Shifting by Bethany Wiggins

Author:Bethany Wiggins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Walker Books

20

I fell back against my seat and closed my eyes, fighting the churning in my gut. Danni Williams almost died?

“Your work clothes got ruined, didn’t they?”

I blinked twice, trying to make sense of Bridger’s words.

“Maggie? Your work clothes? Are they ruined?” he asked as if he hadn’t just told me Danni might die.

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

“Yep. Do you have anything to wear to work?”

I groaned. “Not until I go to Wal-Mart. Stupid wolves shredded every piece of clothing I owned.” Right down to my last pair of threadbare panties.

“You need to buy more, right?”

I looked at Bridger. “Right now? It’s freaking two in the morning. There aren’t any open stores,” I snapped. I might as well have drunk five cups of coffee, I was so wired.

We drove to Swan Street and stopped at the gates barring entrance to the brightly lit O’Connell mansion. Bridger pushed his garage door opener thingy, and the gates parted.

“I want you to promise me something,” he said as we drove down the long tree-lined drive.

An alarm went off in my head. I folded my arms and studied his profile. “Tell me what it is and then I’ll let you know if I can promise.”

“I’m going to offer you something, but promise me you won’t get mad.” He glanced at me.

“Sorry. No promise until you tell me what I’m getting myself into.”

He exhaled loudly and shrugged. “You have major trust issues. Never mind!”

We got out of the SUV and I followed him to the front porch. He punched numbers into the keypad on his front door and opened it. “You’re invited in,” he whispered, and pressed a finger to his lips for silence. We stepped inside a well-lit room.

I don’t know what I expected to find inside, but it was definitely not what I saw.

The mansion felt eerily dead and was so quiet I had no doubt I’d be able to hear a pin drop across the giant room I stood in. A massive fireplace was at the far end of the room, framed in stone that reached to the top of the two-story ceiling. Elegant sofas and tables were centered in front of the fireplace. Stone sculptures of animals and birds, and cases filled with ancient Navajo beadwork and weaving lined one wall. Cases filled with guns lined another. Warm light from lamps with bases made of deer antlers flooded the room, highlighting giant framed paintings of open fields and mountain valleys.

Bridger led me to a flight of stairs, dark and wide. He turned on a light and pressed a finger to his lips for more silence, and I followed him up to a spacious hallway lined with shut doors and ancient-looking portraits.

“Who are these people?” I whispered, studying each painting as we walked past.

“My grandparents and great-grandparents. This woman here—” He pointed to a young woman with black eyes and mocha skin, wearing beads and feathers in her slick dark hair. “She’s my great-grandmother. She was Navajo. She married this man here.” The man in the picture had pale skin, red hair, and green eyes.

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