Fur and Fangs Box Set

by Rae D. Magdon

  “It’s fine, mon chou. Go get yourself some breakfast. I can hear your stomach growling.”

  “What?” At that moment, my stomach lets out a mighty rumble. “Fine, at least lemme give you a goodnight kiss.”

  “A good morning kiss,” Izzy says, but she wraps her hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down. Our lips meet soft and sweet, and I don’t want it to end when Izzy pulls back. With a squeeze of my hand, she’s gone, heading off down the hall to my room.

  I sigh and head into the kitchen. Hopefully Papa won’t be too mad at me for staying out all night with his truck. I might be an adult now, but it’s still kind of rude while I’m staying under their roof. Luckily, my folks are all smiles when I sit at the table.

  “Morning, baby girl,” Mama says, with a knowing look that makes me blush even hotter than before. I’m even too embarrassed to mind the ‘baby girl.’

  Papa turns away from the stove where he’s frying up the bacon and scrambling some eggs. “You got my keys for me?”

  “Yessir.” I slide them across the table for Mama to pick up on her way to get some plates. She slips them in Papa’s pocket, and I groan in mock disgust when I catch her grabbing his butt.

  “Ma!”

  She turns with her hand on her hip. “Stop fussing, Riley. If I didn’t like your papa’s behind, you and your brothers would’ve never been born.”

  Mama has a point, and I can’t complain much since I spent all night out with my girlfriend getting up too much more intimate things.

  “Thanks, Papa. You too, Mama. For, y’know, lending me the truck.”

  Papa scrapes the bacon out of the pan and onto the plate Mama is holding out for him. “Not a problem. Next time, though, try and be in before sunrise.” He scoops some eggs on the plate too and sets it in front of me while I mumble a thank you.

  “Where’s Izzy, by the way?” Mama asks. “Sleeping?”

  “She’s nocturnal. She’ll be up in a few hours. Vampires don’t need much sleep.”

  “I’ll admit I had my reservations about you seeing a vampire, but she seems like a real nice girl,” Papa says.

  “I like her,” Mama agrees. “And her job sounds really interesting.”

  “Yeah, she’s…” I hesitate, scraping my plate with my fork. How can I explain all my feelings with something as simple as words? They don’t seem sufficient. Being with Izzy has made me feel special, boosted my confidence, even taught me more about who I am.

  My stomach churns a little when I think about that. The food in front of me isn’t as appetizing all of a sudden. I still haven’t told Mama and Papa about all my gender stuff. I know it won’t be too bad—they were confused but supportive when I came out as a lesbian—but it still makes me nervous.

  Not too nervous, though. After coming out to Izzy and Colin and Monty, the prospect doesn’t make me feel like I swallowed a whole bunch of snakes. I’m only an acceptable amount of jittery. I don’t have to tell them now, I think to myself. I can take my time if I want. But at this point, not telling them has me more antsy than just spitting it out. Hopefully, it won’t be a big deal.

  “Mama, Papa? Izzy’s been great for me for a whole lot of reasons. But one of ‘em is, well…being with her has helped me figure out some stuff.”

  They turn toward me. “What do you mean?” Mama asks. Papa seems worried. Maybe he can see how jumpy I am or smell it instead.

  “S’not a big deal,” I say, then shake my head and take it back. “No. It is a big deal. I’m, uh…” It’s a struggle to put what I want to say into words. I doubt my parents know much of the language about genders other than ‘boy’ and ‘girl’. I have to keep it simple enough for them to understand. “I don’t always feel like a girl. Inside.”

  Mama’s eyes widen. She and Papa exchange a glance, and then Papa says, “Riley, are you trying to tell us you’re transgendered?”

  This is going to be harder than I thought. “No, I’m not. Not like you’re thinking. First of all, I know y’all are accepting, and I don’t wanna be rude by questioning my elders, but…it’s transgender, not transgendered. You wouldn’t call yourselves ‘werewolved’. It’s a noun.”

  They nod and keep looking at me, waiting.

  “But I’m not transgender. I’m…I guess the best way to explain it is kinda with colors. You know. Pink for girl. Blue for boy. I’m purple. Some parts of me are like a girl and some parts of me are like a boy, and they’re all mixed up together. Some parts of me are neither one. They’re a new color all its own.”

  Mama leaves Papa and walks over to me, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, just because you’re a lesbian, wear more masculine clothes, and like some things that aren’t traditionally feminine doesn’t mean you can’t be a girl.”

  I know she’s trying to help, but I have to contain a wince. “I know, Mama. Some girls are still girls even if they have short hair and wear overalls and chase other girls in pickup trucks. It’s not about what I do or who I’m attracted to. It’s about how I feel inside.”

  Papa gives me a soft smile. “You know we love you, Riley. I’ll be honest. I don’t quite get what you’re saying. But if Izzy has helped you figure out this thing about yourself that makes you happy, I’m happy.”

  My eyes start to sting. “Thanks, Papa. I guess…lemme try another way. You know how you see someone on TV or read about a character in a book? And they seem so familiar that you think, ‘Wow, they’re like me?' Or ‘I wanna be like them.' Sometimes I look at girls and feel that way. Sometimes I look at boys and feel that way. And I met someone in Central Park who’s nonbinary like me, and when I looked at them, I felt that way. They reminded me of me.”

  “Nonbinary?” Mama asks.

  “That’s what I am. Nonbinary. It’s like there’s a line with a point on either end. You know, man and woman. Binary, with two points. But I don’t sit on the ends of the line. I’m in-between, and sometimes I go back and forth like a slider from one end to the other.”

  I see a bit more recognition on Mama’s face. Apparently, my confusing mix of three completely different metaphors is starting to sink in. “So, what does this change about you? Being nonbinary?”

  “Not that much, to be honest. Sometimes I wear binders to make my chest look smaller because I, uh, don’t always want to have boobs.”

  Mama laughs. “I think everyone who has ‘em wishes they’d go away some days. Maybe not for the same reasons as you, but they can be annoying.”

  I laugh too. “Yup. Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Papa says, heaving a sigh of relief. “I thought I was goin’ plumb crazy. Not that I spend much time staring at your chest, but I knew you had some when you left for New York and I was wondering where they went!”

  We all laugh. It feels good, like a reminder that things will be okay.

  “Yeah, they’re still here,” I tell him. “Just strapped down for now. And, uh…you don’t have to start right now, because this is all new to me too, but sometimes nonbinary people like to use ‘they’ and ‘them’ instead of ‘she’ and ‘her’.”

  “What, like two people?” Papa asks. “Sounds a bit odd.”

  “Not as odd as you think. What would you say if you were talking to someone at work, and found out you had a new coworker? And you didn’t know the new person’s name or gender? You’d ask, ‘What’s their name’, right?”

  “I guess,” Papa says. “‘What’s his or her name’ sounds kinda silly now that I’m thinking about it.”

  “Okay,” Mama says. “Any more bombshells while we’re talking about this?”

  “Nope. That’s pretty much it. Uh, how are you two doing with this?”

  “Confused,” Mama admits. “But I’ll always support you, baby. I’ll need to do some research on the internet, I guess. This stuff is on there, right?”

  “Everything’s on the internet,” I tell her. “Including a lot of stuff that shouldn’t see the light of day.”

  “What’
s this about the internet?” a voice says from the doorway.

  I turn to see Dallas, as well as six other blonde heads poking into the kitchen. Apparently, my brothers have been summoned by the smell of bacon. That reminds me of my own plate. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

  “Nuffin’,” I mumble as I shovel some eggs into my mouth. They’ve started to get cold, but they still taste delicious.

  “Have you been browsing naughty websites, Riley?” Macon asks. He heads to the stove to grab himself a plate, and the others form a line behind him.

  “Shuddup.” I swallow my eggs and start on my bacon. If I don’t hurry, I’m sure some of the boys will come sniffing around my plate once they wolf down their share.

  “She hasn’t been looking at internet porn,” Butler says. “She was out all night with her giiirlfriiiend.”

  That gets a bunch of laughter, and I roll my eyes. “I’m twenty-five, dummies. Not twelve. Plenty old enough for a girlfriend.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” Jackson says, plopping down in the seat beside me with a steaming plate. “Izzy seems like a sweetheart. Where is she? Sleeping?”

  I sense the opportunity for a little bragging. “You bet she is,” I drawl, giving my brothers a sly look. That gets some more hoots as they come to the table to join me. Monty takes the other seat beside me, and I give him a wink. He looks confused for a moment, but when I glance at Mama and Papa, he seems to get it. He grins and nudges my shoulder in congratulations.

  “I didn’t wanna ask last night,” Harris says, interrupting us, “but what is it like dating a vampire? You know, with the whole drinking blood thing.”

  I squirm in my seat. “It’s actually not that big a deal.” That isn’t quite the truth, but it’s all I’m willing to share. “It doesn’t hurt. Just makes you feel all warm and tingly. And you gotta drink some juice or eat a cookie afterward. Keep those sugars up.”

  “An excuse to snack,” Harris says. “Lucky you.”

  I look around the table. My older brothers are tearing into their food. Monty’s eating a bit neater, but he seems more confident than yesterday after our talk. Then there are my parents, who reacted about as well as I could’ve hoped to my coming out, considering this is all new to them. And even though Izzy isn’t here at the moment, just knowing she’s down the hall makes me feel at peace. I can feel her presence still, and it makes me warm and happy.

  “Yeah,” I say, spearing another bit of bacon with my fork. “I sure am lucky.”

  Chapter Eight - Isabeau

  I PEEK OVER THE top of my book in time to catch Riley glancing away from me. They’re nervous, drumming their fingers on the armrests of the waiting room chair, scooching the soles of their shoes against the linoleum floor. Part of me feels guilty for bringing them here, to the nursing home where my mother lives, but I remind myself that I have a very good reason. If we’re going to be together long term in any way, shape or form, Riley needs to understand some important things.

  The ticking of the clock on the wall marks the seconds as they slip by. Riley twitches, biting their lower lip, looking here and there. Their gaze falls on an old white man with a walker before flicking over to the bored-looking receptionist at the intake desk. She’s a fae, wings glittering beneath the garish fluorescent lighting, her red hair braided in a crown on top of her head.

  I shoot Riley a smirk. “Enjoying the scenery?”

  “What?” Riley’s cheeks turn pink, and they reach behind their head to rub their neck. “Uh, nope, not at all—”

  I slide my hand over to squeeze their thigh. “Relax. I was trying to lighten the mood. Besides, I wouldn’t hold just looking against you.”

  That gets a quiet chuckle out of Riley. “Oh. Yup.” They drift into silence again, obviously lost in thought.

  I listen to the clock tick a few more times. “Riley, you don’t have to go in with me if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to,” Riley says, much too quickly. They seem to realize it, because they clear their throat and try again. “I do, Izzy. I’m just a bit antsy, I guess.”

  I can relate to that. I was nervous when I first met Riley’s family, although they proved to be a warm and welcoming bunch. Unfortunately, this visit won’t be nearly so happy. My mother and I weren’t always close, not even when I was younger and human. These days, I’m lucky if she remembers who I am.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whisper, looking into Riley’s worried blue eyes. “This will be a short visit. Then we can get some dinner in the French Quarter. Maybe go for a carriage ride.”

  Riley brightens. “That’d be real nice…assuming the horses don’t spook when they smell me.”

  “They won’t. I guarantee they’ve carried all kinds of mythical beings before. One werewolf won’t even register.”

  Riley sighs, relaxing into their chair. The silence loses some of its tension, at least until someone else approaches, a smiling human nurse in a pale green uniform. “Sorry about the wait,” she says in a chipper voice. “You came at an awkward time. We just finished her bath, and we had to dispense her afternoon meds. Your mother’s ready to see you now.”

  I rise from my chair, and beside me, Riley does the same. “Thanks for letting us know.”

  “Do the two of you need directions or the room number?”

  “Thank you, but we’ll be fine. I know the way.”

  The nurse looks surprised, probably since she hasn’t seen me drop by for a visit before, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I nod, and Riley dips their head politely. We walk down the main hallway, past several doors with golden plastic numbers hanging on them. The rooms start at 101 and climb, odds on one side, evens on the other. At 124, I stop, and Riley comes to stand beside me.

  “This one, Izzy?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh, patting down my hair. It’s still fine under my pink and yellow headscarf, but it’s a worry habit I can’t help.

  Riley pulls my hand away, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, sunshine. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  I look at Riley looking at me, and part of me can’t help but believe them. Despite their own wariness, I can see sincerity in Riley’s soft blue eyes. “I know.”

  The door is automatic, and when I touch the handle, it opens on its own. Gradually, the room comes into view: a small white square with handlebars placed at strategic points on the walls. The lone window has safety locks installed, and the only items of furniture are a dresser, a media stand with a tiny television set, and a bed. The bed is currently occupied. My mother is propped up against the pillows, blinking at me from behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

  That reminds me to remove my sunglasses, so she can see my face better. “Bonjou, Moman.”

  She studies me closely, and I can tell she’s trying to place me. Her brown eyes, so dark they’re almost black, suck me in for a moment before a spark of recognition lights up her face. “Mô fiy. Isabeau.”

  I steal a look at Riley. They’re waiting patiently by my side, although they perk up when my mother says my name.

  “Mérikin ojordi?” I ask her. English today? My mother was fluent in four different languages while I was growing up, five including Parisian French, but I know it’s harder for her to switch around these days. Some of the words get mixed up in her head.

  “Sho.” She nods, licking her lips in a rasping, reflexive gesture. “You been gone a few months now. Who this with you?”

  It’s been almost a year, actually, but I don’t bring that up. I make regular phone calls, some more successful than others. Frequent visits are difficult for the both of us. “Moman, this is Riley.”

  My mother’s face pinches up, and she shifts under the covers, her way of attempting to lean forward. With a shaking hand, she adjusts her glasses again. “Riley.” She smiles briefly, showing that she’s taken her dentures out.

  I’m relieved. That’s a better reaction than I was expecting.

  “Hi,” Riley says, retur
ning the smile along with a small wave.

  That’s a mistake. My mother’s eyes get big as she notices Riley’s sharpened teeth, and she gasps, making a gurgling noise in her throat somewhere between fear and anger. “Rougarou!”

  I’d warned Riley in advance that something like this might happen, but the wounded look that flashes across their face still makes me feel guilty. I step forward, positioning myself in front of them. “It’s okay, Moman. Riley’s okay.”

  My mother looks at me and shakes her head, choosing not to speak.

  “Do you remember about me? How I became a vampire?”

  From the unhappy smacking of her lips, I can tell she does. She avoids my gaze for a moment, refusing to maintain eye contact, but eventually seems to come to some kind of decision. “Mô fiy." She knows who I am, and she’s acknowledging me as her daughter. That’s about the best I can hope for when she’s in a paranoid mood.

  Riley shuffles closer to me, brushing my hand with theirs to let me know everything’s okay. I take it and squeeze, then head over to the television stand. Beside it is a small chair, which I bring beside the bed. My mother doesn’t object when I sit down. She keeps looking at me, waiting.

  “I’m still in New York City.” Sometimes, our visits are mostly me talking to my mother instead of with her. “I’m happy there.”

  My mother takes a moment to digest that. Then, she says something that impresses me. “You been working with them computers?”

  “That’s right, mom. I’m still working with the computers. Teaching older folks how to use them.”

  “The emails.” From the light in her eyes, I can see she has a follow-up statement, but she loses it. Her lips move soundlessly, and her gaze dulls, drifting toward the window.

  I touch her hand, coaxing her to look back at me. “Do you mean my emails that your aide reads to you?” I have an arrangement with one of her caretakers. Since phone calls are tricky, thanks to my mother’s inconsistent memory and erratic moods, he prints out the emails I send and reads them to her. Sometimes, he helps her write back.

  My mother makes a low moan of frustration. She reaches out with a shaking finger, pointing beyond me at Riley.