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Weston chose his next words carefully.
"Are they . . . evil nuts?"
"Sir, I'm going to put your sarcasm down to you being on the edge of a nervous breakdown, so I'll ignore it. Are you interested in getting help for your therianthropy?"
"Yes, please. Thank you, Zela. "
"Let me check the meeting schedule. Okay, today, at noon, there's an SA meeting at Saint Lucian's church in Schaumburg, approximately ten miles northwest of you. The secret word to gain entry is Talbot. "
"What's SA?"
"Shapeshifters Anonymous. "
"So I just go there, and they'll let me join them?"
"If you give the secret word. Yes. "
"Do I have to bring anything?"
"Donuts are always nice. "
"Donuts. I could bring donuts. Will you be there tonight, Zela? I can bring some with peanuts on them. "
"That's very thoughtful of you, sir, but I live in New Jersey. And I also think you're kind of a schmuck. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No. Thanks, Zela. "
"Thanks for calling the hotline. "
Weston hung up, ending what was easily the most surreal conversation he ever had in his life. An hour ago, he'd been a normal guy with some odd bowel movements. Now, he was 99 percent sure he was some sort of therianthrope.
But what kind?
He went back to the sofa, picked up some of the hair. Long, grayish, fluffy.
Was he a weresheep?
No. He ate people. Had to be a carnivore of some sort.
So what gray animals ate other animals?
Wolves, obviously. Coyotes. Dogs. Cats. Were elephants carnivores?
The Internet told him they were herbivores, which was a relief. But then Weston thought of another gray carnivore.
Rats.
Weston didn't want to be a wererat. He hated rats. Hoarding nuts was one thing. Swimming in the sewers, eating garbage and feces and dead animals, that was awful. He held his armpit up to his face and sniffed, seeing if he could detect any sort of sewage smell. It seemed okay. Then he checked the time and saw he had two hours to get to the SA meeting. So he hopped in the shower, dressed, and got on his way.
It had snowed during the night, making Naperville seem even more Winter-Wonderlandish. The cold felt good on Weston's bare face. He attributed the slight fever to his condition: Google told him wolves had an average body temperature of 100. 5.
His first stop was Dr. Waggoner's, to pick up the silver cross. Weston didn't want to keep it for himself, but it was evidence of a murder, so it was best to get rid of it.
The nurse handed it to him in an envelope.
"Are you going to put it on?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"Not right now. "
