My parents lived in this hoity-toity subdivision outside of San Antonio. It had become one of the places to live for the uber wealthy of South Texas. It wasn't just a gated community; it was a gated community with another gate inside the first gate. I had a picture ID that had been provided for me by the security company that monitored the comings and goings of all visitors. Not only did I have to provide it every time I came, but I had to sign the guestbook and smile at the camera while my picture was taken yet again.
There was a ten foot brick fence that extended around the entire subdivision. On the top of that were metal poles about five inches high. There wasn't any razorback wire, and they didn't advertise it, but I suspected that the poles were electrified and that if you thought you were getting over the fence, you had a shock in store for you, literally.
I know that a few Spurs players lived here along with the movers and shakers of San Antonio, of which my father was one. I thought there were two other Furry families in residence, but I wasn't sure. Furries tended to be, if not wealthy, then comfortable, I think the terminology was. As a culture, we emphasized fiscal responsibility and financial independence. True power, I remember my father telling my brother, came from having enough money to do what you wanted.
I hadn’t seen Austin since the night he’d tried to kill me and I dreaded encountering him. That's just one of the reasons I didn't want to show up tonight.
It wasn’t yet dark when I pulled into my parents’ drive. The approach to their house was long and wide. A good thing, since there were four cars parked there already, none of which I recognized. They were all high end and brand new. My orange Ford looked a little out of place among all the shiny black vehicles.
I sat in the car for a few minutes, psyching myself into striding inside the house with a bright smile on my face. What a laugh. I didn't feel the least bit like smiling and I was about to do something that was probably foolish, but I didn't see any alternative.
I was going to have to tell my mother about being Pranic.
Of course, there was always the possibility of blackmailing Austin into silence. I could threaten to tell our father what he’d done unless he remained quiet about what I was. That would be the optimal solution, frankly, but I didn't hold out any hope that Austin would see reason.
I suspected my brother was a Wolfie. That's what we called Furries who’d gone native, who wanted to return to the old ways, who thought that being a Were was the greatest thing on earth and superior to any other life form, even to obliterating any other life form. Like me, for example.
I had dressed for the occasion. I was wearing a long black skirt, a sleeveless silk tank, and a jacket embroidered with peahens on it. I'd put my hair up in a bun, wore my grandmother's yellow diamond earrings that matched the embroidered yellow feathers on my jacket. I'd even worn makeup. I wouldn't embarrass my family and hopefully would fit in with the Houston and Dallas contingent.
In all the years that I’d known about my father's other families, I had never once asked a question about them. My father would have just frowned at me and remained mute. If I’d been foolish enough to say anything in front of my mother she would have looked stricken, almost as if she were going to cry. So, the subject was carefully buried, never mentioned, never alluded to but always there like a neon pink elephant defecating in the corner of the room.
I didn’t even know how many half siblings I had. I’d never seen a picture of my father's concubines. I thought there was only two of them, but I might be unpleasantly surprised tonight.
The word why was coming back in force again. Why did someone firebomb Graystone? Why was my father having this special meeting?
I guess I wasn't going to find out the answer to one of those questions unless I actually went into the house.
I got out of the car, smoothed my skirt and wished I'd had the courage to wear sneakers instead of the three inch heels that were already killing my feet. I was six feet even without shoes. Now I felt like an Amazon. Luckily, most Furry men were taller than me which meant that I wouldn't have towered over Mark if I’d convinced him to come with me.
Where was he? Not a why question, but one just as important. What was he doing? With whom? I already knew the why – to find his ex-wife. Just how far was he willing to go? I had a feeling that Mark didn't have any boundaries and that was both good and bad. I knew that if I ever needed him like I had before, he would bend heaven and earth to get to me. He was doing the same for his ex-wife. I couldn't exactly fault him for that even though the little green imp of jealousy was running back and forth inside a cave that looked a lot like my libido’s.
I used the formal entrance to my parents’ home instead of ducking into the kitchen like I normally did. My mother's artistry with the plants and all growing things was in evidence as I took the winding walk up to the impressive doorway. The door had been custom made, stained glass on an iron frame. The scene was from Scotland, the seat of the Celtic Clan and the Boyd family. Mountains stretched in the distance and in the foreground was a lake and the silhouette of a castle. Sunlight streamed off the lake, the artist so skilled that you could almost stretch out your hand and feel it warmed by the sun. At the bottom left of the glass was what I’d always thought was part of the castle, but now I glanced at it and froze. It was a rectangular form, maybe a box, maybe something else like a stone or an oversized brick. It's corners were worn as if it had been touched hundreds or thousands of times by supplicants and penitents and believers.
I knew my father was audacious in a great many ways, an example being this family gathering tonight. I’d never thought that he would do something like this, proudly proclaim that the Boyds were stewards of the Stone of Scone. I’d never noticed it before. Before he’d told me the story I would have remained as ignorant as I had been as a child, racing off to my life, annoyed because the door was so heavy and cumbersome.
I wondered if Austin knew about the Stone. Or any of my other soon to be greeted relatives. Did my mother know?
What other secrets did my father have? Every time we met lately, he divulged something new. My impression of him was morphing with every encounter. He was no longer the strict disciplinarian of my youth. He was revealing himself to be a great deal more complicated than that.
Was my mother the same?
I guess I was going to find out soon.
Instead of opening the door, I pressed the buzzer to the right, stood there and waited to be greeted like a stranger.