WereWoman

by Piers Anthony

  Ghoony shrugged. “That makes it easy.”

  I sat beside Gholdie to watch the eliminations. It was really quite a show. One by one the Ghosts strutted their stuff. The first ones manifested as assorted animals, sending their ectoplasm out to the demonstration ring and forming them into horses, cows, dogs, cats, deer, pigs, hens, foxes, and other ordinary creatures. In the second round it got more interesting as they emulated people. Not just any people; they mimicked other Clans. One competitor assumed the form of a man, who then shifted into a wolf: a WereWolf. Another man became a man-sized bat: a Vampire. A third went from man to woman: an Incubus becoming Succuba. A woman became a Witch complete with her broomstick. Then a scowling Goblin formed, fuzzed, and reformed as the same figure. There was laughter. The implication was that Goblins were ugly regardless. Another became a Zombie, who then dissolved into a pile of sludge.

  Then came couple acts. The man formed a Demon while the woman formed an innocent mundane girl. They sat together as in a roller-coaster ride. He groped her; she tried to resist but could not stop his hands. He kissed her breasts, and her resistance diminished. Then he showed his stiff member, and she took hold of it and stuffed it into her cleft. There they both froze in place: it was a picture of the act circulated on the Demon closed-circuit network. There was more laughter. The Ghosts well knew what the Demons were up to, and I suspected some Ghosts participated with that knowledge, just for the naughty fun of it.

  Gholdie squeezed my hand. I had not been aware we were holding hands.

  We watched another playlet, of a man and woman transforming into male and female Vampires. They kissed, then spread their wings and flew upward together. The ectoplasm emulations were able to fly, of course. They mated on the wing, and it was beautiful.

  I discovered that Gholdie was sitting on my lap and my hands were on her covered breasts. I did not remember getting into that position. Evidently her rebound was proceeding.

  Another man and woman entered the ring. They embraced closely and had sex standing up. Then they shifted, and the man became a woman, and the woman became a man. They were Incubus and Succuba, and their Changes were accomplished without their ever disengaging. I doubted that real Incubi and Succubi could manage that. Ectoplasmic images were not much limited by laws of physics or convenience.

  And I was in Gholdie, right there in public. Somehow our clothing had separated where it counted. Again I did not know how that had happened; my attention had been on the competitors. She squeezed internally and brought me off. “Sorry about that,” she murmured. “I just couldn’t hold back any longer.”

  Ghosts could be considerably more physical than I had realized. That wasn’t the half of it.

  Then she was off me and we were fully clothed, sitting side by side. The matches were finished, and the winners had been chosen. I had missed those details. If anyone had noticed our private activity, they pretended otherwise. Possibly Ghosts had their own version of seduce-the-visitor. At least now her passion seemed to have abated.

  “What is your verdict?” Ghoony inquired.

  That Ghost girls were the match of any others, regardless of Clan, and had intriguing notions of appropriate behavior. But that wasn’t the question. “All of them are innocent,” I said. “The murder does not appear to have been done by any Ghost.”

  “That’s a relief,” Gholdie said. I wondered just how she meant that. She nudged my foot with her toe; that was perhaps a hint.

  I dropped Gholdie off at her dormitory. “Thank you for your assistance,” I said.

  “It has been a pleasure. Thank you for briefly diverting me from my grief. Now I will mourn my lost boyfriend and dream of the next.”

  And whom might that next be? She had clearly pinned me down, and I was not loath to accept it.

  I drove back to the office and made a full report to Syd, including Gholdie’s surprising intimacy, and our realization of the full nature of my telepathy. These were things she needed to know.

  “That explains a lot,” she agreed. “I thought it was just that you were young and handsome. You like the ladies, and the ladies like you.”

  “I didn’t start seriously using my telepathy until we opened this office,” I said. “So that’s when this other aspect manifested.”

  “Starting with Nonce. I confess to being surprised that she got so interested in you. Women of her appearance and experience tend to be more cynical.”

  “At least now I can put it in perspective. It’s not me that attracts them; it’s the intimacy of our mind connection when I read them. Meanwhile we’re back to square one again on the serial killer.”

  “Is it possible he’s teasing you? Letting you struggle to solve each murder, and doing new ones to keep you occupied?”

  “It almost seems like that. But why should he bother? I suspect that at best I’m just part of a larger game he’s playing. That my scrambling searches serve some purpose. That I really don’t matter as a person, just as a pawn being moved into place.”

  “I have been pondering something like that,” she said. “That he wants some attention drawn to the killings, to serve as a warning to some other party. But I am baffled by the why of it.”

  I had an ugly thought. “Is it possible that the Clans have set this up, to see if I can crack a set-up case? That the murders are all by different people?”

  “That’s paranoid,” she said. “Ridiculous to suppose that murders would be committed just to—to play some weird game. But after what we’ve seen of the other Clans, it does seem like a possibility.”

  But then I reconsidered. “I would not care to think that Supes could be that careless of Supe life. Also, all the Supes I have telepathically checked have been innocent, not just of the crime or murder, but of any intention to deceive anybody. Other than mundanes, of course.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “So we’re back to the lone serial killer thesis, unsatisfactory as it seems.”

  “Back to that,” I agreed glumly.

  Chapter 9:

  Succuba

  The old-fashioned office phone rang. Syd picked it up. “PI Office…Yes he is…Who may I say is calling?” She turned to me. “It’s Delle.” She did not say Witch, because landlines were not regarded as secure. Actually neither were cell phones.

  “I’ll take that call,” I said. As if I were busy and had to make a choice.

  She handed me the phone. “Hello, Delle. Are you all right? I know you and your brother are in grief because of the death of your boyfriend.” Because theoretically the Warlock Standish had been dating Delle, cover for his real relationship with her brother.

  “We are tiding through,” she said. “I—I wonder if Mena could visit me? I think I need some advice on a personal matter.”

  My mind whirred. That might relate to the Goblin Burket, that Nonce had artfully set up. Nonce was away, so Delle couldn’t ask her. That left me. Well, why not? We were stymied on the murders, figuratively twiddling our thumbs. I could spare the time. “I believe Mena’s calendar is clear,” I said. “I’ll send her over in half an hour.” Because I needed time to Change as well as to get there.

  “Thank you.” Her gratitude suffused the words.

  I Changed, and Syd touched me up to be properly feminine. “I think it’s sweet that Mena has a friend.”

  “I do like her, as a friend. She’s a sweet girl.”

  I drove to the cottage by the lake. Delle greeted me with a hug at the door. “I’m so glad you could come, Mena! I hate to impose, but I’m all aflutter and don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll help if I can. But you know, I’m not a really experienced woman.”

  “Well, I think I need a male perspective. My brother’s not much on heterosexual nuance.”

  “I’m not much on anything these days,” Donald said. “Standish’s death hit me hard, and I can’t discuss it with anyone because theoretically we barely knew each other.”

  “I understand that gay relationships are much the same as het
ero ones,” I said carefully. “Apart from the genders.”

  “They are.” He shrugged. “But you are here to talk to my sister, and I will leave you to it.” He retreated to his bedroom.

  “He is discreet,” I said. “I’m definitely not gay, but if I were, he might be the kind of man I would prefer.”

  “Yes. I can’t help him, but I suffer with him. Standish was good to us. But the reason I called you is me. Nonce set me up with a date with Burket Goblin, and though I was doubtful, he turned out to be excellent company. He gave me a wrist corsage.” She fetched it and showed it to me.

  I tried not to stare. Nonce had not been fooling. This was a small bouquet of flowers, only the flowers were artificial. In fact they were intricately supported diamonds formed to resemble flowers. It was about as beautiful an object as I had ever seen. I could not begin to estimate its value.

  “Fabulous,” I breathed. As a man I might or might not have noticed its nature, but as a dawning woman I was awed. What a gift for a date!

  “I told him I couldn’t accept it, but he insisted. So I put it on, and he took me to such a fancy restaurant where the personnel were so solicitous I was embarrassed. But I must confess I had a wonderful time pretending to be upper class for a while. Then we danced, and he wasn’t clumsy at all. My preconceptions about Goblins took a bad beating; he was a perfect gentleman throughout.” Her mouth quirked. “He’s not exactly handsome, but the way he treated me made him look very good.”

  “I have learned more about Goblins recently than I ever knew,” I agreed. “It’s one thing for mundanes to have ignorant prejudices, but we Supes shouldn’t share them.”

  “He brought me home, kissed me, and departed. And I liked it. Maybe it was that he had this aura of upper class. The few men I have known just wanted to—to—”

  “To get into your pants,” I said.

  “Yes. Their crudity turned me off. But Burket never uttered a crude word. I was floating. Now we have another date tonight, and I know he’ll want to—I mean, it’s expected, especially of Witches—”

  “He will want sexual intimacy,” I said. “Men do. However polite they may be at times, that’s always their objective. I’m in a position to know.”

  “Yes. So maybe you can tell me. I’ve never done it before, and I’m afraid I’ll be clumsy and make a mess of it.”

  I laughed. “I had sex just once, as Mena. I’m sure I was clumsy and made a mess of it, but the man was so drunk he didn’t notice.”

  “But in your other form?”

  “Many times. But if I was clumsy and messy, and maybe I was, my dates didn’t tell me. I think—I think it’s up to the woman to make it seem good, even if it isn’t for her. To leave the man with the impression that he’s a great lover, regardless of the truth.”

  “But I have no experience!”

  “That may not matter. Delle, you’re a virgin. That’s a phenomenal positive in a situation like this. Just be honest. Tell him you have no idea what to do, and ask him to show you. I can’t think of any man who wouldn’t be flattered to obey. Your very inexperience is the biggest turn-on.”

  “But my body isn’t—isn’t buxom like yours. He might not like it.”

  I studied her with my internal male eye. “Your body is fine. It’s slender and delicately shapely, and you have a nice face. Believe me, you have no problem there.”

  “Then you think it will be all right?”

  “I know it will be all right. When he asks, express some doubt, but let him persuade you. You know it won’t be perfect for you, the first time, but the larger point is the relationship. This is how you repay him for his monetary generosity.”

  “That seems so—so—”

  “So tawdry. I know. But it is the unvoiced subtext of male and female relations. So don’t discuss it, but do go along with it.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said, clearly relieved. “Even though the thought of money in this context does still bother me.”

  “Your attitude is refreshing. I suspect your niceness is as appealing to the Goblin as your virginity.”

  “Well, I’ll still be nice, after, I hope.”

  “Yes you will. And—”

  My cell phone rang. It was Syd at the office. “There’s been another murder,” she said. “An I.” I stood for Incubus; another word she could not say on the phone. “You need to get over there immediately.”

  “But I’m in the other mode,” I protested.

  “This can’t wait. I promised Ingraham your assistant Mena would be there in twenty minutes. Here is the address.” She spieled it off.

  “Got it,” I agreed. “I’ll be there.” I broke the connection.

  “An emergency?” Delle asked.

  “Another murder. This time an Incubus. I have to go.”

  “Of course. Thank you so much for your help.” She kissed me on the cheek. Damn, I liked that! She was treating me just like a female friend, though she knew my nature, and with her I felt comfortable in that role, as I did with Syd and Nonce. Mena was indeed becoming her own person.

  I drove to the address. This was CIRCUMSPECT DATING SERVICE. I suppressed a smirk. The clients did not know they were dating sexual demons.

  A handsome man met me as I entered. “I will be happy to be your date for the evening,” he said, eying my bosom. “I am Incomer.”

  Such hope! “Forget it, Outgoer. I’m here on business. I need to see Ingraham.”

  His lips quirked. “The Chief does not see walk-ins.”

  “He’ll see me. Get your donkey in motion.”

  He puffed up angrily. “I’ll have you know—”

  “You idiot Incubus, can’t you smell me? I’m the Were he asked for.”

  Now, startled, he sniffed, literally. “Oh. This way.”

  He led me to a private office. “You asked for a Were?” he asked the occupant, a portly older Incubus. The desk plaque said INGRAHAM/SYMMETRIA. That would be the Incubus and Succuba names.

  “Mena Were,” I said.

  “Oh, good. Come in, Mena.”

  I entered the office as Incomer departed, out of sorts. “One of yours has been killed?”

  “Last night, as far as we can tell.”

  “You don’t know whether he’s dead?”

  “We don’t know exactly when he died. Or why he was murdered. We fear it is part of the series of Supe extinctions your boss is investigating.”

  “That could be. I’ll need details.”

  “I will turn you over to his friend Suzy/Innis. She discovered the body.”

  “Do that.”

  He conducted me to a chamber buried in the bowels of the building. A lovely young woman was primping before a mirror. “Suzy, this is Mena Were, the investigator I mentioned. Bring her up to snuff.”

  “I can’t take time right now,” Suzy said. “I’ve got a double load of clients to service, until you get Increase/Succula’s ones reassigned.”

  “I am working on it. We’re shorthanded this week. This is a matter of murder of one of our own. Make time, if you value your career.” Ingraham departed.

  “Oh, piss,” she swore. “I’ve been all day without a connection. I can’t wait hours dickering with you. There’s a window of opportunity I have to catch.”

  This was interesting, apart from the murder. “You have a desire to service clients? It’s not just a business?”

  “Of course I do. We’re sexual creatures. Without regular sex we’d soon sicken and die. We need at least ten clients a night to maintain our health. But tonight I’ve got thirty. I’ll have to average four an hour. That would be fun if it weren’t for the logistics.”

  “Logistics?”

  “I have to assess the most efficient route to pick them all up rapidly, get there on schedule, and catch them in the right gender and orientation. Any mistake, and we lose a client. The sex is fine and necessary, but the organizing is a pain.”

  Gender and orientation? I could see the first, because a Succuba had to service a ma
n, and an Incubus a woman. But what was the other? “Why don’t I just tag along, and you can update me as you work.”

  “Tag along! Weren’t you listening? I’m going to be busy.”

  “I have some skill at organization. If you give me the list, I should be able to help you get a feasible route. It’s a variation of the traveling salesmen challenge, one of my favorites.”

  Suzy looked appraisingly at me. “You can be silent when you need to be? I can’t afford to wake up clients; I’d lose them. We can’t risk losses; it’s already tricky to break in new ones.” Her mouth quirked. “Some idiots think sex is sinful, especially with our kind; it casts a pall.”

  I was getting new insights. I had never thought of sleeping sex as a profession. “Yes. Just signal when it’s time.”

  “Okay. Here’re the lists. We have to integrate them efficiently.” She handed me two plasticized notebooks. “Alternate genders.”

  I perused them rapidly. Each name had salient facts: gender, age, address, plus some incidental notes of likely complications, such as a spouse sleeping in the same bed, or irregular sleeping hours. Some were close to our present location, others some distance away. They were already in geographic order; I just needed to integrate the two lists. That helped. I took a pencil and marked numbers, starting with the closest. “I’ve got the organization started.”

  “Good enough. This way.” She led me out of the chamber and the building to the parking garage. “You’d better be able to ride double on my moped.”

  A moped! That was a motorized bicycle with pedals for low-speed travel. Maybe that was what she could afford, since she didn’t have paying customers. It was bound to be awkward. “I’ll try.”

  She tooled out the machine and got on it. I climbed onto the long seat behind her. It was precarious, but feasible. “How is it you’re heading out by day?” I asked. “Don’t your clients have to be asleep?”

  “I have some early sleepers. Gives me a nice head start.”

  Live and learn. Of course some folk did sleep by day.

  She started the motor, put it in gear, and we started moving. “The two closest, male and female, are your regulars,” I said. “Then comes a male on Succula’s list.”