Shapechanger's Birth

by Laer Carroll

  The day before yesterday she had packed up her few belongings and taken the little money she had been able to keep from him and left her — she grimaced — home. One of her frequent customers had seemed sympathetic to her, and she thought she could move in with him. Instead he had betrayed her and her pimp had met her at the rendezvous.

  While Caroline talked Mary worked at an intricate cleaning task, her hands on automatic. However, she found herself getting so sick and angry that she stopped what she was doing before she ruined the dress.

  When the story was done Mary walked over to where Caroline was sitting. Mary took her hands between her own and looked her in the eyes. She was so young! Younger than Mary's youngest daughter.

  Mary whispered, "I swear to you. He will never hurt you again."

  Caroline stared back, her eyes wide with fear at Mary's intensity. But slowly the fright drained away, aided by Mary's esoteric calming command, and she began to believe Mary meant it.

  "He's big, and fast, and mean, and he carries guns and knives," Caroline said.

  "I have a friend who is faster and meaner than anyone. Now tell me all about —"

  Caroline stared at her still more. Her jaw tightened.

  " Billy. His name is Billy Lunham. Big Bill, they call him."

  "Tell me how to find him."

  Caroline obliged and Mary soaked up the information.

  Saturday afternoon Mary had planned on taking a long lunch in William Penrose's company. But she was still so full of anger that she knew it would be a disaster. She could turn off this anger — or any emotion — the way she turned off a lamp. But then she would be like that thing they called a golem in one of the scary stories she had heard, something shaped like a man that was actually a machine. She had not returned from the dead to become something less than human.

  She told Bridget to tell Penrose that she was sick and left the laundry before he arrived. All afternoon she walked downtown Cork, sometimes sitting on the quayside watching the water, thinking.

  What if she had been in Caroline's place? Or the thousands of other women who were in the same situation. True, she had in a sense been an orphan, too. But she had been 53 years old inside when she returned from the dead despite her 13-year-old exterior, and she had extranatural powers to help her and protect her. Would she have really done any better than Caroline? Than the other women in Caroline's fix? Mightn't she have wound up in the same place?

  A cold wind circulated harder around the stone bench on which she sat, staring into the smoothly flowing water of the Lee River. Dark clouds came up and the wind grew gusty. A February rain, cold and slashing, poured down, striking the river water in a million jumping silver drops.

  Before the rain reached her Mary put her little hand purse on the bench and sat on it to keep it dry. As the frigid drops struck her she lifted her face and thrust her hands over her head, turning her skin to a hard shield. The water struck her like a benediction and when the lightning flashed she laughed.

  It felt as if she had called up this storm, though she knew with her esoteric self-knowledge that the feeling was not true. But the fierce illusion of union with the suddenly violent storm felt good.

  She reveled in the water rushing down her body and a sudden bizarre solution struck her.

  She rejected the solution and when the rain stopped abruptly, with her power she exploded the water soaking her body and dress into a sudden white mist. The wind instantly whipped it away.

  She got up and began to walk again. She stopped at a café in the French Quarter and ate a huge meal, amazing the waiter. At her scowl his face went blank and he scurried away, peering attentively at her from his station to make sure she had no further cause for anger .

  The bizarre idea came back. She would take over Billy's stable of prostitutes and run them, helping each of them leave the whore's life where she could and protecting those who would not or could not leave. Until she found someone to whom she could entrust them.

  She rejected the idea again. This would interfere with all her plans. But would it? It would take very little work on her part.

  Another objection rose up and she rejected the idea again. But then a solution to the objection occurred to her.

  She finished her food, paid the bill, and began to walk again.

  Objections continued to rise and she continued to deal with each. Until finally there were no more objections, and she knew — deep down — that the decision had been made at that moment in the rain when she had gotten the idea.

  She began to walk faster. There were details to take care of.

  Saturday night had fallen under clear skies. An hour after dark Mary found Billy Lunham. She had changed herself to look older, fatter, used, and the lime-green dress she wore was much too tight. Her red hair, frizzy from a wash and flash-dry with out benefit of comb, spilled out over the dress. It made a garish contrast.

  Big Billy was in a bar at the cheap end of downtown Cork City. He was sitting at the counter, looking out into the room with his feet sprawled in the path of anyone passing down the front of the bar. Everyone went around him, or not at all. A woman sat on a stool to either side, their faces painted and wearing tight, bright clothes.

  Billy himself was indeed big: tall and his shoulders were large. He was dressed in a red-and-black checked jacket, had shiny boots over gray pants, and a blue shirt. His cheeks and chin were scraped clean and he wore a big handlebar mustache. Greasy black hair, too long, covered his head. His nose had been broken.

  He was smiling benignly and his smile grew wider when Mary came up to him.

  "Well, hello, Sugar."

  "Are you Big Billy Lunham?" Mary had reshaped her throat and voice box so that her voice came out breathy, girlish, but a bit hoarse.

  "Who wants to know?"

  "There's going to be a party. We need nine girls. Can you supply them? "

  "I might."

  "I can give you five pounds now. But only if you can do it."

  He straightened and pulled her to him. She let herself wilt against him and stared up into his eyes, her own wide. He put his hand inside her dress, popping a button loose, and fondled a breast. She held herself back from killing him on the spot. It would not fit into her plans.

  "I'll take the five now." He let her go and she lurched back, resisting her body's catlike reflexes.

  "Can you do it? There's a hundred pounds in it."

  "Sure, but it will take a while to get my girls together. When and where?"

  "At 10:00 o'clock tonight in the Tuckey Warehouse." She took the five coins from her reticule and handed them to him, letting her arm tremble. When he lazily took them she jumped back and started to tell him where the warehouse was.

  He waved the instructions away. "I know where it is."

  When she exited the door she looked back. Big Billy was giving instructions to the two women beside him and throwing money on the countertop.

  Apparently he was going to go through with the deal. But she could not be sure of that. She walked to the side of the bar where the lights did not shine. There she bound her hair into a long pony tail and took off her dress, folding it and stuffing it into a backpack. She also put her shoes in the pack and slipped into the straps so that the pack hung over her back.

  She began to climb the side of the wooden building.

  For the next hour and a half she shadowed him, from rooftops when possible, from street level when she must. Once, when landing after leaping far from one roof top to the next, her landing spot splintered, shattered, and nearly fell in. But she was in full superhuman mode now and was falling and rolling away across the rooftop even as the first board began to give way, losing her backpack in the process.

  Rolling to a stop she listened. Billy had paused but then continued on his way.

  She retrieved and re-slung the backpack and followed.

  Billy was gathering his girls into two wagons, so apparently he was holding up his part of the deal. But the two wagon drivers
both had pistols, as did he. And he arrived at the warehouse almost thirty minutes early, so either he was being cautious or he was planning robbery if the opportunity offered itself.

  Everyone sat in front of the warehouse for a few minutes, silent. Then Billy got down, gun drawn, and gave whispered instructions to the two drivers. They got down, tethered the wagons to a post, and pulled guns out too. They split up and crept around the warehouse, one to each side.

  Billy turned back to the wagon he had been in and pulled down one of the whores. When she protested he pulled out a knife and pressed it against one of her breasts, lightly pricking it. She froze, silent. He handed something to her from the wagon.

  Pushing her ahead of him he went to the two big doors of the warehouse. Mary had unlocked them, easy enough with her extrahuman hands and senses, and they swung outward when he hauled on them. He stood at one side of the door and pushed the woman inside.

  She gave a little scream and stumbled but did not fall. In Mary's twilight view of the world the woman could be clearly seen but only from the waist down. Mary was looking down at her at an angle from atop a rooftop across the street.

  After a whispered instruction from Billy the woman struck a match, dropped it from a trembling hand, struck another, and lit a candle. She held it up. She could not have seen much, but could see enough to know the warehouse was empty of people, at least to the edge of her light.

  Billy motioned to the women in the wagon. They pretended not to be able to see him, so he had to call out a low but furious instruction. They slowly got out of the wagon and entered the warehouse, each taking a candle and lighting it or having it lit. They searched the inside of the empty warehouse, visible now to everyone's dark-adapted eyes.

  The two drivers came back and reported no one behind the warehouse. Billy sent them back to the rear of the warehouse.

  Mary climbed down from the building across the road from where she had been observing and walked in a quick flowing stride toward the back of the Tuckey warehouse.

  She was nude and carried two short pieces of rope, one knotted several times at one end to make the handle of a makeshift whip, the other end knotted once to give it some extra heft. Since climbing the first building almost two hours ago she had made some changes to her appearance.

  Hair being dead except at the roots, Mary's extrahuman body control did not work on it, so she had to use ordinary means to change her hair. She had made a little detour to the nearest channel of the Lee River and had soaked her rusty pubic hair with water to darken it. She had also wet the hair on her head, which not only darkened it but also temporarily straightened it. She had tied three cords around it, the first near her scalp, the other two in the middle and at the end of her ponytail. It now hung down her back like a thick black rope.

  She had turned strips of her skin chocolate brown in narrow stripes running from both eyes outward and back and down her body, widening as they ran. The effect was as if she wore tiger stripes. The skin between them she had turned orange. Her hands and feet were solid brown. Anyone seeing them might swear they were paws.

  The cat lady was legend no more.

  She paused at the corner to the back of the warehouse and looked around it. The two men stood there at the back, not doing a very good job of watching. They were facing each other and talking in low tones. Mary could hear them clearly, long enough to identify one as Ricky and the other as Henry.

  Mary crouched and placed the "whip" on the ground. She began moving forward slowly, her feet touching the ground lightly before putting all their weight down. When the "guards" still did not notice her in the dark she began moving more quickly, then more quickly still. She was almost on them before one of them noticed something and began to turn toward her.

  She dropped the other rope and leaped the remaining distance and struck him sharply but carefully on one temple with one fist and then his companion with her other fist. Their limbs collapsed under them and they fell down, senseless. Quickly she retrieved the rope and sliced it into quarter-lengths. Then she tied their hands behind them and bound their legs at the ankles, pulling the knots too tight to be picked loose if they woke before she returned for them.

  Not a perfect job, but good enough. She would not need much time for what she intended to do .

  She ran quickly but silently back toward the entrance, retrieving the rope whip along the way. Just outside the door she peeped around the corner, taking stock.

  All nine prostitutes were inside, as was Billy. A few of the women were sitting, most standing. Billy was near the door. Good. If he had not been, she would have made some sound outside in the hopes of luring him closer.

  She stepped inside, the whip coiled in one hand. Billy began to turn but Mary was already slashing out with the whip. The heavy knotted tip struck his hand and he screamed and dropped the gun. It hit the floor and skidded away.

  She stopped a few feet away from him.

  "Hello, Billy." She had altered her vocal cords and throat and the words came out husky and with a growly undertone, though still feminine.

  There had been screams from some of the women. They fell silent. Billy stared at her, shock on his face, one hand cradling the other hurt one.

  "Caroline didn't die." She stalked around him.

  One of the women dashed toward the door. In a mighty leap that cleared at least twenty feet Mary was there ahead of her.

  She raised her voice and said very loudly, "No one leave! Here you're safe. Out there ... I might hunt you down."

  The would-be escapee quickly scampered back to the other women. They all huddled together, some with arms around each other.

  Billy had made a dash himself, toward the gun on the floor. Mary leaped back toward him, batted the gun out of his hand. It skidded away and Mary was after it like a cat after a mouse. She scooped it up and turned back toward Billy. He was cradling his hand once again.

  "These toys can only sting me," she said, the growl more evident under her words. "That would annoy me. Here's what I do to annoyances." She snapped the gun into two pieces and threw them crashing into the wall.

  The feat had not been that great. The pistol was a top-break revolver, where the barrel tilted down on a hinge for loading. The hinge was not strong. A mere human could break it, and Mary was much stronger than any ordinary human.

  She returned to stalking Billy, moving around him in a spiral, closing in on him. He backed away, turning to keep her in sight.

  "Caroline is alive. She is healed of the hurt you gave her. You stabbed her. You tried to kill her."

  Mary was speaking loudly at Billy, but it was the women to whom she spoke.

  "Caroline works for me now. I'm going to get her a house. She will work out of it. No more streetwalking for Caroline. And no more customers she hates. No one will ever hurt Caroline again. If they try I will do this to them."

  She dropped the whip, leaped forward, and sliced open one of his forearms with the claws of one hand.

  Billy screamed and tried to run, blood streaming from his arm. The bean chaitt leaped and was in front of him. Another slashing stroke and he was bleeding from the other arm. He reeled away and she slipped behind him, slashing his back from shoulder to buttock once, then again with her other hand. He fell, writhing and screaming.

  She was enjoying this. That was not in her plan, to become a cat lady for real. She reached down and sliced open his throat.

  As he gurgled and jerked out his life at her feet, all sphincters voiding urine and feces, Mary looked at the women. They were utterly terrified.

  She reached down and took a knife from Billy's belt. She walked closer to the women. They backed up slowly, eyes intent on her face. She flipped the knife to hold it by the blade. Choosing the woman who seemed least fearful, she stepped forward and handed it to her.

  The woman, slender with large brown eyes and gleaming chocolate hair, took the knife.

  "I was going to kill him myself," the woman said. "I wish you had made him suffe
r longer."

  Mary said, "Go through the back door; it's unlocked. Cut the ropes around the legs of the two men outside. Then drag them inside, in here. Take someone to hold a candle."

  The woman nodded, motioned another woman to come with her. Mary raised her voice. "Don't run away. You are safe in here with me. Out there you are not."

  The woman with the chocolate hair said, "I'll be back. I like the idea of a house." The other woman, a short blond, nodded her head emphatically .

  Mary selected another woman who seemed unfearful, or better able to hide fear. "Go through Billy's clothes and take anything valuable, especially keys. Bring it all back here."

  Mary began to question the remaining women, keeping an eye on the woman going through the dead pimp's clothes. She started by kicking the corpse in the crotch a few times, so Mary guessed she was not unhappy about Billy's death either.

  She had gotten names and where they lived from most of the woman when she heard the two women she had dispatched to get the men coming back. One of the two men, Henry, was conscious; he was half-dragging, half-carrying the other man. Catching sight of the cat lady he screamed, dropped Ricky, and turned to run. The chocolate-haired woman stood before him, holding the knife up where he could see it. He came to an abrupt halt.

  Mary said, "You cannot get away from me, Henry. Put Ricky there." She pointed at the floor in front of her.

  He obeyed, casting fearful glances her way. Mary leaned down and put a hand atop the unconscious one's head. She probed quickly inside, healed a concussion, and woke the reclining man. As he blinked around at the sights and began to sit up, Mary spoke to the other man.

  "Come here. You have a headache. I'm going to take that away." She had muted the growl to a bass undertone that merely added resonance to her voice. This sound would intimidate less but still mark her as nonhuman.

  He approached slowly. Mary put a hand on his head and healed his concussion and took away his headache.

  She also noticed something else. He had cancer in his abdomen that was killing him. She kept silent about it and did nothing.