Changeling Hunter

by Frank Hurt

  “It’s called, ‘Indian Summer.’ You have a good memory. That was back in June.” Anna pulled another Shiner from the refrigerator and stood up. “Anyone else ready for a second one?”

  Cooper raised his hand. “Pick me, pick me! So, you two met at a bar?”

  Ember swung her thumb in Anna’s direction. “She tends the bar in Plaza.”

  “Interesting. What brought you down to the town of Plaza?” He tilted his head.

  She could all but see the gears in his head turning. Ember took a long swig of beer as she tried to think of a serviceable lie. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to invite a NonDruw detective to hang out with us.

  Anna handed a beer to Cooper. Her pupils slid to the corner of her eye, followed a moment later by her head turning to face Ember. Stephanie stopped chewing and her eyes grew wide.

  It was the quick-thinking Half-Druw who came to the rescue. Josette grabbed two bottlecaps from the table, tucked them over her eyes and frowned. Her eyebrows held the gold-and-red ram’s head logos in place as she extended her hands. With splayed fingers, she patted down the couch and then Cooper’s head and face. “Guys! Guys! I think Shiner made me blind!” Her fingers poked at Cooper’s goatee. “Oh, crap! Ember, I think a squirrel got into your apartment!”

  A good two ounces of beer shot out of Ember’s mouth and nose as she guffawed. Her laugh quickly turned to embarrassment, though everyone else burst out laughing. Josette raised her eyebrows, dropping the caps and allowing her to see again. When she asked “what happened, what’d I miss?” everyone just laughed louder.

  Ember could do nothing but grin and shake her head. She walked to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to soak the mess on her shirt.

  “You know, you really do have a drinking problem.” Anna grinned as she suppressed a laugh. The woman followed Ember into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  “I wish I could say I did that on purpose,” Ember studied her reflection. “I’m glad Josette is quick on her feet. I was coming up blank.”

  “Yeah, we really have to be careful when we invite a NonDruw to hang with us.” Anna’s eyes glanced at the door and then back at Ember. “So this Coop—”

  “He’s just a friend. I invited him for Josette.”

  “Oh. Oh, okay, so they’re dating?”

  “No, not exactly. Not yet. I guess this is technically their first date, only they don’t know it yet.” Ember simpered at Anna.

  “What, you set them up together on a blind date?”

  “More like a double-blind date. Neither subject is aware that they’re being set up. They make such a cute couple, don’t they?”

  Anna chuckled, “you devious woman. Ember the Matchmaker.”

  Ember dabbed at the front of her soaked blouse. “So, how’s Dr. Rout working out?”

  The full-figured changeling woman grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the tap. “She’s a pain in the ass, that’s what she is. But…she’s had some interesting insights.”

  “Oh? What sort of insights?”

  Country music continued playing on the other side of the door, punctuated by occasional laughter.

  “The Aedynar Artifact. She hasn’t been able to figure out how to use it directly, but she observed that Arnie was sleeping—actually sleeping—when the artifact was nearby. So, she had us notify the other scouts. Now, all of them have been bunking in my folks’ basement at night.”

  “Wait, what? All ten of them are sleeping in your parents’ house?”

  “Yep. They have to be within a dozen yards or so from the artifact, in order to benefit. They’ve all been sleeping regularly, but only if they are near the thing. The effects seem to wear off quickly.”

  “That’s something I guess.” Ember straightened her shirt and allowed Anna to rub the material with the wet washcloth. “How are your parents dealing with having such a crowd under their roof? Or how about you for that matter?”

  “Well, you know, it’s got its ups and downs. We’re all happy to help. Though their water well isn’t keeping up with having so many people sleeping there overnight. Dad’s got a well driller coming up next week to punch a new hole.”

  “Oh gosh, he’s having to pay for a new well?”

  “He said the old well was having problems, anyway. It’s always been weak, sucking sand sometimes. He said he’d been meaning to get a second well drilled for years, and this gives him an excuse to finally do it.”

  Ember nodded. “He’s a generous man. All of you Schmitts are generous.”

  “Yep, well don’t go letting that out,” Anna smirked. “We’ve got a reputation as humorless Germans to uphold, after all. Oh, you’ve got on your pendant that I made for you!”

  “Of, course I do. I always keep my coyote face on.” Ember touched the wood carving reflexively. “It makes me think of my friends. It reminds me of why I’m here.”

  Anna held the pendant in her hand and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before she let it drop back against Ember’s sternum. “You know, I think you’re going to have to just change clothes, girl. This isn’t going to dry before the concert, and you don’t want to smell like beer all night.”

  Anna opened the bathroom door and rejoined the group. The song “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” was playing. Stephanie, Cooper, and Josette had pushed the couch and chairs aside to use the floor space to dance.

  Ember walked over to her bedroom. Before she pulled the door shut, she poked her head out and called to Anna. “Not even if it’s good beer?”

  Anna tossed the wet washcloth at Ember. “Hurry up and change so we can get to the concert, woman!”

  14

  Capiche

  Marcus was enjoying his lazy Sunday. First, he allowed himself to sleep in. He savored a leisurely breakfast of pancakes with extra whipped cream, washed down with the imported toasted rice green tea he saved for special occasions. He tended to his project in the barn, looked in on the root cellar, and settled into his grandfather’s rocking chair on the porch.

  The man pulled a cigar from the chest pocket of his overalls and slid it along his mustache, breathing in the fine tobacco. “Heavenly,” he declared. His double-guillotine cutter slipped over the head of the cigar and made a satisfying sound as the blades clipped off the end. Marcus struck a match and began puffing on the stogie as the flame touched the tuck end.

  He leaned back in the rocking chair and let inertia do the rest. He had been very productive this weekend, and he deserved a break from his chores. He needed to finish the project in the barn before it got too late since he did have work in the morning.

  Ugh, work. Why did I have to let that creep into my head? His boss had lost his only son. Murder, no less. Gone before the young man had had a chance to truly live. Such a tragedy, everyone agreed. The real tragedy was that with his boss preoccupied with funeral arrangements and grieving, the whole next week would mean more responsibilities for Marcus. No extra pay, mind you, but plenty of extra work. It was a thankless job, being a mid-level Analytic.

  He puffed on the stogie and tried to think of more pleasant thoughts. There was that young woman he saw outside of work on Friday. He was leaving work early to get his weekend project started. He planned it for the entire week, and with or without his boss being in for the day, Marcus was not going to let this project get away from him. The girl distracted him, admittedly. It wasn’t just that she was a head-turner (which she was in spades), nor the fact that she had an accent that he wasn’t expecting to hear in downtown Minot. No, it was the way she looked at him. She seemed to really notice him, the way she watched him. He swore he felt her eyes on him when he walked to his car in the alley parking lot.

  It had been a long time since a pretty girl had looked at him like that. Usually, they looked away when he was in the room. His masculinity was just too much for most women to handle. He exuded pheromones, he was well aware of that. The fact that he chose to bury himself in work—and lately his weekend projects—well, that just made the ladies want
him all the harder. It was a burden Marcus was forced to endure.

  “Maybe I’ll track her down, ask her out.” He puffed the words into a ring of sweet smoke. “If she works in the building, it won’t be hard to find her name.”

  Focus, Marcus. Bury one project before you start another. He preferred to finish his cigar—and he would—but first, he had to finish the project in the barn. He blew all the smoke out of the stogie and let it go out on its own before tucking it back into his pocket, next to the cutter.

  He leaned out of Gramps’ chair and eased weight onto his feet. It had been over two weeks since he sprained his ankle chasing those two dipshits across the sunflower field. He had misstepped on the uneven ditch bank in his haste to put the second one down. He had been sloppy with that one, he knew it, but they could have had the decency not to run. Marcus replayed the scenario countless times since, and every time it made him angrier. The whole event left him unsatisfied.

  Thus the new project. Marcus was no fool; he learned from his mistakes. Last time, he charged in Rambo-style, unaware that his target would have a friend with him, the surprise making him open fire before he had the target captured. They ran, he chased, and they ended up dead way, way too quickly. Just plain terrible, how rude those two boys had been.

  No, with this one, he staked out the target’s residence. Marcus learned that she was married. He learned her routine. For a week, he watched how she did the same thing every day: she made her husband breakfast, they chatted, he went to work. She went shopping, she returned home, and she made lunch for the mister. They were punctual: lunch at 12:05, every day. They would eat, and he would return to work while she did dishes.

  It was easy, then, to wait until the husband left at 12:48 pm, to then show up with his van, wearing coveralls and a baseball cap with the local utility company logo on it. Never mind it was a freebie he’d picked up at their customer appreciation days three years ago. She was too stupid to know any better. But then, that’s all one could expect for a changeling bitch.

  She believed him when he said that he had to back his van up to her garage, that he needed to check on the connection to her breaker box. “No, no, there wouldn’t be any charge. This is just routine. You could call the office if you wanted to verify? No, you trust me? Well, that’s mighty nice of you, ma’am. I’ll be in and out, don’t you worry.”

  He wore his Old Spice heavily to mask his scent from the bitch’s nose. changelings were more beast than human, and that was always something to watch out for. If she figured out that he was a mage, it was only after he had her knocked out, duct taped, and tossed into the back of the van. He was back on the road with his new project before she knew what hit her.

  Marcus lifted and swung the heavy, rotting door on his old barn. The last person to paint it probably was Gramps, and he’d been dead for decades now. The building was filled with all kinds of trash: old tractors that didn’t run, antique wringer washing machines, wagon wheels of every size. Just crap, as far as he was concerned. He would have put a match to the whole thing and gotten the eyesore out of his yard, but he just never got around to it.

  His procrastination paid off since he found a new use for the decaying structure. In the back corner was a milking stall for dairy cows, and beside that was a walled-in granary for the cows’ feed. He had to move old saddles and harnesses out of the granary (he tossed them on a heap in the weeds outside—what did he care if they were ruined by the weather?). Marcus wasn’t very handy with a hammer, but he was able to line the inside with foam board insulation, bought an oversized dog kennel—the kind that is meant to keep a real aggressive dog caged up—along with chains and padlocks. It wasn’t much to look at, but it did the job nicely.

  It would have been easier to just use the root cellar behind his house, but of course, that was already occupied. This improvised cell in the barn worked just fine for this weekend project.

  He unlocked the outer door and flipped the black plastic switch. A fluorescent light reluctantly flickered to life, humming as he stepped inside. The small room smelled of piss and blood and refined fear.

  The woman in the chained kennel had been crying, and when the lights came on, she began pleading, begging.

  Marcus felt his good mood vanish, just like that. “You stupid fucking bitch! How many times do I need to tell you not to shift?”

  He grabbed the electric cattle prod. He had serendipitously found it at the livestock supply store where he bought the kennel. It had been an impulse purchase, but it turned out to be a worthy investment. The device was meant to motivate one-ton cattle, but it was even more effective against a 110-pound human. He already had to change batteries on it once over the short weekend, since the woman proved to be so uncooperative. He thought he had broken her spirit, but here she was, defying him yet again.

  “No please! Don’t—”

  The twin electrodes made a satisfying crackle when he hit the button on the hotshot. The woman screamed in anticipation. He hit her naked skin twice before she slapped the fiberglass rod away, which only made him angrier.

  “Shift back, and I’ll stop.” Marcus spat the words at the changeling woman. “Do it, or I’ll keep burning your hide.”

  The woman wore charred burn marks on her backside from where he’d given her a taste earlier. She pleaded with him, spittle drooling from her cracked lips. “You’re going to torture me again, no matter what I do!”

  She had a point. He couldn’t tell her that, of course, but she did have a point. Marcus slid the prod between the bars and gave her the juice again. This time, when she reached for the prod, he shot his hand between the bars and grabbed her wrist. Her scream was so loud, he thought for sure she would burst his eardrums.

  Marcus reached into his pocket and found the cigar cutter. He wasn’t sure if his idea would work, but he had been thinking about it, ever since he chopped this morning’s stogie.

  The girl’s fingers were plenty small enough, but she fought hard. He had to pull her up against the cage, dig his nails into the tendons on her wrist, and physically unfold one of her digits. It was more effort than he had planned for, but when he finally got her finger between the double guillotine blades, she stopped struggling and resumed pleading.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll shift. I’ll shift. Please.” She blubbered like a mental patient.

  He was somewhat disappointed because, after all that effort, it would have been nice to at least try the cutter. Her finger bone probably would have ruined the blades though. “Fine. This is your last chance. You shift, or I’ll take off your fingers, one knuckle at a time. Capiche?”

  The woman wailed, but she nodded, too. It would have to be good enough for now. He let her hand go, then watched as she fell backward, scrambling to get to the far side of the kennel, as far away from him as she could.

  “Don’t make me count down, bitch.” He kept his tone steady, even though he was breathing hard. “I’m going to step out to grab something, but you’d better be a fucking cur when I get back.”

  Marcus didn’t have to go far to get his rifle. The AR-15 still had a wrap of camouflage burlap around the receiver and foregrip from his last hunt. The carbine was advertised as a varmint rifle, and from his experience at least, it worked well for that job. He chambered a 5.56 round from the magazine and stepped back into the insulated granary.

  The coyote was salivating, trembling on shaky legs as it cowered where the naked woman had been.

  “We’ve had fun together this weekend, but I’m afraid it’s time to finish this project.” He brought the muzzle up and leveled it at the coyote’s head. The beast’s eyes went wide, and then it went down with a snap. One shot to the brain at nearly point-blank range was all it took. Lights out. Game over. Thanks for playing.

  Just like that, the whimpering stopped. The drooling continued, the trembling continued, but the noises stopped. After thirty seconds, the spasms became sporadic and then ceased altogether.

  He coughed as he struggl
ed to catch his breath. For being so tiny, the woman really did give him a workout. It pissed him off that she had to ruin the last day of their special time together by changing back into human form. It was starting to go so perfectly, too.

  “Now I’ve gotta dig a hole. Fuck.” He spat at the dead coyote. Digging graves—even shallow ones—was back-breaking work. He thought about the pit he dug for the first one, but that was way back in the weeds, assuming he could even find it after all these years. Back then, he had been paranoid, worried that someone would find it. Now, he was older, wiser. Maybe a little lazier. He chuckled. “Nah, fuck that. I’ll just dump you in the river and be done with it. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  All and all, he had to admit it had been a nice, productive weekend.

  15

  She’s Wearing a Shadow

  The lyrics may have changed, but the melody remained the same.

  Ember paced the reception area of the Parker Building lobby, a cell phone held to her ear. She had the great idea that while she waited for Gloria to show, she could make efficient use of the time to call her mother. The idea was better in theory than in practice.

  Just three minutes into the conversation, Benedette Wright brought up The Topic. “Emberly, wouldn’t you know that I saw Mrs. Cowie at the greengrocer yesterday.”

  “Here it comes,” Ember muttered.

  “Hmm? Darling, you’ll have to speak up. All this mumbling.”

  “Nothing, Mummy. Please, do tell me how Mrs. Cowie is faring.”

  “Oh, she’s fine. We were comparing notes, and it may come as no surprise to you that her son, Farqhar—you remember Farqhar, don’t you, Emberly?”

  “Yes, Mum, I remember Farqhar. Wasn’t he voted Most Eligible Bachelor in Malvern Hills?”

  “Your sarcasm is unbecoming. He’s a perfectly fine young man, and he’s got quite a promising future in government. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is someday named to the Druw High Council.”