Animal Attraction

by Tracy St. John

  To transport to a place instantaneously, I have to know the area. That was no more a problem than knowing Ashley’s location. She lived down the street from my parents’ house, in a subdivision on Hamilton Island known for its immaculate yards and insane price tags. It was not the kind of place you’d find a shifter living. Even well-to-do weres find themselves snubbed in certain places.

  Sure enough, when I showed up in front of the Warner residence I saw a ‘For Sale’ sign on the lush green lawn. Despite expecting to find that very thing, I fumed. As I’d gotten away from the thoughtless bigotry I’d been infected with when among the living, I felt more and more violently opposed to it. I had a crazy urge to make bad things happen to my sister’s neighbors. A broken window here, a few flowers torn out there ... yeah, destruction of property felt like a good way to vent my anger.

  Taking temptation firmly in hand, I abandoned fantasies of wreaking havoc. I walked past the stately Lincoln in the curved drive and went into the lovely two-story Tudor, passing through the glass-paneled front door. I found myself in a nice foyer with earth-tone tiles underfoot. The dark red painted walls were elegant with the white trim of the doorways leading into other rooms and the railing of the oak staircase. It was classy without pretention, the walls adorned with black-matted family photos.

  I would have loved to explore my sister’s house, but it felt kind of rude to poke around like some stalker. It was bad enough I planned to spy on Ryan Warner. Hearing voices from the back of the house, I moved in that direction.

  I passed an elegant living room, a sparse but functional home office, and a fancy dining room. The sounds of conversation led me into the kitchen with blameless white cabinetry, gray tiled floor, and stainless steel appliances. On the other side of a two-tiered kitchen island with a cooktop and space for people to sit and eat was a breakfast nook. That’s where my sister’s son and husband sat, chatting over bowls of cereal.

  With his copper-colored hair, cute button nose, blue eyes, and full bow lips, five-year-old Jesse was definitely Ashley’s boy. His voice had the sweet childish ring designed to melt hearts of cheek-pinching little old ladies. “Will they play with me at my new school? All my friends at Hamilton Elementary stopped playing with me.”

  The man who’d given Jesse a strong chin regarded his son for a few seconds with sad brown eyes. “I’m sorry about that, Jess. I hope you make lots of new friends. You don’t have to tell them your dad is a shifter.”

  Ryan Warner looked thinner than pictures I’d seen of him. No doubt he still recovered from the ravages of the Zoo Flu. Now that he’d survived, his altered genetics would soon take on more of the burly bear aspects. He’d fill out to his old size and beyond. His face already had a snouted look. Round furry ears had sprung up on either side of his skull, and his human ears were mere vestiges of their former selves. Black and brown patches, more fur than hair, had sprung up on his face and arms which extended past the short sleeves of his tee-shirt. Plaid pajama bottoms completed his just-woken outfit. His feet were actual paws, the toes tipped with shining black claws.

  Jesse frowned, the expression much too adult for his cherubic face. It looked so out of place on a kid wearing overalls and high-top sneakers. “I don’t know why Tim and the others started being mean. A dad that turns into a bear is neat.” His eyes lit with excitement. “Can we go to the woods again soon? Can I ride on your back like before?”

  Ryan rubbed his stubbled square jaw as he put on a fake smile. “We’ll see, pal. I’ve had a lot going on lately, but I’ll try to make time.”

  Ashley’s voice called from somewhere else in the house. “Jesse? We need to get going. You don’t want to be late for your first day at the new school.”

  Jesse gulped down a small plastic cup of milk. His lips still wet, he planted a kiss on his father’s cheek. “Bye, Dad! See you later!” he yelled with the exuberance that is the province of the young and innocent. He grabbed his backpack off the back of his chair.

  Ryan gave him a weak smile. “Bye, pal. Have a good day. I love you.”

  With an answering grin, Jesse raced out of the room, his feet thudding against the tiled floor. I heard Ashley say, “Here’s your coat. Okay, let’s go.” A few seconds later came the sound of the front door opening and closing.

  Ryan put his face in his hands. The sound of his harsh weeping sent me out of the room as fast as Jesse had left. The grief was too much to be stood.

  I sat at the bottom of the stairs. After a few minutes I heard Ryan moving about the kitchen. Soon he came down the hall. Even though he could pass right through me without any trouble, I scooted aside as he headed upstairs. Moving through or being moved through by the physical world was not the most comfortable feeling in the world.

  Twenty minutes later, Ryan came downstairs again. He had dressed for work in nice slacks and a dress shirt and tie. He wore what must have been custom-fitted sandals on his feet. No way he was going to get shoes on those paws.

  I followed him to the garage off the kitchen. A great big Ford F-250 was parked inside the tidy space. I had to smile a little when I saw it. In the south, even men of means can’t seem to resist the allure of a pickup truck. The wealthy just have more chrome and the nicest interiors on theirs.

  I slid into the passenger side, noting the dark tinted windows. I wondered if the truck had possessed the tinting before Ryan’s infection or if he’d added it afterwards. Being new to the shifter universe, he was no doubt sensitive to how people looked at him.

  He didn’t put on the radio or plug in any tunes as we rode over the causeway from Hamilton Island to Fulton Falls and its hospital. Except for the rumble of the engine, our trip was silent.

  Fulton Falls Hospital was the only building in town that had a parking garage. Ryan pulled into the entrance that bore the sign ‘Parking for Para Staff Only’. It had a gargoyle guard standing sentry to wave us in. I recalled how at one time there hadn’t been such security in place and para doctors and nurses’ vehicles were often vandalized. Some people can’t act like they have a scrap of humanity when it comes to things they’re afraid of.

  The Tristan Keith Wing of the hospital – yep, his generous contributions got the para section named after him – had a security guard too. This one was a weregator, our second-most typical shifter in the area after the werehogs. He greeted Ryan with a little wave. “Hi Dr. Warner. How are you this morning?”

  Ryan returned the wave. He smiled as if he hadn’t sobbed his heart out an hour ago. “Good, good. Are you doing all right?”

  “Right as rain. Have a good day.”

  “You too, George.”

  The para wing of the hospital looked like the regular wing. Linoleum floors for easy cleanup, bright painted walls with cheerful photos and prints that did nothing to disguise that this was a building for the sick. There was the usual scent of bleach. People in white coats and scrubs. The only difference was the nature of the people. Gargoyles, gnomes, witches, shifters of all flavors ... you name it, they were there. At night, the vampires who worked in medicine would be there too.

  Ryan greeted staff as he headed down the halls. I followed. We rode up to the pediatric floor of the para wing. He checked in with the nurses’ station and chatted briefly about how his patients had fared overnight. He stopped in his office, one of three at the end of the section, and grabbed a white coat with a badge that had his name and a stethoscope shoved in its wide pocket. Then he went on his rounds.

  The entire morning passed without incident. It didn’t bother me. I’d figured I might have to trail Ryan for several days before anything of note took place. In fact, I had the ugly suspicion that the only time anything would happen would be after dark, when I was unavailable for spying. It would be up to Dan to watch Ashley’s husband for suspicious activity then.

  My interest piqued when Ryan had a visitor show up in his office around lunchtime. A man in his early forties tapped on the doctor’s door with a familiar smile. “If it isn’t the one and only Dr
. Ryan Warner! How’s tricks, old man?”

  Ryan got up from behind his desk with a look of genuine, if embarrassed, pleasure. “Mark, you penny-pinching nickel-and-dimer. I told you we could do this over the phone.”

  The handsome and well-dressed Mark came in to slap Ryan’s shoulder in the manner of old friends. “I had to see you. You’ve made yourself too scarce to your old college buddies.” He turned slowly, taking in the office. It was tidy if unremarkable. Shelves with medical books sat along one wall. There were certificates outlining Dr. Warner’s many credentials. Awards too. Framed pictures of Ashley and Jesse adorned his desk. “This isn’t so bad. A lot of people who contract Zoo Flu end up in far worse situations. I’m glad to see you landed on your feet.”

  Ryan’s joy showed signs of going from real to forced. “Sit down, Bean Counter. I appreciate you coming to see me. I know it does your reputation no favors.”

  Mark took one of the two chairs in front of the desk. His expression still held that ‘old friend who will bust your chops’ look, but dutiful concern overlaid it now. “We’re friends, Ryan. I would have remained your accountant if you’d wanted me to.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m a shifter now. A pariah. Your company would have fired you if you continued to handle my accounts, even as a private entity.”

  Mark shrugged. “Maybe not. Not if they didn’t know.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t wrap his thoughts around the situation. “Most people know or have a family member who got infected. Why the prejudice continues to be acceptable is beyond me.”

  “It is, though. People are hateful because they’re scared. I used to be like them until I had to live with it.”

  “The guys are asking after you. You’ll always be a brother to the fraternity.”

  Ryan smiled to hear that. “That’s nice of them. Look, I don’t want to take up much of your time. I’ve got kind of a delicate question for you. How much trouble are we talking if that little issue of my accounts from a few years ago ever surfaced?”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “The funds you diverted from the practice to cover the gambling debts?” He took a deep breath. “Five years in prison at the least, Ryan. I don’t have to tell you what kind of bastards your former partners are.”

  He closed his eyes at the news. “Yeah. I know.”

  The accountant cocked an eyebrow at him. His voice cold, Mark said, “Stu and Harv are still talking about taking baseball bats to those pricks. The way they treated you after you got sick—”

  Ryan waved his hand. “That’s neither here nor there. Someone has been talking to some bad people, Mark. Someone found out I played fast and loose with the numbers so I could pay those gambling debts off.”

  Mark shot bolt upright in his chair, his mouth dropping open with comic surprise. “How? Who?”

  “I don’t know. I’m being blackmailed though.”

  Pow. There it was, the smoking gun I’d been looking for. I crowded close to Ryan to keep from missing a single word.

  Mark stared at his friend. “How much do they want? If you can’t cover it, me and the boys will pool together. Better yet, tell me who the bastard is and we’ll break his knees for you. Son of a bitch doesn’t mess with any of ours.”

  Ryan gave him a slight smile but shook his head. “It’s more than one person. If the one I know by name is outed, the rest will expose me.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Damn it, I wouldn’t even care at this point if not for Ashley and Jesse. They’ve been through enough because of me.”

  Mark leaned forward, his tone forceful. “Give me a number, Ryan. We’ll pay the prick off.”

  “I wish it was that simple. Five years of prison, huh?” His look was bleak.

  Mark’s expression mirrored his. “Best case scenario, for a non-shifter. For a para though—”

  “Probably more like fifteen for a werebear, huh?”

  The accountant’s expression was that of a man on the brink of being sick. “Those shifter prisons – they’re bad, Ry. Really bad. You don’t want to get caught. Tell me what I can do, man.”

  Ryan’s voice was weak. “Pray.”

  * * * *

  Nothing else of real importance was said. Mark the accountant soon left, and Ryan went to the hospital cafeteria to eat lunch. A weresnake doctor and a gargoyle nurse and werehog orderly joined him. No human staff sat with them.

  Ryan had said he only knew one of his blackmailers, but he didn’t say who that was. However Ashley had already supplied my chief suspect’s name. I headed to Redemption Christian Bookstore, owned by one Cliff Tattingail.

  I’d never been in the bookstore. Because I’d been an escort who performed extra favors in life, I’d not visited any Christian bookstore as an adult. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe. I hoped God was out there and had some plan that made sense out of the chaos of life. I just always felt it kind of hypocritical of someone of my background to frequent places that celebrate all I’ve failed to be.

  Plus if I was to go to a Christian bookstore, it wouldn’t be – ahem – Reverend Tattingail’s. The kind of faith he preached went squarely against the little bit of conscience I possessed.

  The bookstore was located in a corner small strip mall that boasted a nail salon and tax preparer as other tenants. Across one street was the local branch of the state’s university. Across the side street sat Wanda’s Wiener Wagon, a popular burger and hotdog joint. Wanda herself threw down the best fried pork chop sandwiches you could ever hope for. Her graying hair was always styled Sunday best under her hairnet and her talon-long fingernails were manicured and painted within an inch of their lives. The name of her establishment caused many a juvenile giggle, but that place never wanted for customers.

  Inhaling deeply of the lunchtime aroma coming from Wanda’s, I sighed with pleasure. I could hear one of Wanda’s daughters or daughters-in-law hollering from the window at a customer, “You want sweet tea wi’ that? How ‘bout fries?” It was a family business, and everyone who worked there was a relation of some sort.

  Thinking happy memories of Wanda’s cooking, I went into the bookstore.

  It was like most independently owned bookstores. A counter with computer cash register and credit card reader. Shelves of books and bibles. A table of bookmarks and small gift items like pens, bracelets, candles, and notepads, all with inspirational slogans. A stand with Christian-based cards and calendars. Gospel music played on the speakers. Some woman warbled about how Jesus saved her soul. I heard a telephone somewhere in the back behind a closed door marked ‘Staff Only’ ring a couple of times before it quieted. I saw no sign of Tattingail, and I wondered if he was in the back room talking on the phone right now.

  The cashier and half a dozen people, mostly middle-aged women, had the same slight smile on their faces. Feeling the love of the Almighty, I supposed. It was a nice vibe.

  One elderly lady made her way to the cashier, her bony-knuckled veined hand clutching a children’s book. Bible Tales for Young Readers the title proclaimed in bright blue letters. I smiled. It was such a grandma gift.

  “Will that be all?” the cashier asked. She looked ready to sail right off to church with her short hair styled and nice blouse and skirt ensemble.

  “Yes. It’s my great-granddaughter’s birthday tomorrow. She’ll be four,” the customer said, her sweet wrinkled face beaming in familial pride.

  “How wonderful! She’ll enjoy this book. It’s so nice for them to have something besides all those video games.”

  “I know! I don’t understand how children want to be inside all day playing those things instead of outside getting fresh air and having real fun.”

  I laughed since they couldn’t hear me. It was a predictable conversation.

  “You better believe it. Today’s world is such a mess. Our country is in trouble, if you ask me. Can you believe this district sent a vampire to the state senate?”

  I guessed the adorable part of the conversation was over. Now we would go o
n to the ugly, intolerant portion. I decided now would be a good time to check the storeroom and started that way.

  “It’s a sign of the apocalypse. Mankind is descending into Hell.”

  “We need a strong leader. Your total is ten fifty-nine. Would you like to make a donation to Reverend Tattingail’s campaign for county commission today?”

  I halted in my tracks and turned to scowl at the cashier ... as if she could see my disapproval. Was begging for political contributions in a place of business even legal? Surely it couldn’t be ethical. Or maybe that was just my opinion.

  It wasn’t the elderly lady’s opinion. She had already dug out her old-fashioned change purse from her clutch. She plucked at her carefully folded bills and pulled out a twenty. I noticed all the rest of her cash consisted of ones and change. “I was going to get my great-granddaughter a toy too, but making sure she has a decent place to grow up is more important.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Because mundanes waving bibles are guaranteed to be good people,” I snarked.

  The cashier gave her customer a beatific smile. “Thank you so much! Oh, the reverend will want to thank you himself. Hold on a sec.” She raised her voice. “Reverend! Reverend Tattingail!”

  I was delighted to know he was somewhere within screeching distance. Sure enough, the door to the back opened and the Tats himself emerged.

  He had his public face on, the one that beamed and wanted to be your best friend ... if you weren’t of paranormal persuasion. He waved to the murmuring customers as he passed. “Hello. Hello. How is everyone? You called, Cheryl?”