The Sound and the Furry

by Karen Ranney

  I tried to blink my eyes, but the darkness was absolute. It took me a minute to realize that I couldn’t see because my eyes were covered. I tried to raise my hand to feel what was on my face, but my right hand was restrained at the wrist. So was my left. I pulled on the bindings, but I was too weak to free myself.

  I couldn’t decide which took precedence: the nausea or the terror. Right at the moment they were neck and neck.

  Where was I? Why was I here? Who was doing this and what the hell did they want from me? Panic wasn’t going to solve anything, but it was hard to keep calm. I sensed that I wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t because I heard anything. Maybe it was just a feeling of a heaviness in the air, as if the space I occupied was being shared.

  I was freaking out and no amount of self-talk was helping.

  "Hello?”

  At least I could speak. I hadn’t been gagged.

  Nobody answered. Nobody stepped forward to explain why I was bound and blindfolded. Nobody identified himself.

  “If anybody's there, I'm going to be sick. And I prefer not to throw up all over myself."

  There, how's that for being all grown up and brave?

  I wasn't kidding, either. I didn't feel good in an artificial, drugged kind of way. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to get the nausea under control.

  I’d been taken somewhere. I’d been transported against my will. I remembered the pinch on my arm. I’d evidently been drugged as well. Plus, maybe my fatigue hadn’t been totally due to my lack of sleep.

  Had somebody put something in my food or drink?

  I tried to remember everything I’d eaten for the past few hours, but it was more difficult than it should have been. My cognitive functions weren’t up to snuff, plus the nausea kept distracting me from even thinking about food. I’d had junk from the vending machine at the clinic. No, I hadn’t eaten that. I’d left it on the table in the breakroom. I’d had plenty of coffee. Tea when I got home. Donuts. Cream in my tea. Did that count?

  Had someone kidnapped me?

  My grandmother had left me quite a bit of money, but it was tied up in trusts and investments. If somebody thought I was worth ransoming, they’d have to go through my CPA. Harold thought a glacier was precipitous. Let's just say he didn't move fast.

  I was the one who’d hired him. I was the one who told him that I wanted to ensure that my grandmother's legacy lasted for my lifetime. Plus, I wanted to be able to leave something to my children, those mythical creatures off in the mists of time. Harold had been true to his word. Even getting my annual allowance increased, an amount I chose for myself, was a big deal.

  Harold was not going to surrender one cent for something as paltry as a ransom.

  In the event of my death, I’d left an amount to my mother and Sandy and everything else to the Animal Defense League. Unless the kidnappers were animal lovers, they weren’t going to profit from my demise.

  My father? He was independently wealthy, but I couldn't imagine anybody having the nerve to demand anything from Hamish Boyle. He’d pay a ransom, but I had the feeling he’d make the kidnappers pay, too, in blood. My father could be one scary dude when he was angry.

  Maybe it wasn't money they were after. Maybe it was something else?

  What did I have that someone wanted?

  Voting ability on the Council.

  Damn it, Doreen. There was no way in hell I was refusing Michael’s divorce request if she was behind my abduction. And she’d better keep her darling son away from me. That's all I needed, for Ronald to make a play for me while I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  I tried to pull my wrists free, but I was still too weak. Maybe that was a good thing. I shouldn’t show what I could do in front of Doreen. She wasn't exactly reticent in the gossip department. Nor did her weasel of a son have any discretion. The first sign that I wasn't a normal Were and word would spread throughout my clan.

  It was one thing for my father to know what I could do. Quite another for everybody else to be aware of my super strength, none of which was in evidence right now.

  If all else failed, maybe I should try conversation.

  "Doreen, this isn't a good idea. If you think this is going to make me change my mind about your husband's divorce, you’re going about it the wrong way."

  I felt a disturbance in the air, a sensation that the other person in the room was moving closer.

  “Doreen, seriously.”

  No one answered me.

  Fear wasn’t one of my favorite emotions. Now it was combined with a growing anger.

  "Doreen. I'm really getting tired of this."

  I tried to move my legs, but I was restrained there, too. My fingers felt to the edge of what I was lying on. Plastic, the kind of plastic that was supposed to look like leather. Spongy, which meant padding. I figured out what it was almost immediately, aided by the fact that my head felt lower than the rest of my body. I was on a massage table.

  What the hell?

  I was abruptly nauseous again.

  After several moments of deep breathing exercises, I was reasonably confident I wasn’t going to throw up.

  Doreen must be super pissed at me, but what did she hope to achieve? The Council meeting to vote on her husband’s petition was tonight. Did she think that if I wasn’t there the Council would postpone the vote? I had news for her. The rest of the Council, with the exception of my father — maybe — wouldn’t even notice I was gone.

  I suspected that I was an irritant to them, the face of the 21st century bearing down on them like a runaway train. Whether they liked it or not, I was only the first. Another woman would be appointed at the next vacancy. Or, because of the size of the Celtic Clan, maybe the Council would be expanded and the new members would be women.

  Their days of Council chauvinism were numbered.

  Doreen might not know that, however, and I was doomed to remain here until after the meeting. That wasn’t going to happen. I had some other tricks up my sleeve.

  I closed my eyes, concentrated on Mark’s image and sent my thoughts to him. He was probably at work, but I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d fallen asleep on the couch and awakened here, wherever the hell here was. He might be home by now. He might be coming here.

  Please let him be near Graystone. Please let him be close enough to hear me.

  Mark, are you there? Please be there. If you are, I need some help.

  Doreen had a lot to answer for. I was most definitely voting against her and I didn't care if she knew it. I was going to clap Michael on the back and say, “Run like hell, friend. You have been released.”

  How dare the idiot woman kidnap me?

  I suddenly realized why I hated the dark. I felt like I was melting into the blackness. Maybe the feeling had been there ever since the transfusion. As much as I’d wanted to be different, I wanted to retain what made me Torrance. Whatever that was, be it a spark of soul or spirit, will, determination, or a hundred other things, I hadn't wanted to be swallowed up by being either Were or Pranic. Darkness was the physical representation of nothingness to me, the absence of self.

  I know, right? Hell of a time for me to get all philosophical and stuff.

  I tried to calm down, pushing back the fear that was creeping forward on tiny little feet. I wanted the anger, but it didn't stand a chance against the Fearmeister, a damn sneaky animal. I saw him as pink and green with yellow nodules on his back. His feet had long tentacle toes like a tree frog except that they were red and black.

  I didn’t know if I was hallucinating again or if it was whatever I’d been given that was causing me to free associate. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if I was tripping on LSD. Jeesh, and here I was, pure as the wind driven snow, never having even sampled marijuana.

  Was the Brood okay? Anybody who would abduct me from my house wasn't going to be all warm and fuzzy about my dogs. They’d suffered too much in their young lives to be mistreated in the one place they’d come to think of
as home.

  Ah, there was the anger. I welcomed it. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. I heard a noise and stiffened.

  “Hello? Damn it, Doreen. Enough is enough. The Council won’t give a flying flip if I’m there or not. They’re still going to vote tonight.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “And, honey chile, the vote is not going to go in your favor.”

  “Who’s Doreen?”

  I didn’t recognize the voice.

  The Fearmeister pounced, just when I’d psyched up to be brave and daring.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “Why am I here? What do you want?”

  I heard movement. Wheels on the floor, something making a metallic sound, a soft thump. I felt a hand on my wrist, but my restraint wasn’t being loosened. Instead, something else was happening. I felt a sharp pain in my arm.

  Mark? Really, now would be the time to show up.

  I needed someone to rescue me. There, a little more anger to bat the Fearmeister out of the way. I didn't like having to be rescued, even if my knight in shining armor was a damn good looking guy, clothes on or clothes off. I was an educated Were, Pranic, whatever and I should be able to save myself.

  I am woman, hear me roar. Or not.

  I liked men. I liked most things about them. Even their quintessential maleness that made some of them scratch their frontal area at inappropriate times, engage in burping contests, and laugh with other guys about farts. I liked them, even as I knew that we women confused them a lot of the time. We were too sensitive. We had a tendency to see the emotional side of things.

  The fact was, we women – even a Furry Pranic or Pranic Furry - couldn't do everything a well-developed male could. The will might be the same, but the physiology was definitely different. Nothing could change it.

  I needed a nice strong man right now and I didn’t even care if that made me sound all feminine and fragile.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My father was not going to be happy

  Mark.

  I sent him a mental picture of what I felt like, trapped in a dark cave with my arms and legs restrained, the perfect laboratory specimen for Dr. Frankenstein. Except that I didn’t know who the hell Dr. Frankenstein was in this case.

  Evidently, it wasn’t Doreen.

  I didn’t have that many enemies. Okay, maybe Alice. Was that why she hadn’t been at work this morning? She’d been preparing to kidnap me? That was taking our dislike of each other to a new level, wasn’t it? What was she planning on doing to me?

  My anger didn't have a chance in the battle of emotions, especially since the Fearmeister was blowing things out of proportion. Terror was winning, hands down. It didn’t help that I was remembering every time Alice and I had clashed.

  Mark, where the hell are you?

  At least he hadn't really disappeared three months ago. At least he’d called me. Damn Alice. The anger was marching forth again, which was a good thing. I hated the fear almost as much as being nauseated and feeling dizzy.

  I raised my right hand, concentrated on the wrist restraint and pulled my arm free.

  “Did you see that?"

  The voice was the same one I’d heard earlier, but not Doreen's. Female, youngish, with no appreciable accent. Nor was it Alice. Had she conned someone into helping her? I was making loads of mental notes, the better to give them to my father when I was rescued.

  Oh, Mark, please be close. Please hear me. I need you. Please.

  “She could pull the tubes free. She can’t move right now.”

  “Give her another shot.” A second voice, this one male.

  Before I could jerk my left arm free, I felt a set of hands, one on my right elbow, the other on my right wrist.

  I had to get free, the thought adding desperation to my strength.

  “Give her another shot!”

  I knew that voice. It was as familiar to me as my own. I tried to make sense of it in my mind, but my brain wasn’t working the way it should have. I tried to sit up, and I might have made it if I hadn't felt another pinprick on my arm. This one was worse than before. It felt like a needle at least eight inches long was going straight into the bone.

  Then nothing at all but a suffocating blackness. I didn't even have time to be afraid.

  A voice woke me, the same male voice from before. He was talking to the woman I’d heard. Their conversation was just a sequence of sentences, nothing that made sense to me at first.

  The nausea was back in full force, making it difficult to focus on anything other than that for a few moments.

  “Alice?" I asked.

  "How long does this normally take?" the male voice asked.

  My brain was functioning, but I batted away the knowledge. I didn’t want to know what I knew.

  “You’re the one who wanted an exchange transfusion. It takes a little while."

  A transfusion? The Fearmeister was back, catapulting me into panic. Someone was going to replace all of the blood in my body?

  Alice wouldn’t do that. Would she? Why would she? The only person who would do that would be someone who hated what I’d become. Who thought that being anything but a full blooded Were was an abomination.

  I was getting sick again, that lurching nausea when your brain refuses to accept something your heart knows is true.

  Weres were emotional creatures, all in all, although we tried to restrain our natures. Maybe that's why we enjoyed the Hunt so much. It was the one time during the month we were allowed total freedom to reveal everything we felt. Right now I was feeling emotions, too. Betrayal and rage. Shock and disappointment. Someone I was supposed to love, who was supposed to love me, wanted to hurt me.

  Not Alice after all.

  “Austin?” I asked.

  "She's awake. Can you put her under again?"

  “Austin?”

  “Shut her up,” he said.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  My brother didn't answer but I knew it was him. It stood to reason that if I could be altered by a transfusion, perhaps I could be restored to my pure Were self by another transfusion. Except I wasn't entirely certain that was true. Things had already started to happen to me. I was strong and I had the ability to see what someone wanted hidden.

  Granted, I hadn't been able to decipher what I’d seen in time, but my vision of Austin had been both a hint and a warning.

  I remembered something my mother had said about Austin's new girlfriend. She was either a nurse or attending nursing or medical school. I couldn't remember what it was, but she was in the medical field. I hope to God she knew what she was doing. I didn't want to bleed out.

  "Where am I?" I asked, my voice faint.

  I didn't feel right in a way that made me think I was truly in danger. I sent out a thought as well as a prayer. Hey, it wouldn’t hurt.

  Mark. Please, God, let Mark be nearby. Please let him hear me.

  My heart wasn’t beating the way it was supposed to. Even my breathing was off. I felt like I was falling, my descent unstoppable. I was collapsing into myself.

  Was I losing blood? Was Austin’s brilliant idea to give me an exchange transfusion that only worked one way? Hey, Torrance, you’re a couple of quarts low. Sorry about that.

  Was Austin willing to do anything to make me normal again? Even if I could die in the attempt? So much for brotherly love and all that stuff.

  Mark.

  I wanted to scream but I didn't have the energy. My breathing was shallow and I was holding onto consciousness with both white knuckled hands. Otherwise, I felt like I would fade into nothingness.

  Both arms hurt. Why was I just now feeling that? Was it because of whatever he’d given to knock me out?

  What was Austin going to do if the transfusion killed me? Just leave me here, claim he didn’t know where I was and manufacture grief at the discovery of my body?

  I didn’t want to die. I had too many things to do with my life. I had too many plans.

  My father was not going to be happy. Had I mis
sed my first Council meeting? And without approval, too. I could just anticipate the lecture to come, something about how I was a representative of the female of the species. How it was important that I should act as an example of what to do, not demonstrate behavior to avoid.

  How odd that even as the blood was leaving my body my father’s approval mattered. No, the only thing that mattered right now was that I didn’t want to die. Thirty two was too flipping young, thanks. I hadn’t given him any grandchildren. I hadn’t even seriously considered a mate. Okay, maybe I’d done some daydreaming on that score, but I hadn’t reached the vows stage.

  I couldn’t tell my father what had really happened.

  Dear Dad, Austin killed me. I couldn’t come to the Council meeting because I was a desiccated, bloodless sack. Since I had no zombie blood in me – that I knew about, anyway – I couldn’t do anything else but shuffle off this mortal coil, take my ball, and head for that great wolf den in the sky.

  Shouldn’t I be on a heart/lung machine for an exchange transfusion? I knew, damn well, that I wasn’t in a medical setting. First of all, it smelled dusty. Secondly, I thought I was alone with Austin and his helper.

  So much for sterile conditions. If I survived the transfusion would I develop some gawdawful infection?

  I felt a curious kind of grief about losing my Pranic self. I’d been excited about being Pranic, enjoying the experience of walking into a mystery. The future was open. I didn’t know what other skills or talents I might develop. To me, becoming Pranic had morphed into more than I’d originally wanted. Now I wanted to be a credit to my species and I’d been determined to do that.

  I’d also taken a sacred vow. I’d promised to assist Marcie in case she and Dan had to go to war. If there was a siege of the castle both Mark and I had pledged our participation. All of us were an adopted family, a unit determined to protect each other.

  Mark. Please.

  He wasn’t close enough to hear me. Could Marcie? We shared a blood bond. Perhaps she would be able to sense when I was in danger. I sent my thoughts to Marcie in a desperate attempt to keep myself together. To keep the me of me from disappearing.