can shift at will, physically or just his inner state, and I have never heard of anyone that has seen him turn into the monster and survive. He earned his freedom by channeling this monster in the gladiatorial ring and triumphing, but now there is no need for him to hide what he is and he is known by us all.
Weird thing is, I'd never known him to cause any trouble. Ever. He kept to himself, a real loner, but a job is a job and if what I'd been told was true then it was time to go get him and deal with him.
Um, yeah. Yikes.
In Search of a Monster
Not long after Strange allowed themselves to be known by the world at large, the shifter communities had an epiphany. They decided to get along. It took time, and it sure as hell kept me busy, but they finally put aside old squabbles, old grudges that meant they fought each other even though they no longer knew why, and they organized, built something real. They are all the better for it.
Even the Rift changed little for them, apart from increasing dramatically their trade in animal skins and the new clothes they began producing that the new Strange took a shine to.
Most shifters moved to a single area in the city, buying up cheap housing in neighborhoods that were always seen as dangerous and poverty-stricken, giving the homeowners a way out and them a way in. This wasn't them shunning outside society, it was how they gave themselves employment and a sense of community—it's no easy thing to hold down a regular job when you could turn into a lion and eat the other telemarketers, or a horse and all your workmates take the piss and jump on your back, yelling giddy-up.
So they got serious and sorted themselves out. Shifter home turf is beautiful, an incredible achievement right in the heart of the city, surrounded by the endless maze of Victorian, red brick terraced houses and their generous gardens. You can smell it a mile away, a curious mix of farmland odors and from spring to late summer the perfume of the gardens—it was like a welcome friend amid the dirt and the stink of fumes.
Now, without the sullied air, the fragrances are almost overpowering in their intensity. With the
Similar Books
