Shifters

I hear patrons talking over the beer, usually after the fourth or fifth pint. Shifter, they’ll say, nodding like that settles things. 

You know it doesn’t. Never in our world. 

This isn’t a faerie story.

Some beings don’t change shape so much as focus on something new: a cause, a target, a vengeance. 

It can be planned in advance like on battlefield in Cork or just a trigger sets it in motion, like the smell of a half-vampire girl. That’s the scary thing. 

You’ll know the moment it happens. You can’t miss it.

If you’re not the target, move aside and you’ll be fine. If you are the focus, you’ll have less than thirty seconds before the screaming starts. 

The voice will be yours. 

People insist on calling that an animal. It helps them sleep.

It isn’t. It’s Dark, it’s Light. It’s often Grey. But not beast. Not monster, regardless of how it looks.

Others shift because it suits them.

That’s the important part. Not how they change, but why. If the answer is convenience, assume you’re already behind. These are the ones who look most like you when it matters, and nothing like you once the door’s closed.

They smile often. Don’t keep one face longer than necessary.

If you meet one and feel special, you’ve already fucked. The control is theirs.

Then there are the unlucky ones.

The kind folklore tried to warn you about and mostly failed. Born human. Staying that way until something pulls the switch: moon, stress, blood, old promises nobody should have signed.

They don’t want to change. Or they do, and learn too late what it costs.

They’ve evolved, too. Since the lore was written. They pass it on now. That complicates things. Cubs don’t understand thresholds. They just follow instinct and hope someone nearby knows how to keep them alive or teach them right.

Sometimes someone does.

Sometimes they don’t.

Every so often, you find a case that doesn’t seem to fit.

I’ve seen a statue in an old settlers’ cemetery in Vegas that looks like a man. Hasn’t moved in years, and still manages to make the air around him whisper. There’s a child carved into the stone with him. 

That’s all you get. Read Skye Wolf for the rest.

Not everything that shifts does so quickly. Some things change by staying exactly where they are.

So if you’re trying to work out what you’re dealing with, don’t ask what they turn into. Ask whether they chose it, whether they learned it, or whether it just happened and they had no say in the matter.

Get that wrong and things could take a turn.

Best case, you walk away embarrassed.

Worst case, you don’t walk at all.

People will keep using the word shifter. It’s shorter. Feels safer.

Just don’t trust it to mean anything useful.