Page 46 of The Good Boys Club

“Quick, shift,” Mash hissed.

I did, but my tail stuck out at a weird angle in my cords. “Pull my tail through the hole!”

Mash wiggled his fingers into the seat of my pants and eased my tail through the jagged hole, just as the light was blocked off and two pointed ears—followed by a head, a torso, a tail, and a pair of legs—materialised into the loft space.

“Clemmy!” Mash cried, leaping to his feet and crashing into his sister.

She groaned with the force of the collision, but managed to stay upright and not fall through the attic hole. Then she began kissing his face like a kid who’d found a suction cup and an unguarded window. Both of their tails wagged so fiercely I was concerned for several boxes of outdoor fairy lights stacked near the entrance.

“Shit, I’ve missed you so much. You got so big! When did you get so big? What the fuck are they feeding you in Remy?” She turned to me, though she never let Mash out of her arms. “This is all your doing, no? Mash tells me about your cooking often.”

Clem was the eldest of Mash’s siblings, and I suspected, Mash’s favourite. She was the one who he talked about the most, the one who’d shown him the ropes of adult life, who he’d unfailingly called once a week while we were at uni. Mash would kill for every member of his family, that was just how he loved, but for Clem, he would wipe out an entire village.

I’d met her twice before. Once at Zach and Kai’s mating ceremony, and one time when she visited Mash at Remy during our second year. If anyone was going to foil our little game of pretence, it was Clementine Cassidy.

She was forty-six, eleven years older than Mash, and was mated with two kids—Felix, fourteen, and Juno, twelve. According to Mash, both kids were super into this guy named Lewis Bone, a ChewTuber. I had no clue who this person was, nor did I ever care to learn.

“Hi Clem, nice to see you again. What did Mash say about my cooking?” I asked, because Mash wasn’t the only whore for praise.

Clem laughed. “That, I can’t repeat. At least not in front of the kids.”

At that moment the attic space filled with another two bodies, those of Felix and his younger sister Juno.

“Uncle Mash!” Felix said, letting Mash pull him and his sister into a three-way hug, and dispelling everything I knew about sullen, withdrawn, apathetic teenagers.

At fourteen, Felix was already taller than my six one, and Juno wasn’t far behind.

Mash ruffled his hair. “How’s the ChewTube channel going?”

Felix shrugged.

“He wants to film his first ever shift,” Juno supplied on her brother’s behalf.

“Big lad like you still hasn’t shifted yet?” Mash said. But then he seemed to realise he’d made a mistake because he added, “We all shift at different ages. I’m sure you’ll shift soon.”

“We think it’s going to happen during this Harvest Fest. Sometimes these big family events are like catalysts to shifting,” Clem said.

“I reckon I’m gonna shift before him,” Juno said.

Felix flipped his sister off. “Eat shit—”

“Felix! Language!” His mother slapped his middle finger down. “Everyone’s different, hon. You’ll shift when you’re ready.”

Felix turned to Mash. “How old were you when you first shifted?”

“Um . . .” Mash scratched the back of his head. “Eleven.”

“But Uncle Mash is the next—” Juno began.

Clem cut her off. “What about you, Cian? How old were you on your first shift?”

“Six,” I said, my heart dropping like a stone the second the word was out. Everybody gawped at me. Mouths hung open.

Shifters and werefolk experienced shifts differently, obviously. For weres it only happened at the full moon and when the werewolf had come of age— anywhere between eleven and fifteen—whereas shifters started transforming during those early formative years. And it was something we couldn’t control, not at first. Control over your shifts was learned and earned.

“Teen,” I added, because everyone was still staring at me like I’d grown an extra tail. “Sixteen.”

“Really?” Felix’s eyes lit up. “That’s so old.”

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