Elvendude (15 page)

Marbann looked pained. "But, my lady, this is my mane, my badge of honor. . . ."

"Which no longer applies up here," Moira came back.

"But how are we to hide our ears?" Marbann protested weakly. Moira gave him a
look.

"Don't give me that," she barked. "You know as well as I do that glamories will hide just about anything. I cut the hair because it takes too damn much node energy to hide eyes, ears
and
hair."

"Look out," Samantha said as Petrus zoomed in from the entrance on a fat skateboard, nearly colliding with Marbann in the process. Petrus wore a black ball cap and an oversized t-shirt with the Tasmanian Devil huffing and snorting on the front. The boy came to a stop, then expertly toed the skateboard so that it leapt into his arms.

"Whatcha think?" Petrus said without a trace of elven accent. "New look. New do. I can even skate circles around people with this thing."

"I thought we'd go for the pre-teen hip-hop look," Moira said. "Baggy shorts are in style." Adam noticed the cap with an "X" on it, turned backward. "Trendy. The 'X' is a little out, but no one will notice. I left a tail on the back of his head. Pete, take your hat off and show us your do."

"Pete?" Adam asked.

"My new
cover,
" Pete proclaimed proudly. "Petrus don't sound too cool." He took the hat off, showing a nearly shaved head with a thin layer of blond fuzz, with a long, dangling tail reaching halfway down his back. "We might even dye it blue or something."

"Cool," Adam said. "Where'd all these clothes come from, anyway?"

Samantha stepped into the kitchen, and Pete squealed away. "I had a box of clothes put away for just such an occasion." She gestured them to follow her. "There's something else you probably don't know about."

In the garage she pulled down the wooden ladder which led, Adam had thought, to the attic. Instead, there was something else.

"Before the rest got here, young King, I had additional living space built," she said. "You wouldn't remember it because I made sure you wouldn't. Didn't want you and your little human friends hiding up here to play doctor."

They ascended the steep wooden stairs, and entered an apartment.

"I didn't know this was up here," Adam said, confused. "All this time . . ."

"I put a mild glamorie on the ladder to make you ignore it. I can dress the place up with magic if we so desire, but by itself it makes a suitable living space for our guests."

Adam counted eight beds in the attic apartment. The walls and floor had been covered with new carpet and still smelled unused. In the corner was a bathroom and a kitchenette.

"No need to hide everyone in the house. That would be dangerous, with all the unwanted visitors that might come by. Door-to-door peddlers, in particular. The only problem is that it's only accessible from the garage, from the pull down ladder we just climbed. Not the most elegant way to ascend to the new place, but it will be discreet."

They climbed back down, and Sammi raised the ladder. From below it looked like any other unfinished attic space over a garage.

Everything was happening fast, too fast. He knew it was real but it didn't feel real. Samantha's transition from mother to sister was still unnerving; perhaps it was his human side, hanging on to his elven self.

He asked her about this. Samantha replied, "Given the circumstances, you will probably always have a little bit of human in you. Which isn't such a bad thing, provided you use the good part of your humanity."

"You would know, I suppose. You've been here, living as a human, for a long time. What did you find so interesting about this place?"

Samantha looked thoughtful for a moment, as if carefully considering the question. "The world here is in a constant state of change. Avalon was too . . . utopian, I guess would be the proper human term. I was bored." She regarded him with a hard look that wasn't altogether unfriendly. "I've always been your sister, and it's going to be interesting, switching to that role."

"But if you're my older sister, then why aren't you the new ruler and not me?" He tried not to sound accusing; the throne was, after all, his responsibility, and he didn't want it to sound like he was trying to avoid it.

Samantha laughed softly, looking much younger than she had in years. "We have different mothers, Aedham. Yes, I am Tuiereann. But my mother, she was from Outremer." To Adam's confused look, she added, "I think our father was trying to establish some sort of alliance with the other elfhame. And for whatever reason, it didn't quite work out. We remained distant from Outremer." She looked past Adam, as if trying to remember something. "I never knew my mother.
Our
mother was everything I ever needed. I loved our parents dearly, Adam. Please don't forget that."

The serious turn the conversation had taken felt uncomfortable. As they walked back to the house, Samantha subtly changed the subject back to the situation at hand. "Since it's summer, we won't have to worry about putting anyone in school. If anyone asks, I'd suggest the following: relatives from out of town. The Haight in San Francisco. I have an address we can use, if needed. While you and Marbann were practicing, I showed them our tape of
Encino Man.
Looks like Pete's already picked up on some of the slang already."

Adam groaned. "He doesn't need to be going around sounding like Pauly Shore. I think it would drive me
nuts
after a while."

"Just think what a good disguise it would be," Samantha pointed out.

In the dining room, Moira stood over an empty chair, and with the scissors waved Marbann to sit down. "Your turn, Marbann. And speaking of disguise, did you ever show our King here how to hide his elven features? He can't be walking the street looking like
that,
you know."

Marbann held his arms up in a gesture of surrender before Moira fastened the sheet around his neck. "I leave that in your capable hands, my lady," he said. "He knows basic self-defense. This I thought would be most important to learn."

"Basic self-defense and how to nearly level a house with an uncontrolled levin bolt," Samantha said sardonically. "It doesn't look like any structural damage is done," she added, eying the ceiling suspiciously.

As it turned out, learning the human glamorie was simpler than building the basic shield and required less energy. Since Adam's hair was already styled to blend in with the human population, all he had to alter were his ears and eyes; it was like wrapping a miniature version of the magical shield around his face and wearing it like a helmet.

"There. Now you look presentable," Moira said.

At the door came a knock. Adam looked up at Samantha, who had a mischievous expression he couldn't quite fathom.

"Well, King Aedham," she said, "shouldn't you go answer it?"

My, Bridget is a
big
girl,
Peter Pritchard thought wryly as his two o'clock appointment walked into the New You Fitness Center. A severely overweight woman in her mid-thirties lugging a shopping bag squeezed in through the front doors.
If they get much larger than this, we'll have to install a garage door.

Before approaching her, Peter caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored walls. He was a big hunk of a guy with short blond hair, a forty-two-inch chest and a tropical tan, wearing Spandex shorts and a New You Fitness Center t-shirt.
I should make quite an impression,
he thought, grinning at his stunning reflection.
I always do. She may even want to bed me before I say the first word
.

Yesterday Bridget had called to find out what the New You had that other health clubs didn't. Peter suggested she bring workout clothes for a free session. From the looks of the large shopping bag, she'd brought an entire wardrobe.

"I'm here to see Mr. Pritchard," she said to the receptionist at the counter, but Peter was already on his way to greet her.

"Ah. Mrs. Bridget Palmer. Pleased to finally meet you," Peter said, offering his hand.

On her rounded, sour face perched a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. The puce polyester pantsuit, worn thin in many places, threatened to rip where her compacted flesh filled it a little too tightly. She looked him up and down suspiciously, then blushed.

As expected,
Peter thought smugly to himself.
She can't take her eyes off me.

Finally she shook his hand. He crushed hers. He loved doing that, to prove both his strength and innate superiority. No one ever complained, male or female. It was expected from a strapping specimen of manhood such as himself.

"The ladies' locker room is through there," he said. "While you get changed—"

"I was rather hoping you would show me the club first," she interrupted, glancing past his large frame, toward the equipment room. "So far I haven't really seen anything, um, unique about this place."

Peter held back the laughter that threatened to burst past his lips. As he put his arm around her shoulder and gently led her to the locker room, he said, "Ah, but you will see, soon enough, what our club has to offer. It would be much better to try the equipment firsthand. Explanations do no justice to what we have. Twenty minutes of your time, that's all we ask."

"Twenty minutes?" she said hopefully. "Is that all?"

"Trust me," he said. And she disappeared into the locker room.

Moments later, she emerged wearing a pink Spandex leotard, the price tag still dangling from the sleeve, looking for all the world like a giant wad of bubble gum.

"Okay," she said. "Where do we begin?"

"This way," he said cheerfully. "First, we must weigh in."

She made a face. "Do we
have
to?"

Peter flashed his famous placating grin. "How else are we to know how much progress we've made?"

She stopped, looked up at him with an arched eyebrow, her suspicion renewed. "In
one day
?"

Peter replied, "I told you we were different. What do you have to lose?"

The scale creaked and groaned before the needle finally settled. She weighed in at 285 lbs. And a half.

"My God!" she wailed. "I gained
a pound and a half
!"

Peter chuckled despite himself.

She glared at him. "What's so funny?" Bridget shrieked.

"You will lose that pound and a half, and more, before you leave today," he assured her.

"In twenty minutes?"

He smiled. "Trust me."

For twenty minutes precisely, she walked on treadmills, marched on StairMasters, pedaled on Aerobicycles, and sat in on the last five minutes of a group aerobic workout. Literally. After everyone else had left, Peter found her sitting forlornly on the carpeted floor, sobbing.

"I'm never going to lose weight!" she wailed. "Besides, it
hurts
!"

"Of course it does," Peter said, standing over her with his arms crossed. "You know the expression: no pain, no gain. In most clubs, it's just pain with no gain. Here, you get both." He held a hand out. "Come. Let's weigh in. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

With great effort, and with both hands, Peter helped her up. "This is pointless," she muttered. "I think I'm going to have the lipo done after all."

"Perish the thought!" Peter said, shaking his head. "You don't even know how much you've lost today!"

"I haven't lost a damn thing," she said. "I can tell. I never do. This whole health club nonsense is just that . . . nonsense."

She grumbled and moaned and bitched and raved like that, all the way to the scale. Then she stepped on it.

Bridget stared at it. "No. This can't be right."

"Oh, it's correct, my dear. In just under twenty minutes, you've already lost eighteen pounds."

The scale read 267. And a half.

"It can't be," she said, but her smile threatened to squeeze her eyes shut. "Eighteen pounds? Eighteen . . . 
pounds
? Eighteen eighteen eighteen eighteen
POUNDS! I don't believe it!
"

She leaped off the scale and gave Peter an enormous bear hug. Afterward, he had some trouble breathing.

"Eighteen pounds! In twenty minutes!" She moved around with more energy now than she had during her entire visit.

Peter beamed. "See. I told you it was different here. And what's more, and I haven't shared the good news yet: you can eat absolutely anything you want to! Lasagna. Cream pies. Twinkies. Ho-Hos. Cookies. Corn dogs. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage.
Pizza.
Pepperoni, hamburger, anchovy, cheese lovers, meat lovers, Canadian bacon. Oh, my dear Bridget, you can eat all the pizza you want to. And then some!"

She sighed. "This is heaven. Where do I sign?"

"Right this way," he said, leading her to his office. "This will take no time at all."

Peter Pritchard watched Bridget's retreating back as she left the club, noting with some frustration the bounce in her step, the jaunty walk. She even said hello to a total stranger coming in. Unfortunately, the human actually felt good about herself, an unpleasant but unavoidable by-product of their operation.

She won't be feeling too good about herself tomorrow, when she comes in to do it all over again,
Peter thought.
And next time, it won't be nearly as easy. I'll see to that. And she'll only lose two pounds. Then we'll see how much she likes herself then!

With elven magic, one could remove as much fat as necessary. Or as little, depending on the circumstances. Peter mastered the technique, a method of un-kenning that he stumbled across by accident, a year before. This was the secret of the New You Fitness Center. The workouts served
other
purposes.

Time to see how the synthetic nodes are doing. . . . 

Peter left the main exercise floor through a locked door, behind which was a flight of stairs. Locking the door behind him, he descended into darkness.

The stairway led to a dank hallway, illuminated by red light bulbs and an occasional flickering fluorescent. Peter and his kind preferred artificial darkness, with just enough light to do their work. Since no humans were permitted down here, they weren't too concerned about being discovered; the building inspector had come and gone for that year, and the health inspector never made surprise visits, at least during the year they'd been in operation. No one asked to see the basement. The building itself was a defunct two-story office complex, a victim of the eighties recession, located in a vast warehouse district in western Dallas. Its extensive basement once housed a vast data library and mainframe computer. All that remained was the raised floor, cables and other IBM bric-a-brac.