Page 66 of In Her Own Rite

Nothing.

I grit my teeth, the feeling of the run becoming more visceral again: the rasp of the cold air in my throat, the rhythm of my feet on the dirt path. Okay. Painting. I’m going to paint rhodoras. I’m going to paint my mug.

Nothing.

Frustration starts to roin in my gut. I don’t want to disappoint Seb; I want this training to work. So I try something different.

My dad, holding a knife to my mom in the kitchen. Pinning her down on the floor of the living room. Red; the scent of blood. Him standing outside of my closet door.

You can’t be mine, he said.Any child of mine wouldn’t be so weak.

I feel my wolf now, rising panicked in my chest. She’s scared.

Okay, I think, and I focus harder. His wolf, snarling, angry, barking at me to stay in my place.

I feel my own wolf just under the surface and I let myself give in to her. I don’t really know what’s happening; I just let my conscious brain fall away, and I let the feelings rolling through my body take over. I can feel her, so close to my skin that she’s almost me, that I’m almost her, and then suddenly I’m crashing forward, my body folding, everything cracking. It hurts and it feels good and then I’m close to the ground, the fabric of my clothes flying off of me.

“Good! Good, Em,” I hear Seb say, but I can’t stop running. She’s in control and the panic is all around me now. Her fear is mine, and it’s everywhere, and I feel like I’m sinking, drowning, dying, like I’ll never be safe again. I go faster and faster, and I can hear Seb’s uneven footsteps get farther away. I sense it in the air the moment he shifts, taking his wolf form so he can match my pace, but I don’t slow down. I run and run and run, until I find myself on the other side of the trees and I’m looking out at the rocks of the shore.

I stop, breathless. I’m drowning, I’m dying. He’s here, I can feel it. I can’t escape.

Seb’s wolf form comes up behind me, and he drops a bundle of clothing—his and mine, snapped off when we shifted—from his mouth onto the ground. He makes a gentle sound from the back of his throat, and his eyes are kind, but I don’t know what he wants from me. I’m so much smaller than him when I’m like this; smaller than any other wolf I know. How could I ever be safe if I let this part of myself take the lead? How could she ever protect me?

Seb must realize that I’m not going to be able to get myself out of this, so he shifts back into his human form and pulls his clothes from the bundle with mine on the sand, snapping the magnetic clasps until he’s covered up.

“Look at me, Em,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “You’re okay. He’s not here. You’re safe. You can take control of this.”

But I can’t. I yip and scratch, and as he reaches out to calm me, my claws catch on the back of his hand. He hisses in pain, and immediately I feel terrible.

“Em,” Seb says, grabbing his cut hand with the other. “Look at me.You can do this.Slow your breathing. Find the edge of your consciousness.”

I try, and somewhere inher, I findme. The conscious part of myself.

“Yes, good,” he says, picking up on some imperceptible change in my body language. “Give over to yourself. Take control.”

Control. Somewhere in the wolf, I clasp on to the edge of myself and I pull, letting my conscious brain rise. And suddenly my body is folding again, unfurling, and I’m me—the human me—sitting naked on the bank of sand.

“Ayagaayuni, Seb, I’m so sorry,” I say, scrambling in the sand for my clothes. I snap them onto me until I’m covered, and then I take his hand and look at the marks of my claws.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice is brusque.

I put my hand over his and close my eyes. In my mind’s eye I see the streaks of my claw marks, three dark gashes, and I find the energy in Seb. It’s frustrated, angry—angry atme, I realize—but it’s open enough to my presence that I can coax it, goading it around his wound, nudging it to bring the sides of the small gashes together.

After a minute, the gashes are gone from my mind, and I’m able to siphon out the sting of the wound. I open my eyes and see Seb is staring at me in some kind of mix of wonder and confusion.

“Does it still hurt?” I ask, looking down. His hand is back to normal. You can’t even tell what happened.

“When did you learn to do that?” he asks. “The last time you tried this on me back at thefikariga few months ago, you couldn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been practicing with Gabe,” I say. “And I feel like the training is helping, actually. I’m getting stronger. It’s easier to do.” It’s true, but I’m exhausted now—my body feels hollow with the energy it took to do this.

“That’s crazy, Em,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“But—” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is working. It’s not that you couldneverdo it, it’s just that you can’t do itnow. We don’t have enough time. And we spent so much time trying to get you to shift for the first time that we haven’t even started the real mental work of preparing for the rite.”

I shake my head. “No. You said three weeks.”

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