Dustin, at five foot seven, rose on his toes to hear her better over the others’ chatter. “Well, it’s not every day the passel loses a leader after fifty years.” If the shifters who made up the passel were a family, tonight they’d lose their mother.
Dustin and Monica shared a quiet, eye-to-eye moment, tuning out the chaos around them. Monica’s “all business” expression softened. “She’s asking for you.”
“I’d best not keep the lady waiting. Can you manage things out here?”
“Short term? Yes. In a few hours? Not on your life. I wish we’d shift in the field. Less mess and a whole lot more room.”
Dustin agreed wholeheartedly. Soon, all hell would break loose, turning Irene’s house into a disaster zone. “Yeah, but tonight will be her last. She wants the passel with her, and she wants to spend her last night in the house she grew up in.”
Dozens of eyes followed Dustin’s progress down the hall, where he quietly knocked and then entered Irene’s room before closing the door behind him.
“Ralph.” He nodded to the elderly man sitting at Irene’s beside, tenderly stroking her arthritic fingers.
“Doctor.” Ralph Mason, county coroner, rose from his chair. Dustin didn’t miss the bittersweet smile the two seniors shared. Though not passel, Ralph and Irene’s friendship ran deep; the old man would miss her upon her passing—as would half the county.
“Is everything in order?” Dustin pretended not to notice Ralph drawing Irene’s hand to his lips.
“Yes. I’ve got the papers ready, waiting for your signature.” The coroner reached his free hand over and tapped a manila envelope lying on a dresser. “And per Irene’s instructions, I’ll wait until after her official burial to contact her next of kin. Less explaining to do that way.”
“It’d be a whole lot easier if what we see in movies was real and we turned back human if we die in shifter form.”
“Yeah, Doc, but you know as well as I do that this is how she’d want it. The moon will help her make the change, but she’s too weak to change back on her own.”
In a few short hours, Dustin, a medical doctor, would pronounce Irene legally dead, verified by the county coroner. They would bury her body in the wild, with the funeral parlor in town providing documentation of a burial in the local churchyard, should any curious parties ask questions.
Such had been the way of Possum Kingdom since the town’s creation. A world within a world, playing fast and loose with human laws while hiding in plain sight.
“Promise me?” Irene’s raspy voice ended both the spoken and unspoken conversations taking place between the two men.
Dustin stepped closer to the bed, bending his slight frame to better hear Irene’s whispered plea. “Promise you what, my Jill?” he asked, though already suspecting the nature of her request.
“It must be you; there’s no one else.”
Dustin’s heart sank. “But the title should be passed to your family. I love you like my own mother, but we’re not blood kin. What will the passel think?” The passel, one-hundred-fifty-odd strong, were a fickle bunch, ranging from the easily led to die-hard traditionalists. His leadership wouldn’t be accepted without a challenge or two. Challenges became messy, as he’d witnessed before with other groups. No one had ever second-guessed his Jill, however.
“They’ll agree with my decision. You’re the best man for the job.” The wizened lady lying in the bed, formidable despite her advanced years, leveled him with her steely eyed gaze, the same one that had backed down many a young joey.
“Besides, the only kin I have is partial blood. Hadthat womanallowed contact over the years, it might be a different story. Because of her meddling, Seth grew up with no idea of his legacy. Even if he did, he’d have a decision to make. Not every half blood chooses to become a full-fledged passel member, especially at his age.”
Dustin clearly remembered Seth’s tear-streaked face the day his maternal grandmother had taken him away from the house twenty years ago. Twenty years. Had it truly been two decades since they’d last seen each other? “She’s been gone for a couple of years now. Have you even contacted Seth and asked him to come home?” Dustin clutched at one last straw, his heart filled with longing. Thoughts of Seth McDaniel brought to mind shaggy brown-and-gold hair and dark-brown eyes, hazed by tears. Even now, after twenty years, the memory brought a lump to Dustin’s throat. Seth, ripped away from his life by “the evil harpy from the north,” the label Dustin had given Seth’s closed-minded grandmother. Oh, how he’d cried, wanting his friend back.
“He comes from a different world and has his own life there. We can’t expect him to understand his true path since no one’s been there to teach him who he really is.” Irene lifted a trembling hand to stroke Dustin’s cheek. “He doesn’t even know about the passel, so how can he love them like you do?” One heavy-lidded eye winked. “Though he might make a good coleader one day, if his inheritance manages to lure him down from Chicago.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve left him the house in hopes he’ll decide to live here. If he’s here, he’ll need a friend.” She lowered her voice, adding, “And possibly more.”
“Are you telling me Seth’s gay? How could you know such a thing?” No matter how strong her power to know the truth in people, truths most others would never see, surely her reach couldn’t extend to someone so far removed.
The weak sound she made could have been a chuckle. “Down at the library, the Johnson boys showed me what they call a ‘social media site’ on the Internet. Seth is a photographer and takes lovely photos, he’s interested in men, and he’s single.” A crease appeared above her brow. “He changed his status to ‘it’s complicated’, once, whatever that means. Although I can’t understand why folks tell everything about themselves for strangers to read, I did learn a thing or two about my great-nephew.” An expression of sheer satisfaction momentarily smoothed her wrinkles. “He’s the spitting image of his daddy.”
What? The old lady lay on her deathbed, trying to play matchmaker? “Are you suggesting I date your great-nephew? The passel won’t accept such a thing! Remember what happened to the fox shifters when their leader chose a male mate.”
Back in the sixties a handful of independent foxes had shown up seeking protection and guidance to form their own skulk. Their ranks swelled, close to fifty now, but without Irene’s intervention, a battle for command of the skulk a few years ago might have raged out of control.
“Ah, but the old Reynard wasn’t strong enough to retain power. Andy Coleman is much better suited for the job.”
Dustin’s stomach churned, as it always did when someone reminded him of the skulk’s current Reynard, and what Dustin had personally given up to secure Andy’s leadership. The vixen Andy had married to appease his people was expecting twins, due in late fall.
