Shapeshifter Chronicles

THE SHAPESHIFTER CHRONICLES:

LEGEND OF THE FOX

PROLOGUE

What Happened Before This Story Began

September, 1800

People aren't supposed to kill you simply because you played a silly trick on them. But there I was, trying my best to stay alive behind a half-empty sack of flour. And there was Noreen, ready to whack off my head as soon as she found me. It was only a matter of time before I was garbage.

My last words would be, Oh, crud. I'm going to die.

I know that's not heroic, but it was absolutely the only thought in my head at the time. If I were you, however, I wouldn't snigger. I'll bet if you were faced with the possibility of meeting Death in the next five seconds, you might not be able to think your way out of it, either. Especially if you were only seven years old.

Back then, my brain wasn't the superbly quick and clever thing it is today. I'm going to be fourteen in two months and I've been trained by the best Deputy of the Crown that England's ever had. I can handle practically anything at all, now.

Yet it still gives me shivers to remember that awful day in the kitchen of our London house.

Metal clanged on the stone floor, not an arm's length away from my head. I jumped. My brother, Graham, screeched.

"Mama! Papa-a-a, help!" he cried, hanging tight to Noreen's apron. He pulled at the scullery maid with all his might, but it didn't help. He wasn't quite five and she was at least ten.

Her great iron shovel, looking to me as big as a battle axe, banged down against the hearth. It broke off a piece of stone that went whizzing past my face.

"Don't! Oh, please, don't hit her!" Graham cried, yanking on her skirts and sobbing.

"Get out o' me way," she said. "Nasty, dirty thing she is. Crawling all over me clean floor." Then she shoved him aside with her free arm while she tried to swing at me again.

Graham, bless him, opened his mouth and bit down fiercely on her arm. The shovel flew from her grasp. It clattered to a stop--right in front of our father's boots.

I'd been so scared, I hadn't even seen the door open. My father, Sir Robert Ashleigh, had come to see what all the noise was about. Now I was in a far different kind of trouble.

"Papa!" With a sob, Graham ran over and grabbed him around the legs. "Make Noreen stop trying to hurt Celia!"

Papa jerked his head up and looked toward the corner where I was crouching. The flour sack had fallen over and spilled out all its dusty white load on me. I sneezed.

"Celia?"

I couldn't see any point in lying. Shivering with fear, I looked up and nodded.

Papa just stared at me. Of course he didn't believe his eyes. I expected that. I didn't look very much like his daughter right then. I looked like a rat. A small, flour-speckled rat.

"Come here, Celia," he finally said. His voice was very calm. Much too calm. I'd escaped sure death only to sneeze my way straight to a good spanking.

Graham started crying even harder. "We won't do it again. I promise. Really, I do. We were only teasing Noreen."

"Let your father handle things," said a soft voice. Mama had slipped quietly inside the kitchen. She stooped and gathered Graham in her arms.

"It's only a dirty little mousie, idn't it? What's wrong with killin' it?" asked the maid. She looked confused as she backed up against the chopping table. Her eyes darted from me to my father as if she didn't know which of us scared her more.

"Get out," Papa said quietly, speaking to the maid but never taking his eyes from me. Oh, I was in for it now. That was the voice Papa used with stable boys who played dice instead of mucking out the stalls... right before he sent them packing.

"Yes, sir," Noreen answered. She scuttled, with many backward glances, out through the door to the buttery. She'd heard that voice before, too.

"Celia?" Papa repeated, lowering his hand to the floor a few feet in front of me. "Come here now."

I came out slowly. He still looked upset so I knew I had made a mess of my game. I had to admit it. I simply couldn't remember how to stop being a stupid little rat. So I ran to his arms and prayed with all my might he would hug me and somehow make everything all right. I didn't want to be sent packing.

Papa caught me up and held me against his chest, just as he'd done the time I fell out of the oak tree. He was angry then, too.

"Ah, Celia!" He shook his head. "What have you done?"

Gotten flour all over your best satin coat? No. I couldn't answer him. I couldn't even try. I was trembling too hard. Well, it was cold in that kitchen. It really was. That's why I was shaking so.

Papa held me close and stroked my back until I quit shivering. Then he turned my head so we were face to face. Or rather, nose to twitchy whiskered nose.

"Look at me, Celia. Now think very hard about something simple and ordinary, like combing your hair or eating your breakfast," he said. "Think about your new blue coat. Think about kissing your mother good night."

I made a picture in my mind of eating juicy meat pies with Graham in the courtyard, and... poof.

One second I was a little gray rat with lots of white flour-freckles, the next second my paws had turned pink and fingers were growing out of them. My toes came out next, along with my knees and ankles. My head began to itch and a great mop of red hair fell in front of my eyes. The hair tickled my nose so much I sneezed again.

Suddenly, I was Celia once more, sitting on my father's arm with my girl-fingers curled around his coat collar. That's what I'd forgotten. Noreen scared me so much I forgot how to change back to my real self.

"I'm sorry. Papa. I won't do it again." I put every ounce of sincerity I could manage into that promise. I sort of even meant it.

"You're right about that," he said, frowning. "This won't happen again."

He shrugged off his black coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. I waited for him to send Graham out to fetch a switch, but... nothing. He only held me a little tighter.

Actually, I was surprised Papa was taking this all so calmly. Mama, too.

But not Noreen. Through the open door to the buttery, I heard the maid squeal with fright when I changed back into a girl. A crash of broken milk jars followed.

"It's time, isn't it?" asked Mama. "I always thought it would be Graham, didn't you, dear?"

"No, I knew right away. The minute she was born."

"Knew what?" I asked. I hate it when grownups talk about you and you're right there, listening, but they pretend you're not.

"We'll discuss it after you get your clothes on," said Mama. "Now where did you leave them?"

I pointed to the buttery, where the maid was crying hysterically. Mama went in and suddenly there was silence. Then Mama came back out holding my green dress and the petticoats I was supposed to save for Sunday. She dragged the whimpering maid along and pushed her in front of Papa.

Papa frowned. "What's your name, girl?"

"Nor--Noreen, sir. I saw..." The maid's voice died away. She looked at me like I'd turned into some kind of monster. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks looked as white as clotted cream.

Mama, standing beside her, sighed. "Yes, Noreen. We know what you saw. You'll receive an explanation soon. Right now we must get Miss Celia dressed and packed for a journey to Redgate. She'll be gone for a few months, perhaps longer. I think you should go with her."

"Me, m'am? With-- that? That's a divil come to-"

"I'm no devil," I yelled hotly.

"Careful, Noreen. That's my daughter you're talking about," Papa cautioned. "And you've just become Miss Celia's personal maid. There will be no arguments."

"Yes, sir." Noreen looked like she could cry again.

At that precise moment, Graham began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" I demanded. I definitely did not see a joke here. It's not funny to get caught in the shape of a rat and not be able to get out. Noreen had almost killed me. Papa was upset. Mama was sending me to the country in the middle of the winter. I was cold. And Graham kept laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.

"You've still got a tail!" he squealed, pointing.

I looked down and discovered he was right. I closed my eyes and thought about myself. I drew a picture in my mind of me without a rat's tail. Poof, it was gone. I stuck out my tongue at Graham, but Mama had pulled him out of the kitchen. I was alone with my father and Noreen.

"Help your mistress dress," he told Noreen. Then he turned his back on us.

Noreen's hands trembled so much they felt like spiders crawling over my back while she laced up my petticoat. I was shivering almost as much as she was. What was Papa going to do to me? Why did I have to leave London? Was he ashamed of me now that he'd seen me as a rat?

Finally, we managed to get the bodice and the skirts arranged. Noreen went back inside the buttery and found my shoes behind a wooden churn. At last my feet were warm.

"Now go upstairs and pack," Papa told Noreen. "Without a word to anyone. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, curtsying. She ran out of the kitchen like a chicken running away from the cook.

I would have run, too, but Papa blocked the door.

"How long has this been going on?" he demanded.

"This?" I tried to look confused, like I didn't know exactly what he meant. I wasn't going to admit anything I didn't have to.

"How long?" He folded his arms across his embroidered waistcoat and glared at me. It's probably the way he looks at criminals when he holds court as a magistrate in the country. Anyway, he made me really worried and I decided to tell the truth. Some of it, anyway.

"That's the first time, I swear, Papa."

"The first time what?"

"The first time I ever turned into a mouse," I explained. That was the total truth. It really was.

"So what did you turn into before that?"

Uh-oh. He'd caught me. "Umm, a frog."

"And?"

"And a kitten.

"And?"

"And a cockroach." I probably shouldn't have admitted that. The cockroach had been a mistake. I couldn't figure out how to make that many legs work together and I'd fallen off the table. Luckily, Graham had caught me before I broke my head.

Papa put his hand over his eyes and groaned. He grabbed a stool from beside the hearth and sat down. He did not offer me a chair. He stared at me a really long time. This was really bad and getting worse.

"Celia, I'm truly sorry I didn't see this coming."

"I know," I said. "I promise I won't..."

"Hush and listen. I thought it would be a few more years before you discovered your unusual ability. I thought I would have time to prepare you for it."

"You knew I could turn into a mouse?" I was amazed.

"I was afraid of it. It runs in the family," he answered.

My protest skittered to a halt. That would mean...

"You mean you can change shape, too? What about Mama? And Graham?" I never even guessed.

"No. Only me.

"And now me." I grinned. "This is so good. Show me something you can turn into. I'll show you my frog-body. It's really funny. Yesterday, I made it orange with purple and green stripes."

Papa didn't say anything for a minute. Then he took a deep breath and nodded, like he had been arguing with himself and finally came to an agreement.

"Celia, this isn't a game. It's very serious. I felt like you do when I first found out about myself. I wanted to try everything, be everything. But your Grandfather took me with him to the country and showed me how dangerous that could be. I need to teach you what he taught me, Celia. For your own safety."

Pooh. He'd take all the fun out of changing shapes.

"Don't pout, Celia. Nicely bred young ladies don't pout."

"I don't want to be a nicely bred young lady."

He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face. He was smiling. "No, you'll always be a very special young lady. We can't let everyone know about that, however. We have to keep it secret. Only Mama and Graham and I will ever know."

"And Noreen."

"Yes. Now go upstairs and get ready to leave. We'll have fun in the country, I promise."

"Will you show me everything you can turn into? Everything?"

"Yes. I'll teach you what I know, though not all at once. There are rules, Celia. You have to learn them. You have to promise me that you'll follow them."

I nodded. That didn't count as a real promise, since I didn't say the words out loud. I'd wait to find out what Papa's rules were before I agreed to follow them.

Papa, Noreen and I left the next morning for Redgate. That was the first winter of my training. Every winter after that, we went back so I could study more ways to shapeshift. That's what it's called. It's something only Ashleighs can do. Usually, only the firstborn Ashleighs can do it. And I'm the absolute only girl firstborn. Isn't that lucky? I certainly think so.

But every spring we all came back to London, to our normal lives. That's the part of my training I hated.

Normal life for me meant learning to sew, sitting still while Mama entertained visitors in the morning, reading long books about famous people or the history of England, and going for carriage or horseback rides in Hyde Park in the afternoon. Each year, on the very day we got back to the London mansion, I started praying for the first sign of winter.

I didn't want to ride on a horse, I wanted to be the horse. I didn't want to read about knights in armor, I wanted to shapeshift into a bird and fly to the Holy Land, to see all the places where they fought the Crusades. I didn't want to sew in a stuffy parlor while the sun was shining outside. I wanted to run as a fox through the meadows and feel the soft morning rain on my pelt.

But Papa's sixth rule said I couldn't change shapes while I was in London. It was a horrible rule.

I'm sure you'll understand when I say it was only a matter of time before I broke it.