Shifter's Dance by Vanessa North

Chapter One
    She stood with one hand on the railing, listening to
the music pouring through her earbuds and counting steps she’d
never take. Her brain catalogued the beats and her feet twitched,
but she didn’t move; instead, she stood still and let the mist
tickle her burning eyes as they approached an island she couldn’t
see.
    Romy Lewis, former principal ballerina for Ballet
Americana, was blind.
    When the ferry docked, she felt the vibrations, the
movements of the other passengers. She reached for her earbuds,
tucking them and her ever-present iPod into her coat pocket. One
hand groped for her rolling suitcase, the other for the cane she
was still learning to use. When she dropped her hand from the
railing, she was adrift. She let the other passengers go first, not
wanting to be in the way. When the ferry stopped shaking, she took
a deep breath and tapped her cane on the floor in front of her.
    “Let me help you, Romy.” A male voice spoke from
somewhere over her head, a hand gripping her elbow, another taking
her suitcase. “I’m Cemil.”
    “Thank you, Cemil.” She tapped awkwardly again. “I
haven’t been blind long enough to be good at this.” She took a
hesitant step.
    “I’m sure practice will make perfect.” His voice was
soothing, reassuring, as if he sensed her embarrassment and wanted
to put her at ease. “We’re going to take three steps to your left.”
He directed her, guiding her with the hand on her elbow. “Now sweep
your cane forward, feel that? That’s where the steps lead to the
dock. I’ll carry your suitcase down and come back for you.”
    Her nose stung; if her tear ducts still worked,
they’d be generating some liquid right about now. She’d been
smothered under pity for the last eight weeks, but this stranger
was offering her kindness without pity and her brain didn’t quite
know how to process it.
    “I’m on the steps now, Romy. Take a step forward and
reach for my hand.” Cemil called to her. She smiled as she realized
he trusted her to walk forward on her own, and that little bit of
trust was enough to propel her forward. One hesitant step, then
another, and a warm, firm hand grasped hers.
    “Three steps down, and you’ll be on the dock.” He
guided her down the steps and with another tentative tap she felt
wood beneath her feet.
    “Welcome to Wiccan Haus, Romy Lewis.” He squeezed
her hand.
    “What does it look like?” she asked as he led her
toward the Haus, still holding her hand. She tapped absently with
the cane, but she wasn’t really relying on it—she trusted Cemil.
His description of a half-timbered house with red shingles reminded
her of the European tour the company had taken last year, and the
sight-seeing she’d done in Bavaria. Sight-seeing. Something she’d
never do again. Romy could travel all she wanted, but she’d be
limited to her other senses and the lesser awe they provided. She
pushed away at the sense of loss, tried to stifle it. Wishing for
what she couldn’t have was a weakness she couldn’t afford now that
she was blind.
    “Don’t be afraid to mourn the loss of your
eyesight.” His voice was as gentle as it was chiding. “It doesn’t
make you weak.”
    Before she could snark on his uncanny observation,
she felt the rush of air that meant a door was opening, and Cemil
ushered her inside the building.
    “Is this the Lewis girl?” She heard a rough, growly
voice a few feet away. She didn’t think she was supposed to hear
it, but since she was blinded, her other senses seemed to be
working overtime to compensate.
    “Yes, Rekkus. And she’s the last one in; we’re a
full house now,” Cemil answered the other man, who seemed to say
something affirmative before brushing past her.
    “I’m Myron.” A female voice to her right called out,
distracting her from the masculine scent and sound that had just
brushed past. This was Romy’s first time meeting strangers since
she’d left the hospital. Awkwardly, wondering what the