by Eden Winters
Seth cringed. Kids. He imagined some of the more nightmarish examples of childhood he’d photographed. The images morphed into the sweet face of his own future child, freckles running across a too big nose. Once more, he recalled his fantasy: big house, porch swing, a partner and kids. Did he dare hope to make the dream come true?
Wait a minute! “While I wouldn’t mind a son or a daughter, I don’t think I’m ready for triplets. That’s not a passel trait, is it?”
“Sometimes.”
Seth swore his heart stopped, only starting again when Monica added, “But not in your family or McDaniels wouldn’t be so scarce. Multiple births happen mostly when the virus goes back for generations in both lines, like the Johnsons. To avoid power struggles within the passel, McDaniels usually found their mates elsewhere, and some married nonshifters who later turned. My mom wasn’t passel either, so chances are we’d have a single birth if we left things up to nature. However, with a fertility clinic, we stand the same chance as any other couple who comes here.”
Oh. What would his parents think? His aunt? His friends back in Chicago? What friends? Have any called you since you’ve been here, besides Michael? his conscience asked. Good point, he silently replied. “Did you mention this to Dustin?”
“Do I need to?”
“Maybe later, not right now.” He considered a few more minutes. He’d rather be safe than sorry, and answered her question by getting out of the truck and marching toward the clinic’s entrance. Let Monica’s fears not come true.
Only after they arrived back at the farmhouse did she say, “Thanks, Seth. No matter what happens, if I ever need to take a trip back to the clinic, I promise you I’ll be a good mother.”
A tight knot formed in his throat, but he managed to squeeze out, “Thanks, Monica. If it’s a boy, will you name him Aaron, after my dad?”
She nodded, the tips of her braids slithering over the top of her thighs. “And Irene for a girl?”
He considered for a moment, thinking of the pictures he’d found of his mother as a child, with her golden ringlets bound by ribbons. “How about ‘Brenda Irene’?”
“Works for me.”
Monica continued coaching him for the “big night,” but she didn’t mention kids again.
Dustin lay awake, an all too common occurrence lately, hoping to hear pebbles against the window. Around 2:00 a.m., he gave up and fell into a fitful doze.
The world might completely change tomorrow night.
And he could lose Seth.
He should have just accepted the damned leadership.
Chapter 21
Seth showered and shaved. Why go to such effort when most of his evening would be spent on all fours, terrorizing crickets and earthworms? His stomach heaved. The grandfather clock bonged five times. Only five o’clock?
He donned a pair of blue jeans, sans boxers, per Monica’s instructions, and paced the sitting room before plopping down on the settee, only to hop back up and begin pacing again. Where the hell was she?
Desperate for a distraction, he logged on to his media site profile to post an update. What would he say? “Turning into a possum tonight. If you don’t hear from me again, check under the oak tree by the pond”?
He wound up doing research instead. After typing “possums” into a search engine, he read up on possum kind, hoping to gain some kind of advantage. Instead, all he found were more possibilities for marsupial munching.
One hour before sundown, his coach arrived.
“Should we eat first?” Seth asked, though he doubted he’d be able to force anything past the lump in his throat, or if he did, it wouldn’t stay down with all the churning in his belly.
“No need. There’s more protein in crickets than in ground beef. Plus, we always spread baked goods out on the field, have ourselves a feast.”
Seth felt his face go green.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna wuss out on me again and be squeamish.”
“No, I’m okay. Just a nervous stomach.” A very nervous stomach, as in, every cricket he’d eaten a month ago suddenly reanimated in his belly and proceeded to kick him with six legs each.
“That’s to be expected.”
Seth had a hard time reconciling this kinder, gentler Monica with the bloodthirsty harpy he’d imagined her to be the first day he’d met her. Then again, if she spoke too loudly or made any sudden moves tonight, he might start running and not stop until he reached Chicago. He peeked out the window at the sun, now a mere sliver showing over the treetops. His heart beat double-time. It wouldn’t be long now. “Is it time to go?” Any chance of him waking up from the really weird dream he seemed to be having?
Leaning against the doorframe, the picture of icy coolness, Monica replied, “Yes. Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Wrong answer. If you don’t believe in yourself, the passel won’t either.”
Forcing his shoulders back, Seth exhaled slowly, letting the tension seep out with the breath. He squared his shoulders, forcing his head as high as his five-foot-nine-inch height allowed.
“Bring up the aura a bit, let everyone waiting out there tonight see what you’re made of.”
Seth poked the possum and snickered, thinking how much that sounded like “choking the chicken.” His inner critter grinned. Crickets tonight! it chirped.
“Dustin will address the passel, announce you as his choice for Irene’s successor, and ask if anyone contests his decision.” Monica rubbed his shoulders like he’d seen managers do to boxers before a prizefight.
“What’ll I say?”
“Nothing, unless someone asks you a direct question. Campaign season’s over—tonight’s the election. Now, if you’re ready, let’s go.” Instead of her usual jeans, scrubs, or overalls, tonight Monica wore a strapless sundress, held in place only by elastic at the top. Her hair hung in waves down her back. She looked… pretty. But he didn’t dare tell her that. “Some of the weaker shifters will be feeling the moon by now.”
Together they marched out the front door and past the barn. Frogs called from the direction of the pond; an owl hooted from the woods. “We need to watch out for him,” Monica warned.
Seth nodded, his own personal possum spirit giving a brief shudder—Seth distracted the anxious critter by tuning in to cricket song, promising an upcoming feast.
This close to sundown, the humid heat of September in Georgia eased, forecasting a bit of chill later on. Despite a cooling breeze, sweat beaded on Seth’s forehead. He’d tuned into Dustin’s unique essence before stepping foot off the porch, and picked up Junior halfway across the yard, followed by Widow Pickens and a few elders while opening the gate. Monica’s energy hummed around him like a swarm of angry bees. He imagined the two of them stepping into a wrestling ring, posturing to intimidate their opponents.
At last they came to the edge of the field. Seth stopped, closing his eyes and recalling the times as a kid when he’d stayed with a babysitter. He imagined his parents and great-aunt standing in this same field. How he’d love them to be here for him now.
The air seemed to vibrate with nervous anticipation, emanating from a circle of possum shifters. Dustin stepped into the circle. “Tonight marks the third full moon since our beloved leader passed beyond. As is my duty as her appointed, I’m prepared to name her successor.”
It seemed as though even the crickets and frogs fell silent, waiting for Dustin’s verdict. “Jacks, jills, and joeys of the passel, I give you Seth Aaron McDaniel, our former Jill’s only remaining kin, and heir.”
Seth took a deep breath, his heart pounding out a punishing rhythm.
“Are there any here who disagree with my decision?”
Junior stepped forward. “I do.”
“On what grounds?”
Seth longed to smack the smirk off Junior’s arrogant face.
“The line dies with him. He won’t father an heir and has no brothers or sisters to provide one.” Yeah, and Junior had an imbecile nep
hew—big deal!
Monica stepped into the circle. “Not true. He will be a father.” She patted her belly—her flat belly. Granted, she didn’t actually lie, she merely made creative use of the truth, for they had planned for future McDaniels, hadn’t they?
Uncertainty passed over Junior’s face, gone in an instant. “You’re carrying his child?”
Seth got the feeling Monica wanted to stick out her tongue at the asshole. “Not yet, but I will. More than one way to skin a possum, Junior.”
Junior scowled, taking a step closer to Monica. Dustin neatly inserted himself between them. “Seems your argument is invalid. Do you have any other objections?”
“This man is a stranger here, to our ways. How can he make decisions affecting the passel if he doesn’t even know us?”
A good point.
“He’s a McDaniel, he can learn,” Dustin replied with icy coolness. “Who would you name in his place?”
Junior responded with, “Myself.”
Dustin directed his attention to those forming the circle. “Do any of you have any reason why Junior’s challenge shouldn’t be accepted?”
Seth held his breath. The good deeds of the past few weeks hadn’t gained him a champion, apparently, though none spoke up on Junior’s behalf either.
“The challenge stands. May the best man win.” Dustin stripped off his jeans, and the rest of the passel followed suit, Seth going last. The dark shapes hovering at the edge of the field suddenly disappeared, though their energy remained, hidden in the knee-high grass. Only Seth, Monica, Dustin, and Junior maintained human form.
Seth watched Junior’s transformation, then Monica’s, then Dustin’s. Satisfied all was as it should be, he turned his consciousness inward. One moment he stood on two feet, the next on four. Between clumps of grass, possums crept closer to witness his upcoming battle with Junior.
Out of the corner of his eye, he registered a dark blur streaking across the field. Damn it all to hell! He’d told Monica not to send the coyote shifter. He’d deal with her later! He turned, ready to send the mutt packing. The passel noticed the intruder, some hissing and running, some flopping on the ground to play dead. Junior scurried into a groundhog burrow. The coyote made a beeline for Seth, who stood his ground. A toothy mouth opened and snapped shut.
A scant second before impact, Seth realized no human awareness existed within the canine’s skull. This was a real fucking coyote! He closed his eyes, expecting to be snapped in two. An agonized squeal split the night, and he opened his eyes to the horrifying vision of Dustin clutched in slavering jaws. With no time to consider the danger, Seth acted.
He latched all fifty-two of his teeth onto the dog’s ear. The monster dropped Dustin, then whipped around to snap and growl at Seth. Searing pain shot through Seth’s naked tail. The beast shook its head, weakening Seth’s grip. If Seth let go, the bastard would surely kill him.
Suddenly the attacker yelped, his thrashing dislodging Seth and sending him flying. Seth started to run for the trees. A pained moan stopped him in his tracks. A few feet away, Dustin lay on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his middle. A furious Monica crouched over his body, ready to fight to the death, by the looks of it. Seth’s blood boiled. How dare the son of a bitch coyote hurt one of the passel! Worse yet, hurt his lover!
He whipped around, ready to single-handedly tear the beast limb from limb, to find he no longer fought alone. Three juvenile possums joined the fray, two hanging from the creature’s ears like bizarre matched ornaments, the third clinging to the beast’s tail. All the flailing, whining, and barking in the world wouldn’t dislodge the Larry, Curly, and Moe of the possum shifter world.
Seth went for the jugular. The coyote yelped, instincts turning from fight to flight. Seth chittered for the boys to let go, and he felt the relief in the beast’s mind, as well as the triplets’ reluctant compliance. He reached out mentally, hoping to find the Johnsons far away, along with Dustin and Monica.
A solid wall of possum power stood at his back. None too gently, he released his hold on the coyote’s throat, dropping to the ground and regaining a fighting stance, lest the brute hadn’t yet learned its lesson. As one, the passel surged; the coyote tucked tail and ran.
Tired, sore, and anxious, Seth staggered toward where he’d last seen Dustin, trying his best not to show the passel his weakness, and worried how he’d ever defeat Junior in a fair fight tonight. He hunkered down next to Dustin’s too-still body. Even in animal form, his heart somersaulted when he took in the puncture wounds on his lover’s side, heard the painful-sounding rasps. Monica’s gaze, when it met Seth’s, held no promise.
I’ve got him, take care of them, she communicated, tossing her snout toward the passel.
Too weary to think straight, Seth limped back to the people, determined to be the leader they needed now. Rather than cowering like frightened animals, one by one they approached, starting with the Widow Pickens. She performed a possum bow at Seth’s feet, offering her cheek. Lick it, she murmured, possibly sensing Seth’s bewilderment. Seth obliged, giving her reddish muzzle a quick flick of his tongue. She ambled away, allowing the next elder to make a public statement of support. One after the other of the senior members of the passel acknowledged Seth’s claim to leadership. After the third one, he discreetly wiped a paw across his tongue, spitting out loose hair. Did possums hack up fur balls?
The Johnson boys toddled up, their toothy grins a bit alarming. Their parents attempted to herd them back, allowing more senior members to pay homage first. Seth stopped them. Let them come, he said. They deserve this place in line. He didn’t understand how he was talking, only that, with a series of odd vocalizations, his desires seemed to be heard. More reverently than he believed possible, the boys paid their respects, one winking and giving Seth’s paw a playful nip in passing. Seth didn’t scold him. The boy had earned the right.
Junior was noticeably absent. Seth decided a public reprimand would be in order next full moon. Furry bodies wandered off into the field to do what possums did until dawn. Seth joined Monica in cleaning Dustin’s wounds.
The first light of dawn brought a fox to the meadow, and Seth braced for another attack. The fox crept closer, head down. Throughout the field, possum bodies morphed into human. Seth waited, worried what the shift might do to Dustin, but Dustin remained in possum form. The fox shifted and grew into Andy.
“He’s not going to change. He’s too weak,” now-human Monica said. Seth nodded, reaching within to his inner man. One moment he was in a four-footed body, dew clinging to his fur, the next he stood on two feet, gazing down at his injured lover.
“I’ll take him,” Andy said, bending to scoop up the battered creature. “I guess you’ve figured out by now why the vet and doctor’s offices are joined.”
Seth’s heart broke anew. Surely Dustin wouldn’t survive such heinous injuries. Seth stroked a tiny ear, earning a barely audible sigh.
“I’ll do my best for him.” Andy cradled Dustin to his chest as he turned to leave.
“I’ll go with you.” Seth’s place was with Dustin.
Monica placed a restraining hand on his arm. “No. The passel needs you right now.”
She bent and murmured into his ear, “He’ll be okay. Andy and I will take good care of him. Reassure the people, solidify your position, and go get some sleep.”
He nodded, fighting the moisture in his eyes threatening to spill over his lashes. Dustin was hurt. Maybe critically. If only Seth had acted quicker, realized the coyote was real sooner. Shoulda, coulda, woulda rolled around his brain. “Keep me posted.”
With a heavy heart, he returned his attention to the passel, his passel.
“Jacks, jills, and joeys,” he began, “we’ve suffered an unnecessary tragedy tonight. Rest assured measures will be taken to prevent such a situation from happening again.”
Already the wheels turned in his head: perimeter fencing, more guards, motion sensors….
As one the people bowe
d, then fell into step to escort him to the farmhouse. He imagined the scene played out with his aunt at the head of group, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, humbled at his new sense of purpose.
He was a McDaniel. Carrying on the family legacy.
Once the passel members left him, he placed a call to the vet, only to hear the ominous “No news yet, and if you dare come down here without getting some rest first, I’ll shoot you full of tranquilizers. You’ll be no good to anybody dead on your feet.” He showered and fell into bed, his dreams marred by slavering jowls and snapping teeth.
Seth rose a few hours later. He pulled into the vet’s parking lot promptly at noon, a bit banged up and sporting a few bruises, but nowhere near as bad off as Dustin. Andy let him in, rubbing bleary eyes. “I’ve got him sedated. I won’t lie, it’s really bad.”
“It is?” Oh God, no. He shouldn’t have listened to Monica, should have come here sooner. “Where… where is he? Can I see him?”
Andy expelled a sigh. “We have to airlift him to a hospital in Tennessee.”
“Tennessee! Is he…? How do they….”
“Relax. He’s too weak to turn. A university hospital up there specializes in injuries of this kind. It’s easier to treat him this way, and whereas he’ll get bigger if he shifts, his stitches won’t grow, and though we heal faster than most humans, he’ll heal even faster in possum form. It’s better this way.” The vet placed a comforting hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Come on back for a few minutes, but please don’t be shocked if he doesn’t appear to recognize you, okay? It’s not personal. Sometimes when we’re hurt, we lose our grip on our human side, let the animal take over.”
Bracing for the worst, Seth followed Andy down the hallway, taking in the doorway adjoining the two practices. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it?” Andy commented. “The human doctor on one side and the animal doctor on the other?”