by Eden Winters
He pictured Seth out at the farmhouse, alone, miles from home, and suffered a hot stab of guilt. Regardless of the circumstances, he wasn’t being a very good friend, and for certain Irene sat perched on a cloud somewhere, watching from above, shaking her head at Dustin’s lack of courage.
Seth needed him right now. Surely changes were taking place within his body that he couldn’t possibly understand—much worse than puberty—and someone had to prepare him for what he might face with the rise of the next full moon.
Well, they had a date scheduled for later, though Dustin wasn’t sure if tonight was the right time to come clean. Maybe he should start slowly, ask, “So, Seth. Do you like possums?” He sighed. Dancing around the subject wouldn’t work. Once he’d herded a straggling patient out the door who’d wanted to stay and chat with Tiffany, he headed to his office to log in his last chart of the day.
Monica followed him.
“Can this wait?” he asked. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Not really.”
One glimpse of her thinned lips and creased brow and he dropped in his chair, bracing for the worse. “What?”
“I may not like Seth McDaniel much….”
Dustin’s heart sank to his stomach.
“… and I may think Irene deserved a better nephew….”
Dustin’s heart plunged further.
“… but you need to make up your mind about who you want running the show. And you need to have a long talk with the guy.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I got wind that Junior Timmerman found out about the bite and has gone courting. And he’s pulling out all the stops.”
Junior? Well, fuck.
Junior must smell money and opportunity. Dustin let out a bone-weary sigh, good intentions flying out the window. With Junior forcing his hand, he needed to talk to Seth tonight and tell him everything before his rival did. He dialed Irene’s home phone number from memory to ensure they were still on for tonight, only to receive a message: “The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
“Shit!” he exclaimed. “It’s disconnected and I didn’t even get Seth’s cell phone number.”
The tight pursing of Monica’s lips relaxed somewhat. “I have it.”
“You do? How did you get it?”
Monica rolled her eyes heavenward. “Duh. I had his phone, remember?”
“What?” Dustin stared at Monica in disbelief. “You checked out his phone while you had it? Why that’s… that’s….”
A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched over Monica’s right eye. “Sneaky and underhanded? Guilty as charged. However, since we’re dealing with Junior, who’d seize every advantage, one of us needs to be willing to take the less than noble approach.”
As disturbing as her logic was, Dustin couldn’t argue.
“So, Mr. Morally Upright, do you want his phone number or not?”
“I do.”
“Check your phone listing, under ‘Asshole’.” With a faux sweet grin, Monica spun on her heel and tromped out of the office, leaving Dustin in awe and slightly afraid of his assistant—but exceedingly glad she was on his side.
Dustin hand’t fidgeted this much since his one lone attempt to date a female, a hormone-ridden angstfest thereafter referred to as the senior prom. At least tonight he didn’t have his anxious father lecturing him on taking precautions during any sexual encounters he might have planned for his date, a lovely young woman whose only amorous adventures for later involved another girl. Dustin would have rather dated her brother anyway.
He fretted, checking his hair in the mirror, more a stall tactic than actual concern over his appearance. How did you tell the man you’d been having sex with, “Oh, yeah, I get furry once a month, more often if the mood hits, isn’t that a hoot?” Then waiting for the right opportunity to add, “Oh, did I mention you might get furry too? Remember the sweet little receptionist at the office? Well, seems she followed a snoot full of eau de macaroni pie to your house, hunting a nibble and—can you believe it?—bit you instead! Have you ever heard anything so doggone hilarious?”
Dustin cringed. There didn’t seem to be a correct way to induct the unaware into the passel. Would Seth hate Tiffany? Would he blame Dustin for not warning him of the dangers?
With less enthusiasm than previous trips, Dustin arrived at the farmhouse far faster than he’d hoped. He needed more time to work things out. Oh well, no help for it now. As passel leader and Seth’s lover, he couldn’t conveniently pass this task to another. He fully believed if he left it up to her, Monica would barge in, yell, “You’re a damned possum, get the hell over it,” and leave.
Seth answered the door, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a welcoming smile, effectively shoving the knife further into Dustin’s heart. His news was certain to wipe the smile right off the man’s face. “Hey, Dusty. I’m glad you made it tonight. I hope you don’t mind leftovers, but I made too much the other night, and since you weren’t able to come over, I put it away.”
“Leftovers are fine.” Dustin’s throat felt packed with cotton, the words emerging distant and slurred. He stared down at the floor, unable to meet Seth’s eyes.
Seth’s chipper demeanor fell. “Is something wrong? Oh my God! You didn’t find anything with my blood test, did you?”
“Other than borderline high cholesterol levels? No. But, we need to talk.” He hazarded an upward glance.
The color drained from Seth’s face. “Sure. Let me turn the oven off. I had everything reheating.”
Dustin engaged his inner animal’s acute hearing, listening to Seth’s footfalls, incoherent mumbling, and then the sound of the stove knob clicking off. Seth called out, “Make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”
“Beer, if you have it.” Or something stronger. You might need one too, went unsaid.
The soft padding of Seth’s bare feet across the kitchen linoleum sharpened when he stepped onto the hardwood flooring of the hallway, and then into the sitting room. “Here.” He handed Dustin an opened beer.
Dustin guzzled half of it before easing down onto the settee. “Seth,” he began. “How much were you told about your family history?”
Instead of joining Dustin, Seth settled with his own beer in an adjacent chair. “Not much. My grandfather died in Vietnam, and my grandmother passed during Dad’s senior year of high school. He came here to live with Aunt Irene.”
“Your direct ancestor, Braden McDaniel, was one of the town’s founding fathers.”
“Seems I remember my daddy saying something about a great-great something or other named Braden. But your family’s been around as long as mine, right?”
Dustin shook his head. “No. My family settled here in the early 1900s—relative newcomers in the eyes of more established residents.” He tried and failed to keep his disgust to a minimum, the constant reminders from folks like Junior that he wasn’t “old blood.”
Seth voiced Dustin’s exact thoughts. “What a stupid prejudice! Anyway, what does any of this have to do with my family? They didn’t give yours grief, did they? Were we Georgia’s version of the Hatfields and McCoys?”
Taking a deep breath, Dustin ventured out onto a slippery slope. “No. None of the recent McDaniels and Livingstons quarreled, at any rate. Case in point: Irene picked me to be her second-in-command.”
“Second-in-command?” One of Seth’s brows quirked at an odd angle. “What do you mean? Like in the military?”
Dustin didn’t want to do this. He really didn’t want to do this. Everything he’d rehearsed on the way over vanished from his mind. Best to simply wing it. “You’ve heard that your aunt was a leader in our community, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
Dustin ran his fingers through his hair, gauging his words carefully. He’d only get one chance to do this right, and if he fucked up, he might lose Seth for good. He’d barely survived the last time. What was he thinking? Seth lived in Chicago, and had stated fro
m day one his intentions of going back there. “Your family believed they were unique, and sought out a place where they could live quietly, free of persecution.”
“Are you saying they were part of a cult or something? Some kind of religious group?”
“No. Back in the 1700s, though, they probably were viewed as outside the norm. Modern medicine cracked the mystery. It seems they carried a genetic anomaly, a virus, passed from one generation to the next for as long as the family kept a history. We haven’t figured out why, but some family members were merely carriers, never showing the full symptoms like others did.”
“Symptoms? Like some kind a genetic disease?”
“Not a disease. A virus that works on the central nervous system, making the host stronger and faster. It improves the senses and speeds healing. Bottom line: the virus survives if the host survives. It’s in its best interest to take good care of the host. Your father displayed all the major symptoms, while at the time of your birth, your mother wasn’t infected.” Dustin hated the word “infected.” The majority of those with the changeling virus considered themselves “beneficiaries.” Blessing or curse, possessing two forms set them apart from the rest of the world, made them special, at least in their own eyes. Some, like Junior, viewed themselves as superior.”
“And I have this virus.” Seth’s words sounded flat, lacking any emotion, and every bit of color left his face.
Dustin rose from the settee. Crap. Poor guy probably thought the worst. Pacing the room allowed Dustin to focus while giving him an excuse not to meet Seth’s eyes and witness the expected revulsion. “Many in town do. You, me, Monica, your neighbors, the Johnsons.”
“My aunt?”
“Definitely your aunt.”
“It’s contagious? Is this why my grandmother didn’t want me to come here?”
“More than likely.” Dustin focused on a picture on the mantel of Irene surrounded by the passel.
“You said my mother wasn’t infected when I was born. I take it she contracted the virus later. Did my father give it to her?”
“Yes. By her choice.” Dustin’s gaze shifted to a family photo of Seth with his parents, probably taken about the time Seth’s mother turned. Not wanting to look, Dustin tore his gaze away and continued pacing.
Seth shot to his feet and quickly overtook Dustin’s circuit around the room. He grabbed Dustin’s shoulders and held him in place. “She chose to be infected? What is this damn virus? What does it do? Is that why they died? Are you telling me I’m dying?”
“Whoa, whoa! Hold up. Your parents were a very close and loving couple. Your mother wanted to share everything. Your father was destined to take his aunt’s place as head of the community someday, and to provide the next generation with a leader. Since the doctor told them you might only be a carrier, your parents intended to ensure any additional children received a double dose.”
“What the fuck? Deliberately give kids a disease! That’s sick!”
Dustin kept his voice calm as he took Seth’s hand in his. “No, it’s tradition. If your mother had discovered earlier the whole truth about your father, she’d have done the same for you. Folks around these parts take their traditions seriously. The Channing-Frost virus is the glue that holds the town together. A common bond uniting us all—rich, poor, old, young.”
“I’ve never heard of the Channing-Frost virus. What is it and what does it do?”
“Have you ever heard your aunt referred to as ‘the Jill’?”
“No, but Monica’s used the term. Though I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what it means.” Seth wore a puzzled frown.
“Your ancestors named the town Possum Kingdom for a reason, and settled the area, in part, because it provided a perfect environment for the species Didelphimorphia, or North American Opossum. A jill is a mature female opossum, a jack, the male. Young are called joeys, like kangaroos. Around here, leaders and their designated seconds bear the title ‘the Jill’ or ‘the Jack’, respective of gender.”
Seth took a sip of his beer, releasing a nervous-sounding chuckle. “You folks take the town name a little too seriously if you ask me. And if you’re about to share ‘One Hundred and One Ways to Prepare Possum’, I don’t wanna hear it.”
Dustin managed a halfhearted smile. “No, they didn’t want to eat them, they needed a similar habitat. Those with the virus share a kinship with possums. For instance, remember me telling you about possums not carrying rabies?”
“Yes.”
“We’re only susceptible to ailments that affect both humans and their animal counterparts.” He lifted his gaze to Seth’s face and watched a variety of emotions play across his lover’s expressive features. Seth released his hold on Dustin, stepping away.
“Stop beating around the bush and spit it out. What are you trying to say?”
Dustin took a deep breath, forcing the words out before he could rethink them. “The virus allows us to transform into animals; some at will, most upon the full moon. Carriers don’t change if the virus is too weak in their bloodstreams, though some opt for a fresh infusion. You were tested at five, and while you carry a potent strain, it seems to have stayed dormant. If not inherited, the virus can be transmitted via the saliva of a shifter in their animal form, like the one that bit you. I tested your blood at the office after you were bitten. It seems the virus in your system is active now. And if you’ve never woken up naked, curled in a ball under your bed surrounded by possum hair, it wasn’t active before you came here.” Dustin braced himself to intercept, should Seth run fleeing into the night.
“You… I… we… change into fucking possums? That’s stupid! I have never in my life done anything of the sort. What kind of sick bullshit is this? Is this some kind of a joke?”
Dustin remained calm, determined to be the voice of reason in an unreasonable situation. “No, Seth, this isn’t a joke. Remember when we were kids, how you never beat me at hide-and-seek?”
“Yes. You cheated, didn’t you?”
Dustin tapped a finger to his nose. “In a matter of speaking. Between having a keener sense of smell than you, and better hearing, I always smelled or heard exactly where you were. That’s also what alerted Irene whenever we got into mischief.”
“What are you trying to say? Tell me, already.” Seth backed farther away, blinking hard. Even from a distance of a few feet, Dustin heard the rapid beating of the man’s heart.
“You were a carrier. The possum that bit you was actually a relatively new shifter. Newbies not born with the virus often lose their human consciousness while in animal form. The poor girl smelled food. In the past, Irene always left food out on full moon nights, and Tiffany attempted to come nibble.” Dustin discreetly positioned himself between Seth and the exit. “She nibbled you instead.”
Seth’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
“She brought your virus out of stasis. Have you noticed lately your sense of smell growing stronger? Have you been able to hear better?”
Seth gawked at Dustin a long moment, finally breaking eye contact to stare at the floor. “Yes,” he admitted.
Dustin resumed his pacing. “I believe when the next full moon rolls around, you’ll transform for the first time.”
“I like a good gag as well as the next man, but this one is wearing pretty thin, and I don’t like being the butt of jokes.” Seth’s face reddened clear up to his ears.
“I’m afraid it’s no joke.” Dustin rolled his T-shirt up and off his body, dropping it to the settee while toeing off his loafers.
“Not that I’m objecting to you getting naked, but what are you doing?”
“Proving a point.” Dustin’s blue jeans followed the T-shirt; he wore nothing underneath, figuring Seth to be the type to demand proof. “Now, look at me.”
“I am. Am I also allowed to touch?” Seth waggled his brows.
“Not yet. Watch carefully.”
Letting his mind go blank, Dustin nudged his sleeping beast awake. It gave gr
umbling protest, yawned, and wakened, stretching and stretching and stretching until its tiny body seemed to fill Dustin’s skin. He opened his eyes to see Seth’s feet and ankles jump up onto a chair.
Seth stood frozen on the chair, eyes wide.
Dustin had barely enough time to regain human form and catch Seth before he hit the floor.
Along with superior hearing and smell came additional strength. Dustin hefted Seth in a fireman’s carry and trotted down the hall to deposit his pliant form on his bed. He hurried back to the sitting room to dress and then returned to perch on the edge of the comforter, smoothing Seth’s hair back from his forehead.
Seth’s eyes fluttered open, then widened in horror. He jumped back, knocking his head against the headboard. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”
“You only came here to get Irene’s affairs in order. You didn’t need an added burden.”
“No, I mean, when we were kids. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought your family gave you ‘the talk’, like mine did. Anyway, I asked my mom why you never seemed to find me during our games like I found you, and she explained that maybe you were a late bloomer, and wouldn’t fully develop your senses until you were older. It happens sometimes.”
“How old were you the first time you changed?”
“Thirteen.”
“And this has been happening in our families for generations?”
Dustin nodded. At least Seth sounded more rational now.
“Are there any more animals around? Werewolves?”
Dustin managed a shy half smile. “We’ve never allowed predators to stick around except for foxes. There was a terrible power struggle near Atlanta back in the sixties and they were ousted. Irene allowed them to stay until the danger passed, which turned into several decades, but their last change of power didn’t go well and left them needing a new leader. The town also needed a veterinarian, and we got both in the same man. We decided to keep him, and by extension, his foxes. He has an office next to mine.”
“Are there other towns like ours? Isn’t the name a bit blatant?”
“Sure, but we have to be able to find each other some way, though a name like Turkey Run doesn’t necessarily mean shifters. North of us, you have Turtletown, Elkton, and Ducktown, Tennessee, though most of the elk folk migrated to Colorado. There’s a huge colony up there.”
