In a Badger Way

by Shelly Laurenston

  Stevie couldn’t stop a harsh snort. “You? Help me? Why?”

  Conridge leaned forward and said, sounding deeply earnest, “Because I love you.”

  Shocked, Stevie blinked and jerked back a bit. “What?”

  Conridge laughed. “Just kidding. I barely love my children and I actually ejected them from my own body. If that’s how I feel about them, why the hell would I love you?”

  Shen let out another long sigh. “I don’t see how this is helping anyone.”

  “Just be quiet,” Conridge told him. “You are a very sweet freak of nature, but you don’t have nearly enough active brain cells to interject yourself into our conversation.”

  Shen nodded his head. “I see why you’re Kyle’s favorite.”

  Conridge locked her gaze with Stevie’s. “The boy has always had good taste and good sense. He brought you to me for a reason, Doctor Stasiuk-MacKilligan. Because I’m the one person who can and will help you without feeling the need to lock you up or put you down. Of course”—Conridge suddenly smiled and Stevie had the urgent need to make a run for it—“that situation could change at any minute.”

  * * *

  “I don’t hear anything,” Kyle whispered to Max and Charlie. They were still downstairs, the kid refusing to go up after his aunt or to let them go up after their sister.

  “That’s because we’re downstairs and they’re upstairs.”

  Kyle, with an exasperated expression, glanced at Max over his shoulder. “That’s so we can keep living. I swear, I think all you honey badgers have a death wish.”

  Max smirked. “Not our own deaths.”

  The kid’s back tensed. “Stop trying to terrorize, Max!”

  How could she, though? When she was just so damn good at it.

  * * *

  Dr. Conridge had walked out of the room but returned a moment later with a pair of jeans.

  “These should fit you,” she said, handing them over. “They belong to Kyle’s sister. The dancer. You seem thin enough.”

  While Stevie slipped them on, Dr. Conridge jotted down some information on a pad from the bedside table and handed it to Shen.

  “Take her here. They’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Manhattan Behavioral Center,” Shen read out loud.

  Zipping the jeans, Stevie informed Dr. Conridge, “I can choose my own mental hospitals, thank you very much.”

  “I know you can. You and your strange obsession with checking yourself in every few months is something that fascinates the science community. But the Behavioral Center isn’t a mental hospital. You’ll find people there who can actually help you.”

  Stevie folded her arms over her chest, her gaze narrowing on Dr. Conridge.

  “Why are you doing this?” she finally demanded. “We both know you’re not a good person. You’re not helpful. What do you want from me?”

  “Do you remember Dr. Matt Wells?”

  “I dated the asshole for six months. Of course I remember him.”

  “Bad breakup?”

  “Bad enough. Max put him through a wall and Charlie ran him down with her pickup truck.” She glanced at Shen, probably saw the look on his face. “He’s lion.”

  “And?”

  “That means he was asking for it.”

  Dr. Conridge leaned against the chest of drawers. “Would you be averse to getting in touch with him again?”

  “Setting aside the fact that he’s a lousy lay, an arrogant prick, and is one of those insecure men who feel women shouldn’t be scientists because we’re ‘distracting,’” she said with finger quotes, “why the hell would I want to willingly get near him again?”

  Dr. Conridge looked off, took in a breath. After a few seconds, she said to Stevie, “I think he’s experimenting on hybrids.”

  Stevie’s expression didn’t change, but she suddenly shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because we keep finding the bodies.”

  Stevie’s arms fell to her sides.

  “All hybrids?” Shen asked.

  “All hybrids. The Group, my husband’s organization, is on it but Wells is very careful, very protected, and very smart.”

  “But I heard he was doing good work,” Stevie said.

  “In biogenetics.” Dr. Conridge brushed stray hairs off her forehead. “I could be wrong about him. But we can’t get close enough to find out.”

  “But you think I can.”

  “Men are men. No offense,” she added, glancing at Shen.

  “I’m a panda.”

  “Sometimes,” Dr. Conridge continued, “they can’t help but brag to old girlfriends. To prove that they didn’t need them to be successful.” She shrugged. “It’s at least worth a try.”

  “What exactly do you expect him to tell me? ‘And on the weekends, I’m Dr. Mengele’?”

  “I think he has a second lab. Not in the city. We need to know where that lab is.”

  “All right,” Stevie replied, no hesitation. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “There is one thing, though.”

  “Which is?”

  “My husband has expressed concern about your sisters.”

  “If my sisters find out you’ve involved me with this,” Stevie said matter-of-factly, “they’ll kill you and your husband, and the cries of your devastated offspring won’t interrupt their REM sleep one bit. So if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”

  “Fair enough.” Dr. Conridge pointed at the piece of paper Shen still held. “When you go to the Behavioral Center, bring your sisters. My contact will want to meet them too. Her name is Dr. Becca Morgan. A trained and highly respected psychiatrist and, I believe, some kind of cat . . . or dog . . . or something. Something furry that can do tricks if I promise her enough treats.”

  “How does your husband tolerate you?” Stevie sneered.

  “The same way I’m sure this one tolerates you. He ignores the bullshit and focuses on the ass. At least that’s how Holtz has always explained it to me.”

  Shen shook his head. “We’re not . . . together.”

  “I make him uncomfortable,” Stevie admitted. “He told my sister Max that his penis becomes erect every time I hug him.”

  “I said no such—”

  But before he could finish, Stevie reached over and grabbed his cheeks. “But look at this adorable panda face! Just so cute!”

  Shen gently pushed her away. “I really need you to stop doing that.”

  Dr. Conridge suddenly laughed. “Oh, look. His penis does become erect!”

  chapter FIVE

  Shen had tried to get away. From both Dr. Conridge and Stevie MacKilligan, but he and his company had been hired by the Jean-Louis Parker family. That meant they could assign him to a different child or, in this case, friend, any time they wanted.

  Which was exactly what happened.

  Kyle graciously offered to stay with his family while Shen “escorted” the ladies to the Manhattan Behavioral Center.

  “Why can’t Berg do it?” Shen had asked, not really in the mood to chaperone anyone at the moment. Even the MacKilligan sisters.

  “Yeah,” Berg asked, “why can’t I take them?”

  In response, Kyle simply pointed . . . up.

  And he did that because Stevie was hanging from the hallway ceiling by her claws.

  “Oh, come on, Stevie,” Berg had sort of whined. “I thought we’d gotten past this.”

  “You’re an apex predator,” Kyle had reminded Berg.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Shen had to ask. “Am I the only one who saw her?”

  Kyle started to reply but Stevie had unhooked herself from the ceiling and dropped to the ground, startling all three males. Then she was on Shen in seconds, her hand over his mouth, her eyes wide, head shaking.

  Not sure what the problem was, Shen had gently pulled her hand off his mouth and asked, “What?”

  Up on her toes, she’d glanced over his shoulder and whispered, “Jus
t don’t talk about it. Don’t talk about what you saw. Trust me on this.”

  She’d pulled her hand away after that and moved around him, smiling as her sisters had come down the hall.

  Now they were driving in silence on their way to the Behavioral Center.

  The building had underground parking and the whole complex seemed to be owned and operated by the Behavioral Center. As Dr. Conridge had promised, they were expected. The bear security guard gave a grunt as he lifted the gate. His way of telling Shen to drive on.

  Shen parked the SUV and followed the sisters to the bank of elevators. They stepped into the first one and took it to the twelfth floor. A pretty receptionist smiled at them as soon as they walked in.

  Shen was fascinated by the reactions of each sister to such an innocent and important—for the company—business move.

  Charlie smiled in return, but while she smiled her intense gaze bounced from one side of the room to the other. A predator on the lookout for any danger that might put her weaker Packmates at risk.

  Max grinned, but it was the grin of a predator catching sight of prey that had no idea how much danger she was in. The honey badger wanted to “play,” but Shen wasn’t going to let that happen.

  And Stevie? She stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowing on the receptionist, expecting the absolute worst from that smile. Seeing all sorts of danger where there was none. That was Stevie’s major problem in Shen’s opinion. She saw no danger where there was danger—like taking Bo Novikov’s wife for her own personal cat toy—and believed there was major danger where there was none. Like with the poor receptionist.

  “Dr. MacKilligan?” the female asked Stevie before the sisters could say a word.

  Now glaring at the woman—and Shen knew it was because she was trying to figure out how the woman knew her name . . . so smart and yet so honey badger—Stevie started to bare a fang, but Shen leaned past her and said, “Yes. This is Dr. MacKilligan.”

  “Excellent. Dr. Morgan is waiting for you, Dr. Mac—”

  “We’re all coming,” Charlie abruptly cut in.

  Max, who was in mid-sit on one of the couches, a recent copy of Rolling Stone in her hand, sighed loudly before straightening and tossing the magazine aside.

  “That’s not necessary, Charlie,” Stevie stated quietly.

  “Together or we all leave,” Charlie insisted.

  “Don’t argue with her,” Max said, heading off down the hall. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Wrong way,” the receptionist called out, smirking when Max spun around and came back, crossing by the desk and heading down the other hallway.

  “Get that look off your face,” Max warned, “before I rip it off your head.”

  Charlie and Stevie followed Max, and Shen went to a couch and dropped on it.

  The receptionist, still smirking, asked, “Would you like some bamboo tea, sir?”

  He grinned at the fox. “That would be awesome.”

  * * *

  Dr. Becca Morgan sat across from the three females who’d come to her office.

  Conridge, an old associate she’d never have called a friend, but whom she understood well because prodigies and geniuses were one of her specialties, had warned her that the two women would invite themselves into the appointment.

  “They are very protective of their sister.”

  She understood. Child prodigies—former and current—often had protective families. Usually the parents but sometimes siblings or a spouse. Even when the prodigy was grown up, almost an elderly adult, they often had some relative fluttering around them, attempting to protect the genius from themselves. Totally understandable.

  But as the eldest—who seemed to speak for the group— gave the backstory of her youngest sister while the middle sister sat there, studying Becca’s office with curious, plotting eyes, and the youngest kept her eyes completely shut while she softly chanted something to herself the entire time, Becca realized this was not a simple case of “former prodigy with protective family.”

  Not even close.

  This was something completely different that needed her immediate attention.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Conridge had been right when she’d said, “Trust me on this . . . you’re going to love this one.”

  * * *

  “And that’s it,” Stevie heard Charlie say to Dr. Rebecca Morgan, a psychiatrist with an impressive reputation and a list of books that she’d written or cowritten that could fill an entire bookstore shelf. She was a much respected practitioner with degrees from Wellesley, Harvard, and Columbia. Plus a Rhodes Scholarship. “And that’s it?” Dr. Morgan repeated back.

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment of silence, but Stevie barely noticed it because she was busy reciting the chant she’d been using the last few weeks: “Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me.”

  She was chanting it to herself because she’d found it was the only thing that kept her from screaming and running out of the room anytime she had to be around bears she didn’t know. She didn’t mean to be scared of fellow shifters. She didn’t want to be this scared of them, but she couldn’t help it.

  Grizzlies and polar bears were known maneaters. Something Stevie simply couldn’t get past. That at any moment, they could shift to their animal form and pop her in their mouths like a Tootsie Roll! Unless she shifted herself and destroyed the entire building.

  A situation that also wouldn’t end well for her.

  “What is she doing?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  “She’s chanting,” Max replied. “She’s afraid of you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a bear. And bears eat people.”

  “So do tigers.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Morgan suddenly announced and Stevie heard something hit the floor. It sounded like Dr. Morgan’s feet.

  Had she been sitting at her desk with her feet up while Charlie had been telling their story? Was that normal for a mental health expert?

  “First,” Dr. Morgan went on, “open your eyes, Dr. MacKilligan. Now.”

  Stevie managed one eye.

  “Both eyes, Dr. MacKilligan,” Dr. Morgan insisted.

  It took a few seconds, but Stevie did it. Making her kind of proud of herself.

  All six feet, three inches of Dr. Morgan still sat behind her desk, her arms on the wood, her fingers interlaced. Brown and gold hair reached below her ears without any real style to it. In fact . . . she might just cut her hair herself. Her glasses didn’t look like the latest style either. They were just big, which probably made it easy for her to read lots of books and paperwork. But they made her already big brown eyes look even bigger. She had to be nearing sixty, but she was a very healthy and strong nearly-sixty-year-old.

  “Let me see if I understand this,” the psychiatrist began. “All three of you ladies are half-sisters because your father is, to use your words, Ms. MacKilligan, ‘a whore that can’t stop fucking anything that moves.’ When you were still adolescents, your mother”—she gestured to Charlie—“and the woman who adopted you two”—she gestured to Max and Stevie—“was brutally murdered in front of all of you. Forcing you three ladies to make a desperate run for your lives, by yourselves, across country, to get to the safety of a wolf Pack that really only tolerated you two.” Again, she gestured to Max and Stevie. “Because of your father, all three of you have had to protect each other, and sometimes—I’m assuming based on the vagueness of your wording, Ms. MacKilligan—you’ve killed people.”

  “I never said killed,” Charlie replied.

  “Uh-huh.” Dr. Morgan stared at Charlie for nearly a minute before returning to her point. “And even now, all three of you are again in danger because of your father. And despite everything that has been going on—in the past and present—she”—she pointed at Stevie—“is the only one that needs a therapist. Did I get that right?”

  “Yes,” Charlie and Max
said in unison. When the doctor focused on her, Stevie shrugged.

  Dr. Morgan let out a sigh and stood. “Okay.”

  Watching the woman stretch so easily toward the ceiling, Stevie started to chant again, but Dr. Morgan’s sharp, “Do not shut your eyes,” made her stop immediately.

  She came around the desk and motioned to Charlie. “Please,” she asked nicely, gesturing toward the door.

  After reassuringly rubbing Stevie’s shoulder, Charlie stood and headed out the door. Dr. Morgan also gestured to Max, but she just shrugged and said, “Nah. I’m fine.”

  The doctor reached over Stevie—and she couldn’t help but cringe away from her—and snatched Max up by the back of her neck. She held the tough extra flesh there that was part of the honey badger’s defenses.

  “Hey!”

  Dr. Morgan ignored Max and carried her out the door. That’s when Stevie’s chant changed.

  “Please don’t eat my sisters. Please don’t eat my sisters. Please don’t eat my sisters.”

  * * *

  Dr. Kelly Lewis was in the middle of texting her mate a recent shot of her tits when there was a knock on her office door and her business partner walked in. A young, black woman was with her. She sort of smelled like wolf, but then again . . . she also didn’t. It was weird, but Kelly was used to weird. She liked weird.

  She was a wolf that liked weird, which was good because the other weird thing was that Becca had a snarling, snapping honey badger dangling from her right hand.

  Kelly didn’t know why and she wasn’t about to ask. She liked things to just unfold.

  “This is Dr. Kelly Lewis,” Becca said to the young woman she ushered into Kelly’s office. “She’ll be helping you.”

  “I don’t need help,” the woman replied.

  “Oh, my sweet girl,” Becca laughed. “You so do.”

  Then Becca and the violent badger were gone.

  Kelly gestured to the free chair across her desk. “Please. Sit.”

  “Look,” the woman began without sitting, “I really don’t have time for this and I’m really just here for my baby sister since she’s the one who really needs help . . . not that I don’t need help or whatever . . . I’m sure everyone needs help at some time in life and I’m no different, but I have so much going on and like with my aunt who keeps calling me but I don’t want to deal with that right now, because she’s probably calling me about poor, dead Great-Uncle Pete . . . or maybe she’s calling me for something else, but I can’t imagine why after we kept that polar bear from ruining my cousin’s wedding . . . of course, couldn’t have won that fight without Berg . . . then again we could have but not without killing the polar and his friends, which I’m glad we didn’t have to do because that would have really ruined the wedding and I’m sure Berg wouldn’t have liked that at all, which I would have hated because I really do love him . . . so much . . . and I like and am learning to love his siblings, but they’re triplets and the other two are always around, lurking, and you have no idea how off-putting it is to turn around in your kitchen and find three extremely large grizzlies standing behind you . . . lurking . . . but I guess it could be worse . . . true, the twin aunts no one knew about are trying to kill us, and I’m just waiting to find out how my father has fucked over our lives again with his unbelievable stupidity and someone is always trying to kidnap Stevie . . . plus Berg’s dog has this weird hacking thing going on and I want to get him to the vet before that turns into something, and I think there’s something wrong with the plumbing with our rental house, which, of course, has me again thinking about saving money so that I can actually purchase a house, plus life is a nightmarish gamble of car accidents and falling air conditioners and plane parts so you really need money for those unplanned scenarios that can occur at any time and, not to be too broad, but what about world politics and our risk as a country of getting into more wars and how long before there is a strike on American soil, which may or may not affect my sisters because we do travel a lot so we could be out of the country, but that doesn’t really protect us, now does it . . . but then again—”