WereWoman (2 page)

More likely he had gotten into something that impinged the prospects of another Supernatural, and paid the penalty. That, too, could have a romantic twist: if another Warlock was hot for Nonce, but she was hot only for Standish, he might have eliminated Standish so as to have free access to her. Furious, she might suspect the killer, but need more evidence than she had. To be sure of privacy, she might have elected to go outside the Witch community, and hire a Were.

But all this was blind speculation. I needed to know more about the Warlock before I even decided to take the case. I charmed the door's lock and entered the office. The gentle illumination of the night lights sufficed; I had no trouble navigating it. I stood before the central office desk and looked about.

There was only the desk; other furniture had been cleared out. The desk had manually locked file space. This was almost too easy; anything of substance must have been removed, so there was no point in securing access to whatever remained. But if the Warlock had been cunning, he might have hidden his most important files in plain sight. Those were the ones I needed to see.

I jimmied open the central drawer. It was empty except for a single key. Voila! I took the key and used it to unlock the file drawers. There were several file folders, real ones, not electronic imitations, maybe copies for safekeeping, or simply avoiding the inevitable snooping that occurred on electronic files. It had long been known that few secrets could be kept on the Internet, regardless what claims were made for privacy. A Supe could not be too careful. I withdrew one folder, extracted the first paper, and focused closely in the faint light to read it.

It was notes for a Witchly project reminiscent of one known for decades in fantasy fiction: a room whose six walls (counting floor and ceiling) were television screens, so that they could form a complete visual, auditory, and perhaps tactile environment, immersing the occupant in the scene. A notable fictive one had featured a children's room attuned to “The Veldt” with African plants and animals, and a pride of lions feeding in the background. As the story went, when the parents threatened to turn off the room, lest it corrupt the children, the vengeful children arranged to make it real, and the lions ate the parents. Impossible, of course, scientifically.

But this wasn't science. This was magic using the science concept as a model. With magic it might indeed become feasible to make a room that could become a real veldt, or any other global scene. And Standish was evidently one who could make it happen. That might indeed incite a killing frenzy, if some other Supe believed he was the target for such a trap. Lure him into the innocuous seeming room, change the setting, send him somewhere lethal, change the setting back to innocent after he was gone, and no one would know what happened to him. Who might that be?

The client's name was in code; no help there. But I might get it anyway, using my power. Because the ambiance of the Warlock was strong here; he had touched this file often, imbuing it to an extent with his potent magic. I just might be able to fathom his essence, his secret Name, from this file. With that, the avenues for information were magnitudinally greater. Syd evidently thought this was a possibility. Normally I gleaned Names only when a Supe did magic in my presence, but possibly this counted.

I focused, expending my special awareness to intersect the lingering aura of the Warlock Standish, and slowly it came. His Name was—

Hool
, I breathed.

Suddenly the office was flooded with light. Oh, crap! I had avoided the ordinary wards but been caught by the key one: the Name. The trap was to catch whoever uttered it. I couldn't use it for magic myself, because it was not my Name; I could only try to fathom its connections. I had been a fool.

“Mena, I presume?”

That was Nonce! But at least I had the wit to pretend not to recognize her. “You evidently know me better than I know you,” I said as my eyes adapted. I conjured patches of illusion color to cover my bare breasts and crotch. The Witch was just as shapely as she had been in my office, but she did not turn me on now.

“I am Witch Nonce. I invited you here so I could talk to you, Mena.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Witch. I am on my own mission, uninvited.”

“Let me be a bit more clear: yesterday I approached the private investigator Phil Were to hire his services to investigate the murder of my associate the Warlock Standish. I knew he would try to investigate first, by sending his female agent. In this manner I succeeded in isolating you so I could talk with you alone.”

“I do not talk with Phil's clients,” I said. “I only investigate. He wants the late Warlock's Name, so he can learn more about the man's supernatural activities, which may have gotten him killed. I have gotten the Name and will report to Phil in due course. He will tell you more thereafter if he chooses to.”

“Therein lies the rub,” Nonce said. “Phil may not commit to this case. So I want to hire you, as you evidently have the required skills.”

“I am not for hire,” I said stoutly. “I work only for Phil.”

She viewed me assessingly. “And what else do you provide him, apart from your investigative skills? I see you are a pretty woman.”

“Nothing!” I retorted hotly. “Our relationship is not of that nature.”

“That's good. Then it won't concern you if I have my own little affair with him.”

“He mentioned your friendly thighs,” I said derisively.

“I can offer you gold,” Nonce said. “Enough to make you independent.”

“I have all the independence I need.”

She sighed. “So I can't hire you directly.”

“No one can hire me directly. I am committed to Phil. Now if that's all, I will be on my way.”

“That is all,” Nonce agreed. “I appreciate your loyalty.”

“Well I don't appreciate yours. You're trying to undercut Phil, and I won't have it. When I report to him, I'll tell him not to take your case. Which is too bad, as he was really intrigued by your friendly thighs.” I walked past her, out the door, and took the elevator down, a little surprised that she didn't try to stop me.

Outside I ducked around a corner, cut back, and watched the building from another street. There was no pursuit. So I returned circuitously to the car, got in, and drove away, still alert for any tail. Only when I got safely home did I exert my primary power, speak my Name, Vul, and transform back to male. My night's stint as the WereWoman Philomena, Mena for short, was done.

Had I really fooled Nonce? I tried to keep my Were-form secret from all but my closest associates, like Syd, but that was one canny Witch. I could not be sure what game she was playing.

Well, perhaps the morrow would tell. I did think it was best not to take this case, but now that I was male again, with the male hormones, I feared that I would be unable to resist the Witch's allure.

Chapter 2:

Bear

“So that's the story,” I concluded next day at the office. “Nonce tried to hire Mena away from me, in case I didn't take the case.”

“She's devious,” Syd agreed. “But that sort of thing goes with the territory. Witches are seldom straightforward.”

“You still don't think she's the disaster?”

“I don't. But it's looming. It will happen within the hour. Phil, I'm afraid.”

That made me nervous again. Syd was a pretty solid person, psychologically; she didn't scare readily. So I changed the subject. “So should I take the Witch's case? I admit I like the notion of her friendly thighs.”

“And I like the money.”

“Now that I know the Warlock's Name, I should be able to track some of his supernatural contacts, and maybe identify his killer. At least now I have a slight grasp of the case. But I have to say that Nonce herself must be a suspect.”

“I doubt she's the murderer, but you don't have to guess. Get her to do her magic. Get her Name. Then you'll know whether she's guilty.”

“True.” I smiled. “I like the way you encourage me to get at those thighs.”

Sydelle was no prude. “She's seducing you to get your business. Turnabout is fair play. Make her pay for your favor.”

The phone rang. Syd stiffened. “That's it! I can't answer!”

“I'll do it,” I said. I picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“Police notification of next of kin or closest associates for one Bear,” a gruff male voice said. “Only Philemon and Sydelle are listed.”

I felt a chill that froze my feet to the floor. “Philemon speaking.”

“Bear was in an auto accident. He's being airlifted to the hospital. Not expected to survive.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Please keep us informed at this number.” I hung up. Then, to Syd: “It's Bear. Probably dead.”

She screamed and dropped her face to the desk. Bear was her fiancé, and my closest friend. Her disaster had struck on schedule. Much worse than I had feared.

I sank into my own reverie of memory as my association with Bear flashed before me.

I was maybe eight years old when I first met Bear, then ten. I was trying to evade a bully who lurked on my route to school, and took a circuitous route. There he was, a hulking boy even at that age, walking the opposite way. Was I in even more trouble? I was wary of another potential bully, but could not avoid him.

He paused as he passed me. “You're an odd one,” he said.

“Odd?” I asked nervously.

“You don't know?”

“Know what?”

“You're a Were.”

“A what?”

“A Were. You can Change into another form.”

“Not that I know of,” I said. What kind of ploy was this?

“Come into the alley and I'll show you.”

“Oh, no!” I said. “You beat me up, you've got to do it out in plain sight.”

“You're getting picked on? It figures.”

“Yes. Something about me that turns other boys mean. I don't know what.”

“Well, I do, and we can stop it. Come; I'm not going to hurt you. Weres don't hurt Weres.”

There was that word again. There was something about his attitude that reassured me. “Okay.”

We went into the nearest alley. “Now watch,” Bear said. “I'm going to Change, but I'm still the same person inside, except stronger and less smart.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly. I heard the capitalized Change; what did it mean?

“I have to use my secret Name. Don't tell.”

“I won't tell,” I agreed.

“And keep an eye out. If anybody comes, warn me.”

“I will,” I promised. This was weird.

“I got to take off my clothes first.”

I was too young and lucky to have encountered child molestation, so this meant nothing to me. “Okay.”

He stripped, revealing a powerful body. Then he stood there naked, took a deep breath, and said “Bar” in a kind of grunt.

And he Changed. His nose elongated, his ears became pointed, his eyes round. His teeth expanded. His arms and legs thickened and became hairy. He grew a tail.

I stared. This really was different! I had never seen anything like it.

In fact he was a small bear.

The process must have taken fifteen minutes, but I was mesmerized. Now I understood. He was like a WereWolf, only he was a WereBear.

“I see,” I said, too impressed to be afraid. “You really can Change.”

The bear nodded. Then he grunted. “Rab.” And he started to Change back.

When he was fully human again, I handed him his clothing, and he dressed. “I would never have believed it if you hadn't shown me,” I said. “Thanks, Bear. This is awesome.”

“That's what I figured,” he said. “You really don't know. I had to show you so you know what you are.”

“I'm another WereBear?”

“No. Just a Were. One Were can tell another, but it's foggy beyond that. I don't know what kind you are, just that it's odd.”

“How do I Change?” I asked, intrigued.

“First you have to devise your Name. That concentrates your magic essence and helps you do it.”

“I don't believe in magic.”

“You'll get over that.”

“I can just choose a Name, and be magic?”

“No. It has to be the right one. You'll know it when you find it. When you do, don't tell anyone else, because that would give them power over you. Keep it secret.”

“But you shared yours with me.”

“I sense that you can be trusted. You can be a friend. I don't have many friends.”

“Neither do I,” I said. And that seemed to be the turning point; we became friends.

Bear walked me on to the school. I had started early, to avoid the bullies, so we weren't quite late. But the bullies were there. “Philly!” one called gleefully. “Comere! Gimme a kiss!”

“A kiss?” Bear asked quietly.

“They say I'm handsome,” I explained. “Or pretty. A boy's not supposed to be pretty. They tease me all the time. I hate it.”

“We'll fix it,” he said confidently as we came up to the bullies.

“Philly's got a boyfriend!” a bully exclaimed. “Kiss him, pretty boy!”

Bear's hand reached out so fast the bully couldn't avoid it. He caught the front of his shirt and almost lifted the boy off his feet. “How's that, craphead?”

“Hey, let go!” the bully exclaimed, outraged, and his friends closed in for the kill. Bear was bigger than them, but not by much, and there were three of them. This stranger had the temerity to take them on?

Bear shoved him into the other two so hard all three stumbled awkwardly. “What's this about kissing?” he demanded.

The three did not scare readily. They came forward together. “Now you're going to get it, prettyboy lover.”

“Are you threatening me?” Bear inquired. “Because if I thought you were, I'd do this.” His fist struck the center boy in the chest so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Without pausing Bear caught the other two by their heads and knocked them together just hard enough to hurt. “In fact I might get mad. You wouldn't like me much when I'm mad.” It was a play on a popular movie, but he wasn't smiling.