Beasts Like Us
By Feral Sephrian
Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2016 Feral Sephrian
ISBN 9781634861373
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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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In hope that we will one day live in a more understanding world.
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Beasts Like Us
By Feral Sephrian
Chapter 1
“Hey, man! Nice tail!”
Mateo smiled, not simply because he appreciated the compliment, but because the person who made it, who was dressed as a purple wolf, didn’t know it was real. The tip of his tail twitched in delight, and Mateo hoped no one else saw it, or if they did they simply chalked it up to a trick of the light. The Alabaster Springs Convention Center was well lit, but the wandering crowds cast plenty of shadows. This was the fourth Northern Nevada Con-fur-ence Mateo had attended, and it grew every year.
There were many felines and panthers there today; some were dressed as small domestic cats or lynxes, and others were lions and tigers and leopards. Mateo noticed a few people who might also be black jaguars, but unlike them, Mateo was the real thing. Descended from an ancient line of Maya shamans, known by most as the nagual, Mateo could do what nearly every furson in that convention center wished they could: turn into an animal. His tail was a remnant of his lineage, but his grandfather had been the last to have fuzzy jaguar ears instead of human ones. Mateo counted himself lucky, since hiding the tail was a pain in and of itself.
The Con-fur-ence was where Mateo could be himself, for the most part. Prowling the panels as an actual jaguar would have caused more trouble than he liked, but his headband ears, paw slippers, and fingerless gloves with paw pads on the palms were enough. He had even altered his pants so it looked as though his tail were a mere fake sewn onto a more realistic location than his belt loop.
This was also where Mateo had found his passion: comic artistry. At his first Con-fur-ence, he had attended a few art panels and found that he wasn’t bad. The anime style demonstrated at his first panel didn’t quite suit him, but he was able to adapt more contemporary styles he learned from later panels with the blocky traditional style of his ancestors to create his own web comic based on old tales and myths from his culture.
Mateo checked his watch. Eleven-forty-five, fifteen minutes before the next art panel was scheduled to begin. His stomach clenched. That wasn’t enough time to make it to the front of the line, or even the middle. He rushed towards the display room, praying he could squeeze into one of the last few seats.
* * * *
Dazi dodged out of the way as someone dressed all in black with fuzzy slippers ran past him. Nearly every fake-skin he had encountered so far was bizarre. They made odd noises at each other, hugged like characters one might see on a show for toddlers, and some of the costumes were downright baffling. This one hadn’t been in a full costume, as Dazi had assumed everyone would be, but it wasn’t his appearance that made Dazi do a double take, it was his scent.
“Do you guys smell that?” He sniffed, turning his head to follow the scent. “It smells…odd…”
“They all smell odd,” Kesi said, rolling her eyes. “It reeks of sweat and faux fur in here.”
That wasn’t what Dazi meant. Everyone else smelled positively dull compared to this. Dazi knew the scent of every member of their tribe, and this was closer to their scent than anything else, but it was different in a way Dazi couldn’t explain. There couldn’t be other skin-walkers here. As far as he knew, their tribe was the only one of its kind.
The Mukua’poan had kept their secret for generations. All its members were bound by centuries-old laws. Even so, Outsiders could be particularly nosy, and there had been several occasions when the tribe’s shamans had to step in and deal with people who learned too much. However, this convention had had the Mukua’poan on edge since it began. Nothing had happened so far, but Dazi and his friends didn’t want to wait and find out the fake-skins’ intentions when it was too late.
Kesi had the sharpest nose, though Dazi’s sense of smell was nearly as sharp as his eyes. Only Kesi’s younger brother, Tommo, had better eyesight, which he used to scour the hall. “None of them appear armed,” he said. “That is, unless you count a few fake swords and wizard staffs.”
Kuhma snorted. “All for show. These fake-skins couldn’t cast a spell if you crammed Nattusu’s entire storage of herbs down their throat and set them on fire.” He rubbed at his ears. “I wish I knew which ones are making the squeaky noises. It’s getting on my nerves.”
The same could be said for the itchy hat Dazi had on. He was wearing the same fake wolf ears as Kesi, since they couldn’t find anything that accurately resembled his mountain lion ears and they were the closest thing they had to coyote accessories. Kuhma had been lucky that the vendor had a headband with full antlers and buck ears, but Tommo had only his lucky feather talisman, since they couldn’t find anything related to eagles at that booth, and they weren’t comfortable venturing farther in to the hall. All four of them were also hesitant to purchase things they would only wear once, but they thought such apparel would be necessary to blend in with the fake-skins. However, if there were other true skin-walkers amidst these pretenders, Dazi wanted to meet them.
“I suppose we should attend a panel or something,” Kuhma said, looking over the booklet they received at registration. “This thing reads like a class list for an online arts college: drawing classes, writing classes, animation classes, costume-making classes, it’s basically an arts-and-crafts festival where everyone dresses like animals.”
Tommo peered around Kuhma’s arm. “Looks like the next one is a drawing class in Conference Room 2E-1.” He craned his neck and narrowed his eyes. “Down at the other end of the hall. Looks like there’s already a line outside the door.”
Dazi sniffed the air again. From what he could tell that was where the other skin-walker’s trail led. “Let’s go to that one,” he said. “Doesn’t make much difference, I suppose, but that one’s close and starts soon.”
“Yeah, it’s either that, a fanfic writing class, or a Best of My Little Pony showing upstairs,” Kuhma said.
“Drawing class it is, then,” said Kesi.
The four of them made their way down the hall. Dazi took the lead. The scent trail was getting stronger, and he wondered if the man in black was at its end.
* * * *
Mateo chatted with the other artists in line. Of the six in their conversation, only one was new to artistry and to conventions. Everyone els
e had samples of their work to pass around in hopes of making connections. The others were impressed with Mateo’s work and the style he had created. He inhaled to start telling them about his comic, and among the usual smells of the convention he picked up an unusual scent. He thought he had smelled it before, but then chalked it up to a figment of his imagination. There was no way he could have smelled something like that here. It wasn’t entirely human, but neither was it significantly animalistic. What stumped him was that he could detect different animal scents all close together. In all his years at the NNC, he had never smelled anything like it. The closest thing he could compare it to was his family’s scent, except he also smelled traces of dog and some prey animal.
Not wanting to draw attention to his suspicion, Mateo turned his focus back to talking about his web comic. “It’s called Mayathology,” he told his new companions. “All the characters are inspired by figures in Mezo-American folklore.”
“Especially jaguars, am I right?” asked a dragon with a knowing smile, indicating the sample art in Mateo’s hand that showed his Water Lily Jaguar character.
Mateo smiled back. “Well, the jaguars do have…significance for me.”
“It’s really well done,” commented the newbie raccoon. She sighed and fiddled with her tail. “Makes my stuff look like it was drawn by a drunk second-grader.”
“Hey, we’ve all got to start somewhere, and even I’m still learning.” Mateo gestured to the doors that were set to open any minute now so the panel attendees could take their seats. “That’s why I go to every art panel I can. I’m always finding new things to incorporate into my comic. Hell, I’m thinking of attending some animation panels while I’m here so I can put short videos on my website.”
“I would watch them,” the dragon said. “And if you ever need voice actors, especially for any flying serpents…” He waggled his eyebrows, which had been painted to look scaled.
“I’ll need your demo reel and a resume first,” Mateo replied with a cheeky grin.
“Better yet, you can check out some of my previous work.” Mateo and the dragon exchanged web info, including a list of animated shorts by other artists the dragon had done voice work for. The whole time, Mateo’s nose twitched as he tried to pinpoint the scent, which had only grown stronger. Whatever the source, it was close and staying close.
Over the chatter and general shuffle of costumes, the unlocking of the door was still audible. Most of the people in line turned their heads towards the sound, like a pack of pets perking up at the sound of food pouring into their dish. Members of the convention’s staff propped the doors open and instructed everyone to enter in an orderly manner. The panel attendees did so, although there was some pushing as people tried to take their preferred seats. To his relief, Mateo found a spot with a decent view in the second row.
The doors were closed once the room was full. The slight breeze the motion generated brought with it all the scents in the room. The hair on the back of Mateo’s neck stood on end when he noticed the unknown scents mixed in with the usual aroma of sweat stewing in fursuits. The only way it could be this strong among everything else was if the source was in the room with him.
Mateo turned around nonchalantly for two seconds, hoping to see something that would stand out, something that could give him an explanation. However, the problem with furry conventions was that how people presented themselves and how they smelled could be completely different. For all he knew, whoever—or whatever—this was could be behind any of the fursuit faces in the crowd. The only way he could know for sure would be to sniff each furson individually, and that would be rude without an invitation.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Mateo faced back to the front of the room. His curiosity nagged at him, but he often had to remind himself about the adage concerning cats and their curiosity. Instead, he hoped whatever he was smelling would keep to itself. The last thing he wanted was a stalker at the one place he felt safe.
* * * *
Dazi tilted his head up and sniffed the air. The other skin-walker was in this room, although there were so many smells overlapping one another he couldn’t pinpoint who it was. He wished he had his whiskers so he could better know which puff of air carried the scent and from which direction it came. It looked too suspicious to keep turning his head one way then the other, trying to determine where the scent was strongest.
Kesi tapped his arm and gave him a subtle scowl. In Shoshoni, she quietly said, “You’re acting like a prairie dog fresh out of his burrow.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Dazi replied, keeping his own voice low and hoping no one else here knew Shoshoni. “We’ve never been somewhere like this, not without our parents watching out for us.” He inhaled deeply. “Tell me you smell that,” he said. “I know I smell something…different, out of place, but…like us.”
Rolling her eyes, Kesi took a deep breath through her nose as well. She pondered for a moment, then frowned. The tip of her nose waggled back and forth, as it did when she was a coyote. “At first I thought that was you, but you’re right. It smells…foreign.”
Dazi nodded. “He’s definitely male, whoever he is, and he’s in this room. I don’t think he’s one of the ones in a full suit, but I could be wrong.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Kuhma asked, having the sense to also be quiet and speak in Shoshoni.
“I think I smell another skin-walker,” Dazi said.
Kuhma furrowed his brow. His eyes darted around the room. “Where?”
“That’s just it, we don’t know.” The more Dazi thought about it, the less likely it seemed this other skin-walker would be in a full suit. If he was anything like Dazi and his friends, he wouldn’t deign to hide behind a cartoonish animal mask, not when he could be one truly. That narrowed it down, but not enough. Dazi spotted a set of fake rounded cat ears on someone in a black T-shirt towards the front of the room and off to the side. “Although maybe I do know…” He had first caught this scent when someone all in black passed him, and this person was the only one he could see that matched that description.
The panel began with warm greetings and introductions. Assistants handed out loose sheets of drawing paper, artist’s pencils, and large erasers. No one on stage nor any of their helpers wore costumes, although two or three had fake tails hanging off the backs of their pants. For the next hour, the three artists on stage demonstrated how to draw characters in various active poses. Aside from a whiteboard off to the side, one artist had a webcam pointed at his paper with the video projected on a screen so everyone could watch what he was doing.
Dazi wasn’t the artistic type. He could weave nets and baskets, but he could draw back a bowstring better than he could draw a stick figure. He was one of the best bowmen in their tribe, and he could climb trees faster and track prey farther than most of them, too. It was his practical talents he favored, but regardless, he admired the way the artists here could turn lines and circles into dog-men catching Frisbees and cows in dresses dancing on their hind legs.
At the end of the hour, Dazi had drawn a humanoid cougar climbing a tree, several doodles of fish, and an attempt at copying the picture of a dog-man they had demonstrated on the whiteboard. Kuhma had covered an entire sheet of paper in a complex geometric pattern that made Dazi dizzy, whereas Kesi and Tommo had used their papers to pass notes in an obscure pictographic script they had come up with as children. Dazi craned his neck, but he couldn’t see what the man in black with the rounded cat ears had drawn.
The four of them remained in their seats at the back of the room as everyone else filed out. Kuhma and Tommo wanted to find food, but Dazi wanted only to find the other skin-walker. The man in black walked past, and the scent Dazi had been following was stronger than ever. His target was sighted, and his hunting instincts were kicking in.
They planned to split up and get something to eat, but Dazi didn’t want to lose the man in black. He nudged Kesi and pointed at him as he blended in among the fake-sk
ins.
“That’s the one,” Dazi whispered. “I’m sure of it.”
Kesi narrowed her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered back. “You follow him. Text me if you need help, otherwise we’ll wait for you in the artists’ hall. Remember, gather what information you can, then come straight back.”
Silently, Dazi slipped into the crowd. It was like prowling through the forest, except the trees moved around him. The man in black walked alone, as unassuming as the rest, but Dazi had caught his scent. Though he always stayed roughly fifteen feet from his target, the smell of a skin-walker never grew weaker or stronger. He knew without a doubt he was following the right person. No matter what it took, he was going to get to the bottom of this.
* * * *
Mateo had the uncanny feeling that someone was following him. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t shake that strange scent from the drawing panel. He linked his fingers and stretched his arms in front of him as he walked to surreptitiously sniff himself. That wasn’t it. Nor was it exactly what he had smelled before. This was a more distinct scent, but it was neither the dog-like smell nor the prey-like smell. He was being preyed upon by another large cat, if he could trust his nose in this environment. The thought made the hair on his arms stand on end and his stomach turn. His hearing faded and his teeth itched, which only made his anxiety worse.
Before anything disastrous could happen, Mateo made a beeline for the nearest restroom. All three stalls were mercifully empty, and the only other occupant was drying his hands. Mateo ducked into the larger handicapped stall. When he heard the other person leave, he began frantically pulling off his clothes. His jaw was already thickening and his skin prickled as his hair thickened and spread into his dark sleek pelt. His hearing returned as his ears reformed further up his skull. As usual, he closed his eyes as he waited for the faint sensation of his bones and organs rearranging themselves to be over.
The bathroom smelled terrible. Mateo’s sense of smell was even stronger in his full jaguar form, and his short panting breaths swept the aroma of cleaning fluid and the piss stains it had missed over his tongue. He closed his mouth and shook his head. This was far from the safest idea, but when his jaguar side wanted to come out, there was little he could do to stop it. Fortunately he had never needed to take this form at the Con-fur-ence before, but now he felt threatened, and his jaguar spirit wasn’t about to take that lightly.
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