Kzine Issue 16

by Graeme Hurry et al.

  Marie’s stomach clenched. Nothing had made sense all day, but she was clear on this: no one was going to take her children from her.

  * * *

  Lavinia Hart snarled and prowled around her penthouse. She’d been visualizing her next change for an hour. By now she should have turned into something ferocious and immense, but nothing was happening.

  She growled in disgust. She was penned in; she had to get out, run, think. But first, just in case, she rummaged around her closet for her old opera cloak. She rose to her hind legs and threw it around her shoulders, then summoned the elevator. As she rode down to the lobby, she thought about the lecherous night guard Danny, who would most likely be at the security desk. Such a slimy little wretch, always ogling her when she walked by, especially if she happened to bring someone home. Sometimes, if her guest were female, she would toy with him, slipping an arm around the woman’s waist or whispering into her ear as they sauntered past his desk. She knew Danny would spend the rest of his shift in agony, wishing he were in the middle of his living wet dream in the penthouse.

  The elevator doors opened and Lavinia raised her hood. She really should focus on her transformation, but—she couldn’t resist a little fun.

  “Good evening, Danny,” she purred. She faced away from the desk as she passed, pretending to admire the art on the opposite wall.

  “Ms. Hart,” he said.

  “Interesting,” she said, stopping in front of the painting. “You know me without even seeing my face.”

  “Oh, I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”

  She almost laughed at his smarmy tone.

  “It’s awfully late for a lady to be heading out alone,” he said. “Lots of crazy people out there.”

  “Really?” she asked, her voice throaty and low.

  “Dangerous people,” he said, lowering his voice as well.

  She stood in front of the painting, her back to him, and listened to his breathing.

  “I’ll be quite safe, Danny,” she purred, pulling her cloak tighter to accentuate her slender waist. He wouldn’t see her tail and legs unless he stood up behind the desk, and she knew he was too lazy for that. “Dangerous people don’t frighten me.”

  “Is that so?” he said, his voice husky.

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Dangerous people can be very interesting, don’t you think? I mean, don’t you find it—” She licked her muzzle. “—irresistible when someone takes a risk? Does something they’ve never done before?”

  Lavinia tugged her hood farther down over her face, then angled slightly toward Danny. “Haven’t you ever wanted to take a risk?” she asked, working a tiny moan into her voice. “Do something you’ve never done before?”

  Danny took in a deep, trembling breath.

  She purred and kept her head down, feigning coyness as she stepped closer to the security desk. His chair creaked. Her purr deepened into a growl.

  “Ms. Hart?” His breathing was heavy now, his tone uncertain.

  Her growl rumbled and grew. Slowly, deliberately, Lavinia placed a paw on top of the desk and clawed. Wood shavings curled up under her nails and fell to the floor.

  “What the—”

  She wheeled toward Danny and threw back her hood with a massive roar. He yelled and jumped up from his chair; a metal wastepaper basket clanged to the floor. Lavinia’s roar turned into laughter when he fell back hard into his chair. The chair tipped over and he fell with it, hitting his head against a credenza before crumpling to the floor.

  Lavinia’s laugh stuck in her throat.

  Danny didn’t stir.

  “Danny!” she said sharply, leaning over him.

  But he didn’t move. He lay perfectly still as blood seeped from his head and pooled on the floor.

  * * *

  Marie and Bobby bundled up their children and put them in the back seat. Bobby Jr. whimpered as they backed out of the driveway, but fell asleep again as soon as they hit the road.

  “Lisa hardly even woke up,” whispered Marie, after they’d driven a few minutes.

  “She spun herself out at the picnic.”

  Marie smiled. He still hadn’t told her what he saw when he looked at her. Maybe he didn’t want to say. “So, how do you see yourself?” she asked instead.

  “Oh,” he said, turning the wheel, “kinda like Paul Bunyan—with a bit of a beer gut. You know, after retirement.” He patted his belly with a grunt.

  She could imagine it, actually. A paunchy Paul Bunyan, former American folk hero. Big and tall, his muscles a little on the flabby side, but still strong. He’d be carrying an axe jauntily over his shoulder; perhaps a lock of salt and pepper hair would peek out from under his red knit cap.

  But, god, did that make her ol’ Babe the gimpy Blue Ox?

  “So?” he asked. “How do you see yourself?”

  She looked down at her folds of blubber stuffed into the front seat of their Caravan. “Oh, you know…” She squinted at the map on his iPhone and asked, “You sure we’re going the right way?”

  “Yeah, we’re almost…” He slowed down and picked up the phone. “Huh. It says we’re here.”

  “What?” She looked around her, but there was no sign of a park anywhere.

  He pulled over and poked at the phone. “Yeah, I plugged in the same thing as this morning and it says we’re here.”

  “But this isn’t the park,” she said. All she saw was a normal residential neighborhood. The houses were small but neat, with reasonably well-tended lawns and a basketball hoop here and there.

  “Look, there it is,” whispered Bobby. He pulled out and drove around the corner. Another block in front of them was a ten-foot wall of cypress trees. The entrance was merely the absence of one tree, through which they could see a field of grass about the size of a football field.

  Bobby pulled up right in front of the gap and parked. “There’s a little pond in the middle of it, see?”

  Moonlight glinted off the water.

  “Stay here with the kids,” he whispered, unlatching his seatbelt.

  “Bobby!” she hissed, but he was out of the car before she could object. She glanced back at their sleeping children and watched him through the gap in the trees. He crossed over the grass toward the water. Once at the pond he circled it halfway, staring into the rippling surface. He went down on all fours, and the moonlight from the pond reflected up onto his profile.

  “Bobby,” she whispered. Something didn’t seem right. The light coming up from the water was awfully bright.

  He leaned over the sparkling pond and reached toward it with his paw. The tips of his claws ruffled the water’s smooth surface, then his whole paw went in up to the wrist.

  “Bobby?” She stepped out of the car. Was the pond shrinking?

  Bobby’s front leg disappeared into the pond up to the elbow. He struggled against something underneath the surface. Suddenly, with a jerk, his whole body slipped under the water.

  * * *

  Legs twitching, Ansel grunted and pulled at his stinger. His flight muscles pulsed at his back. He leaned forward and his wings, trapped between his body and the couch, popped free and buzzed frantically. He crouched over his stinger, arm pumping. It had to be sharp, sharp, sharp. It had to be perfect and sharpsharpsha—

  Crack!

  He froze. He stared at his hand in the air, holding his stinger—which was no longer attached to his body.

  Crack!

  A spasm rocked his body, and a line split down the middle of his chest.

  Crack!

  Fissures seared across Ansel’s body like lines of fire. He panted and clawed at his chest as it bulged. His wings detached and twitched on the couch beside him, crushing themselves into brittle plates. Tufts of white hair popped through chinks of exoskeleton sloughing from his body. His middle legs dropped off, and the remaining four broke apart as furry mammalian legs formed underneath them.

  Ansel’s buzzy screams turned into a high, whining squeal. He slid off the couch and r
olled into a fetal position on the ground, squealing through the burning and cracking. Finally the pain subsided, leaving him curled and panting on the floor.

  As he gained strength, he blinked his eyes open and coughed. He groaned—which sounded like a whimpering squeak—and pulled himself up to a sitting position. Holding his breath, he looked down and explored his new body with small, pink, claw-like hands.

  White fur. Twitchy nose with whiskers. Long, naked tail.

  “Oh god,” he said in a quavering falsetto. He put his paws over his eyes and groaned again. Here he was cracking up, and all he could think to do was sit there and “sharpen his stinger.” And look where that got him.

  Ansel surveyed the bits of antennae and exoskeleton scattered around him, catching a glimpse of something glinting underneath a piece of wing. He rolled over on all fours and sifted through the debris to uncover it. It was a silver sword! He lifted it to feel its heft, then stood up on his hind legs and held it to the light. It was a beauty, with scrolling inscriptions etched into the base and a leather hilt studded with emeralds and rubies.

  He touched a finger to its edge and pulled his paw back with a sharp intake of breath. This one didn’t need sharpening.

  He lay the sword on his couch and stared at it. What could all of this mean? The symbolism of the wasp and the queen bee was clear; he could see what his brain was doing there. But what the hell was a mouse with a sword supposed to mean?

  There was only one place to find out, back to where it had all started.

  Back to Mirror Pond Park.

  * * *

  “Danny, get up,” hissed Lavinia, shaking him. “Wake up.”

  Finally he groaned. She cursed with relief as he moaned and held his head. Paws trembling, she knocked the handset off the phone and tipped out 911 with her claw. As soon as the person answered, she threw the receiver down to Danny and ran outside.

  What the hell was she doing? She’d almost killed a man, almost gotten herself embroiled in a murder, and for what? Because he was a little creepy, and she felt like a laugh? Well, he was moving and talking—moaning at least. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember what had happened.

  And if he did, no one would believe him anyway.

  She had to stay focused, but she couldn’t. She was panicking, running a loop around the same block until the sound of sirens knocked her out of her absurdly close orbit.

  What was she thinking? Of course they’d find her. They’d have security footage, the clawmarks on the desk, perhaps fingerprints on the phone. He’d looked her full in the face before he fell. There had been confusion and disbelief in his eyes. And terror. And lust.

  Lavinia kept running, paws pounding, cape flowing along her back. She sought out deserted alleys, then abandoned them to slip across darkened lawns at any sign of traffic. Finally she caught on to where her body was leading her. Of course, it was exactly where she needed to be.

  With a fresh burst of speed, she headed toward Mirror Pond Park.

  * * *

  Marie called out to Bobby, but he didn’t resurface. She toddled toward him on her ridiculously tiny flukes. The pond was growing smaller and smaller—she’d never make it to him in time. Marie jumped in desperation, and suddenly she was swimming in the air, undulating through the park. She zeroed in on the shrinking pond, and with a flip of her tail, slipped past the grassy banks into the water.

  The bright light she’d seen before was gone. Only a sliver of moonlight penetrated the water, but she didn’t even need that. Heart pounding, she wheeled and tasted the water, alert for traces of sugar. Instead, she sensed heat and felt bubbles. Marie dove toward the source and found Bobby back in human form, unconscious and sinking. She swam underneath him and nosed him up to the surface, horrified by how quickly the grassy edges were moving inward. With a flip of her head, she tossed her husband out of the lake, then tried to wriggle herself out onto the muddy bank.

  But she was too heavy. She couldn’t even flop halfway up, and the banks were closing in. The more she churned against the silt, the faster it moved. She could dive down and gather enough momentum to jump out of the water—but would the hole be too small by then?

  “Marie, jump!”

  It was Bobby. He was on his hands and knees, fighting the water, clawing away great clumps of mud and grass.

  She submerged once again and wheeled around. With a thrust of her tail, she shot up toward the surface. Silt clouded the water, but she could see the moonlight above, and she could hear Bobby calling to her. She thrashed her tail and tensed her body for one final swish. She jumped. Her nose broke the surface and her body rose out of the pond, arcing to the side. Mud and grass streaked her flanks as she cleared the water and thundered down onto the grass. A shower erupted from her blowhole, soaking Bobby.

  “Hang on,” he said, and lifted her tail out of the water. The grass closed in on itself and the last of the pond disappeared, leaving only a grimy puddle of mud.

  He dropped down next to her as she lay panting on the grass, and they held onto each other until they both stopped trembling.

  Marie turned her head toward the Caravan. She could still see it through the gap in the trees, but it was too dark to see inside. Bobby jumped up, jogged to the van and peered through the windows. “Still asleep,” he reported, walking back to where she lay.

  He knelt beside her and helped her sit up. “Look at this,” he said, and pressed a seashell into her palm. Moonlight reflected off a mirror embedded in it. She turned the shell over and examined the back. It was ivory-colored, about 6 inches wide, scalloped with deep ridges. A little rectangular patch had been smoothed into its surface. Words were etched into it, but it was too dark to read them.

  Bobby flipped the shell so the mirror faced her again. “Look how beautiful you are in the moonlight.”

  She held the mirror away and cast her eyes down.

  “Look,” he insisted, guiding her hand back.

  She raised her eyes and saw—her own face. Her own, honest-to-god human face, with wet ringlets of hair hanging down around her astonished eyes.

  “But—” she sputtered. She angled the mirror down her body, incredulous. With her own eyes she saw a blubbery grey whale, but looking into the mirror, she saw neither a whale nor the dull, frumpy mother-of-two she’d been before. According to the shell, she was a mermaid, and a damn sexy one at that.

  Marie flicked her tail and stared at the fleshy, curvy body in the glass, wondering at its shimmering scales and the ample breasts almost popping out of the pale pink shells covering them.

  “Is this really how you see me?” she breathed, not daring to look away from the mirror.

  Bobby turned her face gently toward his. She held her breath as his lips met hers. She tried to sink into the kiss, but felt a fresh surge of despair when she sensed his tongue playing at the baleen in her mouth. God, how could he want this?

  She tried to pull away, but Bobby held her. His tongue pushed through the strands of baleen and sought out hers, and he ran his hands down her fat, clammy body as though she were the most beautiful thing in the world. That’s how he saw her, after all, and she willed herself to believe it too. But her fins felt wet and slimy on his shirt, and she was revolted by her own huge tongue rolling around after his.

  “Stop,” she said, pushing him away. “We need to get the kids home.” She stood up, not wanting to see the hurt on his face. At least she felt steadier on her tail now. Maybe she would get used to this.

  She lumbered through the trees and stopped short. There, inside the van, Lisa and Bobby Jr. were asleep—in human form.

  Bobby gripped her flipper. “They’re back, Marie!” He hugged her tight.

  He smiled and held her flipper all the way home. She should be happy: Bobby was Bobby again, the kids were back, everything was coming into place again—except her. She sat quietly, trying to feel hopeful as Bobby steered away from the park, through the streets and up their driveway.

  We’re all back home, she thought.
Everyone but me.

  She held little Bobby Jr., not a Honeypot, and watched the real Bobby carry the real Lisa up the driveway. Tears fogged her vision as she tottered behind them on her flukes. How long would she be like this?

  They put the kids back in their beds, and Marie cleaned out her blowhole with a Q-tip while Bobby brushed his teeth. As she climbed into bed, she noticed he’d put the shell mirror on her bedside table. She picked it up and looked into it as she slid under the covers, preferring the reflection of the mermaid to her own grey bulk.

  She turned the shell over and read the inscription:

  >SPECULUM CREDE

  Bobby came to bed and put an arm around her waist. She showed him the words.

  “What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, reaching over her to turn out the light. “We’ll look it up tomorrow.”

  She held the shell in her flipper and let him snuggle up to her. She usually didn’t like him spooning her; hated the thought of his beefy palm being dwarfed by her post-childbirth stomach. She normally spooned him instead, her fleshy arms around him, her soft belly filling in the space between them.

  But tonight she let him put his arms around her and whisper into her ear, “Everything will be fine tomorrow.”

  She wanted to believe him.

  * * *

  The key to Lavinia’s next transformation lay in Mirror Pond Park; she knew it. She ran toward it with a sense of purpose, stopping only to duck behind a bush as some yuppie drove by in a Prius. She sped between two trees into a field and wheeled around, baffled. This was the place. She knew she was in the right place, but nothing looked the same. It was just a field surrounded by cypress trees; no picnic benches, no playset, nothing like what she’d seen that morning.

  She loped out to the middle of the field. The grass was wet, and getting wetter with every step. Her left front paw sank into a pocket of mud. She wriggled it until it came up with a slurpy, sucking sound, but then her right front paw got stuck. By the time she pulled it free, both her rear paws were lodged in slimy, cold silt. She shifted her weight, only to find both front paws stuck again as well.