Streamfield Shifters: Red Rover

Chapter One

God, I'm bored.

Sighing, I checked the home screen on my phone: 4:30pm. Only one more hour to go until I was able to lock the front doors.

Summer was the busy season for the family business, Michaels Customs; everyone wanted a new shed, a gazebo, or a custom chicken coop for their backyard. The saws in the workshop ran from dawn til dusk, intercut with the drone of planers and the steady thwacking of nail guns. Long flatbed trucks rumbled down the gravel drive, carrying a new shipment of wood or delivering completed orders to their final destinations. And the door to our showroom/front office was continuously swinging as customers entered or exited.

However, today was unusually dull.

It was on days like these that my thoughts wandered into the past, when I was in constant motion and every moment was a complete surprise. I found myself missing that time with an ache in my soul that did not diminish as time marched on.

I wonder what's going on in Summer ...

A cheerful chime echoed through the showroom as the front door opened, knocking me out of those thoughts. Immediately, I sat up and scooted the chair towards the desk, smoothing all lines of boredom from my face.

Time to be a professional.

"Welcome to Michaels Customs," I greeted the family of four, "how may I help you?" A strand of wavy black hair detached itself from my ponytail and I automatically pushed it behind my ear.

The father, a man in his mid-thirties, stepped up to the desk. "We have an appointment."

I rolled a few inches to the right to consult my open appointment book. "Name?"

"Noble."

4:30: Noble: Consultation on custom deck installation. Uncle Joe.

"Ah, yes, Mr Noble. Why don't you and your family have a seat and I will call your consultant." Smiling up at the customer, I gestured to the ring of couches and chairs that made up our waiting area. The wife dutifully herded their two young kids in that direction, but the husband remained, hovering over the desk while I called Uncle Joe.

"Yes?" I asked, placing the receiver in its cradle and cocking my head to the side.

"Are you all shapeshifters?" Mr Noble asked, pointing directly at my collarbone.

I'd chosen to wear a sleeveless blue and white patterned shirt with a wide scoop neck that put my snow leopard rosettes on full display. The black tattoo-like markings started at my collarbone and flowed up and over my left shoulder, ending at the base of my shoulder blade. These symbols appeared after our first shift and indicated the animal we changed into. They could manifest as spots, stripes, or paw prints and were typically found on a small portion of our upper body, but could also be on the lower back or even the legs.

"Most of us," I told him with a mild shrug. During a typical work-week, I answered such questions at least once a day.

"Huh," Mr Noble grunted.

I stared at him, waiting for the inevitable: Why are your eyes purple?

Instead, Mr Noble asked, "You're one of the girls who found all of those missing people, right?"

I nudged myself back and forth with one toe. I was twenty-three, hardly a girl, but there was no need to quibble over semantics. "Yes, that was me and my cousin, Rachael."

Mr Noble glanced back at his wife and kids. "My daughter was in Jimmy's class. They were devastated when he went missing. What you girls did was very brave."