Changer's Daughter (30 page)

“Good afternoon, Miss Teresa,” he says. “Your beauty enhances my humble quarters.”

Teresa’s smile doesn’t touch her eyes.

“I told Dr. Regis,” she says, the words sounding rehearsed, “that I found you interesting. He thought then to reward us both with this opportunity to know each other better.”

On one level, Katsuhiro wants very badly to know Teresa better, to find out if her skin is sweet, if her body is soft and firm beneath the layers of lace and satin. On another level, he does not want to betray the brief but intense friendship that he and Adam had forged in their dark cell.

This, however, is not what keeps him from taking the hand that Teresa holds out to him. Pride stops him. He has no wish to be Regis’s dog, taking the scraps the Chief General Doctor throws him, no matter how tasty those scraps might be.

So Katsuhiro smiles his nervous
sariman
smile and walks to the desk. A pitcher of ice water is there, an unopened bottle of wine, and a box of candy.

“It is very hot in here,” he says, pouring water. “May I offer you a drink?”

“Let me pour,” Teresa says, gliding over to him, graceful despite those impossible shoes.

“Very well.”

When she is beside him, Katsuhiro leans close as if to kiss the graceful curve of her throat. Teresa stiffens only a little.

“Are we,” he whispers, his mouth close to her ear, his nostrils full of the light scent of her perfume mingled with the more enticing smell of her body, “being watched or taped?”

The scantiness of her attire makes quite certain that she is not wearing a body wire, but he cannot search the room without his suspicions becoming evident.

Teresa’s dark eyes widen, and the hand holding the pitcher trembles slightly, but she trusts him, prisoner to prisoner. Setting down the pitcher, she puts her arms around him and nuzzles his beard.

“I brought nothing,” she murmurs, “but we may be watched. Regis has peepholes all through this building.”

Katsuhiro’s hand wants to stroke her back, and he lets it, but keeps his touch light.

“Then we must conceal our talking,” he whispers, “beneath such play. Can you bear it?”

Now he feels her shaking in his arms. It takes a moment before he realizes that what he feels is laughter, laughter on the edge of hysteria.

“Most of the pigs,” she says softly, “to whom Regis has sent me, would have raped me by now. I can bear it.”

“I still want that water,” Katsuhiro says aloud. “Pour for me, Teresa, while I take off my jacket and tie.”

She pours two glasses and sips a bit from her own. While Katsuhiro drinks, he considers his next move. Some sixth sense warns him that they are being watched, perhaps videotaped. Therefore, he must tell Teresa about Adam carefully, so that she will not reveal her grief.

“Come here, woman,” he says, “and undress me.”

She does so, while he makes a great play of unfastening her robe and rubbing her nipples. Part of him feels guilty for his arousal, part of him cynically observes that if he did not appear aroused, certainly this charade would be revealed for what it is.

Teresa finds excuses to put her ear near his mouth so that he can whisper to her, rubbing her body against his quite shamelessly. Katsuhiro approves of her courage, even as he fights down an impulse to forget his duty to Adam and use her as Regis intended.

“I have bad news,” he whispers, spacing his words out, “or perhaps good. You must decide. Are you strong?”

She has him naked by now and reaches out and wraps her hand about his erection.

“Very strong,” she says aloud, her tone playful, but her eyes full of anticipated sorrow. “Don’t you wish to see me naked?”

“You tease me almost beyond endurance,” he warns her, making his reply a genuine warning. “I am only a man. Won’t Regis be angry if I take you?”

“He let me come here,” she says, “and I wish to have you in bed and...”

She reaches and undoes the bow at her throat that holds her robe closed. Then she lets it fall to her feet. After letting him feast his eyes on her body clad only in pink satin, she peels off the teddy, her moves practiced and easy.

“Come here,” she says, holding out her hand. “Let us get to know each other better.”

Katsuhiro understands Teresa’s intention. Lying in bed, they can whisper more easily, and their muttered words will be taken for pillow talk. Still, he wonders how long his self-control can last if he is naked beside her. He hasn’t had a woman since he left Japan, and abstinence is telling. Perhaps Teresa doesn’t care if he takes her. He has at least played at lovemaking, rather than just raping her.

He lets her guide him into the bed. She reclines on her side, her head with its adornment of pearls and silk on the pillow. Katsuhiro expects her first whisper to be a plea for the promised information but what she says nearly chills his ardor.

“Do not enter me,” she hisses, “for I am death.”

Her hand caresses his back beneath the covers to convince any observer that she is doing her best to please him.

“What?” is his surprised reply.

“Regis,” she shudders with hate, not with passion, “tells me this when he fucks me. He does it like a dog, from behind, and grunts into my ear—‘You are dead! And you are living death!’”

She makes a shrill cry that a listener might take for passion, but Katsuhiro can see her eyes and the tears of rage that fill them.

“Touch me!” she says aloud. “Please, touch me!”

Katsuhiro strokes her buttocks, then, when she presses his hand there, between her legs. He is unsurprised, but perhaps a little hurt, to find her as dry as the
harmattan
wind.

He kisses her forehead by way of apology. Why should he have expected otherwise?

Teresa buries her face in his shoulder, moving as if excited by his touch, but her words are cool.

“I think Regis has AIDS and has given it to me. He delights in using me to pass the disease to his rivals. I would kill him, but...”

“Adam?”

She loses her poise, though only for a moment.

“You know him?”

“We shared a cell.” Katsuhiro now knows he brings this brave, lovely woman only relief. “He is dead these three days.”

“Oh!” Teresa sobs, disguising her cry as that of a woman in ecstasy. Perhaps she is, in her own way. “Oh, dear God!”

Then, when she has control of herself again, she whispers, “Are you certain?”

“Very. He told me he wanted to die, to free you from Regis.”

“He knew?”

“Not about the... illness.” Katsuhiro finds that his erection has diminished since Teresa told him her suspicion that she carries AIDS, and that he is very grateful he has no cuts on his hands and has not kissed her mouth more than lightly. “But I think Regis taunted him with this...”

He runs his hand across her body to indicate her unwilling prostitution.

“And Adam is dead,” Teresa whispers, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“By my hand,” Katsuhiro says softly, remembering Adam’s fear that suicide would send him to Hell, “so God will forgive him.”

Teresa understands, for which he is grateful. Katsuhiro had dreaded her reaction when she learned that her new ally is also her husband’s killer.

“As God will forgive me for killing Regis,” she murmurs.

Katsuhiro holds Teresa close, loving her for her courage. She should have been born Japanese. Perhaps she had been in another life.

“Can you keep on being brave?” he asks. “We cannot kill Regis until he is disarmed. If he has given any of the smallpox virus to his allies or made provisions for his sudden death...”

Teresa nods. “Regis would find a way to continue making people suffer, even after he is dead. He is as full of hate as the ocean is with water.”

“Then you will wait?”

“I will.” Her whisper is so soft that he almost cannot hear it. “Now, forgive me for this, but Regis will check...”

To his surprise, she pulls him on top of her.

“Do not enter me,” she whispers, “for I am death.”

Then aloud she cries, as if given over to passion, “Finish it now! I cannot wait any longer.”

Her hips move, thrusting against him. Very careful not to enter her, Katsuhiro does finish, spilling his semen between her thighs, his orgasm and his pleasure unfeigned.

“Stay a while,” he says aloud when she sits up afterward.

“I cannot,” she says, “but if we are good, perhaps Regis will let me visit again. May I use your bathroom to change my clothes? I don’t want your escort to see me this way.”

“Of course.” He waits beneath the covers, his demeanor that of a man who has just been laid and is pleased with the world.

When Teresa emerges from the bathroom, dressed again in a short skirt and neat blouse, and gathers up her lingerie, he does not escort her to the door.

“I hope I will see you again,” he says.

“I think that is likely.” She smiles, and departs. Before the door closes, Katsuhiro hears his guards jeering and making provocative noises. He wonders if any of them has been favored with Teresa’s attentions.

He does think it likely that she will be sent to him at least once more, for Regis will want to make certain that the AIDS has taken hold. Rising from the bed, Katsuhiro heads for the shower, worried that despite her promise Teresa will kill Regis and release his farewell gifts upon an innocent world.

Beneath her surface calm, she does not seem terribly sane; nor does he blame her mind for breaking.

Rebecca>> So what’s it like being part of a rock and roll star’s entourage?

Demetrios>> More work than I’d ever imagined. Tommy and Lil are doing auditions, still. I get custody of those who get the job. I also get to arrange for the failures to get home without causing a fuss. I’m still trying to decide what’s worse.

Rebecca>> Loverboy got a part, didn’t he?

Demetrios>> Yeah and... well... so did I.

Rebecca>> Wow! That’s great! :)

Demetrios>> IS it? I’m not so sure. I never wanted to be in the limelight, but Tommy won’t hear otherwise and... I always liked the guy, but I never realized how persuasive he could be. One moment I’m telling him why I need to be offstage where I can deal with trouble, the next moment he’s asking me to listen to one song, just one. Then he’s strumming the final chords, and I find myself agreeing. I still agree if I don’t think hard about why I shouldn’t.

Rebecca>> Sounds like he charmed you. Literally.

Demetrios>> I thought of that. Shame he doesn’t have a better outlet for all that power than making music.

Rebecca>> Music makes the world go ‘round—or is that love?

Demetrios>> I think it’s gravity. So we’re to have a mixed group: six fauns, six satyrs. Fortunately, Tommy has picked his backup musicians out of those so we don’t need to have many humans on stage. That just leaves a few dancers, roadies, and the people who do technical stuff with lights and sound boards and all of that.

Rebecca>> Shame you can’t use theriomorphs for that, too.

Demetrios>> Don’t you DARE suggest that, Becky Trapper! I’ve got enough people to look after.

Rebecca>> Sorry. I just wish I could be part of the fun.

Demetrios>> I’m glad you’re safe there in Oregon. It’s good to know that when this goes to hell I’ll have somewhere to run.

Rebecca>> Don’t be so pessimistic! What happened to the faun I first met, the one who wanted to rock the boat and change the way the Accord treats theriomorphs?

Demetrios>> He’s still here, just a bit wiser and a bit more aware of the complications.

Rebecca>> Aunt Swansdown says that Arthur has convinced Lovern to cook something up for you—something to do with illusions. She was giggling on the phone when she told me about it. They’re calling it fairy dust.

Demetrios>> Fairy dust? I’d better make certain Georgios doesn’t hear that. On the other hand, what better thing could I threaten him with? Or maybe... Does saltpeter really dull sexual urges?

Rebecca>> Demi! What a thought! You could ask Garrett.

Demetrios>> Maybe I should. Later, now. I’ve got to go wipe tears from the eyes of a faun who didn’t make the cut.

Rebecca>> Later, pal.

Eddie is reading a local newspaper when a long-armed, skinny monkey climbs in through the window of the boardinghouse into which they’d moved after Dakar threw the chair out their hotel window. The monkey drops wearily to the floor, chattering weakly and pointing toward its mouth.