Jumper Cable (3 page)

“Sweet violets!” she swore. “What is wrong?”

The man shook his head sadly. “Nothing with you, maenad. It’s me. My magic talent is to have an impenetrable shield that prevents any living creature and most inanimate things from touching me. It is the bane of my existence.”

“Then how do you eat and drink?” she demanded, hoping to find an avenue she could exploit to get at his flesh.

“It lets in only food, water, and air— that sort of thing. So I survive. But it won’t let me touch a woman, so I can’t kiss her or do anything else with her.”

“So why did you come to me?”

“I hoped that the savagery of a maenad would be too much for the shield, and we could touch maybe just enough. Alas, it’s not so.”

“Just enough for what?”

“You don’t know? Ah, maenad, your prison may be as bad as mine. I suppose I will just have to go to petition the Good Magician for an Answer.”

And with that mysterious remark he turned and walked away. She hadn’t even learned his name, not that she cared about that. Fortunately that was the only balk. She was able to satisfy her hunger with other men. But still she wondered: who or what was this Good Magician? Was he edible? By the time she emerged from her teens, she was not only truly full figured from her excellent diet, she was in contention to become the leader of the maenads, because of her hunting prowess. She was really proud of herself.

Then came disaster. It started simply enough. If only she had known!

It was a handsome man who came to drink at the maenads’ wine

spring. He came when the other maenads were out hunting, and only Maeve remained to guard the spring. This was no coincidence, she learned later— way too late. He had come then because he was interested in her. She stood before him in all her bare splendor. He gazed at every detail, but his eyes did not glaze. He seemed to be immune. So she donned her panty and turned her back. But while she was doing that, he was donning dark glasses, that fudged the image so it was too vague to freak him out.

She tried moving her body in the ways that normally affected men. He watched, evidently appreciating it, but still not freaking out. This was most frustrating!

Then he spoke. “Hello, lovely nymph! I am Harbinger, a binge drinking messenger with some harpy ancestry. Who are you?”

She was so surprised that she answered. “I am Maeve Maenad. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Because I came prepared, knowing that otherwise you would tear out chunks of my living flesh. You are far too lovely to be wasted that way. Know, O delightful damsel, that wine dulls my vision so that I can’t freak out.”

“Then why do you need those glasses?”

He smiled. “I don’t. They are merely a prop.” He removed the glasses and gazed at her, unfreaking.

Her amazement continued. “What do you want of me?”

“I want what any man wants of a beautiful woman.”

This was stupid, but he was so handsome that she really wanted to know. “What is that?”

“Love.”

“I don’t know that word.”

“Then I will be glad to teach you its meaning. Come with me, Maeve, and we will make beautiful music together.”

“I don’t know anything about music.”

He laughed, as if she had said something fully. “You don’t need to. Come.” He started walking away from the pool. And such was her bemusement, she walked with him. After all, she

could pounce on him and tear him apart any time, as long as he remained close. After she satisfied her curiosity.

He led her o’er hill and dale to an unfamiliar glade with its own pleasant pool. “Let us swim together,” he said, removing his human clothing.

“Swim?” That was his idea of love? Swimming was something a maenad did to catch a person trying to escape across water.

“It is a pleasant diversion. We can get close together in the water.”

She stared at his bared body. What a handsome specimen he was, with firm lean meat on his arms and chest! Her mouth was watering already. And of course he would be easier than ever to catch in the water. She removed her panty, because water wasn’t good for it, and waded into the water with him. He reached out and took her hand, and she let him.

And something odd happened. Suddenly she was overflowing with an emotion she had never remotely experienced before. She stepped into Harbinger and kissed him. A real kiss; she didn’t even try to bite. That was quite unlike her. Unlike any maenad.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she delighted in that touch. He was right: it was fun being close together in the water. But also very strange. She found herself with urges she had never experienced before.

And he was indulging them. They had a gloriously weird experience together, amazingly pleasant. Then it was done, what ever it was. He separated from her. “Thanks, Maeve. It’s been fun. Now I’ll be on my way.”

On his way? “But I have just gotten interested in you,” she protested.

“Get over it.” He dried, donned his clothing, and walked away. She stood chest deep in the pond, staring after him. What had happened? She hadn’t even tried to bite him, let alone tear out any of his flesh. She had just hugged him and done something oddly new, and now he was gone.

Finally she waded out of the pool, picked up her panty, and walked back home to the wine pool.

The other maenads had returned. “Where were you?” one demanded.

“The spring was unguarded.”

“A—a man took me away,” Maeve said haltingly. “To a pool.”

“And you didn’t tear him apart?”

“No.”

“What did you do, then? Club him to death and hide the body so we couldn’t share the meat?”

“I—I kissed him. And swam with him. And hugged him. Sort of.”

They stared at her in shock. Then an older maenad asked an irrelevant question. “Exactly where was this pool?”

Maeve pointed. “That way.”

The maenad nodded. “That’s a love spring.”

“A what?”

“Water that makes any male and any female fall in love with each other, at least for a while, and signal the stork.”

Maeve was appalled. So that was what they had done! “Why, that miserable deceiver! I didn’t know.”

The older maenad sighed. “It’s not the sort of thing our kind normally knows about. He tricked you into it, then had his way with you. You should never have trusted him.”

“I didn’t trust him! I was going to eat him.”

“Well, let’s hope the stork didn’t get the signal.”

They resumed their normal existence. But unfortunately the stork had gotten the message, and just about nine months after the incident came looking for her. Her worst fear had materialized. Maeve fled. The other maenads, understanding her horror, tried to cover for her, pretending that she was still among them. But the stork wasn’t fooled. It knew exactly which maenad it wanted. When it didn’t find her by the love spring, it widened its search.

“And now wherever I go, that stork is close behind,” Maeve concluded.

“I can’t let it catch me.”

“We’ll take yew to the Good Magician,” Wenda said. “He’ll know what yew can dew about it.”

“The Good Magician!” Maeve exclaimed. “I have heard that name. Who is he?”

“He is a gnome who solves people’s problems, for a price,” Wenda

explained. “Yew have a problem. He will know how to make that stork stop pestering yew.”

“But I can’t go outside by day! The stork is watching.”

“We’ll hide yew. Make yew look like someone else. Knot a maenad. So the stork will knot recognize yew.”

Maeve began to have hope. “Not a maenad,” she repeated. Jumper was impressed. Wenda truly seemed to care about other people, even spiders and bloodthirsty wild women. As a spider he had never really liked or disliked anyone else, but now he was coming to like Wenda more than ever. Friendship. That was an unfamiliar but actually rather pleasant feeling. If she was right, the Good Magician would solve all three of their problems.

They worked on Maeve. Wenda sent Jumper out to harvest assorted clothing, while she worked on Maeve’s wild hair. When Jumper returned with a pile of apparel, he almost didn’t recognize the maenad. Her hair was now neatly coiffed, in the manner of a human girl, and she looked oddly pretty. He could almost understand why a human man might want to kiss her, if he could safely do so.

When they added her clothing, she looked totally different. Her savage beauty was muted. Except for her teeth, which were sharply pointed, for tearing flesh. There seemed to be no way to hide those, unless she kept her mouth perpetually closed.

Then Jumper found a wax tooth plant, and harvested an upper and a lower set. Maeve put these under her lips, and had a beautiful set of slightly protruding unpointed teeth. She couldn’t talk very well with them in, but maybe she wouldn’t need to.

“We can tell strangers yew’re very shy,” Wenda decided. “And with those wax teeth in, yew won’t bee able to bite anyone, if yew happen to forget. Yew can knot afford to act like a maenad.”

“Mmmph!” Maeve said angrily.

“She’s right,” Jumper said. “You need to be nothing like a maenad. You must be a nice, sweet, innocent human girl.”

Maeve spat out her teeth. “And suppose a lout makes a move on me?” she demanded. “Wanting to get another stork chasing me?”

Wenda exchanged a glance with one of Jumper’s eyes. “Then Jumper

may have to throw him away,” Wenda said. “But meanwhile yew must bee a helpless maiden without a bloodthirsty thought in yewr dainty little head.”

“Growr!” Maeve growled, jamming the teeth back in. At least she understood the necessity.

They settled down for the night, the two maidens sleeping on either side of Jumper, trusting him to protect them. He felt oddly flattered.

In the morning the girls, getting along tolerably well, did their things and made ready to travel. So did Jumper. The trek along the enchanted path was routine. On occasion they passed people going the other way. Jumper garnered some wary looks, but his presence on the path indicated that he was probably not as dangerous as he looked.

Near noon they paused by a flute tree that serenaded them with lovely music. Beyond it was a set of pear trees; they always came in twos. Maeve went to pick two pears.

“And who might you be, wench?” a voice demanded.

“Who are you calling a wench, stink tail?” Maeve demanded in return. Jumper and Wenda got over there in a hurry. The other person was a harpy, part bird, part woman, perched on one of the twin branches of the tree.

“We apologize,” Wenda said. “We did not realize it was yewr tree. We are merely traveling through.”

The harpy was only marginally mollified. “It is not my tree. I merely dislike being disturbed when I’m snoozing.”

“We will move on,” Jumper said.

“It talks!”

“I was given the gift of tongues,” Jumper explained. “Come on Maeve; we don’t want to intrude on her nap.”

“Oh, I’m awake anyway, now,” the harpy said with grudging grace.

“Take your two fruits.”

“You’re a harpy,” Wenda said. “Why are yew knot swearing?”

“I am a high brow harpy,” she replied, raising her brows. “I don’t use fowl language.”

“A high brow harpy,” Maeve said, shaking her head. “I never heard of that.”

“Naturally not.”

Maeve bridled. “Is that a cut, birdbrain?”

The harpy eyed her scathingly. “That depends on whether you have the wit to appreciate it, floozy.”

Maeve made a growling sound as she ripped out her false teeth to expose the gleaming pointed ones. But both Wenda and Jumper dived in to separate the two. “Let’s exchange introductions,” Wenda said, desperately changing the subject as she shoved a juicy pear at Maeve. “I am Wenda Woodwife.”

“A woodwife! But you look rounded.”

“My friend Jumper here helped fill me out with cloth and webbing. I really am hollow. And this is Maeve Maenad.”

“A maenad! In clothing?”

“What’s it to you, featherface?” Maeve demanded. The harpy inspected her more closely. “Those teeth. You are a maenad. In that case you’re no vapid nymph, but a savage creature to be respected. We harpies have long admired the viciousness of the maenads.”

“Is that an apology?” Maeve demanded.

“It resembles one. I am Haughty Harpy.”

“We are glad to meet yew,” Wenda said quickly. The harpy inspected the three of them. “Pardon my curiosity, but why would a hollow woodwife, a bloodthirsty maenad, and a giant spider be traveling together peacefully? You should be trying to consume or squish each other.”

“Oh, we woodn’t care to burden yew with our problems,” Wenda said.

“Unfortunately for me, I am atypical of my species in that I am a curious bird. Suppose we exchange problems? That is, information on them.”

Wenda looked at Jumper. “I suppose a harpy woodn’t be eager to bruit secrets about, wood she?”

Jumper didn’t know anything about harpies, so he temporized.

“Maybe not if she had a secret of her own she didn’t want shared.”

“Exchange of hostages,” Maeve said, replacing her wax teeth now that she had finished demolishing her pear and wasn’t about to tear the harpy apart.

“Fair enough,” Haughty said. “I will show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Agreed,” Jumper said, now curious about her secret. The two girls nodded.

“Harpies have half talents,” Haughty said. “We can’t use them well unless we find and cooperate with folk of other species who have the other halves. Since we hate to cooperate with anyone, even other harpies, this renders us effectively talentless. But sometimes our magic manifests anyway.”

She paused, because her paragraph had ended. Then a new paragraph arrived, neatly enclosed in quote marks, and she resumed.

“Mine is, of course, obnoxious. It is that I change at times to my alter ego, Hottie Harpie, who is all the things I’m not, but definitely not my better half. She seeks males of either the avian or mammalian persuasions, and shamelessly seduces them. I hate that, because of course if she catches the stork’s attention on her watch, that stork will in due course seek me on mine. I hate babies! They bawl endlessly and are chronic bundles of demand. ’Tis a fate devoutly to be abhorred.”

“Yes!” Maeve said in the pause between paragraphs. Then another paragraph arrived, as neatly packaged as the first two, and Haughty had to continue. “So now I am trying to travel to the Good Magician’s Castle, to prevail on the old f**t for an Answer to my