"You don't have to be so—"
"Look, seriously. I have absolutely no idea. They're two different things—lycanthropy is a disease. Furry-ness is a… a predilection. Which I suppose means it's possible to be both. And when you say furry, are you talking about the people who like cartoons with bipedal foxes, or are you talking about the people who dress up in animal suits to get it on? Maybe some of the people who call in wanting to know how to become werewolves happen to be furries and think that's the next logical step. How many of the lycanthropes that I know are furries? That's not something I generally ask people. Do you see how complicated this is?"
"Well, yeah. But I have to wonder, if someone really believes that they were meant to be, you know, a different species entirely—like the way some men really believe they were meant to be women and then go through a sex change operation—don't you think it's reasonable that—"
"No. No it isn't reasonable. Tell me, do you think that you were meant to be a different species entirely?"
He gave a deep sigh, the kind that usually preceded a dark confession, the kind of thing that was a big draw for most of my audience.
"I have this recurring dream where I'm an alpaca."
I did a little flinch, convinced I hadn't heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"
"An alpaca. I keep having these dreams where I'm an alpaca. I'm in the Andes, high in the mountains. In the next valley over are the ruins of a great Incan city. Everything is so green." He might have been describing the photos in an issue of National Geographic . "And the grass tastes so lovely."
Okay, that probably wasn't in National Geographic .
"Um… that's interesting."
"I'd love to travel there someday. To see the Andes for myself. Have—have you by any chance ever met any were-alpacas?"
If it weren't so sad I'd have to laugh. "No, I haven't. All the were-animals I've ever heard of are predators, so I really don't think you're likely to meet a were-alpaca."
"Oh," he said with a sigh. "Do you think maybe I was an alpaca in a past life?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I'm sorry I can't be more help. I genuinely hope you find some answers to your questions someday. I think traveling there is a great idea." Seeing the world never hurt, in my opinion. "Thanks for calling."
I had no idea where the show could possibly go after that. I hit a line at random. "Next caller, what do you want to talk about?"
"Hi, Kitty, yeah. Um, thanks. I—I think I have a problem." He was male, with a tired-sounding tenor voice. I always listened closely to the ones who seemed tired; their problems were usually doozies.
"Then let's see what we can do with it. What's wrong?"
"It all started when these two guys moved to town, a werewolf and a vampire. They're a couple, you know?"
"These are two guys. Men, right?"
"Right."
"And the problem is…"
"Well, nothing at this point. But then this vampire hunter started going after the vampire, I guess he'd been hired by the vampire's former human servant."
"The vampire's human servant didn't travel with him?"
"No, he dumped her to run off with the werewolf."
There couldn't possibly be more. Bracing, I said, "Then what?"
"Another werewolf, who used to be the alpha female mate of the werewolf before he hooked up with the vampire, showed up. She wanted to get back together with him, saying this stuff about wolves mating for life and all, but he didn't want anything to do with her, so he hired the same hunter to go after her —"
"This hunter, his name wasn't Cormac by any chance, was it?" I knew a vampire and werewolf hunting Cormac, and this sounded like something he might do.
"No."
Phew. "Just checking."
The story only went downhill from there. Just when I thought the last knot had been tied in the tangled web of this town's supernatural soap opera, the caller added a new one.
Finally, I was able to ask, "And what's your place in all this?"
He gave a massive sigh. "I'm the human servant of the local vampire Master. They make me deliver messages. 'Tell them they have to leave town.' 'Tell your Master we don't want to leave town!' 'Tell the hunter we'll pay him to call off the contract!' 'Tell him if he doesn't come back to me I'll kill myself!' It never ends! And all I want to know is—"
Maybe he just wanted to vent. That was what I was here for. Maybe he wouldn't ask me to sort out his drama for him. Fingers crossed. "Yes?"
"Why can't we all just get along?"
Oy. It was one of those nights. "That, my friend, is the million-dollar question. You know what? Screw 'em. They're all being selfish and putting you in the middle. Make them deliver their own messages."
"I—I can't do that ."
"Yes you can. They've got to realize how ridiculous this all looks."
"Well, I mean, yeah , I've told them, but—"
"But what?"
"I guess I'm used to doing what I'm told."
"Then maybe you should learn to say no. When they act surprised that you've said no, tell them it's for their own good. You've basically been enabling all their snotty behavior, right?"
"Maybe…"
"Because if they had to start talking to each other they might actually solve some of their problems, right?"
"Or rip each other's throats out. They're not exactly human, remember."
Taking a deep breath and trying not to sound chronically frustrated, I said, "I may very well be the only person in the supernatural underworld who feels this way, but I don't think that should make a difference. Crappy behavior is still crappy behavior, and letting yourself succumb to unsavory monstrous instincts isn't a good excuse. So, stand up for yourself, okay?"
"O-okay," he said, not sounding convinced.
"Call me back and let me know how it goes."
"Thanks, Kitty."
The producer gave me a warning signal, waving from the other side of the booth window, pointing at his watch, and making a slicing motion across his throat. Um, maybe he was trying to tell me something.