Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  “I didn’t get to set up a time with you earlier for me to see you…plus you said you had anytime the rest of this week free, so do you want to go somewhere?” he says. He’s smiling, and I can tell he’s nervous too, but

  I’m very, very glad he asked. I can’t help it; I smile back too, probably wide enough so the sharp little points of my canines are more obvious.

  “Well, yes, but…my ride should be here any minute to pick me up,” I say. I am slightly worried about what either one of my brothers would say about me abandoning them to run off with a human, but at the

  same time…I don’t particularly care.

  “I can drive you home if you want,” Duncan says. I imagine this human boy who can legally drive before I can dropping me off at home. I picture him interacting with the masculine members of my household—especially capricious, overtly animalistic Wade—and I cringe. Probably not the best idea…I bite my lip, wondering how to tell him so.

  “Or I can drop you off someplace where it’s easier for you to be picked up?” My anxious expression must have made him change his mind, but it’s a good suggestion.

  “You must really want to hang out with me,” I say wonderingly before my brain-to-mouth filter kicks back into gear. He shrugs his broad shoulders and chuckles mildly.

  “Well I’d normally hate to be so abrupt, but I don’t know how to contact you other than seeing you at school. Also…I didn’t really feel like waiting,” Duncan says, our eyes meeting just long enough for some kind of emotional spark to make my right ear twitch with what feels like happiness. My stomach fills with a few stray butterflies.

  Maybe I’m really seeing him for the first time, with the sun reflecting off his bright hair and kind eyes.

  Somehow in spite of his superior height, it’s like he’s looking up at me, like he really cares about what I might have to say. Disconcerted, I wonder if I can afford to trust this strapping, green-eyed ginger boy; thus far, this human has been kind to me. I’ve never known the word “kind” to go with “human” before.

  I briefly consider what my brothers would say about

  trusting a human I barely know enough to get in his car and go somewhere with him, or what my two girlfriends would say to me or tell other people about me leaving with Duncan. I may be adapting to caring less and less about what other people think, but I do care what my brother’s would say.

  “How about we go to Omnium Beanery? It’s a coffee shop my—” I pause; I don’t want to give away all my information quite yet; he doesn’t need to know I have a brother who works there. “One of my brothers can swing by and pick me up there once we’re done.”

  “Great,” Duncan says. “My car is near the east parking lot, so should we go?” I nod an agreement as we begin to walk away. I feel a little wild and carefree about going somewhere with this boy, even for a couple of hours at the most. My brothers probably wouldn’t approve of this liaison, however casual it might be, but I dismiss the errant picture of their angry faces with a mental shrug.

  “Sierra?” Morgan says, and suddenly I remember that she and Shelby have been standing by the entire time I’ve been talking to Duncan. I stop walking and turn around slowly; I probably look like a kid who got caught dumping rare books into a bathtub. (Something that I actually did when I was a kid. Thankfully Harold

  caught me before I got my tiny mitts on the Tolkien collection.)

  “Sorry…I got caught up,” I say lamely, trying and failing to excuse my rudeness. Duncan has stopped walking too, just a few steps ahead of me, and I feel caught in the middle as Morgan and Shelby stare at him with confused faces. I still don’t want to jeopardize

  relations with my half-breed friends, but when it comes to Duncan…

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, trying to give Morgan a look that promises more communication at a later time.

  I’m the only one who has said anything the last couple of moments, and I resume following Duncan as hurriedly as possible. Morgan and Shelby haven’t said a word.

  That’ll be a pain to deal with tomorrow…if they even bring it up, I think before pushing that idea to the back of my mind. I’m leaving this horrible school with a human boy I barely know, and that’s quite enough excitement to be getting on with.

  REGION 5 HISTORY TEXTBOOK FOR GRADE 12

  TEXT PROVIDED BY S.M.A.R.T. INDUSTRIES

  SECTION HEADING: LATE CENTURY 22 - EARLY

  CENTURY 23

  CHAPTER HEADING: POST WAR CONFLICT

  Carter Bowman's regulation vaccine accomplished a great deal in the name of peace for humans and M-DNA people alike, but two significant conflicts continue to take place in the present day of our culture.

  1. Regional Conflict — The former United States of America, divided into numbered regions instead of states at the end of Century 22, endured most of the biological warfare trauma perpetuated by the pure DNA extremists. Region 5, comprised of the former states Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, and South Carolina, was hit by attacks considerably more than any other region because of the concentration of M-DNA people who had gathered there to reside before the war. Thus, Region 5 receives most of the Governmental support as well as support from the SMART industry, which was founded in North Carolina.

  2. Political Conflict — M-DNA people are still not widely accepted in many areas of the country and the world. Like dark-skinned people in Century 20 and previously, M-DNA people have been

  relegated to certain parts of the city and have areas they are unable to enter legally. Recent desegregation laws have been issued to right some of these wrongs, but politically the people are just as divided as they

  were during the war.

  A third conflict, social conflict, is yet to be determined. The results of the desegregation laws are pending, and only time will tell if pure and M-DNA people return to unity on all fronts.

  13

  Duncan and I have been talking for a little while now, although we were quiet during the walk to his retro car with the plain beige paint job. He has a nice walk: it’s a confident, long-legged stride that is solely the property of young men.

  We’re driving now, and judging from the SMARTvan repair shops, strip malls, and boutiques we’ve been passing, we’re not far from Omnium Beanery. He was courteously silent while I sent a SMARTtext to Harold and Wade, telling them not to pick me up. The excuse I gave them wasn’t a lie; I said I was going to Omnium Beanery with a friend, hoping they wouldn’t ask how I got a ride, or who I was with. I don’t know how to warn Eisen that I’m coming, but I’m just going to wing that situation.

  “Your friends seemed a little confused about me,” Duncan says as he adjusts the angle of the steering wheel for a turn. So far we’ve discussed school and trivial matters, but I figured we would come back to the topic of friends eventually.

  “That might be a bit of an understatement. I probably should have introduced you all, but I wasn’t thinking about that at the time,” I say, my half-breed friends’ mystified expressions frozen in my head. “Actually, they were just short of being scandalized.”

  “Scandalized? That’s an old-fashioned word,” Duncan says. I quickly look at his face to see what he means by that, but he’s been glancing at me periodically, so I direct my eyes to the window to avoid eye contact.

  “I read a lot…or at least I used to when I wasn’t working during the summer.” I offer the information casually, wondering if he’ll ask more or volunteer information about himself. I kind of want to hear more about his life, even if I keep telling myself it’s just friendly curiosity.

  “Where did you work? I had a summer job too, but it wasn’t much. Selling SMARTtech at a warehouse kiosk probably isn’t very exciting compared to what you did,” he tells me.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I have a brother in the SMARTtech business, and he probably thinks sales would be a blast,” I say, wanting to be reassuring. “I worked at Summer Greens, the little café and bakery in my town. It wasn’t much, but I enjoyed th
e baking, and the work wasn’t too demanding most days.”

  “You worked at a bakery? Really?” Duncan asks,

  laughing. I can’t help it; I have to look at him when he laughs because it’s a warm, pleasant sound. He looks confident when he’s driving, his large hands dwarfing the steering wheel.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know…It’s just easy to picture you working in a place like that, customer service and all,” he replies. “I might stop by Summer Greens some time.”

  “Oh? Why is that?” My question falls during the moment we pull into the not-so-expansive parking lot of the coffee shop that is our destination. I exit the car quickly, but Duncan is faster at getting out. He comes around to my side of the car, and I have another fleeting moment of discomfiture when it occurs to me that he may have wanted to be chivalrous and open my door for me.

  Stop it…stuff like that doesn’t happen anymore, I tell my smug subconscious.

  Unflustered by my haste, he waits for me to pass him as he locks his car. “Do I really look like the kind of guy who needs an excuse to find food?”

  “I suppose not,” I reply, feeling a smile creep over my lips. “But you probably shouldn’t go there, it’s…it’s really not your kind of place.” My smile fades as I consider this. I picture Duncan in my old workplace, the sunny-bright but tiny café with my eccentric, “bird-lady” employer.

  “How do you know?” Duncan asks conversationally as we walk towards the main door. It’s only a small door, yellow and wood-paneled on the side of the building; the designer for this establishment clearly pursued uniqueness over functionality.

  “Not many…humans usually venture that far into half-breed areas,” I confess. His mouth forms an O as he realizes what I mean, but he doesn’t pursue the subject. I wish…for the first time, I really, truly wish that humans—at least this human—were allowed into the same places where I’m inclined to spend my time. It’s not that it’s illegal for a human to go to half-breed establishments…but it sure as hell is discouraged.

  I enter Omnium Beanery with my human friend in tow. This is the only kind of coffee shop in the city or surrounding areas where everyone is accepted…or at least, where half-breeds are allowed to linger without being bombarded by glares, rude comments, or both. Thanks to the government desegregation policies, a few places like coffee shops and libraries have been designated as common grounds for all. Theaters, performance halls, churches, and some of the wealthier universities remain out of reach for half-breeds. I wonder if Duncan appreciates the value of this coffee shop to people like me.

  As it is, Omnium Beanery isn’t particularly crowded this afternoon: a few solitary patrons brood over black coffee in the corners of the room, but otherwise the area is empty. The air here smells different from a regular café: not so much coffee as spiced fruit, or cinnamon, or tangy citrus with the faintest undertone of rich, dark coffee; around Christmas, a strong pine scent infiltrates the shop atmosphere. It all depends on the day, or on how you breathe in.

  “Do you spend a lot of time here?” Duncan asks me as we move out of the narrow entryway into the far roomier social area. The concrete floor space is filled

  with an eclectic, colorful collection of sofas, armchairs, and mismatched kitchen tables with chairs.

  “I used to…have you never been here before?” I ask in response, and he shakes his head. I don’t visit often anymore, but when Eisen started working here I used to come every day for his company and

  for the free beverage samples he was able to sneak out for me on occasion. He’s moved up to almost assistant manager here now; I lean over to tell

  Duncan this, but he’s too busy looking around to notice me—for the moment. Then I remember I didn’t tell him I have a brother who works here.

  If Eisen is working at the register today, he eludes my cursory gaze as I look around. I’ve always loved the beanery, even if I haven’t been here much lately, and now I try to view this place like I’m seeing it for the first time. The path to the ordering counter is crooked, blocked in places by the assorted furniture set adrift about the room. As I breathe in the intoxicating and familiar aroma, I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t enjoy an afternoon spent in here. Dark, secluded corners with smoky lighting and well-worn leather seats lure the more solitary patrons, while sunny work-stations strategically arranged beside windowed areas charm more social customers. I always preferred the wide open common area, cluttered as it is by tables and chairs of all kinds; the decorations are colorful and quaint, although a few pathetic lawn chairs pollute the mix.

  Plus, the drinks are amazing. I idly wonder what Duncan is going to order—I’ve pegged him as more of the savory than sweet type—as we make our way to

  the ordering counter.

  I’ve caught Eisen’s scent already, familiar and clean with a tang of city-boy flavor, but it’s not until he comes out of the green door leading to the back kitchen that I realize my brother has gone into camouflage too. He’s actually deigned to wear a hat: a cobalt hipster beanie that makes his blonde hair whiter and his angled, expressive eyes more reflective. The beanie must be more comfortable than a baseball hat or flat-bill cap, but I sense the indignation my brother must feel about having to conceal his fox ears at all. We thought he’d have to pretend to be a human to work in this line of business, since humans might not want a half-breed preparing their food and drink, but the owner of this coffee shop is a decent person—when he’s not drinking—and most of the patrons who come here aren’t bad either. Eisen must be making the effort for Harold’s sake.

  Eisen recognizes me as we approach; ordinarily he would be more than pleased to see me at his workplace, but his eyes rapidly travel between me and Duncan in an attempt to understand why I’m with a human.

  Alone with a human. A human boy.

  Eisen opens his mouth to speak, eyebrows arched in disbelief, but Duncan misses the facial cue and speaks before my brother can say a word.

  “Hey, do you have any recommendations? I’m looking for something with high caffeine but not much coffee,” my redheaded, very human companion asks. I direct pleading eyes towards my brother, shaking my head slightly so he doesn’t give me away.

  “Probably…” Eisen begins, pausing as he gazes at me with one eyebrow still arched. “Probably our Shivering Whizard. The peppermint will wake you up long before the caffeine even kicks in.”

  Thank you, I mouth the words to my brother as Duncan orders the Whizard. I know that isn’t the end of this, but I did buy myself some uninterrupted time with Duncan. I don’t know why this is important, especially since Eisen will take me home as soon as he gets off his shift, but I’m glad anyway.

  “Anything for you?” Eisen asks me next, playing the courteous barista perfectly.

  “A small Rice Pudding Mixer,” I say, recalling the name for my favorite treat. “No raspberry topping, extra cinnamon, and cinnamon infused whip on the top.”

  “You’re very specific,” Duncan remarks as Eisen taps my order into the SMARTpad register built into the counter. I shrug.

  “I just know what I like,” I say. I didn’t mean anything by saying that, but Eisen chokes back a rude snort.

  “S-Sorry…your order will be up soon. Why don’t you two go sit by that partial stained-glass window? Best seats in the house,” he rushes, scanning Duncan’s pay chip as fast as he can. I was perfectly able to purchase my own drink, but my human friend paid for my order without fanfare…which I kind of like.

  “Okay,” I say. Anything to escape further awkwardness. Duncan and I head for the area our friendly barista so kindly indicated, and I have to agree that it is one of the best sections in Omnium Beanery.

  I sink into a squishy pumpkin colored armchair that happens to have just the right amount of plush left in its soft cushions; my tail curves into my lap by habit. Duncan takes the seat across from me. His lean, muscular form fits comfortably in the wingback chair made of sun-faded charcoal leather.
>
  “You seem to know the barista,” Duncan says after a moment of silence. I’m glad he broke the ice—again—but I cringe with embarrassment.

  “Was it obvious?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach up and make my fox ears stand up straighter. I think back on the brief conversation, wondering how Eisen gave us away.

  “I have a younger sister, so I recognize the older brother type,” Duncan informs me; I wonder if he’s offended, but his eyes are curious. “I’m assuming he’s your brother? That’s the vibe I was getting.”

  “Yeah, that’s my brother Eisen. He’s the reason I come here sometimes…actually, he’s my ride home when he gets done with his shift. Mostly I come for the drinks, though,” I say. “You have a sister?”

  Duncan glances over at Eisen, then back to me, so there’s a delay of his answer. “Yes, I have a sister; her name is Ryella…sorry, I’m trying to catch a resemblance between the two of you,” he explains as his gaze finally abandons the order counter.

  “It’s very subtle…mostly because he doesn’t have much fox DNA, not compared to anyone else in our family,” I say.

  Eisen brings out our drinks: Duncan’s Whizard releases a strong, pleasant aroma of herbal mint, and my glorious, calorie-intense Rice Pudding Mixer

  balances in the center of the tray. I bless my brother as he drops off our drinks without a word and saunters back to his station to continue working. No doubt he’ll be giving us the evil eye whenever he’s not taking customers.

  I take a sip of my drink, humming as the taste of cinnamon and sweet cream fills my mouth along with small kernels of rice. My tail does that funny wagging thing again, but thankfully it rests in my lap so I can hide the tremor. I hope this isn’t becoming a habit, I ruminate as I watch Duncan take a swig of

  his drink and examine the recycled cup appreciatively.

  “I can sort of tell who the M-DNA people are, even if they wear hats or scarves to cover up the signs,” Duncan says as he sinks back casually into his seat, holding onto his cold drink with one pale hand. “Hats are the easiest camouflage to spot though…speaking of hats, I take my hat off to your brother—Eisen?—for this amazing creation.”