“Complete?” Wilhelm laughed heartily, but his voice held an edge of mania that chilled me to the quick. He shifted to snatch Irene by her hair with one hand and with the other gripped her chin. “You are wrong, Mr. Holmes.” He nodded sharply at Norton. “Take that pathetic excuse for a Vater if you wish, but she will remain with me. I have an eternity of justice to visit upon this Hexe!”
“Like you visited on your innocent fiancée?” Irene cooed. “Such a proper little thing. A shame how you drained her beyond turning, and only days after your wedding. I did warn you that taking a human wife would only end in disaster. Typical of your sex, you just wouldn’t be told.”
I blinked at her tone—cool, contemptuous—as though Wilhelm posed no threat despite her looking like a tiny bird caught in the jaws of a very large and angry cat.
Wheels began turning in my mind…
“Irene,” said Holmes, a note of caution entering his voice. “Careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” She went on without awaiting confirmation. “Willy, dear, stop this nonsense right now. Your upset is noted. I was younger and foolish in my ambitions, but after all, you did make promises despite having no intention of honoring them. As your queen I would have taught you to control your bloodlust, to channel it in pursuit of your ambitions, but I was not on your level.” She rolled her eyes.
With a roar, Wilhelm released his perilous hold on Irene’s head, spun her around to face him, and grasped her throat in both large hands. “I planned such exquisite tortures for you.” Spittle flew from his mouth. “But I can content myself with ripping your head from your body and remembering the joy of your final suffering instead! Abschied, mein Hure!”
So absorbed was Wilhelm in committing mayhem upon Irene’s person, he neglected to keep one eye fixed on the other healthy vampire in the room. This was likely exactly what Irene had intended.
Holmes arched backward, caught hold of the ghoul driver, and flung him rump over teakettle to the floor. The stunned creature barely registered what was happening before Holmes pounced upon his throat and ripped it out. The gaping wound erupted with green-black blood.
“Ugh, ack!” Holmes spat and gagged, slapping at his mouth to wipe away the disgusting ichor. Apparently, ghouls tasted just as horrific as they smelled.
One of the king’s human henchmen drew his stake and ran at Holmes, while the other produced two glass globes of clear fluid from his pockets. Holy water, I realized.
In tandem, the two live ghouls pounced on Holmes, pummeling him with fists the size of boulders and likely just as solid.
I looked between Irene and Holmes, torn as to whose situation was most dire. I rose to all fours, relaxing into the change.
In the days of the moon’s waxing the urge to transform often became overwhelming, requiring complete isolation and meditation to hold off. However, given our circumstances, I welcomed the fact that the full moon was set to rise tomorrow.
Retaining just enough of my human consciousness to control the hellhound’s actions, I launched myself at the human with the glass bulbs with a howl of fury. Phosphorescence burst from my jaws and formed a halo of flames about my face.
The man turned his head. His eyes widened and his mouth formed an O shape.
I landed on his chest. A single swipe of my flame-wrapped forepaw split him open from the base of the neck to his pelvis. Hellfire cauterized the severed flesh instantly.
His eyes remained wide but now they were empty. The glass bulbs fell from his limp hands and shattered.
I turned my attention to the other brute who was circling Holmes cautiously, with stake in one hand and mallet in the other. Holmes had broken a second ghoul with a combination of enhanced strength and speed, in combination with his martial arts training of old. While ghouls were incredibly strong—easily a match for most vampires—they lacked finesse or skill.
Holmes quickly dispatched the remaining ghoul, even as the mortal goon snuck up behind him, stake positioned to pierce his heart through the back. Obviously, Wilhelm had trained his people well.
I cleared the considerable space between my kill and the live human with ease, salivating over the prospect of tastier meat. The impact knocked the man to the floor and sent him spinning in one direction and his stake in the other. I bayed and stalked toward him, licking my chops.
Unfortunately, more hound than doctor at the time, I misjudged the condition of the ghoul Holmes had recently defeated. The disgusting brute still had enough life in him to grab my left hind leg and, with a roar of berserker-like fury, pull me back, up, and over in an arc that ended when I slammed against the all-too-solid floor.
Several ribs snapped upon impact, and my ankle twisted sharply in the ghoul’s hands. I lost several precious moments whimpering for breath before attempting to regain my footing. The ghoul landed atop me and swung his giant fists into my stomach, my muzzle. It felt as though he were striking me with steel. The agony was overwhelming.
But then, mercifully, the ghoul flew off me. I blinked and strained to see through pain-blurred vision what had become of him.
Holmes stood astride the ghoul, his countenance utterly transformed into a pallid death mask, all red eyes and snapping long fangs, with barely a remnant of the brilliant detective left. Wrapping his hands around the ghoul’s head, he wrenched up and back. I heard the pop and crackle of separating vertebrae as the creature’s battle cry became an agonized keening that stirred even my beastly heart. One final wrench and the wailing abruptly ceased.
Holmes let the huge, heavy body fall with a dull thud of finality. Then he faltered and slumped to the floor beside the corpse, revealing the wooden stake rising from the left side of his back.
His human assailant, apparently having recovered enough from my onslaught to retrieve his weapons and strike, met my fiery glare briefly. He dropped his mallet and sprinted for the exit.
I howled and sprang to my four feet. My body was already healing itself with the rapidity enjoyed by my kind. As I made my way to Holmes’s side, I reasserted control, shrinking and transforming from beast to man, grateful that whatever dark magic governed the change extended to my clothing. Hesitantly, I examined the stake’s entry point, trying to determine how far into Holmes’s heart it was lodged.
“Sherlock!” The strangled cry came from Irene. I’d nearly forgotten her precarious situation. She was still struggling with Wilhelm, but in arching her head back she had caught sight of Holmes. Her wide eyes filled with horror—and then the whites shifted to bright red.
She brought her head up, caught Wilhelm’s wrists in her hands, and slowly but inexorably pulled them apart. He stared at her in confusion, as though unable to process what was happening.
She held his hands apart even as he snapped at her face with his fangs, and then she broke both his arms. He screamed as she forced him to his knees, as though the giant were no more than a child to her.
Which, I realized, is exactly what he is.
“I am finished indulging you, Wilhelm.” Her voice somehow echoed throughout the large room, filling it. “I could forgive this tantrum—they happen from time to time. But your misbehavior threatens us all and clearly you are beyond repenting.”
“I…you…no. It cannot…it is supposed to be him!” Wilhelm stared at Norton, who was still half conscious and whimpering against his pole. The deposed king cast desperate looks around the room, but to no avail. His remaining aides were all in various stages of rigor mortis. His gaze finally landed upon me.
I simply shook my head.
“Mutter.” A final plea for mercy.
Irene had none. “Goodbye, Wilhelm.” She struck, a motion too fast for me to follow. When she raised her head again, Wilhelm’s was on the floor next to his still-kneeling body. A few seconds later, still twitching, the body toppled onto its side.
She was kneeling beside Holmes within the same instant. Stroking his hair, she looked across his body at me with eyes once again human. “His heart—it wasn’t split?” she
said hopefully.
I shook my head. “I don’t think he could have saved me if it had been. Still, the situation is precarious.” I took a deep breath to steady my hands, then grasped the stake and pulled it free.
A mortal man’s wound would have gushed blood. Thanks to Holmes’s nature all my action did was reveal the ragged fabric of his coat and the gaping hole in his flesh beneath. He groaned faintly, which I took as encouragement he might yet recover.
Irene raised her hand to her fangs and sliced open her palm. She pressed the bleeding hand hard against his wound, counting softly. When she reached ten, she said, “There. That should do it.”
After she removed her hand I examined Holmes’s injury and found it almost entirely healed. I blinked. “That’s…impressive.”
She merely wiped gore from her face with a delicate lace handkerchief.
I caught her gaze. “Then again, I suppose it is nothing to a materfamilias.”
Irene pressed her lips tightly together. Again, I could see her running calculations in her head, only this time I found myself holding my breath in dread of her finishing. I suspected that if they didn’t turn out in my favor I would not survive what followed.
But she merely said, “I now see why Sherlock has kept you around all these years, Dr. Watson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to poor, dear Godfrey. After all, he has served me well for centuries, deflecting more ambitious creatures from acting against my best interests. And I do so hate to see my children suffer.”
I considered possible responses. Words of reassurance, of understanding filled my mind, but were discarded before utterance. Then she was off tending to Norton and my opportunity had passed.
“Never mind, dear fellow.” Holmes sat up and reached to feel around the edge of the hole in his back. He winced. “Well, that was a rather close one.” He redirected his attention to me. “Are you well? When I saw that filth assaulting you…” His eyes started to shift red again.
I held up my hands. “Peace, my friend. I am already fully recovered thanks to your timely intervention.”
“As am I.” Holmes stood and I joined him. He staggered and I grasped his elbow, steadying him. “Well, nearly so.” He looked down at what was left of Wilhelm, then nodded toward Irene. “So, she revealed herself, eh? I suppose she had little choice.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“I have always had my suspicions, but she was so credible in claiming Norton was paterfamilias.” He looked abashed. “Admittedly, I could think of no other reason for her loyalty and devotion to such an apparent milquetoast. But what convinced me was her waiting so long to track Norton down. If she were truly in fear of not just his destruction but her own, not to mention the fate of our entire bloodline, she would have come to me straight away. But no, she wanted to be certain it was abduction and not a murder that had befallen her erstwhile ex. If he were already dead, she would not want that discovered, as it would have revealed he was not paterfamilias.”
“Because you all would have survived his elimination.”
“Exactly. She made certain he was still existent, and thus worth the effort of recovering in order to maintain her ruse. I knew there was no way the woman would have been deterred from investigating the scene of Norton’s abduction or missed listening to that voice message.”
I considered this. “But with her extraordinary powers why did she come to us at all when she could have mounted a successful rescue on her own?”
“You flatter me.” Irene appeared beside us. “Alone, even I could not hope to dispatch Wilhelm and the servitors I expected he had in his employ with certainty of success. So, I went to the one man I knew would assist me even if he suspected me of being disingenuous. One who would remain the soul of discretion no matter what was ultimately revealed.”
“You did your best to conceal the truth,” Holmes noted. “Allowing Wilhelm to assault you like that. How far would you have let him to go?”
“Well, I had hoped you or the hellhound would rescue me, and I could maintain my secret. But then you went and got yourself staked.”
“A miscalculation on my part,” Holmes admitted, ruefully. “It is easy to forget how dangerous ordinary humans can be.”
“So, what now?” I asked. “Will you continue with the charade that Godfrey Norton is the father of your bloodline, even though you are apart? Or will you claim your rightful place as materfamilias?”
“Alas, it remains safer for me to rule and mentor the Inner Temple line from the shadows. You were right when you said the heads of other bloodlines could be a threat, doctor. They, much like our friend Holmes here, are quite old-fashioned in their views with regards to my sex. They are more likely to honor truces made with other men.” Irene sighed, as if ages of oppression weighed upon her. “Once Norton is fully recovered, which should be by day’s end after I infuse him with my blood, we will erase all this unpleasantness. No truths will be revealed—unless you gentlemen decide to betray a client’s confidence?”
Her eyes shone again, in a way that was somehow both fetching and terrifying. Swallowing to relax the suddenly tight muscles of my throat, I said, “Your secret will of course remain so, just as you wish.”
“Indeed, as your survival ensures my own, I would be foolish to compromise it,” said Holmes. He regarded her and his stern expression softened. “Besides, immortality without hope of seeing you again does not bear contemplation.”
Irene and I fell silent at this, both of us quite unused to such effusive words from the normally taciturn Holmes. Apparently mollified, she bowed her head. “I thank you for your assistance again. Be well.”
“And you,” Holmes replied, watching as she returned to Norton’s side. She plucked the iron nails from his hands and feet, and pressed her wrist to his mouth, encouraging him to drink like a mother urging an infant to nurse.
“Shall we make our way home?” Holmes asked.
As we headed to the door, I glanced back over my shoulder. “Are you sure? You now know her relationship to Norton is based on an arrangement, not love. You could—”
Holmes held up his hand, dismissing the rest of my thought. “She made her choice long ago,” he said, quietly. “And I will continue to honor it.”
We departed without another word about it. Despite what Irene and others thought of Holmes’s old-fashioned views of the fairer sex, he held the woman in the highest regard.
The Fabulous Marble
BY
David Gerrold
She was a girly-girl, this time anyway. Another time she would have been something else, but this time she was what she was and that was fine.
I’m WATSON.
Back in the day, I was WHATSUP. The acronym stood for Wow! Here’s A Terrific Set of Useful Programs. The documentation was a separate file: WHATSUP.DOC. But over time, I evolved. Now I’m: What A Terrific Set Of Numerals—all ones and zeroes, of course—but if you know what you’re doing with ones and zeroes, you can do a lot.
I follow Marble. She’s unmortal—biosynthed since before we linked. She observes, she extrapolates, she reports, she consults for profit. Sometimes she takes direct action, but that costs extra. She used to be a wired paladin in San Francisco, but now she sells her services to the highest bidders, sometimes the local law enforcement authorities, but not always. Email [email protected]. HOLMES stands for: Here’s Our Legally Mandated Extrapolated Solution.
Today she was tracking.
Somebody was assaulting sexbots. Six had been dismembered already and the leasing corporation was annoyed. These were the Lorelei models, with multiple attachments and configurations. The units were assembled in Racine, Wisconsin—specifically to validate the advertising:
A company based in Racine
Sells a marvelous screwing machine.
Concave or convex,
It will serve every sex,
Entertaining itself in between.
The Loreleis were the most sophisticated sexbots ever manufactured.
Designed for both conventional and contortional positions, powered by multiple biomatic converters, controlled by overlapping nucleonic neural webs, all under the authority of a cyberlinked negatronic intelligence engine, and wrapped in thermalytic skin capable of both receiving and transmitting stimulations of all kinds and degrees, the Lorelei was indistinguishable in both appearance and behavior from an authentic human body, either orthonic, zentropic, augmented, or unconverted.
An additional advantage was that the Lorelei unit could transform its shape and appearance from extremes of masculinity to opposing extremes of femininity, with adjustments of both primary and secondary sexual characteristics to suit the prospective partner’s desires. The sizes and shapes of specific parts were fungible. Manginas and shenises and enhanced oral, anal, and genital musculature were the most commonly enjoyed superstandards, but the Loreleis were designed to be capable of even more unusual configurations. The modding community was enthusiastic about developing its own adaptations. Tentacle breasts were a current fad—but penile tentacles were a close runner-up. And certain hand and arm conformations enjoyed a continuing popularity.
The Loreleis were also capable of emitting earsplitting alarms if assaulted. That was the mystery. None of the dismembered Loreleis had activated their sirens. No one had heard them. No one had come to their aid.
In the interests of clarity, this narrative requires a more precise definition of “dismembering.” In general usage, the term refers to the removal or separation of a member—but in this case, a specific member: that member most commonly found on those who identify as male, but not always, and as acknowledged above, the Loreleis were designed to be versatile.
Consider the dictionary. Spanglish has over 350,000 words in common usage. Muchas palabras. The average user will never look up all 350,000 of those words, but the dictionary has to contain them all to guarantee that the words that the user does look up will be there. It’s the same with the Loreleis. The average user will never explore all the options available, but the options have to be available for those users who are so specifically motivated.
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