Page 5 of Raven's Instinct
2
ALAN
Alan was ready for anything the day care could throw at him.
He’d read seven thick books on various childcare methodologies, gone through child-specific CPR and aced his certification in pediatric emergency trauma care. He’d practiced changing diapers on the infant dummies, timing himself until he got the process down to forty-two seconds. It helped that dummies didn’t struggle, and he knew that it wouldn’t be so simple in real life, because he wasn’t acompleteidiot.
But Alan wasnotprepared for Tiny Paws.
He’d worked on construction sites, witnessed building detonations, and spent plenty of time in shooting galleys. He’d been in active combat, hunkered down listening to massive bombs take out nearby neighborhoods. He’d shot powerful weapons without ear protection or armor to absorb recoil.
Tiny Paws was louder, and arguably more chaotic and full of destruction.
The day care for shifters was located in a historical downtown district behind the false front of an old saloon of dubious authenticity. Alan arrived punctually and was buzzed in at the door. He obeyed the edicts of a cartoon bear poster thatadmonished him to take off his boots, stepped easily over the baby gate into the back room, and froze in horror.
It was not a large room, but it was absolutely swimming in children. Someone was screaming bloody murder, there was an off-key chorus of a song that Alan vaguely recognized but couldn’t place, a baby was crying, and everyone else was either yelling, babbling at the top of their lungs, or pounding on something. There appeared to be a percussion band practice going on; what order there was in the room was a gray-haired woman leading a drum circle on a big rainbow rug with letters and pictures in the short pile. Some of the drums were tin cans being hammered with mallets. A scooter toy making dying siren noises was being argued over by two older girls. A stack of blocks was being gleefully demolished as rapidly as it rose.
Weirdest of all, the entire room was an electric tingle of shifter recognition, like every one of his nerves was on fire.
Alan’s raven was enthralled and delighted.
Alan, on the other hand, was having serious doubts about this assignment.
A woman sitting in a rocking chair with a baby spotted him and rose awkwardly to her feet. It took Alan a solid moment to realize that it wasn’t just that she was impeded by the wriggling infant, but that she was pregnant.
“You must be Alan!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Addison.” Somehow, her voice managed to carry over the underlying din without having to shout.
Alan strode to meet her. Stocking feet felt unfamiliar and awkward; he was used to work boots in the summer and snow boots in the winter.
“Alan Petrov,” he said gravely as she juggled the baby in order to offer her hand.
Addison wasn’t just pregnant, she was a caricature of pregnant, so round and waddling that Alan was almost afraid toshake her hand. How was that baby still inside of her? Would it fall out if she sneezed?
Try it, his raven suggested.Sprinkle pepper!
You’ve watched too many cartoons,Alan told him.We are not going to try to induce labor with spices.
“Three weeks to go,” Addison said easily, after he’d very gingerly given her hand a tiny squeeze. When Alan started to sputter an apology, she laughed. “It’severyone’sfirst question. You get used to it!”
Alan chuckled reluctantly. The general noise and the static of instinct in the room made it hard to concentrate.
“Tell me about your experience with kids,” Addison said, bouncing the baby over to one hip with ease. If her belly was not distracting enough, her breasts wereenormous.It wasn’t that Alan was attracted to them, but he was rather awed and had to force himself to look anywhere else… just in time to watch a boy scale a bookshelf and stand up on top of it.
“I can fly!” the boy cried, and without thinking, Alan automatically moved to intercept him…just in case he actually couldn’t.
The boy launched himself from the shelf and Alan had to take three swift steps and a jump, dodging small, shrieking obstacles as he reached for the leaping child. He caught a leathery soccer ball in midair and twisted so that he didn’t fall on any of the children, barely saving his balance with a final swivel that had him standing upright, scared to move for fear of squashing someone small.
Several of the children applauded and one of them burst into tears.
“Gil,” Addison said reproachfully as she waddled up. “That’s an outdoor activity! We don’t climb the furniture. Fingers and feet, right now!”
The ball, which was actually a curled-up armadillo with a little flex left to its youthful armor, gave a mutter of protest, unrolled, and turned into a boy, limbs sticking out everywhere.
Alan carefully set him down.
“GREAT CATCH!” Gil exclaimed, grinning. “Can we do it AGAIN?”
“Gil,” Addison chided.
