The Lottery--Furry

by Karen Ranney

  She nodded. “And gravy. I don’t like soup, either. Mommy says I have a liquid aversion.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I quite like rivers and oceans,” she said. “I think it’s just food. I don’t like it to flow.” The last word was said with a shudder.

  “I don’t like jiggly foods,” I said.

  “Like gelatin?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “I like pudding,” she said. “It jiggles.”

  “That it does.”

  “It’s all right, you know,” she said, placing her hand on my knee.

  I felt a tingle when she touched me. For all I knew she was a hologram. It wouldn’t be any stranger than what’s already happened at Arthur’s Folly.

  I remained silent, waiting.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  “You’re going to be fine. In fact, you’re going to be one of our greatest successes.”

  More blinking on my part.

  “Am I?” I finally said. “Can you see into the future, too?”

  She nodded. “It’s going to be a wonderful experience for you, Torrance, but it will be hard. You’ll have a great many adventures.”

  “Will I?”

  She nodded once more. “I’ve asked the kitchen to bring some ginger tea to your room. I think you’ll be able to sleep now.”

  Her smile was that of a five year old this time.

  She slid off the couch and extended her hand. I put mine around it, feeling that tingle again. She was such a little thing, but so powerful.

  “You’re quite the most wonderful wizard I’ve ever met,” I said. “Or is that wizardess?”

  She only laughed and left me, racing to the elevator. The door opened in a whoosh and she was gone, making me wonder if I was really asleep and had only dreamed her.

  A few minutes later I hit the elevators again, but instead of heading for the courtyard, I went back to my room. I drank my ginger tea, knowing it was better if I avoided Mark.

  I’d find a way to deal with my disappointment.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I wasn't ready to die

  On the third day, I awoke feeling twin emotions of dread and excitement. Today was the day I was going to get the transfusion. Today was my last opportunity to say no. After today I would be forever altered.

  I returned to the clinic on one of the sub levels, walked to the area I’d been directed to last night by Marcie and took a seat. Less than five minutes later, I was called into a room by a pleasant looking woman with a broad smile.

  This concierge medicine had a lot going for it.

  She introduced herself as Barbara Gutierrez and told me what she was going to do. For some reason, I thought that I was going to be out during the procedure, but I wasn’t. I also thought it would be a full transfusion, but they only gave me a pint of Marcie’s blood.

  I might feel a little woozy when I finally sat up, Barbara told me. She was right. I felt slightly drunk, but even that dissipated after a while.

  I guess I expected more, but when it was done and I left the room, nobody was there to greet me. There were no brass bands, streamers or confetti. Nobody made an announcement over the loudspeaker that Torrance had just gotten her transfusion and let’s all welcome her to the world of weird paranormals. There wasn’t anything.

  I took the elevator back to my room, packed my bag, and sat on the loveseat for a while, staring out at the beautiful Texas March day. The sky was a brilliant clear blue with not one cloud in sight. The sun was bright, glittering off the surface of the lake.

  I didn’t know if I should say goodbye to everybody, find Marcie and say my farewells or simply leave.

  I didn’t feel any different. I felt exactly the same as I had the day before. Thankfully, I didn’t have a burning desire to bite anybody on the neck. What would it feel like to have elf tendencies? Would I have a sudden spring to my step? Would I suddenly look younger?

  Fatigue solved the problem of whether to say goodbye or simply leave. I could feel myself drifting off to sleep and I gave into the temptation to take a nap.

  When I woke, it was dark outside. I was still blinking myself awake when the doctor arrived. She introduced herself as Doctor Adamson and was, of course, Norwegian gorgeous with bright blond hair, brown eyes, and perfect pale white skin. Not to mention that she had a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model figure. Her slim black skirt was hiked up to her thighs, and beneath her short lab coat she was wearing something that looked like a lace teddy. Of course she filled out everything.

  If I’d been a guy I would have immediately asked if we could play doctor.

  “I’ve come to check on you,” she said in a heavily accented voice. Maybe I hadn’t been off with the Norwegian guess. "How are you feeling?"

  "Fine."

  I got a professional smile in response to my answer. The doctor took a seat on the end of the loveseat, pen poised above a file, ready to write down all sorts of things I said. For the life of me, I couldn't think of anything. I honestly did feel fine. I didn't feel different. I didn't feel new. I didn't feel strange.

  "Am I supposed to feel something other than fine?" I finally asked.

  The professional smile didn't wither. Nor did her expression change. It was as if her face had been painted on. I couldn't help but wonder if she was some kind of paranormal and if so, which one?

  Would I forever be looking at people differently?

  I'd like to borrow Marcie, take her to work, and have her tell me what Alice was.

  "No," Doctor Adamson said. "The transfusion affects people differently. You're not experiencing any dizziness? Any disorientation? Any confusion?"

  I shook my head. "No, nothing. I know who I am, why I’m here, and what's been done."

  "Are you nauseous?"

  "No, not particularly."

  "Emotional? Do you feel like crying?"

  Sheesh, just how did the transfusion affect other people?

  "No, not really."

  "But you did take a nap. You were asleep for a few hours."

  Had they been watching me?

  "I think I'm just trying to catch up on my sleep," I said.

  "Will you be staying for a few more days?"

  "No," I said. “I’d rather go home, unless it's mandatory that I remain.”

  The professional smile got just a tiny bit bigger. Crinkles appeared at the corners of the doctor's eyes. A genuine smile, then.

  "No, it's not. If you're certain you feel fine, then you're more than welcome to leave. We’ll be checking in with you in about a week to make sure that everything is still fine. In the interim, if you need anything, please call me.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card that she handed to me. I took it and nodded.

  "I will," I promised.

  She disappeared, but I still sat on the couch, staring out at the night. Finally, I got up, put my stuff in my suitcase, and straightened up the room a little. The castle wasn’t a hotel even though they had an expert staff.

  Before I left I dialed Marcie but got her voicemail. Same thing with Dan. I didn’t feel comfy leaving without saying goodbye. I didn’t want to be rude.

  I dialed their second-in-command and talked to Kenisha. I’d met Marcie’s friend on the second night. She, too, was a vampire in addition to being a cop. I guess male vampires were firmly in the 21st century, unlike Were males.

  “I need to get home,” I told her. “I can’t find Marcie and Dan, but I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

  “Dan’s the Grand Marshall of the River Parade.”

  Fiesta was a huge evenT in San Antonio. It had begun in the 19th century as a parade to honor two eventful spring anniversaries: the Battle of the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto. Over the years Fiesta had expanded to a ten day celebration including everything from oyster tasting to carnivals, parties, and three major parades.

  The River Parade was held on the first Monday of Fiesta. Floats — wildly decorated riv
er barges — traveled along the San Antonio River in front of at least two hundred thousand spectators.

  If you didn’t buy a ticket to watch the parade, you could rent a hotel room and hang out on the balcony in a private party. Or make a reservation at one of the restaurants along the river to have the whole package: great food, alcohol, and fun.

  To be the Grand Marshall of the River Parade was a huge honor.

  When I said as much to Kenisha she agreed. “I’m going to watch it on TV,” she said.

  In other words, stop bothering me.

  I hung up, feeling a little lost. I think it was because everybody had made a big deal about me for three days and now that attention had disappeared. The fanfare was over. I was back to being just me. Okay, I had Pranic blood coursing through my veins but that was about it.

  My car was brought around to the front by a nice young man who smiled at me as I left. I pulled down the drive, hesitated at the gate, and waited for it to open. I wasn’t all that fond of the idea of driving the access roads, but there was only one way to get onto the expressway.

  The night was clear, one of those late March nights that make South Texans grateful we live where we do. The air was cool; the stars so close that they could be nosy relatives peering over your shoulder.

  Thinking of stars made me think of Antonia. She told me I was going to have adventures. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but when I looked for a deeper meaning I had to remember that Antonia was only five.

  I would have liked to see her again. I had the distinct feeling that we’d meet in the future, but I hoped it wasn’t because Marcie and her family were going to war.

  People — and paranormals — wanted what Marcie and her husband had: success, power, their own fiefdom, and autonomy. Were they willing to go to war to get it?

  I could’ve sworn that I saw a shape behind a bunch of mesquite trees, but when I glanced back I couldn’t see anything.

  Seconds later I was nearly blinded by an oncoming car. The headlights were higher, almost like a big pickup or a Humvee was heading straight for me.

  A ditch was to my right, so I couldn’t pull over to the shoulder.

  The headlights were like twin suns blocking out everything else and the driver was going way too fast. He was drunk. One of my last thoughts was that I was going to be killed by a drunk driver.

  He was going to ram me. He was going to plow headfirst into me and I didn’t stand a chance in my little Ford.

  I wasn’t ready to die. I didn’t want to die. Not here, not all alone on a beautiful March night. Not when I’d decided to change my life.

  Suddenly I was airborne. Not me, the whole car. The hood was pointing straight up to the stars. The front wheels of my car bounced off the hood and then the roof of the other vehicle. My hands were clenched in a death grip on the wheel, but I wasn’t driving. I had my foot depressed on the gas pedal but it didn’t matter. Although I could hear the engine groan, I didn’t have any control. I was in the air, six feet above the access road and flying like an obese seagull.

  Holy crap.

  I was dreaming this. I was still napping at the castle. I hadn’t left after all. This was probably just a side effect of the transfusion, like taking Tylenol with codeine. I was hallucinating, that’s all.

  My stomach alerted me to the downward descent. In the seconds that followed I thought of all those airplane crash movies I’d watched where the passengers braced for a hard landing. Ain’t no way I could bring my knees up and put my arms over my head. The steering wheel was in the way. I had the oddest feeling of weightlessness as I fell.

  All I could do was close my eyes and pray. I abruptly forgot how. Instead, my prayer became a mantra.

  I was going to die.

  I was going to die.

  I was going to die.

  My eyes flew open as I landed in the middle of the drainage ditch. The hood of the car popped up as steam exploded from a ruptured radiator. The windshield crazed, spider web cracks stretching from one side to the other. Ominous clicks and crunch noises punctuated the strange and eerie silence. Something hissed and whined as the car suddenly lurched to the left.

  My first thought was that I needed to practice my landings.

  I did a quick inventory of myself. My shoulder hurt where the seatbelt dug into it. My hands were sore but that might be because I still had a death grip on the steering wheel. Otherwise, I was alive.

  I took a deep breath. Good. I could breathe. My heart was beating like a bongo drum played by a guy on uppers. Plus, I didn’t think I was going to blink any time soon, because my eyes were still stuck on wide open.

  When someone knocked on the window I screamed. I did what any sensible hysterical person would do. I moved my hands from the steering wheel and pounded back on the window, still screaming.

  The face that appeared made me stop screaming and sag back into the seat with relief.

  “Are you all right?” Mark asked.

  I moved my left arm and pushed the button for the window, but nothing happened.

  I wanted to tell him that I was fine, but nothing happened there, either. I was thinking the words, but the connection between my brains and my lips was suddenly gone.

  I was shaking so hard I was almost sick with it.

  He reached out and pulled open the door. I mean he pulled the door off the car.

  I stared up at him.

  “What the hell are you?” I asked. At least I thought the question. I wasn’t entirely certain it made it past my lips.

  “Were,” he said.

  “You can’t be a Were,” I said. “I would have known.”

  “I’m a Were. Maybe you couldn’t tell because of the transfusion.”

  “Yours or mine?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer me.

  Now most people would thank God for Mark’s strength and any talents that the transfusion had given to him. Not this little rose. My first thought was from my libido, who came racing out of its cave, started jumping up and down in the area just behind my nose, and began screaming at the top of its tiny little lungs.

  He’s a Were! He’s a Were!

  I made the mating connection about five minutes before the I-could-get-out-of-the-car-now connection. That goes to show you where my mind was — definitely not where it should’ve been.

  Mark reached in, unfastened the seatbelt, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out of the car. I know he probably walked me up the embankment, but it didn’t feel that way. I got the impression again that I was floating in air.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? You made me fly.”

  I was rather proud of myself for making that intellectual connection. It proved that, despite everything, my brain was still functioning. Even if the conclusion was ridiculous.

  “It was either that or watch you die in a head-on collision.”

  Damned if he wasn’t taking my pulse. Should I explain that if it were racing it only had a little bit to do with the accident and more to do with the fact that he was not off limits anymore.

  Pant, pant.

  I wish to God I’d worn something sexy. Do I even own anything sexy?

  I was really beginning to shake now and unfortunately I didn’t think it had anything to do with my libido.

  “You’re in shock,” he said.

  Another piece of the puzzle slid into place.

  “You’re a doctor,” I said.

  He didn’t answer. All he did was drag me over to the side of the road to his car, a low-slung something or other – I sucked at trying to figure out the make and model of cars – that looked dangerous and sexy all at once.

  In moments I was inside, with the seat reclined until I was nearly flat on my back, in the perfect position for you know what, but he wasn’t taking advantage of me, damn it. Instead, he’d gotten a blanket from somewhere, covered me up, and sat in the driver seat.

  “How did you do the fly-y thing?” I asked. I was shaking so hard that my voice was quivering.

  �
�An acquired talent,” he said. “You might be able to do it in a few weeks.”

  “Cool.” I stuck my head up, looking out the window. It was as dark as the other side of the moon.

  “Where’s the Humvee?”

  “The what?”

  “The truck that tried to hit me,” I said. “It looked like a Humvee. Big black thing. Was it black?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it a Humvee?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I turned my head and looked at him. “Are you back to being monosyllabic?”

  “Yes, Torrance, it was a Humvee. Is that better?”

  “Where is it?”

  “They didn’t stick around.”

  I peered through the window to see my car sitting in an odd position in the ditch and thought that it was probably totaled. That’s what you get for going flying. With a Were. With a magical Were.

  I wasn’t hurt, but I was definitely in shock. Maybe that had something to do with the euphoria I was experiencing. Or maybe it was simply because of the man beside me.

  I glanced over at him again. “You’re so handsome,” I said. “Do you know how good looking you are?”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I was hallucinating. It was the accident. The Humvee had plowed right into me. I was dead and in the transition process. Any moment now this Were was going to sprout wings and carry me to heaven.

  I don’t think anybody in my entire life has ever called me beautiful other than my mother. Mothers do that sort of thing.

  “I’m not beautiful,” I said, the obligatory modest remark I felt compelled to utter.

  “Of course you are. You’ve got great coloring, great hair, and a fantastic body. I like the angle of your jaw. And your lips.”

  Thank you, God. I was in love. I was also heavily invested in lust at the moment. I was still trembling, but I almost reached out and grabbed him in gratitude.

  “Now is not the time, Torrance,” he said, amusement lacing his voice.

  I came very close to uttering the F word. I only use it in extreme duress.

  “Can you hear my thoughts?”

  “Coming through loud and clear.”

  Well, hell, if he could hear my thoughts I might as well voice them.