Read Online Feral Curse by Cynthia Leitich Smith - Free Book Online Page B

makes a show of yawning. “Stuck-up, insecure Wolf-studies scholar, dating a hot redhead — also a good friend of Aimee’s — who, incidentally, hates me (the Wolf, not the girl) and probably any other guy who dares to speak to his woman.”
    “How can anybody be stuck-up
and
insecure?” I want to know.
    “Kieren doesn’t hate you,” Aimee replies in an exasperated tone, and I can tell they’ve had this conversation before. “Or ‘any other guy.’ But you shouldn’t have ogled —”
    “Ogled? I did
not
ogle. I was being friendly and —”
    “Kieren said to call if we needed him,” she puts in, as if that’s the end of it.
    “How big is Austin’s shifter population?” I ask.
    I’ve always read that our total U.S. population is estimated at something like one half of one percent, but there’s nothing to say that the human sources typically quoted know what they’re talking about, and it’s in the best interests of shifters to lie.
    Aimee’s grin is wry. “Seems bigger every time I turn around. About the carousel?”
    For a lot of reasons, I’m glad she’s here, nudging me forward. As the mayor’s daughter, I know more about the carousel than most. “The city council bought it from a traveling carnival that passed through town. There was a lot of talk about the fortune-teller, a Madame Zelda, who signed the papers, especially when she purchased retirement property adjacent to some acreage my parents own across the river. But no one ever saw her again. I think . . .”
    “What?” Yoshi presses.
    I meet his steady gaze. “She’s . . . like us.”
    “She’s a Cat?” he replies like it’s no big deal.
    Horrified, I check Aimee’s reaction. She doesn’t seem flustered. Then again, she doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by relaxing in the company of two werepredators, either. It’s stunning to think that the idea of what I am might seem like neutral news to anybody, that there are
Homo
sapiens
out there, in addition to Mom and Dad, who’re allies, friends, and maybe even more.
    She’s a better person than Ben was, that’s for sure. Then again, maybe she’s known about us her whole life. Maybe if Ben had had more of a chance to get used to the idea . . .
    I remember him calling what I am a “nightmare.” I remember him saying I was speaking for Satan when I tried to defend myself. Maybe he never would’ve changed, no matter what.
    “It’s okay,” Yoshi says. “Aimee’s cool.”
    Aimee extends her hand to me. “He’s right,” she says. “I am cool.”
    We shake. I have two sets of skin, and I’m nowhere as comfortable in either of them as she is in hers.
    Seconds later, down in my backyard, Yoshi’s rumbling stomach is audible. I can smell the remains of pork chops — Aimee must’ve brought him breakfast — but he’s still hungry.
    I could eat something else myself. I gesture, leading them on. “This way. I’ll give you a tour of quaint, historic Pine Ridge, or at least our culinary highlights.”
    “Damn tourists!” Miz Schmidt exclaims from the clotheslines straddling her backyard. “Can you believe it?” she asks us. “Somebody stole a pair of Dylan’s jeans and his brand-new Spurs jersey. That cost me sixty bucks.”
    “The Coyote,” Yoshi whispers next to me on the sidewalk, and I know he’s right.
    When it comes to backyard clotheslines, Peter normally would’ve had more selection on a Saturday, but only a few local housewives are willing to take their chances with the forecasted rain. “Sorry to hear that,” I call. “I’ll keep an eye out for the jersey in town.” Put mildly.
    “White with black lettering,” Miz Schmidt tells me. “Number twenty-one.”
    “Got it,” I say. “Hope your day gets better from here.”
    Founders’ Day weekend features a cook-off, and the traditional categories are salsa and fajitas; chicken; pork; brisket; and chili. It’ll be a while before any of the fancy stuff’s ready to sample, but the festival food