Feral Curse

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  The colorful bulbs of the carousel click on; its robotic organ music begins to play.

  I hold up the candle, and it’s extinguished in the wind. “Do you think it worked?”

  “I don’t know,” Yoshi says. But his teeth and hands are normal again. The fur has vanished from his chiseled human-form face.

  Evan joins Lula on the wagon. They clasp each other’s hands.

  A chilly wind blows through, and I turn my head at the sound of Peso’s bark. The pup bounds across the base of the carousel and flings his wiggly body at my legs, bouncing, his tail whipping back and forth. I scoop him up, cradle him to my chest, and that’s when I notice a wiry figure in the distance. Is that? Yes, auburn hair, dimpled chin, masculine nose. It’s Peter, slowly advancing toward the carousel. Except it’s not Peter. Not entirely.

  It’s Ben. I can tell by the way he walks. By his expression. By the way he’s staring at me.

  All this time I’ve been wrong. Peter-Ben didn’t take Peso to hurt him. He took Peso because Ben loved him. He’s the one who left daisies on his father’s casket. That was love, too.

  Ben’s love is the part of his soul that seeped in when Peter touched the coyote figure in Fredericksburg. That’s what I recognized in Peter’s gaze when our eyes met on the street at the Founders’ Day festival. He was watching over, not stalking me. His note wasn’t meant as a threat, but a warning against all this insanity.

  Ben promised to come for me when the moment was right, and that moment is now.

  Yoshi’s voice is hot against my ear. “Kayla . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I say, the cool air crackling with magic. “Take Peso and wait here.”

  “Kayla . . .” Yoshi says again, and I can hear the pain in his voice. It’s not over yet. The spell still holds some sway. It’s almost killing him not to defend me, but I don’t need protecting.

  Not from this. This is what I needed all along.

  Steps later, I wrap my arms around the neck of a boy I’ve never met before and kiss the soul of the boy who was the centerpiece of my life.

  “Kayla.” This time the voice, the disembodied voice, is Ben’s.

  Did lightning strike? I don’t know where we are. I can still see the glowing form of the carousel and the shifters on it, but the park landscape has faded to stars, and everywhere I look, there are black-and-blue butterflies. Our lips linger, caressing, forgiving. In my mind, I hear him say, “There’s no difference between the Cat and Kayla. They are one. They are the same.”

  A rebellious, sassy part of my brain snarls that I tried to tell him that in the first place, that all of this drama was incredibly unnecessary, except for his prejudice and fear. But then I realize he’s the one who’s changed, that living inside Darby, inside Evan and Tanya and Lula and Yoshi and Peter has taught him what it means to be a wereperson.

  What it means to be me.

  Ben finally breaks the kiss and whispers, “I want to celebrate what you are.”

  I barely feel it as my saber teeth and claws extend. I don’t think twice about ripping away my shirt or peeling off my jeans. I’m finally fully naked in front of him in a way so much more intimate than I imagined when I fantasized about offering up my virginity.

  Then again, maybe that’s what I’m doing now.

  I know I’ll never be the same. I’ll never be the girl I was.

  It’s denying, hiding, living in secret that’s stoked this pain.

  I don’t know how I’ll manage to live in the world. But raising my whiskers, I refuse to hide my inner Cat from anyone any longer.

  A day later, or maybe it’s only a moment, I glimpse a rush of luminescent white wings.

  The park returns. The river yawns in front of me. The glow is gone.

  I remember Granny Z saying that the spell was a blessing for healing. I don’t feel wholly healed, but I do feel better. The grief lingers inside me, but it’s retracted its claws.

  It’s still raining. Peter is only Peter again. Yoshi is at my side, like me in full Cat form.

  His fur is black. His body is muscled and sleek. He rubs his flank against mine.

  It’s too soon. But it’s not a promise, it’s a possibility.

  And that feels just fine.

  Anchor: We interrupt our regularly scheduled showing of INN Money Sense in light of the following footage. Please be advised that it may disturb some viewers, including impressionable children.

  The scene unfolding on your screen was shot at Pine Ridge, Texas, a small town about an hour southeast of Austin, with a night-vision camera by an anonymous source. Here with me is Dr. Sedler, a specialist in shape-shifter physiology from the New York Natural History Museum. Dr. Sedler, could you explain to us what we’re seeing?

  Dr. Sedler: That female in the center of the screen is a werecat. You can see how she’s removing her clothing and starting to shift from human to — there! — you can clearly discern her body taking Cat form. What is that odd blurring of the screen?

  Anchor: Our technical crew quickly added that in compliance with FCC guidelines.

  Dr. Sedler: Oh, um, of course. In any case, you can see the arms turning to legs, the hands to paws. This is not unprecedented film. Humans have recorded shifters transforming before.

  Anchor: In rural areas and controlled labs, but not in small-town U.S.A. According to the source of the footage, this female shifter was engaging in a satanic ritual when —

  Dr. Sedler: There’s a young, solid-colored male off to the side behind her, and other figures I can’t make out on the . . . what is that structure?

  Anchor: A carousel. This female shifter has been identified as Kayla Morgan, an honors student at Pine Ridge High and the daughter of Mayor Franklin Morgan. Is this evidence that shifters are not only integrated into human society but also asserting political and demonic power within it?

  Dr. Sedler: There’s the tail! She’s a magnificent specimen. Wait, what’re those flashing red lights?

  Anchor: The police. They’re taking the werepeople into custody.

  “LIGHTS,” KAYLA SAYS, pointing up the hill. “Not town lights, something else.” She sounds winded, exhausted from so much shifting in such a short time.

  I can make out a rotating red light and a blue one. A white, searching beam swings across the park. “Firefighters?” I guess, once again in my human form and feeling naked and exposed next to the lady Cat, who suddenly seems a lot more comfortable with the whole concept of nudity. Lightning did strike the carousel, but we’re alive and we’ve returned to reality from . . . whatever the hell that was. A ghost dimension, I guess. Granny Z said the incantation is shifter in origin. Tonight I sure as hell hope there’s a higher power on our side.

  It’s Evan who recognizes the threat for what it is. “Cops!” he exclaims as Peso tucks his tail. “They know what we are.” Evan takes off, running low to the ground toward the river. He’s fast. Otters are better in the water, but they can jam on land when they want to.

  At first I’m sure he’s being paranoid. It’s dark, wet, and we’ve all been raised to be fearful of being sighted in animal form. It’s the fear that lurks just beneath our shifting skins.

  I hear a splash. Evan is gone. Safe. He can go anywhere from the river.

  That’s when I notice Peter has taken off, too. He’s nowhere in sight. Then again, he managed to evade us for all of Founders’ Day weekend. Wily indeed.

  Then a deep male voice booms over a bullhorn. “Shape-shifters, stay where you are.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” I whisper as a spotlight zeros in on us. “You figure they’ve got long-range weapons?”

  “This is Texas,” Lula answers, climbing out of the wagon. “They’re hunting werepeople. Of course they’ve got long-range weapons.” She puts one hand on my shoulder, one on Kayla’s. “I’m going to draw their fire. I want you two to run.”

  Kayla’s mouth drops open. “You can’t! You can’t risk yourself to protect us.”

  “What about Darby?” I
ask. “And Tanya?” They’re still out cold. We could carry him, but she’d weigh us down to the point that fleeing would be useless.

  “You listen to me, young man,” Lula replies. “Better to lose two children than four — period. The fact that none of us asked for it doesn’t change that this may well be war. It’s time for tough decisions. There’s nothing you can do for them now but pray, and even that will have to wait for another time.”

  The bullhorn voice threatens once more. I kneel, and Peso leaps into my arms again.

  “Think of your sister,” Kayla begs. “We don’t even know what they want.”

  “Our skins” is Lula’s answer. “Our heads. One way or the other, that’s always what they want. They’re obsessed with being the dominant species on the planet. They’ll drive us to extinction if we give them the chance. Enough chitchat. Tell Eleanor that I forgave her a long time ago for stealing my first husband. He smelled like pickles and he wasn’t much in the sack, anyway. Oh, and tell her I kept my pin money in the porcelain elephant in the foyer. There’s more than enough to cover that Alaskan cruise she’s always jabbering about.”

  She leaps over us, spry for a Cat woman in her seventies, and before the first shot rings out, Kayla and I pivot in the opposite direction. Without discussing it, we’re of one mind that Lula’s sacrifice won’t be wasted. There’s no time now to process the loss.

  With gunfire echoing from the hilltop, we race toward whatever future we can find. We’re fast, breathtakingly so, pumping long legs, stretching long muscles. I’d be even quicker in Cat form and so would she, but again, Kayla’s shifts aren’t as seamless or painless as mine. I won’t leave her so much as a step behind, and it has nothing to do with the spell.

  It’s not about winning a race or losing it. We’re a team.

  Besides, I’m carrying the Chihuahua tucked under my arm like a football. So I stay in human form, stay as low as I can while still really moving, using the picnic tables and barbecue grills and play-scape to help hide us in the steady rain and darkness. The spotlight swings, searching. I’m grateful for the cloudy night, the low natural light.

  Trying to escape the threat from the top of the hill, we nearly barrel into its second front at the entrance to the public parking lot on the far side of the recreation area.

  “Hold it right there!” It’s Sheriff Bigheart, surrounded by over a dozen . . . I guess they’re state police . . . all pointing guns at us. No, I’ve never seen uniforms like that before. The patches on the sleeve feature an American flag and read: FEDERAL HUMANITY PROTECTION UNIT.

  I’ve never heard of the Federal Humanity Protection Unit, but they look well organized and funded. Not to mention burly. Where’d the feds recruit these dudes? The NFL?

  Whatever’s happening tonight, it’s bigger than me, my friends, this Chihuahua, and one recently departed teen ghost.

  “We’re in trouble,” Kayla whispers, crossing her arms over her bare breasts.

  “You think?” I reply. They don’t need grounds to arrest us, to kill us. As werepeople, it’s not clear that we’re citizens. They didn’t hesitate to shoot Lula. We have no rights.

  Is Lula dead? She must be. If she’s only wounded, they won’t offer her medical assistance, unless it’s just to torture and question her later.

  We left Darby and Tanya for them. Just left them there, helpless. God.

  “Come this way,” the sheriff says, assuring the feds that he had his squad car reinforced for werepredators.

  “Sh-Sheriff Bigheart,” Kayla stammers. “I can explain.”

  “No, you can’t.” He takes the dog from me and half tosses him into the rear of the vehicle. We’re cuffed and, with a “Watch your heads,” forced into the backseat.

  “I’ll meet you boys at the station,” he announces a moment later, pulling out of the parking lot. We’re turning onto the road when he glances over his shoulder and adds, “They left their vehicles in the library parking lot up on the ridge. That’ll buy us a little time. Somebody knows about you, tipped them off. I heard the phone recording. Guttural, young male voice. You’d recognize it.”

  “Junior,” I say through gritted teeth. “We never should’ve trusted him.”

  Kayla shoots me a betrayed look that says she agrees.

  That’s when it sinks in that the sheriff is on our side.

  “Junior,” he agrees. “Somebody, probably the same guy, also filmed and uploaded video of you shifting, Kayla, and sent it simultaneously to every major media outlet in the world. He had great tech, pricey enough to deliver first-rate footage. You just became the most famous teenager in America. We’ve got no more than a four-minute window to get you kids out of here.”

  “Out of where?” Kayla asks as he pulls the squad car over on an unlit street.

  As the sheriff exits the car, I call, “Wait. About Darby and Tanya —”

  “I’ll do everything I can for them,” is his reply. He turns away to hug a newcomer on the scene, and then the girl Kayla waved to coming out of the yoga studio (I never forget a pretty face) — was that only two days ago? — takes his place behind the wheel.

  “Jess!” Kayla exclaims, touching the cross that’s still hanging around her neck. “What are you doing here?”

  Before Jess can answer, the front passenger door opens and Clyde and then Aimee slide in, her curling up on his lap. “Howdy, naked people,” Aimee says, reaching between the seats to pet Peso. “We’ve got the keys to the handcuffs. We’ll free you once we’re past the Texas state line. But right now we’ve got to fly.”

  “Don’t stare at Yoshi,” Clyde scolds, putting a hand over her eyes. “He’s nothing to look at, anyway.”

  Aimee makes a pffft noise. “Then you don’t look at her.”

  “My parents!” Kayla exclaims. “What —”

  “One problem at a time,” Clyde says. “Jess, let’s get out of here.”

  “Consider it done,” she replies, flooring the gas.

  “We talked to Father Ramos,” Aimee reports. “He and Sheriff Bigheart will do what they can to intercede on Darby and Tanya’s behalf. But the situation is more complicated now. The interfaith coalition got hacked. We’re dealing with seriously tech-savvy opposition here. The established safe houses in North America, Europe, Australia, and Asia have all been compromised.”

  It’s the goddamned greedy yetis! I just know it.

  I take stock of my allies. Aimee and Jess are humans. Kayla was reared by humans, and Clyde was raised a Possum, which is almost worse. I’ve coasted through school, through life. The charming Tom Cat. Daemon Island tested me, but not like this.

  It’s time to take up my ground game — stat.

  “Jess,” Kayla says, “how did you —”

  “Between the two of us, Dad and I figured out that you were a shifter a long time ago,” she replies, grinning at us in the rearview mirror. “Just how lousy a sheriff’s office do you think we run here in scenic Pine Ridge, anyway?”

  Kayla laughs at that, and I can hear the relief in her voice, the hope.

  Sensing the lighter mood, Peso calms down enough to yip his approval.

  “Where are we going?” I ask Jess, leaning forward. “If the safe houses aren’t safe —”

  “Osage Nation,” is the reply, and she sounds like she’s looking forward to it.

  “We’ll never get past the bridge,” Kayla insists. “We — Wait, where are you turning?”

  “Relax, sweetie,” Jess says. “Sooner or later, all roads lead to Indian Country.” The wheels skid against wet pavement. “Hang on, Cats and Cat lovers! We’re on our way!”

  Feral Curse is set in Pine Ridge, Texas, a fictional small town loosely based on Bastrop, Texas. I borrowed the river walk and park as well as its proximity to the historic downtown but otherwise took liberties in peppering it with fictional bands and businesses (like Stubblefield’s Secrets, Bed & Gravy B&B, Lurie’s Steakhouse, Betty’s Baubles, the Brazos Boys, and Davis Family Home Cookin’), streets and resident
ial areas.

  Like Pine Ridge, the Bastrop area has suffered from severe wildfires, though I’m not drawing on any specific real-life ones in this novel.

  Other fictional locales include Austin Antiques and Sanguini’s: A Very Rare Restaurant as well as the New York Natural History Museum. The International News Network and Catchup are make-believe, too, though you can probably think of media/social networking outlets much like them.

  Along these lines, Feral Curse follows my previous novel, Feral Nights, and both are set in the same universe as my preceding Tantalize series. Clyde makes his debut in Tantalize and reappears in Blessed. Aimee is introduced in Blessed, and we first meet Yoshi in Feral Nights.

  The Bigheart family name is Osage and is used with the gracious permission of the real-life Bigheart family of Austin. The fictional human characters Jess and Sheriff Bigheart are citizens of the Osage Nation. However, the shape-shifter fantasy elements represented in this novel are not inspired by or drawn from any Native American Indian traditional stories or belief systems.

  On a more personal note, I’m fortunate enough to write in the company of four domestic cats — Mercury, Bashi, Leo, and the preternaturally serene Blizzard, who inspired a character herein of the same name.

  Finally, fans of film, TV, books, and pop culture may notice nods to Jay Anson, C. C. Beck, Pat Benatar, Halle Berry, Jeffrey Boam, Ray Bradbury, Juan Carlos Coto, Joe Decker, Alex Flinn, Misha Green, Geoff Gill, Oliver Grigsby, Anne Hathaway, Dan Hicks, Bob Kane, Simon Kinberg, Eartha Kitt, Susi Kralovansky, Tim Kring, David Livingstone, Chuck Lorre, George Lucas, William Moulton Marston, Irene Mecchi, Menno Meyjes, Lee Meriwether, A. A. Milne, Willie Nelson, Julie Newmar, Joan Lowery Nixon, Bill Parker, Zak Penn, Michelle Pfeiffer, Edgar Allan Poe, Beatrix Potter, Bill Prady, Jonathan Roberts, Jerry Robinson, Gene Roddenberry, Ryland Sanders, William Shakespeare, John Schulian, Joe Shuster, Jerry Siegel, H. M. Stanley, Elizabeth George Speare, Steven Spielberg, Robert G. Tapert, Carrie Underwood, Clint Wade, H. G. Wells, Joss Whedon, E. B. White, Linda Woolverton, and Tim Wynne-Jones.