by Verena Johns-Thomas

There was an inn with a tavern as the first floor, one without a name. Its location was all the name it needed. It sat perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking a turbulent northern sea, cold and windy, but luckily, it was not the season for snow or hurricanes. The road in front of the inn connected to the last branch of an ancient highway that used to lead somewhere worth being, sometime long ago. 

Within, the old wooden floors of the tavern were a warm dull brown, the same as they always were. The tables and chairs creaked with only the slightest of movements. The sound of it was dulled by idle chatter and the strumming of a bard. 

I sipped the sweet mead this isolated place was famous for, savoring it. I came back often, as often as I could. A warm place with good drink and good food was always a pleasure, especially with a Human face I kept on as a mask. Helps them see me as a regular. As much a regular as a forlorn place like this can possibly have. 

That repeated face came from a long-forgotten person, a fellow orphan who surely died of some sort of disease after I left, an unremarkable, mousy, brown-haired woman. I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded me changing my face to borrow it. 

I took a deep breath; I knew the Hunter had been following. I did not choose to be what I am, a shapechanger, a Changeling, hiding to avoid the likes of him. Through dark ritual, through tainted blood and bargains, Hunters were sworn to slay monsters, and those monsters included me for the threat he believes I pose. 

The older man, with a stocky, broad frame, put a bowl of stew down in front of me, an incarnation of the warmth this place contained. “How are you enjoying the mead this time?”

I hummed, “Delicious, Wendall. Thank Justin for me.” 

He nodded. “Good. You sure you really can’t stay, Pick?” 

“I only have enough coin for this, and this is warm enough.” I shook my head, and there was the part unspoken. Hunters were vicious, ruthless, trained against the cunning wit of Vampires and the brutal strength of Werewolves. He would cut down a fellow Human protecting me in the name of a fable, as if I was just waiting to snatch up an infant. I’d never dreamed of doing that. This was warm enough. I took a spoonful of the stew. “Mmm, perfect again. Melody did amazing.” 

He sighed. “Have to tell you again, as often as you visit, you help more than you think.” He placed a key where the spoon used to be. “Here, there’s an empty room tonight. No is not an answer.”

I wrung my hands before picking up the key. Just a little more warmth won’t kill me or them. “Thank you.” 

“I know you’ll give the key back in the morning, so I’ll stop telling you not to. Just know you are welcome.” He gave a smile that was all the warmth I needed for a year. 

Before I could respond, the front door crashed open, the lantern and candlelight flickering as the wind howled. There was a great creaking as people looked, and a hushed silence as the Hunter stepped within. 

A shiver ran through me more from dread than from the cold, and I carefully followed the crowd on instinct, watching for a moment, then turning away slowly.  

His heavy booted footsteps were sure, strong, the weighty crossbow on his back clattering against his studded leather. He stood at the bar next to me, my teeth set on edge as I tried to keep a steady breath. His presence was like a weight. 

Wendall came over as I kept my gaze on my food, taking another bite that took too long to swallow. 

The Hunter set a roll of parchment on the counter, unfurled it, and my eyes moved to it. 

He spoke as my eyes fixated on the rough sketch of a person like me, a nondescript almost-face on a pale form. His voice sounded like he breathed smoke as often as clean air. “I am looking for a Changeling. Seen one?’”

Wen looked at it for a long moment, then met my eyes. For a horrifying moment I could have sworn he saw through me, through the little facade I almost saw as my own face and beyond that to the monster the Hunter thought I was. 

He looked at the Hunter and shook his head. “Not one I’d recognize.” 

The Hunter grunted, then turned his dark eyes to me, turning the parchment so I could see better. “And you?” 

I shook my head. “N—no.” 

He narrowed his eyes, his nose twitching as if he smelled something sour. “Are you sure, waif?” 

I nodded, my instincts settling in. “I’m sure. I don’t think I would even know what to look for.” 

His chapped lips grimaced, then he nodded, picking up the parchment and heading to the nearest table. 

I let out a breath when I knew the creaking and chatter would mask the sound of it. 

Wen paused, then looked at me. “Sure you won’t stay?” 

“I—can’t.” I hid my face in my next spoonful of stew. 

His mouth thinned. “I think it’ll be safer. And I know I could use a waitress. With my wife busy in the kitchen and my son busy with the apiary and fermenting and such, could use some help in the front.” 

I shifted in my seat, half my ear on that Hunter as he gruffly questioned each group.

I shook my head. “I couldn’t bear to see this place harmed because of me.” 

Wen huffed. “Please, we get Templar and Hunters and Paladins only rarely. A pain for everyone, but nothing that can’t be handled.” 

I looked at him for a long moment. Does … he know? 

While the words were lost, I could hear the Hunter get more and more frustrated with each terse question.

I furrowed my brow, not sure what to say that wouldn’t be telling him outright. 

He spoke again, his voice lowered but softly amused. “You’ve met Justin, sweet boy, around your age. He’s had sour luck talking to anyone but you.” 

That caught my attention. I flushed. “Oh! That—” 

There was a soft chuckle. “Now, now, don’t worry. We won’t push. Though, I am sure he would be as thrilled as me and his mother to see you stick around.” 

In his words, there was an opportunity, a rare one. I had expected a life of lonely wandering, taking whatever warmth I could find, like I was sure my predecessors had. This was something else, something truly lovely. 

Before I could respond, the Hunter went to the center of the room. “Done. I am done chasing this vermin.” He pulled out a small black flask; with a flick, it sprouted a flame, his other hand holding his crossbow. “Give me the monster, and this place stands.” 

I swallowed, eyes wide. I turned to Wen, who gave me a look I couldn’t discern, then held up his hands. “L—look, Hunter, we can figure this out. I don’t know of any Changeling, but—” 

The Hunter scowled, jagged teeth grinding against each other, as he raised the crossbow, pointing it at Wen. I twitched, ready and on edge. “Quiet. You could be one. I know one is here, at least. I do not care if it is one or all of you. I swear, on my own grave, no monster will harm—”

I couldn’t keep hiding. I changed into a wolf I had seen deep in the woods once, big and dark and toothy. 

I lunged, and the two of us tumbled and thrashed, his hands firmly on the bow and the flask. His back fractured the door as we landed within the frame, him on his back. I moved quick, wanting to end it with a bite to his throat, only to be met with the flame of his flask. 

Whimpering, I leapt up and away from the building, my form faltering, then flitting into an alley cat’s form for a moment to get upright before landing as a deer, trying to dash away as the Hunter went to raise his crossbow and the wind whistled around us.

Maybe the wind will throw off his aim, maybe I am fast enough, maybe— 

Halfway to the dense evergreens an iron-tipped bolt caught my hind leg, making me cry out and crash to the ground, now in my nearly faceless and pale natural form, clad in rags, forced into it by that damned iron burning into my fae nature. 

The Hunter stood from his knee as patrons hurried away from the tavern behind him. “Eyes on me, monster.” He licked his lips. “I am sure it stings, does it not?”  

I swallowed as I tried to move away, whimpering at the bolt deep in my calf, that iron still burning. My eyes fixed on him as he slicked back his dark, greasy hair. 

“Ready to die?” He smirked, crouching over me, his voice full of anticipation, his eyes eager. 

I could not help but look at the silver dagger that slipped from a black-leather sheath, curved and sharp, glimmering even in the dim grey day.

I gritted my teeth and pulled back. “You—you really don’t—”

The other hand, somewhere between fist and claw, came down on my jaw, and a sharp pain came from it as my varied teeth fell with iridescent blood. “No sweet-talking me out of this. Filthy monster, stealing away children.” 

I let out a sob and shook my head. “No, I would never—” He clamped a hand over my mouth, making my jaw throb. 

He growled as he brought the knife to my ear. “Now, what is under the skin of a Changeling?” he snickered. “Seems we will find out.”

I clenched my eyes shut, squirming and kicking, my underfed limbs not making him budge. As the blade cut in, my scream muffled against his palm.

He stopped as something wet and warm splattered across my face. Then the Hunter slumped and I blinked my eyes open, seeing an axe buried halfway down to his jaw from the top, black blood dripping out as he fell to the side. 

I scrambled out from under his body and looked to see Wen with that black blood on his apron.

He looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Pick?” 

Tears leaked down my cheeks, but it was so warm there … I nodded. 

Wen let out a sigh, looking around, and I could feel myself start to spiral, preparing to be abandoned, again. 

“Come in, quick. Got to get you cleaned up. Get poultice on you.” 

I swallowed, hardly able to believe my ears. “You—you’re sure?” 

He huffed then brought me to my feet, bracing the injured leg. “Yes, sure. Come on. It’s cold out.”

I limped alongside him. The door closed behind us to ward against that wind, his wife and son there, looking at me with—concern?

“Here’s Pick,” Wen said, soft and firm, and the rest nodded. 

“Melody, come help me get them set up in a seat. Justin, fetch the poultice and bandages.” He was sure and warm in his tone. 

They brought me to a seat, and I was still in a sort of daze, unsure how to react to kindness, so I spoke my first thought. “I—I’ve got no coin.” 

Wen shook his head as Melody laughed. “By the gods, they’re just as stubborn as you said.” 

He chuckled. “Your coin’s no good here anyway, Pick. You can pay me back by sticking around.” 

I blinked, then nodded. “Should—take another form. If—if I’m going to be a server, right?” 

They both smiled warmly. Justin came back with a basket full of bandages and poultices. 

They were set on the table beside me, and Justin set to work, his hand calloused but warm and gentle. Wen straightened up, ruffling my hair. “Welcome home.”