The Sound and the Furry Read online

  When I was finished with the Hunt and changed back to my human form, I’d feel a gratitude for my dual nature. That’s what Weres experienced. However, I suspected that the days of feeling free and uninhibited were behind me. Not only was I different — a secret I’d been hiding all my life — but I’d taken steps to make it official. Sooner or later the news of the lottery would travel through the clan and everyone would know I was Pranic.

  Until that day came I’d have to be cautious. After I was outed, in a manner of speaking, I might be banished from my clan. Unless a miracle occurred, something like my father knowing and still appointing me to the Were Council.

  Something didn’t feel right. I felt an uneasiness apart from my new dislike of the dark. I hesitated and took a deep sniff of the air, smelling things that I couldn’t in my human form. Moss, fungus at the base of the trees, decaying leaves, the scat of various animals. Another smell that my nose immediately identified: another wolf.

  I moved behind a tree and sat on my haunches, then curled to a position on the ground, thinking.

  I didn’t want to encounter another wolf right now. In my wolf form, introductions were casual and non confrontational. We’d sniff each other from a respectable distance — no derrieres involved — and then leave each other alone. I didn’t even want that much contact.

  The fact was that male Weres were affected by the Hunt in a physical way. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to ask someone if it hurt, all that erect male equipment bobbing up and down as they ran. I’d never known who to ask. I couldn’t ask my father. I’d hinted at the question to my mother, but she’d turned bright red and excused herself from the room. My sister Sandy was too much like my mother. She would’ve curled up in embarrassment if I’d broached the subject with her.

  I didn’t want to meet a male Were in that state. He might want to continue the association when the Hunt was done and I didn’t. Failing that, he might follow me and want to be “friends” as humans. I wasn’t interested in that, either.

  The chances of it being a lone female were pretty slim. It was a cultural thing. Females were encouraged never to run alone, which meant that I’d taken a chance going on a Hunt by myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d broken the rules. Nor would it be the last.

  I sat there for a while, listening, smelling the air, watching the trees as if afraid they were coming to life. Or hiding something from my sight. I’d never been this hypervigilant before.

  The night was gray and black, colored by the bluish moonlight. It must be nearly eleven by now, near the witching hour when even the breeze slowed and slept. I wanted to get home before dawn which wasn’t all that unusual for those of us with jobs in the civilian world. If we didn’t cut our moonlit roaming down to something manageable and get some sleep, we’d be wrecks the next day. Otherwise, we’d have to ask for the day off after every full moon.

  That wouldn’t be a clue or anything.

  I couldn’t smell the wolf any more so I got to my four legs, looking for a way out of the trees. It took me a few minutes, but I finally came to a clearing, a rounded knoll of earth, bare but for the remains of a bonfire in the center. The woods were on three sides, an incline down to the river on the fourth. I wondered if the area was a ceremonial site, a favorite of covens. Or was it used by a bunch of horny teenagers?

  I was thinking teenagers, frankly.

  Something burst into the clearing fast, heading right for me.

  It embarrasses me to admit this, but I think I screamed. Not a girly scream and not a full throated I’m-in-the-basement-with-a-serial-killer scream either. It was more of a surprised grunt, if a little high-pitched. I don't like being startled.

  I got an impression of something that didn't make any sense. Ram’s horns were on either side of a massive goat’s head. Darkened lips looked swollen and almost black in the moonlight. His eyes bulged, red and angry. The rest of him was Were. He rose up on his back legs, as big as Craig in his lupine form.

  I haven't been physically afraid very often in my life. After all, I was a female Were who stood nearly six feet tall. I wasn’t easily overpowered and, after getting the transfusion, my strength was the equal of any alpha male.

  The air shimmered again and the image disappeared. I was back to facing only a Were.

  But I didn't like the feeling I was getting from this guy. He was advancing on me, his male appendage erect and quivering.

  Oh goody.

  The etiquette of the Hunt – and trust me there's enough etiquette around a Were’s life that Amy Vanderbilt would feel right at home – was to only get friendly with the one that brung you. You didn’t go off and mate with the first hairy thing you found, be it coyote, or a human who made the bad choice of wandering in the woods on a full moon.

  The second rule a young Were learned — after the importance of secrecy — was “Thou shalt not fool around with anything but a Were.” It came down to protecting the clan and the species. If you disobeyed, not only were you socially isolated, but the Council called you in for a meeting of the scary kind. It didn’t matter if the male or female was your long-lost soulmate. You could be banished from the clan for engaging in interspecies canoodling.

  To be banished was the worst thing that could happen to a Furry.

  The Were I was facing didn’t look as if he gave a flying flip about that. He was advancing on me and I hadn’t made one come hither gesture to him. Instead, I was backing away.

  Aggressive behavior toward a female was another no no in our culture. A Were who couldn’t master his baser impulses was a danger to his family and the community. I was beginning to think that this wolf was a definite danger.

  I kept backing up. He kept advancing. It didn’t take a genius to interpret his wolfy leer.

  I wondered if I could make it through the trees and back up the hill to the hotel without him catching me. I would have to pick an area I didn’t know (stupid, stupid, stupid), and I’d also been determined to come alone (stupid, stupid, stupid). He probably knew the area as well as every shortcut, path, and tree.

  Besides, there was nothing faster than a male Were as a wolf. I could never catch up with Craig when he was running full out. I had the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to outrun this Were, either.

  He grinned, his mouthful of teeth glinting in the moonlight.

  The air shimmered again and the hallucination was back. Ram’s horns, glittery eyes, swollen lips and rotting teeth.

  Despite my adventures of a few months ago, I knew that Weres did not turn into any other life form. I didn't know what I was seeing, but my mind refused to accept it, even as some deeply embedded part of me – my limbic system? – urged me to run like hell.

  I was surrounded by trees on three sides. The river was at my back, only about ten feet away. Weres could swim well, too, so that was out. I could head for the trees, but the woods were thick and I wouldn’t be able to outrun him. I might not be faster, but I doubted he was stronger, not with me being a Pranic Furry. It looked like I was going to get an opportunity to test my strength.

  He raised his head and howled at the moon. It wasn't the normal howl I was accustomed to hearing. Not the sound Weres make when they’re glad to be alive, feeling strength and power rushing through their bodies. Instead it sounded like I’m-dominant-hear-me-roar, a male chauvinist oink oink Were howl.

  There was no doubt about it. I had a fight on my hands.

  While he was still howling I lowered my head and rushed him, head butting him in the groin. His howl changed to a surprised yelp.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist like a hairy boa constrictor, squeezing until it was painful. I let myself sag a little, my head still against his genitals. He grunted at me, but his hold eased.

  I changed in that instant, faster than I’d ever transformed. One instant I was wolf, the next I was pissed off female Were. If my ears hurt, I couldn’t tell, since rage and fear swept through me in a tsunami of emotion.

  I pulled away fr
om his grip, reached down with both hands and grabbed him by his furry ankles. Stepping back, I toppled him, all six feet and something. As he crashed to earth the expression on his face was pure astonishment.

  His front paws reached out for me, claws razor sharp and deadly. I backed up, my hands still tight around his ankles.

  I took one step backward, bracing my legs and making sure my feet were dug into the soft earth on the mound. Slowly I began to move, gaining speed gradually. The wolf was a thousand times heavier than the leather sling I’d used as a kid, but the physics principle was the same. He was an object moving in a circle and thanks to me, accelerating.

  The strain on my back and shoulders was a hint that this was going to hurt in the morning.

  He was a few feet off the ground now, almost as high as my waist, his length — with his hands outstretched, desperate to grab hold of anything to stop his momentum — taking up all the space in the clearing. He was still making a half offended, half startled grunting sound, as if he couldn’t believe that I, a mere female, was twirling him in a circle.

  Only a few more rotations and I’d get to the speed I needed.

  I finally released him, the splash a few seconds later proof enough that I’d aimed correctly. Mr. I-am-wolf-hear-me-roar had landed in the middle of the river. I hadn’t wanted to toss him into the trees where he might have been severely injured. I just wanted to neutralize him, not kill the guy.

  I rolled my shoulders. I was definitely going to hurt in the morning.

  He wasn't grunting anymore, but he was making weird sounds, almost as if he were trying to talk in his wolf shape. Or maybe he was shaking his fist at me and vowing revenge. I didn’t turn around and look.

  I scampered back to where I’d changed, dressed in the bathrobe, and took the uphill journey to the hotel. If I’d been really smart, I would have packed myself a carryall like Mom always did and stashed it somewhere safe. That way, I’d have clothes, money, and keys. Right now, the only way I had of getting home was to get myself to the room I'd rented, grab my car keys, and make myself scarce.

  Unfortunately, I had to encounter other people on the way, people who were in the process of finding a changing location. The night was still young and they looked at me oddly since I was going in the wrong direction.

  A few of them didn’t look right to me. The air was shimmering again and I thought I might be experiencing some severe neurological effects of my change, something that had never happened before the transfusion.

  The first woman I saw looked almost angelic to me, complete with a halo over her head. She stopped in the middle of the path, turned to me, stretched out her hand, and touched me on the arm.

  "Oh my dear, you look very distressed. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

  Her companion, so closely resembling her that she must be a daughter, didn't have the same angelic appearance. I saw nothing but green light around her. Kind of like the Jolly Green Giant in female form.

  "Come on, Mother. You can't adopt the world. Let's go.”

  She grabbed her mother’s arm and pulled her down the path and the air shimmered again as I watched them. They returned to normal and I made my way back to my room, deliberately not looking at anyone as I did.

  Chapter Three

  I was the Keeper of the Kibble

  After I finished dressing I did the checkout bit and beat a hasty retreat toward San Antonio. On the way back, via IH-10, my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt. But when I wasn’t holding onto something, both hands shook so bad I looked like I was suffering from some sort of palsy.

  Note to self: for the love of all that’s holy, don’t go on a Hunt by yourself again.

  Second note to self: have a little sense, Torrance. If you must go by yourself, at least don’t go on a Hunt in a strange place.

  Third note: ask my father if any reports of rape had occurred after the last full moon. I’d never heard of any, but that didn’t mean anything. The older I got the more I realized that we were all living in a bubble with information spoon fed to us. I was one of the lucky ones. By being appointed to the Council I knew stuff that most Weres didn’t.

  It began to drizzle, the droplets getting bigger as I headed east into San Antonio.

  I swear, I didn’t know what the problem was with rain and San Antonio drivers. It was like the rain activated a secret signal in the minds of half the population. They decided to speed on overpasses made slick by the combination of rain and motor oil. Or they wanted to ride in your trunk. Whatever it was, it resulted in hundreds of accidents during every downpour. Tonight looked to be no exception. Despite being after midnight, traffic was abysmal, further slowed by two accidents on the way home. A good thing we didn’t get rain like Seattle.

  I kept checking the rear view mirror as if I expected something to rise up from the back seat. Way to creep yourself out, Torrance. All I saw were the reflections of dozens of car headlights and my own face.

  My eyes were a plain old blue. My hair was black and my complexion was now as pale as a vampire’s. I looked like I’d just gotten the scare of my life, which was the truth.

  I wished I could magically teleport myself home. What good was being Pranic if I couldn’t do some of the things Mark could do? I was strong, but that was about it. I couldn’t read minds and I couldn’t levitate objects.

  Oh, but after tonight, I could have hallucinations.

  I’d heard the words undifferentiated side effects during the consultations before I’d been given before the transfusion. In other words, I might grow an extra ear, or a big toe on my forehead. I’d been willing to take that chance, but I hadn’t counted on hallucinations.

  I tried to remember if anyone had said: you’re going to see some weird stuff, Torrance and it will blow your mind. Nope, I’d missed that part of the lecture.

  Finally, I made the turnoff to my house.

  I liked living at Graystone because it connected me to my grandmother. She’d been my closest friend and the one person on earth who understood me.

  “It’s because you two are so much alike,” my father said to me once. I’d been going through one of my rebellious stages and hadn’t wanted to hear anything he had to say.

  I haven’t asked him what he meant even years later. I didn’t want to get a lecture on respecting my elders, or worse, hear his complaints about his mother. He’d never spoken much about her and that was a dead giveaway. I knew when to let sleeping wolves lie.

  When my grandmother died, I’d been surprised to learn that I’d inherited her fortune along with Graystone. I think my father expected me, like a good little female Were, to turn over my inheritance for him to manage. I didn’t. Instead, I used it to finance my education, including vet school.

  I’d lived among civilians for so long that I could sometimes forget I was Were. After a while, though, I got homesick. I missed being around my family. Even more, I missed feeling safe. Trying to pretend you’re something you’re not a hundred percent of the time was tiring.

  Still, being away for so long made me more independent than most female Weres. I didn’t even try to blend in now. My fellow Weres were going to have to take me as I was, warts and all. Or Pranic blood and all.

  I didn't use the circular approach to the house at night, but took the service road to the rear, the same one Simon and Wilson used every day. Simon was the caretaker who made sure everything worked and Wilson was the gardener who ensured Graystone wasn't overcome by nature itself.

  Neither man lived at Graystone.

  Wilson had his own up-and-coming landscape company and was getting a reputation for being creative, businesslike, and responsible. He showed up when he said he would and did what I asked. From my limited experience with gardening people, that was a rare combination.

  Simon was a genius at doing just about everything. He’d been the manager of a large home improvement store but had tired of the corporate life. He’d started part-time last year and still took other odd
jobs from time to time, but only for established clients. Otherwise, he worked for me full time. Graystone needed the attention. I was determined to get it back to its original glory and maybe more with my plans for a rose garden, greenhouse, and maybe a pool in the back lawn.

  Picture Notre Dame in Paris, without the stained-glass window and the buttresses, and you’d have a good approximation of Graystone. Add in broad front steps, iron studded oak double doors at the top, and statues perched along the roof edge.

  The main approach to the house was through a mini forest that grew wilder every year and had to be constantly pruned. In front of the house was a wide circle planted to look like a sunflower with yellow and brown flowers. Since it was July, everything looked a little heat faded, but tonight’s storm would perk them up. We didn’t experience autumn temperatures in South Texas until around December and that only lasted a week or so.

  I loved Graystone, had always loved the house. It never failed to spark a memory of my grandmother in me. Most of my memories were tinged with joy or laughter. Even those serious time were important. I respected and admired my grandmother and had wanted to be just like her.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if she would have entered the lottery. If she’d won would she have gone along with the transfusion? I thought she might have. She, too, was a rebel.

  Graystone was as much an embodiment of her personality as a paean to the Celtic Clan. My grandfather had documented the clan’s warrior history in two rooms. The Clan Hall was wallpapered in a tartan of red, green, and gold weave, evidently something tied to our heritage. Battle flags and pennants were encased behind glass shadow boxes and one particularly gruesome display held a laird’s tattered and bloodstained shirt. Another room, called the Armory, housed a collection of authentic medieval Scottish weapons.