Chapter 4: Foxes, Demons, and Playground Wars

Derek and I have been neighbors since childhood—childhood friends.

He grew up in the house next door, always sneaking over to borrow sugar or play video games in my basement. We were inseparable—at least, I thought we were.

I’m just an ordinary human, but he’s a fox shifter.

That meant secret doctor’s visits, weird herbal teas, and extra excuses to stay home during full moons. I was the only one who knew the real Derek, or so I thought.

In this world, all sorts of people and creatures live side by side.

Our town pretends it’s normal, but scratch the surface and everyone’s got an uncle who’s part-witch or a cousin with wolf ears. You learn to keep secrets, or you learn to be lonely.

But there’s always some prejudice against the non-human folks.

Even the cool teachers at Ashford High didn’t quite know how to deal with shifters or demons. The PTA meetings were legendary for side-eye and whispered gossip.

When we were kids, Derek was often picked on by the other kids.

I remember chasing the bullies off with a plastic baseball bat, yelling like a kid on a sugar rush. Derek’s tail puffed up, and I grinned, feeling ten feet tall.

And I always stood up for him, chasing off the bullies.

It got to be routine. I’d stomp my foot, shout something fierce, and Derek would hide behind me. I felt like his bodyguard, and I liked that feeling.

Then I’d pat his not-yet-grown fox ears and tell him he wasn’t a freak, that his ears were adorable.

His little ears would twitch, and he’d duck his head, blushing. I’d laugh and ruffle his hair, pretending not to notice how much it cheered him up.

So Derek started sticking to me, only wanting to play with me.

He’d trail after me like a shadow, always wanting to be on my team for every game. The other kids started calling us “the odd couple.” I didn’t care.

Until Marcus Grant showed up.

One summer, Marcus and his family moved in down the block. He was quiet, reserved, the kind of kid who never quite fit anywhere. The first time I saw him, he was reading on the curb, legs tucked up to his chest.

He first came over as a guest, and the grownups told him to play with me and Derek.

Our parents thought it was a great idea—three kids, one sandbox. What could go wrong?

A kid’s world is small, and Marcus was an outsider.

He wore these funny old-fashioned clothes, and his eyes were always darting around, watching everyone. Derek sized him up like a rival from day one.

Derek was openly hostile to him.

He’d block Marcus from joining games, or turn his back when Marcus spoke. Even as a kid, Derek could be possessive.

But I liked meeting new friends, so I reached out to Marcus and touched his cool little hand—

I was curious. I took his hand in mine, meaning to welcome him. I’ll never forget the way his skin felt—cold, almost electric. Marcus jerked back as if I’d burned him.

He suddenly blushed, breathing hard and pulling away.

His cheeks flushed red. He looked so stunned, his breath coming in quick little gasps. I didn’t understand what was happening, but it scared me a little.

The next second, I saw Marcus, who’d looked totally normal, suddenly sprout a pair of small sharp horns on his forehead, and a thin black tail grew out behind him.

The horns glistened under the porch light, small but unmistakable. The tail—black, sinuous, ending in a heart-shaped tip—twitched nervously.

That tail was nothing like a fox’s: smooth, hairless, with a heart-shaped tip.

It freaked me out. It was so different from Derek’s soft, fluffy tail. I took a step back, my heart pounding.

What even was that?

My mind raced. I’d never seen anything like it, not even in the monster picture books I’d read at bedtime.

I was startled, fell on my butt, and started bawling.

I burst into tears, more scared than I’d ever admit. My mom came running, scooping me up and giving Marcus a wary look. I clung to her, hiccuping.

I was that kid who wanted to hug anything fluffy. Scaly or slimy? Nope, not for me.

So I disliked Marcus, the half-demon.

From that day, I avoided him at recess and ignored his invitations to play. I was too embarrassed to tell him why.

But for some reason, he still came over almost every weekend.

He’d show up with a book under his arm, settling on the far end of the porch, eyes flicking to me now and then. He never complained—just waited.

Even if I didn’t want to play with him, he’d curl up in a corner and just sit there all day.

Sometimes, I’d catch him watching me and Derek, a quiet longing in his eyes. I felt bad, but never enough to invite him to join.

Later, as we grew up and boundaries formed, my dislike for him faded.

By middle school, I realized it was silly to judge someone by their horns or tail. Marcus became just another kid in our group, if a little more distant than the rest.

I could just about treat him like a regular friend.

We swapped homework answers, shared snacks at lunch, even traded notes about teachers we didn’t like. But it never felt as easy as it did with Derek.

But in my heart, Derek, my real childhood friend, always came first.

He was the one I called after bad dates or tough exams. He was my constant, my default.

But now, that’s all changed.