Changer (Athanor) (43 page)

“Huh!  I think he deserved it.  He flaunted his power.  She merely turned the tables.”

“Whatever.  Are you saying that if I want the Changer to consider me, I should start courting
him
?”

“Yes.  And be prepared for potential rejection and a reawakening of interest by many of our own people.”

“I’m not sure…  If I thought…  Then…”  Vera gnaws thoughtfully on one pinky nail.

“So come to South America with me,” Amphitrite prompts.  “You’ll have time to think and the comfort of distance.”

“Comfort?”

“On another continent you won’t be thinking up excuses to go up into the Sandias.”

Vera blushes.  “I had been thinking I hadn’t ridden on the Tram for a long time.”

“Exactly.  Give yourself some space.  You may find out that this is just pheromones run wild.  Or you may decide that the potential gain is worth the risk.”

Vera logs off her computer.  “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.  Lovern’s shapechanging magic has a time limit.”

“Tomorrow.”

“The Changer leaves tonight.  Nothing is to be gained by staying here.”

“Tomorrow.”  Vera nods sharply.  “Very well.  Tell your escort I’m going along.  I’ll tell Arthur and Eddie.  Anson is staying for a while longer.  He can help cover my jobs.”

Amphitrite smiles a perfect, pearly smile.  “Thank you!”

Vera rises to see her to the door.  “Thank
you
, Amphitrite.  Thank you.”

When the door closes behind the Queen of the Sea, Vera glances around her comfortable office.  Somewhere outside, Shahrazad yips.  She restrains an urge to go out and check if the Changer is with his daughter.  Amphitrite is right.  She does need to confront her feelings—at least to herself.

Maybe even to someone else.

16

Ogni debole ha sempre il suo tiranno.
(Every weakling has his tyrant.)

—Italian proverb

T
hat evening, with as little ceremony as when they had arrived, the Changer and Shahrazad prepare to depart Arthur’s hacienda.  Shahrazad is at least richer by a name; the Changer has gained only a host of troubling conjectures and a few outfits.

“If you don’t mind,” he says to Arthur, “I’ll leave all the clothes here except for the stuff I’m wearing.”

“No trouble at all, my good fellow,” Arthur responds.  “We have lots of closets.  Why don’t you stash your things in the guest room you were using?”

The Changer nods.  He has already done so.  The clothes he wears are simple: jeans, a lightweight shirt, socks, and sandals.  One pocket of the jeans holds a folded plastic bag, another some money.

“Why don’t you wait for me in the front foyer?” Arthur suggests.  “I’ll go pull the van around.”

As soon as the Changer enters the foyer, Shahrazad trailing at his heels aware that some adventure is about to begin, Amphitrite drifts in to join them.

“Have a good time, brother.”

“Thank you.”

She kneels and rubs Shahrazad behind her ears.  “And you be good, little one.”

Shahrazad wags her tail enthusiastically.

“And don’t forget your aunt.”

The Changer frowns.  “That is precisely what I am hoping she will do.  Despite my best efforts, she is too tame.”

Amphitrite rises, light as sea-foam on a wave.  “Perhaps she is clever enough to know enemy from friend.”

“Then she is smarter than most of us.”

“True.”

They share a laugh.  The thump of crutches is heard, and Eddie comes in to join them.  His leg is healing nicely, but he is being careful with it.  The only thing worse than a broken leg is an eternal limp from a badly healed break.  The Smith knows this and warned Eddie during his visit.  It has been millennia since the fall that shattered his leg and hip, and he still limps.

“Ready to head out, Changer?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t learn who killed your family.”

“So am I.”

“I hope that the visit was not a complete waste of time.”

“Not at all.  I learned who did
not
do it.  That narrows the field somewhat.”

“Than you are not giving up?”

“No.”

Anson slides down the banister and bounces lightly when he lands.  “You didn’t expect him to, now, did you?  He’s not one to forget a wrong—at least not a wrong so large.”

The Changer only smiles politely, but something in his yellow eyes glints agreement.

“What are you doing next, sister?” he asks Amphitrite, pointedly turning the conversation from himself.

“Going to South America with Vera and Lovern.  I want to see these rain forests and mountains and endangered creatures.”

“Ah.”

Anson briskly rubs his long-fingered hands together.  “And if South America is not enough, Lady Queen, give me a call and I’ll take you to Africa.  You want to see problems?  There I can show you problems!”

Amphitrite smiles at his enthusiasm but doesn’t overlook the sorrow in his dark brown eyes.  “I would if I could, Sir Spider, but my magical lease on legs will not last much longer.  I’ve used ten days already.  This will be a quick trip.”

“The offer stands.  Perhaps another day, eh?”

Through the nearly opaque panels bordering the front window, they see the van pull up.

“There’s your ride, Changer,” Anson says, offering his hand.  “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

The Changer shakes hands all around and, with a glance commanding Shahrazad to follow, departs.  As he watches the van pull away, Eddie comments, “I wonder if he noticed that Lovern didn’t see him off?”

“Or Vera,” Anson adds.

“He noticed,” Amphitrite assures them.  “What I wonder is if he cared.”

Unlike the Sangre de Cristos farther north, the western face of the Sandia Mountains is largely without plant cover.  Even in the height of summer, grey stone is visible.  The Sandias’ height is frequently underestimated.  So round, so stony, so barren, the mountains seem intimate, but in reality they crest five thousand feet above Albuquerque.  As Albuquerque is situated at five thousand feet, the Sandias are no small mountains.

Arthur steers the van easily through traffic.

“Are you certain that you want to go here?” he asks.  “The city now ends practically at the base of the mountain.”

“The mountain itself is Forest Service land,” the Changer reminds him, “and the Sandia Indian reservation claims still more.  Plenty of room to support two more coyotes.”

“How shall I contact you if there is news?”

“Mark well where you drop us off.  I will return there every other day.  If you would leave me a message, leave it there.”

“Will you and Shahrazad be safe so near the road?”

The Changer’s smile is almost mocking.  “Why should we stay near?  I can take a swifter shape and cover distance quickly.  Shahrazad will remain in whatever grounds we claim.”

“Quite.  I overlooked that possibility.”

Without further conversation—on Arthur’s part because he is a little miffed at having been taken so lightly—on the Changer’s because he has nothing more to say—they go on.  Arthur concentrates on taking the van up the twisting road toward the crest, the Changer on watching.

“Up ahead will do,” the Changer says at last.  “There, where there is a wide spot on the shoulder of the road.”

Arthur does so and the Changer grunts satisfaction.  When the van stops, he opens the door and Shahrazad leaps out.

“Don’t stray,” he calls after her.  Immediately, she slows and begins sniffing the roadside debris.

“Thank you,” the Changer says to the King, extending his hand.  “You will know where to leave a message?”

“I have noted the mile markers,” Arthur says, accepting the handclasp, “and I will make other notes when I leave.”

“Good.  If you want me quickly, tell me so.”

“I will.”

The Changer nods farewell.  Arthur watches, sees the two step into the evergreen forest.  Then the shadows swallow them and even his ancient eyes can see them no longer.

Rebecca
>>  He said Yes!  He said Yes!!

Demetrios
>> He?  who?  what?

Loverboy
>>  “Yes” is my favorite word!

Rebecca
>>  Bronson said we can go to Albuquerque!!!

Demetrios
>>  That’s great!!  I think we’ll have at least a dozen attending.  I’ve been talking to some of the other fauns, and at least two want to give it a shot.

Loverboy
>>  Fuzzy lady, is the hubby coming with you??

Rebecca
>> Two other fauns!  Great!  And I know that the Olsens are coming and some yeti cousins of ours who emigrated to Alaska ages ago and us, and, of course, the
tengu
.

Demetrios
>>  I wonder if Frank MacDonald would come?

Loverboy
>>  Why Saint Frank?  He’s human-form.

Demetrios
>>  But he is sympathetic to the plight of athanor animals.  They have, if possible, less say than we do.

Rebecca
>>  Yes, Loverboy.  Bronson is coming.  Demi, I like Frank.  Shouldn’t the Moderator be responsible for invitations like that?  I mean, isn’t this his project?

Loverboy
>>  :( Fuzzy lady’s hubby is coming!  Where’s the fun for me?  Will Arthur let us get near the human babes?

Demetrios
>>  Maybe the Moderator should talk to Frank.  Who is he anyhow?  I’ve been trying to figure it out.