Hellbender - Dana Cameron Page 0,3

find something to eat. By all that was holy, I was hungry, as only a shapeshifter can be. While it hadn’t been more than a few hours, as far as I knew, since my last meal, I felt utterly drained, depleted, stomach grumbling and gnawing.

That actually took me away from the edge of a teary meltdown. Where there’s an appetite, there can be optimism.

I spied an ATM and flipped my hood back, wiping the rain from my face. I prayed I could make sense of the screens and make money appear, not necessarily in that order. I was fine with incomprehension as long as it got me cash.

I did some more praying during the long pause while my card was considered for its worthiness. Of course, I didn’t know whether one hundred yen was a lot or a little money, but I figured I should get as much as I could. After a lifetime, I heard the reassuring clack-clack-clack that sounded like “three cherries, and here’s your money!”

It was close enough to winning for me. I almost wept with gratitude. I stuffed the bills into my pocket before the ATM reconsidered and took them back.

I had cash, though I didn’t know how much. Time to find a place to stay, for I didn’t know how long, and food.

I pulled up my hood again, took a deep, ragged breath, and prepared to go out into the dark and pelting rain. To where, I didn’t know—

I saw the sign and did a double take. Then a triple take.

I had to be dreaming. Or hallucinating.

I pinched myself. Ow—still awake, still here. Cautiously, I moved forward. The sign didn’t change; it didn’t appear to be a vision, which was a real possibility with me.

There were two people waiting in the center of the hallway leading out from under the massive roof. A young kid, maybe as old as eighteen, who looked like an American or European. With him was an older woman, Japanese. They held a sign.

The sign said, “Zoe Miller, Boston, USA.”

Chapter Two

“I’m Zoe Miller,” I said. My voice trembled, my throat sore. “Um, are you looking for me?”

The young man inclined his head to the very old woman, but his lips didn’t seem to move. She burst out in laughter. “No, we’re waiting for the other Zoe Miller,” the kid said. He looked uncomfortable. “That’s what she told me to say.”

She hadn’t spoken, not so far as I could see, but she was smiling; she’d made a joke. I noticed they were holding hands. Oracles, I guessed. Some oracles need physical contact to work their talents.

I didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off at them for making fun of me. “I’m Zoe, and if you could give me some help, I would really, really appreciate it.” I was too tired and too scared to worry that I might be kidnapped. Who knew I’d be here, after all? And they didn’t look like kidnappers anyway.

The old woman nodded, serious now, and after glancing at the boy, he nodded. “Humor may help our situation, but now is not the time. My apologies. I am Akemi Okamura.” Both bowed deeply from the waist.

“I’m Ash Dickson,” the kid said. “We’re Family. If you come with us, we can get you food, a place to rest.” Then he added in an aside, “You should call her Okamura-san. Because she’s so old and worthy of respect.”

“Okay. Thank you, Ash and Okamura-san.” I sagged with relief. It was more than I could have wished for. “But . . . but first, is it really still October seventh?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . what time does that make it in Boston? United States, the East Coast?”

Ash took out his phone, pulled up an app, and confirmed that I’d been correct.

The blood rushed from my face. There was still time! “I . . . I have to get back immediately. Do you know what is happening there?”

They both nodded. “We do,” Ash said. “The fight is ongoing. We are in contact with Family there. We hope to hear more soon.”

I shook my head. “I was just there and I need to get back there now.”

“The only way to get back ‘now’ is to go the same way you came,” Ash said. He continued hastily, probably seeing the anger I didn’t bother to conceal from my features. “Okamura-san . . . I . . . we are serious. Unless you can teleport back—”

I spread my hands. “I . . . I have