Were-

by Seanan McGuire

  Jack and Mr. Barnes were worth something after all.

  * * *

  The next day, she found Louis behind the kitchen smoking and, because she liked him, she gave him fair warning. He looked into her eyes, crossed himself, and left, looking over his shoulder once. He called in Spanish and his two relatives joined him. As he drove off, she forgot he ever existed. The other adults came to her privately and when they left, they all saw her point of view. Each encounter drained her, but it drained them more. Unquestioned, unthinking devotion was all she asked, and they were happy to give it.

  The adults did not notice her new self because she told them not to notice. They went about the mundane business of running the camp, but the counselors did notice, especially the boys. They fought to please her and be next to her. At first their attention was flattering, but later, it grew tiresome and tedious. She had a project to attend to, and they were just boys and entirely predictable.

  She ate sparingly. The food tasted bland and unsatisfying. After-hours, she hunted in the walk-in refrigerator and pantry. Nothing in the pantry suited her, but in the refrigerator, she found a bowl of hamburger. She sat on the floor, curling her long legs beneath her, and scooped a mouthful of the chilled raw meat into her mouth. Delicious proteins and amino acids electrified her senses. She ate faster, with both hands alternating. Cold juices sluiced down her throat. Better if warm, she thought, but it was all so new to her. She licked her hands clean of the greasy fat and blood with manic insect fastidiousness and then put her lips to the bowl, tipped it back, and drank.

  Better, if warm, she thought. Better if living.

  More or less satiated, she returned to her nest and regurgitated a small amount to feed her pupae.

  When they got bigger they would need more.

  * * *

  “How do I look?”

  “You look fantastic,” said Mr. Barnes.

  “I do, don’t I?” She twisted her body in the mirror. Her lingerie clung to her wasp-waist and flowed down her long legs in a shimmering silken fall. Once, another lifetime ago, she had saved her money and bought a bra from Victoria’s Secret. Apparently, underwear came with a lifetime subscription to the catalog. The few times she received the catalog—before her mother threw it away as trashy, or her father took it to who-knows-where—she would pour through the pages, fantasizing about the glamour and eroticism. Now, compared to her, the catalog women—haute and remote and criminally aloof to the world—would be sluggish and dull.

  Mr. Barnes took a cautious, hopeful step closer.

  “Ah, ah, ah. You can go. Please stop at Nick’s cabin and tell him to come over.”

  She could smell the disappointment and impotent violence buried deep in his body, but he left obediently. He had no choice in the matter.

  A moment later, Nick knocked on her door.

  Nick should have run, but instead, he entered, eyes wide, mouth agape, like a fish out of water, gasping its life away.

  “Nick, you should close the door.”

  He did.

  * * *

  “We need to see what she does down there,” said Amanda.

  “I’m not going,” said Jack. “Shit is getting creepy around here. Everyone is acting like drones or something. You go and I’ll wait.”

  He didn’t like the idea of being close to Vespa. Her terrifying attractiveness felt evil, and the fact that no one noticed, or cared, about her stunning and sudden metamorphosis freaked him out. One day there was a Magillicuddy in the kitchen, and the next, a Vespa running the camp. One-by-one, everyone had moved onto Team Vespa. The children, unreasonably polite and cooperative, were the creepiest. Homesickness, pointless crying jags, and hurt feelings were banished to wherever they came from. Everyone knew their role and did it without any extraneous emotion or calculation.

  “Stop being a coward,” said Amanda.

  She grabbed him by his hand and dragged him towards the cellar door. He pulled it open and they stepped down, closing the door after them, casting themselves into dark, stygian gloom.

  “Let’s go back and get a flashlight,” said Jack.

  “We can see well enough. Let’s find out what is so interesting down here.”

  They walked between boxes, sporting equipment, and discarded hand tools.

  “What is that?” asked Amanda. Greasy light from small cellar windows illuminated a pale geometric assembly.

  “I don’t know.”

  They walked closer.

  Gray, hexagonal tubes stacked horizontally, one onto the other, emerged. A sticky wet mess, black in the dim light, matted the dirt floor in front of the tubes. The tubes were all empty except for one. Jack took out his cellphone; still no bars. He turned on the flashlight app and shined it on the capped cell.

  Something inside crawled toward the light. It squirmed and humped down the tube,a rapid, fluttering motion, eager to get out of the paper nest.

  “Turn it off, turn it off!” said Amanda.

  Jack discerned the outline of a pale triangular head and bulging eyes. Scissored jaws snapped.

  A mindless atavistic fear gripped him. White hot adrenaline flushed his blood. He turned off the flashlight app.

  Amanda gripped his arm painfully. “Oh, Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus. We need to get out, now. We need to get out.”

  The basement door opened and he took Amanda’s hand and led her away from the thing in the tube into the dark. He pulled her into a far corner and wrapped his arms around her. Amanda shook violently. A scream built in her throat and he covered her mouth.

  “Please,” he pleaded. “She’ll hear us.”

  * * *

  “This way, honey,” said Vespa.

  She guided Lacy, the last child, to the nest. The child, chemically drained of volition and will, walked without complaint. Vespa knelt down behind the child and lay her down. She reached over the prone child and shredded the cell’s paper cap, pulling it away and setting the pieces of paper aside. She reached into the cell and stroked the pupae. The creature cocked its head, leaning into her touch.

  “Oh, beautiful. How sweet. See Lacy, see how beautiful?”

  The pupae’s head extruded from the cell. Its jaws stretched sideways and clacked shut, the serrated edges mated together. The ghastly white pupae—soft, devoid of detail, except for the razor jaws and slicked-back antennae—let out a happy squeal.

  Lacy stared, uncomprehending and without fear. She did not make a sound as Vespa fed her to the pupae. The pupae’s jaws worked like a bladed machine, slicing and rending. When the last bit of Lacy vanished through the pupae’s mouth, Vespa stepped back and waited.

  The pupae retreated into its cell and shuddered as violent chemical processes took over. An oozing split ruptured down the center of the pupae’s face. Milky fluid and undigested blood ran out the cell, adding to the waste on the dirt floor. The split widened and something inside the pupae protruded from the ruptured wasp head. Vespa reached into the pupae shell and pulled out a child, a pale, wrinkled version of Lacy.

  “That’s it,” she said. “You’re a new creature now, born again. All the old things have passed away and become new.” She cradled the child, wiped the remains of birthing fluid from her body, and set her down on her feet. New Lacy wobbled for a moment, then took a firm confident stance. Her body plumped smooth and her eyes brightened with purpose. The child leaned forward and butted foreheads with her mother, her queen.

  “That’s my sweet. You’re perfect. Perfect and uncorrupted. You’ll go home soon and no one will laugh at you or tease you or call you bad names. Are you still hungry, dear?”

  New Lacy nodded

  She was hungry herself.

  “Jack,” said Vespa. “Amanda. I can smell your piss.”

  * * *

  Mercedes, BMWs, and Lexus’s filled the dirt parking lot. Parents, dragged about by inordinately well-behaved children, cooed over the lake, the cabins, and various projects. All the fathers wanted to talk to Vespa, but she stood aloof, swarmed a
nd protected by her own kind.

  Later, they would find out about her through their children.

  At the end of the day, the adult supervisors and the counselors lined up and waved goodbye. Tomorrow, a new bus would bring more campers and replacement counselors for Jack and Amanda, the two that had allegedly run off.

  They had a day between sessions to prepare. No worry. They all knew their jobs. Vespa reached over and took a male by the hand. It did not matter which one. The other males seethed with a jealousy they could not express or understand. The females, sterile, had no thoughts on the matter whatsoever. They had work to do.

  She led him to the cellar to tidy up and conceive the next perfect generation.

  POINT FIVE

  Elizabeth Kite

  From: Nia Gonzales (nia@shantyshack.com)

  To: Estrella Mendez (estrella@shantyshack.com)

  Subject: Padlock on freezer (read me first)

  Sent: 0636 Thurs 24 March 2016

  Dear Auntie Estrella,

  By now, you’ve probably noticed the padlock on the restaurant’s walk-in freezer. Please stay out of there for now. If you absolutely need more salmon fillets defrosted, the key is in the same spot my dad used for storing his collection of “Jerry Garcia” seashells. You shouldn’t need more fillets; Neil and I moved enough to the prep fridge before we left.

  On that note, Neil and I will miss lunch. I’ve called Navarro and he super-promised to wait tables through the rush. If he asks you for cash, I’ve put $40 in his apron pocket. I also paid his phone bill this month. If you need another hand, call Natalie. She didn’t respond to my texts.

  If you keep the freezer door closed, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.

  If you open the freezer, please don’t call the cops. I’m going to send you a longer email while we’re on the road. Call Natalie first, then read the other email.

  ––

  Nia Gonzales

  Sous Chef

  Shanty Shack

  20476 Breeze Blvd.

  Seaside, CA 93955

  * * *

  From: Nia Gonzales (nia@shantyshack.com)

  To: Estrella Mendez (estrella@shantyshack.com)

  Subject: Padlock on freezer (read me if freezer is opened) (please don’t open freezer)

  Sent: 0945 Thurs 24 March 2016

  If you’re reading this, you’ve opened the freezer and have a few questions.

  Please know that I’ve always considered you my favorite aunt and am immensely grateful to you for paying for culinary school and letting me cook in Dad’s old kitchen. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.

  That said, I’ve not been entirely honest. I am only human for 29.5 days out of every 30. During that measly, occasionally important .5, when the moon is full, I turn into a starfish.

  Yes, it’s Mom’s fault. Dad didn’t know she was selkie-esque (sealionkie?) when they got married. I don’t know how he could have missed the clues. I’ve seen her clapping for food in the old home videos and she wears her coat everywhere, but you knew Dad. He was oblivious to everything except the fish on the grill.

  I’m also not the only one who changes. Natalie turns into a sea lion, same as Mom. Neil becomes a shark. (He’s driving right now. Says hi.) And Navarro’s a bottom-feeding stingray. I just happened to get the short shrift on the sea creature selection chart before birth.

  There is some benefit. I can taste food with my fingers. That is how I can tell if a shipment’s too old when I touch it. So, in an odd way, Mom has saved the restaurant money.

  Well, last night was the family’s .5. Usually I spend that time in my own saltwater bathtub with an assortment of mussels stuck to the bottom, but Natalie wasn’t having it. She kept barking on about how I “never visit anyone” and I “don’t take care of myself” and I “need to spend time in the ocean so I know what it means to be a real were-starfish.” Arguing with a sea lion is as pointless as you can imagine. I met Neil at his house and he drove us to the old harbor.

  It doesn’t hurt to change, Auntie. I know you’d think so if you watched us, but it doesn’t. There is a point where my brain slides into my stomach and my sex drive possesses my arms and legs, but if school has taught us anything, it’s that humans also get used to their bodies over time. And, when I’m a starfish, clams taste amazing.

  I found a tide pool with a great selection of my favorite invertebrates. For the first few hours, I thought everything would be fine. How silly of me to forget that Spring Break is a ‘thing’ when culinary school doesn’t have one.

  Something you should know, Auntie: starfish need salt water for circulation. It is their blood. It is their life. If there was a biology major among the crowd of drunken jobless imbeciles, then he failed basic echinoderms. Thanks to both the primitive eye I have at the end of each arm and a game of Ultimate Starfish Frisbee, I can now sympathize with hula hoops.

  By the time I unwillingly boarded some frat boy’s speed boat, I was half-dead and dizzy enough to vomit. I used my tube feet to grab on to whoever was holding me at the time and expelled my stomach onto their hand. My carrier, also not a biology major, freaked out and tossed me off the back of the boat.

  You know the surge you get when you slice your hand, Auntie? That feeling right before the blood escapes? That’s what the propeller did to me. After that, I lost all sensation and plummeted.

  The tide must have carried me to shore. I woke up human and crawled out of the water. It was still dark out, but late enough that the college students had collapsed into drunken nap huddles in the sand. At the time, I figured some homeless drifter had stolen my clothes and my phone from the locker, so I covered myself in kelp and walked to the nearest landline. Of course, no one in this family answers collect calls. I walked barefoot for two hours before reaching the restaurant.

  Oh, the window. I’m sorry. I’ll fix that too.

  I finally got Neil to pick up his phone. He told me to stay right where I was. I threw out my kelp bikini and put on my chef’s jacket. Since I needed to channel the frustration somewhere, I chopped vegetables until the back door slammed open. Neil stomped in and stared at me the same way he stares at horror movies on Wednesday night. I didn’t understand his face until my copy walked in behind him.

  Another thing you should know, Auntie: starfish can regrow missing body parts after colliding with propellers. All they need is a leg and part of their core.

  Now that I’ve had time to think, I should have put down the knife. My copy must have thought she was me, what with having my clothes and my phone and my brand new Happy-Birthday-Nia Coach bag hanging from her elbow. I’d probably think I was me too. Her eyes darted to my knife. She picked up the frying pan. One of us screamed. I swear she swung first. I nicked a vein in her arm while blocking the pan.

  It was all over the moment Neil smelled blood. The moon hadn’t set. If you go back to the freezer, you’ll see the bite marks under the saran wrap. Don’t worry, blood only freaks Neil out during that special .5 time of the month, and he’s usually swimming during that time anyway.

  Neil says I have to wrap this up. We just parked. I guess all I have left to say is: I love you, Auntie. Please don’t let my dead copy freak you out. I’m shaken enough as is. The possibility of three other copies wandering naked through a beach full of drunk college students doesn’t help. Neil and I are going to search for them. I have extra outfits with me, just in case. I left the knife in the sink.

  If a copy does come in and starts my shift, tell her the veggies are prepped and waiting in the fridge.

  ––

  Nia Gonzales

  Sous Chef

  Shanty Shack

  20476 Breeze Blvd.

  Seaside, CA 93955

  THE PROMISE OF DEATH

  Danielle Ackley-McPhail

  “It is only the promise of death that makes life worth living.” – Robert E. Howard

  An Rógaire resisted the urge to rub where a crescent-shaped ivory sliver yet mark
ed his forehead, hidden by a dark shock of once-silken hair now gone rough. Just enough horn remained to serve as a stark reminder of all he had lost. Magic…kin…his true form…even his name. Everything but his life—which felt all but worthless without the rest—and his new-found purpose. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he raised his head and flared his nostrils to sample the air.