by Luke Arnold
I’ll say this for the surgeons, they keep the place warm. I took off my trench coat, laid it beside the mattress, and wondered if I’d made a mistake by not bringing the machine.
No. There had been too many close calls and its existence wasn’t a secret anymore. Thurston Niles knew what it was and he probably wasn’t the only one.
When my hosts stepped into the doorway, my mind jumped through a few hoops very quickly.
It was clear that the surgeons had turned their knives on themselves, but not with the same intention they had when working on Carissa. With her, they’d just smoothed out her skin and stolen a few years. The work they’d performed on themselves was more in line with what they’d done to the Dwarf. Each woman was a walking assortment of odds-and-ends. A medley of other creatures’ body parts added to their own skin.
“Greetings. I’m Dr Exina. This is my partner, Dr Loq.”
Exina’s hair was black on one side, blonde on the other, and it ran down her back between two short wings of naked bone that poked through special holes cut in her sheer gown. A line of reptilian scales started just under her left eye and went all the way down her cheek. Her bottom lip was too full for her face. It was borrowed. Half of her body had belonged to someone else at some time. Maybe they were offcuts from patients. Maybe they’d been taken by more nefarious means. I was hoping that no part of my ill-maintained form would interest them.
Exina’s outfit wouldn’t be acceptable in any real medical practice. Her neckline was low and open, good for catching glances, gazes and fools.
Loq had short red feline hair and a forked tongue that she flicked out over her teeth. Not a real Reptilian tongue, though. Hers had been sliced in two. Her gown plunged even further than Exina’s generous neckline and revealed a Cyclops’ eye on her sternum that lolled around in its socket like it was drunk. If she’d ever had breasts, she didn’t have them now. Maybe her partner had them grafted to her lower back for lumbar support.
Exina scanned me with her shadowed eyes. Loq pushed the duel tips of her tongue onto her lips and sucked them. I felt like the first course at a fancy dinner.
They sat on either side of me. Exina’s two-tone hair on my left. Loq’s red pixie-cut on my right. They both leaned in close.
Then, Exina laughed.
“I can usually guess,” she said. “But I honestly have no idea what you’re here for. You’re a bit thick from drink, maybe. A few scars. Too many nights without sleep. But a guy like you doesn’t worry about things like that. Is it something more,” she put a hand on my thigh – upper, upper thigh, “delicate?”
Each of her fingernails was a different color. It looked like paint, but it wasn’t. Each claw had been taken from a different creature. Nails and talons, sharpened down to the same size. One looked like stone. Another like obsidian.
“Delicate, yes. But a bit higher.”
Exina smiled. “I thought so.”
“No. Higher than that.”
I rolled up my sleeve and revealed the four tattoos wrapped around my forearm. The girls weren’t exactly impressed, but not quite disgusted either. Somewhere in between.
“The Human Army and the Opus?” said Exina. “That’s got to be a first.”
“First and last,” I said.
She pointed to my prisoner’s stamp.
“You’ve done time. But what’s the other?”
“Weatherly,” Loq butted in. Exina, who I doubted was ever surprised by anything, actually looked shocked.
“My, my. You are far more interesting than you first look. And you want us to…?”
“Get rid of them. Maybe. I haven’t decided yet but I just wanted to know if it was possible. My friend told me about you so I thought I might as well come and ask.”
“Who’s your friend?” asked Loq, as her hand went onto my other thigh, equally ambiguous in its intention.
I had a choice. I could give them one name, and continue the ruse, or I could throw out the name of the person I really wanted to know about. If they knew that name, then I’d have my answer. If they didn’t, then they’d know I was lying and there was a very good chance they’d rip my balls off and use them as earrings.
“Harold Steeme,” I said, taking the easy option. “Not so much a friend, really. We play cards sometimes. You did fine work on him. If only you could clean up his personality the same way as his skin.”
That warmed them both up. Perhaps Harold hadn’t been the most charming customer during their time together.
“It can be done,” said Exina. One of her polished nails flicked open the top button of my shirt. “But I don’t like the idea of taking away your history like that. It’s part of you.”
Another button.
“Isn’t that what you do?”
Exina pouted.
“We work our patients’ outsides to better reflect their insides. We show the world who you really are.” She reached over and stroked Loq’s hair. “This sweet thing was adopted by Werecats when she was young. This is her sister’s hair. Now, she is always with family.”
Loq put her hand on Exina’s face and her thumb stroked the line of scales down her cheek.
“My darling’s first love was a Reptilian warrior. He died defending her honor. Now, this part of him is part of her.”
They kissed each other. It was a hell of a thing.
“And the tongue?” I asked.
“Well,” said Loq, “there were other things that my darling missed about her love. So, this was… a gift.”
They both giggled, leaned into each other, and knocked me down on my back. Really, Carissa? You followed your husband’s trail down here? She had more gumption than I’d given her credit for.
“It’s just so boring,” said Exina, cutting the third button from my shirt so that it went flying across the room. “To get rid of something so unique. So you. Why don’t we do something really special? Haven’t you ever wanted a tail? Just a little one?”
“Or tits?” asked Loq, giggling.
Exina took her hand past upper-thigh, right to the top floor.
“What about a Centaur cock? We have some on ice.”
“You could have two!” squealed her partner.
Loq cackled and crawled up my body to put her tongue on the bare skin of Exina’s neck. Exina turned to kiss her, apparently the idea of the double-dong had captured their imaginations.
“I might need to think about this. Thanks for the ideas.”
They’d stopped listening. Exina’s hand was in my shirt, on my chest. My thoughts weren’t coming clearly because blood was in all the wrong places, so I made a completely unprovoked, clumsy attempt to get back on the case.
“Has anybody ever asked you to… to change their race? Or their species? Is that… is that a thing?”
Exina’s hand slid over my collar bones, her rainbow of nails scratching my skin.
“Why do you ask?” she purred.
“Well, I just—” Her hand closed around my throat. She wasn’t even looking at me. Her face was pressed against Loq’s. I thought it was part of the game until she gripped so tight I could no longer breathe.
“Why are you really here?” growled Dr Exina.
Her body was pressed onto mine. Loq’s too. They had me pinned. The world was going dark and her nails had drawn blood.
Then, Loq was laughing again.
“My darling,” she said to Exina, holding up my left arm, “Army and Opus? One of a kind? I think I know why he’s here.”
It took a moment, but Exina laughed too, and her fingers unfurled from my neck.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re right, my love. And he wouldn’t be too happy if we harmed his little pet.”
They stroked my hair and smirked in a way that was condescending, all-knowing and with just a touch of pity.
“Get out, boy,” said Loq. “We only work on grown-ups.”
I got up, and they were back on top of each other before I made it to the door. The Dwarf was waiting.
“Found what you wanted?” he asked.
I had nothing to say. No wit. No snide remark. I exited the building and the Dwarf shut me out. I heard all three locks snap closed. If you ask me, they were on the wrong side of the door.
48
Pet.
No.
I spent the long walk home sending white noise into my mind, trying not to think about the only thing I could possibly think about. Deamar had always looked familiar. Right from the moment when I first saw his face in the alley.
No.
Maybe I just wanted it to be him. Maybe I was seeing connections that weren’t there.
But did I really want it to be him?
I wanted him to be alive. Of course. But could I handle seeing him face to face?
He was my mentor. My one true friend. But I broke his trust and fled. Never apologized or tried to contact him again. I was a coward. That was why he’d sent me the machine. It was a test. To see if I would take responsibility for what I’d done.
There was only one punishment fit for the man who’d broken the world. I’d known that for six years. I’d wrestled with it. And finally, I’d been handed the perfect tool for the job.
I still hadn’t fixed the lock on my door. Add it to the list of things that will never get done. My failures. My mistakes. I went behind my desk and was about to bend down but—
There was a package on my desk. Another one.
My heart seized up. What would it be this time? Another never-before-seen killing machine?
There was no note from Deamar this time. No fancy handwriting. I unwrapped the package and saw… my trousers. Stitched up by Carissa’s caring hand.
I collapsed into my chair and shared a laugh with the laundry.
Harold, you piece of shit. What kind of chump would throw away a woman like that? I leaned down to open the bottom drawer.
The machine was gone.
No.
I’d been living in that office for six years and nobody had ever stolen from me. It was the last place anybody would go looking for valuables. Somebody must have known it was there.
I looked from the empty drawer to the patched-up trousers and wished it didn’t all make so much sense. She’d seen me waving it around. She’d seen where I’d hidden it. She’d been in my office only hours ago.
The phone rang.
No.
“This is Fetch.”
“Hi. It’s Linda.”
“Oh, thank God. I thought it might be Simms or something.”
“Why would you think that?”
“No reason.”
“Because Simms just called me.”
No.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’ve become a consultant. She calls me in on any cases that look magical.”
Please, no.
“Well, I’m glad things are working out for you.”
“Yeah. Apparently somebody got blasted the same way as Lance Niles. I thought you might want to know.”
Please, please, no.
“Well, thanks for telling me, Linda.”
“Of course. Just don’t mention it to Simms.”
“I won’t.”
“You haven’t cracked the case already, have you? It would score me some points with the city if I could work this out for them.”
Yes.
“No.”
“Let me know if you do. Or if you need any more help. You’re a pain in the ass, Phillips, but we don’t make the worst team. Speak soon.”
“Wait. Linda?”
“Yeah?”
“Out of interest, who was it that got killed?”
No. No. No.
“Nobody important. Just an Elven gambler named Harold Steeme.”
49
Carissa didn’t answer her phone but I went to her house anyway. I didn’t have any better ideas. I rang the bell. No response. I was about to knock hard on the door but stopped myself.
I looked over my shoulder, back down the street. Had I just heard voices? The cops? If they hadn’t come already they’d be here soon. Was Carissa down at the station confessing to everything? Telling them who’d found her husband and where she’d got the weapon? Had she already cooked me to a crisp?
I wiped the moisture off the glass panel in the door. I couldn’t make out details, but there was a light flickering inside: a few candles or a burning fireplace.
The cops wouldn’t drag her out but leave something smoldering, would they?
I took off my hat, put it up against the glass and punched it. The rabbit hide protected my hand. At least it was good for something. I reached in, opened the lock, and let myself inside.
“Carissa?”
I checked every room along the hall. Nothing. In the lounge, the fire was roaring, the candles were lit and there was a half-drunk glass of whiskey on the table.
“Huh?”
A voice from down the hall. I followed it and found Carissa in her bedroom, half-undressed and fully loaded. Her body was splayed out on the bed like a broken doll. Legs open. Eyes closed. The machine on the floor at her feet. You couldn’t have asked for a clearer picture of the crime.
“Goddam it. Get up.”
She was a dead weight just like her husband, but she was awake. That was something.
“Harold, let me sleep.”
“Oh honey, I ain’t Harold. Harold is gone, remember?”
She laughed, and the smile looked strange on her artificially straightened cheeks.
“Pop,” she said.
“Yeah, pop. You popped him good. And I bet you weren’t careful about it, were you? Did anybody see what you did?” I couldn’t get a clear response but I had a fair idea of the answer. If you plan a murder properly, you’re smart about what you do next. You don’t go home and get drunk with the weapon at the foot of your bed. “Get dressed. They’ll be here soon.”
I sat her up, adjusted her clothes, and added some more. It was cold out and she wouldn’t be coming home for a while.
“We need to pack a bag. You gonna help me?”
She fell back onto the bed and gurgled, so I searched through the cupboards myself. I dragged a suitcase out from under her bed and threw in the first clothes I could find.
“Carissa!” I gave her a good shake and her eyes opened properly for the first time.
“Mr Phillips? Have you come to keep me out of trouble?”
“Sister, you are trouble. And try as I might, I can’t keep a thing out of itself. Let’s go.”
I dropped a pair of boots into her lap and went to the bathroom to grab what I assumed were a woman’s essentials. My experience in such things is limited but Carissa wasn’t being any help so she’d have to deal with whatever I dug out for her. I closed the suitcase and picked up the machine. I hadn’t brought the harness so all I could do was tuck it into my belt the way Victor had and hope I didn’t accidently castrate myself.
Carissa was useless. She had her handbag beside her but had barely managed to slip her boots over her feet. I bent down to tie her laces and heard voices at the front door.
“Mrs Steeme, is everything all right?”
Shit.
“Is there a back exit?” I asked.
Carissa put her arms around my neck. Oblivious, or maybe just resigned to her fate.
“It’s my life now,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss me. I ducked out the way and threw her over one shoulder.
“Remind me to cash that kiss in later.” I took the suitcase in my free hand and spun out of the room.
I found a back door through the kitchen. When I ran for it, the suitcase knocked over a broom that clattered to the ground.
“Whoever is in here,” called the cops, “get on your knees! We’re coming in!”
I lumbered through the backyard and kicked open a gate that took us onto a neighborhood park. Everything hurt. If Carissa could feel anything, I’m sure I was hurting her too. She might have looked like a young woman but the work was only skin deep. By the morning,
she’d be a bundle of bruises, but, if I kept running, she might at least be free.
So, I kept running.
50
Two blocks past the park, I put Carissa down. The action had slapped a bit of life back into her but she still needed help to walk in a straight line.
We stumbled through backstreets till we arrived at the stables. The trainer wasn’t impressed that we’d woken him up, or that I had a drunk woman on my arm instead of his horse.
“You were supposed to bring Frankie back,” he said. “I may be going blind but I still know the difference between a filly and a tipsy Elf.”
“I need a carriage out of town. Tonight. Do you know someone?”
He took a breath that seemed to last an hour. “I’ve got one myself, and an able horse.”
“I thought you said you were going blind.”
“I can see clear enough to spy the lack of other drivers lining up behind you. Where are you going?”
I turned to Carissa. Her mind had crawled from comatose to merely intoxicated.
“Carissa, where’s your family?”
“Dead.”
“All of them?”
She racked her brain like a rusty gumball machine. Finally something dropped out.
“My cousin. Back in Lipha.”
I turned back to the driver.
“Do you know it?”
“On the coast between Mira and Skiros. A couple of days’ ride, if the weather doesn’t slow us down. Then I have to get back here, of course.”
“What will it cost?”
We negotiated a price that reflected the fact that I wasn’t in any position to negotiate. I handed over the last of the cash that Thurston Niles had given me. We poured Carissa into the carriage and wrapped her up in blankets.
“I won’t be able to leave for a couple of hours,” he said. “Gotta prep the horse and shut up shop. You want to hang around? I’ll make some tea.”
If Linda had thought to call me about this, Simms wouldn’t be far behind. They might come asking for information. I may even need an alibi.
“No thanks,” I said. “I got some things to do.” Like making sure I didn’t get caught on the street carrying a recently fired murder weapon.