Shadow Wolf

By Julia Skinner

Genie smelled the roses before she could see the forest. The sweet, fragrant scent danced across the wind, weaving around her like it was welcoming her home. As if it were a friend, like it had been when she was little. But it wasn’t. Genie remembered what the roses had turned her grandmother into—what they wanted her to be.

A monster.

Morning’s new light dappled across the dew on the grass Genie waded through. She tucked her arms around herself. Eyeing every shadow, she stalked up the last hill. At the top, she froze. The forest stood like a wall, a cacophony of fluorescently perfumed mysteries twined around the boughs of the ancient pines. Home. She dug her too sharp nails into the palms of her hands, recalling the prick of the thorns.

Just looking at the forest from the outside, no one would have known that within was the most beautiful garden of red roses. A curse that had bound Genie’s family to the place for generations.

Ya are what ya choose to be, kid. Paul’s deep voice rattled through her mind. The woodcutter had found her huddled in a rank-smelling alley, lost and starving. He’d taken her in, teaching her a way of life far less cruel than her grandmother had taught. Two days ago, she’d woken to a note written in his ridged scrawl: Some men I owe have found me again, bad men. I’m goin’ to try the Forest, hopefully they’ll lose my trail there.

Live well, kid.  

Five months ago, she’d fled from the forest. It had been the day her grandmother died, and the curse had been bestowed on her. Now she had to go back; she had to save him.

As the forest loomed closer, the smell of the roses grew bitterly sweet, scenting the wind with the memory of a little girl who used to pick flowers without fear of becoming a monster.

A little girl who wanted to save people and make the world beautiful.

Genie froze as a shape materialized from the forest’s shadows. It was her. Genie’s grandmother stood looking just as she had those five terrifying months ago. Grey hair wisped around her shoulders, and the familiar jagged scar leered across her right eye.

I have to hide! Genie stumbled back, images of flashing fangs jolting through her mind. The smell of roses—now sickening—surrounded her, coating her tongue, clinging to her clothes.

Her grandmother tilted her head, smiling. Just as she had the afternoon she died. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was sharp and sly, like the shifting shadows that lived beneath the pines.

It was the smile that came every time Genie smelled roses.

She forced herself not to run. If she ran, Paul would die. But if you step across the border of that forest, you’ll become a monster, a small voice inside her whispered.

Shaking, Genie stalked forward.

Her dead grandmother hovered just to the side, watching her with a knowing smile. “You are mine,” those eyes said.

Cursed.

The sweet wind swirled around her, almost whimsically, as if even it wanted to see her become a monster. “You know who you are,” her grandmother had told her the day she died. “Genie Wolfe. Shadow of the forest. Cursed monster of this realm.”

No, Genie thought. She didn’t have to end up the monster her grandmother had been, killing anyone who dared set foot in her forest. The curse could end with her, couldn’t it?

She paused at the border between light and darkness. Something itched at her… a smell that shouldn’t be there. Beneath the scent of roses, there was the rank wisp of dirty clothes and sharpened steel.

Bandits.

In her domain.

Something feral squeezed against her chest. A fury. The smell reminded her of the alley she had lived in before the woodcutter found her. Genie bared her teeth. They were going to kill Paul, just like her grandmother would have.

“Just like you will,” Grandmother’s voice hissed, scraping against her mind like the snarl of a rabid dog.

“No, I won’t,” Genie growled back, breathing in the trespassers’ rank tempest, so unlike the scent of the roses. The smell burned in the back of her throat, far worse than the roses had ever been.

I have to save him. 

The shadows snagged at her heels like her own personal pack of wolves, mirroring her every movement as she turned toward Grandmother’s hovering form. Fluorescent sweetness filled her, an enraging contrast to the scent of the outsiders.

“You are a monster,” Grandmother said. “That’s all you’ve ever been, all you ever will be.”

Ya are what ya choose to be, kid.

Genie studied her grandmother. Same green eyes. Same wild hair, red smock, and sly grin.

I don’t have to be a monster.

“I am my choices,” she whispered. A weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying lifted from her shoulders. “And I choose to be the keeper of the roses, light of the forest. A protector. Not a monster.”

Genie breathed in, letting the sweet fragrance fill her. Then she stepped over the border and into the dark. She stumbled through the shadows, gagging as the smell of roses billowed around her, far more wild and potent than before. Squeezing her eyes closed, she finally let the cursed perfume morph her into the form of a giant wolf with red fur and sharp white fangs.

The terror of the forest.

Monster.

Protector.

Somehow, it felt right. Silently, she padded forward, narrowing her eyes at the garden just ahead. Below the canopy of pine limbs and leaves, the roses twined together, vining across the ground and up the gnarled trunks. Scarlet petals were scattered on the dark earth, like drops of blood.

Trespasser blood.

Past the smell of roses, the stark, bitter scent of the bandits surrounding their victim stung her nostrils. But they wouldn’t touch him. Not in her woods.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julia Skinner is a seventeen year old writer, blogger, and ice cream enthusiast. When she’s not working on one of her (many) Sci-Fi Fantasy novels, she can be found playing video games, happy-ranting about one of Brandon Sanderson’s books, or wondering just how many germs are on the door handle. Julia strives to bring glory to her Savior, Jesus Christ, and if any good comes from her journey, it’s because of Him.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Instagram | Twitter