Kisa was waiting in the front room.

“Blush, wait.”

I had one hand on my boots, the other halfway through the act of pulling the hood of my sweatshirt over my face. She stood to meet me at the door, slipping elegantly through the arch of the room’s doorframe. Her stance was more fluid, relaxed.

“Shellin left?” I asked. She nodded.

“I just wanted to give you this,” she said, tucking a foreign object into the back pocket of my jeans, “before you left.” She withdrew her hand and I replaced it, dipping my fingers into the dark confines of my pocket. Something hard and cool nestled between the walls of fabric. It was slick to the touch.

I removed it, flicking the small red rectangle back and forth between my fingers. The scarlet casing was detailed with a burned image of a butterfly, one wing crumpled and failing. A mirror image decorated the opposite side, and in between, hidden and lustrous, was a sinister silver gleam. The metal seemed to flow between the two sides, making me feel a little sick. I grabbed the glistening blade with the edge of my finger and flipped it open. Kisa watched me calmly.

“This is your pocket knife,” I said, though the words came out sounding more like a question.

Kisa folded the blade back down with two fingers, carefully avoiding the wide side of my thumb, just a sliver away from the blades confines, clean and ready to be cut. “I know, but if you’re going to be out there I’d feel better if you had something to protect yourself with.” She was quiet for a moment, before saying, “They may not seem like a threat to you, but if something happens...” Her words drifted off into silence.

“Kisa, listen—”

“Just take it?” She was looking at my hands again; this time my large long fingers cradling the knife instead of small curled angry ones. She had her hand at her throat again: Kisa’s nervous habit. Under her hand, down and between her pale breasts, Kisa kept her secret, a smooth trail of white fur. Kisa had the fox in her the same way I wore the black tear stains on my face.

Before Shellin had wormed his way between my sister and I, she wore her fur proudly. Now her hand was always under her throat, like she was trying to push down heartburn or a sob. Shellin despised the fox in my blood, the same as he would in Kisa the moment he found out. She knew this, deep down. The depth of Shellin’s hatred, on the other hand, she was oblivious to.

“Is he coming tonight?” I asked, watching her. Her face tightened, the hand closing even more firmly around her own throat; her eyes, separate from all her physical movements, softened.

“Yes,” she breathed. She said the word like the cusp of a moan and I shuddered internally.

“So,” I said, gesturing to her chest with the doubled over blade, “when are you going to show him. Tonight?” Kisa mouth abruptly tensed, her eyes going down. I stared down the tiny blond eye that was the swirl her hair spiraled outwardly from atop her head. She said nothing. “Just tell me when, okay?” I sighed, half turning. “I’ll take your knife tonight, but I’ll be leaving it with you whatever night you plan to tell him.”

“Blush!” she snapped, her face coming up angry and even more pinched than before. I shrugged at her, offering no sort of apology, and retreated out the door.

As I ducked through trees, bounding over and around the hidden roots and sandy patches that made the forest floor of Shelter Wood with well-practiced ease, I willed my mind off of Kisa and into the day. I focused on smells, wood, leaf, a tomcat’s urine that must have stumbled through. The light came dusky and lazily through the thick branches, piddling off leaves like weightless rain.

Shelter was a famous fauna hideaway. Fauna, as most ‘animals’ called themselves, had flocked here for centuries, seeking seclusion and safety among the trees. Cumberbain, a large human city, lay just north. The city was continually expanding, eating up the brief gap that had separated the two worlds of Shelter and Cumberbain, and was now tumbling over into it.

Two years ago a great rush of fauna and their young were forced to retreat further into Shelter to avoid a clearing fire that had been set to make room for more housing. I remembered it as I passed the trees, recalling the turmoil that tore up the soil and brush as the refugees came through. My home, by sheer luck, had been built in a natural clearing half a day’s walk from the end of Shelter’s previous confines. Today it would only take me three or four hours to reach the city. The reduction in travel time could have something to do with my growth in the last few years, but I suspected other sources had much more influence.

These thoughts were still in my mine as I caught scent of the tell-tale smoke that proceeded Cumberbain’s actual presence. I’d be there within the hour. For a moment as I ducked under the branch of a particularity fat maple, impregnated with sap, I took a moment to glance at my watch. It had only been an hour and a half since I left home. Humanity was bearing closer.

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Cumberbain, on a Saturday, reeked of food, smoke, and as a passed Hollerway, a local brothel, women. The population was nearly eighty percent women, a peculiarity in such a large town. I picked between a large gaggle of six or seven woman, two with youngsters balanced on their hips, keeping my face low. I felt eyes on me as I passed. One must have caught a glance at my face. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt lower.

It rested now just over the tip of my nose, cutting my vision down to a sliver only a step and half ahead of my feet. I walked carefully, watching for swirls of dust that would announce an approaching carriage. Otherwise, I could maneuver almost solely by smell. Two women and one young man passed on my right, each laughing and exchanging sips from a particularly noxious bottle. I wrinkled my nose and avoided the rowdy drunks by dipping into an alley. The smell of urine and unwashed bodies festered here, an unpleasant and heavy smell. I walked quickly.

It was darker in the alley, the smells suffocating and confusing, and I was forced to push up my hood and watch where I was going. I recognized the familiar iron and wood door, decorated with an insignia of a two-headed snake swallowing a three-headed rabbit, of Malure’s Pub. It was one of the few businesses run by a fauna that had managed to survive in Cumberbain. Probably because almost no one knew the owner was a fauna at all.

I opened the door with my shoulder and entered, removing my hood completely.

The air was dusky, smoke taking up the top foot and half of air between the ceiling and the floor. The pub was closed on Saturday’s to the locals, a rare fauna only exclusive. Three or four fauna huddled quietly over a table in the back, while a regular drunk occupied the far left end of the bar. I took up a stool a few seats away from her.

“San gaudi,” Malure said, his words coming thick and joyful from his even thicker body. Her plunked a full glass of beer before me. “On the house.”

“San gaudi des,” I responded, using the code response by sheer habit. Malure’s greeting and my response were secret words used between fauna trying to recognize fellows in hiding without revealing themselves. Occasionally a human would overhear and use it for his or her own purposes, but in most cases in a safe way to recognize others.

I tipped my glass of beer toward Malure in thanks. He waggled his ears, exposed today, at me. Malure was a rabbit, full blood and able to control which parts of his shape showed his previous heritage. At will he could bring his ears forward to hang over his eyes. On other occasions he thumped back and forth behind the bar on fat backwards jackrabbit legs, at other times he spoke with his higher natural voice that whistled around oversized teeth.

Today he reached across the bar and ran a thumb down my nose and cheek. “Yer face is dirty.”

“Fuck you, Malure. I’m not in the mood today.” Malure shrugged and made for the kitchen to pull together a fresh batch of fried nuts in peach cream. I could smell the nuts and over ripe fruit already.

Normally, Malure’s teasing about my face didn’t bother me. He knew I was a half blood, as much human as fox, and couldn’t change or manipulate my physical appearance like full breeds. I had no shame in my heritage, but wearing a fox’s blood on my face could get in the way from time to time.

That thought got me thinking about Shellin again. My blood was obvious. Kisa on the other hand...

I somehow shook my head and took a swig of my beer at the same time. The bitter taste cleared my head, brought my mind to the night ahead. Three or four more glass, a few for some unlucky lady, and the night would be going as planned. All I had to do was find a half decent party, the kind I could fit in at.

I scooted backwards off my stool, carrying my beer with me. Malure had filled it extra full and for a moment it nearly sloshed over my fingers. I took a moment to lick a driblet off the side of the glass before it dribbled onto my boots, and then made my way to the far end of the bar.

A bulletin board was posted there, clustered with cheaply dyed papers. The bulletins fanned outwards, inviting me to pick through. Five or six were scheduled for tonight. These I tore from the board and brought back to my seat where the lighting was better. From here I sorted out which parties seemed plausible for my entrance.

Two were masquerade parties, which were both currently quite popular and very convenient. One other was for a darkness party, where the whole thing was lit by nothing but candles and purely for the purpose of finding someone to sleep with. The rest were fairly useless to me, to which I crumpled up and threw in a wastebasket behind the bar.

My three remaining options were the darkness party, called Night of Destruction. It boasted loaded kegs and free vodka for all men. I decided not to vote it out quite yet. The two masquerade parties would both be located in the same building at The Bend, a strip of alternative stores and bars. The first was a creature party, where everyone gathered in masks of different fauna, acting out the parts of their perspective creatures. The second took place earlier in the day. It was a politician mask party; one based more on human mockery.

My current rule of thumb was no more than one party a night. News of fauna in the area got around fast, especially those anywhere near a party location. This had mostly to do with the fact that fauna made amusing victims for drunks because they tended to hover between shapes when cornered, trying to find the best way to protect themselves.

Malure was making another round. I ordered something stronger, though I didn’t recall what it was later.

I hovered between the creature and darkness party. I’d never missed a chance to throw a curveball by being the animal behind the mask, but free vodka and a dark room made finding a girl easier. Not to mention the other benefits of free hard liquor.

Malure stepped into my lighting, drenching the fliers in shadow. He picked up one in the same motion that he served me my drink. He flipped the darkness flier back to me. “Ya going to this?” he asked me.

I took a sip before shaking my head. “Haven’t decided.”

“News is starting to get around about you,” he said, picking up the other flier. I snatched it back, even though it was the politician one I’d already decided I wasn’t going to.

“What are you, my sister? I’m sick of being told what to do.”

Malure’s ears twitched, bobbing over his brown hair. “I never told you what to do; you’re more than old enough to decide for yourself. It’s not even the parties I’m yakking about. I’m more worried about this shady sunglass fellow who comes in here every other day. He’s giving the whole damn town you’re bad press.”

I picked up my glass, but it was somehow empty. I hadn’t remembered drinking it. “Shellin? What the fuck should I care about what he has to say?”

“You know the chap? He sounds like he’s trying to rally every boozy in the place against you and every other fauna that’s got the nerve to breath in the open air, but you’re the favorite.”

I laughed. “Know him? He’s got his head set to fuck Kisa.”

“Your sweet baby?”

I laughed at this. Malure was one of the few people who knew the secret of Kisa’s real relation to me. He was polite about it and kept our names out of the press, at least for a time.

“Yeah, she’s dating him.” Malure wrinkled his nose. It was changing as he did so, shrinking and changing texture, from oily pore-ridden skin to soft pink felt. “She’s completely in love. Googley-eyed, soft-sighing, daydreaming in love. She’s got every fucking symptom. I don’t have the heart to tell her what a prick he is.”

Malure was refilling my glass, even though I didn’t ask him to. “That one’s on the house too. Look, does he know she’s as foxy as you are, in the literal sense?”

I took a grateful swig, before standing and pulling up my shirt to expose my stomach. Malure recoiled as he saw the pattern of bruises; the now fully formed pink nose twisting like he smelled something rancid. I couldn’t help but smile.

“What do you think?” I dropped the end of the shirt and reached for the glass again, toasting him this time to show off my fingers. Malure shook his head and walked away as I emptied the glass.

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I’d been hiding the abuse I’ve received from Shellin for over two years now. Every attempt I made to tell Kisa got the same reaction:

“I know what you think of people, Blush. Shellin’s not like that.”

Even if her devotion waned in the slightest I never had any proof. Shellin on the other hand, had a perfectly good explanation for every mark:

“I bet if he stopped fucking around and stayed out here where he belongs, he’d stop coming home with blackeyes and twisted fingers. You can’t blame that shit on me.”

After a year of hearing how Shellin was such a nice guy and he couldn’t possibly have laid a finger on me, I gave up. The look of Kisa’s disappointment, after every time I ‘lied’, I could no longer bear.

Baseball caps and sweatshirts cover bruises well.

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Three full glasses of something sour and indefinable later and I was feeling pretty good. I decided to go to both the darkness party and the masquerade, throwing caution to the wind, as well as making a round trip back to Malure’s to discuss the night’s achievements. Malure promised to leave the door unlocked. I folded each flyer carefully, shoved them both in my pocket, blew Malure a kiss, and headed for the door.

I pulled my hood up and stepped back into the alley. It was already dark. The alley seemed at first to be quite empty, besides a snoozing drunk three doors down, but as I listened and sniffed, adjusting to the night, a soft sound came from behind me. A whisper, then the low moan of a woman. I pulled my hood back some, to uncover my ears. I could hear panting now, slow and steady. The couple must have just begun. For a moment I entertained the idea of sneaking a peek, but as I glanced at my watch, the face glowing blue in the dark, I changed my mind. I had only half an hour to get to The Bend; there was no time for pit stops.

I left my hood down until I reached the end of the alley, where the streetlights would have exposed my face, before pulling it back up. Again, sound and sight were damped, but smell filled the gaps.

Most people were in for a time, families setting their children to bed; everyone else was partying. I could hear three different distinct music beats all at the same time, even from under my hood. Somewhere further off a siren rang. I sniffed. Must have been a fire somewhere?

I wondered for a moment what Kisa was doing.

Then I ducked across the street, avoiding the wide curve of the streetlight, into the next alley. This one smelled the same as all the rest, and I held my breath as long as I could, half-jogging through. Towards the end of the alley someone had stacked a series of crates, recently in fact, since I’d never known them to be there before. I clambered over them, mentally reminding myself use a different alley on the way back. I reached the street on the opposite side, waited for a carriage of giggling young women to pass, before crossing myself.

I nearly entered the next lane, but at the last second I turned, smelling dirty skin and blood: a mugger or a rapist. A natural shadow lost its structure and jerked as I turned away, the man it belonged to peeling off the wall, but I was already far enough ahead or tall enough to scare him, and he settled back in place to await another passerby.

Three alleys later, halted briefly by a near collision with an overturned trash barrel I could smell but not see in the dark, and I had arrived at The Bend. I heard it before I smelled it, as the wind was blowing to the west instead of toward me, as I usually preferred. The sound started as a soft hum, like a bug nestled at the end of my ear, gradually increasing to become a heart beat, rapid and more raucous the closer I got.

Once I was close enough to hear it, I had also begun to run into people: late night shoppers, prostitutes, homeless, and the ever-zealous partygoers. These I couldn’t avoid, and due to the fact that most of them were drunk before they had even begun, as I myself was, they could not avoid me. I shuffled between groups, brushing shoulders and occasionally hands. As I got closer the space between civilians became more confined and I had to keep a hand on my hood to keep it from being pushed off my face.

I had stopped, ducked down beside an abandoned apple barrel to reread the flyers, when a gaggle of girls, overbalancing in their high heels, careened into me. I’d heard them coming and stepped out of the way just in time to avoiding being knocked to the ground.

“Sorry!” they cooed in unison. Simultaneously, they all began to laugh, except for one girl who actually did fall. “Knock it off, you guys” she whined. “Help me up!” Her skirt was torn, exposing a good length of her thigh. I caught myself staring and hurried away without bothering to help.

The masquerade party had been up and running for about two hours by the time I finally found it (the address that had been printed in the flyer was missing a number). Music pumped out into the street, as well as the smell of sweat, and from higher up, wafting from the windows of the second floor, the smells of sex. I bit my lip, tugging the end of my hood to be sure it was still in place, and entered.

Two girls, one dressed in a dog’s mask and the other in a sheep’s, passed me on the way out. I took a whiff of perfume before continuing, thinking about beer and san tanned skin. A booth was set just inside the door, another woman settled comfortably just behind it. As if she’d read my mind, she draped her legs over the table as I approached.

“Hey, boy,” she sighed, her voice husky in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I flashed her a smile. “I’m the selling girl tonight.”

“Are you selling masks,” I asked, pointing to the row of vizards pilled up behind her before resting a hand on her knee, “or these?” She gave a little half laugh.

“Depending on how many drinks you buy me, they could be. Either way you’re not getting in without a ‘face’. So, any favorites?” She pulled her legs away and I changed my stance so I could retreat without staggering. This allowed me to back up some so I could get a better look at the array without exposing my face. I brought a hand to my chin, feigning interest.

“Do you have any owls?” I asked, even though I knew there wouldn’t be any. Bird masks were rarely in stock. She shook her head, as I expected, taking her time as she crossed her sensual legs. They were long and tawny, smooth and narrow at her ankles that blossomed into toned calves and soft muscled thighs. Absently, I licked a lip. She laughed.

“How about a wolf? You look like you’ve already planning to eat me up.”

“Not my style,” I confessed, pretending to be engrossed in my careful choosing again. “Look, do you have any fox?”

For a moment she hesitated. I bit down on my lip, wondering if word about my regular patterns had already gotten to this side of The Bend. She didn’t move and my brain was speeding off, trying to think of a way to coolly pretend to change my mind, but it was already too late. The silence hung, her shoulders tensing, before she finally answered.

“You’ll have to pay double.”

“Double?” I snapped, acting as if I was angry while internally breathing a sigh of relief. “Why so much?”

“Well,” she began, twirling a strand of auburn hair around a tanned finger, “there’s only one left. I wanted to wear it once my shift was over.”

I didn’t answer right away, a plan forming. “How much is double?”

“30 Leef.”

I bit my lip theatrically, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. I opened it, flipping through notes, counting under my breath. After a moment I pulled out a select few and dropped them, letting them drift two or so inches to the tabletop.

“How about this? I give you 50 Leef for it as well as a wolf mask. I’ve got enough left after that get your legs a drink or two.” She pouted, but excepted the currency. She stood then, and stretched to drag down the mask she’d hidden behind a shelf over the table that looked as if it only held a dusty vase otherwise. The wolf mask she plucked out of the rest and handed them both to me, her upper lip curling lower over the bottom one.

“What the hell do you need two for, anyway?” she asked, crossing her arms. I grabbed a wrist and pulled her to me, while extracting the fox mask out of the strap from the other. She yelped, but quieted as I slipped the ornament over her eyes.

She fingered the edge when I released her, while I gave her whole body a once over. “So I can recognize you. Bring your legs to bar when your shift is over?” She smiled then, a long full-lipped smile that flowed onto her face like oil. I grinned back, knowing I’d won.

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