Feral Pride

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  “A demon world leader?” Seth mocks. “How unoriginal! Have you never heard of Ivan the Terrible, Idi Amin, Andrew Jackson? It’s like your banal circus concept all over again.”

  Lawson tries to defend herself. “Boreal liked —”

  “Boreal doesn’t matter,” Seth rants on. “The aborted police sweeps, the FHPU, it’s been one mess after another with you.”

  Trying to save me, Clyde leaps to rake his claws down Lawson’s scaly belly. “Retract your fur!” I choke out. “Show your crosses! Show —”

  Seth pierces Clyde’s shoulder with his poisonous fang.

  YOSHI NICKS LAWSON with the sword. The demon wails. Flames whoosh up. “Aimee!”

  Yoshi’s knees buckle. He’d been trying to save her. Instead, she’s lost to the blaze.

  Clyde’s been impaled, poisoned. The demons give us no chance to grieve. Yoshi struggles to hold them both at bay while covering me. He slices Lawson’s torso, separating Aimee in hopes the flames will dissipate. They do, but too late.

  We’ve got to end this now. “Yoshi, give me a boost!”

  He holds out his free hand. I step up and, with his added muscle, leap again to an overhead trapeze. Only this time I’m on camera. It’s a showy move.

  Tonight we’re heaven’s foot soldiers, battling hell spawn with holy fire. “Hey, Seth!” I shout, swinging back and forth. “Seth, I’ll make you a deal.”

  Yoshi pivots with the sword to block Lawson’s fangs, and I drop onto her back, where her head narrows to tail. As she bucks, I sink in my left claws to hang on. “Yoshi, the sword!”

  He tosses the weapon, hilt first, to me, and I stretch to make the catch, right-handed.

  Yoshi’s defenseless now. I’ve got to make this work.

  I rest the edge of the blade against Lawson’s blotchy scales. They smolder. “What are you doing?” she exclaims. “What have you done to my alluring tail?”

  Snake demons trade in children? Time to talk to Seth about his. “Seth,” I begin again. “If you never again target, torment, or even annoy shifters, Homo sapiens, or . . .” Why not? “Any closely related species, then I won’t behead Lawson.”

  “That’s not my name,” she pipes up like it’s important at the moment. “Let history show I am Til’tehxya, Intern of Discord. Disguised as Lawson, I have endured nagging media and blah chicken dinners, and no matter what incantation I try, I always get a run in my panty hose.”

  “Go ahead,” Seth says. “Behead her.” Beneath my thighs, I feel Til’s scales adjust in response. He adds, “She’s whiny, always making excuses, and I have fifty thousand more spawn roaming Lucifer’s capital, including a favored eighteen who’ve been admitted to university.” He sounds sincerely proud of that, like it’s on the bumper sticker of his hell mobile. “Two Chaos majors, three in Bigotry, one in Culinary Arts, and a dozen in Negative Self-Esteem.”

  “Culinary Arts?” Yoshi echoes. He’s kneeling by Clyde, who’s reaching toward the smoky fire that’s consumed Aimee.

  “Everybody’s got to eat,” Seth quips. “Counteroffer: Let me go. Call off your second front outside the amphitheater, and I’ll leave Homo sapiens, Homo shifters, and Homo deific to create discord wholly of their own making. You hardly need my help anyway.”

  We’ve already lost Aimee and Quincie, too. We have to get Clyde to a healer. My stomach clenches, and the skin breaks again. “It’s a deal,” I announce. “You can go.”

  As Seth shoots out of the amphitheater, Til tries once more to buck me off. “We can talk about this,” she pleads. “We can make a deal. Do you have a pet? A kitten or puppy? I’d be happy to talk about —”

  Puppy? The blade bursts into flames as I shove it through her reptilian neck. No way is that satanic freak going anywhere near Peso.

  LAWSON’S SEVERED HEAD smacks the ground, and Kayla leaps, graceful, to my side. She uses the flaming sword to split Lawson’s pale belly from the base to the charred tip of her tail. Then Kayla rushes to what remains of Seth’s flesh around Aimee’s body.

  “Aimee,” Clyde gasps. “Get her away from that thing.”

  His Lion-form face dissolves to human, his expression contorted in pain. I snatch a scrap of fallen red linen that used to be the governor’s lapel. “All clear,” I say into the mic. “Forget the fleeing monster. We need a healer — now!” We need more than that — an incantation, a full-blown spell.

  Whatever works, or we’re going to lose Clyde, too.

  Kayla returns the sword to me and uses her bare hands to tear ashy demon meat from Aimee’s face. “It’s not hot. She’s not burned.” The Cat girl sounds mystified. “She’s alive!”

  “Tell Aimee . . .” Clyde’s eyelids flutter shut. “Tell her . . .”

  His blood has bloomed to cover his heart.

  “Tell her what?” I ask, grasping his hand. “Come on, man. Stay with me.”

  The medical team swarms in, their identities protected by masks, and we’re pushed out of the way. Mrs. Morales mutters, “We’ve got no antivenom for that thing.” She kneels. “Clyde!”

  “What?” Aimee’s voice sounds soft and small. Kayla helps her to her feet.

  Holding each other, we watch and wait, helpless.

  “She saved him last time,” Aimee whispers. “Miz Morales brought him out of the coma.” In the months since, Clyde has lived a lifetime. He found passion in Noelle, love in Aimee, and not only the Lion but the man within. On the biggest, best adventures of my life, Clyde was the guy by my side.

  Mrs. Morales looks up at us through tears and shakes her head. Aimee collapses against me. I hate that the world’s watching. I call, “Cut the transmission.”

  “No,” Kayla says. “Don’t. Clyde died pretending to be somebody else, and the demons used it against him. Don’t you see? The problem isn’t who and what we are. It’s the lies, the apologies, the pretenses . . . No matter the consequences, God made us this way. We’re glorious.”

  Before I can stop her, the Cat girl steps up to address the cameras. “Hello, world. My name is Kayla Morgan. I’m from Pine Ridge, Texas, and I’m a werecat. An Acinonyx jubatus sapiens. You’ve seen me before on TV or on the Internet.

  “I’m sure you’re confused, possibly even frightened. That’s because you don’t understand. Listen to me. I’m going to explain what just happened. I’m going to explain the difference between a horror and a hero.”

  To: Zachary

  cc: Michael

  From: God

  Date: Monday, April 28

  The necessity of secrecy on the part of angelic forces in affecting events on the mortal plane has been emphasized to you since the dawn of your existence.

  Nevertheless, you relinquished your sword to your former assignment, the vampire Quincie P. Morris, to surreptitiously execute a hell-spawn demon in Bastrop County, Texas.

  She failed to do so. Instead, in an entirely foreseeable chain of events, five hundred million living souls (and counting) have witnessed werecats Kayla Morgan and Yoshi Kitahara sequentially wielding said weapon to destroy one hell spawn and to battle another to a draw.

  Consequently, on every continent of earth, the status of werepeople as my blessed children, the holy nature of your sword, the role of faith, and the ongoing threat posed by the demonic are competing for most prevalent topic of mortal thought and conversation.

  Thank you for making my job more interesting.

  Well done.

  I DIED. It sucks. I never had the chance to put together a bucket list, let alone check stuff off of it. But because I’ve got unfinished business, I’ve decided to stick around.

  They’re haunted people — Yoshi, Kayla, and especially Aimee — haunted by me.

  Dr. Morales figured out how to use the tracking function of the brain chips to pick up the remaining shifters in the woods. Now they’re all at the makeshift medical bay at the B&B in Pine Ridge. After healing up from the extractions, they’ll be sent home or someplace safer.

  After a quick debate, the grown-up
s took a sample of Seth’s charred remains for study. They left the rest for humanity to figure out (or not) for itself.

  Jess’s dad, Sheriff Bigheart, was the first non-coalition cop on the scene. Arriving in his wife’s hot-pink VW Beetle, he beat the SWAT team by three minutes.

  Kayla insisted on staying, after the coalition pulled out, to answer media questions. Yoshi stood by her. When Mayor and Mrs. Morgan arrived twenty minutes later, they did, too.

  Detectives Zaleski and Wertheimer spoke on behalf of the kidnapped shifters.

  Father Ramos explained the demons and calmed public hysteria, but only after calming down himself when Kayla and Yoshi presented him with Zachary’s holy sword for safekeeping. That took a few minutes of deep breathing and a shot of Freddy’s 192-proof Polish vodka.

  Meanwhile, Freddy started publicly releasing some of Graham Barnard’s computer files. They verified MCC Enterprises’ involvement (“at the highest levels”) in “the incident” and set off an international debate on legal protections for werepeople.

  Nobody mentioned the Homo deific to any of the outside cops or the press.

  AT THE B&B, the medics scrubbed the blood off my body. They changed me back into my blue jeans and Sanguini’s logo T-shirt. They returned Leander’s watch to Noelle.

  My body was laid out in the living room of the main house. It was surrounded by blue glass vases filled with fresh-picked wildflowers.

  I locate Aimee resting alone in a small log cabin on the property. She’s propped on lacy pillows. She’s staring off into space on a twin-size brass bed. Her wrist is bandaged. She’s ignoring the cup of tea on the nightstand.

  I’m debating whether to materialize when someone knocks.

  “Aimee?” It’s Junior. He opens the front door a crack.

  No response.

  Junior tilts his huge furry head. He shuffles in carrying his enormous white cat, Blizzard. “Your dad is asking if you’ll see him.” He sets the cat on the bed. After kneading the quilt, it stretches — theatrically — over Aimee’s lap and purrs. Her fingers curl into the white fur.

  “Freddy called your mom,” Junior adds. “She’s on her way.” He takes the rustic rocking chair beside the end table. “I like it here,” he says. “Reminds me of Granny Z’s cabin.”

  No response. I have to give Junior credit. He keeps trying. “I’m sorry about Clyde. Your dad is outside. He wants to know if he can come in.”

  Aimee yanks off her sweet-sixteen ring. She tosses it out an open window.

  I guess that answers that. Scratching Blizzard’s chin, she says, “The way I see it, once somebody offers their kid as collateral in a bargain with scaly horned hell spawn who kills her beloved Lossom, then adios to bedside chats.” Moments later, she reaches for Junior’s hand. “If you want, you can live in the hideout house, hang out with my friends, and wash dishes at Sanguini’s with me.”

  “Like a normal person?” he asks. “With a normal job? How is that possible?”

  “All I have to do is ask. Nobody’s going to say no to me today.” It’s only a wisp of a smile, but it’s there. “The neighbors will get used to you, and everyone at the restaurant will think you’re a cosplay genius. Trust me, Austin loves the weird.”

  NEARLY TWO WEEKS LATER, Yoshi secures the newly replaced lock on the front door of Austin Antiques. He’s decked out in a black tux with a white bow tie and vest. He looks like a Eurasian James Bond. Still pissed that his grandmother made him work today, he messages Kayla to say he’s on his way to Pine Ridge.

  He’s Mr. Relationship. I haven’t caught him scoping out another girl. Not even when bombshell Quandra Perez strolled into the antiques mall with her mother.

  He’s doubled down at school. He joined Aimee’s tae kwon do class. He’s lifting weights at five every morning with his sister.

  “My, don’t you look dashing!” Chef Nora surprises Yoshi in front of the Bone Chiller, the SUV that used to be mine. The car is covered in dominoes made from the bones of shape-shifters (an eBay purchase). I donated it months ago to the interfaith coalition.

  It’s a huge deal for Nora to abandon Sanguini’s kitchen this close to sundown on a Saturday. She’s still wearing her uniform, complete with kitchen clogs.

  “Nora!” Yoshi gives her a hug. “Uh, what’re you doing here?” He runs his palm across the hood. “This is . . . was Clyde’s car.” He’s on the verge of getting choked up again. He was a mess at my funeral. Cried baby-man tears. It was awesome.

  Nora presses forward. “Those of us at the coalition thought you might need it for tonight’s mission.” It’s the first time I’ve heard her admit she’s more than “in touch” with the organization. She’s part of it.

  Yoshi opens his mouth and closes it again. “Tonight?”

  Obviously, the guy’s got plans.

  Nora chuckles. “We’re offering you an official field position, hon. You’re going to graduate from high school in a couple of weeks. You’ve proven yourself a cool Cat under pressure, and you come highly recommended by an emeritus operative.”

  The chef slips the SUV keys into his palm. His gaze falls on the manila-colored brick antiques mall that used to be his only future. “Me?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Nora says. “It won’t be easy. You’ll be trained in disguise, languages, combat, weapons, diplomacy . . . And right now this vehicle’s too flashy, but that’s nothing some paint can’t fix.” Flashy, my bald Possum tail.

  “Speaking for myself, I think you’ve got a bright future in enchanted antiquities,” Nora adds. “But that’s not tonight’s mission.”

  Nora is southern reasonableness personified. She’s old enough that arguing with her seems disrespectful. But Yoshi’s got a girlfriend to answer to. “What is tonight’s mission?”

  Nora opens the driver’s door for him. “Pine Ridge prom.”

  THE VETERAN’S CENTER in Pine Ridge has morphed into Morgan campaign headquarters. Kayla’s dad is running for governor.

  Last Thursday the body of the real Linnie Lawson was discovered. It was found by a construction company in the process of rehabbing a ratty-looking strip mall. She’d been folded into a freezer found in the back of a mom-and-pop pharmacy. The place had been stocked with MCC Injections’ shift-suppressing vaccine and patches.

  According to the autopsy, the governor died in early February. She was poisoned with venom that couldn’t be matched to any known animal species. Sound familiar?

  At Morgan campaign central, I spot a few familiar faces. They’re seated at long foldout tables. They’re stuffing envelopes and drinking coffee. The werewolf newlyweds from Daemon Island are wearing Thing One and Thing Two T-shirts from their honeymoon in Orlando. Closest to the stage, Mei is talking to Mrs. Morales about apprenticing as a healer. Her husband, James, is chatting up Dr. Morales about becoming an engineering graduate assistant.

  At the next table, Sheriff Bigheart is comparing notes with Detective Zaleski on the “snake of unusual size” spotted yesterday in Lady Bird Lake.

  Yoshi’s grandmother is bitching to Eleanora Stubblefield about the deviled eggs served after her twin sister Lula’s funeral. It was last weekend, the day before mine. At my funeral, Ms. Kitahara bitched to my parents about the music, performed live by the Brazos Boys.

  After I found out I was, as Aimee says, a Lossum, I wondered if I was a reminder to my parents of their rocky times. I was an idiot. They’re still tearing up at how Pop-Pop Richards insisted on paying for my send-off. He had me buried in the Armadillo royal family plot next to Travis at Magnolia Shade Cemetery. Leander didn’t show up at all, but my name was inscribed in The Book of Lions as a prince of the Pride.

  It’s not easy, growing up Possum. I’m no angel, but I’ll watch over Clara, Claudette, Cleatus, and Clint every day for the rest of their lives.

  Onstage in Pine Ridge, the mayor/gubernatorial candidate is leaning forward in a brown-and-white cowhide chair. It’s on loan from Stubblefield’s Secrets on Main.

 
A Capital City News reporter is poised in a matching chair across from him. She double-checks her voice recorder. “In light of her heroism during the Whispering Pines calamity, your adopted daughter has become a household name.”

  That’s what the media is calling it, “a calamity.” They’re trying to sound southwest-y.

  She goes on, “But do you think Texans are ready to elect a werecat’s parent, even if he’s human, to the state’s highest office?”

  “First off, Kayla is my daughter — period. No qualifications.” Mayor Morgan stands and buttons his jacket as Kayla and Yoshi make their entrance. “Second, that’s a conversation with the people of Texas that I’m looking forward to. If you’ll excuse me for a moment . . .”

  Kayla dyed her hair dark again. She’s rocking a strapless, backless sequined gown — it’s royal blue with a rhinestone belt. She’s wearing a cat’s-eye gemstone necklace. It’s the one she gave to Ben on Valentine’s Day. It was retrieved from the carousel by Sheriff Bigheart.

  Kayla and Yoshi are meeting Jess and Brenek (it’s a setup) at Lurie’s Steakhouse. They’ll continue to Pine Ridge prom at the opera house. Then they’ll cruise to Austin to party on at Sanguini’s. It’s Waterloo High prom night, too.

  Kayla’s had an intense couple of weeks. She’s the cover girl on the inaugural issue of Shifter Scene magazine. Cal Tech took out a full-page ad in support of her in the New York Times. But her family had to change churches. There’s talk of stripping her state championships in track and cross-country. The National Council for Preserving Humanity staged a protest during Lula’s burial (they were drowned out by the PRHS marching band).