Bat and the Jack Read online

  Bat and the Jack

  Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy

  A. Gregory

  Copyright © 2021, A. Gregory

  Cover Art © 2021, Dreams2Media

  Produced in Canada

  An EveL Worlds Production : www.worlds.EveLanglais.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This story is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  1. Vera

  2. Norbert

  3. Vera

  4. Norbert

  5. Vera

  6. Vera

  7. Norbert

  8. Vera

  9. Norbert

  10. Norbert

  11. Vera

  12. Norbert

  13. Vera

  14. Norbert

  15. Norbert

  16. Vera

  17. Vera

  18. Norbert

  19. Vera

  20. Norbert

  21. Vera

  22. Norbert

  23. Vera

  Epilogue

  Bat and the Bone

  Bat and the Blitz

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Mr. Fire, you wonderful beast, you. Thanks for being my rock, my partner, my biggest supporter. I love you with all of my little black heart, and I will forever and ever.

  * * *

  A huge thanks to Eve for letting me play in her awesome world again and for letting me be my weird self.

  * * *

  Another huge thanks goes to Jessica Ripley who is quite literally one of the best humans in this world. You’re an amazing friend, and I am very lucky to have you in my life.

  * * *

  To Devin Govaere, thanks for making my book baby all clean. You’re the best!

  * * *

  And of course, a huge thank you goes to you, dear reader. I hope you enjoyed Vera and Jack’s story.

  Introduction

  Must love blood? Not quite.

  * * *

  Vera Slaski might be a vampire bat, but she’s got a secret. She cannot stand the sight of blood. She managed to keep that hidden for a long time. She’s seconds away from becoming a full-blown FUC agent when she is exposed.

  * * *

  To regain Director Cooper’s trust and finally earn her badge, Vera is sent on a bona fide babysitting mission. All she has to do is keep a key witness safe and make sure no blood is shed – for her own sake.

  * * *

  When Vera arrives at the secluded cabin in the woods, the last thing she expects is a massive pumpkin where Dr. Norbert Palomer should be. Then the gourd explodes. Literally.

  * * *

  With the mad botanist’s secret revealed, Vera realizes the mission won’t be a prance through the garden. There are some bad people out there who will stop at nothing to get their hands on the experiment gone oh-so-wrong.

  * * *

  Between a vampire bat who can’t drink blood and a scientist who shifts into a jack-o’-lantern, the odds of survival don’t look great.

  * * *

  But FUC is on the case, and this bat? She’s bent on flying the roost and landing straight into the pumpkin patch.

  * * *

  Does this premise and world seem familiar? That’s because it is based off the Eve Langlais Furry United Coalition. Eve Langlais has invited her author friends to come and play in her world. To find out more, visit worlds.EveLanglais.com.

  For Mr. Fire,

  1

  Vera

  This is it.

  This is my big moment.

  In a few seconds, I won’t just have a diploma but a badge. I will no longer be Vera Slaski, failed attorney. I’ll be Agent Slaski.

  My palms are a sweaty mess, marring the smooth line of my petal pink skirt every time I flatten it, but I don’t care. For once, I don’t mind a less-than-perfect attire.

  Agent Slaski doesn’t care if she’s flawless.

  She cares about law, justice, and locking up bad guys.

  I am a bat. Hear me echolocate.

  The small room isn’t exactly packed, but there are enough people here to witness my triumph. My parents, who flew in from Toronto, beam at me with pride. They are physically incapable of not being proud of me. That’s sweet, really. But it also has a price: soul-crushing pressure to make sure that I deserve their praise.

  I could quit everything, join a circus, and I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad would still cheer me on.

  Beside me, my little sister, Raya, drums her fingers on her distressed jeans. Thin white veins of material, unweaving themselves in protest, stretch against her bent knee. It’s seconds away from tearing from an almost-hole to a full one.

  Not that Raya would mind if her holey denim broke out with more tears. She doesn’t care about anything much. Pissing me off? Now, there is something she excels at with very little effort. Were it an Olympic sport, she’d be the undisputed champ.

  When I invited Raya to the ceremony, I specifically requested that she wear something appropriate for the occasion’s gravitas.

  Raya rolled her eyes and scoffed when I chided her for her attire earlier. A pair of pale blue jeans one chromosome away from being a rag, a white ribbed tank, and combat boots don’t scream Congratulations, graduate.

  People say we look alike, but it’s a sisterly optical illusion. Where my brown hair is always coiffed into an immaculate elongated bob, Raya lets her waves run wild. Even in the dead of a Canadian winter, she could pass for Queen Beach Bum—nonchalant and unruffled. I’m all about order, while Raya will disorganize her life simply to stress me out.

  Sort of like how she dropped out of university to join up with FUCN’A—the Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy—a few weeks after me.

  I was livid, but today isn’t about her or the leather jacket I begged her to ditch before the ceremony began.

  This is about me finally attaining my goal. I will finally be able to make a difference in this world.

  My cousin and a FUC forensic anthropologist, Mila Starling, gives me a thumbs-up from across the aisle. Her husband, FUC agent T-Bone Thrussel, gives me an encouraging head nod. They understand what this means to me. Their presence here is heartwarming and emboldening.

  Alyce Cooper, director of FUCN’A and all-around badass, rattles off the names of a few other newly minted agents before she calls my name.

  My heart climbs into my throat as I leap to my feet.

  This is it.

  I’m getting my FUC badge.

  This moment is made all the more amazing because my personal hero, Chase Brownsmith, is here with his wife, Miranda. Mila pulled about a thousand strings to get him here so I could meet him. It’s awesome and terrifying all at once. Chase Brownsmith is a legend, and I’ve based my future on his path. He might be a bear, but I’m positive that I can follow in his paw prints—even if I have to fly overhead.

  Chase used to be a lawyer, but the bear joined the ranks of FUC after a series of events that included becoming the target of an evil scientist’s scheme, getting kidnapped, being rescued by FUC’s sabre tooth bunny, and falling in love with said bunny. He’s an inspiration to me. I really thought I could change the world when I became a lawyer. Wrong. So damn wrong. I couldn’t exactly pick and choose my clients, even if
I wanted to.

  Let’s be real.

  There’s only a certain amount of mental gymnastics I can do to convince myself that the big, burly man with the rap sheet as long as my two arms combined is innocent.

  Lawyers don’t only protect the innocent.

  Sometimes, we have to defend the bad guys.

  I didn’t like it. At all.

  I wanted to be the kind of lawyer who helped people, but I managed to defend crooks and villains in my short career. How was I supposed to live with myself?

  I couldn’t.

  When my older cousin Mila joined FUC, she told me all about Chase Brownsmith. That led me right here. Standing in front of my family and peers and Director Cooper. My life will definitely change forever.

  “Come on, Vera.” Director Cooper waves me forward like this isn’t the most significant few seconds of my life.

  Do not fall flat on your face, Vera.

  She holds out her hand for me to shake while grabbing a rolled-up sheet of paper. She passes it to me, and my trembling fingers stretch out to take it. It’s significant. Monumental. It’s not just reaching out for my diploma; it’s starting a whole new life.

  In my excitement, I zealously grab the diploma and tug.

  The sickening swish of paper slicing through skin rattles in my brain. Director Cooper winces as a string of blood pebbles along her finger. She wiggles her hand before bringing her injured digit to her mouth to staunch the bleeding.

  The most amazing moment of my life is ruined.

  I know it. I feel it.

  Do. Not. Pass. Out.

  I look away, my stomach rolling with acid. The floor lurches under me, and I reach out to steady myself on the wooden podium. And that’s when I see it. The drop of blood on my pale pink skirt.

  Flapping membrane.

  I grip the pulpit and force deep gulps of air into my lungs. The edge of my vision blurs.

  I should’ve had some blood last night.

  On shaky legs, I turn away from Director Cooper. Mom and Dad watch me, expectant and worried. Raya, cocky and annoying, crosses her arms. She knows why I’m fighting to stay conscious.

  Then there’s Chase Brownsmith, lawyer turned agent, standing there looking as perplexed as a vampire bat trying to drink from an iron bull. He frowns, no doubt confused by the sudden stop to the ceremony.

  I really should’ve drank some blood last night.

  That’s my last conscious thought before my eyes roll back and I fall into the dark.

  “Oh, no-no-no. Did she pass out?”

  “Sure looks like it.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “This happens sometimes,” Mom sighs.

  Wait.

  Why is my mother here? Where is here? Why does my head hurt?

  Slowly, I crack one eye open. Above me, the ceiling shimmies and undulates. A few people stand, gawking down; frowns and smiles melt together in the perfect puddle of embarrassment.

  “You okay?” Chase asks.

  “I’ve got some carrot cake here.” Miranda shoves an overfull container crammed with a piece of cake about the size of a small child toward me.

  “It’s hardly the time,” Chase explains to his wife, grabbing the dish. “She’s lost consciousness.” He flips the lid open, grabs the cake, and bites into it, leaving merely crumbs behind. If I wasn’t about to hurl, I’d be impressed with his eating skill.

  Miranda clicks her tongue. “Hence the cake, Chase. It’ll level off her blood sugar. Or it would have before you ate it all.”

  “I really don’t think that blood sugar is the problem here,” Raya taunts.

  How my own sister—my flesh and blood—can look so pleased right now is proof alone that I’ve messed up.

  “What in the name of FUC happened?” Director Cooper pipes up, tapping her foot. “Why is one of my future agents in a dead swoon? What is this? A salon for temperamental ladies? Up, Vera. On your feet.”

  “Yes, Director.”

  Only problem is, my knees have stopped being knees. Oh, they’re still there. My kneecaps are intact, and by rights, I should be able to stand on my own two feet—if my legs weren’t suddenly made of jiggling gelatin. The floor needs to stop moving before I even try to stand.

  The smell of blood lingers in the air, the sharp metallic scent prickling my nose with the promise of more fainting.

  Pull yourself together, Vera.

  “Well?” my future boss snaps. She’s not merely tapping her foot; she’s ready to break out into a full jig.

  Chase takes hold of my hands and hoists me up. I am nothing but a collapsed rag doll in my hero’s arms.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  It took me all of two seconds to fail at being an agent.

  “Here we are.” The bear shifter helps me into one of the chairs and pats my shoulder like a clumsy uncle who doesn’t know how to console his niece. “You okay?”

  I nod because what the hell else am I going to do? Admit to a room full of people that I am a vampire bat who passes out at the sight of blood?

  I can’t.

  That would be the fastest way of losing my position as a FUC agent before I even get my hands on my badge.

  “Someone really needs to explain to me what’s happened,” Director Cooper grumbles. “Nolan is on his way to check you out, Vera.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I say. Rather, I plead. “I’m fine.”

  Director Cooper wags her still-bleeding finger at me. “Don’t tell lies, Vera. I can sniff ‘em out from a mile away.”

  My ass melts into the chair, and I really long to disappear. Actually, if I’m wishing for things, it would be the ability to not faint every time I see blood. That’s what I really need.

  “My office,” Director Cooper commands before turning on her heels and leaving the room.

  Mom sits beside me and drapes her arms around my shoulder. “Are you okay, Moppet?”

  I wince at the nickname I’ve hated since the day it was bestowed on me on my fourth birthday when the clown got a nosebleed. Other kids pass out because clowns are scary as hell and have no business being at a kid’s party.

  Me? I nosedived into my cake because the man bled.

  Dad sighs. I can feel his shame and disappointment. “I thought you were over all that.”

  “She’s over it all right,” Raya quips. “Looks like I’ll lap you.” She grins, shrugs, and saunters out.

  Not a chance in hell am I going to let Raya get her badge before me.

  2

  Norbert

  Every time I hear whistleblower, my mind fills with the image of a crossing guard. A living, breathing statue stuck in the middle of a busy intersection, wearing an ugly reflective orange vest, hands out to stop traffic and blowing like mad into a bright yellow kazoo.

  Cars and trucks perpetually rush by with no concern for the rules or basic human decency.

  There the guard stands, honking his kazoo, knowing that, at any second, he could be killed.

  That he will be killed.

  That’s me right now.

  I’m not using a whistle but my mouth, and I have to admit some pretty horrible things.

  The cars are rich and powerful shifters, and the only thing standing between me and certain death is my contact with the Cryptozoian Council.

  I miss the simplicity of my farm life.

  This is my own damn fault. I got myself into this mess because—just like Icarus—I wanted to fly too close to the sun.

  Shoulda stuck to your plants, dude. People suck.

  A faded green ball cap is smashed down on my head to hide my easily recognizable tight black curls. The visor knocks against my glasses every time I look around the room. I’m two seconds away from being discovered. I can almost feel the walls closing in around me.

  I thought meeting in a busy coffee shop would be a good idea. I even picked a town away from my farm. No one should be capable of following me back to my place, but that’s a problem for Future Me.

  Fi
rst, I have to survive this meeting—if my contact actually shows up.

  She better be here soon because one of the teenagers buying overly sweet iced drinks is seconds away from taking one gander at me and screaming Unabomber.

  That’ll be the end of that.

  I tug on my hat, cross my arms, and scan the coffee shop once again. The pack of teens gathered at the counter shriek and shrill like ordering a coffee is the new mating call.

  I miss the quiet of my gardens.

  Plants don’t talk. Not exactly anyway. Their language is way more subtle, something I appreciate.

  It would be way easier if I knew who I was expecting.

  Val Downer, the agent I’m meeting, gave me no description of herself. All I know is that I was to come into this café, order two coffees, and wait until she made her appearance.

  Did I watch one too many spy movies in preparation for this? Maybe.

  Not that it helped. My paranoia is ratcheted up to a million. If she isn’t here in the next two minutes, I’ll leave.

  Pfft. Who am I kidding?

  I can’t go. I’m stuck here, and I’m stuck in my own damn life.

  The door swings open, and a petite woman with long black hair braided back from her face walks in with a laptop bag and one serious glower. Without warning or preamble, she grabs the chair at my small round table and plops into it.