"Oh, lighten up, Scott. " The woman again. "Let the poor guy in. " Scott stepped to the side. Weston took his donuts back and entered the room. A standard church basement. Low ceiling. Damp smell. Fluorescent lights. Old-fashioned coffee percolator bubbling on a stand in the corner, next to a trunk. A long, cafeteria-style table dominated the center, surrounded by orange plastic chairs. In the chairs were five people, three men and two women. One of the women, a striking blonde, stood up and extended her hand. She had apple cheeks, a tiny upturned nose, and Angelina Jolie lips.
"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. "