Changer (Athanor) (15 page)

“Good.  If someone wants my round little ass, I want to know who it is.”

“I understand.”

A few more caustic pleasantries and the call ends.  The Changer whistles for his daughter and turns to Vera.

“So the trip wasn’t a complete waste of time, even if Lil wasn’t my target.  Ah, well.  I don’t know why I ever thought that the job would be that easy.  Things rarely are.”

The coyote puppy lopes up and puts her dirty paws against her father’s pant leg.  Her protest at being returned to the car is ignored, and she rolls into a ball to sulk.  Before they are out of the parking lot, she is asleep.

“We’ll head back to Arthur’s,” Vera says, “and see what we can do about chasing down this credit-card number.  The Jaguar is a more distant lead.  We don’t have our people register their cars with us.  Still, if the credit card doesn’t work out…”

“It’s something,” the Changer sighs.  “And it might have been nothing substantial, just a small deception, like our story about the brother and the hit-and-run accident.”

“I know,” Vera says.  “I hate admitting that we may need to give up.”

The Changer’s expression shifts to something dark and angry.  “I won’t give up.  In any case, I don’t think that whoever did this is going to stop with one failure.  We’ll hear from them again.  We just need to be alert for the marks of their work.”

“And then…” Vera begins.

“And then,” the Changer interrupts, “I go after them.  What else is immortality good for if it isn’t for doing a job right?”

“First step,” Vera says, seeking to chase the anger from his yellow-brown eyes, “is getting back to Arthur’s and checking this number.”

“With a stop for puppy chow along the way,” the Changer adds.  “We can’t forget the really important things.”

The sleepy wheeze of the puppy agrees with him.

Late that evening, Arthur comes out into the Changer’s courtyard, where most of the household is gathered eating a snack of
sopaipillas
and honey left over from dinner.  The Changer’s daughter alternates between munching on bites of her new puppy food and begging for
sopas
, having already begun to suspect that what is good for her might not be as much fun as what the rest are eating.

“I have a mixed report on the credit card,” the King says, snagging the last of the
sopas
from the basket and liberally covering it with honey.

“What is it?” the Changer asks, politely waiting until Arthur has taken a seat.

“It was issued to a Colorado manufacturing company.  It hasn’t been registered as stolen.”  Arthur’s small smile reflects his pleasure at his hacking.  “However, that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been.  The account is one of those they have for members of their sales force.  They issue the cards at need, rather than one per member…”

“Cheapskates,” Eddie mutters.

“Maybe,” Arthur says, “or maybe they just don’t want to keep track of a bunch of separate accounts.  In any case, since the card isn’t registered to a specific staff member, I need to see if I can find out who had it last.”

“Find out everyone who could have had it,” the Changer suggests.  “Our quarry might be another member of the staff who snagged the card for an overnight.”

“I bet it is a forgery,” Eddie says glumly.

Arthur nods, a trace impatiently.  For all his “Round Table” philosophy, a part of him still rebels at suggestions that aren’t worded with proper deference.  The Changer may see some of his pique or perhaps he merely wishes to keep the King cooperative.

“Thank you, Arthur, for once again working late while the rest of us loll about.”

Arthur permits himself to be mollified.  “Where’s Lovern?”

“He’s out at the Isleta Casino playing poker,” Eddie says.  “Said something about looking for portents in the cards.”

“Can he do that?” Vera asks, stifling a yawn behind a honey-sticky hand.

“Who knows?” Eddie answers.  “Maybe he can.  Maybe he just wanted a night out.”

“He may want a night out,” Vera rejoins, “but he didn’t have the day we did.  I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Me too,” Arthur says.  “Colorado’s on the same time we are—I can get answers in the morning.”

“Changer?” Eddie says, always courteous.

“I know to sleep when I can,” the Changer says.  “Don’t stay awake to amuse me.”

The others depart then, sleepily.  Only the puppy, snuffling after pastry crumbs, has any energy.  Her father begins unbuttoning his shirt, steps out of his jeans.  Standing nude in the cool, spring moonlight, he feels an ache of loneliness for his mate.  Five years is not forgotten in a few days, not even by one such as he.

He shifts then, becoming coyote to the delight of his daughter.  They romp for a while, then, tail to nose, flank to flank, they fall asleep beneath the shadows of the lilac bush.

 6 

Treason doth never prosper, what’s the reason?

For if it prosper, none dare call it Treason.

—Sir John Harrington

T
his time it is a three-way call: Sven, the Head, and Louhi.

“Hello, all!” Sven says cheerily.  “Greetings from the land of sand and mountains.”

“Hello, Sven, Head,” Louhi says, and her voice is as crisp and as breathtakingly beautiful as a flower encased in ice.

“Hail, fire-born, wisewoman.  What tidings bear you to your bound brother?”

Sven glances at his notes.  “The Changer has come to Arthur’s estate.  He brought a coyote pup with him—probably my assassins missed one of the litter.”

“That,” comes Louhi’s voice, “may be all to our good.”  The tinkle of her laughter is not kind.

Sven nods.  “Yes, I had thought of various ways we might use the little bitch.  Lovern has been summoned to Arthur’s side.  But, knowing you two, you’ve learned
that
already.  Less good news is that apparently Arthur suggested to the Changer that Lil deserved more than a quick slash across the throat.  He braced her, but our hoped-for battle didn’t happen.”

“They both remain unharmed?” Louhi asks, piqued.

“That’s what I said,” Sven says testily.

“Pity.  We need his blood.  You have promised it to us.  If you fail to obtain it…”

“Oaths bound with bands of bright blood,” the Head reminds, “when broken are broken with the same.”

“Don’t threaten me!” Sven says indignantly.  “I’ve been busting my balls…”

“To minimal effect,” Louhi says.

“Shit on that!  I’ve brought the Changer from the wilds to where we can reach him.  I’ll force Lovern to bring the Head to Albuquerque.  Give me time!”

“From your website,” Louhi says, “I see that you are setting back our timetable several months.”

“It seems like the best option,” Sven says sulkily.  “We need the theriomorphs to assure a vote of no confidence.  Our only other choice is a direct coup.  That didn’t do much good last time.”

“Ragnarokk was long ago,” Louhi says.

“Ragnarokk ended up bringing Arthur to prominence,” Sven snaps, “when too many of those senior to him died and the rest lost their taste for politics.  I myself had to hide for centuries until the old grudges had softened a bit.”

“Scion severed from sire,” the Head adds, “was imprisoned deep within the whale’s road.  Wisdom was won at wondrous price.”

Louhi isn’t particularly impressed by their reminders, but then she hadn’t been born when that great battle tore their people apart.  “The plan was to have the vote of no confidence occur at the Lustrum Review this June when neutral parties would be present to hear us plead the theriomorphs’ cause and our solution.  Now we will lose that opportunity.”

“Not if you still attend the Review,” Sven says quickly.  “Your interest in shapeshifting makes you a logical person to present the theriomorphs’ case.  The monsters will still be able to lobby over the website.  We may do even better when we press the vote if the discontent has some time to brew.”

“I believe I understand your convoluted logic,” Louhi admits.  “If a protest against current policy is raised but Arthur sticks to his guns and
then
we manipulate circumstances for the vote of no confidence…  Yes, it could work nicely.  Many of the neutrals will come over to our side if they perceive a real abuse.”

“Not everyone,” Sven reminds them, “is happy with Arthur’s restrictions.  I’ve just recruited some
tengu
.  They’re shapeshifters and so can pass as human, but Arthur’s non-interference policy restricts them to only limited meddling.”

“And
tengu
adore meddling,” Louhi says dryly.  “You’d better watch that they don’t meddle with
you
!”

“I will and I have,” Sven says confidently.

“Then for now we bide,” Louhi says.  “I will visit Albuquerque for the Lustrum Review.  If you get the Head brought there before then, we may be able to free him from his confinement.  Then he can assist with the rest.”

“Merlin’s magic minus me,” the Head states confidently, “is minimal.”

Sven winces.  As they say their farewells, he breathes a silent wish that when the Head is no longer captive to Lovern’s will he will give up his annoying fondness for alliteration.  He suspects it’s an empty hope.

But then, everyone is entitled to a dream.

Spring in New Mexico is a season of winds: winds that sweep across the sandy grasslands around Albuquerque creating clouds of tan grit, knocking down fences and street signs, and otherwise making venturing out-of-doors unwise.

Unwise, that is, for those of humankind.  Ravens enjoy the wild air currents, soaring on them with impudence, spotting with glittering brown eyes the trash bag ripped open or the cellophane bag torn from a hand, the tortilla chips within scattered.

It is with these busy scavengers the Changer flies one afternoon when Arthur’s hacienda becomes too full of people for his feral soul.  His daughter, replete with puppy chow and scrambled eggs, sleeps under the lilac bush.  She is noticeably fatter than she had been when they arrived: a round, pudgy puppy, no longer a runt, but still not apparently a coyote.