"Welcome to Shapeshifters Anonymous. I'm Irena Reed, chapter president."
The one who called Zela. Weston reached his hand out to shake hers, but she bypassed it, grabbing the donuts. She brought them to the table, and everyone gathered round, picking and choosing. Irena selected a jelly filled and bit into it, soft and slow. Weston found it incredibly erotic.
"So what's your name?" she purred, mouth dusted with powdered sugar.
"I thought this was anonymous."
Irena motioned for him to come closer, and they walked over to the coffee stand while everyone else ate.
"The founders thought Shapeshifters Anonymous had gravitas."
"Gravitas?"
"You know. Depth. Sorry, I'm a schoolteacher. That's one of our current vocab words. When this group was created, they thought Shapeshifters Anonymous sounded better than the other potential names. We were this close to calling ourselves Shapeshifters 'R' Us."
"Oh. Okay then." He looked at the group and waved. "My name is Weston."
Weston waited for them all to reply in unison, "Hi, Weston." They didn't.
"You're welcome," Weston tried.
Still no greeting.
"They aren't very social when there's food in front of them," Irena said.
"I guess not. So . . . you're a therianthrope?"
"A werecheetah. Which is kind of ironic, being a teacher."
He stared blankly, not getting it.
"We expel cheetahs." Irena put a hand to her mouth and giggled.
Weston realized he was already in love with her. "So who is everyone here?"
"The ex-marine, Scott Howard, he's a weretortoise."
Weston appraised the man anew. Long wrinkled neck. Bowed back. "It suits him."
"The small guy with the big head, that's David Kessler. He's a werecoral."
Weston blinked. "He turns into coral?"
"Yeah."
"Like a coral reef?"
"Shh. He's sensitive about it."
"How about that older woman?" Weston indicated a portly figure with a huge mess of curly black hair.
"Phyllis Allenby. She's a furry."
"What's that?"
"Furries dress up in animal costumes. Like baseball team mascots."
Weston was confused. "Why?"
"I'm not sure. Might be some sort of weird sex thing."
"So she's not a therianthrope?"
"No. She likes to wear a hippo outfit and dance around. Personally, I don't get it."
"Why is she allowed into meetings?"
"We all kind of feel sorry for her."
A tall man with his mouth around something covered in sprinkles called over to them.
"You two talking about us?"
Irena shot him with her thumb and index finger. "Got it in one, Andy."
Andy strutted over, his grin smeared with chocolate. He shook Weston's hand, pumping enthusiastically.
"Andy McDerrmott, wereboar."
"You . . . become a pig?" Weston guessed.
"Actually, when the full moon rises, I change into someone vastly self-interested, and I talk incessantly about worthless minutiae going on in my life."
Weston wasn't sure how to answer. Andy slapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to rock him.
"A bore! Get it? Were-bore!" Andy laughed, flecking Weston with sprinkles. "Actually, kidding, I turn into a pig."
"You mean a bigger pig, right, Andy?"
Andy shot Irena a look that was pure letch.
"God, you're so hot, Irena. When are we going to get together, have ourselves a litter of little kiggens?"
"On the first of never, Andy. And they wouldn't be kiggens. They'd be pities."
"Snap," Phyllis said. "Shoot that pig down, girl."
"So who's the last guy?" Weston asked. "The big one?"
The trio glanced at the heavily muscled man sitting at the end of the table, staring off into space.
"That's Ryan."
"Just Ryan?"
Andy wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sports jacket. "That's all he's ever told us. Never talks. Never says a word. Comes to every meeting, but just sits there, looking like the Terminator."
"What does he change into?"
"No one knows. Has to be something, though, or Zela wouldn't have sent him here." Andy faced Weston. "So you're the Naperville Ripper, huh? What kind of therianthrope are you? Wererat?"
Andy frowned. "I'm not sure. I think I'm a werewolf."
This provoked laughter from the group.
"What's funny?"
"Everyone thinks they're a werewolf at first," Irena explained, patting him on the arm. "It's because werewolves are the most popular therianthropes."
"They get all the good press," Andy said. "All the books. All the movies. Never gonna see a flick called An American Wereboar in London."
"Or The Oinking," Phyllis added.
Furry or not, Weston was starting to like Phyllis.
Irena's hand moved up Weston's arm, making him feel a little light-headed.
"Because we can't remember what we do when we've changed, we all first assume we're werewolves."
"So how can I find out what I change into?"
"I set up a video camera and recorded myself." Andy reached into his jacket, took out a CD. "We can pop it in the DVD if you want."
"Don't say yes," Phyllis warned. "The last time he put in a tape of himself and some woman doing the nasty. And it was real nasty."
"An honest mistake." Andy leaned closer to Weston and whispered, "She was a college cheerleader, studying massage therapy. I was bow-legged for a week afterward."
"She was an elderly woman," Phyllis said. "With a walker."
"Mind your own business, you furvert. You're not even a real therianthrope."
Phyllis stuck out her jaw. "I am in my heart."
"When there's a full moon, you don't turn into a hippo. You turn into an idiot who puts on a hippo outfit and skips around like a retarded children's show host."
Phyllis stood up, fists clenched.
"I'm 'bout to stick an apple in your talk-hole and roast you on a spit, Ham Boy."
"Enough." Irena raised her hands. "We're adults. Let's act like it."
"Does anyone want the last donut?" It was David, the werecoral, talking. "Weston? You haven't had one yet."
Weston patted his stomach. "No thanks. I just ate my neighbor and her dog."
"I ate a Fuller Brush Salesman once," Andy said.