Changer (Athanor) (13 page)

“Then you actually love your…”  She pauses, looking for a word.  “Wives?”

“Each one,” the Changer agrees.  “Furred, finned, or feathered.”

“But…” Vera gestures wildly with the hand not occupied by the wheel.  “They are so short-lived, even compared to humans.  How can you love a being that will die in an eye blink?”

“Love,” the Changer answers, his rough voice holding something that is almost a chuckle, “doesn’t come with preset time limits.  Only athanor continually live without dying.  A human or, for that matter, a coyote or raven or wolf or eagle, selects a mate on the blind hope that the other will continue to survive.  Death could come the next day or in half a century.  From what I’ve observed, the former can be kinder.”

“And your children?” Vera asks.  “Do you…”

“Preserve them?” the Changer offers, and when she nods, continues.  “No.  I do them a parent’s duty as is defined by the natural ways of that species.  For some that is a season, for some—like the coyote—that may extend into two years.  Then I let them go.”

“And when they die?”

“If I know, I mourn.  What father wouldn’t?  But it is a poor father of any species who would keep his children imprisoned merely to keep them safe.  Parents give life; they also must realize that for that life to be truly given they must let their children go.”

Vera shifts gears, for the great climb of La Bajada is beginning.  Before modern roads, this stretch was so formidably steep that at least once a miracle had been needed to achieve the ascent.  Today dynamite and asphalt have made travel routine, but even modern vehicles respect the great hill.

“Were you born knowing this,” she asks, deciding to take advantage of the Changer’s talkativeness, “or did you learn it?”

The Changer laughs.  “I learned.  Long and hard that learning was, but I learned that the only way I could love was to let go.”

“And the little one on your lap?”

“When she wishes, she, too, may go her way.  I will try to take her to a place unfrequented by humans, but I will let her go.”  The Changer’s hand ruffles his daughter’s downy grey baby fur.  “She is a pup now, and my parent’s duty to her holds.”

“Yet wild creatures often lose their mothers,” Vera says.  “Aren’t you somehow acting against nature in protecting her?”

Vera’s eyes are on the road, but she can feel the fierce gaze the Changer levels on her and deep inside she shivers.

“My daughter,” he says, and there is a slight emphasis on the “my,” “lost her mother, but not her father.  Both parents in a coyote family raise the young—as do older siblings.  I wear a human form, but I am still her father.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “I didn’t think.  You seem so…”

She stops, aware that she had been about to be tactless once more, wondering where her much-vaunted wisdom has gone.  The Changer, however, has caught the drift of her sentence.

“Human?” he says, and, to her relief, he chuckles.  “I am old Proteus, Athena.  A shape is a shape, nothing more.  I own all shapes and so am no one shape.  I try to respect the custom of the shape I am wearing, that is all.”

“I am human-born,” she says, by way of apology, “and all my shapes are human shapes.”

“A logical bias on your part, then,” he says, accepting the apology.  “Is that Santa Fe below us?”

“Yes,” she answers, relieved at the change in the conversation.  “It is.  Blends in quite well, doesn’t it?”

“Remarkably, for a human city of that size,” the Changer agrees.  “I don’t believe I have been there for fifty years.”

“You’ll find it much different,” she says.  “That’s all I ever hear from the people who have lived here for ten or twenty or more years—how changed it is.”

“Change,” the Changer says, “is natural.  What many forget is how much a part of that changing they themselves are.  Where will we find Lil?”

“Her gallery is off the Plaza in the older part of the city,” Vera answers.  “We should be there in about a half hour.”

“I can hardly wait,” comes the reply, and when Vera glances to one side, she sees that the Changer is not smiling.

Despite Vera’s warning, downtown Santa Fe astonishes the Changer.  When last he had been here, the streets had mostly been dirt or gravel, the stores largely devoted to the daily necessities of the people who lived and worked in this sleepy little capital city.  Now, most of the stores are art galleries, jewelry shops, or expensive boutiques.  The majority of the people who stroll the narrow sidewalks are clearly tourists rather than residents, or even legislators.

“Amazing,” the Changer comments.  “If it wasn’t for the Palace of the Governors and a few other buildings, I wouldn’t recognize the Plaza at all.  As for the side streets…”

“Lil’s gallery is off San Francisco Street,” Vera says.  “I’m going to put the truck in a parking garage.  Will you leave your daughter there?”

“Certainly.”

Strolling along the narrow streets, neither one spares attention for the kachina dolls, velvet skirts, and silver jewelry displayed in the windows.  Tourist season has not quite begun, so they can walk side by side.

“Down there,” Vera says, gesturing.  “You can just see the sign.”

The Changer grunts.  Swinging out over a doorway halfway down the next block is a carved oval sign painted red and gold, embellished with a single word: “Prima!”

After the brilliance of the New Mexican sun, the gallery’s indirect lighting is welcoming.  Glass cubes displaying jewelry and sculpture in their interiors are scattered with artistic perfection about the room.  Paintings and hand-woven rugs cover the pale cream walls.

Music, contemporary, but with hints of compositions far older in its instrumentation, throbs like an excited heartbeat from concealed speakers.  The subliminal impression is that here is a place where treasures are to be found.

“She hasn’t lost it,” the Changer mutters.  “Supreme manipulator.”

“No,” Vera agrees, and she might have said more but they are interrupted by the tapping of shoes on the polished wooden floor.

“May I help you?” says the sultry voice that claims the honor of womankind’s first seduction and first disobedience.

The words are clearly routine, nothing more, for after the first few Lil’s inflection alters as she recognizes Vera and, quite possibly, the Changer.  

Her scent is the same, and by that the Changer knows her.  Her appearance, however, is as different from the shape he had first known her to wear as could be and still be human.

Then she had been short, voluptuous, darkly tanned, with a fall of night black hair to her feet and eyes like jet.  Now, she is tall, slender, elegant, and golden blond.  Her eyes are brilliant green and her skin peaches and cream.  She wears a stylish dress of mint green; her jewels are jade and silver.

There is no doubting who she is.  When the Changer sees her he knows that if human males had hackles, his would rise.

“Vera!” Lil greets the other woman.  Her accent is French and her tone mockingly friendly.  “How delightful to see you and our ancient brother.”

She turns that hard, emerald gaze upon him.  “
Bonjour
, Changer.  When did you decide to come slumming?  Last time I heard, you were still doing it doggy style in the mountains.”

Her taunting has the perverse result of relaxing him.  He bares his teeth at her in a coyote grin.

“I came to learn if I need to hurt you, Lil.  Consider my personal attendance an honor due to your great age.”

She gives no sign of fear.  “And is this honor for any particular reason, or have you simply decided that this is someone’s day to suffer?”

Vera intervenes.  “Someone has murdered the Changer’s family.  All the evidence points to you.”

“Evidence?” Lil pulls out a cigarette as long and slim and she is and lights it, scenting the air with cloves.

“Phone number, handwriting, car,” Vera says.

“Even description,” the Changer adds, “now that I see you, rather than scenting your distinctive bouquet on the breeze.”

“Why would I kill the Changer’s family?” Lil asks.  “We don’t love each other, true, but there is no vendetta between us.”

“There is now,” the Changer says, “one that will continue unless I get proof that you did not arrange for my family’s deaths.”

“I didn’t do it,” Lilith says bluntly.  “It would be senseless.”

“Would you say that before a truthstone?” the Changer asks, causing Vera to wince.  She prefers honesty as much or more than most traits, but certainly there are more tactful ways to introduce the subject!

What Vera doesn’t know is that the Changer has already been using the truthstone.  It rests in one of his trouser pockets (a pocket his hand has not strayed near since their arrival in the gallery), part of its surface touching his skin through a hole he had clipped in that pocket earlier that morning.  Manners can make only so much of a demand on him.

“
Oui
, you can use a truthstone to confirm my honesty,” Lil replies calmly.  “I have nothing to hide—at least not on that point.  And I have too much respect for your power, Changer, and for your temper, to spite you on such a small matter of etiquette.  However, if I permit you and am proven innocent, I do expect an apology.”

“Formal and direct,” the Changer agrees.

He pulls the truthstone from his pocket and holds it flat on his palm.  Wanting to avoid any suspicions that the Changer’s own honesty had been tested by means of a similar amulet, Lovern had used a broad oval piece of agate as a spell receptacle.  Tan and brown, with slim lines of red, the pattern in the stone suggests a landscape rendered in the abstract.

“Pretty,” Lil says.  “How does this one work?”

“By heat and alteration in the hues of the stone,” the Changer answers.  “So you will be able to see its assessment.”

“How nice.”  Her tone is almost a sneer.  Seeing some tourists gazing through her window, she crosses and with an apologetic smile flips over the “Open” sign to “Closed.”  “Make certain your questions are direct, Changer.  These stones work best with as few ambiguities as possible.”

“Yes.”  He pauses.  “Did you hire a rancher to kill eight coyotes, seven of whom were my get and one my mate?”

“
Non
.”

The stone remains cool, but the red lines brighten.

“It agrees with you,” the Changer says.  “Let us cross check.  Were you in the Salinas District eight to ten days ago?”

“
Non
.”

Again coolness and the flash of red.

“Did you have in your possession a rented Chevy Lumina days ago?”

“Non.”

Again, the stone concurs.  The Changer frowns.  He looks at Lil, who is also frowning.

“I apologize, Lilith, for my suspicions.”

“I accept,” the immortal witch says with a graciousness that is only slightly mocking.

“Has it occurred to you that someone has tried to set us up so that I would kill you?”

Lil nods. “
Oui
, I did so wonder.”

The stone on the Changer’s hand flashes red and stays cool.  He chuckles and drops it into his pocket once more.

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Vera says, breaking the silence she has maintained during the interrogation.  “Do you have any enemies in common?”

“Not that I know,” the Changer says, “but we must.”

Lil takes a long drag on the cigarette that has been smoldering between her two fingers.  “They must have believed that you could be aroused into an insane rage.  Lucky for us both that you stopped to see Arthur.”

The Changer nods.  “The killer may have expected me to shift shape and follow the car that came to meet Martinez.  They couldn’t know that one of my pups had been missed and that I would stay to care for her.”

“If you hadn’t,” Vera says slowly, “then you would have followed the car here, encountered Lil, had an argument at cross purposes, and then…”

“One of us,” Lilith says, arching a stylish brow, “might have slain the other.  Let us not give the Changer too much credit for his strength.  In my own places, I am formidable.”

Vera tenses, wondering if the Changer will take offense, but the ancient merely nods.

“Quite so,” he says.  “I respect your power as you do mine.  We cannot predict the outcome, only that violent conflict, whether resolved quickly or not, would have been the end result.”

“An extended conflict,” Vera adds, “would have drawn others in: Arthur in an attempt to mediate, close friends for each of you.  It could have grown ugly.  I owe your daughter a new chew toy, Changer.  Her instinct for self-preservation seems to have prevented at the least murder, at the most, civil war.”

“And which,” Lilith says slowly, “was intended?”

The Changer shakes his head, long hair sweeping about his shoulders, fierce yellow-brown eyes lit with fire from within.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but I most certainly intend to find out, and no one, but no one, not Arthur nor Lovern, nor the strongest among us shall stand between me and that one’s punishment when I find out.”

Lilith chuckles, a throaty, catlike sound without mirth.

“Amen to that,” she says, “and pity the poor bastard when you find him.”

She laughs again.  “I might even applaud.”