Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  Vixen

  Catherine Labadie

  Second Edition Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Labadie

  Original Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Catherine Muth

  (a.k.a. Catherine Labadie)

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art (concept, figures, and base) by TK Palad

  Cover design by Daniel Labadie

  Interior design by Catherine Labadie

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  To my husband.

  Contents

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  REGION 5 HISTORY TEXTBOOK FOR GRADE 12

  TEXT PROVIDED BY S.M.A.R.T. INDUSTRIES

  SECTION HEADING: REVIEW OF CENTURY 22

  CHAPTER HEADING: ORIGIN OF THE M-DNA

  In this era science gave us something it had not yet shown the human race: the successful blending of human and animal DNA. The early years of Century 22 brought the creation of what is currently titled the M-DNA (Mixed DNA) race of humanity.

  MASAEO HEIGHTS, the leading research scientist and chairman of Progressions University, has been credited with the origin of the mixed DNA race. For many years not much was known about this enigmatic individual, nor were any connections between him and the M-DNA people made until years after his death. Chairman Height's goal with DNA manipulation was simply to heal the host human race which was adapting poorly to a changing globe. Little else is known of his aims, but sometime in the early days of the century he succeeded in blending carefully selected animal DNA with human embryos. The results of his success could not be calculated at the time since the astronomical number of embryos he altered both legally and illegally remains unknown.

  Even so, there were enough M-DNA infants to

  fuel the start of a new, highly adaptable human race. Whether or not the changed children would be accepted by the rest of an unwitting humanity, Chairman Heights would never know. He was murdered by a colleague, his wife of fifteen years, because of his work at the age of 58.

  1

  Foxes, thanks to Aesop’s fables, are known for their cunning. Since my family has a good amount of fox DNA in our biology, I’ve always liked to think we have the same admirable traits as the fox. Many other people in the human and half-breed community may not view our cunning as profitable, but in my experience it's been nothing but helpful.

  I’m sitting at the breakfast table in our government issued townhouse, exchanging morning greetings with my family of M-DNA fox half-breeds. The government has given us a lot over the past few years: our lower cost townhouse in a decent neighbourhood, better jobs for all my brothers, and more access to places our kind used to be banned from. We're still banned from a lot of common traffic areas, but something is better than nothing. Harold says it's because they're trying to follow through with the desegregation laws laid down after the war. Wade, closest to my age at twenty, says it's because they're terrified of starting another war with a stronger, more adaptable race, but Harold always whacks him upside the head when he says this. Eisen—blond, almost human Eisen with his straw-colored fox ears—laughs at them both and says he appreciates any free goodies the government gives out.

  “How do you feel about school today, little sister?” Eisen asks snidely, splitting a pop tart unevenly with me since Wade stole the other one.

  “Thank god the good people of Region 5 passed the law after I graduated from our prestigious M-DNA institution,” Wade says with relief in his voice. “Mandatory attendance at a public high school would be a nightmare.”

  “Thanks for cheering me up,” I say. “This conversation has made me anticipate my first day at a reluctantly desegregated human school even more.” Wade snorts, and Eisen's gold fox ears twitch with either amusement or irritation as he smiles with straight white teeth and cleverly slanted blue eyes. I sigh inwardly, wondering why my twenty-two year old brother got the striking good looks of the family.

  We all have fox features, which can be unusual in a mixed-breed family: blended DNA is unpredictable, although in recent years it seems like the patterns have finally evened out. Out of our family unit Eisen is the most human with only his fox ears revealing his half-breed nature.

  “Gloating over your escape hardly seems like the

  best way to cheer Sierra up before being cast to the...” Harold, my scholarly brother who is rapidly approaching the age of thirty-three, pauses and lifts his eyes from his SMARTpad. “Well, saying ‘cast to the wolves’ seems inappropriate since there won’t be any wolves there, only humans who outnumber the few M-DNA students.” I grimace and throw a crumpled up napkin towards Harold, but he evades the missile and returns to his crisp notes with a careless swivel of one tufty black fox ear. Normally he’s too serious, since being an underpaid lawyer for half-breeds in a court dominated by humans can be very sobering, and it's ironic that today is the day he chooses to have a sense of humor.

  “I don’t think any of you should talk, since you got lucky and avoided this mess,” I say as I bare my teeth in Harold’s direction. Eisen and Wade ignore me as they laugh, but Harold shrugs, guilty about his humor. Maybe it’s part of being a lawyer, but Harold beats himself up about his role in the well-being of others, especially my siblings and me. I don’t know for sure if he regrets his joke, though, because he doesn't lift his grey eyes from his SMARTpad.

  The smell of my breakfast—Eisen dragged himself out of bed for once to make toast and eggs for us all—wafts towards my nose and for a moment I think I'm hungry. Then I imagine where I'll be in a couple of hours and my appetite dissipates.

  "You’ll be fine, S…humans are still secretly scared of our kind,” Wade interjects, clapping Harold on the back with a paw-like hand covered in auburn fur.”Well, maybe not specifically scared of fox-kind. It would be better if you were a tiger-breed or something sick like a dragon...” He trails off before returning to the present and smiling at me.

  "Dragon half-breeds don’t exist, so I guess I’m

  stuck as a fox,” I say, briefly savoring the idea of dragon DNA infiltrating the gene pool for my kind. Perhaps luckily, the idiot that tampered with animal and human DNA wasn't such a moron after all: he stuck to a certain class of "perfect" animals like cats, canines, birds, and other, more attractive kinds instead of branching out to insects and deep sea creatures, which would have made for some hideous, vaguely people-shaped creations.

  Wade is the most accepting of what we are

  because he has the most animalistic mixed DNA of anyone I've ever known. Fuller fox ears with stronger hearing—placed where our human ears would have been—a truly fox-like face with actual rusty-brown fur markings, bright yellow eyes, hands and
feet that, though human in function, resemble paws, and a long fluffy tail that any ordinary fox would covet. Eisen used to tease him about it a little, but now Eisen is the most forward with telling us not to be ashamed of what we are. I respect him for this more because he could pass as a full human if he wore a hat, which he regularly refuses to do on principle.

  “Regardless, no one's going to be afraid of you: you’re too cutesy,” Eisen chortles and steals my untouched toast without asking.

  “Shut up, Eisen,” I retort, “If anyone is ‘cutesy’ it's you. Imagine how the girls at the coffee shop would eat up the story of how you designed a little home for your stuffed panda with a shoe box.” Wade makes a loud OOO noise to emphasize my burn; in response, Eisen leans over and lazily tugs his tail.

  “You can spread stories all you want, but the ladies will never stop loving my—”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting to work, Wade?” Harold interrupts what might have been another one of Eisen’s ego-feeding monologues and/or innuendos. “If you’re late to the factory again your boss might write you up.” Harold stands and takes his plate to the sink to dump it in with a pile of other dirty breakfast dishes; I sigh internally as I consider what I’ll be doing when I get home from school. Because my brothers work to pay for the house, furnishings, and virtually anything else I need or sometimes want, I do the house chores as a way to balance the scales. Harold turns around and meets my eyes before gifting me with a small encouraging smile.

  “Wade will be fine; the boss loves him and the SMART industry would collapse without its best worker,” Eisen says, taking his cue from Harold and rising from the table. “The prince of the SMARTpad must dole out his work hours with loving care, lest the union suffer the consequences of technology too advanced for our feeble minds—” Wade, standing as well, moves with agility as he leans over and pinches Eisen’s right fox ear, tugging it down to cut off any more sarcasm.

  “Sure enough, the ‘prince of the SMARTpad’ has to go assemble more teeny tiny mechanical parts,” Wade says, releasing Eisen after a few seconds and checking his wire thin silver watch. Then he turns and grins at me. “Don’t stress, Sierra. You’ll be fine. The first day in a human dominated environment is always bad, but everyone gets used to you after a while.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, not in the least reassured. “How long does the process of people getting used to me last?” Wade’s grin expands to show teeth as sharp as mine before he saunters through our living room and out the front door, grabbing his vehicle key from a

  chipped bowl by the sink on his way.

  “And you, Eisen?” Harold addresses Eisen right as my smartass brother opens his mouth to speak. “The coffee shop opens early, as you remind us every morning when you have to get out of bed before noon.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother. We’ll be out the door

  soon.” I watch the two of them interact, amused by Eisen’s wry smile; I’m still considering if it would be safe to consume food while feeling so nauseous when I catch Eisen giving me a shifty, mischievous look. “In fact, Sierra and I were just leaving!”

  “Are you—” I don't hear whatever else Harold was saying because Eisen has seized my arm, and I have just enough time to grab my schoolbag before he tugs me out the door. I’m just clambering into the passenger seat when I see Harold looming in the doorway of the garage, watching us with mild disapproval on his face as if an unpleasant idea just dawned on him.

  “You’d better not make her late on her first day, Eisen!” He calls, looking very like a masculine version of our mother before sickness altered her appearance. Eisen laughs, grinning at me from the driver’s seat with the jagged half of my pop tart between his teeth; it’s when he does stuff like this that he resembles a wayward fox invading an unguarded chicken coop. I wave resignedly at a glowering Harold as we pull out of the garage and begin the drive to my new school.

  At least it’s sunny, I think as we drive out of our tiny garage. I hope looking around will relax or distract me, but no such luck: the sun gleams bright this morning, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Eisen speaks again before we even reach the highway, and I can tell he’s not paying attention to the road: we’re speeding before we even get out of the driveway of our townhouse community.

  “I thought you would feel better if I got you out of there,” he says, manfully polishing off the pop tart he stole in two bites. “Harry’s babying can get exhausting if you just want to grit your teeth and get something over with.”

  “You make school sound awful,” I reply, grateful for Eisen’s thoughtfulness even if it gets me to school faster than I would like. “It’s almost like you don’t want me to go.”

  "Well, going to any kind of high school is awful, honestly, but I’m not worried about your academic struggles. You’ll be fine in that area. Public school teachers are a little less dedicated than private school ones.” He snorts, probably reminiscing about his days as universally proclaimed king of the class and self-proclaimed class clown back when he was a senior in our old M-DNA high school. I ruminate over a few memories as well: I had my struggles, but I did have friends I spent time with. I know for a fact that none of them will attend the school I’m going to, since they

  were assigned elsewhere.

  “I remember, Eisen. It was only last year that I went,” I tell him.

  “Right. Well this is a brave new world, Sierra, and it is unlikely anything will be the same where you're going,” he replies, unusually serious.

  “I know. I have to be careful not to offend the DNA purists,” I snort.

  “It’s not just that, S.” Eisen zips past a lumbering SMARTvan as he clutches the steering wheel; I doubt it will take us more than ten minutes to get to school at this rate. “I’m just a barista at a quirky coffee shop, but I hear things.”

  “Okay?” The anxiety resting uncomfortably in my stomach deepens. Flippant as my brother is, when he turns serious it’s disturbing and ominous. His expression is stern now with his cerulean eyes narrowed.

  “The pure DNA humans are restless and very... unsettled about the desegregation laws. This one about underage half-breeds attending schools formerly meant for pure DNA students has everyone in uproar about our kind.” His expression changes to something more like a snarl of disgust. “I don’t say this lightly, because if you do this and it’s not serious I’ll get written up at work, but if there’s any trouble today, you call me or call Wade and we’ll come get you.

  “Why?” I ask, but I can guess why he would say that, and it scares me. Eisen and Wade work long hours most of the time because we need the funds to keep up with the harsh taxes, and they would never leave work for anything small. Very little work leniency is given to half-breeds; Wade’s wildness is excused now and

  then, but he’s one of the lucky ones.

  “Harold was against me telling you this, even though he would’ve been the best one to inform you because of his job. He knows how bad things are turning for our kind...but I expect the students and probably the establishment will do everything possible to get you to leave school before the week is out. Some might...go farther than just bullying and threats.” He frowns. It must take a lot out of him to keep driving me to a place where I won’t be protected. Because we are closest as siblings, part of that feeling is probably protective brother behavior. But another part is animal instinct, and fighting that off is difficult. My worry festers because now I fear for my brothers as well.

  If they’re just now telling me this and Eisen is going against Harold’s wishes, how much have they not said? I think. How bad is it really?

  Harold sees himself as a father figure to all three of us because he is almost ten years older. Our father died in the M-DNA against pure DNA war several years ago, and my mother passed away when I was seven from a an “accidental” outbreak of one of the biological weapons meant for the war; humans died too, but half-breeds got the worst of the sickness.

  Ordinarily, Harold is very open with me in a didact
ic sort of way. But Eisen...his secretiveness means current events are worse than he'll say.

  “It may have been nicer to tell me this during the summer so I could prepare better,” I say, forcing my voice to be steady as a tremor threatens to weaken it.

  “We—that is, Harold—decided it was better to wait for the aggressiveness caused by the new laws to calm down over time…but it hasn’t, not really. He still didn’t want to tell you, but I didn’t want you going in there blind. You’re tough, Sierra, but I don’t want you walking in there like nobody means you harm.” He looks at me with his fox ears angled down from anxiety, the same as my red ears; if he had a tail it would be as droopy as mine is. For an instant, he looks so defeated it makes my heart pause. But then he straightens up in his seat

  with a determined set to his mouth.

  “I’ll be okay, Eisen,” I tell him before he can speak again, my voice softer than I’d intended. “I am tough. I can handle whatever temper tantrum the humans decide to throw.”

  “Yeah, baking in the back of a bird lady’s café all summer really taught you all you need to know about working and living alongside humans,” he snorts.

  “Customer service can do that to a girl,” I quip, relieved to see he’s back to being my cocky older brother.

  I glance out my window, startled that I can already see the school on my right. Despite all I’ve read in fluffy teen books about high school, the actual building of the school doesn’t seem horribly foreboding or gloomy. If my mood wasn’t in such turmoil, I might be able to appreciate the modern vibe emanating from it.

  Eisen must have been driving faster than I thought, I think. All I can do now is feel the panic of not wanting to approach this building.

  Eisen is silent as he pulls into the car line, and we wait to get to the doors where he can drop me off. In the past I’ve wished I was allowed to drive, cursing the legal age of twenty required solely for half-breeds. (Racist, right?) Now, though, I’m glad my brother is