The Lottery--Furry

by Karen Ranney

  I also liked Joey. I always had. He was a little klutzy, somewhat inept, and might be classified by some people as a loser, but they didn’t know about his good heart. From his comments I knew that he cared about his dad a lot, and resented what Craig had done. He’d been the same way in school, a defender of the defenseless.

  At the door Dorothy hugged me again and promised to contact Joey first thing tomorrow. Dorothy needed someone to care about and Joey needed someone to care about him. Someone not affiliated with his family or his clan. Someone divorced from Furry politics. Hopefully, the two of them would hit it off.

  I descended the steps feeling unusually virtuous and almost ran into him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, stepping away from the base of the steps. “I didn’t see you.”

  I don’t know what I said, but I think it was somewhere in the vicinity of, “Egh.”

  You know the cartoon where the wolf’s eyes bug out of his head when he sees something he wants? Well, my eyes were doing a tap dance on the floor. The only thing I could think of was ah-ooh-gah. ah-ooh-gah.

  Pardon me while I wipe up the drool.

  My only excuse for letting my libido out of its cave was that I’d gone for a long time without a full night’s sleep. Plus, I’d just gone on a hormone laced Hunt. I hadn’t expended any of the erotic energy I’d developed by loping through the countryside as a Furry.

  I was a bomb just waiting for a detonator. I was a crisis needing an inciting event. I was a weapon in search of a go button.

  And there he was, standing in front of me.

  Good grief, but he was gorgeous. I’m a sucker for eyes. His were ice blue, measured and focused completely on me.

  A shiver trailed all the way down my body, wrapping around me like a peppermint stripe before traveling back up again. I was his candy cane and he could lick me all over.

  His face was strong, hewn not out of stone but flesh, blood, and muscle. I wanted to stand right there and study it for a few hours, marvel at that slight indentation over the right side of his mouth. Not quite a dimple but a hint of one.

  He looked hard and fit, the dark blue polo shirt pulled over a chest that just screamed for me to touch it. His shoulders were broad; his chest tapered down to a narrow waist — the better to grab you with, my dear — and to hips that led to long, long legs. He was wearing tailored trousers, the kind you didn’t find on the rack. They draped over the muscles of his thighs, and I would bet they cupped his butt just perfectly, but I didn’t know because he was facing me. I wanted to ask him to turn around so I could see everything.

  A pirouette, please. While you were at it, could you do a pose? Arms up, muscles flexed.

  I’m nearly six feet tall. I’m strong. (I am woman, hear me roar.) I’ve never felt dainty and ultra feminine in the presence of a guy until now.

  My libido, who’d finally whimpered in defeat this morning night, retreating into its cell-like and monastic cave, tiptoed out, took one look at him and was melting in a puddle of need, want, and desire. It whimpered. Please, can I have him? Please? I’ve been such a good little libido.

  “Um,” I said, followed by, “Yes.”

  I couldn’t even talk. I’d never been struck dumb by a man’s appearance before. I’d never been stupid around a male, but I could almost feel my brains dripping out my ears.

  I finally managed to sidestep, allowing him to ascend the stairs. He smiled his thanks and passed me, allowing me to ascertain whether I’d been correct about said butt. I had.

  My heart was beating fast, like a little trapped bird in a tiny cage. I pressed my hand against the center of my chest, forced myself to take several deep breaths, and wished I hadn’t gone on the Hunt last night. Was I going to be a wreck for days and days until the urge to mate left me?

  It was a good thing I was going on vacation. I would be around strangers, people who wanted to test me, poke and prod me, do medical procedures on me. All of which sounded better than lusting after a strange man.

  I shook my head at myself, did a mental slap or two, and left Dorothy’s complex with a stern talking to myself.

  I cannot tell a lie. I looked back to see if he was watching me, too, but he had disappeared.

  Damn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They'd pull out Uzis

  I got home, and instead of doing everything I planned, I took a nap that lasted for the rest of the day and all night.

  I woke in the morning, raring to go, feeling refreshed yet still ignorant. I had just enough time to do some cursory research before packing a bag for three days.

  I grabbed four hundred dollars in twenties from the safe in the library, put half the money in my purse and the other half on the kitchen counter.

  “In case anything comes up,” I told Joey.

  I left him with a list of things he needed to know — and do — including the fact that Dorothy was going to call him and that I’d already volunteered his help. I half expected Joey to fuss about that part, but he didn’t. Instead, he only nodded.

  According to the information I’d been emailed, orientation and testing would take two days with the blood transfusion on the third day. The rest of the time they requested that I take off would be spent in learning my new talents and abilities.

  I didn’t know, exactly, what they meant by that, but I tucked my questions into a mental envelope labeled: need more information. It was already stuffed.

  According to my instructions, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that I’d won the Pranic Lottery. Doing so would void my winning and they’d choose another person. I hoped Joey wouldn’t blow it for me, but we didn’t talk about it before I left. He’d already promised that he wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes you just had to trust people.

  Welfare, Texas was located out IH-10. Of course there was construction on the highway. There’s always construction around San Antonio. One part of the city gets back to some semblance of order and they decide to tear up another section of road.

  For years, there’ve been fights about toll roads and whether we needed to start charging people to travel on the highway. It gets pretty vicious politically around here, tantamount to the water wars in the 19th century. We had those, too. In fact, we still have them.

  We get the majority of our water from the Edwards Aquifer, limestone caves that stretch for hundreds of miles, including under San Antonio. The powers that be are always trying to eliminate growth over the recharge zones to prevent pollution of the Aquifer itself which meant that the city has grown like an amoeba in weird directions.

  San Antonio was in the center of the state, lower than Austin and to the west of Houston. I’ve always considered it the bellybutton of Texas.

  We’re not completely tropical. Nor are we desert. It’s rare to get a tornado here and we’re too far inland to get hurricane problems. We’re too far south to get more than one or two blue Northerners that pass through each year. Other than a summer that lasts nine months, we have pretty good weather.

  This afternoon we were getting wild winds, with gusts of over forty miles an hour. I could feel it pushing against the side of my car as I passed Camp Bullis and the cemetery where my grandmother was buried. I sent a glance in her direction. None of the markers were vertical. No marble angels, no mausoleums, just discreet bronze plaques flat on the ground marking the graves. My grandmother’s read: Sonia Demetriou Boyd, Beloved of All. She had been.

  I kept moving my hands on the steering wheel, flexing them occasionally. Although it was a warm March, I had the heater on full blast. I was physically cold from the icepack in my stomach.

  There, I admitted it. I was scared.

  I knew I was a Furry and I’d accepted all of the traits of being a Were. I knew what my body could do and what it couldn’t. I accepted certain things about myself that normal humans never had to confront.

  Although Weres weren’t immortal like vampires were rumored to be, most centenarians were Furries. I could easily live to be hundred and twe
nty — or older — if I stopped taking Waxinine. I wouldn’t be weak. My muscles wouldn’t atrophy. I’d remain alert.

  Was I really willing to give all of that up simply because I didn’t fit into the Were mold? It seemed pretty drastic, like using a sledgehammer to drive in a nail.

  I could always give up my grandmother’s trust, move away from San Antonio and try to live as a human. I might even have a husband and a family.

  Could I bear a child if I mated with a human? First of all it was forbidden. Secondly, I’d never heard of hybrid Weres. Yet I’d never heard of the OTHER, either.

  I got lost taking a straight line so I always looked up directions on the web before I went anywhere. I didn't take short cuts. I only stuck to the main streets, or highway, in this case.

  According to the directions on my map app, I needed to turn off on a certain exit, and I did. Here it was two-way traffic on both sides of the highway. If you were drunk and unfamiliar with the access roads, you could easily plow, headfirst, into an unsuspecting driver. The news was filled with stories of people who did just that.

  I segued from the app to the directions Marcie had given me and turned right beside a large cairn of stones. In this part of the hill country, I expected a barbed wire fence, or some kind of picket fence to keep in the cows and horses. Instead, I saw a six-foot high white brick wall with razor wire on the top. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was also electrified.

  After some distance I reached a wrought iron gate. What looked like metal baseballs topped the gate and I could swear they thrummed with power. If anyone tried to get inside without being invited they’d turn into a crispy critter.

  I hesitated before I pushed the button on the brick pedestal. Did I really want to enter this place? Did I want to go through with this? Part of me was curious and urged me forward. The other, no doubt the Furry part, whined a little and urged me to turn tail and run.

  "Can I help you?"

  The male voice startled me. I was surprised to see someone staring back at me from the screen above the button.

  "Yes," I said, my summoning my courage. I gave him my name and told him I was expected.

  “Please put your driver’s license against the screen.”

  I did and when he gave me the okay I pulled it back, put it into my wallet, and waited for more instructions.

  A second later I heard a beep and saw the flash of a red light. Either I was being scanned or photographed.

  They certainly took their security seriously.

  "Come in, Ms. Boyd," he said, after I’d evidently passed all the tests.

  The gates swung open. Now all I had to do was drive through them.

  I clamped my hands on the steering wheel, realized I was biting my bottom lip, and forced myself to relax. When I saw the castle I tensed again. I’d seen pictures of it this morning on my laptop. Google hadn’t done it justice.

  Holy crap.

  The thing was a monstrosity, hunkered down in the middle of a flat mesquite tree laden plain like a brick Sumo wrestler. I don’t know how many city blocks it would have taken up if you plunked it down in the middle of San Antonio, but it was a bunch. It looked to be square, large enough to house the population of Welfare, Texas plus a few other towns. I think it was three stories tall, but the turrets and parapet were misleading. It might be four.

  They were evidently wired for sound and pictures. The roof was topped with a dozen weird looking transmitters and antennas. The satellite dishes were big ones, not the size the TV company put on your house.

  The castle had been built by Arthur Peterson, the founder of Cluckey’s Fried Chicken. I saw their commercials on TV all the time and heard their jingle on the radio. It was a man’s voice singing yum, yum, yum with chickens clucking in the background. I didn’t say it was a good jingle, but it had a catchy tune and it was ubiquitous enough that most people knew it.

  The castle was built of white brick and looked to be plucked from a medieval dream, down to the pennants flying on the ramparts and turrets with their black cone shapes. I’d seen pictures of the drawbridge and the moat filled with flowers, but I hadn’t thought everything would be so big — Disneyland in Texas big.

  During the construction of the castle the residents of Welfare and then San Antonio had begun to call it Arthur’s Folly. The name had stuck.

  The only place to park was a small area located away from the broad iron door. I wondered if the distance was a security feature, just as I wondered if the four people trimming the bushes and weeding the flower beds leading to the lake were really gardeners.

  I pulled into one of the four vacant spaces, got out of my car, and straightened my jacket. I was wearing a dark blue suit with a slightly flared skirt, a white silk blouse, and pumps. The shoes were killing me, which wasn’t a surprise since I wore sneakers most of the time.

  I took a few deep breaths, calmed myself again, and gave myself a mini-pep talk. I could do this. All I had to do was listen. I didn’t have to actually go through with anything until I was certain it was both safe and the best thing for me.

  I crossed over the drawbridge, my heels sounding hollow on the wood. I hesitated, admiring the moat of flowers, and nodded to the guy standing on a platform pruning and weeding.

  He was dressed in a khaki colored uniform like they all were, and wore a baseball cap. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t have a name embroidered anywhere or that the cap was empty of any ornamentation that alerted me. It was the way he stopped working and didn’t try to hide the fact that he was watching me.

  In fact, all of the other gardeners were paying more attention to my movements than any errant weeds.

  I had the impression that if I made a wrong move, they’d pull out Uzis from beneath the hedges and flower beds and let me have it.

  I also noticed red blinking lights, one of them under the arched front door, several below a few of the mullioned windows, and a half dozen embedded in the mortar between the bricks. No doubt they were cameras or motion detectors. I’d probably been photographed since I turned off the access road.

  The security arrangements were giving me the creeps. What kind of danger would I be in if I went through with the transfusion? Maybe I should have thought of that before now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Am I your first Were?

  The door abruptly opened, but instead of a butler or someone dressed in wimple and gown, Marcie Montgomery Travis stood there in jeans and a cotton top, smiling brightly. I recognized her from the research I’d done on this improbable castle in the Hill Country.

  Her hair was black like mine, her coloring somewhat the same. I didn’t have the confidence she did, however, or the happiness that seemed to float around her like a cloud. It was more than her smile or the contented look in her eyes. In those few seconds I couldn’t figure out what it was exactly.

  “Torrance?”

  I nodded, wondering why I was feeling shy all of a sudden. I was never shy. Oh, I knew how to act submissive in my clan or community but it was mostly surface stuff: keeping my eyes on the floor, never speaking unless I had a man’s permission, my hands folded in front of me.

  Now, however, I was feeling genuinely intimidated and that was both startling and strange. Maybe it was the Uzi toting gardeners. Or maybe it was because I knew Marcie Montgomery was a super vampire, witness the fact that the sun didn’t seem to bother her.

  "Do you like fried chicken?" I blurted out.

  “Hate it," she said, the words accompanied with a laugh. “But to our eternal gratitude the rest of the world doesn’t feel the same way.”

  She stepped back with a smile and I entered Arthur’s Folly.

  My first impression was of soaring ceilings, marble floors, gold trim, and a staircase that defied gravity. My second was no less awed. There were pennants hanging high above me, along with maces and swords and framed flags that looked like they’d been singed by fire and held traces of blood.

  Full-size suits of shining armor lined the sides
of the room like soldiers in suspended animation. I wondered if Marcie could simply snap her fingers and they’d take up weapons and attack an intruder.

  It wasn't such a weird idea. I knew that one of her husband’s companies dabbled in robotics.

  "Some place you have here," I said as I was trying to take in everything I saw.

  Graystone had its share of artifacts. My grandfather had filled the Armory with a selection of old Scottish weapons, but it was nothing like this place.

  “Arthur’s Folly overwhelms at first," she said. "But you get used to it."

  I don’t think that would ever happen in my case.

  She closed the door behind me, the echo of the sound carrying through the cavernous room.

  I thought Graystone was big, but the castle made it tiny in comparison.

  “Is your bag in the car?”

  I nodded. I’m nothing if not a brilliant conversationalist in times of stress. My intimidation didn’t have anything to do with the wealth that surrounded me — my family was wealthy — it was the power I felt coming from Marcie.

  You know sometimes when you’re around a person who has a great deal of charisma? You know that you’re in the presence of, if not greatness, then someone who wasn’t like the rest of us. Craig was a little bit like that, but nothing like Marcie. I wanted to back up. If nothing else, put a lead shield between her and me.

  What the hell was I getting myself into?

  “Look,” I said, holding up my hand, determined to be up front. “I may have made a terrible mistake. I don’t really even know why I’m here. I don’t even know why I filled out the application and entered the lottery in the first place.”

  She didn’t say a word. Not one syllable trying to convince me to stay or reassure me in any way. Instead, I felt a sensation of warmth drape over me like a blanket as she continued to regard me with soft blue eyes.

  I’d heard that vampires had the power to mold your thoughts. My grandmother told me that a male vampire’s seduction ability was amazing and not overstated. “He can charm the knickers off a spinster, Torrance.”