The next morning I reluctantly woke at the sound of the alarm. I shut it off and lay there for a moment, taking inventory. Two legs, check. Two feet, check, even though they felt sore. Two arms, two hands, intact torso with throbbing breasts. Head on straight. I wiggled a little and immediately wished I hadn’t.
That was a question answered. I hurt and I hurt a lot.
One of the Brood whined and I raised my head to see three alert dogs staring back at me. They could reach the porch and their doggy door during the night so I didn’t have to break my neck to take them outside. Feeding them, however, was a different matter. They hadn’t yet — thank heavens — learned how to open the cabinets or the refrigerator.
I sat up, slowly, feeling as if I’d been pummeled by a thousand fists. I really shouldn’t have treated a full grown male Were like a sling stone the previous night. The pain I felt now was my penance for arrogance.
Were the hallucinations going to come back today? I didn’t know and the uncertainty annoyed me. Maybe what I’d seen last night was a result of going cold turkey on the Waxinine. Or maybe it was because I was Pranic now. Or maybe it was both those things. Or something totally different.
I had to get my head on straight, quick.
I stood, feeling sore and a little bit shaky. After I did my thing in the bathroom, I went downstairs, the Brood following. Dalton chose to explore the extent of the dog run before breakfast in case any burglars had approached during the night. Pepper finally barked at him. He turned and obligingly followed him back into the house.
Last night’s storm had made the ground spongy and I checked everyone's paws before I let them back into the kitchen. The white linoleum was appropriate for the retro style of the room, but it had been a stupid purchase on my part because it showed everything. Of course that decision had been made pre-Brood.
I put Dalton on the porch, Pepper in the kitchen, and Cherry Pip in the butler's pantry before feeding them. Otherwise, they would explore each other's bowls before eating their own food. Cherry Pip needed her diet dog food more than anyone else. For some reason, the other two dogs liked it better than their own kibble.
Once they were finished — after much slobbering and bowl skidding — I went out to the porch, sat on the stool there and one by one did their teeth, starting with Pepper and ending with Dalton. I’d been surprised by how easily they’d acclimated to a battery-operated toothbrush. They each had one, in different colors, but they had the same poultry toothpaste. They were so good at getting their teeth brushed that they’d been featured in a video on canine teeth health for our clinic clients.
Every morning, regardless of my schedule, Cherry Pip came to me for a full body hug. I started at her ears, my fists rubbing against the inside of them. She made a low throated guttural sound that was almost like a purr. I continued all the way down to her derrière, scratching in a circular motion, my fingers sliding through the thick fur to her skin. She needed the reassurance and the connection and I liked starting my day that way.
Simon and Wilson would both come and check on the Brood during the day in case they overturned their water bowls or needed something. I also had a small camera mounted on the end of the porch that I could access with my phone.
After I brushed my teeth, I got dressed. I wore jeans to work most days, because I always changed into scrubs once I was at the clinic. Today I grabbed a bright red three quarters sleeved tee. Maybe the color would make me feel bright and cheery.
I pulled back my hair and secured it with a scrunchy, added mascara and lipstick. That was it. I was ready for the day.
No one at my clinic had any inkling that I was a Were. At least I didn’t think so. I had my suspicions about Alice, however. She was one of the older vets and I was beginning to suspect that Alice was a little more than simply human. I was guessing a witch. Not that I was actually sure she was a witch. She just acted like it, if you get my drift. We were just prickly around each other.
There were such things as card-carrying witches, but I didn’t know how to identify them. Vampires were easier. They had very pale skin and you didn’t see one until it got dark. To the best of my knowledge the rest of the world knew about vampires and witches, but not Weres.
Humans had accepted the fact that vampires walked among them. I think it was a halfhearted acceptance, myself, the way that some people look at tattoos and facial piercings. Humans didn’t know anything about Weres, although I suspect our days were numbered as far as anonymity went.
Weres had five different clans, from the five families, all of them with a certain geographical jurisdiction. Ours, the Celtic Clan — originating from Scotland — was the largest, which meant that we had a certain amount of influence. That also meant my father was a big muckety muck.
My third Council meeting was tonight. I had no idea why my father insisted that they be scheduled the day after a full moon. Maybe he wanted to make sure that being a Were was firmly etched in each of the Council member’s minds. As if you could ever truly forget. I’d sometimes gone years without changing, but it didn't mean that I ever forgot who I was. Our culture emphasized our uniqueness.
There were some who thought that being a Were was the best thing on earth. I called Weres who went off the deep end like that Wolfies. To them all other life forms were inferior. That attitude smacked so much of elitism that it gave me hives. Wolfies were originalists, wanting the Were culture to stay the same as it had been two thousand years ago. No evolving allowed. Women weren’t allowed to work outside the home. They didn’t speak, were considered chattel, and were treated that way.
The majority of Weres saw Wolfies’ behavior as prehistoric and ridiculous which forced them into the background. Just because they didn’t announce themselves, however, didn’t mean they’d disappeared. I’d be willing to bet that one or two members of the Council were Wolfies.
My ex-boyfriend Craig had been one. He hadn’t approved of my getting the transfusion. None of the Wolfies would have. I’d tainted my Were blood by becoming Pranic. I was no longer pure.
I had news for him. I’d never been pure in the Wolfie way. I’d been fighting against my nature from the moment I figured out exactly who and what I was. I didn’t want to change to a wolf because of a biological imperative. I didn’t want to live in a culture that diminished me just because I was female. I didn’t want to have to follow a lot of rules that didn’t make any sense.
Being Pranic hadn’t changed my life all that much. All it had done was put me in the crosshairs of the Wolfies in the clan. If they’d known about it. There were only a few people who knew about my transfusion or my expanded abilities other than Mark and I wasn’t about to broadcast that fact.
Fortunately, my father had banished Craig, the alpha male of the Palmer family. I don’t know who’d stepped in to head it. Part of my new I’m-not-asking-and-don’t-tell-me policy. At least I didn’t have to worry about Craig telling any of the other Wolfies about me. Once you’re banished, you lose everything, including credibility with other members of your clan.
The rules we lived by were immutable. Some of them were old fashioned. I’d lived in the civilian world so long that I almost felt human. At least enough that I could view the whole Were situation with some degree of detachment.
If I were my father, I’d be doing everything I could to keep Weres secret. I suspected, however, that he was leaning toward revealing our existence.
I could just imagine what would happen the day the news came out.
“A startling development in the evolutionary front has just been announced. In addition to Homo Sapiens there is another branch of the human family, Homo Wereson. Werewolves. These creatures live among us. We will switch now to an interview with our reporter and one of the first documented werewolves to appear on camera.”
Right. That wouldn’t cause any panic.
People would go around asking each other, “Are you a Were?”
I just hoped they didn't try to sniff our butts.
I left the house after putting the Brood in the porch and giving them my promises. I promise to return for you. I promise I won’t abandon you. I promise to be home right after work. Oops, not right after work. After the Council meeting, but I’ll ask the guys to look in on you and Simon to feed you dinner. When I explained why it was important for me to attend the Council meetings, only Cherry Pip looked impressed, being the sole female in the Brood.
I swear, leaving the house was more of a hassle than my commute. Less than ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot at the clinic — Alamo Veterinary Clinic, to be precise — and sighed heavily. Alice's car was already there. I hadn't beaten her to the clinic very often, but I always tried to, preferring to get my cup of coffee and seeing what was on the schedule before I had to encounter her.
We all had surgery cases and each one of the seven vets had his own clientele, people who asked for them specifically. I was gratified that I had the biggest following at the clinic. What no one knew was that word had spread throughout the Were community that I could treat their dogs and cats. Yes, we had pets. And no, we didn't eat them.
I used my keycard at the employee door and went inside. I headed for the locker room, grabbing a fresh set of scrubs. I was turning the knob on the combination lock of my locker just as she made an appearance, standing in the doorway and glaring at me as only Alice could.
Alice and I clashed. After giving it a good faith effort I had decided to accept the fact that we would never be friends.
I didn’t like being belittled. Nor was I a fan of snide, sarcastic comments, all of which I got from Alice. However, she was, with the exception of the Managing Partner, the vet with the most seniority. I had to keep my mouth shut and my head down. I’d had a lot of practice doing that as a female Furry.
I wish she’d find a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or maybe even a mechanical friend. Alice was wound so tight that it was like her mainspring was broken. Sometimes, even saying good morning could set off a torrent of abuse, which was why I kept mum.
I’d often thought that Alice might be an attractive woman if she didn't look so mean. There were two deep vertical lines between her eyebrows and more lines on either side of her mouth. I didn’t think the woman had seen that much hardship in her life, but I wasn't sure about that. She didn't share much of herself with anyone.
I’d seen some pictures of famous heiresses of the past century. My grandmother had been friends with a few of them. Despite the fact that they’d had a great many blessings in life, a few of them looked miserable. Their mouths were turned down at the corners as if they didn’t often smile. Like nothing had ever met their approval or been good enough. Or maybe the Mean Fairy had waved a magic wand over their cribs.
My grandmother said that sooner or later your disposition showed up in your face. By the time you were forty most people could figure out what kind of life you were having.
Alice’s life sucked.
"You’ve got a phone call," Alice said, managing to make that short sentence sound insulting.
"Can you take a message?" I asked.
I’d only changed my top. I still had the scrub bottoms, but I didn’t feel like stripping in front of Alice.
"I'm not your secretary," she said, vanishing from the doorway.
I bit back a word, walked into the reception area to the first desk and pushed the blinking light.
I honestly thought it was a client, perhaps one of my first appointments rescheduling or someone asking a question about a post surgical complication.
I hadn't expected Doreen Rice. After identifying herself, she launched into her spiel.
"You've got to do something, Torrance. This isn't fair. Michael can't abandon us. Even your father didn't abandon you and your siblings."
The very last thing I wanted to talk about was my father with Doreen or anyone else, for that matter. Our relationship was too odd to discuss.
"Doreen, I can't do anything by myself. The Council will make a decision in a little while and will let you know what they decide."
"You have to convince them, Torrance. There has to be something you can do."
Most people, I suspected, believed I’d been put on the Council because my father thought I could do no wrong. After all, I was the first female. Trust me, that wasn't the reason. He knew I was different, ever since our encounter at the River Parade. Being appointed to the Council was an acknowledgment that I wasn't just a Were female anymore. I was something else and that something else might be scary. Keep your friends close, your strange Furry daughter closer.
But because I was a Boyd princess, there hadn’t been as many audible grumbles as there might’ve been with someone else. Whatever Hamish wanted, Hamish got.
"Doreen, I've got to go," I said and disconnected before she could say another word.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Something about Alice's voice grated on me. Every syllable was designed to irritate and annoy. I didn't turn and face her. Doreen had irritated me, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Alice.
I waited until she left before returning to the locker room and changing into my scrub pants. I grabbed my stuff and put it into the locker, including my cell phone. All the vets locked away our phones during the day, one way to prevent us from getting whiny pleas from our younger vet techs. If we didn’t use our cell phones while we were working, it was hard for them to demand theirs.
Besides, it was an example to our clients. There were signs all over the clinic to turn off your cell phones. There was nothing worse than giving someone a diagnosis — good or bad — about their pet and have them be nose deep in a political conversation on Facebook.
While I went through the files on my cases for today, I replayed my conversation with Doreen. I didn’t know how to tell the older woman what I suspected: the Council was going to grant Michael Rice’s petition.
There weren’t many divorces in the Wolf community. First of all, divorces were discouraged. The head of the family was supposed to take care of that family and ensure its wellbeing. He was not permitted to stray outside the marriage unless he could provide proof that he could financially support everyone.
In my father’s case he had families in Dallas and Houston.
It wasn’t bigamy. The women weren’t his wives. But they were afforded protection in our culture because they were his concubines. For example, if my father was run over by a truck tomorrow and hadn’t made legal provision for his concubines and families, the Were Council would step in and ensure that they were taken care of. They would put the screws to our family to make sure the right thing was done.
Since my father was an attorney, I hoped he’d already taken care of those details.
Unfortunately, Michael Rice had decided that, while he agreed to support Doreen and their son, Ronald, he just didn’t want to live with them anymore.
A male Were was required to appear before the Council and ask their permission to divorce. It’s not a legal thing since the Were Council had no jurisdiction over lawful matters. We ceded that right to the state or federal government. Culturally, however, the Council must approve or deny the divorce.
Even a legal divorce — if denied by the Council — would be considered null and void in our culture. As far as the Were world was concerned, no divorce had ever taken place. The husband was expected to live with his divorced wife, treat her with the same love and affection, and be a devoted father.
That’s why it was important for a male to make his case, obtain approval, and get on with his life.
Divorces weren’t automatically approved. That only happened in about half the cases. However, in Doreen's case, everyone on the Council was all for giving Michael his freedom.
It wasn't that Doreen was a bad person. Even Michael had said that. She was just one of those people who complained a lot. Nothing was ever quite good enough, except for her son. He was perfect in her sight.
Someone once said — and I don’t remember who — that you could judge the character of a man by how he treated those who could do nothing for him. I hadn’t been able to help Doreen, so up until this morning she’d pointedly ignored me.
I still might have been willing to listen to the woman if she hadn’t made my mother’s life miserable for the past month. She’d been a constant visitor and caller, hoping that my mother could convince my father to deny the divorce. Evidently, since that hadn’t worked I was now her target.
The rest of the day was as uneventful as my work life normally was, punctuated by funny moments and sad ones, too. The worst thing about being a vet was not having to euthanize a sick pet. It was the abuse I sometimes saw, covered up with stupid stories or macho bravado. Or having a sick animal I could treat and having owners who couldn’t — or wouldn’t — spend the money for the procedure.
But the best things about being a vet? Witnessing the goodness of people, like the owner who wanted to secretly pay for a young couple’s vet bill. She could tell they didn’t have the money, but that they loved their little dog, Jasper. Or seeing the companionship a dog gave to his elderly owner and the love the owner exhibited in return. Plus, people were genuinely grateful for what I did. More than once I’d been brought to tears by a hug or a thank you.
Today I treated three dogs with ear infections — not unusual in a wet, hot summer — gave tutorials on battling fleas to a few owners, and consulted on a mast cell tumor with a canine oncologist, Dr. Debby Hastings. She was brilliant in the field and I came away with a good feeling about Sam, the standard poodle who’d just received a bad histogram. I also examined a new litter of puppies, got scratched by two cats, and was asked for advice on an iguana. I claimed ignorance on the latter. The last time I’d examined an iguana was in school and many moons had passed since that day and this one.
I worked late, catching up on my paperwork before heading for the Council meeting. Before I left the clinic I called Simon to check in on the Brood. Everything was fine. Dalton had tried to bark himself hoarse every time the lawn tractor started. Pepper had made his yippy bark heard as well. Only Cherry Pip had been her ladylike self, merely standing at the window examining everything with alert eyes.
“Thank you for feeding them,” I said. “Otherwise, they’d think I was starving them on purpose.”
Simon had a key to my house. He was the only person who did. I hadn’t even given my mother a spare key.
“You’re spoiling them, Torrance,” he said, but his voice was warm.
“You’re one to talk. Stop with the doggy treats, especially to Cherry Pip. She has to mind her girlish figure.”
“How did you know?”
“Peanut butter breath,” I said, smiling.
I changed back into my jeans and top and wondered if I should have dressed up for the Council meeting. Nope. I wasn’t going to be all frou-frou among men I’d known all my life.
What you saw was what you got. Well, almost. They didn’t have to know everything.