“MacKenzie Stewart, but my friends call me Mac. I just got my Associates Degree in Ag Business from SUNY Cobleskill. I’m a partner in my family’s dairy farm. I’m going to turn the whole thing organic. You should like that, being a bird and all … oh, gosh, we do raise chickens, though. We could go free-range if that would make it better … and I guess I could become a vegetarian …” his brow creased again, no doubt wondering if I was worth giving up Big Macs for, “… or maybe you don’t mind eating meat, you being a carnivorous bird.”

I looked at Mac’s eager face and sighed. Poor guy. He must not meet many girls who wanted to come live on the family farm. He seemed willing to do about anything for me. “Thank you, Mac. I’m flattered, but I’m sure you’ll find a nice human girl … as long as you stay out of these woods!” I added in my Lady-of-the-Lake voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, cowed at last. Ma’am? Would he have called Angelina Jolie ma’am? “But I wish there was something I could do to repay you for saving my life. Can I do some … heroic deed, or something?”

“Yes,” I said, shivering. “You can give me your shirt.”

I walked back toward home in Mac Stewart’s flannel shirt, which thankfully came down to my knees and only smelled a little of cheap cologne and man-sweat. I followed the stream back, keeping my eyes and ears open for Duncan, sorry I no longer had the vision and hearing of an owl. The woods felt darker and denser, as if the trees had moved a few inches closer to one another and were readying themselves to pounce on me. I called Duncan’s name, my voice sounding frail in comparison to the powerful hoot of the owl. I felt frail. As an owl I’d felt as if something had opened up inside of me, but I no longer felt that channel of power. Instead I felt depleted, weaker than ever. When I reached my backyard, though, I didn’t need any special powers to find Duncan Laird. He was sprawled out naked across my back steps, the gash on his chest black against his human flesh.

I let out a cry that could have been the hoot of an owl for her wounded mate and ran to him. His eyes were closed, but when I knelt beside him and touched his arm he stirred and moaned. His eyes flicked open, revealing a slit of glittering blue.

“Cal …” he managed, his voice sounding like the croak of a frog.

“What happened? What did this to you?” I touched the edge of the gash on his chest and he moaned. There were fainter scratches in his skin, which looked like they had been made with claws.

“An undine …” he said. “Not Lorelei … another … one …”