WereWoman

  So I answered. “I saw some Ninety in action. Something clicked. There was a package of that in Demon Damne’s freezer. You shouldn’t have left that evidence behind.”

  “I had to. I couldn’t go back there to fetch it.”

  Duh. Of course she/he couldn’t. And it wasn’t as if it had been an obvious clue. “So when I made the connection, I called Syd. And you had my phone bugged. Smart move, that.”

  “And I got your cell phone number when you gave it to my roommate Molly. It never occurred to her to conceal it from me. She’s such an innocent!”

  And I was such a fool not to have thought of that. As a savvy private dick I was a pretty good washout. “Some men like innocence in a woman.”

  Quent laughed cruelly. “Too bad you won’t be able to take advantage of her foolish love. She’d lock her legs permanently open for you.”

  I was embarrassed to admit to myself how that turned me on, even in this form. My feeling for Molly was surging back, and not just for that reason. “You think men exist to take advantage of women,” I said, playing to the paranoia.

  “I know they do.”

  “So you got Damne back for what he did to you.”

  “The bastard dumped me!” Quent said, speaking for Queue. “After I let him fuck me! He said I was unstable.”

  What did I have to lose? “Well, you are unstable. You can kill for a broken romance. Stable folk accept reality and move on. Some romances aren’t fated to endure.”

  “He dumped me!” Quent repeated. “He had no right to do that. I’m the one to do the dumping.”

  “So you never cared about him, or anyone else, just about your convenience and pride.”

  “That’s right. Why should I care about anybody else? They don’t matter to me. Except when they get in my way. Then they have to be eliminated.”

  “Which meant that you had to conceal your motive, because other Supes don’t necessarily see it that way, and they do have powers to be respected. I must admit it was one hell of a clever program. You set up an alibi, projected a conviction of innocence into the mind of the main investigator, and framed Damne’s murder as the middle of seven randomly chosen killings so it looked random too. Triple genius.”

  “Of course. I am a genius. Why should I have to mess with morons?”

  “The first was Vulcan Vampire,” I said, keeping it going. “You must know how to program a timer, to make the sunlight come at the wrong time.”

  “A timer!” Quent said indignantly. “That was a full computer program. I had to hack it online and make a change that wouldn’t be noticed. That was fine art.”

  “We were looking for a motive, and couldn’t find it,” I said. “Because it was a deliberately random killing to put us off the trail. Even before the motivated execution occurred.”

  “Exactly. At least you appreciate the artistry of it.”

  “Oh, I do. I knew I was up against someone a lot smarter than me. But I figured there might be some little error somewhere that would provide the key clue.”

  “Like the Ninety in the freezer,” Quent agreed. “You lucked out on that one.”

  “Then there was the gay Warlock, a seeming suicide, shot with his own gun. That’s the case that got me involved.”

  “Yes. I gave him the overpowering thought that his homosexuality would ruin any chance he had for real success in life, and the best thing he could do was take himself out before the scandal erupted. That really wasn’t far from the truth. He was a sick fairy.”

  “Being gay is no crime,” I protested. “Five percent of the human population is gay.”

  “Men fucking men? Come off it, fool. That will never be normal.”

  I toyed with the idea of calling him/her a bigot, but that seemed too chancy at the moment. I needed to stay alive long enough for a certain thing to happen. “Maybe you’re right. It’s not the normal course.” But I was thinking of Delle Witch’s gay mundane brother Donald, who struck me as a good man. For that matter the Warlock Standish seemed to have been a good man. As I saw it, good men could have any sexual orientation they chose, if choice were even a part of it. It was like hair color or height: it came with the territory of being a person.

  “Then there was Bear,” I said grimly. “My best friend and Syd’s fiancé. Why the hell did you have to kill him?”

  “He was available. We knew each other casually. I talked with him, asked for a ride, and when we were in the car I gave him an imperative to drop me off, then plow into the next oncoming car. It worked beautifully; he ricocheted off the car and smacked into a tree. Plainly an accident, but I knew his friends wouldn’t accept it as such. That was the point. So he became a murder victim suspect, one of the chain.”

  “So you had nothing against Bear.”

  “Nothing at all,” Quent agreed. “He was simply convenient.”

  “You ruined Syd’s life and mine for convenience.”

  “True. What is your point?” He literally did not care.

  I glanced around the office as if looking for help. I did have something in mind, but so far there was no sign of it. So I continued stalling, gamely. “Then Demon Damne, supposedly part of the random string. With your alibi, just in case. The only one where you had a viable alibi. That was a hint.”

  “Since when is an alibi an indication of guilt?”

  “When it’s too convenient.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Then Ghaster Ghost. Another convenience.”

  “Naturally. No point in getting fancier than I need.”

  “And Succula Succuba. How did you get that red squill into her?” I knew but wanted to confirm it for the recording.

  “I injected it into my system, then pumped it out when she came to me. It was safe for me because it was spelled not to become active until in the close presence of a Change.”

  “And you know that the Succuba had to Change to the Incubus to complete her route.”

  “That’s the nature of that Clan.”

  “And the Zombie,” I concluded. “You simply went to the orchard and sent a thought to a controller who was anticipating nothing of the kind. Fish in a barrel.”

  “You have a marvelous grasp of the situation. Now I think you have stalled enough. When are you going to Change, so you can have a hope of opposing me man to man? You know you have no hope otherwise. The end is inevitable.”

  Damn! My time was running out. But I had to keep trying. “I’m not going to Change,” I said grimly. “Because then you will send me a suicide thought that will take me out without reference to you.”

  “You are repeating yourself. No matter; I’ll just have to do it by hand.”

  “Make me suicide by hand? I don’t think so.”

  “Take your gun.”

  “Now why should I do that?”

  Quent applied another pain hold. He certainly knew what he was doing in that respect. I could not stand up to it. I reached down and drew my gun. But my stalling had finally paid off. I saw behind Quent where the round snake door was pushing open. Syd had had time to Change, and of course the gag and cords could not constrain her serpent form.

  “Now put it to your head.”

  I put the gun to my head. “Isn’t there some other way we can work this out?” I asked desperately.

  “You know too much. You have to go.”

  “Is there no mercy in your heart?”

  “None whatsoever. Now I am going to apply pain until you find it easier to end it.”

  The serpent was slithering up behind Quent. A few more seconds!

  “That’s too bad. I’m a WereWoman; you’re a WereMan. We could have been a perfect match.”

  “Hardly. I’m a leading figure. You’re a sniveling worm. Now do it.” The pain increased.

  The python slithered around Quent’s feet. Now at last he noticed. “What’s this?”

  “That is Sydelle in serpent form. Whose fiancée you murdered.” Then: “Uh, now don’t let go of me! If you do I’ll plug you in the hea
d. Remember, I have the gun.”

  Quent paused, stuck between alternatives. He knew I would indeed shoot him if he let me go. But if he didn’t, the python was already wrapping around him.

  He decided. He let go and grabbed for the gun so he could shoot the serpent. But I was ready; the moment he did, I grabbed him, flung my arms about him in a, well, bear hug. Thanks, Bear! He struggled, and we fell to the floor together.

  Meanwhile the python continued to coil around him.

  I still held the gun, and he still held my hand on it. I struggled to aim it toward him, not with any hope of success, but to distract him just a little longer so that the python could complete her hold.

  He wrestled the gun from my hand. I knew the moment he had control of it he would shoot me and the serpent through our heads. But I couldn’t cling to it longer. What could I do?

  I shot my face forward and bit him in the forearm. It was no love bite; I took hold and chewed as if my life depended on it. Which it did.

  He screamed in pain and wrenched his arm away from my teeth. Whereupon I jerked back and pounced on the gun, getting a grip on the barrel. Meanwhile the python’s head reached Quent’s face, jaws gaping.

  Quent forgot about the gun and focused on the snake, wrapping both hands around her muscular neck. I wrenched the gun away, still holding it by the barrel. I scrambled to my feet, then swung the butt of the gun down to knock him on the head, he let go of the serpent and grabbed for it again, but I hung on with both hands as I shoved my body away.

  And Syd bit down on his shoulder and used the leverage to anchor her coils. She constricted, wrapping him tightly. He struggled, but could not dislodge her. This was after all her natural business.

  I backed off and put the gun away. There was no need for it now. The python had him.

  Quent continued to struggle, but every movement allowed the coils to tighten marginally further. A python did not crush a victim to death, it wrapped it until breathing was impossible, and the victim suffocated. Quent’s breathing was becoming labored.

  He realized that he had lost the physical battle. “Tell her to stop!” he gasped.

  I did not move. “Why?”

  “We—we can make a deal. I’ll go away. I’ll get out of your life. Just make her stop. She will if you ask her.”

  “I believe she would,” I agreed.

  “Do it!”

  I remained silent.

  “What—what do you want?” It was a hoarse whisper; he could hardly talk any more.

  “I’m so glad you asked,” I said. “And I will answer you. I want you dead. This is my vengeance for your murder of my best friend. This is in honor of Bear, and the other innocent people you killed. I believe I speak for Sydelle, too. She was going to marry Bear.”

  Quent stared at me, realizing that hope was gone. There was no mercy here. Then he gasped his Name and started to Change. But it was too late; he’d be dead long before he completed the Change, and it wouldn’t dislodge the serpent anyway. Already his face was turning blue with suffocation.

  This was the time for some polite expression of parting, honoring the about-to-die. At least a word of regret about the necessity. But Bear had been the best friend I ever had, and I simply could not forgive his murder. Neither could Sydelle. “Good riddance, turd,” I said.

  It took him a while to die; suffocation is not instant. That was fine with me. Syd held on for another ten minutes, making sure.

  Meanwhile I got on the phone. First I called Zombie HQ. “This is Phil Were. We have a very fresh body for you to pick up; it should be good for several days’ hard use. Yes, it is that body. We prefer that it disappear without explanation.”

  “I’ll be there pronto,” Zoro said. He understood perfectly why I did not go into detail or name names on an open line. Quent was about to begin his brief afterlife as an anonymous Zombie.

  Because, of course, we were not going to notify the mundane police or leave them a body to find, for multiple reasons. Queue had been killing Supes, and any investigation into her death was bound to turn up awkward connections. This was purely Supe business. Anyone questioned would simply say that yes, they had known her, but no, they did not know where she went.

  Then I called Nonce. “Your cousin has been avenged. Spread the word.”

  She didn’t question it. “That’s a relief.”

  By the time I reached the others with terse obscure notices, Syd had made sure of the body and Changed back to human form. She dressed and shaped up the office.

  Then Zoro arrived. “Now that’s interesting. This body is neither male nor female.”

  He was correct. Quent had been in the process of changing back to Queue when he died, and had been caught halfway between, with neither penis nor breasts. It was a kind of gender limbo, perhaps fitting. “He was in the process of Changing,” I explained. “When something happened.”

  He did not inquire further. He focused on the body, and it animated. It climbed awkwardly to its feet, its clothing hanging uncomfortably. Then it turned and looked at me.

  I met that blank gaze and quailed. It was as though it were reproving me for what I had done. How much of Queue’s mind remained? “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  Zoro and the new Zombie walked out the door. I knew I would not see that Zombie again.

  Then I called Molly, relieved that she had not been targeted. “I’m sorry to say that your roommate won’t be returning. The apartment is yours.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Honey, it may be best if you don’t. Let’s just say there was an incident.”

  “Queue wouldn’t just go! Not without telling me. Did something happen to her?”

  I saw that more would be required. Molly was innocent, and it was important that she remain that way, so that she couldn’t give away anything to the police. They were bound to question Queue’s roommate at some point, after they caught on that Queue had turned up missing. But I had to tell her something.

  “New evidence turned up,” I said. “It seriously implicated her in the murders.”

  “But you know she was innocent!” Molly protested.

  “I did,” I agreed. “But this was persuasive, extremely awkward to explain without getting into special things.” Special was code for Supernatural. “I confronted her, and she appreciated how bad it was. She simply had to go immediately. The last I saw of her was when she walked out my office door.” True, though hardly the whole story.

  “But I can’t take over her apartment. I don’t even have a job yet; I can’t cover the rent.”

  I glanced at Syd. “I know she wanted you to be able to get by. She left some money. You can pick it up here at the office at any time.” That would come from the extra gold that Nonce had paid us. Weres took care of Weres.

  “All right,” Molly agreed uncertainly. She had to be aware that there was much I wasn’t saying, but she trusted me, bless her.

  At last I relaxed somewhat, and so did Syd. It had been an ugly business, but we had done it.

  We had finally proven ourselves in our first PI mission.

  The case was closed.

  Author’s Note

  I am known for my light fantasy, such as the long (39 novels and counting) Xanth series, but I have also done sexy fantasy adventure (the ChroMagic series), science fiction (the Cluster series), martial arts (the collaborative Jason Striker series with Roberto Fuentes), historical (Tatham Mound and the GEODYSSEY series), erotic (such as my dirty novels Pornucopia and The Magic Fart), horror (The Sopaths), and biography (Alfred, the life of my father). I don’t like to be limited, and I try different things, with varying success.

  I collaborated with best-selling J.R. Rain on several private eye fantasies (the Aladdin series and Dragon Assassin), and he suggested that I try a private eye novel of my own. I pondered; it’s out of my normal genres, but that never stopped me before. I have no private eye experience in my mundane life, but of course I don’t have any space-faring or magic experience eithe
r. They say a writer should write what he knows, but that’s laughable when he’s writing about the wildly speculative alien planet adventures or dragons, ogres, and sorcery. So forget that; I could do it if I had a sufficient character and situation. A decent mystery to solve.

  And there was the rub: I didn’t. So I let the notion jell while I worked on other projects, notably Aliena, my short novel of alien contact (she looks human, and she’s a nice girl, but her brain has been replaced with that of a sapient alien starfish. Can she find love on Earth?) Then one day it came to me: suppose there was a WereWolf, only instead of changing into a wolf, or other man-sized animal, he became the most alien type of man of all, a woman? And I thought that could be a real advantage if he had to get information from a balky witness; the female side could charm it out of him. He could make a good private eye, as long as the interrogatee didn’t know he was talking to the same person. So I made notes on it, shaping it up, and in June 2013 I wrote it. I don’t usually write first person singular, but this seems to be the vogue for this genre, so okay. Not everything turned out the way I anticipated; in fact the woman aspect became less important than his ability to fathom key motives. I didn’t expect it to be sexy, but let’s face it: how do you show a Succuba (that’s the original spelling, later corrupted to Succubus despite the masculine ending; don’t look to the language for common sense) in action without sex? And everybody knows that Witches are seductive as hell, as are Demonesses. They are, to a fair extent, men’s dream fantasies. I’m not sure what women dream about; their fantasies must be relatively dull. So it is sexy. But that’s the kind of thing that happens when writing. It’s like approaching a range of mountains from a distance: they may look impassible, but when you get close you discover passes between them, and maybe a bridge or tunnel, and you get through in ways you maybe didn’t expect. I got through, with what success I can’t yet be sure. So if you just read this novel, and you think it reeks, don’t blame me; blame J.R. Rain for putting the notion in my noggin.