Page 17 of A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

She stopped, trying to ascertain where she’d heard the voice before. She turned slowly, unsure of what to expect, and her eyes widened at the sight of the balding man standing on a nearby porch, almost completely enveloped by the parka he was wearing. He waved at her, snapping her out of her daze.

“Tom?”

“It really is you!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe my eyes.”

Neither could Diane. She struggled for words. “You’re alive? How many others survived?”

He descended the porch steps, shrugging slightly. “I’m not sure, honestly. No idea what’s going on here. One second, I was falling, and then I woke up inside this cabin. I’m still not surehow I got here. The man who lives here says we’re somewhere called Frost Mountain, and I can’t ever leave. Can you believe that?” He scoffed. “I’m just waiting for emergency services to get here. They should be arriving any day now.”

He really had no idea what was going on. Diane sighed. In any case, it was somewhat of a relief to find out that she wasn’t the only one who’d managed to survive the plane crash.

“Tom, I don’t think—”

“Who’s this?” Tom asked suddenly, pointing a finger in Sylvester’s direction.

Diane followed his gaze and did a double take. Sylvester’s demeanor had changed somewhat. He’d looked annoyed before, but now he stared back at Tom like the man was a fly he was considering swatting out of his sight.

“Uh, Tom, this is—”

“Sylvester,” Sylvester finished for her.

Without warning, he grabbed Diane by the waist, pulling her toward him.

“I’m her husband,” he said. “And I’m the one who saved your life.”

Sylvester had saved Tom, too? It hadn’t occurred to Diane at first, but she supposed it made sense that he’d plucked both of them out of the sky the other day.

Tom frowned. “Husband?” He shifted his gaze to Diane. “I didn’t know you were married. Heard your husband passed on a few years back.”

He bit his lip as though suddenly aware of what he’d just said. Diane couldn’t really blame him. Lots of people had knew about Walter’s death, especially after she began writing and winning awards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sylvester’s jaw tighten.

Tom seemed to notice it, too. “I… I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

He backed away, heading up the porch steps, and Sylvester and Diane continued walking. She could feel Tom’s bewildered gaze on them. The poor guy was still struggling to hold on to his own reality. That much was obvious. Diane knew how he felt. The thought of abandoning all hope of returning to their old life was crushing.

“So,” Sylvester said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “you must have been quite popular back in your world.”

When she glanced up at him, his expression had softened. She nodded. “I mean, I wasn’t world-famous, but my books did win a couple of awards. For a writer, that’s a lot.”

“A… writer?” A puzzled frown crept onto his face. “What is that?”

“That’s what I am. C’mon, you’ve got to have at least one or two other writers around here. I can’t be bestseller by default.”

The confusion on his face grew even more pronounced.

She chuckled. “I’m messing with you. But yes, Iama writer. That means… well, for me, it means I write stories for people to read.”

His eyes lit up suddenly. “Stories are… beautiful. My mother used to tell them to me and Gregory when we were children.”

It was the first time he’d spoken about his mother, although it wasn’t hard to guess that his mother was gone, too.

“What were the stories about?”

“Our ancestors,” he replied. “And the battles they fought.”

“Oh.” Diane had been expecting something else, like Peter Pan or Robin Hood, but she supposed there wasn’t a lot of literary material when you were stuck in a magical dimension. “That sounds really nice.”

“It was.” He nodded in agreement, then suddenly stopped walking. “We’re here. The village chief’s quarters.”

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