Second Nature

by Jae

  I still think they're overreacting. Kylin was right. We're getting a little too paranoid since the maharsi are gone.

  "For example?" Jennings asked. His sharp eyes were glued to the laptop.

  "She describes the way our thought processes change while in animal form quite accurately," the Kasari councilor answered. "She knows we retain an intelligence that is above that of animals while our thinking becomes more instinctive and less analytical. She even mentions that memories from things we experienced in animal form are more images and dreamlike impressions than clear cause-and-effect sequences." His ginger mane flew in all directions when he shook his head. "I don't think getting so many things right is mere coincidence."

  Jeff Madsen nodded. "Something else is going on here, and we have to find out what it is before the book is published. This is where you two come in."

  "How did you get the information if the book isn't even published yet?" Griffin asked, not reacting to the implied job offer. Maybe Jennings was willing to take the job, but she wasn't eager to go on this crazy-sounding mission.

  "Allison DeLuca, her beta reader, is a Syak," Madsen said.

  Griffin cocked her head. "Beta reader?" The term sounded vaguely familiar.

  "Someone who reads the story before publication and works with the author to help detect mistakes and improve the story," Kylin said.

  It sounded as if she had learned the information by heart just a few hours ago. Still eager to impress the older council members. Quit trying, Kylin. They'll never truly respect you. Griffin turned back to Madsen. "So you already have one of your wolves close to the writer. Why not send this beta reader to find out more if the writer already knows and trusts her?"

  A stiff shake of Madsen's head. "Allison is not a saru. She doesn't have your kind of training. And Allison lives in California, so they don't know each other personally. Apparently, beta reading is done mainly by e-mail, and I'm not sure if Ms. Price trusts her beta reader. When Allison asked, she only told her that the idea for the book came from the recesses of her creative mind. She's very secretive about her writing and won't tell her more than that."

  "So maybe it really all came just from the recesses of her creative mind," Griffin said.

  "Maybe, but you know we can't afford to rely on maybe's," Madsen answered.

  Instantly, a new discussion broke out among the council members. Most of them were convinced that revealing their existence to humans would mean the end of the Wrasa, so the writer was a threat that needed to be investigated and, if need be, stopped.

  A lot of what they said was true. Griffin had lived among humans, and she knew that they were afraid of things that were different, things they couldn't understand — and they tended to kill what they feared. Even if their "coming out" didn't cause mass hysteria and lead to a new Inquisition, humans would try to control them. They would pass laws that forbid Wrasa from taking certain jobs, holding office, living in certain areas, or getting a driver's license. Horrible images of Wrasa being abused for scientific tests flashed before Griffin's eyes. Humans with their need to dissect everything would try to find out how the shifting worked or if their regenerative abilities could be used in medicine. The military would want to use the Wrasa with their superior strength and sharp senses as super soldiers.

  No.

  Griffin had fought hard to escape her family's influence over her life, and she had no intention of letting her life be controlled by human laws.

  "So what do you want us to do?" Jennings asked. "Destroy the manuscript and kill the writer?"

  How casually he said that. Griffin wasn't sure whether she should admire or despise her commander. Both of them had killed humans before and probably would be forced to do it again. After all, protecting their secret existence — even if it meant killing — was the single most important rule for every Wrasa and the Saru's main purpose. Still, Griffin didn't like it when things went that far. The law said that killing humans was allowed only as a last resort to protect their secret, but recently, she had begun to think that some of her colleagues didn't exhaust all available means before making the decision to kill a human. So it's better they send me than some trigger-happy saru.

  "Kill her if everything else fails," Thyra Davis said.

  "The real problem isn't the book itself," Jeff Madsen said. "If you have to kill her, do it — but not before finding out where her information is coming from. She knows things that only a Wrasa could know, and I want to know who told her about it."

  He suspects we have a traitor? Would anyone really be so stupid, knowing it could get him killed? Griffin wondered.

  "And we're sure the writer is not one of us?" Jennings asked.

  "We're sure." Madsen's voice left no doubt. "She's human."

  "So how do we make contact?" Griffin asked. The "we" was hard to get used to. All of her missions so far had been solo assignments, and that was how Griffin preferred it. This time, she had no choice. "What are we this time? Fans wanting an autograph at a book signing or reporters doing an interview?" A grin trembled at the edges of her lips, and she quickly suppressed it. She couldn't imagine Cedric Jennings as an autograph-waving fan. He wasn't a fan of any human.

  Madsen gave the younger Syak a quick, fatherly pat to the shoulder. "We're sending you to California to investigate the beta reader, our main suspect, while Saru Westmore will travel to Osgrove, a small town in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and try to find out more about the writer."

  Great, Griffin thought. Guess that's the privilege of rank. Jennings gets to sun his pelt under the warm Californian sun while I get frostbites on my muzzle in that charming little town in Michigan. She shook herself.

  "Why not send me to Michigan?" Jennings's tone walked the fine line between a submissive suggestion and an angry demand. "I have the superior rank and more experience, so the main part of the investigation should be mine."

  Griffin's shoulders rotated back, making her look even broader. What are you doing? she asked herself when she noticed what she was doing. You don't even want that job. Sometimes, being a cat and the possessiveness that came with it had its drawbacks. "I certainly won't protest if you send me to California," Griffin said. She could already feel warm sunlight soak into her skin.

  "No." Kylin's voice replaced the image in Griffin's head with Michigan's cool autumn breeze. "Sending Griffin to Michigan and you to California is the only logical choice. She knows the territory, and as a Syak, you're better equipped to rule out or confirm the beta reader as a suspect."

  She knows the territory, Griffin bitterly repeated. So that's why they're sending me — they want to use my connections to the Ottawa National Forest pride.

  "How do I get in contact?" Griffin asked again. It wasn't that she wanted the job and was eager to get started. What she wanted was to return to her forest and not have to snoop around some poor woman's life and possibly kill her. But she was a saru, and these occasional missions were the price she paid for being allowed to live her life mostly outside of the Wrasa community. This was her place in Wrasa society. There was no other. "Don't tell me I really am an autograph-hunting fan."

  "It's not that easy," Kylin said. "J.W. Price is a very reclusive writer — no interviews, no book signings, no public appearances at conferences. She doesn't have a picture on her Web site, and she's writing under a pseudonym. We're gonna have to be more creative than that." It seemed Kylin had been the one to do all the homework on the writer.

  Griffin could understand the need for privacy — it was one thing she had always wanted and never gotten. Every shifter in America knew about her and her ancestry. "So how do I find her if we don't even know her real name?"

  Kylin leaned forward with the expression of a cat that had just brought home a fat mouse. "We know her real name," she said. "She gave it as copyright claimant in the copyright registration for her books. All it took was a simple search in an online database, and voílà..." She paused for effect, but Jeff Madsen gave her an impatient look. He had no
patience for a cat's waiting game. "...Marjorie Carol Price."

  "How do you get J.W. from Marjorie Carol?" Griffin asked. "Are you sure we have the right woman?" Thoughts of ending up killing the wrong person were frequently part of her nightmares.

  Stretching her six-foot-two frame, Kylin fixed her gaze on Griffin in silent challenge. She clearly didn't like having her competence questioned in front of the other manarks. "She is the right one," she said.

  "We're still analyzing the manuscript, but here's all the information we have on Marjorie Price and on Allison DeLuca so far." Madsen handed over two sealed envelopes and two plane tickets. "We expect you to keep us updated with regular progress reports."

  The councilors filed out of the room without giving them another glance.

  "Good hunting," Jennings said. His intense blue eyes were already focused on the steps of the hunt. "And keep me posted too."

  Griffin nodded and turned to follow him.

  * * *

  "Griffin?" Kylin called. If she didn't stop her before she slipped out the door, she wouldn't see her or hear from Griffin for another year. Griffin could be as elusive as a tiger in its jungle hideaway. "Could I have a word?"

  By now, they were the only people left in the council chamber.

  Kylin didn't need to breathe in the familiar scent to detect Griffin's reluctance. There was no warmth in the golden-brown eyes as Griffin turned around. "I have a flight to catch, Manark."

  Manark.

  Normally, pride warmed Kylin's heart whenever she heard the title, but she didn't want Griffin to use it. "How are you, Griff?" she asked, ignoring Griffin's attempt to keep their interaction on a strictly professional level.

  "Fine," Griffin said. She glanced pointedly at her pocket watch.

  Are you really so eager to get away from me? There was a time when you enjoyed spending some time together. That time was long gone, though, and only Kylin seemed to feel any regret about it. "You have more than enough time to catch your flight," she said, hearing the bitter timbre of her voice. "I made sure of that when I booked your flights."

  Two measured steps brought Griffin closer, and she stared at Kylin from a height that equaled Kylin's own. "So you were the one who suggested me for this job. Thank you very much." She didn't sound pleased.

  "Oh, come on. Don't tell me working in the cadaver brigade makes you happy. Pretending to be human and hiding dead animals is no job for someone with your skills," Kylin said. There was so much more to life than that. Family. Friendship. Love. Griffin ignored all of it. "Why do you keep turning down promotions?"

  "Not everyone is cut out to be a manark." Griffin's voice was cold enough to make Kylin shiver.

  Kylin struggled to stay calm. Some things never change. She's still good at getting under my skin. "I never said I wanted you to strive for a seat on the council. You don't need to be a politician, but you need to fight for your place in the Wrasa community. Stop keeping your distance. You're Wrasa. No matter how good you are at living undercover and fitting yourself into human society, it's just a sham."

  "Oh, you mean like your position in the council is a sham?" Griffin's sarcasm sliced through Kylin.

  She shoved her chair back. Eye to eye, she stared at Griffin. "It's not a sham," she said through bared teeth. "I worked hard to be where I am today."

  Griffin's expression softened. "I know you did, but hard work never mattered more than having the right parents in our society."

  "Times are changing. People are more accepting now," Kylin said. She wanted to believe it. "I mean... look at me. I'm a member of the council."

  Warm air brushed against Kylin's cheek as Griffin snorted. "Because our mother is too smart to want any part of all that constant bickering and endless border negotiations, not because our fellow Wrasa have suddenly discovered their respect for hybrids. Everyone knows who is really behind your position and who makes the decisions. They respect our mother, not you."

  The familiar itch crawled across her skin. Kylin forced down a wave of anger. She didn't answer, knowing nothing she said would convince Griffin. Despite being twins, they had never seen eye to eye about their place in Wrasa society.

  With slow steps back, still not taking her eyes off Kylin, Griffin moved closer to the door. "I should go."

  This time, Kylin didn't try to stop her. "Say hi to the dads for me," she said.

  "If I see them," Griffin answered.

  Oh, you will. Kylin had no doubt that at some point Griffin would be forced to contact their pride. That was one of the reasons why she had fought so hard to convince the other manarks to send Griffin to Michigan. She wanted Griffin back in the family. "Good hunting," she said.

  One short nod, then Griffin was out the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  "THREE?" THE flight attendant's eyes bulged. "Did you just say you wanted three snack boxes and three sandwiches?"

  A predatory grin stalked along the edges of Griffin's lips. Don't complain, or I might order three flight attendants to go along with that, sweetheart. Part of her wanted to unfold her six-foot-two frame and stare down at the woman until she ran to get her lunch. Normally, she had better control over such impulses, but now hunger raged inside her belly.

  With forced laziness, she looked up from her laptop. Like most Wrasa, she hated flying, but now that her stomach had settled down, she was hungry and impatient. "I'm a big girl," she gave her well-practiced answer, knowing it would be accepted without further question. In human eyes, she was big. Even among Wrasa, she was bigger than most, taller and heavier than her Puwar mother or her Kasari fathers.

  "Of course," the flight attendant said. "I just wanted to make sure." She fled down the aisle.

  Griffin's gaze followed her the way she would track a fleeing deer. Humans. Sometimes, they're just too easy.

  Most of them were uncomfortable around Griffin, while never being able to say why. Humans didn't listen to their instincts. They ignored their sixth sense that told them they were dealing with someone dangerous, someone not quite human. Those age-old instincts were what had kept the Wrasa alive. Humans still possessed them too, but they kept them deeply buried under centuries of science and civilization and told themselves it was stupid to listen to old superstitions, unreasonable fears, and unfounded emotions.

  Leather creaked as Griffin leaned back in her comfortable seat and stretched her legs. Kylin had bought her a first-class ticket to make sure she had enough space and privacy to read the information on the writer on her way to Michigan. The added legroom in the first-class section was a relief. On her flight to Boise, she had been forced to wedge her tall body into a seat designed for midgets and had wished she could shift shape and stretch out in the aisle instead. Come to think of it... if I had shifted, I would have suddenly had that section of the plane all to myself, she thought with a wicked grin.

  While waiting for her food, she clicked through all the pages of J.W. Price's Web site that she had saved for off-line use to her laptop earlier. The author had written four books so far. All were published by Red Quill Press, a company that published mainly romances and historical fiction. Nothing about the new book on the Web site, though, and not much about the writer.

  Even her author's bio didn't mention her family, relationships, hobbies, or other personal information, just that she was living with three cats. Griffin squinted her eyes at the chaotic conglomeration of jobs that J.W. Price had once held: waitress, tourist guide, poker player, fitness instructor, assistant at a county fair shooting booth, and volunteer at an animal shelter.

  The council hadn't provided a photo, but Griffin imagined a reclusive, older writer who lived alone, with only her cats to talk to.

  In record time, the flight attendant returned with her food and offered a cup of coffee.

  Griffin took the food but shook her head at the coffee. While it smelled nice, she knew drinking it was not a good idea. "Just water," she said. "Coffee gives me migraines."

  Wrasa didn't get migraines, o
f course, but the flight attendant didn't know that. Caffeine had a poisonous effect on their system. A cup of coffee wouldn't kill a woman of her size, but it would make her queasy. For the same reason, Griffin wouldn't be able to eat the chocolate chip cookies in her snack boxes.

  Griffin unwrapped the first sandwich. She lifted one side of the bread and flicked a piece of lettuce aside. Her mouth watered as the smell of juicy ham drifted up. It wasn't exactly gourmet food, but the food in the first-class section was still good enough to enjoy. She took the first bite and chewed slowly, relishing the taste and texture of the sandwich.

  When she unwrapped the second sandwich, she opened one of J.W. Price's e-books that Kylin had e-mailed her. On the page with the acknowledgments, the writer had thanked Allison DeLuca, her beta reader. Seems they've known each other for some time. The beta reader is the top candidate on my list of possible leaks. I hope Jennings remembers to have one of the techies check out her computer.

  Jennings was pretty smart — for a wolf, that is — but his computer skills were that of a first grader. A Syak first grader.

  There was no dedication in the book, no declaration of love to a husband, no heartfelt thank-you to her parents, no mention that this would be a trilogy because she had a couple of kids to put through college. Good. The thought of one day being ordered to kill a child made her skin itch in outrage. As a saru, she had done a few things she wasn't proud of, but that was one line that she wasn't willing to cross.

  Or maybe she does have a family and she just wants to protect her privacy. The biography read as if the writer didn't want her readers to know anything about her. Griffin could understand that. I want my work to speak for itself too, without having people assume things because of what they have heard about me or because of who my parents are.

  She scrolled through the story, skimming scenes, knowing she didn't have enough time on the domestic flight to read it all. A few glimpses would have to do.