Page 44 of Hoofin’ It

“I’m surprised those meters of yours can’t tell what type of infection it is.”

“A single human body can contain over a hundred trillion bacteria cells. Your digestive system alone contains a thousand or more different species of bacteria. To add to the complexity, not every human has the same collection of bacteria. There are so many unique bacteria it’s impossible to categorize them. For every one we learn how to scan, we discover twenty or thirty new ones, and each one has a different function in the body. Some of these bacteria are good—in limited quantity.”

“So what should I do about it?”

“Keep an eye on it. If you develop a fever, give me a call.” Dr. Yasolovic pulled away, took hold of my chin, and turned my head so he could get a better look at my fake eye and my scar. “I want to take a closer look at your medical file regarding the loss of your eye. Despite extensive exposure to the lycanthropy virus, there was no change to your scar. What sort of surgical work was done? Was the eye preserved?”

“Dr. Pasadena at Northwest Memorial did the operation, and yes, it was preserved.”

Dr. Yasolovic dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Get in touch with Dr. Pasadena at Northwest Memorial. I need Mr. Gibson’s full medical file. His right eye should have been preserved, so put in a request to have it checked out of the vault and put into the CDC’s care until further notice. Forward the necessary information to his insurance company and make certain they understand they don’t have the leeway to deny coverage.”

“I paid for the preservation out of pocket. It wasn’t covered by my insurance company.”

“Be prepared for some pushback from the insurance company,” the doctor warned before hanging up. “Pop your eye out. I’d like to have a closer look at it, please.”

I obeyed. I hated touching the hard, cold orb, although I’d gotten accustomed to its presence. “I didn’t qualify for an enhanced replacement.”

Dr. Yasolovic held the sphere up to the light, squinting as he examined it. “Glass, and not even good glass. There are bubbles. I’m going to review your file, and I’ll need a copy of your employment contract and performance records.”

“My employment contract and performance records? Why?”

“There’s this little thing called the Species Anti-Discrimination Act, Mr. Gibson. I and three other doctors have spent a significant amount of time evaluating your health. Chicago has a serious discrimination issue, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I’m willing to bet that you have a pristine performance record and you were hired to meet station quotas.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a law enforcement officer with an unwanted condition was targeted to remove them from field duty. Unfortunately, a previous mistreatment resulted in the loss of a leg. While I don’t doubt your eye itself couldn’t be saved, this so-called replacement is unacceptable. Consider this my thanks for your exceptional patience during a trying and exhausting test cycle. I’m going to have someone photograph and measure this for documentation. It’ll take no more than half an hour. After, I’ll have someone take you home.”

While I doubted it would do any good, I appreciated the gesture. “Thank you, doctor.”

Within five minutes, Dr. Yasolovic handed my eye to a technician with instructions. Once the woman left, the doctor opened my file and pulled out several sheets. “While we wait, we’ll go over some of the results of your testing. First, you’re not a lycanthrope. It’s impossible for you to become one. While genetically you classify as a human, you’re not. The DNA analysis is pretty clear on that front; you barely qualify as human.”

“I barely qualify as human? What the hell does that mean? My parents are humans, although Dad’s a lycanthrope and Mom’s infected.”

“It’s an issue of genetics, Mr. Gibson. Your parents have non-human parentage, and there is overlap between both sides of your family. When two humans with non-human parentage have a child, if there is sufficient overlap, the child might not be fully human. This is the case with you. Certain genes are more dominant but can skip several generations before becoming active. Sometimes, specific combinations of genes can have surprising results. Magic can play a role, too. For example, as the son of a lycanthrope, if you were conceived beneath a full moon, you may have experienced alterations to your DNA.”

“So if I’m only partially human, what am I?”

“How much do you know about lycanthropes?”

“Enough, I guess. Dad’s one, and he has all three forms. He passed the virus to Mom, so she’ll be able to access all three forms, too.”

“That’s because the virus is replicating itself, and the virus is the source of the magic. Because its magic is potent enough for all three forms, it’s passed on. Now, it’s not guaranteed. Exposure matters. As your parents are constantly in close proximity, your father is strengthening the virus in your mother’s bloodstream. That is what will ensure your mother will have all three forms. Let’s assume your father got a paper cut and someone came into contact with him, becoming infected with the virus. First, the virus is going to take a long time to incubate; there’s no additional source helping the virus take root. As a result, when it has finally replicated enough for the magic to take hold and allow for shapeshifting, it’s not going to be as robust. There will be a high chance the new lycanthrope will only have access to two forms.”

“The full wolf and the human forms.”

“Correct. Now, lycanthropes are the result of a disease—a very strong, magical disease. It has a lot of benefits for its host, but it’s essentially an incurable illness. There’s a second class of shapeshifter, but they’re often incorrectly categorized with lycanthropes. These individuals are born capable of shapeshifting. They can’t contract the lycanthropy virus. Incubi and succubi are actually capable of transforming into other shapes. Their shapeshifting, however, is unique in becase they become human.”

“So anyone on the street could be an incubus or a succubus?”

“Exactly. Looking at the basic results of your initial DNA testing, you have a higher than normal contribution of genes from an incubus. In most humans with an incubus ancestor, the incubus genes are dormant—they’re turned off. You carry the genes, but they don’t do anything. This is only speculation, but I think you have active incubus genes, but only certain markers—the ones responsible for shapeshifting.”

If Dr. Yasolovic’s goal was to give me a headache, he was succeeding. “Can I get that in English, please?”

“Because you have an incubus ancestor, you’re probably a shapeshifter of some sort. With human DNA accounting for fifty-five percent of your genetic makeup, you’ll retain your status as a human. Your magic rating may be reevaluated following additional review of the test results, but if you can demonstrate the ability to shift shapes, you’ll be bumped up several categories.”

“This is going to make Christmas dinner really interesting,” I predicted.

“Be glad you weren’t below fifty percent human, Mr. Gibson.”