Page 1 of Scars Like Wings

PART ONE

Tiger’s Eye

THE SHAPESHIFTER

A metamorphic rock colored with golden bands, sandy flecks, and inky black and brown smudges.

Once considered more precious than gold, these members of the Chalcedony mineral family were carried as a protective amulet against evil and to ward off curses. Its name is based on the tiger, the true queen of the jungle. Her spirit reminds of the importance of primal instincts and accepting one’s shadow self. Mined in places where hot dry air and wilderness run rampant, there’s a heated energy in the stone. It stirs the pot, awakening motivation and encouraging the embrace of inner strength. This ground stone brings daydreamers back to reality. Tigers Eye makes people feel connected to the earth beneath their feet and stable in the world.

Blood & Gold

When I was little, Mom often caught me wandering alone in the forest behind our house playing and collecting crystals.

She used to remind me with a pinch of worry in her voice, “Now, Brydgette Fallon Pierce, there are creatures in this forest that aren’t as sweet as you. You have to be careful.”

With my tiny hands bared like talons despite my chipped pink nail polish, I would remind her thatIwas a dragon-shifter andnothingcould hurt me—I was invincible.

She would laugh and lift me up to sit against her hip when I was still small enough. “You aren’t a dragon just yet, my Baby Byrd. So, you still need to go easy and never go into the forest by yourself. Let your big, mean dragon-momma and dragon-pops keep you safe.” She would nuzzle my neck full of kisses until I giggled, and then she would say, “We’ll always be around to keep you safe.”

We’ll always be around to keep you safe.

Now, her words, those memories from not so long ago, play on repeat in my head like an old scratched-up CD.

Because, now, she wasn’t around.

Now, she was nowhere to be found.

With the rain due any minute, I raced inside from the car after school. All day, the sky appeared to be grieving some great loss. It would sob relentlessly before taking a breath, tearing up, and starting up all over again. For once, the day lacked the humidity it normally possessed in the North Georgian mountains, too. Instead, the smell and anticipation of rain hung suspenseful in the air.

When I entered the house, my breath caught immediately because the house just felt… off. Different. It was empty inside, bare like when me, Uncle Everett, Mom, and Pops had left this morning. But that wasn’t quite it. I couldn’t put my finger on exactlywhatit was. It just felt unsettled, unsure.

“Mom? Are you home?” I called out. “Hello?”

Usually, when Uncle Everett dropped me off after school and all my extracurricular activities, I would open the door and immediately get hit with the cozy smell of a home-cooked meal in progress. Motown or 90s R&B would blare from the stereo in the living room courtesy of the local radio station. Mom would be dancing and singing from behind the stove as she cooked, trying to release some stress after a long day on her feet as a middle school teacher.

Most days, I would laugh at her goofy dance moves and join in after taking my shoes off at the door and dumping my book bag on the floor beside the counter. The house would fill with our laughter and singing, and we would dance the cooking time away. Pops would come home and join us, even before taking off his badge and gun. Then therealparty would begin. Mom and I got our second-wind to become Pops’ backup performers. With dinner done, we tried to catch our breath from our laughter to eat.

Today, there was no smell.

There was no music.

Worse even, there was no Mom.

Mom and Pops would usually tell me whether I should wait up. Just like Uncle Everett did today, saying that Pops was supposed to be home late, since he was covering for someone at work. I was an only child. Neither of my parents would ever leave me wondering where they were. They never had before. Maybe this was the first time for it. There was a first time for everything, after all.

It just took thirteen years…

I tossed my backpack in its usual place against the counter as I entered the kitchen. The chicken sat on the counter, marinating and still cold in the Ziploc bag from the refrigerator. The vegetables were already washed and cut, ready to be seasoned and roasted in the oven. Seasonings sat near the chicken and vegetables. The oven was even preheated, a cast iron full of oil on the cold stovetop. Across the way, in the living room, the fireplace stood with fresh, dry logs, ready to be lit. Everything was in progress, but incomplete. Mom would never leave things unfinished. It wasn’t her way.

Something was wrong.

I tried to calm the typhoon swirling in my stomach. I ran to her office just off the kitchen, where Mom usually graded papers after dinner. Mom’s touch was all over the room. Reading and Language Arts papers waited to be graded by her infamous red pen. Books lay open everywhere, even on her stuffed bookshelves. Hermanypurses sat ready to be chosen to go with her next outfit. But there was no Mom.

I walked out and I went to check the half-bathroom. Nothing. I checked the laundry room. Nothing. I ran upstairs, trying not to take two at a time. Nothing in my parents’ bedroom, their packed-to-the-brim closet, or their bathroom. Nothing in my bedroom, my also packed closet, or the bathroom in the hallway. There was no one. Nothing. No one.

No.

One.

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