Page 38 of Outside the Veil
“Pardon?”
Omnivorous. You’ll eat just about anything.
“I couldn’t eat that blasted pretzel you tried to feed me. And those long things that were supposedly meat? Heated dogs? Disgusting.”
What I mean is, you eat meat and plant matter and fish and insects. Like a bear. An opportunistic feeder.
“Oh, yes. All of those things. Of course, it depends on the form I’m wearing, too. I can’t very well eat meat when I’m in horse form. Doesn’t work well with that kind of stomach. While the wildcat shape doesn’t much appreciate thistles and hay. One has to take advantage of the season and the food available.”
Do you ever take food from humans?
“I have fed from around human habitations, if that’s what you mean. There do tend to be numerous temptations thereabouts. Lovely fields of wheat. Fat chickens sitting in pens waiting for someone hungry to happen by. Apple trees and cabbages and these marvelous tubs with a stick on top where you can get butter if you time things right. But humans, present company excepted, aren’t good at sharing. They come after you with sharp bits of iron and sticks if they see you eating around their homes. Best to avoid such unpleasant scenes.”
But isn’t there a tradition about leaving out a bowl of cream for the local pooka?
“Ah, such a hospitable tradition that was. I do so love cream. Only elderly grandmothers still observed it in the time before Islept, though. And then the household cats usually lapped it up before I could get to it.”
Diego inserted the photo of Finn stretched out naked on a flat rock by the river. One knee bent up to obscure Finn’s genitals, he hoped the picture would be viewed as artistic rather than pornographic. The mist-shrouded river, the water rushing around the edges of the rock outcropping, the dark woods in the background, he thought it all perfect for hinting at the hidden depths of the photo’s subject.
Later that morning, he sent Miriam a short blurb about the book concept, the first three chapters, and all the photos. The phone rang before an hour had passed.
“Diego? Oh, my God, is that Finn in these pictures?”
He held the phone away to preserve his hearing. “Um, yes.”
Colorful swearing followed for a full thirty seconds. “Well, shit, kiddo. No wonder you changed your mind and decided to keep him all to yourself. Greedy bastard. He’s gorgeous.”
“Maybe I’ll introduce you someday.”
“You better if you know what’s good for you. What’d you do, raid the Playgirl model stable?”
“Not quite. Did you even look at the book idea or just the pictures?”
Miriam’s volume decreased. “It’s a keeper, hon. I smell pay dirt. I can pitch with what you sent but what are you looking at for completion time?”
“Two weeks. Maybe three. I’ve got most of the material. Just compiling right now.”
“Attaboy. This could be my easiest sale in years. These fantasy ‘natural histories’, they’re hot right now. Dragons. Faeries. Should be able to get it out in time for the whole Christmas, hardcover, gift-book season.” Miriam paused. “Is he willing to sign a release for those photos?”
Diego’s heart stuttered. A release. From someone who shouldn’t exist. “I’d like to use the photos as a suggestion. Maybe get an illustrator for the book? Finn’s a bit shy. I don’t think he wants the actual pictures used.”
“Yeah, right, shy. I can see that.”
He laughed. “Not with me.”
“’Kay, sweetie. Stand back and watch me work. I’ll have something for you soon.”
Miriam’s confidence soothed his fears. This would work. He’d never harbored any illusions about being rich and famous as some starry-eyed authors did, but a livable income would be a relief.
Finn might be home soon. ‘Home’ together with ‘Finn’ sounded so permanent and comfortable. If he had some money, he could buy a little house somewhere away from any urban sprawl. Minnesota, maybe. Or Montana.
“One step at a time. No building air castles again.” But the possibility of lying in Finn’s arms that night sent a rush of desire right down to his knees. He clutched the desk, dizzy from the sudden redistribution of blood.
With a soft laugh, he tugged on the leg of his jeans and threw himself back into his work.
The problem with taking on dog form was the lack of focus. Dog senses yanked the mind this way and that with disorienting results. The sheer joy of overloaded senses, though, alleviated any annoyance.
Finn’s canine lope devoured ground while he struggled in the throes of tumultuous ecstasy to keep his thoughts in order. Sights, scents and sounds assaulted him like waves in a storm.
