The Sound and the Furry

by Karen Ranney

  A damn good thing Mark was a doctor. I didn’t know who was smarter, Marcie or me, to latch onto the guy.

  Mark smiled again.

  I should start trying to block my thoughts.

  I looked at the rafters above me. Something about them was familiar. They were old, weathered beams stretching the width of the area and intersected by other beams. Something far above my head and a few feet down reminded me of my grandmother and it took me a minute before I could figure it out.

  I’d helped my grandmother put up that fly strip when I was twelve. One summer we’d been cleaning out the attic, but had kept the vents open. She hated flies and gnats and had peppered the attic with the strips. I’d asked her why she didn’t use one of those bug bombs and she replied, “I want the flies to die, dear Torrance. Not me.”

  I glanced over at Marcie again. She was lying on one of my grandmother’s antique folding tables that was normally outside the library on the third floor.

  “I’m at Graystone,” I said.

  “You are.”

  I was trying to decide if I was grateful or angry.

  My brother had merely moved me into the attic. Had he planned to bury me on the grounds if the transfusion hadn’t been successful? How had he gotten all this stuff up here? For that matter, how had he planned to figure out whether or not the transfusion had been successful? Was he going to give me some kind of Pranic test? What the hell did he know about Pranic blood, anyway?

  “The Brood? Are they all right? Where’s my brother?”

  “The Brood is fine,” Mark said, “but they’re a little annoyed that they can’t see you right now. Your brother and his friend are in the dungeon.”

  “I don’t have a dungeon.”

  “Well, you have a basement.”

  “Nobody has a basement in San Antonio,” I said. “There’s a little area that’s like a root cellar, but I haven’t been down there in years.”

  “Well, it came equipped with handy chains and handcuffs,” Marcie said.

  I stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of what she’d said. Good grief, what had my grandmother been into?

  I’d heard of restraints being used if one didn’t want to transform during a full moon. It was a biological imperative, almost like a woman’s period. You didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t something you could opt out of, not before Waxinine, I mean.

  That’s why Weres had kept to ourselves for centuries. We hadn’t truly been integrated into civilian society until Waxinine had been developed.

  Mark knew that as well as I did. Marcie might have been the only one in the room who wasn’t up to date on Furry lore.

  “Did your grandmother know any vampires?” Marcie asked.

  “If she did, she certainly didn’t mention it.”

  “I only ask because the chains and the handcuffs are silver.”

  Holy crap. Seriously, what had my grandmother been into?

  “Vampires aren’t really affected by silver,” Marcie continued, “but a lot of people still think they are. There are a lot of myths attached to vampires.”

  I made a mental note to talk to her about vampires at a later date. And witches. And hallucinations. We needed to talk about a bunch of things.

  “Are you sure the Brood is all right?”

  “Other than missing you,” Mark said, “they’re fine.”

  I was an idiot but I chose that moment to start crying. I hadn’t cried when learning that my brother was trying to exsanguinate me. I hadn’t cried when I was alone and scared to death. Now I chose to cry, when thinking of those three little canine faces with such hope in their eyes.

  Mark gave me a few tissues and I blotted my eyes, grateful that neither he nor Marcie gave me a pep talk. I think I just needed to cry for a moment. When it was over I was suddenly ravenously hungry. That had to be a sign that I was feeling much better.

  Something thumped against the house, interrupting my yearning thoughts about a few bean and cheese tacos.

  The sound reminded me of when a dove had struck one of the windows in the Silver Parlor. The poor thing had been dazed. I’d gone out and picked it up, put it in a box, and brought it inside to protect it from any feral cats. The Brood had been excited, thinking they had a new playmate, but I’d kept the bird safe until she recovered from her mishap. I released her two hours later and she flew to freedom in a blur of feathers and frantic wings.

  This noise, however, was even louder. More like a dozen birds.

  Marcie looked like she was trying to get up, but Mark placed his hand on her arm and kept her still.

  I’d only known Marcie for a few months, but our association had been an intense one. She’d learned things about me that I’d never told another soul. I, in turn, had been privy to some of her deep, dark secrets. Consequently, we were more than friends. After the two transfusions I’d received from her, you might even say we were blood relatives.

  I’d never seen her afraid. She might’ve been, but she didn’t show it.

  Yet right now she looked terrified.

  “What is it? I asked.

  She shook her head, but I didn’t believe her for a moment.

  “It’s something, Marcie. What is it?”

  She pressed her lips together until they were almost white and shook her head one more time.

  I immediately remembered something inconsequential, a memory I’d almost forgotten. In the next instant I realized that I wasn’t remembering anything. I was getting an image someone was sending me. Not Marcie, since she still looked paralyzed with fear.

  Antonia?

  She didn’t answer me.

  I’d been at the castle, having lunch with Marcie. It was the third time I’d been there as her guest and I felt a little like a moocher. I wanted to reciprocate so I’d invited her and Dan to meet me for dinner at a restaurant I loved on the river. She thanked me, but declined.

  “I don’t leave the castle after dark,” she explained.

  I hadn’t thought anything about it. Now, however, I wondered why.

  The mental vision I got then was one of the birds of the Andes, the ones with a wing span of six to eight feet. A second later I realized that it wasn’t a bird it all, but something more grotesque. A bat, but not a bat. Something hairy and black with fingers and toes and red glowing eyes.

  Marcie would be in danger if she left the castle after dark. She would be in danger from something that looked even scarier than the Were with a goat’s head and a ram’s horns. I didn’t know what time it was but I could almost guarantee it was after dark. Nor was Marcie inside the castle. Instead, she’d come to Graystone to save me.

  What the hell had I done?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My tank had been topped off, in a manner of speaking

  Marcie and I shared the same coloring. I was taller than she was, however, and not nearly as curvy. She had a tendency to smile a lot more than I did, the expression in her blue eyes normally one of peace and contentment. I don’t think anyone could say the same about me.

  Right at the moment Marcie didn’t look peaceful or contented. I think she was having a hard time holding it together. Her hands gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were white. She stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed and she was so tense she reminded me of a taut wire just before it snapped.

  “What is it, Marcie?”

  I wanted to explain what I’d seen, but I had the feeling she knew. Just like I think Mark knew, too, because he came and stood between us. Not to separate, but to support.

  For a minute I thought she wasn’t going to answer me, but she finally turned her head and looked at both of us, the lack of expression on her face chilling me as nothing else could have. It was as if Marcie had been frozen.

  “Il Duce,” she said in a soft, expressionless voice. “Niccolo Maddock, a Master vampire.”

  I’m not up on society. I don’t know who the movers and shakers are in San Antonio. The only names or personas I’m familiar with are
from Fiesta activities, the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo, or the other functions where my father featured prominently. But even I had heard of Niccolo Maddock, mystery man.

  He was the leader of the vampire contingent in Texas, but no one had seen him for years. Just breathing his name, however, made people shiver. Evidently, Maddock was one of those people who managed to get things done behind the scenes. You never saw him, but you were aware that he was there in the background, a shadowy figure who managed to be scary not only because he was a vampire, but because of all the rumors that swirled around him.

  There are times when I’m not the sharpest shovel in the shed, and this was, regrettably one of those times. My only excuse was that I’d been drained nearly dry. It was as good a reason as any for my foggy thinking.

  I remembered the lecture I’d been given prior to my transfusion. Marcie and her husband were creating an army of sorts, people who were linked to Marcie and would come to their family’s defense if they were ever attacked by vampires.

  Vampires headed by Maddock.

  Maddock didn’t want me and it didn’t matter to him that this was my home. He wanted Marcie. Marcie, who never left the castle after dark. Marcie, who normally had a team of bodyguards surrounding her. Marcie, who had come to save me at great cost to herself.

  “Well, hell,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  Marcie might be a witpire, but Mark and I were Weres and that counted for something. Weres could be belligerent and aggressive. In our culture such behavior was frowned upon unless there was a threat that needed to be addressed. Then we shed our civilized suits and became warriors.

  Marcie was not going to be rewarded for saving me by losing her life.

  Okay, maybe I wasn’t one hundred percent yet, but I was super pissed. I might not have been able to battle my brother but I’d been a few pints low. My tank had been topped off, in a manner of speaking. I could damn well fight Maddock now.

  Whether or not I could win was another thing.

  I propped myself up on my elbows, feeling the room spin around me for a few revolutions. At least the nausea was gone and I didn’t feel like the shell of myself anymore. I was, however, covered in blood. I was still in my scrubs, but they were a mess. Evidently, Austin’s companion had been lousy at transfusions.

  I looked over at Marcie. She was lying there with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. I wondered if she was saying a mantra to herself, something that would give her courage.

  If so, she needed to share it.

  “If you’re part vampire, then why does Niccolo Maddock want to harm you?”

  Why was Marcie afraid that he was planning a siege on the castle? Now was probably not the time for answers, but I didn’t retract the question.

  Without opening her eyes, Marcie said, “Because I gave him rabies.”

  Well, damn, I hadn’t expected that answer.

  “Rabies?” Mark asked. “And he survived?”

  “In a fashion,” she said, opening her eyes and slowly sitting up. She waved Mark away when he would have assisted her. “He mutated. He used to be a handsome man. A courtly one. I know that he had at least one mistress and was rumored to have many more. I doubt they’re still with him now. From all accounts, he’s a horror.”

  Oh goody. A deformed vampire was beating on Graystone. More than one vampire, if all the thumps and bumps meant anything.

  I knew what most people knew about vampires and nothing more. Once upon a time they had a great deal more freedom than they do now. Like Weres, they were constrained by their own society and unlike Weres – who were not officially recognized or even unofficially acknowledged – they were also limited by their own laws.

  “I thought vampires had to obey certain rules,” I said. “Things like thou shalt not suck a human dry.”

  “They do,” she said. “You might say that Maddock doesn’t care in my case.”

  “So he’s essentially issued a fatwa against you. Doesn’t he give any thought to the punishment?”

  She smiled, and I thought it was one of the saddest expressions I’ve ever seen.

  “We have a history, Maddock and I. He wanted to impregnate me. When that didn’t work he wanted to take all my blood. Now I truly think he believes I could cure him.”

  I didn’t have a damn thing to say to that.

  “I doubt he’d be punished for whatever he did. He’s broken so many laws over the years that would have meant death for any other vampire. Maddock seems to be very connected with friends in high places.”

  I had to hand it to her. I had my share of people who didn’t like me. I think almost everyone does. You can’t charm all the people all the time. But on a scale of one to ten when it came to adversaries, Marcie had hooked herself one that registered at least a hundred twenty.

  “So what do we do?” Mark asked. “Go on the offense? Or just keep them from getting inside Graystone?”

  “Make it through until morning,” she said. “If we can.”

  And if we couldn’t? If they got inside the house, what did we do then?

  I didn’t quite know how to ask the question. Luckily, I was in a room with people who could hear my thoughts.

  Mark glanced at me. I wish I could say that I was immediately reassured and confident that we were going to survive this. But in his gaze was a degree of realism I couldn’t ignore.

  We were in deep doodoo.

  Marcie slid off the table and stood, looking like she was about to fall down and stay there. A minute later I also stood, in a way. I was draped over the massage table and hoping that it held up.

  The thumping was louder, almost as if Maddock had sonar and was testing to see exactly where we were.

  I was sticky with my own blood. Kind of like a vampire popsicle. Maybe it was the smell of all this blood that was attracting Maddock and whoever was with him. From what I knew vampires never went anywhere without a contingent of fellow vamps. Evidently, they didn’t like their own company very much.

  The thump came again, harder this time. The whole side of the house seem to shake and that was saying something since Graystone was built of brick and stone. Why hadn’t I invested in a shock system? Something that would zap vampires if they pummeled my house.

  Because.

  Because I’d never given one thought to vampires.

  Because I’d never considered that they’d want to get into Graystone.

  Because I’d never once thought I’d go to war with a bunch of them.

  Was it just yesterday that I was so naive?

  We were SOL. Two members of our army of three were still wobbly. Mark was the only one who hadn’t been drained.

  “You’re sure silver doesn’t affect vampires?” I asked.

  “I’m sure,” Marcie said. “Neither does holy water, crucifixes, or making the sign of the cross.”

  That was depressing.

  “What’s left?” I asked.

  “Destroy their brains.”

  I had a mental vision of a cannon ball decapitating Maddock. Too bad I was fresh out of cannons.

  “And that’s it?”

  “Pretty much. They’ve evolved. Certain blood diseases affect them, which was why I tried rabies. But that’s about it.”

  I knew that vampires didn’t really die die. I mean, they were already dead. Up until this moment I hadn’t realized they were so difficult to kill, in a manner of speaking. A few books on vampire lore stated that they had regenerative properties, but when I asked Marcie, she only shook her head and smiled.

  “If you cut off a vampire’s hand, it doesn’t grow back. As a matter of fact, impairment of any sort offends them. They’d much rather put one of their own into the sunlight than endure the indignity of seeing a flawed vampire.”

  Maybe that’s why all the vampires I’d ever seen were all beautiful creatures.

  “Then how does Maddock escape?”

  She smiled again. “There’s that power thing again. And the fact that he doesn’t allow himse
lf to be seen.”

  Unless there were extenuating circumstances, like coming after Marcie.

  In all honesty, I didn’t want to see him in the flesh. I tried not to think about vampires. The idea of them offended me on a basic level. I was a Furry, a creature who was one with nature. Vampires were the antithesis of that. They defied natural law. They didn’t die yet they had to feast on the blood of living creatures in order to survive.

  Marcie was the only vampire I’d ever met — not that I’ve met all that many — who didn’t creep me out. I liked her. Even more, I respected her. Especially now after she admitted that she’d tried to kill a super duper vampire by giving him rabies.

  “Does he foam at the mouth?” I asked.

  She stared at me for a few seconds. “I think he does.”

  “I need to make sure the Brood isn’t around him,” I said. “Just in case he’s contagious.”

  I glanced at Mark. “Are they still on the porch?”

  He nodded.

  I walked with measured — and counted — steps to the door. Everything was done carefully: breathing, thinking, any movement at all. It was like my body was continually taking readings.

  Commence forward motion: legs semi-steady.

  Lungs full, exhale.

  Thoughts escalating, calm panic.

  I was definitely not feeling like myself. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was being nearly drained by my Were chauvinist brother and how much was the double transfusion from a witpire.

  I would ponder the situation later, after Maddock stopped beating on my house.

  As I took one step after another, it occurred to me that I shouldn’t be all that judgmental about vampires. After all, I’d gotten a transfusion from one. Not once, but twice. Did that make me part vampire?

  The answer shocked me to the core.

  Of course I was part vampire.

  Well, damn.

  Mark was suddenly at my side. I wondered if he’d figured out we were like Maddock, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “To get the Brood,” I said. “I want to bring them into the house.”