Feral Pride (3 page)

The Cats have settled at a bright yellow metal picnic table alongside the colorful outdoor play area to wait for the state trooper. They’re free of the cuffs and wrapped in blankets from the trunk. After a potty break, we left Peso in the backseat with the window cracked.

Clyde is across the street at the mega truck stop, picking up clothes for Yoshi and Kayla.

Male shifters usually shave twice a day, but Cats (their Lion cousins included) tend to be noticeably less hirsute in human form than, say, Wolves or Bears. I hardly ever see the boys this furry. It’s amazing how fast they can pass for grown men.

Of course, Yoshi’s almost a grown man. He’ll graduate high school in six weeks or so, assuming he can yank up his grades. Tonight’s drama aside, I’m not worried about him. Yoshi has style and swagger. He uses his lean, muscled swimmer’s build to full advantage. He used to be that guy your mom warned you about, but lately he’s gravitating toward something real.

“Here goes nothing,” Jess muses aloud as we exit carrying plastic trays loaded with food and drinks.

As we approach the table, the cop jogs over from the parking lot, the soles of his polished black combat boots hitting concrete. I envy Jess’s light jacket. It’s in the mid-sixties, not that the werepeople, who run warmer, seem to notice the cold. Seconds later she tosses a boxed Quarter Pounder at the trooper. It’s a gesture that says (human or not) she isn’t intimidated.

The stocky weredevil grunts, catching the box. He sniffs before he opens it. We’re hoping the beef improves his mood.

By the time I’ve unscrewed the cap from my water bottle, the shifters have each inhaled half a burger. Yoshi breaks the silence. “What’s on your mind, Officer?”

The weredevil turns to gesture with a fry at Kayla. “I’m wondering how you could be so stupid as to get caught on video, and this weekend to boot. Your image is everywhere. There are already websites selling tote bags and Frisbees with your face on them.”

At the risk of stereotyping, this isn’t the first Tasmanian weredevil I’ve met, and they skew cranky. Yoshi, apparently thinking the same thing, laughs. “You don’t happen to have a vicious little sister? Eighth-grader named Teghan?”

“Yoshi Kitahara?” The cop is frowning so deeply it looks like his forehead might split.

Yoshi spreads his arms in self-congratulation. “Guilty as charged.”

“You got the brat home safe!” The trooper offers his hand across the table. “Call me Oliver.” The two shake. The lingering mistrust evaporates. It turns out Oliver is Teghan’s cousin. Central Texas werepeople are tightly networked. Everybody seems to know one another within two or three degrees of separation.

This winter Yoshi and Teghan were among werepeople who were captured and brought to a remote tropical island in the South Pacific to be hunted for sport by billionaires — including magic users and the undead. Yoshi not only saw to it that Teghan survived their hunt. He played big brother to her through the whole ordeal, and they catch up now and then over donuts.

I got snatched, too, but since I’m human, my captors decided I’d be more useful as kitchen help, and Clyde was caged — he was on crutches at the time. This was before he discovered that he was half Lion. But afterward he found himself among the hunted as well.

Clyde returns at a brisk pace from his shopping errand and hands Kayla the bag. With his Lossum (Lion + Possum) hearing, he didn’t miss any of the exchange.

“She’s dead now,” Oliver says. “Teghan. Murdered.”

Kayla, who retrieved a plain gray T-shirt and black sweatpants from the bag, pauses in her effort to slip them on under the blanket. Clyde sinks onto the yellow metal bench.

Yoshi’s the first to respond. “What?” He covers his eyes.
“Who?”

“Don’t know,” Oliver replies. “It looked like a professional hit — execution style, which makes no sense. There’re a couple of shifters from the Austin Police Department investigating, but it seems like the only case that matters right now is the governor’s kidnapping.”

“The governor was kidnapped?” I exclaim. “The governor of Texas?”

Oliver glances from one of us to the next. “You haven’t heard about the weresnake?”

“I’LL SHOW YOU.”
Oliver boots his phone, fiddles a moment.

With Jess maneuvering the blanket to protect Kayla’s modesty, the Cat girl finishes getting dressed. Then they join Yoshi in coming around the table so that they can see.

It’s a clip from an Austin TV news station. The screen fills with the Serpent’s head. It’s a mottled beige color with darker brown triangle patterns flaring from the eyes and two short horns rising from the nose. Orange eyes. I’ve met weremammals and werebirds, but werereptiles?

Clyde slips his arm around me, and I snuggle in.

“Herpetologists are saying it resembles the Gaboon viper from sub-Saharan Africa,” Oliver informs us. “No word yet on whether this
Vipera sapiens
is literally venomous, but it might as well be.”

The Snake opens its jaws. Assuming its head is roughly on scale with a human’s, its fangs are over three inches long. “I am Seth.” The voice is raspy, lingering on the
S
.

Believe it or not, that’s not the weirdest part. It’s that he’s talking comfortably as a full-on Snake. A wereperson in animal form has to partly retract the shift to speak at all.

Seth says, “I’m sure you recognize my distinguished guest.” The video cuts to show the forty-something governor. Her light brown curls are a mess, her mascara is smeared, and her red suit is rumpled. She stares into the camera like she’s challenging us somehow.

The Snake takes center screen again. “On behalf of shape-shifters everywhere, we have taken the governor of Texas as a declaration of war against the human race. Rest assured there will be no peace until
Homo sapiens
accepts its rightful role as our subordinate.”

With a flick of his finger, Oliver shuts his phone down. “Hit the air early this evening, but on the down low, the governor went missing on Friday. People are wigging out. There was talk going around that state and local police would be sent door-to-door, looking to arrest any shifter they could find. A bunch of cops resigned in protest or threatened to.” We heard something about that back in Pine Ridge. Now it makes more sense. Oliver adds, “Anyway, the whole operation turned out to be a BS rumor, and it’s just a matter of paperwork before everybody’s back on the job.”

“Is there any proof the Snake isn’t acting alone?” Jess wants to know.

“Bear DNA was found in the governor’s mansion,” Oliver says. “For what that’s worth.”

“No demands?” Jess asks, her ice cream melting. “No list of grievances?”

“Did I miss something?” Kayla adds. “Did we
elect
a Snake as our spokesperson?”

Yoshi shakes his head and takes a T-shirt out of the bag. It’s a V-neck pink women’s XL with sparkly angel kittens on front. He pulls it on.

“Hang on,” Clyde says. “I thought there was no such thing as a werereptile.”

“That would make Seth a Cryptid,” I reply. They’re apparently more common than I thought. That Pacific island — Daemon Island — that served as the stage for the shifter hunt? It was run by a different kind of Cryptid, members of an intelligent, secretive, largely unknown species. Furry snowpeople devoted to technology (especially air-conditioning) and eco devo, prone to family drama and bad hairstyles, self-described environmentalists, who’re fond of eating yak.

Yoshi slams his fist into the center of the metal table, denting it. The noise is too big. We all brace for someone to come running out of the restaurant and scold us. No one does.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I’m okay.” He takes a breath. “The symbolism of a weresnake sucks. A lot of humans already believe shifters are demonic. There’s that ridiculous story floating around the Internet that the snake in the Garden of Eden was a shape-shifter.”

“It’s not only on the Internet,” Clyde adds. “And it’s been floating around since before forever.” He picks up his apple pie and addresses Oliver. “How bad is the fallout?”

Oliver draws his gun and looks at it like he’s aching to shoot somebody. “The Snake and the governor could be anywhere. The whole state’s on lockdown.”

“Lockdown?” Kayla asks, stealing the last of Yoshi’s fries.

Oliver puts the weapon away. “They’re mostly symbolic, but there’s a roadblock on every highway heading out of Texas, at the Mexican border, the docks. TSA is on the lookout. Human bigots are nothing new, but the Snake has given regular people a reason to be afraid. And you . . .” He toasts Kayla with his vanilla shake. “You’ve become the most recognizable shape-shifter in Texas.”

“WE’RE GOING HOME,”
Yoshi and Clyde both announce. Hearing the other speak the same words at the same time antagonizes them both. On reflex, they glare at each other, and Yoshi hisses. If they were in Cat and Lion form, respectively, they’d be lashing their tails.

Aimee sets her hand on Clyde’s wrist, and that ends it. He breaks eye contact first, and then Yoshi preserves his composure by pulling on sweatpants and flip-flops. I reach for the bag to retrieve a pair of flip-flops myself.

When they say “home,” they mean Austin. Jess’s relatives can’t protect us if we can’t cross into Oklahoma, and there’s no way we’re returning to Pine Ridge anytime soon.

“Call it a gut feeling,” Oliver says, “but I suggest y’all lose your phones. Get off the grid. Make it harder for anyone to track and make an example out of you.”

An eighteen-wheeler pulls up as Aimee’s clearing the table. Yoshi and Clyde make a show of assisting her, and Jess’s lips curl into a half smile that means she’s picked up on the boys’ rivalry. I hate that Jess is in the middle of this mess, but her presence is reassuring.

We were best friends. Then, a few years ago, I discovered my Cat heritage and pulled away — at first for her safety (transformations are scary at first) and then because . . . I don’t know. Keeping a secret isn’t much different from lying, especially when it’s the secret of your species, what you really are. It was all pointless. Turns out, she’s known I’m a Cat for some time anyway. Now it’s headline news. I was just starting to feel comfortable in my Cat skin, to really own it, when the shooting began. Everything’s changed so fast. It feels like our whole world is teetering.