“Right. Exactly.” Another exhale, this one sounding like relief. “Anyway, he’s fine. Just seriously pissed off, which is why I’m here.”

“You could stay here,” I said softly. “If he does leave.”

He rubbed his arms, like he was getting cold. His gaze was down, but his jaw was set in that way I knew well, ready to refuse. Only he didn’t want to refuse. He wanted to know that if it came down to that, his dad leaving, he could stay here. I could see that worry and that need wearing away at his pride until finally he grunted, “Yeah. Okay.”

After another second, he got up, and said, “Let’s feed the animals.”

SIX

WE PUT KENJII IN her dog run. If I go in the shed while there’s a predator in residence, it makes her anxious. And when she gets anxious—whining and scratching at the door—it really doesn’t help the sick animals inside.

As we left the dog run, Daniel said, “Don’t mention that stuff to your parents, okay? I’m sure Dad’s just talking crazy again.”

“No need to mention it until there’s a reason to.”

“Yeah.”

“You need a jacket? It’s getting cool.”

“I’m good.”

The shed is really a specially built wildlife rehabilitation building, designed by my mom. The roof is glass. It’s in the shade, so we don’t barbecue the critters, and there’s plenty of ventilation.

The shed is temporary lodgings. I don’t take any animal that has a good chance of recovering on its own, because no matter how careful I am, sometimes rerelease isn’t possible, and the animal has to go to the wildlife center outside Victoria.

Right now, the shed housed one snake, two fledglings, and a marten. The sharp-tailed snake was a young one that had been stepped on by a hiker, who’d recognized it as a rare species. The fledglings were orphaned bald eagles. The marten—a cat-sized predator that looks like a long-haired weasel—had been shot by a moron teenage tourist playing big-game hunter with a crossbow.

We started with the snake, dumping in a couple of live slugs. Serena used to argue that killing one creature to save another made no sense. We’d have long debates about that. Not arguing, just working it through. I agreed she had a point, but the snake was rare and the slugs weren’t, so it made sense from a conservation view.

But if you pushed her argument even further, you could say that no predator should be saved, because even if I feed them roadkill and hunter leftovers, they’ll kill other animals when they get out. Then there’s the argument for letting nature take its course with every living thing, and so we should leave wounded animals to their fate. I don’t mind it when people say stuff like that. I just don’t happen to agree.

After the snake, we fed the fledglings. Again, I dropped the food in, using gloves. Hand-feeding them is only done in an emergency. With the birds, letting it fall into the nest also mimics the way Mama Eagle would do it.

“They look ready to leave soon,” Daniel said.

I nodded. “Dad said we might take them to the wildlife center next week.”

The birds were almost ready to fly, meaning they had to go to the center, because I wasn’t equipped to help them learn that. Someday I would be, but for now I stuck with nursing duty.

“This guy looks ready to go soon, too,” Daniel said as he peered into the marten’s cage. “Wow. Has it really only been a week?”

“Less. Believe me, she has a long way to—”

I stopped. The marten had woken and reared up against the side of her cage, nose wriggling madly. When she saw me watching, she chirped, then started racing laps as she waited for food.

Daniel laughed. “Someone’s definitely feeling better.”

“That’s not—” I peeled off the gloves. “That’s not possible. It should take days before she’s even walking.”

“You’re just too good a nurse. You need to go visit your grandma, let your dad and me take over, slow things down.”

It’s true—the animals don’t heal as fast when I’m not around. That sounds like bragging, but we saw it every time I went away. Daniel knows how to do all the stuff. So do my parents. But when I’m gone, the healing process slows.

Dr. Hajek, the Salmon Creek veterinarian, says some people are just natural healers. She sometimes calls me into town to help with pets that’re in a lot of pain—I calm them down so she can do her thing, and in return she volunteers her time with cases of mine that need serious medical attention.

Still, as good as I am, there was no way the marten should have been racing around her cage. When I said that to Daniel, he only shrugged.

“Obviously she wasn’t as badly hurt as you thought. Hate to break it to you, Maya, but you can be wrong.”

“Dr. Hajek did the diagnosis.” I leaned over the cage. The marten reared up again and chirruped at me. “That bolt went into the right haunch and—”

I stared at the marten’s haunch. The skin was bare, where Dr. Hajek had shaved it. Underneath, the only sign of injury was a pale scar crisscrossed with dark stitches. When I’d checked the marten yesterday morning, I’d thought she was healing fast. But the wound had still been there.

I reached into the cage.

“Um, Maya?” Daniel said. “Gloves? Those teeth and claws are like needles. You’re the one always telling me …”

I didn’t hear the rest. It was as if my hand was being pulled into the cage against my will. The marten didn’t even flinch, just sat there and waited, dark eyes on mine, calm and trusting.

I touched her wounded flank. Pain ripped through my leg and I stumbled back.

“Maya!”

Darkness enveloped me. I inhaled the scent of pine needles. My leg throbbed. My heart raced so fast, I panted for breath.

“Pop goes the weasel!” a boy yelled.

Another guy laughed. Footsteps pounded the dry earth so loud they sounded like an oncoming locomotive. A single thought filled my head. Escape. I pulled myself along, dragging my injured leg over a carpet of dead needles—

“Maya!” A warm hand grabbed my chin. “Come on, Maya.”

I gasped and blinked. I was sitting on the floor. In Daniel’s lap. I bolted to my feet so fast, I elbowed him in the stomach.

“Thanks,” he wheezed. “Next time I’ll let you hit the floor.”

“What happened?”

“You fainted.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “I believe swooned is the correct term. It’s not nearly as romantic as it sounds, you know. More like a deadweight collapse. With drool.”

I wiped my mouth and looked around, still getting my bearings.

Daniel’s voice softened as he stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. He asked what happened, but I couldn’t tell him, because I wasn’t really sure myself. I just stared at the marten, watching me now, head tilted. When I wrenched my gaze away and went to get her dinner, I realized my hands were shaking. Daniel took the meat from me, donned the gloves, and fed the marten.

With his back to me, he said, “So I spilled my guts already. Your turn. If you won’t tell me what happened just now, at least tell me what happened at the tattoo place.”

I did. I was tempted to joke that his dad was right—apparently I was evil—but he wouldn’t appreciate that.

When I was done, he stood there, his broad face screwed up in disbelief. “So this old lady, who’s never met you before, sees your birthmark and says you’re a witch?”

“Sounds like something from a TV movie, doesn’t it?” I hummed a few bars of suitably sinister music. “Should have been a fortune-teller, though. The teenage girl goes to the fortune-teller, whose gypsy grandmother says she’s cursed.”

“Maybe that was it. Like one of those reality TV shows. You got pranked.”

“In Nanaimo? Must be a low-budget Canadian production.”

“Is there any other kind?”

I laughed and took out a little more meat for the marten, who spun in her cage, chirping. At least someone didn’t think I was evil incarnate. Not if I had food anyway. I dropped it in.

Daniel said, “If the woman has Alzheimer’s or whatever, her niece should keep her out of the studio before she scares off more customers.”

“I know.”

I closed the marten’s cage. She narrowed her eyes and chattered, scolding me for not giving her more.

I shook my head. “We can’t have you getting too fat to run when we let you go.”

“We’re done talking about it, then?” Daniel said as I shut the food locker.

I shrugged. “Nothing more to talk about. It wasn’t exactly high on the scale of enjoyable life experiences, but I can deal with it.”

“You just fainted, Maya.”

“That has nothing to do with—”

“No? Good. Then you won’t mind me telling your parents, so they can get you to the clinic tonight and check you over.”

“I’m fine,” I said as I double-checked my charges. I couldn’t hang out and play with them after they were fed—minimal human contact was the goal, however tough that was sometimes.

“I fainted because I missed dinner and I’m starving. And, yes, maybe I’m kind of stressed. But my parents are already worried about what that woman said about my birth mother. You know how they get about that. They’ll decide it’s opened up a Pandora’s box of conflict over my adoption and my racial identity and blah, blah, blah. I really don’t want to spend the next week on Dr. Fodor’s couch, thank you very much.”

“All right, then. I’ll forget it for now, but if you pass out again …”

“I’ll tell someone.”

“And you’ll make sure you aren’t in here by yourself. Get your mom or dad to help you. Say you’re worried about the fledglings imprinting on you or whatever.”

“Yes, sir.”

We headed out the door. I’d turned to lock up when Daniel’s hand clamped my shoulder.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

I followed his gaze to a light-brown form crouched on a rock, barely visible in the thick twilit woods.

“It’s just—” I was about to say “Fitz” when I saw the long tail swishing.

“Dad!” I shouted. Then even louder, “Dad!”

I backed up and slammed into Daniel. “Move toward the house.”

“The shed—”

“Is probably what he wants, so he won’t follow us to the house. Damn it. This is exactly what I was worried about. He’s too used to people.” I nudged Daniel backward. “Nothing here for you, Marv! Get going!” Then, “Dad!”

The cougar rose, readying itself for the leap. Its head appeared through the cover of shadow and I saw its face … and its two perfectly good ears.

It wasn’t Marv.

The cat leaped. Daniel grabbed my arm and whipped me behind him so hard I flew off my feet. I hit the ground as the house door slammed and Dad shouted. I saw Daniel stumble back. Saw the huge tom in flight, on target to hit him. I screamed and jumped up. Daniel twisted to run. The cat caught him in the back and knocked him off his feet. Huge canines flashed, heading for the back of Daniel’s neck, the killing blow.

As I covered the last few feet, I heard the rifle fire. Heard my dad shout, “Maya!” Heard my mother’s shriek. Felt the bullet whiz past me. I kicked at the cougar’s head. My foot connected, knocking it sideways, teeth snapping together harmlessly.

The cat turned to me, lips pulled back, teeth flashing, eyes slitted as he snarled. I kicked him again. My parents shouted for me to move aside so Dad could take the shot. Only, if he did, he stood a chance of hitting Daniel, and I wasn’t letting that happen.

“Go!” I shouted. “Get off him!”

The cat had Daniel pinned face-first to the ground. Daniel lay still, playing dead as I kept shouting at the cougar and my parents shouted at me. The cat snarled again, and I braced myself, ready to run if those powerful hind legs bunched for flight. But he made no move to come after me, just snarled and spat and stayed over Daniel.

Rage boiled up in me. Maybe it was shock, but it felt like pure fury. I screamed at the cat, looking him square in the eye, and when I did it was like everything else disappeared. The world seemed to dip and darken, and I smelled wet earth and thick musk and fresh blood. The wind whipped past, like I was running. Running so fast the ground whizzed beneath me, the wind cut across my skin. Exhilaration filled me. My muscles sang, and it was the sweetest—

The sudden scream of a cougar jolted me back to reality. The big cat was still staring at me. Just staring. Another scream. I turned to see a second cougar charging toward us. A cougar with a ragged ear.

The younger cat jumped off Daniel and spun to meet Marv. They hit so hard the ground vibrated. I grabbed for Daniel, but he was already on his feet, reaching for me. He pushed me ahead of him as we ran for the porch, the cats snarling and growling and yelping behind us.

My dad pulled us onto the porch, then lifted the rifle.

“Rick, no,” Mom said, passing him the one with tranquilizer darts instead.

When he hesitated, she said, “The kids are fine.”

He still hesitated, like he didn’t care, just as long as he made sure it never happened again.

“Dad, please,” I said.

He looked at me, then took the tranquilizer gun, aimed, and fired. The dart hit the younger cougar in the flank. He let out a yowl and attacked Marv with fresh fervor, then in midtwist, toppled over. Marv grabbed the unconscious cat by the neck and shook him. When the other tom didn’t react, Marv chuffed and looked at us, like he expected applause. Instead, he saw the barrel of a rifle. With one chirp of indignation, he galloped toward the woods. Dad fired, but Marv veered at the last second and disappeared before Dad could shoot again.