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Monday

There is nothing better than waking up naturally, rising slowly from the depths of sleep because of the clear, slowly growing dawn bringing golden light into your bedroom windows -- or, in this case, into the high windows set into the roof of the stables. I felt warm, safe, comfortable, snuggled on a nice blanket, with hay beneath me making a perfect bed. As I shifted slightly, I found that I had to amend my "nothing better" idea, as it was clearly better still to wake up next to the male who had, only the night before, become the most wonderful lover I'd ever known.

Which clichés shall I use, and in what quantities? They're all true -- that I can attest to. Recalling the previous night, from the conversation we shared to the point where we could no longer use words, I felt how easy it would be to crank up the waterworks again, whether from the simple joys of being with him, or from the ecstasy of seeing his wings unfurl as they did in that moment that poets devote their entire lifetimes to describe. I'm no poet, but I did realize that I wanted a lifetime with as many such moments as Emmanuel would wish to share with me. I also realized that he'd said much the same to me, in more than one way. Both of us had been looking for someone, it would seem, as if we were whole yet incomplete (don't ask -- love is all about paradox). By accident or artifice, we had found each other, and if Fate is kind, perhaps we would feel that completion after all. I felt he might agree with me that, at long last, we were two halves of a similar content.

I felt the exquisite equine stir gently beside me, and I reached out to pet his neck tenderly as he woke unhurriedly to the morning. He had fallen asleep partially atop me, his firm chest and belly pressed to my side, his wings partially furled in a comfortable-seeming position that still covered us. Mentally, I found myself chuckling at realizing that I was going to have to learn how to sleep with him, making concessions to his wings. That thought led me to realize that I wouldn't have it any other way.

"G'morning," I said softly, kissing his cheek.

Eyes still closed, he smiled and nuzzled me back. "G'morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Even better than the couch. Or my bed at home." He opened his eyes, his smile increasing as he looked at me. "Wonder if it's because of the hay or this wonderful body pillow I'm cuddled up with?"

"Sounds like something that will require a great deal of research."

"Location, location, location."

"Just remember to take your body pillow with you during these experiments."

"Always." He kissed me gently, closed lips to closed lips, sealing the promise with the perfect touch of intimacy. When he pulled back, his smile was soft, his eyes softly troubled. "We really are going to have a lot to work out, Gavin."

"We can do it."

"Yes." He nodded, his wings shifting gently around us. "Yes, we can."

Our muzzles nuzzled each other for a bit, a gesture so completely romantic that there should have been violins around somewhere. After, I felt him stretch just a little, as if he were reluctant to separate from me just yet. I felt the same way, but we both knew that morning chores were going to have to be seen to. I could hear the horses making small, contented, but expectant noises down below, and depending upon how much we wanted to spring upon the twins (and in what way), discretion might be the better part of being teased. Not, I suspected, that we wouldn't be able to survive it.

"A suggestion," I said, offering a kiss to his eartip. "How about I wander down and clean up just a bit, while you take another few minutes of rest? If you're very good, I just might bring a warm washcloth up to you."

"Does that count as grooming?"

"Could be. I might even have an apple for you."

"You said that it would require me being good. What if I'm bad?"

"Two apples."

Emmanuel grinned at me. "Remind me to be bad."

"As often as possible." I kissed his lips briefly and rolled away to gain my hindpaws (reluctantly, I confess). He sat up, rearranging his wings, which still seemed to have their own glow about them in the growing golden light in the stable. "I'll be back quickly."

"Just be careful on that stair."

"Always."

The steps to the hay loft were canted sufficiently that younger, more nimble paws could descend them like a regular staircase; for myself, I found it better to descend them like a ladder, facing them. Perhaps it was the good night's sleep, or perhaps the exercise of the night before, but I found quite the spring in my step. I reached the bottom in good time and moved off to the loo. I had designed the "three-quarter bath," as they're known, to be just a bit larger than the norm, in order to accommodate an "ursine of royal proportions" such as myself. I figured on getting a proper shower a little later in the morning, after the chores were done. For now, a reasonable removal of the evidence was indicated, if only to keep the twins from chortling too much.

...speaking of whom...! I heard the far stable door open, and I knew there would be no hiding. There are towels in the bathroom, but my clothing was still up in the loft with Emmanuel. It seemed to me that I was in for the old saws: The jig was well and truly up, I was caught with my pants not merely down but entirely off, and I would have to face the music, or at least gales of otterish chitters, cheers, and happy tail-thapping. Perhaps a small blow to my pride, in that I wouldn't be able to make the revelation in my own way and time, but on the other paw, how often do I get the chance to enjoy teasing the twins by taking my own nakkie-time as they had last night? I chuckled, thinking either that I was getting more perverted in my dotage, or that I was learning at long last to enjoy simply having fun for a change.

Not quite up to flashing my hired paws with full bearful nudity, I wrapped a towel around myself, took a deep breath in preparation, and stepped out into the stable's alley. I was surprised to see that, save for the El Caballo Quintet, no one was in sight on the lower level of the stables. Someone must have been there, or at least looked in, as the far door was slightly ajar. The horses themselves were more awake than before, shifting in their stalls as they usually did when they were expecting attention. It may have been me that they were aware of, but I didn't think so. I padded slowly toward Jason, who seemed concerned by something; his head bobbed a little, accompanied by a blow and an adjusting of his footing within his stall. Beyond him, Hot Shot seemed disturbed as well, not rearing, but nervous on his hooves.

I pet Jason's neck gently. "What's wrong, Imperious?" I whispered. He seemed a little calmer after my touch, my voice, although he was still edgy. The tentative whinny from the colt turned my attention back to him. His dam and Revy were not particularly calm either, but Hot Shot was agitated beyond my ability to understand. I padded over to him and leaned over the partition, reaching out slowly with both forepaws. He got a whiff of me, recognized me in the dawn's light, reassured a little. I took his chin very gently in one forepaw, petting his neck with the other, murmuring soft sounds to him, trying to look into his eyes, hoping he would focus on me and calm himself. I had no idea what had set him off so...

A sound from the door that had been left ajar. I was just past the middle of the stables at that point, nearer to that door than the other, and I glanced over to see Shane moving slowly into the building. Just what I needed -- me wearing only a towel while clearly trying to molest the young male horse. This wasn't going to do at all well with the bush telegraph in town. I released Hot Shot gently, turned toward the puma, trying to organize the truth in my mind, as nothing else would suffice. Before I could speak, however, I saw the shotgun resting in his forepaws.

I froze on the spot, hardly able to breathe. He stood several meters inside the stables, door ajar behind him, holding the shotgun as casually as he might have held a shovel or pitchfork to begin the morning's mucking out. His face was set, impassive, his eyes half-lidded but hard. His mouth moved as if being manipulated by another. "Where is it?"

My mouth tried to move, but nothing came out.

"Where is that unnatural abomination unto the Lord?"

I felt my forehead crease, confused, unthinking.

"WHERE?"

The shout caused Hot Shot and the mares to shy. My anger outweighed my fear for a moment. "Voice down," I said, a harsh whisper. "Don't frighten them."

"They are God's creatures, and God will protect them." The puma advanced another step. "He is here."

"He's back in the house."

"Lying lips are abomination to the Lord." A scowl tightened his features somewhat. "You slept here last night. Your own perversion made more horrifying by fornication with that spawn of Satan."

"That's enough!"

"The preacher spoke clearly to me. It was his sermon, his revealed truth of the plagues we cannot allow to continue. If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death."

I'd heard the quote from Leviticus far too many times in my life, but never had it been directed at me from someone who seemed intent on carrying out the sacred damnation. My fur crawled as if trying to run away and hide. Keeping my arms to my side was the most difficult thing I'd ever done. I knew that I could make no sudden move. "Shane, stop. Put the gun down. You don't know what you're doing."

"I am the Lord's justice, his tool in the fight against evil in this world." His scowl tightened into something that had to have hurt, showing the agonies within, whatever their source truly was. "I have seen the Devil in you, and now you have brought that... that_demon_into this house of innocent creatures..."

"He is no demon, Shane, nor am I."

"The righteous must not suffer the evil to flourish." The puma raised the shotgun higher, aiming it directly at my head. "You shall be judged by the will of God."

"But not by you." I stood as tall as I could, staring at the end of the shotgun's barrel, at the well of blackness that bore nothing but pain and death, feeling myself begin to tremble, to feel the emptiness of oblivion at the mouth of some unnatural cavern. "Not by any court or ruler or God."

"For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power?" Another step toward me as he intoned the words from what he dared to call the Good Book. "Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same, for he is the minister of God to thee for good..."

Hot Shot reared behind me, his whinny an unmistakable cry of fear and isolation. He could see the rest of the troop around him, but he, like I, felt alone and abandoned. Jason and Footie tried to make answering cries as they shifted in their stalls, feeling the building rage in the air and in the puma's voice. I could hear Sony stamp once, like a gavel calling for order in a court perverted from its true purpose.

"But if thou do that which is evil," the cat's voice rose, announcing his executioner's prayer to some imagined judge, "be afraid, for he beareth not the sword in vain; for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil."

A shadow at the door behind him. I tried not to look in that direction. Shane saw something in my face, because he started to turn that way. Suddenly, from above us came the shout,"UP HERE!" The cat pivoted, raising the shotgun sharply upward.

A sound of thunder.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You can take that off now, sir."

I still felt shaky as hell, but I removed the oxygen mask anyway. It had helped. My entire body felt sore beyond anything I'd experienced before, and I knew that I was still feeling the shock. Even after living through the horrors of the last hour or so, I couldn't believe it had happened, but the continued commotion around me convinced me that it had. I noticed that Boyce and Brady were still giving their statements to the sheriff, standing near his car a short distance away. My turn would come soon enough. I was still pretty well out of it, in part because I could still feel the stiffness and smell the copper of Emmanuel's blood on my chest and arms. I'd used the towel to cover him, retrieving my pants at the time. I don't know why I didn't get my shirt. It just wasn't important.

The morning had dawned with clearing skies and sweet, clean air. I was still piecing together what had happened, my mind skipping and gibbering over having to relive it all again. Wiping my eyes with a forepaw, I did my best to pull myself together. I'd often sat on this bench just outside the stable's front doors, but never so early in the morning. It didn't seem right to be here when there were chores to be done.Usually there were chores to be done. Nothing was usual anymore.

The paramedic wheeled the oxygen tank back over to the ambulance, and I noticed that the sheriff seemed to have finished with the twins. Boyce looked over at me, his eyes filled with sympathy. It was clear that he and Brady wanted to be with me, but I knew that the sheriff had to have his time with me first. The story would have to be told and retold in order for the facts to be represented correctly.

I had met the county sheriff more than a few times when I was shopping in Buford. A strong panther, about my own age, who moved and spoke in an almost stereotypical manner, the mild-mannered country cop in his native habitat. To sell him that short would not be merely unfair but unwise; he had a strong intellect that he didn't get nearly enough opportunity to exercise. We'd talked -- discreetly, of course -- about books, music, classic films, over coffee and beignet at Byron's Bakery. His keen observations extended into his line of work; he could crack a fake alibi in minutes. I wasn't about to lie to him anyway, but heaven help anyone who did.

It occurred to me that, in this instance, it wasn't a joke, much less a funny one.

The well-formed feline padded up to me, his uniform impressively clean and pressed, courtesy of the local cleaners and the sheriff's dutiful wife. The star hung pinned perfectly in place above the simple name tag bearing PORTILLO, white letters carved into the black plastic. He was tucking his small notebook into the pocket just below these identifiers as he nodded to me. "Gavin."

"Harlan."

"You sure you're okay? The medicos are still here..."

I shook my head. "Gonna take more than medicine to take this kind of pain away."

He paused, considering. "I could come back later."

"Let's get it over with." I jutted my chin toward his shirt pocket. "Need to take notes?"

"Brady and Boyce have told me most of it, I'm sure. You tell me your part. It oughta fit together all right."

Taking a deep breath, I passed a paw over my eyes again, forcing myself to organize my thoughts. "You know that Emmanuel was here as my guest."

"Got that."

"We slept in the hay loft of the stables last night, listening to the rain. Before you ask, we weren't 'involved' before last night. I didn't even think he was interested. Turns out I was wrong."

"He arrived with you on Friday evening?"

"Yes. That was when Shane first saw him. He was quite vocal about Emmanuel."

"So Boyce and Brady said. Never seen a Pegasus before, eyuh?"

"Probably didn't know the word." I shook my head. "The short form is that, by Saturday afternoon, I'd had quite enough of Shane's presence. I had him take yesterday off, and truth told, I didn't give him a thought before he showed up this morning. Didn't even remember he was supposed to show up this morning, as usual."

Usual...

Harlan nodded thoughtfully. "Tell me what happened from when you woke up." He managed a small smile. "You can leave out any romantic details."

I steadied myself with a breath. He wasn't trying to be mean in any way. "We woke up as the sun was rising. My only thought was that the twins would be awake soon as well, and that perhaps Emmanuel and I should... tidy up a bit. I came down first, to let him relax a little longer. I was in the loo when I heard the far door open. I thought it was Brady and Boyce, figured we'd be in for some teasing. I finished up quickly, wrapping a towel around myself before I came out into the stables. When I got there, I didn't see anyone, but the horses seemed anxious. I had no idea why, at first. I was at Hot Shot's stall when Shane finally came in."

"Can you show me, just so I can get the scene in my head?"

"Of course." Feeling heavy in body and spirit, I still managed to lever myself off the bench and lead Harlan into the stables. I pointed out the location of the loo, the ladder steps up to the loft, and the locations of the stalls where I'd paused to talk to Jason and Hot Shot. Taking more than a few chances, the twins had since led the horses, one at a time, out of the stable to run in the grazing fields; it seemed best to let them get as far away from the sirens and noise as possible. All five had roamed well past the halfway point of the enclosure, banding closer together than usual. We'd have a helluva time trying to keep them calm when bringing them back to the barn, and we'd have to do whatever cleaning and airing-out we could to get rid of the horrible smells.

"So you were standing there when Shane came in?"

"Yes."

"And your guest... Emmanuel, he was still up in the loft?"

"Yes."

"What happened next?"

I shook my head. "I'd never seen Shane behave like that. He'd let me know more than once that my soul was damned to Hell, but he never actually quoted chapter and verse at me, never threatened me before." I felt the shudder run through me as the memory slammed into my mind again. "The shotgun... he had it aimed at my head. I looked right down into the barrel."

Harlan put a gentle forepaw to my shoulder, no doubt violating some sort of official rules of crime scene investigation but showing excellent social skills. I swallowed and looked up to the loft.

"I'll try to piece together everything that I saw. Emmanuel shouted from the loft, and I saw him spread his wings wide, drawing Shane's fire. Shane let off one round, and he struck Emmanuel with it, knocking him back. The horses panicked at the noise; Jason reared high enough that he could have broken down the door to his stall. All of them were screaming, rearing, eyes rolling. I wasn't thinking anymore. I remember trying to move toward him, as if to stop him from shooting again, although I was moving so slowly. That whole slow-motion feeling..."

"It's real," the panther murmured. "I've felt it myself. Go ahead on, now, just tell it."

I swallowed, every moment like a movie frame in my head. "He started to turn toward me, and that's when the twins came through the door and hit him above and below in a flying tackle. The shotgun went skittering across the floor. I ignored it, grabbing a length of tether from the wall, hoping we could bind his arms, tie him to a fence post, whatever it took. I don't even know how they got here in time. It couldn't have been the shotgun blast..."

"They heard his truck pull up," Harlan said. "They were ready to come to the barn anyway, they said; they were a little confused 'cuz it sounded as if he'd gone to the barn, then back to his truck. They couldn't see him as they walked here, but after just a bit, they heard him shouting, 'screaming about Emmanuel' as they put it. They ran to the door, listening until they could figure out what was going on. They heard you tell him to put the gun down, so they tried to sneak their way in behind him."

"Took a lot of guts," I managed. "They had him well in paw, even though he thrashed like a wildcat. I called out for Emmanuel, and he didn't answer. I ran for the ladder, stripping off the towel so that I could manage the steps better. I saw Emmanuel, and I went to him... I put the towel on him... so much blood..."

I felt the panther's paw squeeze my shoulder. "It was lucky that Shane had loaded the wrong cartridges; if it had been buckshot instead of birdshot, Emmanuel might'a lost that wing, maybe even got himself killed. You did the right thing to stanch the bleeding and clean him up. The medicos aren't real skilled in treating a Pegasus, but they're very good at picking pellets from muscle. Shane shot high, caught Emmanuel in a part that's a wing's equivalent of the upper arm. I can only guess how much it hurt, but he'll be all right. He lost a lot of blood, but there was very little damage to the wing itself."

"I need to call his physician..."

"Already handled. Boyce fetched Emmanuel's phone from your house; the stallion's a little loopy from pain meds, but he was able to tell the paramedics which name was his doctor. That's how they got the information that they did, to treat the wing. He'll be okay, Gavin." Harlan patted my shoulder. "C'mon; he's been asking for you. I've got all the details that I need."

The panther more or less led me out of the stables and toward the ambulance. From the back seat of the sheriff's car, where he sat handcuffed and waiting to be taken to jail, Shane caught sight of me and began hurling hellfire and scripture at me yet again. The deputy, a tough young back-country pit bull, tried to quiet the puma, then to out-shout him. My understanding was that the deputy attended the same church as did Shane, but even he seemed to want to make the cat shut up. I had no idea how the pup felt about me personally, but as Harlan had told me, the deputy took his job seriously; he had sworn to uphold man's law and keep his God's law in his own heart. I had the idea that he didn't think they were nearly as far apart as did Shane.

The paramedics had brought the gurney out of the ambulance and managed to lay Emmanuel onto his left side, his left wing extended, hanging toward the ground. The right wing had been cleaned, carefully patched and bandaged, with a makeshift brace and sling holding it in place. Both forepaws had a loose grip on the railing in front of him. I circled around to face him, touched his cheek gently. "How are you?"

His eyes focused on me reasonably well, but I could tell he wasn't entirely awake. "I'm okay," he murmured softly. "Will be."

"If we can get you loaded into the van, I'll take you to your doctor."

Emmanuel seemed to look up past me, and I realized he was looking at Harlan. "It's okay," the sheriff told him. "I got the details. Get yourself seen to proper."

He turned back to me. "I'm not so think as you drunk I am," he managed to smile, "but I could use some help sitting up, to start with."

With my and the panther's help, the Pegasus managed to roll more or less upright. He took a long, slow breath, clearly trying to stop the scenery from jumping up and down. Harlan and I kept a forepaw on his shoulders while he got his bearings and, after a short pause, his hooves. I saw him grimace as his right wing tried to shift, but before I could say anything, he reassured us that he would be okay. Brady and Boyce came over to help, guiding him to the van while I went back to the house to don a shirt and fetch his duffle. The paramedics assured me that he should be all right until I could get him to his doctor, if we left right away, but they provided a pawful of pain meds should they be needed. I got bottles of water for each of us, and I knew he'd be all right when he tried to tell us that we didn't need to fuss so much.

"This kind of bad will_not_ get you an extra apple." I tapped his nose tenderly with a finger and smiled. I turned back to the twins. "You two going to be okay?"

"Gavin, we'll be fine." Boyce surprised me by giving me a kiss to my cheek. "Call us when you have news."

"We know you'll be okay," Brady said to Emmanuel, "but we want to make sure you'll be back in better-than-ever condition."

The Pegasus nodded, managing a smile. "Don't do to have a new employee starting off lame, eh?"

"Nothing lame about you. You landed a new job, a new home, and the boss, all at one go."

...and beyond...

Emmanuel's doctor showed him into the examining room as soon as we arrived, and by noon, I was taking the stallion back to his apartment to settle in for the week. My own place in the city was a simple efficiency, small and convenient, but absolutely without the room and necessary comforts that the Pegasus needed. Now bearing a proper brace for his wounded wing, Emmanuel was better able to deal with the discomfort on only a minor amount of pain meds. His right arm had a limited range of motion, but he was overall able to move and fend for himself. I, of course, nipped that foolishness in the bud. We ordered-in some dinner on Monday night, and during my breaks at the spa on Tuesday, I got groceries and, at his request, some packing boxes. He wanted to make a start, readying some things for a storage facility.

I had a few appointments on Saturday, so it took us until that late afternoon to drive back out to the stables. There wasn't much that we could tell the twins apart from the results of some brainstorming that we'd managed to do during the week. Emmanuel and I had come to a few conclusions together (not that kind -- although still limber, the stallion did not look forward to the idea of the pain caused by muscle contractions that "the moment" tended to bring about), and when we broached one particular idea to the otters, they seemed quite enthusiastic. They admitted to needing to learn a lot more before they fully understood what it meant to be part of a LLC, but they got the general idea readily enough. They suggested a name, which I readily agreed with, and we more or less outvoted the blushing Emmanuel. My friend-first-attorney-second, Alistair Bakshi, would be getting word that we wanted to form Pegasus Stables, LLC, as soon as we could arrange it. We already had the perfect model for our advertising; seemed foolish not to use that to our advantage.

Contrary to my original idea of "taking it slowly," all four of us seemed delighted with the idea of seeing what we could build together, from a business to a family. On the business front, Brady and Boyce soon would have a direct financial and operational say in whatever we decided to make of the place, and Emmanuel had already told me that part of his personal financial calculations involved being able to make an investment in a business venture. Brady had the cheek to call it a dowry. The stallion and I both gave him a proper raspberry, but at the same time, it would have been almost disappointing he hadn't made the joke.

On that more serious note, Emmanuel and I did consider it a good idea to go slower rather than faster. For one thing, it simply seemed prudent; marriages are far more difficult to dissolve than business agreements. For another, we both thought that it might take a while for us to get around to telling everyone we knew about our newly-born relationship. The stallion did have a bit of a reputation with the females, and news travels all too swiftly in any part of the fashion business. We decided to have a little private "honeymoon" before letting everyone know about it.

The whole town of Buford was already buzzing with Shane's attempted murders. The arrest was a matter of public record, as Harlan was quick to remind me, and the local semi-weekly paper caught the story just in time for the mid-week edition. From there, it even reached the big city daily, somewhere in Section C or whatever. (I'd let everyone at the spa know about it before it became newsworthy.) The rumor mill cranked up to breakneck speed, as such crimes are grist on the order of loaves and fishes to a small town. Shane's homophobia was the key element in the attempt, and although my sexuality was no secret, the question then became, what was the stallion's own inclinations and had there been a consummation. Few things fascinate someone more than knowing things about others that they'd be offended to be asked of themselves.

In that area, Byron helped a great deal. Many locals went to him for details (I was at his shop often enough, and everyone knew we were friends); he quite honestly told them that I had confirmed that Emmanuel was a Pegasus, and that I had invited him to the stables for the weekend to work out some personal problems. When asked if there were more to the relationship, he truthfully said that he'd not heard anything about that, adding that perhaps the querent should direct the question to me directly. When I finally tell him the facts, he might have to adjust his statements slightly, but I don't think he'll mind; after all, if there's a wedding, no one could create a cake better than he.

Shane's rather fundamentalist church was protestant in its foundations, so they didn't exactly hold with excommunication, as might the Catholic church. From the behavior of those associated with the church, however, the term "shunning" came to mind. Emmanuel would be out of work for a short time, recovering from the attack, and that part of the news did indeed spread like wildfire. When pressed for details, his agent, although somewhat disappointed that his advice wasn't taken, nonetheless told the story as it happened. The Internet being what it is, the homophobic and species prejudice expressed by the incident made it disturbingly popular; those who relish in defaming fundamentalism brought a particularly cruel spotlight onto the members of that church. Most of the townsfolk said little about the church, but went so far as to defend me and the otters for doing what we could to help Emmanuel. The fundamentalist vocal minority would shut up for a while, and I figured that the Pegasus and I could take a chance on (gasp!) shopping together in the near future.

There's still so much to do, but we'll figure out what and how as we go along. We've got our plans, we've got our hearts, and we've got as much chance of making it work as anyone else. Come to think of it, perhaps more so, since we've got family. We have the support, the strength, the ability to make our dreams take flight. That's for the future, as we build it a day at a time. For tonight, the twins think they can best me and Emmanuel at Trivial Pursuit. I'm breaking out the Genus III deck, since I think they've memorized the others. They'd better be prepared -- after dinner, it is_so_on...