The Lottery--Furry Read online

  To my surprise, he did neither. Instead, he said, “Something’s wrong with your sister.”

  I blinked a few times, staring at the far wall. On it was an oil painting of the Riverwalk a friend of mine had painted. I loved the vibrant colors in it. It was too large for the space, but I could concentrate on it and not the claustrophobic dimensions of my office.

  “Is she sick?” I asked, trying not to panic.

  On the whole, Weres were very healthy. Oh, we got skin conditions once in awhile that were similar to mange and we might get ingrown hairs from time to time, but otherwise we’re a strong species.

  “There’s something wrong with her.”

  I bit back my impatience. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “She’s crying all the time. She won’t talk to your mother about it. She refuses to talk to me.”

  Sandy never cries. She has a wonderful sense of humor and most of the time she’s a very even keel person. She doesn’t get upset. She doesn’t get overemotional, like me. She doesn’t scream for her favorite team. She’s not down in the dumps if they lose. She was, if I compared my sister to ice cream, more vanilla than chocolate.

  But she never, ever cries.

  “Talk to her,” he said.

  “If she won’t talk to Mom, what makes you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “You’re her sister. Find out what the problem is.”

  To the best of my knowledge this was the first time my father had ever come to me for help. Saying I was dumbstruck was an understatement.

  “Okay,” I said. Brilliant repartee, right? But I couldn’t, for the life of me, come up with anything else.

  “Have you heard of something odd happening in the community lately?" I asked, segueing into my problem.

  "What do you mean odd, Torrance?”

  "Different. Weird.”

  Which was kind of strange when you stopped to think about it. What was weirder than an entire community of people turning into four legged creatures every month?

  “Nothing out of the ordinary," he said.

  I could have sworn I heard a note of humor in his voice, but that would have been unlike my father, so I dismissed it.

  “Any inter-mating?"

  Inter-mating was forbidden. A Were could not mate with a human. Doing so meant receiving punishing sanctions, the worst of which was banishment. It wasn’t just the purity of the bloodline that was at stake but the very existence of Weres. Maybe, when people finally knew we walked among them, the Council would change its mind and allow inter-mating or even marriage. I didn’t think it would happen, however, not with my father in charge of the Council.

  “Of course not,” he said, sounding offended.

  "I overheard something at the clinic," I said. "Something about a Were turning into a dog.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said. "Whoever said that was trying to get you to identify yourself.”

  "Possibly," I said.

  I knew the rule. You never identified yourself as a Were to anyone. It’s not a rule written down anywhere. You don’t jump into the ocean if you can’t swim. That’s not a rule written down anywhere, either.

  "I thought as much," I said, which was the verbal equivalent of bowing my head in front of my father. Beta Furry.

  "Next time you hear something like that, call me right away. If it's someone I know, I’ll set them straight. If not, I’ll advise you to avoid their presence.”

  My father would like to dictate and micromanage every minute of my life. I never gave him the opportunity.

  “Of course," I said, knowing that I would do no such thing. I wondered if he knew I was lying. I’d never know. We both played our parts in this game well.

  "I'll go and see Sandy today,” I said.

  She spent her afternoons having tea with my mother and several of her friends. They discussed things like recipes and floor wax like 50s housewives. It drove me nuts.

  “Do that,” he said. “I have to go to Houston. Call me after you’ve met with her.”

  Houston meant one of his other families was calling.

  I said goodbye, tucking my phone back into my pocket.

  I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a cup of coffee and drank it leaning against the counter next to the microwave.

  “Can you imagine never having to be a vampire again?” Alice was asking.

  She was talking to Bill, one of the other vets. Bill was about forty with a graying beard cut short so that he looked like he’d forgotten to shave for a few days. He was tall, skinny, and hated white food, a fact he reiterated constantly. White bread, cauliflower, white cheese, even popcorn were on his hit list.

  I didn’t say anything, just listened, but I did that a lot. As the youngest and the least experienced vet I didn’t have a lot to contribute to any of the discussions. This one didn’t look to be any different.

  I knew there were vampires, just like I knew there was a contingent of Germans who lived in Fredericksburg. That’s exactly how I thought of them: a group of people who were alike who congregated together. Not unlike Weres in a very real sense.

  Weres rarely killed, even in our furry form. Oh, a rabbit or two might be eaten by someone who couldn’t wait to feast after they changed, but that was it. Vampires went after blood and human blood at that. For that reason, Weres had always treated them with a great deal of caution.

  In the last twenty years, according to what I’d overheard, tensions between the two groups had grown. Vampires were a little miffed that Weres were still in the closet, so to speak, and were making noises that we should be outed. That day was coming, another comment my father had made. Beyond that, I didn’t know squat. Me, female. You, keeper of all wisdom.

  “Or even better, the ability to be a super vampire?” Bill asked.

  I kept quiet, sipping my coffee, but my ears perked up. I have very good hearing, and an even greater sense of smell. That made visiting the outdoor runs a little difficult sometimes, especially if our interns hadn’t been diligent about cleaning.

  “Why don’t they have more winners? Just one a year doesn’t seem very fair.”

  “I guess they want to monitor the results. Evidently, the process isn’t easy. Maybe they want to make sure they don’t kill anybody.”

  I knew what they were talking about. The Pranic Lottery. I didn’t volunteer the information that I’d entered.

  I’d filled out the entry form on a bad day. I’d just come from lunch with my father. The meeting had, ostensibly, been a peace offering on his part. I expected to hear: welcome back to San Antonio, glad you’re home, hope to see more of you. Instead, he’d spent the entire hour explaining my faults to me. I wasn’t as graceful or as lovely as Sandy — nor as demure. I didn’t possess my mother’s poise or understanding. Instead, I was like a millstone grinding against the foundations of his life. I challenged everything. I was an irritant.

  In other words, who the hell did I think I was?

  I stomped out of the restaurant, got into my car and sat there nearly bending the steering wheel in my rage. I heard something about the lottery on the radio. Once home, I got online and did some research.

  The lottery was sponsored by the FTFA, but there was no explanation of the initials. The founding member was Marcie Montgomery Travis, the wife of the heir to the Cluckey Fried Chicken fortune. Evidently, the FTFA had access to special blood. Most of the rest of the information I read was about vampires which was disappointing. I was clicking off the website when something caught my eye.

  The Pranic Lottery is open to other species who wish to mitigate their condition.

  Did I wish to mitigate my condition?

  I didn’t want to be a Furry, did that count?

  The odds of winning were greater than winning the Powerball and I didn’t have any problem buying a two dollar ticket for that. But this was a little more dangerous than the Powerball. Even though they promised confidentiality, in order to enter the lottery I would have to complete a four page ap
plication and, in the process, tell them what I was. I’d never voluntarily declared to a human being that I was a Were, albeit a reluctant one.

  There was every possibility that the lottery was a secret way of ferreting out those paranormal beings who’d not yet come forward.

  Still, I’d been tempted. Even though my chances of winning were astronomical, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to not have to take Waxinine every month and worry about the cumulative side effects of the drug. Or not have to shave my legs and underarms every day. I wouldn’t get those bothersome hormonal surges when the moon was full.

  Life might be normal, something I craved and would probably never experience.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I finished the application and hit send.

  “Yeah, but they’re vampires,” Bill was saying now. “Can they even die?”

  “The lottery is open to any kind of paranormal species, not just vampires.”

  “When do they announce this year’s winner?” I asked.

  They both turned and looked at me. I wanted to instantly apologize for barging in, but then the lessons of a lifetime kicked in and I realized that I was being judged just like an alpha male would size up a rival.

  I smiled, took a sip of my coffee, straightened my shoulders, and didn’t avert my gaze.

  “Tomorrow,” Alice finally said.

  “I think it would be great not to be tied to your paranormal roots,” Bill said. “Even humans enter for a chance to be more than just human.”

  More than just human? I guess most humans didn’t have any clue what a pain in the ass that was.

  Chapter Three

  I've been fighting my fate ever since

  Alice gave me the stink eye as I paid Joey’s bill and explained to Betty that I was taking off for a few hours but that I’d be back later.

  I gave her a bright smile and left the clinic by the employee entrance.

  What Alice didn’t know was that her disapproval didn’t bother me. I had already battled my entire clan in a manner of speaking. I was different from other Were females. I got looks. People whispered as I walked by. I was, in some circles, Furry non grata.

  I had a career, first of all.

  A single Were female could have a career, but once she married the notion was that she didn’t work outside the home. Her only concentration should be on her husband and her children.

  I hated when people threw the word “should” around.

  A female Were had only one real job: to produce children. My mother had done that three times. Granted, we were spaced out over twenty years, but that didn’t matter. She’d performed.

  Another reason I was “odd” was because of my paternal grandmother.

  Female Weres could inherit property and money, but rarely from female relatives. The reason? A reluctance by the female to go against our culture’s norms. Normally, everything was inherited by the husband. If he predeceased his wife, then it went to the first male relative.

  My grandmother was Sonia Demetriou, a member of one of the five families — from Greece — who went against her husband’s wishes, took a large portion of her shipping fortune inheritance and set it aside for me. Evidently, she recognized in me the seeds of rebellion similar to her own. I became a card carrying, dues paying insurgent early on. I loved Sonia fiercely and quoted her all the time, a fact that annoyed my father no end.

  What he didn’t realize was that it wasn’t Sonia’s influence as much as what happened when I was born. The subservient gene fell on the floor and the doctor accidentally stepped on it. Oops.

  Ever since I turned ten I have, as my mother described it, stubbornly refused to take my rightful place among the ranks of the women. We females mature early. If a girl hasn’t had her cycle by eleven, she was hauled off to the nearest wise woman and examined. But at ten I was a “woman” and something clicked in my non-subservient body. Why did I have to wait until my father and brother ate before I could? Why did I have to be careful not to walk with the males in my family, but follow them instead?

  I’ve been fighting my fate ever since.

  My grandfather died before I was born, so I’d only known my grandmother as a widow, one who cheerfully wore black with white lace collars. She told me once that it wasn’t an eternal symbol of devotion as much as the fact that she looked good in black.

  She and I were buddies. If I had a problem, I went to her. If she wanted to talk about the old days, she came to me. I didn’t know the word at the time, but it was a symbiotic relationship.

  My grandmother had always reminded me of Auntie Mame. She liked sparkly things whether they were diamonds or rhinestones and wore dresses that reminded me of the 1920s with those little filet things in her hair. Her trilling laugh always made me smile.

  After my mother she was my favorite person in the world.

  Sonia’s son, my father, expected that when I turned twenty-one I would surrender my inheritance to him and come home to live. I didn’t. I think he was a little disconcerted to discover that both his mother and his daughter were guerrilla Furries.

  My grandmother’s trust meant I could do anything I wanted with my life. I paid for the last two years of my undergraduate education, vet school, and the down payment into the practice.

  Have you ever been in a group of people with whom you’re supposed to be close and known that you didn’t fit in? That’s the way I felt about my family after Sonia died. I loved them. I just didn’t belong.

  In the normal world, which was how I lived most of the time, I didn’t have any difficulty. It was only when I had to deal with my family or other Weres that I had problems.

  I don’t like the Hunt. I don’t like changing. I want to be purely human. I don’t want another part of me to have any kind of control over my human mind.

  I managed to keep those seditious thoughts from other Weres. It was getting harder and harder to pretend I was a happy Furry, however, and as I drove to my parents’ house, I tried to pump myself up for smiling inanely and acting all sunshine and lollipops.

  My parents lived in an ostentatious subdivision known for its awesome bad taste, over the top house styles and guard cottage - as opposed to a shack - at the entrance.

  I was rarely a visitor.

  First of all, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes every time I entered the subdivision and all that eye rolling gave me a headache. Secondly, I couldn’t get over the impression that I needed to hold my teacup with my little finger outstretched, sound like a character in Downton Abbey, and be pretentious as hell. It was hard to do that when you were covered in dog hair and had done four neuterings in the last three hours.

  Stripping a male of his gonads did something to my attitude.

  I pulled up to the guard cottage, holding up the gold, credit card sized, pass my father had given me and was waved down the street. My parent’s house/mansion was located in the back of the subdivision, halfway up a mountain overlooking San Antonio. My car was relatively new, but the engine still groaned as we climbed the corkscrew up to their eagle’s aerie.

  The house was, like every other not so humble abode in the subdivision, a bit much. It looked like the Spanish Governor's Palace had taken steroids and then embarked on a ten thousand calories a day eating regime for a couple of years. Bloated was a word that came close, but didn't really describe how over-the-top the house was. There were thirty-six rooms beneath the red tile roofs. The windows and doorways were arched, the walls painted a blinding white. The landscaping was overblown and lush. I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen some Venus fly traps and other meat eating plants among the begonias and crepe myrtle.

  A broad driveway led up to a six car garage, each bay holding one of the family’s cars. Austin, as scion and heir, had both a Humvee and a Porsche. Sandy and Mom had a Lexus each, and Dad drove a Cadillac to his practice but a Rolls Royce Ghost everywhere else.

  My car was a Ford.

  I parked in front of the far left bay where Aus
tin would have parked his Porsche if he’d been home. He was a graduate student, off getting his doctorate in psychology. I dreaded the day he came home filled with theories about Freud and Jung. He’d already tried to analyze me and it hadn’t been an enjoyable experience.

  I took the path around to the kitchen instead of the formal entrance that required that I climb a set of twelve tiled steps and ring a bell that sounded like a gong reverberating inside a Buddhist temple.

  I opened the kitchen door, announced myself, and waited for Caroline to pop her head around the corner or out of the pantry or somewhere. My mother’s housekeeper had become her confidant over the years.

  Instead of Caroline, my mother appeared. She was still beautiful. In her fifties, she looked a decade younger with a dewy complexion and sparkling blue eyes. As she headed toward me through the arched doorway leading to the family room, I felt my heart expand as it always did. I loved her and I admired her. I just didn’t want to be like her.

  My mother had given up being a nurse when she married my father. She kept her hand in, of course, with childhood illnesses and accidents like the time Austin thought he could fly and jumped off the garage roof. Or when Sandy decided to operate on one of her dolls and the knife slipped. No one told Father about that little incident. Instead, my mother stitched my sister up, gave her an aspirin, and told her that the next time she decided to go into medicine, Father would be informed. That was enough to keep Sandy on the straight and narrow. Now she’s the epitome of what a Were female should be.

  I wasn’t.

  My father has said, on more than one occasion, that I had more balls than my brother Austin. He doesn't mean that as a compliment. I was nearly as tall as my father, which was another annoyance. I could stand eye to eye with him and I didn’t look away, which was the proper way to handle confrontation with the head of a household. I was, like it or not, a Boyd, even if nature had screwed up and made me female.

  Weres mate for life. At least female Weres do. A male can have as many concubines as he can handle financially. The worst shame a male leader of the family could bring upon himself was not being able to provide.