The silence of the pipes, prompted her to close her eyes and focus on terrorizing herself. Still groggy, she took longer than usual. With no time to spare, she found herself in canine form just as she heard Frank calling for her. Lily focused on the doorknob of the closed door. She had locked herself in. Lassie would never have done this.
“Tashi?”
She barked and scratched at the door. Frank jiggled the doorknob.
“What the hell? How did you get...why is the...hold on a minute.” Lily listened as Frank ransacked his own kitchen in search of the key. He went away briefly then returned.
Bang!
Lily scrambled back, her nails failing to gain traction on the tile floor. After the door swung open, she gazed up at Frank who stood in his silk boxer shorts, robe hanging open with a hammer in one hand, tiny screwdriver in the other. Who needs a bump key? Not James Bond.
“Ha!” he said, triumphant as he peered into the laundry room to study her. “What the hell?”
Lily pranced past him, through the kitchen, into the great room, and jumped up on the couch. Frank shook his head. He padded into the kitchen to prepare a culinary masterpiece while grumbling about the craziest dog he had ever met. Ten minutes later, he plopped down on the sectional with a plate of eggs and bacon. He spread the newspaper out on the ottoman. He glanced over at Lily who drooled from the smell of coffee and bacon. Frank had put some expensive holistic dog food in her pink, bedazzled dog dish. She ignored it and maintained her position on the sectional next to him, supervising his progress with the scrambled eggs.
When he got up to get more bacon, she stretched across to the ottoman, her front legs balanced just so, and took a few glugs from his oversized mug. She couldn’t resist. It was Starbucks Columbian blend.
She sat back on her haunches, a foo dog, and representative of the auspicious lion. She did resemble the guardian statue, but she wasn’t sure about being a protector of the home. She was adept at guarding food, though.
Frank sauntered back into the room.
“What’s all over your muzzle?” He took a step closer.
She jumped off the couch and ran. When she got to the hallway, Lily flung herself on the ground to wipe her beard on the antique Persian rug. When she straightened up, Larry stood on the landing of the stairs having witnessed the whole ugly episode.
Larry furrowed his brow, creating deep indentations that resembled bat wings. She feared she was on her way to the taxidermist. Perhaps they would mount her over one of the Manor’s five fireplaces.
“Dog!” The use of her generic name indicated his level of annoyance. She sat up at attention with eyes bugging out. He bent down on one knee in front of her. “You do that again and I’m crating your ass.”
Yes Capitain. She shadowed Larry, her tail at half-mast, as he finished getting ready. Frank left for work with Larry following an agonizing twenty minutes later.
Alone at last! She flung herself down on the forbidden Persian rug and wiggled around on her back. She caught herself mid-thrall. Need to work on these dog impulses.
Back on her feet, she surveyed her surroundings. Her first goal of the day was to secure her care package. Without the ability to reach doorknobs as a canine, she would have to shift into human form then open the garage before shifting into dog form so no one would see her. No problem. Now watch me as I pull a Komodo dragon out of my butt.
Twenty minutes later, she stood upright, proud to be bipedal again. She pushed the button and devised a plan while watching the garage door roll up. She punched it again when she realized she was naked and may be visible from the neighbor’s yard. For her second attempt, she wore Frank’s button-down oxford shirt. Realizing this wasn’t the best disguise, Lily darted behind the lawn mower in the corner of the garage as the door rocked at the top of its arc.
Sitting in the lotus position, she was sure no one could see her from the street. Thinking of sharks, she was able to shift into “Tashi.” She bounded into action, eager to see what Seth left for her.
Rounding the corner, she slipped behind the lattice privacy fence that hid the air conditioning unit. She found a pink JanSport backpack. Lily pulled the zipper open with her mouth, rooting around with her nose until she found the latest and greatest touch screen cell phone. “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna!” she screamed or at least her Shih Tzu version of it. She ran back and forth by the neon green phone in a frenzy.
She looked up to see the neighbor’s six-year-old staring at her.
“Oh, shit!” Lily exclaimed. Thankfully, it was a girl. A boy would have snatched her, stolen her phone, and used her for a science experiment. The girl looked spooked. For insurance, Lily growled.
There was a lot of shrieking, but mission accomplished. She ran back into her house screaming for her mommy. Now Lily felt rushed. If the mother came to investigate, she was toast. She nosed the cell phone back into the bag, stood on it with her paws and pulled the zipper almost closed with her teeth. Then she grabbed a strap, dragging it across the lawn to the garage. Back behind the lawn mower, she tried to think peaceful thoughts.
She needed to shift and get back into the house before the shrieker came back with her mother, or God help her, the father, who would probably be a Ted Nugent type. Nothing happened because she was too juiced up with adrenaline. She needed to close the garage door. The broom sat upright, just the right distance from the garage door button. Footsteps.
“It’s over here, Mommy. It said bad words to me.” Tattle tale. Lily threw her body into the broom, sending the handle forward to smack against the white, square button. Darting for the lawn mower, she skidded behind it to watch the door close.
“Hello? Hello?” called the mother.
Lily spied two sets of feet as the door sealed shut with a “klunk.” The neighbor grumbled as she walked up the pathway, shrieker in tow, to ring the doorbell.
Pachelbel’s Canon in D blasted through the house each time the nagging neighbors pushed the doorbell. Ignoring the music, Lily concentrated on a visualization technique Seth had suggested. She imagined her stress had wings and could soar away. Her legs tingled as they elongated; a soothing warmth spread throughout her body. She kept her eyes shut.
Opening her eyes, she sighed with relief. Getting up, she stumbled a bit before picking up the backpack and Frank’s shirt by the door. A wave of vertigo struck and she struggled to maintain balance while walking through the doorway. That was weird. Thankfully, the nagging neighbor had retreated and all was quiet again.
She slurped water from the kitchen faucet while reviewing her schedule for the day: read the paper; figure out her new cell phone; hack into her roommates’ computer to use her new email.
She turned to the pink backpack on the counter. Examining the contents of the bag, she discovered two pairs of underwear, a bra that was not the right size, 2 pairs of flip-flops, a cotton mini-dress, sweatpants, t-shirt, a long red wig, and $50. Seth also included a pink fanny pack with a note.
Lily, sewed the fanny pack so it will fit you and can cinch way down for the Ewok :) Seth.
A fanny pack. Lily couldn’t recall ever owning one. Then again, she’d never eaten dog biscuits and now she seemed to like them.
Her new email account was [email protected]. Well, maybe the Star Wars reference would help her use the force. She continued to feel light-headed with a strange itch radiating throughout her back. Maybe it’s Frank’s fabric softener. She reached back to scratch. What the fuck?
Something was on her back. And it was big! What kind of critters live in their garage? She twisted from side to side, unable to shake the thing loose. Panicked, she raced toward the front door, screeching like a Howler monkey. Something bumped against the narrow hallway walls, clinging to her in hot pursuit. Its fierce backwards pull caused her to lean forward as if she were walking into a fierce wind. She popped free as she hit the opening of the front hall. Her momentum flung her forward onto her knees.
Frazzled and disoriented, Lily panted while w
hite stuff swirled in the air around her. Her legs shaking, she stood up. Ever so slowly, she turned to face her adversary.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream. She was so freaked out that she had lost power.
It was worse than anything she could ever imagine.
Wings.
With trepidation, Lily stared at her own reflection in the mirror. Phenomenal downy appendages extended from her bare back. Shimmering as if with diamonds, the iridescent feathers refracted colors across the wheat walls of the foyer. Her mouth hung open in a pant.
Dear God are those fangs? Her canine teeth protruded over her lips.
As she went to raise her arms, she inadvertently fluttered the wings, knocking several crystals from the chandelier overhead. She attempted to move them again more delicately. No matter how much effort she exerted, she never achieved levitation. After hyperventilating and burping up vomit, she noticed something shiny on the floor—her new cell phone.
With trembling hands, she called Seth, attempting to ignore the fact that her fingers were longer and she was sporting some crazy long nails.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” Her voice was tremulous as she stared aghast at the creature in the mirror.
“Hold on one second,” he said.
In the time it took for Seth to step away from the front desk at work, she had discovered that in turning from side-to-side, she could serve as an adequate disco ball, light beamed from every direction.
He came back on the line. “Okay.”
“Not okay, Seth!”
“Lily? You sound funny.”
She opened her mouth again to talk, but was fighting tears, so only produced a benign squeak.
“Lily? You’re worrying me. Where the hell are you?”
“Wings!” she cried.
“You have to calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Fucking wings!” she screeched.
She could almost hear the gears shifting in Seth’s head as he attempted to process.
“Coming out of my back. Enormous freak show kinda shit.”
“Dude,” Seth whispered. He cleared his throat, “Ewok, too?” Underlying his concern was an edge of excitement.
“No...not dog with wings...just self with wings...don’t even work!” she continued to gulp for air.
“Wow. Okay, don’t panic,” he said. Then he was silent. Next, she detected ragged breathing. Clearly, he wasn’t taking his own advice.
Lily bent over to get the blood back in her head. With a death grip on the phone, she managed, “Gotta call you back.” Once disconnected, she focused on her breathing.
Wings aren’t so bad. She tried to rationalize that her new cartilaginous body parts were not any different from ears. These were just on a grander scale. Breathe. I just need to breathe.
Some masochistic force within her drew her back to the mirror. She couldn’t stop looking. Her eyes were the color of Bartlett pears with a darker green ring around her enlarged pupil and there was no white part. She blinked and drew closer. A membrane stretched and retracted across her eye horizontally—a nictitating membrane or third eyelid. Goosebumps surfaced on her arms as she examined herself more closely. The wings captivated her at first glance, but enchantment turned to revulsion as she looked at the tendons growing out of her back. The eyes while lovely in color were nonhuman without the sclera. Fainting seemed imminent if she didn’t calm her breathing. She refused to acknowledge the funky teeth.
Think, think, think. She started down the hallway, eventually turning sideways as she realized that in this manner she didn’t knock anything else off the wall. There was a shattered photograph on the floor of Frank and Larry vacationing in Colorado. She picked it up and brought it to the garbage can. After dumping the shards of glass in the garbage, she hung the frame back up. Maybe they wouldn’t notice that the glass was missing.
She settled in the great room assuming the lotus position with Larry’s blanket across the front of her. The wings had a life of their own. She tried to press them in toward her body so she wouldn’t break anything, but they kept popping out. Unfortunately, she had beheaded one of Larry’s expensive sculptures. Note to self. Look for Super Glue.
Thinking of all her past night terrors, she triggered a shift. She was low to the ground with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. All good signs. After dashing up the stairs to Larry’s room, she skidded to a halt in front of the full-length mirror.
“Oh. No,” she huffed. She had fangs along with claws on her Shih Tzu body. She shook her whole body several times, now fully understanding why dogs did that. It was like pushing the reset button on her internet router.
Lily breathed a sigh of relief when her reflection showed a normal Shih Tzu again—decent-sized canines, regular nails. However, she needed to be in human form.
Sweating, she attempted normal breathing. The wings flashed through her head. After twenty minutes, she managed to shift. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the return of her own body, sans avian vestiges and creepy eyes. Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, she wrapped Larry’s blanket around her as she walked downstairs in a daze. She retrieved the cell phone from the hall table.
“Seth speaking.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the park at noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
She had two hours before going to the park. Looking at her sweat-drenched body, she headed for the shower. This is what normal humans do. I’m human.
Frank’s bathroom belonged in the pages of Architectural Digest. Large off-white tiles were inlaid with smaller black diamond-shaped tiles. The enormous glass shower enclosure offered a stone bench for enjoying James Bond’s steam system consisting of two showerheads, and ten hydro-massage jets. The early morning sun trickled in through the window overhead. With all jets going, she allowed the water to hit her from every angle.
Forty minutes later, her tiny voice of reason broke through her shower utopia, forcing her hand to cut the water. She smelled like Frank’s Versace Pour Homme hair and body shampoo. If she had a shower like this at home, she’d never need a boyfriend.
Once the steam dissipated, the cold air brought in reality. With much chagrin, she tried the red wig. The shiner on her one eye had faded, but was still visible. With the wig and a new fat lip that she obtained from chasing her tail and bashing into the glass door earlier, she looked a bit rough. This will not do.
She felt guilty as she rummaged through Larry’s things, but she suspected he owned some cosmetics. It wasn’t a perfect match, but she used his concealer to hide the purple-green marks. A touch of his clear lip gloss and she felt like a woman again. Studying her image more closely, she realized her eyelashes had grown longer and thicker. No need for mascara now.
Lily focused on her agenda as she walked downstairs. The shower had helped clear her head. She first retrieved the spare key from under the Buddha in the back garden. She could get a copy so she’d have access to the house. Frank’s study was next.
She surveyed his CD collection while stretching her fingers. She rocked back in his leather desk chair while considering his computer screen. Just as she was reveling in his scent, something caught her attention on the desk top. A business card—George Clemens, Sarah’s husband, Mona’s brother-in-law. The temperature dropped as if a ghost had walked into the room.
Before Lily realized, she had eaten half of the Ferrero Rochers in Frank’s candy dish as she read and reread the information on the card. She felt bad about her gluttony, particularly because she assumed Frank would blame Larry for the missing candy.
Why the hell did Frank have George Clemens’s business card? When she turned it over, she noted Sarah Clemens’s and Mona’s name written in blue ink on the back. It wasn’t so unusual that Mona Sinclair’s family was using Frank for investing or banking or whatever exactly it was that he did. Her stomach lurched as she realized she didn’t know anything about Frank or Mona Sinclair for that matt
er.
Frank’s locked computer screen substantiated this. The odds were better that she could figure out Larry’s password. Larry used the kitchen desk. Lily sat in an upholstered chair staring at his laptop screen. She attempted words related to cartoons and musical references. Nothing was working, not even “Celine.” Just for kicks, she typed “Tashi.” Bingo. What a dear, sweet man.
She perused the articles online to find out the latest information on her case. Mona’s obituary caught her eye. Mona Sinclair had freelanced for several children’s magazines including Spider Magazine and Wee Ones. Her picture books were about various jungle animals. She won the Mulberry Award for her book titled The Littlest One. The police were still investigating the circumstances of her death.
Lily scrolled back to the article about herself. Police had recovered her laptop from her silver Volkswagen bug. A warm blush spread across her cheeks when she thought about someone seeing her emails.
How much more humiliation could she withstand? Everyone knew she had “parked” behind a high school with a guy she met online. She continued down the article. Rage made her see black. A scraping like nails on a chalkboard drew her eyes down to the desk surface. Long claws dug into the wood. Her claws. She closed her eyes to bring her heart rate and breathing down.
Peeking through one eye, she looked down to see her regular, slender hand hovering above deep grooves in Larry’s desk. WTF? She swept curls of wood shavings into the wastebasket. The etchings in the mahogany looked like someone had used an awl. Guilt wouldn’t fix the blemish. She grabbed a notepad to cover the spot.
Lily breathed and relaxed the muscles in her body so she could look back up at the screen.
Phil Miller smiled from the pages of the AJC online. The headline: “Miller Tormented by Gruesome Attack.” Phil had suffered a concussion, lacerations to his chest and three broken ribs. Investigators stated that he had fallen from the crossbeam of the uprights of the high school goal post. Doctors noted injuries could have been more severe if he had tensed during the fall. He hadn’t since he was unconscious. He was under the care of behavioral health specialists. At the end of the article, the writer speculated whether or not Lily was somehow the cause of this vicious attack and questioned her mental stability after the death of her boyfriend. Lily took five deep cleansing breaths so she wouldn’t punch the screen. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was time to leave.
First Born (Lily Moore Series) Page 8