Shapechanger's Birth Page 20

  Her "worse off" was still good enough to whip a stone across the thirty or forty feet into the back of one man's head. He jerked and fell to the ground.

  The remaining men — six now she saw — jerked around. One screamed and cried out, "She's dead! She's dead!" He whirled and began running toward the mansion.

  The — now five — remaining men might feel the same supernatural dread at seeing a dead body coming toward them, but that did not keep them from starting to shoot at her. Her second and third stone was on their way before the first trigger was pulled, and then they were three.

  She dropped the remaining stones and was falling and rolling toward them, extrahuman hands extended in invisible blades, bullets mostly missing her but some hitting at this close distance.

  Anger came that usually she kept at a distance when fighting. They were trying to hurt her babies, her children, her poor women who were only trying to survive in the only way they knew how!

  Rolling, her mouth gaped and she hissed. She willed her esoteric claws to be ultimately sharp, so she could rend them and destroy them completely!

  Her claws became so thin and sharp that they literally cut air. The air molecules touching the esoteric claws sundered into their component free radicals. These instantly recombined furiously with their free-radical counterparts and combined with other air molecules.

  The invisible blades flashed into visibility, five triangular daggers on each hand glowing with a harsh blue light.

  One blade cut a bullet in two. The parts wind milled into Mary's body with horrible effect, ripping open one entire side and spilling ropes of intestines.

  This did not keep Mary from crashing into the feet of the three men, her horrible blades slashing up into their bodies, cutting them into dozens of slices where ever they struck, bone and flesh parting like water.

  The men were firing into her body in a frenzy of fear even as they died. One shot went into Mary's heart and she rolled exhausted onto her back and consciousness faded and she thought, "Oh, shit. Not again." And her life went away.

  … dying, she found, was easy…. She relaxed, fell away into darkness, with no down, only away….

  In that infinite comforting sea floated a ghostly cloud, lit within by an invisible moon. Seeing better as her vision adjusted to the dark, she saw fuzzy cloud-shape resolve into delicate misty leaves and evanescent branches leading down to a ghostly trunk.

  As the view brightened more she saw that the tree was a construct of darting fireflies. Fairy-glass threads floated out from the tree, one of them pointing toward her.

  Brighter still — and she saw that at the end of every thread was an infinitesimal eye. Her viewpoint was in one of those eyes, turned back toward herself. She was her own mirror.

  She wanted another view — instantly her viewpoint switched to another eye, in another instant its focus switched back toward herself. From this viewpoint the trunk was pointing not down but away and down. She was above herself — if directions meant anything in this infinite ocean.

  Within the tree she saw a darker twin tree perfectly contiguous with its brighter self except for the threads and their eyes. The bright tree had grown from the darker like vines through and over a trellis....

  ... she remembered this dream. It meant she had died again.

  She took stock. She could feel a cool bed sheet over her and a warm mattress under her. She seemed to be wearing a flannel nightgown. She could hear sounds of a nearly vacant house plus someone breathing and, judging from the faint rasp of a turning page, reading.

  Not a threatening place then. She opened her eyes.

  From her angle she could see a window opening onto a bright day and someone reading in the light pouring over her shoulder from the outside. It was Jane.

  "Hello, Jane."

  Jane jumped up and came to look down at her.

  "You're alive! Ah, aren't you?"

  "Oh, yes, breathing, heart beating, all the usual."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Terrific but hungry as Hell. And thirsty. Ah, do you have some water?"

  Jane rushed over to her vacated chair and took a glass off the windowsill. She rushed back.

  Meanwhile Mary had sat up and slung her legs over the side of the bed. She took the proferred glass and drank it all, slowly, savoring the water. Without intending it she boosted the sensitivity of her tongue. Here was limestone, here was leaf.

  She stood up, handing the glass back.

  "Thanks," Mary said, and strolled over to the window. She saw the countryside where the orgy mansion stood. Mild summer rain was falling from grey skies .

  She opened the window and chill wet air whipped in. She closed it on the wind and turned to look at Jane.

  "Get me some food, please. Lots of it. More than lots of it."

  Jane grinned and ran to the door, crashed it open and went through, leaving the door wide. Within a minute Edith came through it, smiling, followed by the black bearded Enrico, just as happy.

  By the time they had gotten through greeting each other Jane was back. She had a tray with milk, oatmeal, sugar, and butter with all the appropriate tableware.

  Jane said, "This is what we could get right away. Eggs and bacon and such are in the works."

  Mary thanked her and sat down cross legged on her bed to eat. After a few mouthfuls to rid herself of hunger pangs she paused just long enough to say, "Fill me in."

  Jane had pulled her chair near the bed to face Mary and was sitting. Edith stood beside her but Enrico had left.

  "In brief, everything's OK. In detail..."

  Mary nodded. Enrico returned with two chairs, waited till Edith was seated before copying her.

  Mary glanced at Enrico but did not tell him to leave. She looked back at Jane.

  Jane said, "First, you started the party without me. I was not happy."

  Mary laughed but, knowing Jane, knew the woman had not been telling a joke.

  "It was not a fun party. Go on."

  Jane nodded to Enrico, who took over. "We were even more alert after you warned us that the malefactors were likely coming by the back road. We heard your shots — or so we guessed they were. The men you took with you up the new road came in about that time and heard them too. They ran off to help you."

  Jane said, "Actually they walked fast, not ran. They didn't want to rush into the enemy unready. Then the gunfire started up a second time and this man ran at them screaming about a demon after him. They guessed he meant you, so they didn't kill him. They knocked him down instead.

  "About then gunfire ended. They were close enough to see blue lights flashing while the bad guys were shooting. Was that you? "

  Mary nodded. "When I get really pissed my claws burn."

  "I'll say," Jane said. "While a couple of our guys were bandaging you the others were checking the men around you. The clothes of one of them were still burning. And one of their guns was cut in pieces that had melted edges.

  "When I heard the first shots I figured I wasn't needed on the main road any more. I got here when they were bringing you in."

  She paused, said, "Were you really dead?"

  "As a doornail. But before I left my body I decided I could fix it up and stuck around." Her memory of the in-between time was fading, dreamlike. She had said what she did on impulse to give them an explanation and to burnish her reputation of invincibility, but she wondered if she had indeed spoken the truth.

  About this time a young woman brought in another tray of food. Her eyes were as wide as they could be when she looked at Mary but she still deftly swapped Mary's empty tray with one containing the bacon and eggs and tea and so on. Mary settled down to put away this food. Her body had used up all its fat and burned some of her muscle to keep itself alive while being shot, then more to bring her back from death.

  Edith spoke up. "About then the party started to break up. We had to be careful not to let any of the guests see you or the other bodies we were bringing back. After the last of them were go
ne, we sent people to look at the battleground further up the hill. We cleaned that up too. We buried all the bodies where they won't be found, including the two horses. The third horse is in the stable here."

  "There wasn't fourth horse? Or a light carriage?"

  "None," said Enrico. "When we looked over the scene in daylight one of our men said he saw fresh wagon tracks leading away."

  Mary told them about shooting the horse pulling the buggy, and its occupants.

  Enrico said, "That matches what I know about some of the dead men. They worked for the Sullivan brothers. The horse you shot must have only been hurt, if they drove away in the buggy."

  "So they got away," mused Mary. "What about Josiah? Did we get him?"

  "Yes," he said. ""But he fought and we had to kill him. There's a family resemblance between him and the Sullivans. He might have been a son, or nephew."

  "I want to have a little talk with the Sullivans."

  He said, "I guessed that would be so. I sent out a message to everyone to find out everything we can about them, especially where they are."

  Jane said, "We should review everyone who came into the Org since Josiah joined. Or leaves in the next few days."

  Mary had finished everything on her plate. She belched and everyone laughed.

  Edith said, "While they were cleaning up the battle grounds I looked after getting our money safely away. I sent it in several bunches and it's in the banks we planned for it. Our total haul was a little over 110,000 pounds. Our expenses were about a third that. I'll give you the details when you want them."

  "And our files on the guests?"

  Jane said, "We've got blackmail info for the government, the military, the Catholic and the Anglican churches, the police ... We could take over this fucking city."

  Mary laughed. "Not hardly. If we tried we'd have massive retaliation, and massive cover-ups. But we can resist any pressure anyone puts on us, short of them all collaborating against us. But I want oversight of any use we make of this material. Nobody uses it without my OK. I will be really pissed at anyone who does."

  Edith spoke up. "I've been thinking. This information has more uses than self-protection. We can use it to improve our service."

  Mary laughed loudly. All that food was really being put to use. Her body was undergoing massive internal changes. And she found Edith's enthusiasm for efficiency funny.

  She needed sleep. "Good. Now let me sleep. But first ..."

  They looked back alertly.

  "I'm going to make some changes to the Organization. For one, I'm spending too much time on it. I'm going to re-organize it so I can leave for weeks at a time. That means you are going to have to take on more responsibilities. And not just you — all the higher ups.

  "So I want you to start thinking what you can do toward this end. And what you want to do. As I've said from the beginning, no one will ever be forced to stay in the Organization. If you want out, now's the time to start thinking about it. And how I can help you get started in whatever you want to do."

  She lay herself down, said, "You know, we could make this crappy world a little better place if we not just let people go, but encourage them to go do something better with their lives…."

  She turned on her side, her eyes closed. After moments she opened them again, looked at them. "All our girls are OK?"

  "Yes, Mother," Jane said with some sarcasm. "Now go to sleep."

  Mary sighed and relaxed into sleep.

  Enrico said, "She can be so terrible. And then ..." He blinked rapidly and walked from the room.

  Edith pulled the cover up over Mary's shoulders, touched a freckled cheek, tucked the cat lady's flaming red hair away from her face. While recovering from her death she had reverted to her Mary McCarthy identity. "She looks so young, just sixteen, seventeen. Do you think this is what she really looks like?"

  "Hmm," said Jane. She had moved her chair back into the better light near the window and retrieved her book from where she had dropped it. She sat down but looked at Mary's sleeping face rather than at her book.

  Edith glanced at Jane, gathered up the eating trays, and made to go. "You're not coming?" she said from the door.

  "No. I think I'll just read for a while." Jane turned to her book.

  The world turned toward and past noon. The rain trailed off and air warmed as the wind came ever more from the south. And Mary voyaged happily in her sleep.

  Encounters, Some Deadly

  Summer, 1859

  One of the most powerful crimelords in sprawling Cork City near the south coast of Ireland sat in her parlor rereading parts of a book of mathematics. It was titled An investigation into the Laws of Thought . It had been published five years before, in 1854. She was due in an hour's time to meet the author, professor of mathematics George Boole, at Queen's College Cork.

  Professor Boole was Dean of Science at the college, and she intended to seduce him. Not into her bed, but into partisanship .

  She looked at the far wall, not seeing the rich creamy fabric that covered it. She thought she had the perfect hook to snag him, after which she would reel him in so discreetly that he would not even know he was captured.

  She also intended to bribe him, and his colleagues at the college, by donating to selected collegiate programs a few thousand pounds of money, a drop in the bucket of her considerable wealth. But money could only gain mere acquiescence. What Mary McCarthy intended was enthusiastic and active and above all intelligent support.

  Her musings was interrupted by a maid in a long black dress decorated by a white apron and topped by close-fitting white cap.

  "Beg pardon, my lady."

  "Jane, how much longer are you going to continue this nonsense? It gives me heartburn."

  "I would never cause my mistress the least pain. I apologize most humbly."

  Mary sighed and looked to the heavens. Jane Willison was a former prostitute who had been with Mary from the first hour of Mary's life of crime. Jane did not fear one of the most-feared people in all of Cork. If Jane wanted to practice being a goody-goody timid servant she would damn well do it.

  "Very well, o' good and faithful servant, what is it?"

  "His lordship, the viscount Cunningham, wishes to call upon your worship."

  "Good! Show him in."

  Moments later Bertrand Lord Cunningham walked through the parlor door and up to Mary, who was standing with her hands out and a welcoming smile on her face.

  "Bertie! I'm so glad to see you."

  The blond young nobleman had a grin on his face. They clasped hands and looked at each other.

  Mary looked a tall, healthy eighteen, though she was in fact 58 years old. Coming back from the dead could do that to you — if you had the extra-human powers that Mary did. Her fiery red hair curled around her shoulders and sprawled down her back, her skin was perfectly smooth and white with a confection of freckles, her face was a perfect oval. It framed large blue eyes, plump red lips, and a delicate nose that had a slight and mischievous upturn. She had been born with her looks but shaped them with her powers to her precise satisfaction.

  Bertie was a rarity, a normal man immune to her beauty. He was tall, thin, strong, a bit plain of face, and seemed shy and bookish. He was both. He was also a canny and hard-working manager of his father's several estates, taking on ever more responsibilities as the Earl of Cunningham's health declined despite Mary's covert aid. Her marvelous powers could ease but not stop aging.

  Mary used her hands on his to turn him to one side and then the other, looking him up and down. His valet was excellent but tended toward garbing his master in drab. Bertie's pants, however, were a creamy yellow and the vest under his charcoal-grey jacket was silver with a small check that gave it a discreet scintillation.

  "You look positively rakish. I detect Barbara's influence."

  He came as close as he could to blushing. He had always been stand-offish to women because so many pursued his great wealth and social status. For the last year and m
ore he had been the one pursuing. The object of his devotion was sixteen-year-old Barbara, a singer of enormous and popular talent. Barbara and Mary had for more than two years lived at the Quaker orphanage in Kilrush. To Mary she was sister, daughter, and friend all in one.

  "So when are you going to give up asking Barbarous for her hand in marriage and take all of her to bed?"

  This time he did blush. And changed the subject.

  "Are you ready? If we're going to get there in time we need to be on the road."

  "Shame on you, Bertie! You of all people should know that being late will make them respect us more."

  He simply looked stubborn. He had more of a liberal bent than most of the privileged.

  Mary leaned back and drew in deep breaths of country air as Bertie's open-air coach rattled westward over Western Road toward Queen's College Cork,

  Most of the time she had to rein in her extra-human senses to less-than-human sensitivity to avoid being overwhelmed by the stinks of the city. Such was one of the liabilities of her usually advantageous abilities. Now, however, she could revel in the scent of grass and trees and the clean water of the River Lee which the road paralleled. Her undermind automatically identified the several kinds of odors but Mary paid only cursory attention to it.

  Closing her eyes, she also let herself enjoy the feeling of her body soaking up the warm late-June sunshine. For a while she let time stand still....

  "Wake up," Bertie said. "We're almost there."

  Mary opened her eyes. She should have realized they were near the end of the mile or so of green countryside to the west of Cork City and east of the College. As they neared their destination the Lee River took on an odor of human waste.

  Looking to the left she saw across the Lee River the elegant Tudor-Gothic light-grey of the college. Hulking beyond and higher was the grim dark-grey pile of the County Gaol.

  Bertie slowed the carriage and turned left onto Gaol Cross Road, heading south toward the front entrance of the Gaol. The rattle of the wheels acquired a rumble as they sped over the bridge across the Lee.

  He guided the carriage in a second left turn, onto the short road leading to the front of the College. As he did so Mary made out a platform in front of the Gaol surmounted by a gibbet. Once or twice a week the students and officers of the College were treated to a view of a hanging, some of them of women.