Dion looked himself over, standing before Liz. The new suit fit him like a new suit bought off the rack at a department store on short notice. His other suit still fit, but it, like his other suits before, grew too tight around the middle. He was starting to seriously consider cutting back on the sweets. Partly because of that and partly because Liz strongly hinted at it whenever he reached for his nightly dessert.
Tonight, however, was not the night for it. The first semester was over and the professors from the diverse departments were invited to a campus-wide mixer. This meant there would be a lot of calorically dense finger foods, pastries, and rich drinks. All sweet or salty or heavy. Delicious, but diet busting.
A Crawford tradition, this meant attendance was mandatory. Not officially, but it may as well have been. Missing it meant ostracization. Normally, Dion would not mind. However, he wanted to make a good impression to get his foot in the door with the research department. Maybe get a chance to do something on his own? Being as it was his first year, he was still on unofficial probation and had to make a good impression. Enduring a party would be worth it.
Unfortunately, Liz was not invited. Faculty only. No spouses. No kids. No friends. Every guest was +0. That made it even worse for the sheepish skunk. She was his security in social situations. She did the talking. She introduced them. She made all the small talk and kept track of all the names and faces. He was flying solo and liked it about as much as a pilot flying through fog without instruments.
Still had to do it. Still had to be brave. Was not easy. This new suit was not comfortable. It felt too loose in places and a bit snug in others.
“How do I look?” He asked.
Liz took him in. Paw on her chin, she appraised him carefully. A plain black suit with a white shirt and gray and black striped tie looked decent enough on him. Skunks always looked good in black and white. Self-consciousness loomed in Dion’s mind, despite being examined by his wife. He felt like he looked terrible. Gut pushed out over his belt and in a suit that still had creases from the department store rack. At least there were no stains.
“You look fine.” She smiled and stood up. “But, let me get the brush and lint roller. Just need a little touching up.”
“Oh?” Dion looked down. Sure enough, there were some bits of lint on his black suit jacket. A few stray hairs too, but who did not have stray hairs on their clothes? No amount of cleaning could get rid of those. Unless one had scales, of course.
The skunk sat on the bed as his wife finished getting him ready for the big event. A process that has occurred ever since men first started getting married and their wives had to prep them for parties. The roller flipped over his chest, shoulders, arms. The sticky sensation and slight pull of fabric as it worked the debris out. Little intimate moments he could share with his wife diminished the dread of a work function. Then, Liz picked up his brush to work on the tail.
“Uh, you don’t have to do that. I already…...” Dion protested, feeling his inner ears redden.
“No problem at all.” She ran the brush along his tail, taming a particularly unpleasant mess of fur. “It’s easier for me to get at it. Want you to make a really good impression.”
“….you just wanted an excuse to brush me, didn’t you?”
“Maybe. It’s a very nice tail.” Brush brush. “…or, maybe you need to brush it more than once a week.”
Dion smirked. Starting to feel a little more relaxed. “Don’t know. Sometimes, I think you like my tail more than you do me.”
“Oop, you found me out.” Liz wrapped her arms around Dion’s tail. “It’s true, it’s all true! I’m going to run away with your tail. He’s the only one who understands me! We’re going to run off to Barbados and fulfill my lifelong dream of running a hot fish shop.”
Time was, Dion did not quite understand sarcasm and hyperbole. A statement like that would bring all manner of confusion. Now, he chuckled. “Just leave me your ears and we’ll call it a trade.”
“Hm…. no deal.”
“Guess you’re going to have to keep all of me.” Dion flicked his tail, just to make her mess up mid brushstroke.
“Pefft.” The curl of his tail hit her muzzle and she had to slip back to get the fluff out of her nose. “Hah, fine. You’ll be all mine…. if I have to take the package.” She pushed his tail away from her nose. “Now hold still so I don’t accidentally pull your tail off.”
Brushing a skunk’s tail took more time than a rabbit’s, but Liz had a system. Before long, it was as smooth as a freshly-pressed silk shirt. It would stay that way right up until Dion moved. Even after that, it would remain presentable enough. She did good work. He stood up and adjusted his tie.
“Now you’re perfect.” Liz commented, standing to join her husband.
“Don’t know if I’d go that far.” Dion disagreed.
“More than anyone there.” Liz smoothed down Dion’s tie. “It’s really stupid they won’t let anyone else come. I should go anyway. Show them what’s what.”
How tempting it was to let her crash the party. All the potential social awkwardness of the event would sublimate to nothing at her presence. She not only got on well with others, but helped him get on well with others. Everything would be easier with her there.
On the other hand, it would be against the rules and Dion was a rule follower. Had to do it. Even silly and pointless rules.
“Uh, better not…..” Dion flicked his tail. “I mean…. I don’t want to cause trouble. Not when I’m so new. I’ll manage just fine.”
“You sure?” Liz asked.
“Yes.” Not really, but close enough. “They’re not strangers. I’ve met them before.” Most of them. Once. Even here, he kept to himself.
“Good….” Liz nodded. “I didn’t want to spend time with a bunch of academics who do nothing but navel gaze all day.” She put a paw on Dion’s shoulder. “You’ll do great. Just don’t let them talk you into anything weird. I’ve read about the stuff they do in private.”
Dion chuckled. “I don’t think those stories or your cousin are good sources.”
“I stand by my statement. Now get going. If you’re late, you might miss the ritual sacrifice or whatever they do at these things.”
Dion rolled his eyes. She was right, though. One last once-over to check his appearance, then out the door to make it on time.
The largest conference room in the New Philosophy Building (formerly the English Philosophy Building), held a lot of people. Ideal place for all of Crawford’s biggest egos to occupy space and mingle. It also had room for a lot of chairs brought in from various rooms throughout the building, varying in age, design, and comfort level. No one paid them too much mind. A chair was a chair and the company and food were what mattered.
Naturally, the event was catered. Food brought in from some up market grocery store Dion never set foot in. The kind where everything was labeled as gourmet and most of the ingredients cost more than a full meal. It was catered because few of the professors cooked more than a few times a month. Those who did were not about to bring something to share. Potlucks were beneath the dignity of a college professor, even if eating boxed meals and microwaved stuff on the go was not.
The food itself was all right. Dion picked what he knew he liked and ate sparingly. It was easy, as most of the gathered academics were focused on the open bar. It was staffed by a quiet, aloof bull that worked for the caterers, serving alcohol with practiced precision to the thirsty PhDs. Naturally, Dion avoided him. He still followed the no drinking in public rule. Too risky.
He did a lot of avoiding that night. Stood in a corner away from everyone with his plate of snacks. The little fancy cakes and cookies tasted all right, but had weird seasonings alien to him. Something needlessly expensive, no doubt. His stomach was too fluttery to eat much. Just a few slices of cake and a handful of cookies. And a couple bottles of orange soda.
So many people. Enough to give an awkward chemistry professor all manner of social anxiety. Professors wandering around with other professors, chatting each other up and socially lubricated with alcoholic drinks. Scatterings of polite and impolite laughter punctuated the low murmurs. He did not recognize most of the people there. Keeping to yourself has its advantages, but networking was not one of them. That was the reasoning behind this event and Dion knew this, but could not muster up the wherewithal to mingle. Not without Liz there. He had no idea so many of the professors were couples. Lots of hand holding and kissing and other signs of affection exchanged between pairs. Or, sometimes, groups.
He turned his head and flicked his tail. No sense taking in too much. Just kill time until he had been here the minimum amount of time to safely slip away without being considered rude. The minimum amount of time just happened to take forever.
Now someone approached him. They had the look of a person who sought his attention. Eyes on him, striding with purpose. This would either make the time pass quickly or slow to a crawl. Dion mentally prepared himself for social interaction. Prime a few statements. Get some things ready to say to fill the time. He had to be prepared to talk otherwise it would all fall apart.
The person approaching him he recognized, kind of. She was an associate professor and taught graduate level Inorganic Chemistry. A tigress with standard coloration, save for the fact that her hair was dyed the same color purple as grape jawbreakers. She was far skinnier than any tigress he ever saw and wore a little multicolored dress that showed this. She looked like a fur coat stretched over a feline skeleton. Unsettling, especially since her dress had swirling colors that clashed with themselves and everything around them. She held no plate in her hand, but a glass of red wine so dry it depleted glycogen stores from your liver. They worked in the same building, but he never bothered to meet her. That might be why she was about to make contact. She knew why she was at the party.
“Dr. Thade, good to see you.” A friendly voice greeting him as she approached. Her tone was light, but energetic and a little on edge. It bordered on pressured or forced. “Didn’t think you’d come!”
She moved in to give him a hug. Arms open as she stepped forward. Dion matched her forward movement with quick steps backward. It was as though an invisible bubble surrounded him and she was pushing him away with her presence. She got the hint quickly. Dropping her scary hugging arms, she offered him a hand instead.
“Uh, right. Hi….” She toned it down. The pressure was still there, but at least she was less loud.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Dion took the offered hand reluctantly. “Good evening….” Dion froze. He did not remember her name. Doubtful he ever learned it. Frozen in place, he tried to recall every instance of her picture posted in various faculty postings to see if he could match a name to them. Nothing.
“Dr. Lisa Franklin-Welkin.” Was his memory blank that obvious? She gave him her name but did not give him back his paw. She still held it. “Well, just Dr. Lisa Franklin as of a couple months ago. Don’t ask.” Dion was not planning on it, but she kept talking to prevent a follow up. “So, enjoying the party?”
Dion tried his best to wiggle his paw out of hers without seeming rude. “It’s fine. Just fine.” He could not lie, but ‘fine’ was vague enough. Still came off with all the emotion of a toaster someone taught to speak.
“Yeah, nice seeing all these people here, getting to know one another.” Her tail wagged. “Get to meet lots of interesting people….”
“Yes. They are interesting people.” Dion echoed in an attempt to make conversation. She still held his paw. Maybe if he twisted it a bit more, she would let go?
“Some of them, anyway.” She glanced at the bar. An elderly yellow and orange gecko, the head of the English department, was retrieving a glass of white wine. He brought it to a lady jackal less than half his age in a long, black dress.
“Some of them, yeah.” Twisting his paw was not helping. Dion made it a little more obvious.
“Being on the market again since my divorce, don’t ask, s’given me a new appreciation for these things. It’s so hard to talk to people outside university. They’re so ignorant.” Lisa went on, heedless to Dion’s discomfort. “So yeah, good for all the single people like us out there, right?”
Single? Dion raised an eyebrow. “Um, I’m married.”
“What?” Lisa’s gaze finally returned to the skunk.
“Yeah. Married.” Dion held up his left paw, showing his wedding ring.
“Oh.” The tigress finally let go of his paw. Dion fought the urge to wipe it off on his pants. “Really? You’ve been standing here by yourself the last hour. That’s one long bathroom break.”
“Well, no…..she’s not here tonight.”
“Why not?”
“The invitation said staff only.”
Lisa let out a short, irritated chuckle. “That doesn’t make sense. Everyone who has someone brought them.”
“Um, no….I think…” Dion started before he was interrupted.
“Dr. Mankewitz even brought this year’s girlfriend with him.” She gestured at the gecko. “So, what, is your wife too good for us? You looking for a side project?” She smirked. “Nothing wrong with it, of course, but I’m looking for something long term.”
The accusation made Dion feel a momentary pulse of anger. The skin around his eyes itched. Calm down, skunk. He reached into his suit jacket. “No, really. I have the invitation right here.” He pulled out the 5x5 inch card and handed it to her. Glossy and high quality, it had the look of something from a print shop. In Garamond font, it spelled out the place and time. A violet backdrop with the university’s letterhead at the top. Most importantly, near the bottom, bold red letters spelled out ‘Faculty only. Guests will be turned away at the door!’
No movement to take it; Lisa simply stared. She looked at Dion. “Huh…details are right, but I didn’t get one of those.” Out of her purse came a smartphone. It had a case just as garishly colored as her dress. She held it out to him. “Email, see?”
Dion, too, did not move to take the object out of the other’s hand. Looking at it was good enough. The invitation was nearly identical, save for the text at the bottom. In normal lettering, it read ‘All faculty allowed 1 to 2 guests. Have fun!’ He stared, trying to ascertain why this one was different. No thoughts of anything peccable, but a general sense of wrongness.
“Don’t think anyone got paper invitations. Didn’t know anyone still made them.” Lisa commented.
Even though he hated staring at screens, Dion’s gaze never left the smartphone until it left his field of vision. After, he stared at the empty space. Tumultuous thoughts turned in his head and wrapped with social anxiety. He thought everyone got paper invitations. Rarely checking his email, he never noticed an invitation sent there. Then again, he might have just deleted it. He tended to only look at it every week and, even then, delete everything but the most urgent messages. He wondered if it was a courtesy due to his problems with technology. If that was the case, someone knew about what he was. How could they? He hid it so well it would not be a possibility. Which led him back to why someone would send a paper invitation to him alone. Was it possible everyone but Lisa got the same one? No, this was the only thing that made sense. There were so many people here they could not possibly all be faculty. Impossible for so many professors to date other professors, even accounting for affairs common to academia. Which led him back to the original question: why?
The thoughts ran in recursions in his head. Monotonous and without variance. Thoughts like these stalled his brain in the past, absorbed in his own worry. He barely noticed Dr. Franklin stiffen up.
“Uh, I have to go. Nice talking with you, Dr. Thade.” She said as she beat a hasty retreat.
At first, Dion thought she left because he was married. Not an unusual thought. The sole reason she approached him was he appeared single. When he turned his head, he saw someone else was approaching. Likely, she was retreating from….her?
Drawing near was a tabby cat with a fur pattern in a mix of grays with black stripes. A standard fur pattern shared by felines the world over; not unusual by itself. The curious quality was supplied by how perfect the patterning was. Not a hair out of place, stripes running parallel to each other and symmetrical shading. No discolorations and impeccably smooth. Her rich headfur the color of freshly cooled obsidian. Long and tied behind her head with a black pin inlaid with black gemstones in the shape of a rose, with ringlet curls hanging behind the clip. She wore a flowing black evening gown with a slit running up the right leg to mid-thigh, showing off a long, shapely leg with black, thigh-high stockings. On her feet were a pair of tasteful black pumps that clicked when she walked. Adorning her paws, elbow length gloves of black silk. She wore a necklace on a braided leather cord, whatever medallion on it tucked under the bodice of her dress.
Her shape? Feminine…..yes, that was a mostly precise descriptor. Her hips were broadish. Middle slim. Bosom voluptuous (and the low cut of that dress certainly highlighted a want to show off). She walked with a swish in her hips and sway in her long, fastidiously brushed tail. Something was off, though. Shoulders were too broad. Jawline too thick. The walk looked forced, like she was trying too hard. Dion got a sense this form was unnatural. A deviation from what it should have been. Then his gaze settled on a small button on her right chest. It displayed the words ‘she/they’ with a background of baby blue, light pink, and white stripes. This was no lady.
One of those. Dion’s palms started to sweat. He had little experience dealing with the gender confused when he was an undergraduate and at the community college. It was unheard of in St. Ambrose. Since starting at Crawford, the frequency increased exponentially. There were dozens in his lectures alone. They intimidated him terribly for several reasons. For one, he never wanted to be rude and was never sure how to interact with them. They seemed very sensitive and prone to yelling. He was not so sheltered as to be unaware of how rapid a career killer it could be to offend someone transgendered. Thankfully, they came to his office hours infrequently. This was the only thing about speaking to hundreds of students at once that he was truly thankful for. Most of the students he did not have to talk to. Just as well. They were very….intense here. More opportunities at Crawford, but not a week went by where he did not miss how laid-back things were at the community college.
Now, one approached him directly. He was going to have to be on his best behavior. As rough as offending a protected class of students could be, offending a fellow professor in the same protected class was the equivalent of eternal academia damnation. Stay calm. Straighten up and look directly at him. Her! No, it was a him. He could think in terms of reality in his own head, right? They could not read minds. No, do not stare. Staring was rude. Avoid looking away too. Stare just enough to not be rude in either direction and everything would be okay. Stop panicking, Dion.
Dion managed to fit an hour of panicking into ten seconds. Would have lasted a lot longer if the cat did not initiate conversation.
“Ah, Dr. Thade. So good you can join us. You have no idea how happy it makes me to finally meet you.” The pretend woman’s voice was overly formal, even for this setting. He seemed to be putting on airs. A natural tenor, but he forced himself to sound lighter. Basically, what a person who studies the mannerisms of a woman thinks a woman sounds like. The echoes of their diction and inflections layered with lightness, like trying to inject canned air into a dense sponge.
“Uh, well, um…. hello.” Dion stated while trying to keep the quaver from his voice. He failed.
“Don’t be so nervous, friend.” He smiled enough to show his teeth. They were perfectly white and straight, a clear sign of dental work. Teeth that perfect were not natural, but they did not look like dentures. “Just because I’m the head of the History department doesn’t mean you have to be intimidated.”
“Um, yes. I didn’t know that.” Dion responded, taking a step back.
“Oh?” He tilted his head and took a step forward, advancing to match Dion whenever he took a step back. “I’m a little hurt. Surely you’ve seen my picture in the department mailers?”
Dion shook his head.
“Hm.” He raised a paw and gestured at nothing. “Well, I suppose that’s how things are. You science minded people always have your head in equations and other practical things. If it isn’t in a test tube, it may as well not exist.”
Was he offending him/her? Better make up for it. He had to find some way to appease this person. He was a department head, so he had to play nice. The presence of the cat made Dion feel as though his skin was slithering around under his fur, but if he did not mollify him, his troubles would only compound.
“I…find things outside of tubes….. interesting. I’m sorry to offend you.” He replied, taking another step back. He bumped into the wall. Nowhere else to run.
“None taken, dear.” The cat offered him a hand. “Well, since I already know you, I’m sure you want to know me. I’m Dr. Samantha Gilbert. Professor of Civil War History, author of three books on gender roles in the 1800s, and dean of the college of history.”
What was he supposed to do now? Right, handshake. Dion reached up toward the paw. “Um, nice to meet you, Dr. Gilbert. Your accomplishments are very impressive and I’m sure your books are…” Pointless? Don’t say pointless. “… thorough.” Good enough. Dion was polite, but that was not all that impressive for someone who found value in designing medications. He grasped the paw to give it a shake. Since this was an introduction, he instinctively read Samantha’s aura. Opening his magical sight, he took him in.
The air around Samantha took on a glow, as did the aura of any living person. A purple nimbus hovered around his form, shimmering brighter than the auras of all other partygoers. A beacon, shining its light for anyone who could detect it. Silver swirls danced over it. Not without pattern or purpose, but in gentle waves, crisscrossing here and there in even rhythm. Dion opened his eyes further, the feeling of his stomach descending to new depths encroaching upon him. Swirling colors etched deep into the cat’s person. A clashing cascade of cacophonous enchantments brushing against each other. All parts of a whole, all magical in nature, and all very foreign to the cat’s natural body. He was lousy with magic. An entire spellbook of enchantments woven into his very being. The magic was familiar to Dion, for he saw it throughout his upbringing.
It was Izorian magic. No mistaking it.
Ice ran through Dion’s veins. It was not possible. Could not be, but here it was. He could deny it no more than he could deny the existence of the sun.
The more significant questions were how and why. No normal person could use Izorian magic. Not really. It was tied to their blood. Unique. Sure, others could mimic it, but the aura looked different. He would have been able to tell. There was more to reading an aura than simple colors. It was an innate sensation, a genetic knowledge. Which is why seeing it out in the world was so alien.
Was he/she an Izorian in disguise? No, clearly not. Levels of enchantments superimposed his natural body. A natural cat, male, and magically unremarkable. A standard aura in every way. Magic was applied to him and expertly so. Layering them like this took a lot of time and even more knowledge. It likely happened over two months to drive home the sense of permanence. It was only with effort that Dion could see past it. Whoever did this had a level of skill beyond anything he had seen before.
Not comforting knowledge. Whoever did this to him was an Izorian of great power and there were only two populations he knew of. Those at Saint Ambrose, who tried to be as normal as possible, and those at the commune they left a long time ago, which tried to be as hidden as possible. No one would have one of their creations out there flaunting their power for any magic sensitive to see.
Too many questions and Dion could ask none of them. He would not have liked the answers even if he tried. All he could do was stare and loop through the same queries repeatedly.
“Dr. Thade? I’m speaking to you.” Samantha’s lips kept moving and he kept talking. How long had it been?
“Huh?”
“Hm….” He put a paw to his lips, painted with red lipstick, and chuckled. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
Dion slid along the wall to the right. He had to get out of there right now. Too much to handle. Too much danger. “I… no, it’s just, uh…. I…”
“Like what you see?” The cat smirked. “I do have a striking figure, don’t I? A lot of work went into it, as I’m sure you can tell.”
What was that supposed to mean? Dion knew what it meant.
He knew.
“I have to go now. Sorry, time to go. Now.” He tried to run.
With surprising speed, the cat grabbed his wrist. “I don’t think you will. We need to have a little talk. In my office.”
Dion shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. Uh…” He really wished Liz was there.
“This was not a request.” Samantha leaned in. “I went to a lot of trouble getting you here. The very least you can do is have a little meeting with me. I promise I don’t bite.” The grin on Samantha’s face made Dion question this.
As he was led away, Dion truly wondered if his parents were right. He should have never left Saint Ambrose.