"Hey, Avery! Captain wants you to sit in on something," called an officer whose name I knew, but couldn't think of at the moment. Since I had been peacefully filing, minding my own business, entrenched in work, I blinked at him for a moment, startled.
"Why?"
"It's another shifter. He wants you there — come on."
"What's the problem?" I reluctantly put down my files and followed him, adjusting my sweater. I do love a good sweater. This was one my boyfriend, Jon Connery, had bought for me. It felt cozy, it fit nicely, and he'd said more than once that it made me look hot. After that we usually didn't talk for a while. I smiled at the thought.
He was out on some kind of police work or other, and I was working the files. On the occasions when we worked together, fortunately rare, it was because the captain had need of my heightened sense of smell for police work. Since it was usually something bad (drugs, violence, or, just a short time ago, a child's abduction), it wasn't my favorite thing in the world. I much preferred my calmer clerical work.
But why was I needed for this? It puzzled me, to be honest.
Still concerned, but willing to go along with it, I obediently followed the officer (whose name would come to me any minute, I was certain) into one of the interrogation rooms.
It was a mistake. The place stank of terrified rabbit shifter, and when he saw me, even before I saw him, he let out a loud shriek. It hurt the ears, like something a small mammal would make just before death at a hawk's claws — the dive, the catch, the scream.
I recoiled, nearly as repelled as he was. I scrambled back towards the door, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process.
"Avery, what's—" began the captain, scraping his chair back loudly and getting up.
"Fox fox fox fox," chattered the terrified, cringing rabbit. He was shaking visibly, and had hopped out of his seat and was now trying to squeeze himself into the farthest corner of the room and cover his head with his arms. He began to cry.
"Let me out!" I yelped, shoving the officer out of my way — he was a solid fellow, old what's-his-name. For an instant I couldn't think at all. It was only the stuffy, crowded room, the stink of the rabbit's fear, and my own anxiety to escape.
Then I was out, breathing hard, furious, and so glad to be out of there. I straightened my sweater again as I hurried away, scowling very hard indeed. I moved to the nearest empty chair and sat down, taking deep breaths, glaring at anyone who even glanced curiously in my direction, and generally trying to gain control of my flustered emotions.
After another moment, the captain popped out of the room, looking around.
I rose smoothly to my feet and gave him a cold look.
"Captain, may I speak with you?" I said in as level a tone as I could muster. I couldn't keep myself from glaring at him.
"Yeah. What was all that about?" he said, eyeing me uncertainly. "A shifter thing?"
"You could say that." I huffed. "Never, never, and I meanneverforce a prey shifter — like, oh, a rabbit — to be in the same room with me. He was already nervous from being locked in a room with strangers. I can't blame him; it's scary. Then you add me to the mix, someone he's genetically programmed to fear? That's — that's justmean, not to mention useless." I pointed a finger at him. "If he wanted to, he could file a complaint against this precinct for cruel and unusual harassment. And I could testify on his behalf!"
The captain took a step back, staring at me like I was nuts. "But…you wouldn't hurt him."
"Of course not! I'd never hurt a shifter. And I never want to be responsible for making another person as afraid as he feels in there. You need to let him go — now. If he's a person of interest, can't you talk to him some other way than — than in what amounts to a cage for him? It'sbarbaric." I shuddered. It was only the knowledge that the captain didn't know what he was doing to that poor bunny that made me think he was less than a complete monster.
The captain stared at me hard for a moment, then gave a tight nod. He turned away and barked a couple of orders that amounted to the rabbit's release. "I still don't get it," he said, focusing on me again. "You wouldn't hurt him, but he's afraid of you."
I sighed heavily. "His rabbit side knows I'm a predator. He can't help that — neither can I. I — I feel that way about wolves, but not as strongly. It's knowing if we were both in our animal forms, and uncivilized, one of us would be trying to kill the other. Wolves don't like foxes; rabbits fear foxes. And with good reason, I might add. A wild fox would hunt him in his rabbit form; hell, in my fox form, I eat wild rabbits." He was still staring, so I tried to explain further. "It would be like locking you up for questioning, and then adding a serial killer to the mix. To watch you. Someone you felt would like to kill you. And, were circumstances different, might try."
He blinked, looking shocked. "He sees you as a serial killer?"
"He sees me as a predator. And I am — not towards him, but I am. Can you see why that would be a problem?"
"Yes, I can see that…" His voice trailed off. He went away in a hurry to fix this, if it could still be fixed.
As they led the rabbit away, the fellow cast me a hunted, terrified look from across the room. The whites of his eyes were showing and he was still trembling really hard. He was either having or close to having a nervous breakdown, and he smelled faintly of urine, as if he'd peed himself in fear.
I looked away quickly, so I wasn't meeting his gaze. My mouth tasted sour, like I wanted to be sick.
"You really need to learn more about dealing with shifters who aren't wolves," I told the captain when he returned to my side, the rabbit now gone. "Not every shifter is like a wolf. If you insist on treating prey-type shifters like that, you'll ruin all possible cooperation with the police, as well as lose out on valuable sources of information." I frowned at him, still recovering from the knowledge that I'd been used to terrorize someone. I was hurt and affronted that I'd been unwittingly corralled into it.
"Okay, point taken," said the captain, making a calm-down gesture with his hands.
"It had better be. It's about time you educate yourself." I glared at him, then whirled and hurried away, before I started shouting at him. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Just who gave him the right to assume so much? To think that all shifters were the same, and — and he could treat us any old way?
