Seth was still smiling over his matchmaking when Monica arrived. “Why’re you so damned happy?” she asked, removing a cage from the passenger seat and placing it on her Silverado’s tailgate.
“Oh, nothing. Just got Junior off my back for a little while.” He couldn’t help bragging a little.
“Off your back is exactly where you want Junior Timmerman.” Monica waggled her brows. “C’mon over here. I want you to meet somebody.”
“Where’d you get him?” Seth stared through the sides of a metal dog crate at a rather fat example of possumhood. It yawned, revealing a multitude of spiny teeth. Seth chuckled. “You’re not impressed with me one iota, are you, little guy?”
“This here is Petey the Possum, mascot for the Thurman County High Fighting Possums football team. I’m taking him to Dr. Coleman, the vet, for his annual checkup.” Monica dropped a cricket in the cage. The insect didn’t even hit the bottom before becoming a possum snack.
Seth stepped away from the cage, overwhelmed with sympathy for the poor jailed beast, and for the cricket. “It’s cruel to keep him caged.”
“Points for correctly guessing he’s male. Look closer.” Monica pointed at the beast’s backside.
Seth studied the possum from one end to the other. “Oh.” A scar wound up one hip.
“Yeah. A teacher found Petey on the side of the road as a joey. His mother was crossing the road with her babies on her back and got hit—an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Only Petey made it. With his bad leg, he wouldn’t survive in the wild.” Monica stuck a finger into the cage, rubbing an ear. “I wouldn’t worry about him too much. The kids treat him good. It’s an earned honor to be given possum-feeding duty. Now, you’ve probed my mind in animal form. Try seeing into Petey’s.”
Seth stared at the creature’s beady eyes, sensing nothing but hunger, mild curiosity, and the need to… oh crap! Seth jumped back when Petey pissed.
Monica giggled. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Now this is a regular possum. How can you tell?”
“No human thoughts. Just base instinct.”
“Good. Newbies like Tiffany feel somewhat like Petey, here. You have to be careful to watch out for them. They’ll get away in a flat minute and wreak havoc.”
“Like my mom did,” Seth whispered.
Monica lifted her hand to massage Seth’s shoulder. “Yeah. After that tragedy, Irene began asking more nonshifting carriers to stand guard. We haven’t lost anyone since, although we have had the occasional injury due to a dog attack. Now, try to get Petey to turn
around. The secret is to make him think it’s his idea. Don’t try this on other animals, though. It’ll only work on the type of animal you shift into.”
After a few unsuccessful attempts, Petey dutifully turned round and round in his cage at Seth’s mental commands. Monica grinned. She appeared much less frightening now that she displayed facial expressions other than scowls. “Seth, I believe you might be a McDaniel after all.”
APILEof barbequed ribs sat on a platter between Seth and Monica at The Pitted Pig. Seth breathed a sigh of relief when Junior and Michael left without noticing them, or, apparently, noticing much of anything but each other. Their cooing and goo-goo eyes threatened to sap Seth’s appetite, and Monica periodically glanced in their direction and made gagging noises.
“The annual convention is a real hoot,” she said, brandishing a well-gnawed rib bone.
“Convention?”
“Yeah, every year the small animal, nonpredator organizations meet to keep up with who’s where, who’s in command, and to work out swaps. The ‘furry’ movement provides us excellent cover. Before they came into play, we had to be more discreet.” She sopped up a blob of barbeque sauce with a roll before popping it into her mouth. “Nothing like a group of grown men dressing as animals to help us blend in.”
“What do you mean ‘swaps’?” The last thing Seth wanted to hear about was some kind of kinky wife-swapping venture.
“It’s a gene-pool thing. If we have too many single ladies, and another town has bachelors out the ying yang, we’ll issue an invitation for outsiders to join us, or vice versa. Kinda like a huge annual shifter mixer. But it’s not just a singles’ club. Say you got a good strong leader type in an area that has plenty, and you’re lacking leadership in another. You can find candidates at the cons. Turtletown up north of us found their last leader at a con.”
“You said the passel didn’t like outsiders.”
“We’re a bit exclusive, I’m afraid, but that’s not the same everywhere. Others view diversity as progress and a way to exchange ideas. Anyway, our vet met his wife at a convention, though typically foxes throw in with the predators.”
The only convention Seth ever attended was Comic-Con. What kind of exhibits and lectures would he find at a shifter con? “Burr Removal Made Easy”? “Hiding in Plain Sight, Level One”? “What groups come to the convention, if not predators?”
“Skunks, rabbits, raccoons, squirrels, us. Occasionally the chipmunks send delegates. The reptiles have their own get-togethers.”
“Wow! Reptile conventions? Cool!”
“We’re a well-kept secret. And we need to stay under wraps. Now, the next convention is in Anaheim—Oh, eat up.” She tipped a few more ribs onto Seth’s plate. “Full moon tonight. You’re gonna need your strength.”
SETHstood on the front porch, fully naked. Over the rise, he sensed humans and possums, the possum number rising and the human falling as the townsfolk assumed animal form. In their midst, fighting for control, stood Dustin. Seth’s heart lurched. No blood sang in his veins like Monica said it would, no tingling toes heralded a change. He tipped his face up at the sky, a lone tear sliding down his face. It wasn’t meant to be. He’d let the family down.
