HALLOWEEN COMES TO TALBOT'S PEAK

Gill looked around the council room table.  He counted fifteen people including himself and Rachel.  Rachel would abstain from voting unless a deadlock happened.  Human and shifters gathered for the random meeting.  Each of the sections of the main residential neighborhoods sat at the table.  Cordialness and civility ran rampant this evening.  Gill wondered how much longer this could go on.  His next agenda item affected all of them.  He picked up his gavel and rapped on the table. Fourteen sets of eyes gazed at him.

“Now that I have all of your attention again, I’ve got one more item.  I feel strongly about this one and so do several of our merchants as well as the schools.”  Gill picked up the stack of stapled papers to his left.  He took the top set and hand the rest to Vernon MacMahon who sat to his right.   “This packet includes this year’s trick-or-treat schedule.  With the past two months free of danger and the city experiencing a period of quiet, I recommend we let our children have a night of fun.”

Several murmurs rose and fell as the last of the packets made their way back to the head of the table.  Gill noted everyone had one.  He flipped back the first page.  “Louie down at Rattigan’s is offering apple bobbing contests while the fire department x-rays the goods the kids got.  Making sure nothing is hidden.”

“I thought you said this was a safe time for the kids.” One of the human mothers present raised her hand, shaking the packet as she did.  “Why do we need to x-ray our children’s candy?”

Gill opened his mouth to speak.  Vernon coughed as he slid back his chair before rising.  “Gill, if you don’t mind.  I’ll address this.”

Gill nodded and sat down.  Vernon continued.  “I understand your concern Ma’am.  My wife Ellie said the same thing when we discussed our part in the town’s celebration too.”

“And?”  The woman’s tone didn’t sound any worse or better.  Gill noted the nods as she spoke.  Yes, ensuring their town stated safe mattered to all present.  Good, a united Talbot’s Peak kept everyone safe.

Vernon leaned on his hands on the table, and spoke.  “Keeping everyone safe matters.  While my grandkids can eat carrion pops, your kids can’t.  Sugary treats are good for a few.  What about those that can’t have them?  Knowing the content of what’s in those trick-or-treat bags makes sense.”

The mother nodded vigorously.  Bettina sat next to her.  She looked up and raised her hand.  Gill nodded as he spoke.  “Go ahead Bettina.  You’re next.”

“There are some special needs children amongst us.  A few human parents voiced their concerns over their children not being able to participate in regular trick-or-treating.”  She looked around the table before she sat down.

Gill rose, holding up his hands.  “That’s why the second and third pages are important.  All of Main Street is hosting a costume parade and trick-or-treating event.  We want every child to have fun.”

Miss Elly stood and walked up next to her husband.  “I’ve got pledges from the football and basketball teams from the senior high to police the streets.  They’ve agree to chaperone those needing help or an extra hand during the hours of six-thirty to nine.  In turn, they are having a chaperoned sleepover in the school gym.  Girls on one side. Boys on the other.”

Vernon spoke before anyone else could.  “I’m heading up the overnight chaperoning.  They all know who is working with me. Right Bettina?”

“Right, Vernon.  No one is going to cause trouble and chaos.  Bedlam and harm are not coming back.” Bettina moved to the head of the table.  She stood next to Miss Elly, Vernon, and Gill.  “We want all the children, human and shifter alike, to enjoy Halloween.”

Gill rapped on the table.  “Let’s vote on the celebration and enjoy our children enjoying themselves again.”

Gill waited until Vernon, Miss Elly, and Bettina took their seats.  “All those in favor of the proposed Talbot’s Peak Halloween Celebration raise your hand.”

Fourteen hands rose, including Rachel’s.  Gill smiled as he raised his, calling out.  “The first annual Peak Halloween celebration is a go!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy October Gang!

The colors of fall are upon us.  What beautiful reds, oranges, and yellows mix with the remaining greens of summer.  May your fall be beautiful and full of enjoyment.  Remember to keep a good book or two handy for those moments of quiet as the warmth of the sun reaches out before the chill of winter crisps the air.  Share those books with your spice and loves.  I know I will be!

Until next week,

SOLARA

READY! AIM! NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE CALL FOR REINFORCEMENTS!

 

“Ladies, keep your eye on the horizon.  You want to hit the target with each and every shot you can.”  Tyburn looked up and down the line noting that women in every shape and size stood ready to do battle against the enemy.

Even Rachel stood amongst them taking instruction.  This was a side of her he hadn’t seen before.  Her camaraderie with the women baffled him at first.  The more the group bonded and worked together the more he understood.  They cared about each other and for each other.  If any of them shifted their animal halves were natural enemies in many instances.  Yet, they came together, merged into the two lines standing before him.  Talbot’s Peak still confused him.  Regardless, this much he knew coming together for a mutual cause made sense.  Defending his turf was a fundamental core value.  One that he didn’t back down on.  The Peak, as most of the citizens used, was his turf until the powers-that-be decided he and Rachel were done with each other.

Back behind them stood the large wood and metal catapults they would arm and use when and if the behemoth ancient creature breached the front lines.  No one except the few men who sat in the cabs of the extended bed pickup trucks knew how maneuverable and agile the systems were.  Fast and furious they’d constructed the giant weapons.  Even the old fashioned sling-shots many of them carried would deliver the blows they needed to gain the momentum needed for the assault.  The ammo sat waiting a few test launches that he knew they couldn’t risk.  Every Phoenix ambrosia soaked pumpkin, its interior filled with peanuts in all forms they could find, waited for the attack and demise of the mad man and his animal spirit.  Alcohol poisoning combined with the effects allergic reactions happening simultaneously awaited their enemy.

Tyburn watched as Miss Elly stepped forward her sling-shot loaded and pulled back ready to launch.  Another joined her on the line as did several others.   Rocks, balls, and other retrievable items filled their pockets and hands.  He swallowed, inhaled, and called out.  “Aim!  Fire!”  More dents and dust left the large dirt filled sacks tied to the trees a hundred yards out.  Dust flew up further out as more rocks and balls hit the targets double the distance of the first row. 

“Duck,” a voice called out.  Tyburn turned, unsure his ears didn’t play tricks on him.  He jumped back as the one person he never expected to see in this life span shimmered into focus in front of him.  She stuffed two objects into the tube she held.  She drew the tube to her lips, puckered and blew.  Moments later the thunks of darts hitting near and far targets sound.  The golden haired female walked over to him and grabbed him.

“Never under estimate the call for reinforcements, brother.”  Tyburn tried to reply.  He couldn’t thanks to the bear hug his twin sister had him in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy weekend Gang!

OMG! Tyburn is one changed dude?!  I didn't see this one coming until Pris sat me down to write this week's flash.  Talk about surprises.  The battle for the Peak and its survival is heating up.

As  we wane into the dog days of August and Summer, remember to take time to read a good book or two.  Don't forget to share them with your loves and spice.  I know I will!

Until next week,

Solara

A SNOWBALL'S CHANCE IN. . . .

SPLAT!   Another object whizzed by Gill. 

“Incoming,” a familiar youthful voice called out.

SPLAT!  SPLAT!

“Dang! Miss Elly’s got a good arm on her,” another voice familiar sounding voice said.

Gill ducked behind the large century old oak near the front of city hall.  He looked behind him.   No one.  A few cars rushed up and down Main Street.

“Be careful boys,” an older male voice called out.  “Age doesn’t always slow you down.”

THWAK!  Followed by two more splats sounding as snow flew around the tree’s trunk.  Gill swallowed hard.  Had someone targeted him with an astral bull’s-eye?  Who had he recently pissed off?  An opponent running against him in the spring election for mayor?  

“That’s what practice and playing softball gets you.”  Was that Miss Elly?  Gill squatted behind the oak and peered around it.  Two familiar faces greeted him.  Hand knitted caps and scarves adorned the heads and necks of Vernon MacMahon and his lovely lady wife Miss Elly.  They waved and disappeared from sight behind a huge pile of snow, not before yelling, “Duck Gill!  Incoming!”

Gill flattened himself tight to the ground.  Snow and dirt covered his clothes and face.

THWACK!  SPLAT!   SPLAT!  THWACK! 

Gill crawled to the steps of city hall.  He crouched behind the bushes closest to the entrance.  He counted to ten before peeking over the bushes.

Two identical male youths waved.  They wore hats and scarves similar to Vernon’s and Miss Elly’s.  Thor and Loki let two snow balls fly in the direction of the snow pile where Vernon and Miss Elly hid. 

“Sorry Mr. Mayor,” Loki yelled.  “Granddad’s got keen accuracy.”

“Yea, he hits what he aims for,” Thor offered before ducking.

“Then there’s my curve ball boys,” Miss Elly yelled. 

 Three more snow balls whizzed by Gill causing him to dive behind the bushes. He cussed and wondering how he walked into the middle of the brawl.  Not that it mattered. More snow balls and taunts flew by him.  Some came closer than others.

A snowball slammed against the staircase railing close to his head.  Enough.   If he was going to stand a snowball’s chance in getting inside unscathed he had to act fast.  Gill reached down and began packing snow into rounded shapes.  He stacked several near him.  Taking off his neck scarf, he laid several of the larger balls on it.  He picked it up and began spinning in a circle just like he did when he shot put and tossed the discuses in his high school track and field days.  He let go of one end and launched his ammunition toward one snow pile.  Reloaded he repeated, until four sets of voices cried out, “Uncle Mr. Mayor!  Uncle!”

Gill shook out his scarf, wrapped it around his neck, and sauntered into city hall whistling.  Behind him he could hear Vernon, Miss Elly, Thor, and Loki discussing his attack tactics.  Gill grin deepened as he caught Vernon’s advice to Thor and Loki.  “Never underestimate your opponent’s size and wiliness.  You never know what surprises they got ready for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy weekend Gang!

Sorry I missed last week.  My computer died and a new one took time to set up.  Looks like Gill made his decision to run for re-election.  As the last of winter eeks its way out on the slow road, remember to keep warm and share a good book or two with your loves and spice.  I know I will!

Until next week,

Solara

Quality Family Time

(with apologies to Norman Rockwell)

“Will you look at us,” Vernon MacMahon said. He beamed around the table. “All the kids together. We look like a family already.”

Nobody beamed back, other than Elly. Nick didn’t bother to hide his scowl. They were probably holding hands under the table, like a couple of sappy puppies. His brother Mooney, who should have had his back, had a stiff, brainless grin on his lips because such a look was expected. That was a beta for you, content to sit back and let the higher ranks do all the thinking. He even let his girlfriend push him around, and she was a monkey, for Lycaon’s sake. No help from Mooney’s corner, that’s for biting sure.

Or from the other camp. Bo and Hannibal Ewing gave him the bighorn stink eye from across the table. Neither had said a word since they all sat down. Mary had already made her feelings for Nick clear at work, courtesy of that granite-hard head of hers. If a ewe could knock him flat on his ass, imagine what those two gargantuan rams could do. Better still, imagine those two oversized herbies bleeding all over the floor with their throats ripped out. The image cheered him somewhat.

“Is that why we’re here?” he said. “To show off to Talbot’s Peak how well we all get along?”

“Of course not,” Vern said. “We’re here because neither Miss Elly nor I are about to cook for you moochers, and because this place’s owner is a rat with a meat cleaver, and that squirrel behind the bar has a gun and has been known to use it. So nobody’s going to cause any trouble. Right?”

He said this to Nick and Mooney. Miss Elly directed a similar silent warning to her mountainous male offspring. Unhearing Mary sipped blandly at her water, her eyes darting from one set of lips to the next. She caught Nick’s eye and grinned evilly at him. Nick bared his teeth back at her.

Packs had blended before, when an alpha had to take a new mate. But a pack and a herd? This herd? No freakin’ way.

“Just tell me this has nothing to do with the election,” he said. Which would make it even worse if it didn’t, but he had to know.

Both Vernon and Miss Elly looked hurt. “You’re not buying into that scat Lance has been spreading around, have you? About voters wanting their candidates mated? I thought you knew better than that. Elly and I have known each other for years. We’re getting up there in age—”

“Speak for yourself, you old gray wolf,” Elly said with a grin.

“And the clock’s running out. Why spend my twilight years alone, when this tasty morsel’s just been waiting for me to sweep her off her feet?”

“Our mom’s not a ‘tasty morsel’,” Bo said in a growl that would do a wolf proud. “That’s how predators talk.”

“Knock it off, boy. At my age, I’m lucky I’ve still got my real teeth. Any woman who’d have me is a treasure beyond price.” He nuzzled Miss Elly’s neck. “Lucky me, I found her.”

“Lucky us,” Miss Elly corrected, and nuzzled him back. It was sickening. “As long as you don’t expect another crop of heirs. That ship has sailed.”

“Never fear, my sweet. Been there, done that, stepped in the housebreaking accidents.” He wickedly waggled his eyebrows. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take a stab at it anyway. Several stabs, I hope.”

Nick’s stomach flipped over. “Do you have to talk about that at the table? Where people are eating?”

“Get used to it, sonny. There’s fire in the old wolf yet, and spring in the lady’s step. Or did you think that all shuts off after we turn forty?”

Both Hannibal and Bo stiffened on their chairs. “You watch your mouth, carnie,” Bo said. “That’s our mother you’re licking your chops over.”

“And your mama hasn’t been drooled over in ages,” Elly snapped at her offspring. “If you’ve got a problem with it, keep it in your cud sack. Vernon and I are getting married, and we’re going to do everything married folks do. Deal with it.”

Mary signed frantically. Elly caught her hands and pinned them to the table. “That goes for you too, missy. We’re happy, and we’re going to stay happy. If you kids can’t handle it, tough turds.”

The squirrel ambled over. Nick checked his shirt for gun-shaped bulges. “Everything okay here, folks? Get you anything?”

Vern and Elly ordered cocktails. Everyone else ordered sodas. Keep a clear head, first rule on the hunt. The glares flashing around the table over the heads of the starry-eyed lovers could probably flash-fry their entrees, if Nick was any judge of hostility. Oh, wait, these were herbies. They ate their awful veggies raw.

Being the oldest, Nick figured he’d have to take out Hannibal. He doubted if Mooney could handle Bo. They’d have to double-team him. Same for Mary. The little ewe was a vicious fighter. It’s for Dad’s own good. He’ll thank us when it’s over.

To everyone’s surprise, Louie himself brought their drinks over. “I can hear you folks from the kitchen,” he said. Nick bristled automatically, even though he understood Jersey accents made even “good morning” sound belligerent. “I don’t want no trouble in my place.”

“And you won’t get any,” Vern said firmly. Elly shot a glare at her kids. Their stony faces promised nothing. Nick refused to alter his own scowl. Mooney went on smiling idiotically. Didn’t the damn spineless beta have any other expressions?

Louie rattled off the night’s specials. “Now,” he said at the end, “what can I getcha?”

Vern nodded across the room. “Excuse me, but is that Judge Alsop over there?”

“Yeah. He likes the Wellington. It’s one of our specialties. You wanna give it a go?”

Vern leaned in and whispered something to Elly. She gasped, then giggled. Nick had never pegged her as a giggler. They had to get these two apart. Their ill-considered love was upsetting every natural order in the universe.

“Excuse us a minute, would you?” Vernon got up, holding out his hand to Miss Elly. They left the table with Louie in the lead. Nick recognized his dad’s hunting stalk. The shifty old wolf was up to something. Nick started to rise.

Hannibal’s hand clamped onto his wrist and forced him back down. “Oh no you don’t. Nobody’s going anywhere until we hash this out.”

Nick reseated himself, glaring. “They can’t get married. No offense to your mom—”

“And none to your dad, but you’re right. That’s the only thing we can agree on.”

“Why not?” Mooney said. “So Dad’s a carnie and your mom’s a herbie. So what? If they—”

Four sets of hostile eyes glared him into silence. Mooney gulped his soda.
“So,” Bo said, “what do we do about it?”

Nothing at the moment, because the squirrel returned with a server bearing a broad tray. The server placed Caesar salads before the bighorns and plates of meat appetizers in front of Nick and Mooney. “Compliments of the house,” the squirrel said. “Your mom and your dad express their apologies. They’re gonna be delayed for a bit. They said for you guys to go ahead with dinner.”

“What do you mean, delayed?” Nick demanded. “What’s going on?”

The squirrel just shrugged and reached around behind his back. Some shooters kept their guns in their waistbands. Nick quickly subsided. The squirrel grinned. “Enjoy your meal.”

Good luck with that. Since neither species was averse to free food, all five dug into their salads. All chewed loudly and carefully, as if they were imagining chewing on something else. An enemy's body parts, for instance. Except for Mooney, who inhaled his appetizers with gusto. Damn betas. Next to useless.

Time stretched uncomfortably. Nick glanced at his watch and was startled to discover close to an hour had slipped past them. Where the hell was Dad? What was he doing?

Mary squirmed. Nick figured she was getting restless too, until she pulled out a cell phone. Obviously she couldn’t hear it, so she must have had it set on vibrate. She checked her text messages. Her face went white. She hauled frantically on Bo’s arm, then showed him the screen.

Bo’s mouth got thin and hard. “They didn’t.”

Hannibal broke off glaring at Nick to glance over. “Didn’t what?”

In response, a white-lipped Bo activated Mary’s never-used voice mail. “Greetings, pups. By the time you hear this, it’ll be too late for retaliation. Y’see, tonight proved to Elly and me that you pigheaded twits will never see reason. So hump you. Judge Alsop was kind enough to marry us in the kitchen, with Louie and Gil as our witnesses. We’re on our way to Vegas for our honeymoon even as we speak. So play nice, boys and girl, you’re family now. Oh, and somebody tell Lance, will you? And email me a picture of his face.” The message ended on a hoot of laughter.

Stricken faces ringed the table. Mary’s came on a time delay, following Bo’s sign-language recap. “They eloped?” Mooney said. Nick glared at his brother. Mr. Obvious.

“Well, good for them.” Mooney picked up his glass of soda, made a face at it, and got up and headed for the bar.

“Good?” Nick echoed. “What the hell’s good about it?”

“That’s not all,” Hannibal said. “They stiffed us for the check.”

Just like a wolf. Just like Dad. Nick put his head in his hands. “Who could use a drink?” he said. “On me.”

The Big Announcement

Vernon MacMahon, owner of Talbot’s Peak’s own Grease ‘n’ Grill, takes great pleasure in announcing that Eleanor Ewing has agreed to join him in a state of holy matrimony. The wedding will take place this August at—

“ZIVA!”

Ziva winced. Nick’s tone didn’t bother her, but the volume was uncalled for, especially right up against her sensitive ears. “Problem, boss?”

Nick shook the latest edition of the Gutts ‘n’ Butts Gazette in front of her face. The paper was folded over so the offensive story couldn’t possibly escape her. “What the hell’s this?”

“Your dad came in while you were at lunch and asked me to run the announcement. What was I supposed to do, tell him sorry, can’t do it because his son the editor is a racist jerk?”

“You could have buried it in the back with the used car ads. Not blast it all over the front page!”

Ziva shrugged. “Slow news day?”

“It’s a conspiracy. Everybody’s out to get me.” Nick dragged his hand through his hair. “You know what’s going to happen? Check your computer. Look at the comments. The hate mail has started already.”

“I’ve been screening the emails. We’ve had a couple nasty ones, but I deleted those. The rest have been overwhelmingly positive.”

“The rest are from herbivores. Of course they’d be positive. As far as I’m concerned, good wishes from a herbie counts as hate mail.”

Ziva mentally shook her head. Getting past Nick’s prejudice and his twisted logic was going to take a lot of heavy lifting. “Don’t you want your dad to be happy?”

“He was happy. He had the grill and all the ladies he could hump. Wolf ladies. Some cat-tail once in a while. He doesn’t need to marry somebody who won’t even keep meat in the house. She’ll probably have him eating that tofu crap.” Nick shuddered.

“That’s probably better for him, at his age. He’s not as active as he used to be. When’s the last time he even shifted?”

“He’s shifted, all right. Right over to the herbie camp.”

Nick rolled up the paper and whapped his palm with it. Ziva watched every vicious thwack with fascination. Maybe she could divert all that pent-up anger into something more constructive. Get him to whack that rolled-up paper against her tush, for instance. It would get his mind off his dad and Miss Elly and make everybody happy in the process.

She stood up and reached for him playfully. “Settle down, Nicky. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? When my own father is about to marry some stinking—”

He broke off, his stare aimed over her shoulder. Ziva turned around. Mary, Miss Elly’s daughter and the company typist, stood like a statue, her eyes trained on Nick’s lips. Jamie Olsen, the staff photographer, hovered behind her, looking mighty uncomfortable.

“We, um, heard the ruckus,” Jamie said. “I mean, I did. Mary followed me.” He tugged at his shirt collar. “Well. Guess you two are gonna be brother and sister now, huh?”

“Sister?” Nick stared at Mary, looking sicker by the minute. “No. Not a chance. That’s where I draw the line.”

Mary signed something at Jamie. He signed back. When she looked at Nick again, her face had grown dark as a pre-tornado sky. She signed savagely.

“Mary says she ain’t happy about it either, but it’s her mama’s life and she’s good with it,” Jamie translated. “She don’t want you saying anything bad about her mama. Or herbivores in general, come to that.”

“No? Well, get used to it, sweetie. I don’t chew cud and I don’t need a sister at this late date, and I’ll say whatever I want about whoever I want, and that includes your mommy, who is not going to be my mommy in any sense of the word. You don’t like it, too flea-scratching bad.”

Mary glared at him, then signed something. “She said you’re a—” Jamie got red in the face. “She says you’re mean.”

“Look at this face. Tell me if it looks like it cares.”

Mary’s single-finger response needed no translation.

Now Nick got red. “You watch your language, little girl. You join our family, you join the pack. That makes me your alpha as well as your brother. So when I say jump—”

Mary lowered her head and charged.

That was one of the problems with a bighorn sheep. Their heads were granite-hard in both their forms. Nick reflected on this while he sprawled on his back on the floor groaning and holding his stomach. Ziva cradled his head in her lap while Mary glowered down at him. Jamie held onto her to prevent any follow-ups.

“Attacking your boss,” Nick croaked. “I can fire you for that.”

“I don’t think you can,” Jamie said. “A good lawyer’d pass it off as a rank challenge between siblings. You know, pack entrance exam? I don’t think you want to take her on in a real fight. She’d whup your ass. And you ain’t even faced down Bo and Hannibal yet. You keep pushing, you’ll end up the family omega before your pappy and Miss Elly even get to the vows part.”

Scat in the bath water. What the hell did a damn red wolf know about gray wolf pack matters? Not as much as Mary did, blast the sour luck.

Still glaring at Nick, Mary signed to Jamie. “She wants an apology,” he said.

Nick struggled upright. He bared his teeth. “Here’s what you’re getting,” he said. “You’re now in charge of the TP Lupa column. You read all those whiny emails and solve their stupid problems. You deal with selfish old bastards who’ve lost their minds and shake up a stable family by marrying a grass-eater. At least a human would eat meat once in a while.”

“And a grown alpha wouldn’t act like a spoiled puppy and throw a temper tantrum in the work place,” Ziva said calmly. “Now, sweetheart, you’re going to alpha up and apologize to Mary, and you’re going to keep your nose out of your father’s business, and I don’t care how PO’d you get, you’re going to keep your mouth shut before Bo and Hannibal find out about this, because I like having a boyfriend who isn’t a stain in the parking lot. Got it?”

Nick growled like a Chevy's engine, but he couldn’t resist Ziva when she used her dominatrix voice. “Sorry,” he grumbled to Mary. “But you’re not off the hook. You’re doing that column, and you’ll do it with a smile or I’ll can your bighorn ass. You don’t like it, the door’s over there. Understand?”

Mary shrugged, and signed. “If she’s gonna be a columnist, she wants a raise,” Jamie said.

Nick’s jaw dropped. “Let’s give it a month and then we’ll review,” Ziva said quickly. She got Nick back on his feet and helped him into his office, while Jamie hustled Mary out of harm’s way. Who’d be the harmer and who’d be the harmee was still an open question.

“It’s not right,” Nick whined after Ziva shut the door. He sagged against his big antique desk. “It won’t work. Carnie-herbie marriages never work out. He’s only doing this to get a leg up on that stupid mayoral election. He’s going to get himself hurt, and he’s too old to get hurt. How do I make him see reason?”

Like father, like son, Ziva thought. “It’s not about reason. It’s about love. Your father’s been fond of Miss Elly for a long time. You know that. It sounds like they’ve both been lonely. Look at it this way: you’ll finally be able to start the day with a decent breakfast.”

“She serves Fakin’ Bacon. What kind of self-respecting woman serves a wolf Fakin’ Bacon?”

“The kind who may one day have a boar for a son-in-law. Miss Elly will be good for your dad. You’re not even angry with either of them, are you? You’re just upset because the world is changing.”

“It isn’t right.”

“It is what it is. The sun will continue to rise and set, even in a world with Fakin’ Bacon. Are you going to be all right?”

Nick mumbled something. Ziva found a copy of the paper and rolled it up. She slapped it against her palm, as Nick had moments ago. “Or does bad doggie need a bit of retraining?”

“I’m not a bad doggie.” He sure kept his eyes on that paper. He started to pant. “Herbies in a wolf pack. What’s the world coming to?”

“Let me show you,” Ziva purred. She shoved him onto the desk.

A Decent Proposal

Vernon MacMahon did a double-take when he saw who’d just walked in and taken a seat at the Grease ‘n’ Grill. “Elly? Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but what are you doing in here?”

Elly scanned the all-meat-dishes menu, then laid it aside without even shuddering. “Thought I’d come visit. You’re in my place half the time, and I’ve never once been here. You still carry fruit, right?"

“Some,” Vern said, and tossed her a fresh apple to prove it. Elly bit into it, chewed, and gave him a thumbs up. “Coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head. Vern shrugged and poured himself a cup. He took the seat at the table opposite Miss Elly. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here, or do I have to guess?”

“Curiosity,” she replied once she’d swallowed her bite of apple. “I saw you changed your hours. You open at eleven now. Not serving breakfast any more?”

“What’s the point? I can’t compete with your flapjacks. Even carnies eat breakfast at the Bighorn. I know when I’m licked. Lunch is my busy time anyway. Go with the flow, like they used to say back in my cubhood.”

“Maybe if you were here more often during breakfast instead of at the Bighorn, you’d do better.”

“I like to be where the action is. During breakfast, that’s your place. So now I do lunch and dinner, and I still get to eat your tasty flapjacks.” He flashed his charming grin at her. “And the pleasure of your company.”

“I’m not giving you any discounts, Vern.”

“Not even if … ” He combed back his luxurious mane of silver-gray hair with one hand.

“If what?” Elly prompted.

Vernon gave his trim moustache a quick lick for good measure. “I was going to save this for tomorrow morning, but as long as you’re here … Eleanor Quickfoot Ewing, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Elly stared at her half-eaten apple. “I think your fruit’s gone bad. I could have sworn you just proposed.”

“I did indeed. Elly, will you marry me?”

Elly set the apple aside and crossed her arms before her on the table, the better to look Vernon square in the eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“Elly, I’m hurt.”

“You’re a wolf. There’s a catch.”

“All right, you’ve got me. I’m tired of being a lone wolf. I want to settle down. That’s easier for betas. No pressure to have cubs. Your children are grown—”

“And dangerous. The boys are going to stomp you when they hear about this. Then Mary will shred the remains. You sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

“I was hoping you’d intercede on my behalf. Come on, Elly. I enjoy waking up in the morning next to a beautiful woman. Wouldn’t you like to wake up in the morning next to a gorgeous man?”

“Sure. Point him out.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious, Elly.”

“I know you are. That’s what’s got me wondering. This isn’t about that stupid election, is it?”

“I swear on my pack I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Pull the other one, Vernon. People like their leaders mated. Especially wolves. A wife would give you a leg up, pardon the pun.”

“I won’t deny I thought of that,” Vernon admitted. “A well-liked and trusted businesswoman in the community, mother of two pro football stars, daughter overcame personal challenges, a pillar of shifter society—”

“And a herbivore,” Elly finished. “You know what could happen to your political career, not to mention your life, if you married a herbivore?”

“Yes,” Vernon said. “I thought about that too. You know what makes a lone wolf lone? They don’t give a rip for the rules.” He took Elly’s hand. “So how about it, Elly? Will you marry me? You might as well say yes, because I’m going to keep coming over to the Bighorn every morning anyway. It’s not like I have anything better to do in the morning. And there’s truly nothing better than gazing upon your beautiful face, even with the flour smudges.” He brushed one such smudge from beside her nose. “What do you say?”

“You big bad wolf,” Elly said fondly. She squeezed his hand and smiled.

Walk Like a Man

Nilambari said nothing during the entire ride in Rick’s pickup down the mountain into Talbot’s Peak. Once they reached the town, however, she clung to his arm and stuck close to his side while her wide eyes suspiciously scanned every person on the street. So many were shifters. So many could be agents of Shere Khan.

“Why are we here?” she whispered. “Shere Khan’s men are everywhere. I need to hide.

“You need to eat,” Rick said, “and we need info on what’s up with Ol’ Stripes. This diner and the coffee shop are the best places to catch up on the gossip.” He grinned and gently disengaged his arm from her nervous clutch. “Easy there, sugar smacks. This is mainly a herbie place. Next time I’ll take you to a restaurant that serves meat.”

Rick guided them to an out-of-the-way table near the back. Nilambari seated herself with her back to the wall and a full view of the other customers. Her eyes and nose were well attuned to the nuances of herbivores and carnivores. Most of the patrons did indeed belong to the Grass Castes. That didn’t exclude them from service to Lord Khan.

Perhaps she should run from this American lion who’d promised to protect her. His plan was insane. But where would she go? Where could she go?

A middle-aged woman with white, tightly-curled hair and the smells of flour and a mountain meadow on her stopped by their table. “Rick,” she said. “Haven’t seen you in town in a dog’s age.” Her bright eyes raked Nilambari like searchlights. Nilambari stared at her menu. “And who’s this you brought along?”

“This is my cousin Barry,” Rick said. Lies dripped so easily from his tongue. “He stopped in to check out the Peak.”

The voice came nearer as the woman leaned over the table. “Nice tan, kid.”

“He’s from Utah. Desert cats, y’know. Lot’a mountain lions down there have darker skin and fur.”

“So I’ve heard. What can I get you boys?”

“Two specials. Strawberry for me, blueberry for the kid, scrambled eggs on both.”

“You got it.” Thank Vishnu, the woman walked away.

“This isn’t going to work,” Nilambari muttered. “I can’t pass for a man.”

“You’re doing fine so far. The after-shave’s messing up your scent real nice. Anyone whiffs cat on you will just assume you’re a mountain lion like me.”

“A female, not a male. What happens when I go into heat?”

Rick displayed sudden interest in his coffee. “We’ll ford that stream when we get there.”

This is a stupid plan, she thought, adjusting her cowboy hat. All that hair of hers crammed under it made her head hot as a Bengali jungle. Rick had assured her she needn’t cut it if she didn’t want to. Many native shifters wore their hair long, and everybody knew cats from Utah were a bit tetched. All that desert sun.

The rest of the clothes he’d insisted she wear she could tolerate, thought the jeans felt strange on her legs. For once her lack of curves played to her advantage. “You look male,” he’d told her. She’d managed not to shudder.

She’d noticed Rick spent a lot of time gazing at her butt. His attention eased her concern.

The food arrived. She found the “flapjacks” unique and even tasty, despite the lack of meat. She pretended total interest in her food while in reality eavesdropping on the conversations around her. None held much interest for her, until she caught the name “Shere Khan.”

Her bits of flapjack fell off her fork. She didn’t notice.

The speakers were a handsome old wolf and an equally-grizzled ape. They laughed as if Shere Khan were nothing, a joke. “Shipped in some little tigress as a bride for one of his sons,” the ape was saying. “Then the girl up and runs off. I never knew tigers had that much sense. The old rug’s plenty ticked.”

“She must’ve heard I was in town. How do I look?” The old wolf slicked back his hair.

“It tastes better if you put it in your mouth,” Rick suggested.

Nilambari got up. “Excuse me. I need to use the facilities.”

Outside the doors marked “Rams” and “Ewes” she hit another obstacle. Her needs said one, her garb the other. As she agonized before them, the curly-haired woman came over. “Trouble, hon?”

“No, of course not. I was simply, um … ”

The woman pondered her, then the two doors. “Men’s room’s having issues,” she said. “Go ahead and use the ladies’. I’ll stand guard.” Nilambari darted gratefully inside.

Once she’d tended to business and gotten her heartbeat back under control, Nilambari fixed the set of her hat once again and exited the stall. The herbivore woman was standing by the sinks. Nilambari froze, staring at her. A place for gossip, Rick had said. Eyes and ears of Shere Khan?

The woman shook her head. “Men. Think slapping men’s clothes on a woman will hide her. From another man, maybe. You the girl Khan’s looking for?”

“You know I am,” she accused.

“Easy, girl. Nobody in town gives rat scat for the bastard. That doesn’t mean someone won’t try to turn you in. I know coyotes who’d do it for laughs. If you’re going to be Rick’s cousin Barry, you’d better do it right.”

“The jeans are not enough?”

“The jeans are a start. Wear a looser shirt. It’ll hide what’s up top. And fix that walk. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off your butt, and he wasn’t the only one. I assume it’s straight man you’re going for. How do the men you know walk?”

“Like rajahs. Like all places are theirs. Like tigers.”

“That’s how you walk from now on. Watch Rick. He moves slow and easy, but others get out of his way. That’s a king cat, and now that’s you. Do you know how to use make-up?”

“Of course.”

“From now on, you use it different. Forget about the eyes and the lips. Square that chin up a little. Thicken the eyebrows. You can draw in some lip hair and stubble with pencil. It won’t fool anybody up close, but at a distance it’ll feed the illusion. Have Rick buy you decent hiking boots. You may have to run in them.”

She nodded agreement over every suggestion. “You’re a grass-eater. Why are you helping me?”

The woman flashed a sunny smile that somehow had fangs in it, in spite of her diet. “Because nothing makes a herbie happier than sticking it to a carnie, and sticking it to Shere Khan makes me happy as hell. Besides, I like Rick. He never tried to chase my boys. He’s got smarts, for a cat. Now show me that walk.”

Nilambari re-entered the dining area with a tiger’s stride, mindful of her hips. Rick automatically stiffened. He’d noted the difference. No one else paid her any attention.

“You stuck your tail in the bear trap this time,” the woman murmured to Rick as she cleared the plates off their table. “Word is that runaway girl was meant as a wife for Ravi. He’s a bastard and a half. You and your cousin better keep your eyes peeled and your ears perked.”

“I’m picking up extra ammo,” Rick said. “Thanks, Elly.”

“Always happy to help out a friend. Something for the road?”

“Not today. We better skedaddle.” A trio of coyotes had entered the diner. Of course they zeroed in on the one new face. Their manner reminded Nilambari of jackals. More than tails would wag after breakfast, and word had a way of spreading.

Rick paid the tab and got up. Nilambari and her new walk followed him out of the diner, head high and confident, just like a male. Rick’s wild plan might succeed after all. As long as she didn’t have to cut her hair.

Top Chef

Norbert had to look twice, then add one extra look to make sure he’d really seen what he thought. Yeppur, no mistaking that belly and that rolling stride. One of the greatest shifter chefs of the modern age had just walked into a lowly diner.

Norbert hurried over and went in. The place was just beginning to fill up with the breakfast crowd. His target had a booth all to himself and had already been served his coffee. Norbert slid in opposite, practically shaking with excitement. “You’re Louie Delavecchio.”

The rat regarded him warily. “Yeah?”

“I saw you on TV. You were on King of the Kitchen.”

“Oh, is that all.” Louie shrugged it off. “That was a while ago. Hey, aren’t you that Norbert guy what works over at the new supper club?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Norbert said, surprised. “You know about that? Me working there?”

“I make it my business to keep up with the competition. Rat, y’know. You’re a—” He snapped his fingers. “Bear?”

“Polar bear. I specialize in seafood.”

“Yeah, me too. That’s why I been keeping an eye on you. I been hearing good things. I tried your red snapper. Delish.”

Norbert knew he must be blushing but didn’t give a rip. “I’m not in your league. I tried out for King of the Kitchen and didn’t make the cut.”

“Yeah, well, keep trying. You got what it takes. I know bears got a rep as vacuum cleaners—it ain’t nailed down, they eat it. That just gives your palate a wider range of experience. Take it from an expert.”

“I know. I used to love the dishes you’d come up with in the quickie challenge.”

“Hell, that was a snap. Any rat worth his tail can make a meal out’a garbage. It’s what we do. Making a meal some other species’ll eat, that’s the tricky part. I gotta keep reminding myself who I’m cooking for.”

“You should have won that show. You got gypped.”

“Nah, I got out-cooked. I kept forgetting the judges were human. Pickier’n koala bears.” Louie leaned across the formica table. “I’m gonna let you in on a secret, kid. You wanna sharpen your skills, cook for humans. Shifters, they don’t give a scat what you put in front of ‘em. They’ll eat a carcass what’s been sitting out in the woods for three days. That don’t mean you get to sit on your tailbone. You still gotta bring your A-game to the plate. Sure, they’ll eat whatever you serve ‘em, but will they come back? You want ‘em to keep coming back. That’s where that pinch of sage or basil in just the right dish makes a world of difference.”

“Have you ever cooked for humans before?”

“Yeah, all’a time, back in Jersey. That’s why everybody here thinks I’m such hot scat. I got used to a higher standard. Apes don’t like what you feed ‘em, they let you know it in no uncertain terms. Ain’t a rat alive wouldn’t rise to that challenge. I don’t like dodging poo.”

Norbert filed these tips away for future reference. “Why didn’t Dante hire you?”

“He tried, but I like being my own boss. It ain’t supposed to be common knowledge, but I’m half owner of Rattigan’s. Don’t tell nobody.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry I butted in on your breakfast like this. I saw you on the street and I just couldn’t help it.”

“S’okay. I like talking shop with a fellow chef. Like I said, they ain’t exactly, wossa word, conny-sewers around here.”

“So,” Norbert said carefully, “what are you doing in this dive?”

“Watch your mouth, kid. This ain’t no dive. Lady runs this joint fed three pro football players on a vegetarian diet. Even the best can still learn from somebody. I learn her secrets, I can name my own price, especially here in this town.”

“Guess again.” Miss Elly herself brought Louie’s blueberry flapjacks to the table. She winked at Norbert. “Still after my recipes, eh, Louie?”

“Who, me? Nah. I just come in for breakfast.”

“Sure you do. Once a rat … ”

“You herbies sure are a suspicious bunch. What kind’a flour you use?”

“Keep guessing.” Miss Elly smiled at Norbert. “What can I get for you, honey?”

“Whatever he wants,” Louie said with a grin. “It’s on me.”