Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

“IS YOUR UNCLE here this weekend?” Athos was saying, leaning against the bar in the Ash Veranda, waiting for the bartender to notice him.

“I don’t know,” said Stockton, who wasn’t sure how he’d ended up at the bar with Athos, who he didn’t really know very well. Athos had to be thirty-five or something, more than ten years older than Stockton, who only knew him because he was interning at the firm where Athos worked. Athos was probably going to make partner later that year. None of the partners would be here, buying drinks for young bucks before the midnight run.

Of course, none of the other partners were deerkin, so that could explain why Athos was palling around with him.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” Athos furrowed his brow, his antlers towering high over his head. He had a decade on Stockton, so he had a lot more tines than he did. Stockton’s twenty-two-year-old antlers were nothing impressive. “Don’t you live with him?”

“Sure,” said Stockton. “He gave me a place to stay in the city, but we don’t see each other much. He’s always gone by the time I wake up and when I get home, he’s either asleep in bed, napping before he does whatever he does in the evenings or he’s still at work.”

“Right, and what does he do again?” said Athos.

“Do?”

“As, you know, a job?”

“Oh.” Stockton shrugged. “He owns things.”

Athos raised his eyebrows, clearly confused.

“Like, buildings and shit,” said Stockton. “Then he sells them or rents them out or whatever.”

“So, he’s in real estate.”

“Amongst other things,” said Stockton.

The thing was, of course, Bruin wasn’t really his uncle. He was his father. Stockton didn’t know why he had hidden it. He was pretty sure, if there had been no other deerkin there when he revealed where he was staying in the city for his internship, he would have simply said he was staying at his father’s place.

But it hadn’t been that way. Athos was standing there, Athos with his huge rack of antlers, tucked into his gray, pinstripe suit, Athos who had said in passing, during some other conversation, that he was a product of two generations of women, and that he didn’t have a single mom, not at all, and he wouldn’t stand for the pity that got heaped on preykin for simply organizing themselves the way nature intended.

So.

Anyway.

It wasn’t as if Stockton hadn’t mostly been raised by his mother and aunts. His gran had been gone by then, but the family was as closeknit as you please amongst deerkin. He and his mother and siblings lived in one of the wings built onto the main house. His mother had actually grown up there and her mother before her. Stockton suspected he’d be spending large swaths of his adult life going back there himself. He would probably stay there for several months any time his sisters had new baby fawns, for instance.

But Stockton, unlike his brothers and sisters, had spent every fourth weekend and one month of each summer living with Bruin.

It was an arrangement the stag had pursued himself, after finding out he’d impregnated Stockton’s mother, something Bruin said was only fair.

But Stockton wondered if it was only because Bruin himself didn’t have a family, if he were just lonely.

Most bucks had no idea how many children they might or might not have sired. In season, even if deerkin didn’t go to organized breeding rites like this one, there tended to be a lot of hooking up—casual flings, lots of action at local bars, things of that nature. Women during that time would not be remotely monogamous, either, so there was no way—short of DNA tests—to know who fathered what fawns, and mostly, no one cared.

Sure, there were your deerkin who decided to couple up. They’d get a house together in the suburbs, both get jobs to pay off their student loans, and live in a pair bond, just as if they were foxes or hawks.

Stockton might have liked a life like that, to be honest. He and Maibell had both claimed to be on the same page. Then, last season, he was busy studying for a test and she’d gone off to some party with friends, “just the girls,” she said.

She never came home.

She was teary about it when she apologized the next morning. She said she didn’t mean it, that the buck she’d let fuck her meant nothing, that she was still in love with him, that she’d never do it again, that she’d do anything if he forgave her.

And he… tried.

Maybe he would have even managed it, that was the thing. It was only that she wanted him to be over it too quickly. He had an urge that she should check in every time they were apart, but this made him feel like an abusive, abrasive fuck-face, so he didn’t ask. Then she got home, and he was jealous, and she would cry again, and…

Anyway, she was the one who cut it off, in the end, only about four months ago.

And Stockton was here, at a rite, about to chase some literal doe tail and… and… yeah .

“Like what other things?” Athos was saying.

It took Stockton a moment to even place what Athos was talking about. “Oh, uh, boats and vehicles and stocks and gold bars and… things,” said Stockton. “When his mother died, he was the only kid, and she left him money, and he started buying stuff then.”

“His mother? You mean, your gran?”

Stockton winced. “Let’s not talk about Bruin. Nothing to say about him. He’s mostly boring.” He leaned backwards, looking behind Athos. “Where’s the bartender?”

Athos reached up to toy with the point of one of his antlers. “He’s not, like, your uncle on your father’s side, is he? Wait, do you know who your father is?”

Stockton caught sight of the bartender and flagged him over.

The bartender was sparrowkin, and he fluffed his wing feathers where they came free of his suit jacket as he approached. “What can I get for you fellows?”

Athos grinned. “Right, my treat, Stockton, didn’t I say? I’m buying. What are we drinking, though?”

Stockton shrugged.

The bartender said, “I recommend the IPA if you’re looking for something in the beer selection, and if you’re interested in some of the whiskey, which has been donated by the local distillery Barrels and Blues, there’s a selection here of signature mixed drinks made especially for the occasion.” He flipped over a menu between the two of them.

“Whiskey,” mused Athos. Then, lifting his gaze to shrug at Stockton. “What are your thoughts on gin and tonics, Stockton, my boy?”

“Love them,” said Stockton.

Athos nodded at the bartender.

“Two?” said the bartender.

“Please,” said Athos, producing his credit card.

The bartender took it.

Stockton watched the bartender go to mix the drinks, hoping the conversation had moved away from the fact that he’d grown up with a shared custody situation, unlike almost every deerkin he’d ever known.

Typically, deerkin either stuck to the old ways or they assimilated and coupled up. Strangely enough, the divorce rate amongst pair-bonded preykin was much lower than amongst predatorkin. Why that was, no one knew, but Stockton thought that if you were stubborn enough to go against your species’ tradition, you tended to be pretty certain about it.

“I thought for sure you said he’d be here,” said Athos. “I thought it was the whole reason you were here, because he signed you up, some kind of uncle-nephew bonding experience.”

Great, they were still talking about Bruin. “Not bonding experience really,” said Stockton. “I had a steady girlfriend, but it didn’t end up working out, and he said that this was just what I needed to get my mind off all of that.”

“Right,” said Athos. “Well, I hope it’s true.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean, for me,” said Athos. “I don’t know if you know this, but I used to be married.”

“I didn’t,” said Stockton. “I guess it didn’t work out?”

The bartender brought over their drinks and gave Athos back his credit card, saying he would leave the tab open until Athos wanted to close it. Athos tucked the card away, thanking the bartender, and addressing Stockton. “So, my ex was a swan,” he said.

Stockton was surprised. You didn’t hear about swans dating outside of their species a lot.

“I know,” said Athos. “Me too. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when it turned out she’d been having this longterm affair with another swan, right? Three fucking years, and I was too busy at the office to notice, or that was what she said.”

“I’m sorry,” said Stockton.

“They say that bucks like us, that we’re incapable of fidelity, but—”

“Bullshit,” said Stockton.

“Women cheat, too, is all I’m saying.” Athos drank his gin and tonic.

“Hell, yes, they do.”

“Oh, your girl? She wasn’t faithful?”

Stockton’s shoulders sagged. “I guess I wonder if it’s ridiculous to think we can fight our instincts like that? Maybe we’re all supposed to be doing it this way.”

“Was she a doe?”

Stockton nodded. “I’ve never…” He told this to his gin and tonic, not to Athos. “I’ve never been with a woman of another species.”

“Well,” said Athos. “You’re not missing much, not when it comes to most birds, anyway. Not a lot of, um, deep penetration when they’re not designed to take it.”

“Right,” said Stockton, who knew about this. Sometimes, birdkin people would get various kinds of surgeries to give them deeper cloacas, to mimic vaginas. Sometimes, the males had penises constructed. Stockton was of the opinion that people should be allowed to do whatever they wanted to their bodies, of course, but he had to admit he didn’t entirely understand.

The rumor was that bird sex was different… less orgasmic, perhaps, but more of an intense and pleasurable bonding experience. Falling in love with a bird was like nothing anyone could conceive of, an intensity that was overwhelming. Birds mated .

Of course, then there were certain kinds of ducks with their corkscrew genitalia, and labyrinthine vagina canals, and those sorts of species made war as much as love, if he understood it correctly.

“But you’re young,” said Athos. “You should experiment, not fall head-over-heels for a swan lady when you’re barely twenty and waste the best years of your life in adoration of her while she’s totally planning on falling in love with someone else.” He winced. “Okay, that’s not fair. I don’t guess she planned it.”

“So, now, this, it’s you trying to get back to your roots, do things the traditional way?”

Athos toyed with the tip of one of his antlers. “Oh, wow, I don’t know about that. Maybe? My mother, she never liked it that I had settled down with Cira—that was my wife—because it meant I was less available to the family. She thought my devotion should be to my nieces and nephews and sisters, not to a wife. I tried to balance it. It helped that Cira and I couldn’t have children ourselves, of course, so having my nieces and nephews, it was a good substitute. I’m proud of my heritage, and I’m not trying to deny where I came from, but also… it’s fucking lonely being a buck, you know?”

Stockton nodded. “Sure, I do.” Even though he’d grown up close with his father. Even though he didn’t feel lonely, not most of the time.

Athos sipped at his gin and tonic. “Are you going to the midnight run?”

“I have to sit through one of the orientation lectures first,” said Stockton.

“Oh, well, I can tell you everything they’re going to say,” said Athos. “Red means stop.” He toyed with his ear. “They have red earrings. If they have red earrings, you do not come in them.”

“I know about that,” said Stockton.

“Stop means stop,” said Athos, laughing. “Because, what he says is, ‘If there’s a dispute’”—his voice went deep and mimicking, “‘between you and a doe, the Center will side with the doe no matter what she says.’”

“He?”

“The guy doing the orientation,” said Athos. “If someone files a report on you, you’re out. For life.”

“Wow,” said Stockton.

“Yeah, but it’s actually controversial,” said Athos. “Because what they don’t do is share it with the authorities. And those reports don’t get filed until the doe gets back here. And they only go through them after each session. So, if I’m a rapist, and I wanted to, I could probably have a heyday out here, three or four does in one of these sessions. Then, get kicked out, but no real consequences. I could go up and down the coast, joining these things—”

“That’s disgusting,” said Stockton.

“Yeah, I read a big opinion piece on it,” said Athos. He took a big gulp of gin and tonic. “Anyway, that was all they said in orientation. Oh, and not to gore each other, obviously.”

“Gore each…?” Stockton realized a second late. He touched his own antlers. “Right. With these.”

“You lock in and spar, but no serious damage to anyone,” said Athos, grinning at him. “Anyway, if I see you out there, I promise not to fight you, even if you’re after one I like. And since I bought you a drink, I think it’s the least you can do in return.”

Stockton chuckled. “I see you had an ulterior motive.”

Athos chuckled too. “Nah, it’s not like that. I just saw you out here and I thought you probably don’t have a lot of discretionary funds when you’re an intern.”

“Thanks,” said Stockton, “you’re not wrong.”

“Even with that uncle of yours, whose profession seems to be ‘being rich.’”

Stockton laughed outwardly, but inwardly he groaned, because Athos wasn’t going to let this go, and he was going to have to come clean, and what sort of excuse could he use for lying?

The thing about lying was that it was almost always impulsive. You didn’t think it through. You made a decision quickly and then you had to commit to it, and it was a huge pain, because you had not thought through the longterm consequences of such a thing.

Stockton didn’t lie often.

Every time he did, he pretty much regretted it.

Damn it.

Change the subject, he thought at himself. He racked his brain, looking for some other turn in the conversation with which to entice Athos away from the subject of Bruin once and for all, and then somehow he was saved by three does, who were trying to get in to the bar to order a drink.

“Oh,” he said to one of them, “are we in your way?”

“Excuse us, ladies,” said Athos.

He and Athos parted, each going to the other side of the three women, and the three of them, all in a clump of big eyes and cute ears and white little tails, smiled at him and smiled at Athos and smiled at the bartender.

Okay, then, he was definitely in a rut, wasn’t he? Sun and moon, they looked good. His pelvis was practically tingling. His pants were too tight. Suddenly, it became clear to Stockton that it was his first priority to get to one of those orientations so that he could make it to the midnight run tonight. He could not miss it. It was very necessary.

The girls— That’s reductive, call them women, he thought—all leaned on the bar, propped up on their elbows, and this had the effect of making each of them stick out her backside, those three little white tails on display.

He gaped.

Athos sidled up to him. “Little drool there,” he said, nodding at his mouth.

“Fuck you,” said Stockton in a guttural voice. He was not drooling, but he might as well be.

Athos cleared his throat, looking down into his gin and tonic.

One of the women turned around, raising her eyebrows at the both of them. “Are you two standing there ogling us?”

“No,” said Stockton, too quickly, staring up at the ceiling.

Athos took a drink of gin and tonic, gazing back at this woman, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, it’s a very nice view, so what can I say?”

The woman turned around all the way. She had a glass of white wine in her hand. The other two women turned around, too.

“What’s your play?” said the first doe. “You can’t think you’re going to win points by telling me you like looking at my friends’ tails.”

Athos considered, toying with the tip of one of his antlers. “You’re not wrong, I guess. But I’m not really thinking clearly at the moment.”

She snorted.

He shrugged.

“The problem with men is weaponized incompetence,” she said.

“Maybe we just are incompetent,” said Athos. “Maybe the problem was that we weren’t aware of it before, you know, when we were taking credit for all the accomplishments that we could only do because of the help of women? Now, we get it. And we’re useless. You expect too much of us.”

“That line work for you?” she said.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said.

She lifted her wine glass. “Just here for the one. We’re heading out for a girls’ dinner.”

Why was it that they were allowed to call themselves girls, though? Stockton didn’t entirely understand.

“But you are here for the rite?” said Athos, and his voice had gone deep and suggestive.

She glared at him. “You know, we were warned about this kind of behavior in our orientation.”

“What kind of behavior?” said Athos.

“Unwanted advances, harassment, general arrogant dickery,” she said idly.

“That’s what I’m doing, huh?” Athos stepped closer to her. “Really? Is how you flirt, because I have to say, I like it. What’s your name?”

“This is not how I flirt,” said the doe, but her voice had gotten very breathy.

Stockton cleared his throat. “What, um, was warned about in the orientation?”

One of the other women was a younger doe with generous hips that were incredibly squeezable and looking at them made Stockton’s pants even tighter. She spoke up. “Oh, they told us that the bucks are honor bound to stop if we say no. Is that true?”

Stockton looked at her face, and he realized that he fucking knew her. She was one of his ex-girlfriend Maibell’s friends. He couldn’t remember her name, but... moon and sun, this was embarrassing. He looked down. “I mean, obviously, that’s true.”

Don’t let on that we know each other, he begged her silently.

When he looked up at her, she had tilted her head to take him in, looking confused.

“I’m Stockton,” he said. “We’ve obviously never met.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m Rora.”

Rora, that was right.

“Stockton and his friend,” said the breathy-voiced doe, “were just leaving.”

Yes, Stockton thought, let’s go, before Rora says something else.

“Athos,” said Athos. “Athos Rockne. I’m an attorney.”

“How nice for you,” said the doe. She turned to her companions. “Or, we can go.”

“Where?” said Rora, all innocence.

“Somewhere away from them,” said the doe, moving forward with her glass of wine. Rora fell into step behind her and the third doe gave them a little wave as she brought up the rear.

“Well, I’m in love,” said Athos.

Stockton snorted.

“You don’t think she likes me too?” said Athos, cracking up. “I mean, what would ever have given you that idea?”

Stockton snorted again.

“Hey, I’ll buy you another drink,” said Athos.

“Thanks, but I need to get to an orientation,” said Stockton, checking his phone for the time. “I think there’s one starting at 5:30.”